A white line formed around her flattened lips and her face turned red. “My relationship with Mike is none of your business.”
“I have heard most women choose men like their fathers.”
The color drained from her cheeks and she actually staggered back a step. “What does that have to do with us? Because you sure as heck aren’t looking for anything long-term with me.”
He’d be damned if he knew why understanding Madeline Spencer was so important when she would be gone from his life in a matter of days. “No. As I have said before, I regret that here and now is all I can offer you.”
And for some reason that left him feeling more dissatisfied and trapped by his life than he had in a very long time.
Chapter 6
Madeline stumbled midjog Tuesday morning when she saw her face on the cover of a tabloid paper.She jerked to a halt on the cushioned running track along Boulevard du Larvotto and stared in dismay at the newsstand rack. Not one, but two papers carried photos of her and Dominic on their covers. She moved closer to examine the pictures of the two of them leaving the boat. With her hair tucked beneath her hat, her sunglasses covering part of her face and her profile angled away from the cameras, only her mother and closest friends would recognize her beside Dominic, who looked tall and commanding and royal.
Boy, had she misread him.
The captions were in French…or maybe Italian. She had no idea what they said. She reached into her shorts pocket for the euros she’d brought along to buy a bottle of water at the end of her run and picked up a copy of each paper. Her hands shook as she paid the man at the newsstand and accepted her change.
Hopefully Candace or Stacy would be able to translate. But were they awake yet? Despite their late nights here in Monaco, Madeline couldn’t seem to break her wake-at-dawn habit.
With her plan to burn off the surplus of calories she’d consumed recently with a long morning run derailed, she rolled the papers into a baton and jogged back to the hotel. She let herself into the suite. Silence greeted her. None of her suitemates were awake. But she couldn’t wait. She had to know what the articles said now.
So much for avoiding His Royal Hemorrhoid today by ducking out of the hotel early.
Returning to the hall she marched the length of the plushly carpeted corridor to Dominic’s door and mashed the doorbell long and hard. He’d gotten her into this mess. It would serve him right if she woke him.
The door opened. “Good morning, Ian. Where is he?”
She tried to enter, but Ian’s bulk blocked her way. “Prince Dominic is unavailable.”
“Make him available.”
The burly chest swelled. “Mademoiselle—”
“Let her in,” Dominic’s deep voice called from inside.
Five heartbeats later Ian stepped aside. Could he be a little more obvious that he didn’t want her here? Madeline plowed past him only to jerk to a halt at the sight of a black-robe-clad Dominic sitting at the table with coffee and a newspaper. The silky fabric gaped as he rose, revealing a wedge of tanned chest dusted in golden curls. Below the loosely tied belt his legs and feet were bare.
Was he nak*d under there? Get over it. You’ve already seen him nak*d and you see nak*d men at work every day. With no small effort she pried her gaze upward. Burnished stubble covered the lower half of his face. His hair was mussed and his pale eyes curious. Her mouth dried and her pulse quickened. Clearly her body had not received the message from her brain that she was totally and completely over him and that there would be no more nookie.
“Good morning, Madeline. You are eager for my company today. That bodes well for our time together.”
The devil it did. Her hands fisted. Paper crinkled, reminding her why she’d come. The tabloids. She crossed the room, thrust them at him and then after he took them, she retreated to the opposite end of the table.
His gaze traveled from her hastily braided hair to her chest in a snug tank top and breast-flattening jog bra and then down her bare legs to her running shoes. She’d dressed the way she always did for a workout, but suddenly she became uncomfortable with her skimpy attire and lack of makeup. Maybe she should have changed before coming here.
No. You are not trying to attract him anymore. Tugging at the hem of her very short shorts, she cleared her throat. “What do they say?”
He unrolled the papers, scanned one and then the other, his lips compressing more with each passing second, and then his gaze returned to hers. “Our affair has become public knowledge. The good news is they haven’t printed your name which means they don’t know it yet. There is only speculation as to whom I’m seeing.”
“But what do they say exactly?”
His frown deepened. He gestured to first one tabloid and then the other. “The Prince’s Paramour and The Prince’s Playmate. Shall I translate the articles for you?”
“No.” Her stomach churned. Why had she insisted on knowing what the tabloids said? Because she’d never bought into the ignorance is bliss theory—especially since Mike. But suddenly she wished she did. Gulping down rising panic she asked, “Why would anyone care about me? I’m a nobody.”
“When you became a prince’s lover you became a person of interest.”
She felt as if she’d swallowed a gallon of seawater. A little queasy. A lot uncomfortable. “I did not sign on for that.”
“Would you like coffee?” He gestured to the tray on the table. A second cup already had coffee in it. A third remained empty. She glanced at the frowning, dark-suited Ian. Was he more than an employee? And what about the missing Makos? Was the third cup for him?
Who cares? This is all about you, remember? Your mistake. Your humiliation. Your fraying credibility. She turned back to Dominic. “I don’t want coffee. I want to be left alone. By the paparazzi. And by you. I have things to do and places to see and a reputation to protect.”
“Too late, I’m afraid. I will arrange for someone to guard you, but until he is in place you might wish to avoid crowded tourist attractions or risk being cornered by the paparazzi.”
Guard her? Oh, please. “Hello. I am a tourist. I want to see the sights. I still haven’t found a gift for my mother, so I will see them. And I don’t want anyone shadowing me.” She tugged at her braid. “What can we do?”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Ride it out.”
How could he be so laid-back? “I don’t want to be branded as your mistress in the papers.”
“I would have preferred to avoid it, as well, but what’s done is done.”
“Fix it, Dominic. Make them print a retraction or something.”
“Demanding a retraction would only draw more interest. I am sorry, Madeline. We will do what we can to conceal your identity from the press so you will not be bothered once you return home, but I can offer no guarantees.”
She groaned and a heavy weight settled on her chest. This could not follow her back to Charlotte. The whispers, abruptly stalled conversations and questions about her judgment had barely stopped from the Mike debacle.
“Your Highness, we could return to Montagnarde,” Ian suggested.
Madeline’s muscles tensed. Why? She wanted to be rid of Dominic. Didn’t she?
She turned on Ian. “You called him Damon on the boat. Why get prissy now?”
When Ian remained silent Dominic explained, “That was before you knew my identity. Ian is a stickler for protocol in public.”
“One, I have slept with you, so I’m not ‘the public.’” She marked the words with quotation marks in the air. “Two, if he hadn’t called the cops then we would not be having this conversation.”
Dominic flung the papers on the table and closed the gap between them in three long strides, stopping so close she could smell his unique scent, feel the heat radiating from his body and see each individual blade of morning beard on his jaw and upper lip.
“Three,” he continued, “if I had not misled you then four, you would not have threatened me, and Ian would not have called the police. We come full circle. Protecting me is his job. We all share the blame, but the lion’s share is mine because I am the one who began the masquerade.”
Good point. And as much as she hated to admit it, Dominic’s willingness to accept part of the blame surprised and impressed her. She was used to guys who shucked responsibility for their mistakes whenever possible. For example, the way Mike had blamed her for his cheating.
She pressed her fingertips to her temple. This was not turning out to be a good day. “What are our options?”
He caught her hand and carried her fingers to his lips. A shock wave of awareness swept over her before she snatched her hand away. “We could remain sequestered in my suite for the remainder of your stay in Monaco.”
Temptation swamped her. It took a second to force her lungs to fill and oxygenate her brain enough for reason to return. “Not going to happen. I didn’t come to Monaco to hide out in a hotel. And since I may never get back to Europe I plan to see some of it—which is why I wanted a tour guide.”
“Then we will keep as low a profile as possible and continue as we had originally planned once additional staff is in place.”
“Is that doable?”
“It is the way I live my life. Being watched or followed is unavoidable. In the future you might wish to consider that before venturing out alone, and I would suggest you not sunbathe topless unless you want the paparazzi to enjoy your beautiful br**sts as much as I do.”
His compliment was lost in a tidal wave of heart-sinking, skin-prickling panic. She hugged her arms across her chest. Had anyone been watching her this morning? What about yesterday when she’d sneaked out of the hotel at the crack of dawn and hidden out in a cybercafe until she could tour the Monaco Porcelain Factory? Had someone been watching last night when she’d returned to the hotel and been immediately whisked up to Dominic’s suite by Makos? The thought gave her the creeps.
“Join me for breakfast, Madeline.”
The way he voiced the invitation, low and husky and intimate, caused her pulse to spike despite her concerns.
Good grief. Haven’t you learned anything? “I have to get back for Candace’s morning meeting and to get the details of some ball thing from Stacy.”
The doorbell chimed. His long fingers curled around her upper arm, infusing heat into her chilled muscles. “Come into my bedroom.”
She tried and failed to yank free. “Have I been too subtle? I’m. Not. Interested.”
“Breakfast has arrived. Would you prefer the server report that you were in my suite when I was not dressed?”
Ugh. “That kind of thing happens?”
“Yes. Hôtel Reynard is one of the best chains in the world for screening employees, but it is wise to be cautious.”
“You mean paranoid.” She shook off his hand and reluctantly accompanied him to the adjoining room. A king-size bed covered in tangled tan sheets dominated the space. The burgundy-and-gold paisley spread lay crumpled at the foot. They’d left the bed on the boat in a similar condition. Her body flushed hot and her clothing clung to her dampening skin.