They could examine his vital statistics as they would a prize stallion. And like a stud for hire, he’d have no say over his mate. His obligation to provide heirs to the throne was a burden. Or was it a curse? Madeline Spencer, jet-setter. Who would have believed it?
Madeline stared at the man standing beside her in the noonday sun in the tiny seaside town of Ventimiglia, Italy. She tried not to drool as sexy Italian words rolled off his tongue. Her tour guide extraordinaire and lover magnifique. Dominic.
He switched languages as easily as blinking whereas she’d struggled to pick up the necessary French phrases he’d taught her. He was probably discussing something as mundane as the weather with the merchant, but whatever he said made her want to jump him despite having left his bed just hours earlier.
She hated creeping from his suite every morning at sunup to sneak back to her room, but that was a small price to pay to keep their affair private and her name out of the tabloids. Thus far it had worked. Beyond those first couple of pictures there hadn’t been more.
Curling her fingers against the urge to trace the veins on the thickly muscled arm closest to her, she focused her attention on the gold jewelry for sale. She’d already bought necklaces for her mother and Amelia and earrings for Candace and Stacy from another vendor. Dominic, bless him, had handled the haggling and she’d ended up paying far less than she would have in the States.
An intricately engraved wide cuff bracelet caught her eye. She picked it up, saw the price and quickly put it down.
“You like it?” he asked.
“It’s beautiful, but even if you talked him down to a fraction of what he’s asking it would still be too expensive.”
“I’ll buy it for you.”
She caught his hand as he reached for his wallet and stared at her floppy-hat-wearing reflection in his dark lenses. “It’s bad enough that you won’t let me split expenses for our outings. I’m not letting you spend more.”
His jaw set in the stubborn line she’d come to recognize whenever she tried to insist on paying her way. She hadn’t won a single one of those arguments, and she knew better than to expect to win this one, so she changed the subject. “What were you and the vendor discussing?”
His lips compressed, letting her know he hadn’t missed her attempt at distraction. He said a few more words to the merchant and then placed his palm against Madeline’s spine and guided her away from the table. He glanced over his shoulder—checking to see if Ian and Fernand followed, she suspected. It would be easy to lose them in the market-day crowd—even with her brightly colored hat, which had been chosen specifically to make her easy to track.
“I asked about market conditions. What improvements could be made and which features were absolute requirements. Montagnarde has many craftsmen. A marketplace like this would be a desirable asset to my tourism plans.”
“But first you have to get the rich to visit Montagnarde and hemorrhage money.” Normal people plotted to buy or pay off their homes. Princes, apparently, dreamed on a bigger scale. One night as they’d lain in the dark after making love, Dominic had told her about his development plan and his determination to move forward despite the elder council’s refusal to support him.
“What did your American movie say? ‘If you build it they will come?’ It’s the trickle-down theory. Each tourist generates income for the working class by creating multiple service jobs. Attract the big spenders and everyone will benefit. My investors and I are already constructing luxury hotels on two of the three islands. I would be interested in speaking with Derek Reynard about his family’s chain constructing a third.”
“I can probably arrange a meeting with Mr. Reynard, but Vincent, his son, is the director of new business development. And since I’m one of Vincent’s wedding party, I know I can hook you up with him.”
“I accept your offer and promise to reward you handsomely.” His wicked grin sent a heat wave tumbling through her.
Dominic would make a great king one day. It made no sense for her to be proud of him and his forward-thinking agenda to bring tourists and jobs to his country. What he did once he left Monaco and her behind was none of her business. But there was no denying the pride swelling in her chest.
A gentle sea breeze caressed her skin as they walked hand in hand along the narrow street. She scanned the postcard view of red-roofed homes clinging to the hillside like pastel-colored building blocks. Ventimiglia was a combination of ancient history and New World charm, and she would have missed it without Dominic.
She’d never been happier than she had in the week since the ball. She’d spent the greater part of each day with Dominic. He’d taught her to windsurf and shown her bits of France: the carnival atmosphere of the summer jazz festival in Juan Les Pins; Grasse, the perfume capital of the world; and the blooming lavender fields and craft galleries in Moustiers Ste. Marie. Today when she’d only had a few hours to spare between bridesmaid’s duties he’d surprised her with this jaunt to the Friday open-air market only twenty minutes from Monaco.
He thought nothing of day trips via helicopter or private jet, claiming the impromptu excursions to out-of-the-way places kept the paparazzi off their tails. She didn’t want to tell him that she no longer needed to escape the wedding hoopla. Funny how the preparations didn’t hurt anymore.
The only bacteria growing in the petri dish of Madeline’s life was not knowing when Dominic would have to return to Montagnarde and when her time with him would end. He’d promised to show her Venice and Paris in the coming week—if he was still here. And that “if” kept her on a knife edge. Apparently, there was something pending in his country which required a nightly call from home—a call that left him increasingly tight-lipped and broodingly silent.
Madeline had learned a few techniques guaranteed to erase the frown from his face like the one currently deepening the worry lines on his forehead. She smiled and considered dragging him into an alley to distract him with one of those methods now, but a quick glance behind her revealed their bodyguards shadowing them.
Dominic lowered his sunglasses. His gaze found hers and the passion gleaming in his bedroom blue eyes made her steps falter. His fingers tightened around hers. “Do we need to take a siesta?”
Her heart skipped a beat. He read her so easily.
I could get used to this. No, you can’t. This is temporary and don’t you forget it. But there’d been a few times this week when a hint of yearning for more time with Dominic had slipped through her defenses. On each occasion she reminded herself that she no longer wanted forever with anyone. No more laying her heart on the line for some guy to trample. She’d abandoned dreams of children and a home in the suburbs the day Mike walked out.
Besides, Dominic was a prince, and even if she wanted more with him she couldn’t have it.
“No can do. I have to get back for that thing with Candace’s future in-laws.”
His fingers stroked the inside of her wrist and her pulse quickened. “Too bad.”
She didn’t want to go to the dinner or the engagement party that followed and couldn’t care less that the festivities would take place on the largest privately owned yacht in the world, which just happened to be docked in Monaco’s harbor. Her reluctance had nothing to do with avoiding the reminders of her own aborted wedding and everything to do with not wanting to waste one moment of her remaining time with Dominic. “I could probably finagle an invitation for you.”
He shook his head, adjusted the bill of his baseball cap and steered her away from a group of tourists studying him a little too intently. “The bride and groom should be the center of attention. You’ve seen what happens when I make an appearance.”
She had and the surplus of kiss-up attitude nauseated her. But still, she didn’t want to go without him.
Alarm skittered through her. Was she getting in too deep?
No. Dominic made her head spin in bed and out, but her growing attachment to him over the past three weeks could be blamed on the surreal circumstances of living the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Here she was a fish out of water. She clung to him because he made her feel as if she fit in and he smoothed her language difficulties. Once she was back in Charlotte and on familiar ground she wouldn’t need him as a crutch or interpreter.
But she’d miss him.
Her heart beat faster and a peculiar emptiness spread through her like chilling fog. She was greedy for his company and she resented the interruptions. That’s all it was.
She nibbled her lip as they approached the lot where they’d left the car. Maybe she should start weaning herself from him.
He leaned closer to murmur in her ear. “Come to my room after the party. Call my cell. No matter how late. I’ll let you in.”
Her mouth dried. “I was supposed to spend the night on the boat. Promise to make leaving worth my while?”
The glasses came off and his hungry gaze locked on hers. “I will make you beg for mercy.”
And he could do it. Her breaths shortened and her skin dampened. The area between her legs tingled. “Deal.”
Best-case scenario she had one more week with Dominic and wise or not, she intended to enjoy every second of it. Next Friday Candace and Vincent would have their civil ceremony followed by the church service on Saturday. Her friend would marry Vincent in the same church where Prince Rainier had shocked the world by marrying his commoner bride, Grace Kelly.
So royalty marrying a nobody could happen. It just wasn’t going to happen to Madeline. And she was okay with that. Really.
She glanced at the man beside her and hoped she wasn’t fooling herself, because on Sunday—only eight short days away—Madeline, Amelia and Stacy would fly back to the States. Madeline’s days of living like a princess would be over, and soon all she’d have left were her memories of Once upon a time in Monaco.
Chapter 9
“I thought you were known for speed,” Madeline complained to Toby as she tried in vain to hurry him away from the yacht.He’d graciously offered to walk her back to the hotel. No doubt when he’d made the suggestion he’d believed Amelia would be leaving with her. There was definitely something going on with those two, but her friend wasn’t talking.
“I knew there was a reason we never slept together. You insult a guy’s car before he even pulls it out of the garage,” he replied in a teasing tone. He gripped her elbow and slowed her to his own leisurely pace. “Sweetheart, I always take it slow when it counts.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Save the car jockey chatter for someone dumb enough to fall for it. You’re lagging behind now, Haynes. Get the lead out.”
He ignored her. She could have covered the next twenty yards of the jetty faster on her hands and knees. He must have sensed her impatience. “You have a hot date at midnight?”
Thinking of the night ahead, of hot embraces and even hotter kisses, Madeline’s body heated. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Do your friends?”
The edge in his voice stopped her. “Should they? Because I swear, Toby, if you hurt Amelia—”