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The Prince's Ultimate Deception (Monte Carlo Affairs #2) Page 11
Author: Emilie Rose

“And if I don’t?”

“I will press charges.”

Jeez, how long was he going to play this gig?

All she had to do was agree. She’d be screaming for help the second she got outside, but he didn’t need to know that. She’d report him to the authorities, and she’d tell Vincent Reynard and have the imposter kicked out of the hotel—maybe even banned from all of Reynard’s hotels worldwide. Maybe the Monaco Sûreté Publique would haul Damon off in handcuffs. After the scare he’d given her she’d enjoy watching that.

“Okay. I’ll do what you say.” The lie didn’t even make her twitch.

The boat bumped against the dock. Heavy footsteps immediately boarded, rocking the craft.

“Follow my lead and do not say anything to incriminate yourself.”

Incriminate herself? That was a riot coming from a con man.

Keeping her behind him Damon opened the cabin door and rattled off something in French. Madeline ducked under his arm, intending to sprint for the hatch, but she skidded to a halt at the sight of the overcrowded galley.

Police. Six of them. With weapons drawn. They fired off commands—commands she couldn’t understand and moved toward her in a threatening manner. She backed into Damon.

“English please.” Damon’s hands encircled her waist and then he shifted her to his side and draped an arm across her shoulders as if they were friends. Or lovers. “Mademoiselle Spencer does not speak French. And the weapons are unnecessary. She is unarmed.”

“You are under arrest, mademoiselle, for assaulting Prince Dominic,” one of the officers said.

She gaped. “Me? What about him and his henchmen? They kidnapped me!”

Two of the men reached for her but Damon stopped them with an outstretched and upraised hand. “I apologize for wasting your time, officers. My bodyguards misunderstood the nature of our—” he paused to stare intently into Madeline’s eyes “—love play.”

He compounded that lie by kissing the tip of her nose.

Her cheeks caught fire over the insinuation while confusion tumbled through her brain. “That’s not what hap—”

“Madeline.” Damon cupped her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “The game is over. You do not want the police to arrest you. Do you?”

She looked from the officers to Damon and back again. The cops had handcuffs, guns and attitude. Enough testosterone crackled in the air to fill a Super Bowl team’s locker room. She had encountered hundreds of law enforcement officers through her father and in the E.R.—enough to recognize the real deal when she saw it. These guys weren’t pretending. And apparently Damon—Dominic—whatever he called himself, wasn’t, either.

Her stomach lurched. She gulped back the breakfast rising in her throat and turned to the nearest uniformed man, a fox-faced guy about her age. “He’s really a prince?”

The man blinked in surprise. “Oui, mademoiselle. Prince Dominic is a frequent and welcome visitor to Monaco.”

Uh-oh. “If you would give us a moment to gather our belongings,” Damon said in more of an order than request, “I would be most grateful if you could assist us through the paparazzi outside.”

A man whose name tag read Inspector Rousseau said, “Certainement, Your Highness. We are happy to be of service.”

Numbly, Madeline allowed Damon to steer her back into the cabin. She closed her eyes and locked her jaws on a groan.

Oh, spit. She really had assaulted a member of royalty.

This was so not how she’d planned to spend her vacation.

Chapter 5

“I guess ‘Oops, I’m sorry’ won’t cut it?” Madeline asked Dam—Prince Dominic in a barely audible voice. She glanced over her shoulder at the officers watching diligently from outside the open door.“That depends on whether or not you agree to my terms,” he replied as quietly.

Her stomach knotted. “Continue the, uh…relationship?”

Dominic nodded once—sharply—with his gaze drilling into hers. Funny how regal he looked all of a sudden. “And you will keep details of our affair private. I have no wish to read about my Monaco mistress in the tabloids.”

The Prince’s Monaco Mistress. She could see the headlines now. Ugh. She’d never wanted to be famous—certainly not famous for stupidity. Being humiliated by Mike in her small corner of the world had been more than enough exposure, thanks very much.

Spending time with a man who’d lied to her and tricked her into bed under false pretenses ranked low on her to-do list. But it beat incarceration. She knew nothing about Monaco law except the country had an extremely low tolerance for crime. There were cameras on every street corner as a deterrent. Even if she could convince a judge or whoever was in charge of the legal system here to understand her side, she couldn’t afford to worry her mother, and she’d prefer not to ruin Candace’s wedding with a scandal. And then there was the likelihood that getting arrested would probably jeopardize her job.

“Fine,” she bit out ungraciously. “But remember, you are not the prince of me. I’m not doing anything illegal, immoral or disgusting no matter what you threaten.”

His lips twitched. “Duly noted. You have two minutes to make whatever adjustments you wish to your appearance before we face the paparazzi.”

She ducked into the bathroom and quickly cleaned up, then returned to the bedroom.

“Put on your hat and sunglasses,” Da—Dominic ordered. The new name would take some getting used to.

Madeline complied. The last thing she wanted her mother or her coworkers at the hospital to see was her face on CNN or Entertainment Tonight.

“Your hair is easily recognizable. You might wish to conceal it beneath your hat.”

She twisted it into a rope and shoved it beneath the cap.

“Once we exit the yacht keep your head down and do not answer any questions no matter how provocative.”

Once they had their bags packed he took hers from her and turned back to address the police through the open door. “Officers, once again I apologize for the misunderstanding. Should you require it, I will be more than happy to come down to the station and make an official report after I return Mademoiselle Spencer to the hotel.”

“That will not be necessary, Your Highness,” Rousseau said.

The youngest officer offered to carry their bags. Dominic handed them off and strode toward the hatch.

Where had her sexy, laid-back tour guide gone? The man in front of her stood straight, tall and regal as he followed half of the officers from the cabin.

How could he follow and still give the impression of leading? He paused at the top of the ladder and turned to help Madeline ascend. The wall of voices and the whir of cameras slammed her as soon as her head cleared the cabin. She pulled down the bill of her cap. From the dock, dozens of camera-toting reporters shouted questions in a variety of languages. Dominic ignored them.

No, ignore wasn’t quite the correct word. He acted as if he didn’t see or hear them, as if they didn’t exist.

“Head down. Let’s go,” he said into her ear and then he grabbed her elbow and half led, half dragged her over the planks in the wake of three officers who cleared a path. Ian and Makos followed with two other officers behind them. One remained on the boat—to guard it, she presumed. Or to write up a damage report. She winced. No telling how much paying for those repairs was going to set her back.

The crush of sweaty, smelly bodies jostling to get a picture of Dominic nearly overwhelmed her. The only other time she’d seen something even remotely close to this was when Vincent, Candace’s fiancé, had been brought to the E.R. after being badly burned last year at a NASCAR race. The press had crowded into the lobby of the E.R. and security had struggled to keep them out.

A white Mercedes limo waited by the curb. An attendant opened the door as they approached. Dominic urged her to enter first. He quickly followed, choosing the seat directly across from hers. The door closed and silence and blessedly cool air-conditioned air enfolded them. The trunk thumped shut, presumably on their bags.

She looked at the milling crowd outside the tinted windows. The police kept them away from the car. “You live like this?”

“Yes. Now do you understand the need for a disguise?”

She could see how it might appeal, but still—“You should have told me who you were before we slept together.”

He nodded acknowledgment. “Agreed.”

She waited for him to make excuses. He didn’t.

The driver climbed in. Ian joined him in the front seat. Their doors shut with a quiet thunk that shouted expensive car.

“The hotel, Your Highness?” the driver asked through an open black glass panel between the front and back seats.

“Yes.” The glass rose and the car moved forward.

Angry and confused, Madeline shifted uneasily on the leather seat and then ripped off her sunglasses. “What game were you playing? Slumming with the commoner who didn’t have the sense to know who you were? Were you laughing at my ignorance the entire time?”

“I have never considered you ignorant. Nor did I laugh at you. I enjoyed your lack of pretense. Revealing my identity would have changed that.”

“You think I’m going to suck up to you now?”

He studied her appraisingly from behind dark lenses. “In my experience I find it likely.”

“In your dreams, bucko.” And then she recalled the protocol lessons from Candace’s future sister-in-law. Never address royalty by their first names. “Do you expect me to call you ‘Your Highness?’ Because I have kissed your butt—literally. I’ll be damned if I’ll start bowing and scraping—”

His low chuckle winded her. “I would prefer you did not.”

“Okay then. Now what? I can’t imagine our outings will be any fun if we have to contend with that.” She nodded toward the crowd they’d left behind—the one now scurrying along the sidewalk like a fat millipede trying to keep up with them. She couldn’t imagine the dates would be fun period since she’d be participating under duress.

“We will have to be more resourceful.”

“Where’s your entourage? Every bigwig I’ve seen on TV has one.”

“I left them behind. This was supposed to be a quiet, incognito vacation. Ian will arrange for additional security.”

At least with security men around there wouldn’t be any more intimate encounters. “How long before you accept my apology and let me off the hook?”

“Not until I tire of your company.” He leaned forward and splayed his palms across her knees and lower thighs. Heat shot upward from the points of contact. “And, Madeline, I don’t think that will happen anytime soon.”

The sensual promise in his voice and his touch melted her anger frighteningly fast. She abruptly shifted her legs out of reach and struggled to rally her flagging ire. “Just don’t expect me to sleep with you again.”

He sat back and looked down his aristocratic nose at her. “You have issued that challenge once already. Repeating it only makes me more determined to prove you wrong.”

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Emilie Rose's Novels
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