“We will have lunch in my suite,” Dominic announced as they exited the elevator on the hotel’s penthouse floor.
“I don’t think so.” Eager to escape, Madeline turned in the opposite direction and marched toward her suite.
He followed, along with his bodyguards. “I insist.”
She stopped outside her door and glared at him. “Insist all you want. But the answer’s still no. You don’t own every minute of my time. That wasn’t part of our deal. I want a shower and a few hours away from you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still ticked off.”
She swiped her electronic key card. The latch whirred and the green light winked. She extended her hand. “Give me my bag.”
“Give me your passport.”
“Are you nuts?” Isn’t that becoming a familiar refrain?
“I will not allow you to flee Monaco and escape fulfilling your end of our bargain.”
The idea appealed. Immensely. “I can’t leave. I have a friend’s wedding to help plan and to be in. I would never screw someone who trusted me.”
From the tightening of his lips she guessed he hadn’t missed her implication that he had. “Regardless, I will take your passport as insurance.”
The door opened and Amelia stood in the threshold, her hazel eyes cautious as she took in the foursome in the hall. “Is everything okay?”
“No, everything is not okay,” Madeline informed her.
Dominic bowed slightly, turning on the charm and flashing a high wattage smile. The action made Amelia’s cheeks flush and Madeline seethe. “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
“Um, hi.” Amelia’s gaze flicked back and forth between the men and Madeline.
Madeline grimaced. She’d have to make introductions even though she’d prefer to keep starry-eyed Amelia away from His Royal Pain in the Butt. Amelia was waiting for a prince to sweep her off her feet. But not this prince.
“Amelia Lambert, my friend, suitemate and coworker. This is Da—Dominic—How in the hell am I supposed to introduce you?”
Dominic’s eyes twinkled as if she’d asked a loaded question, and Madeline’s pulse tripped.
Stop that. You are immune to him now. He offered his hand to Amelia. “Dominic Rossi.”
Madeline waited, but he didn’t offer his title. “He’s a freaking prince. And my former tour guide.”
Amelia snatched her hand from Dominic’s. “Excuse me?”
“The lying snake in the grass omitted telling me he’s royalty. The big guys are his bodyguards, Ian and Makos.” She jerked a thumb toward the lurking men.
Amelia blinked uncertainly. “Um, nice to meet you?”
“I’ll explain later. Just let me in.”
Amelia stepped back, opening the door wider. Madeline jerked her bag from Dominic’s hand and squeezed past her friend. Dominic, damn him, followed. Ian and Makos remained in the hall like big totem poles flanking the door.
“Your passport, Madeline,” Dominic reminded her. “Or I can call the Sûreté Publique.”
“Go to he—”
“Why does he need to call the police?” Amelia interrupted. “Did something happen?”
Madeline fought the urge to squirm and glared at Dominic. “We had a misunderstanding, which, of course, was entirely his fault.”
“It is hardly my fault you chose not to believe the truth,” he replied in an infuriatingly calm voice.
“Since you’d been so honest up until that point?” she drawled sarcastically.
He had the decency to flush.
“The prince of what?” Amelia, bless her peacemaking heart, interrupted again.
“Montagnarde,” Dominic replied, directing another one of his ligament-loosening smiles her friend’s way.
“Really?” she whispered in an awestruck voice.
Surprised, Madeline stared. “You’ve heard of the place?”
“Absolutely. It’s southwest of Hawaii. All the burn unit nurses want to go there—if we ever win the lottery, that is. The queen’s books about an adventurous dragon are immensely popular with the children on the floor.”
Madeline’s gaze bounced from Dominic to Amelia and back. Was she the only one without a clue about him or his homeland? “You said your sister was the author.”
“Brigitte is writing a history of the islands, but my mother writes children’s books. They’re the stories she told my sisters and me when we were young.”
She did not want to picture him as a boy curled up in his mother’s lap for a bedtime story. He’d probably been disgustingly cute then, too.
Amelia frowned and narrowed her eyes on Dominic. “Forgive my impertinence, Your uh, Highness? But I thought you were a blond and you…” She pointed at her jawline.
“Dominic, please.” He pulled out his wallet, extracted a business card and offered it to Amelia. “I was incognito until Madeline broke my cover. E-mail the hospital address to me and I will have Mama send a box of autographed books to your hospital. If you would like, you may include the first names of the children currently residing on the floor so she can personalize them.”
Wide-eyed, Amelia clutched the card to her chest. “I’ll do that as soon as I get back to Charlotte. Thank you.”
Madeline clenched her teeth. She did not want him doing nice stuff. She’d rather remember him as the sneaky, lying bastard forcing his company on her.
And he hadn’t given her a card. Not that she wanted one. Nope. She’d be happy if she never laid eyes on him, his card or his henchmen ever again.
His blue gaze caught Madeline’s. “Perhaps Mademoiselle Lambert would like to join us for lunch in my suite.”
The moment she saw the pleasure bloom in Amelia’s face, Madeline knew she should have killed Da—Dominic while she had the chance. The conniving opportunist had set the trap so smoothly she hadn’t seen it and she’d stepped right into it. If she refused to eat with him now Amelia would be crushed.
Madeline flipped him a rude hand gesture behind her friend’s back.
His smile turned wicked. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Grrr. “May I see you in my room for a moment?”
“My pleasure.”
“You wish.” She turned her back on Amelia’s dreamy sigh, stomped into her bedroom, tapped her toe impatiently until he crossed the threshold and then shut the door behind him with a restrained click. Slamming it would have been much more satisfying. She settled for heaving her overnight bag onto the bed and then planting her fists on her hips.
“Leave Amelia out of this.”
“Your friend is charming.”
“And off-limits to you.” If the lift of his eyebrow was any indication, her tone had sounded a tad too possessive. Or protective. Or bitchy. Probably all three. “Should I expect more underhanded maneuvering from you?”
“Only if you make it necessary. I am usually quite straightforward in my desires. And at the moment I desire your company…and you, Madeline.”
Her pulse tripped over the raspy edge of his voice and her body heated at the memory of exactly what fulfilling his desires had entailed. He hadn’t neglected one single inch of her body last night while taking care of his needs.
“Can’t say the same about yours and you,” she lied with only a pinch of discomfort.
His smile turned predatory. “Another challenge?”
She almost snarled, but settled for a glare.
He extended his hand. “Your passport, please.”
“What if I want to cross the border on a sightseeing trip?”
“You will be with me, and I will have your passport. Tomorrow morning we’ll go to the Rainier III Shooting Range. I wish to see how good you are with a weapon.”
She ungraciously dug her passport out of the dresser drawer, slapped it into his hand and then studied her nails. “I might be busy.”
“You’re afraid I’m a better marksman?” He slipped the booklet into his pants pocket.
“Don’t try reverse psychology on me. It won’t work.”
He moved closer. The dresser behind her prevented her escape. He lifted his hand and dragged a fingertip along the skin fluttering wildly over her carotid artery. “Would you prefer I stroke your erogenous zones instead? As I recall, that made you quite amenable last night.”
She cursed her weakening knees and the revealing goose bumps marching across her skin. Last night his caresses had turned her mind and body to mush. She would have agreed to practically anything he asked.
But that was then. Now she knew he was the kind of guy who’d lie his way into a woman’s bed. She clenched her teeth, jerked her head out of reach and folded her arms across her tattletale br**sts. She ought to plant a knee in his crotch.
He must have read her mind because he lowered his hand and stepped back. “I will expect you and Mademoiselle Lambert in my suite in an hour. And Madeline, do not disappoint me.”
A stranger opened the door. A gorgeous, blond-haired, blue-eyed, freshly shaven stranger expensively attired in a dove-gray suit and a stark white open-collared shirt.
Dominic. Madeline’s mouth dried and her heart stuttered. She’d recognize that incredible bone structure anywhere. He’d been handsome as a brunette, but now…Wow. He’d brushed his hair back from his forehead, setting off his pale blue eyes and tanned skin.
But his phenomenal looks didn’t matter. She had a zero tolerance policy for liars. “You have a hairdresser at your beck and call?”
Her waspish question didn’t faze him. “Hôtel Reynard is quite accommodating. Come in, Mesdemoiselles.”
The layout and opulence of his suite resembled the one she shared with Amelia, Candace and Stacy, but whereas theirs was light and airy, his was decorated in jewel-tone fabrics and darker woods. The dining room table had been set with enough silver, crystal and china to buckle the legs of a less substantial piece of furniture. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mediterranean, making the wine and water goblets sparkle like diamonds scattered across the ivory linen tablecloth.
Rich. Formal. Elegant. Dominic’s world. She was only a visitor—and a reluctant one at that. Better not forget it.
She felt the weight of Dominic’s gaze on her as she studied the setup. He believed his having loads of money would impress her. But he was wrong. She worked with dozens of consulting doctors and surgeons through the E.R. Some were incredibly wealthy, certainly not in Dominic’s heir-to-the-kingdom league, but a money surplus didn’t keep them from being jackasses. A seven-or eight-figure net worth meant nothing if no one liked, respected or trusted you.
Self-satisfaction was more important than mucho bucks any day. She wanted to work where she could help the largest number of people and maybe even catch a few lost souls before they slipped through the bureaucratic health-care cracks. A county hospital provided the best venue. And when her head hit the pillow each night she could rest easy knowing she’d made a difference that day. The way her father had as a cop. The way her mother had as an inner-city schoolteacher.