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A Royal Temptation
Charlene Sands


Secrets, lies and forbidden love… USA TODAY bestselling author Charlene Sands brings you the most shocking royal romance yet!Juan Carlos Salazar II never thought he’d become King of Alma. But when an explosive family secret leaves him next in line for the throne, he’s ready.Until he catches a glimpse of Princess Portia Lindstrom at the coronation. Because it’s love at first sight with this mysterious woman. But Portia's secrets test the power of his devotion and Juan Carlos is tempted to throw duty out the window. Sorely tempted.Soon he must choose between commitment to country and family…or his own heart.







“You leave me no choice, Princess.”

Then he tipped her chin up and leaned forward. Anticipation pulsed through her veins. Every single second was an unnerving kind of torture. And finally, his mouth was on hers, his hand coming to wrap more firmly around her jaw, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he would devour her.

Long live the king!

She touched his face, and a groan erupted from his throat.

A whimpering, mewling sound came from hers. Mortification would have set in, if the king wasn’t equally as needy.

After who knew how long, Juan Carlos placed his hands on both her shoulders and, she sensed, with great reluctance eased her away.

He leaned back against the seat, breathing hard. “I’ve never made love to a woman in a limo before, Princess. But it wouldn’t take much to change that.”

* * *

A Royal Temptation is part of the series Dynasties: The Montoros—One royal family must choose between love and destiny!


A Royal Temptation

Charlene Sands






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CHARLENE SANDS is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than thirty-five romance novels, writing sensual contemporary romances and stories of the Old West. Her books have been honored with a National Readers’ Choice Award, a CataRomance Reviewers’ Choice Award, and she’s a double recipient of the Booksellers’ Best Award. She belongs to the Orange County chapter and the Los Angeles chapter of RWA.

Charlene writes “hunky heroes with heart.” She knows a little something about true romance—she married her high school sweetheart! When not writing, Charlene enjoys sunny Pacific beaches, great coffee, reading books from her favorite authors and spending time with her family. You can find her on Facebook and Twitter. Charlene loves to hear from her readers! You can write her at PO Box 4883, West Hills, CA 91308, USA, or sign up for her newsletter for fun blogs and ongoing contests at www.charlenesands.com (http://www.charlenesands.com).


To Allyson Pearlman, Robin Rose, Mary Hernandez and Pam Frendian. You’re my crew, my Best Friends Forever. Your friendship puts lightness in my heart and a smile on my face every day. I am surrounded by the best and I love you dearly.


Contents

Cover (#u7dfe4b3b-4080-54db-9e82-0f4897f36a31)

Excerpt (#u7697e2d3-cc6b-5bb8-b016-c7fff4047f9d)

Title Page (#ufa822893-ccf5-5b04-ac33-50dd9902f9bb)

About the Author (#ud172d16c-66ca-5992-89e0-f9c7ab719173)

Dedication (#u73a241d6-a93c-5449-b6c2-110a90d3c0e7)

One (#ue8c64d8e-e709-52b7-9266-42339195442d)

Two (#uc0c48483-defd-52a8-8575-e60da5491615)

Three (#u71e1dc70-8b66-5ab7-ab08-25b8f5cb1170)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ulink_2439b97f-7430-5a97-85c6-cf8533b1f7a4)

Juan Carlos Salazar II stood at the altar in Saint Lucia’s Cathedral, holding his head high as he accepted the responsibility and honor of being crowned King Montoro of Alma. In a dreamlike state he went through the motions that would bring the monarchy back to what it had once been decades ago. He’d been orphaned at a young age and taken in by his uncle. Since then, he’d lived a life filled with determination and dignity. He’d always known great things would come to him if he worked hard and kept his focus. But king? Never in his life would he have guessed his own true destiny.

With the golden orb and blessed scepter in his hands, he saw the austere ceremony in the cathedral was coming to a close. Prime Minister Rivera had given a speech full of renewed hope for the country, the small set of islands off the coast of Spain that had been ravaged by the now overthrown dictatorship of the Tantaberras. Seventy years of oppression overturned by loyal citizens, who looked to Juan Carlos for the reinstatement of a monarchy that would capture their hearts and minds.

Archbishop Santiago placed the royal robe over Juan Carlos’s shoulders. As he took his seat on the throne, the archbishop set the jeweled crown of Alma upon his head. All of the tradition, ritual and protocol of the coronation had been observed, and he was now King Montoro of Alma, the true heir to the throne. He spoke an oath and vowed to be much more than a figurehead as he promised to restore order and hope to the country.

It was a monumental time in Alma’s history and he was happy to have the support of his cousins, Gabriel, Rafe and Bella. They were smiling and nodding their approval from their seats, Bella with tears in her eyes. They’d all lived and thrived in the United States before this, and forgive him, but heaven knew Rafe and Gabriel, who were once thought to be first in line to the throne but had been disqualified for separate and unique reasons, were not cut out for the rigors and sacrifice of royal life. They were only too glad to see Juan Carlos accept the position of sovereign.

A woman seated several rows behind his cousins caught his attention. Deep cerulean-blue eyes, clear and large, stood out against her porcelain face and white-blond hair. She reminded him of a snow queen from a fairy tale in his youth. And as he was ushered down the aisle after the coronation their gazes locked for an instant and her one eyelid closed in a wink. Was it for him? His lips immediately quirked up at the notion and he forced the smile from his expression. Still, his heart did a little tumble as it had been doing all day, but this time it was the woman, and not the ceremony, that had caused the commotion.

The next hour passed, again in dreamlike wonder, as he was escorted out of the cathedral by Alma’s finest royal guards, to be met with unrestrained jubilation all along the parade route. He sat atop a convertible car and waved with gloved hands, as they made their way toward the palace. And there, on the top steps of Alma’s regal old-world palace, Juan Carlos began his first speech as king.

“Citizens of Alma, as your new king, I promise to honor the sovereignty of our nation, to always put the country first and to work alongside our parliament to restore our democracy. It is a vow I take with an open but steady heart and a determination to see that our freedoms are never threatened again.”

Cheers went up. “Viva Juan Carlos!”

Juan Carlos waited until the crowd calmed to finish a speech that was interrupted three more times by applause.

He left the palace steps energized, instilled with the very same hope he saw in the eyes of his fellow countrymen. He was a foreigner, by all rights, an American, and yet, they’d accepted him and looked to him to help establish a newer, brighter Alma.

He would not let them down.

As austere as his day was, he took a moment to reflect on the coronation and picture the beautiful woman in the light blue chiffon gown, her eyes as vibrant as deep ocean waters. He’d searched for her during the procession, the parade and the speech that followed, only to be disappointed.

She’d been a diversion from the gravity of the day.

Winking at him had brought a smile to his lips.

Who was she?

And would she have his children?

* * *

“Do I need to call you Your Highness?” his cousin Rafe asked as he pumped Juan Carlos’s hand. They stood off to the side in the palace’s grand ballroom. The coronation gala was well underway and the orchestra played lively tunes. An array of fresh flowers decorated the arched entryways, aisles and tables.

“You mean, as opposed to Squirt, Idiot and Bonehead like when we were kids?”

“Hey, I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were a year older and that gave you bullying rights.”

“Okay, guilty as charged. But now you can have me hung by the neck until dead.”

“I could’ve done that to you back then, too.”

“Ha, funny.”

“Call me Juan Carlos or cuz, just like you do now. Your Highness comes into play only on formal occasions or royal business.”

All amusement on his cousin’s face disappeared. “Seriously, Juan Carlos, congratulations. The family is proud of you. You’re the only one of the lot who was cut out for this. You are honoring our aunt Isabella’s final wishes by restoring the monarchy.”

Juan Carlos came to the throne quite by accident, after Bella discovered a secret cache of letters that revealed Rafe, Gabriel and Bella’s late grandfather, Raphael Montoro II, was illegitimate and not the true heir to the throne. As such, neither of Juan Carlos’s cousins would have been the rightful king. The former queen’s indiscretion had been kept hidden all these years until her great-grandchildren had uncovered it.

“Thank you, cousin. I’ve thought about my grandmother these past few weeks and I think she would approve. It means a great deal to me.” He sighed. “I hope to make a diff—” He caught a glimpse of a woman in blue and craned his neck to get a better look.

It was her. She was attending the gala. Only dignitaries, friends and family members along with the royal photographers and journalists had been invited to the party, two hundred strong.

“Hey,” Rafe asked. “What are you stretching your neck to see?”

“She’s here,” he muttered, without shifting his gaze. She was standing near an archway leading to the foyer, looking to make an escape.

“Juan Carlos?”

“Oh, uh, I saw a woman at the coronation and I haven’t stopped thinking about her.”

“This I’ve got to see. Any woman who can take your mind off a day as big as this has got to be something special. Where is she?”

“I’m not going to point. Just look for the most beautiful woman in the room and you’ll find her.”

“Emily is right there, talking to Bella.”

“Spoken like a besotted newlywed. Okay, yes, Emily is gorgeous, now find a woman in blue who is not your wife.”

“If you’d agreed to a formal receiving line, you’d have met her already.”

He hadn’t wanted a stiff, awkward line of people congratulating him. He’d make his way over to his guests and speak with them during the course of the evening. He’d vowed to be a king of the people and for the people and that started right now. “Do you see her?”

“Ah, I do see her now. Very blonde, nice body, great eyes.”

“That’s her. Do you know who she is?”

“No, but apparently she knows Alex and Maria Ramon. They just walked up to her and they appear friendly.”

“Well, then, I think it’s time I spoke with Alma’s deputy prime minister of commerce and his wife, don’t you?”

Juan Carlos moved swiftly across the ballroom and as he approached, Alex spotted him and smiled. “Your Highness.” Juan Carlos nodded. It would take some time getting used to that greeting.

Maria, not one to stand on ceremony, hugged his neck. She and Alex had just married and postponed their honeymoon to attend the coronation. “I’m happy to see this day, Your Highness. You are just what Alma needs.”

“Thank you, Maria.”

As he made eye contact with the blonde woman, it felt as if something quick and sharp had pierced his body. Her eyes were large, shaped like perfect twin almonds, the sparkle in them as bright as any star. Mesmerized, he couldn’t look away.

“And please, let me introduce you to Portia Lindstrom, Princess of Samforstand.”

Princess?

She could have his children.

Juan Carlos offered her his hand and at the touch of her delicate palm, he once again felt that quick, sharp sensation. “Nice to meet you, Princess. I’m glad you could make the coronation. It’s a good day for Alma, I hope.”

“I’m sure it will be, Your Majesty. And please, call me Portia.”

“I will,” he said. “If you call me Juan Carlos.”

A pink cast tinged her porcelain skin. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, you’re the king.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret. Up until a few months ago, I was living in Miami and running a rather large business conglomerate. I’m afraid I still have American ties and king is not in their vocabulary, unless we’re talking about Elvis.”

She smiled. “I live in America, too. I’m on the west coast right now. My family was from a tiny country near Scandinavia.”

“Well, then, we have a lot in common. As you can see, Alma is not a large country, either.”

Maria and Alex exchanged looks and excused themselves. He’d forgotten they were there. It was rude of him. But now, he was alone with Portia.

“You are a curiosity. You won’t call me Juan Carlos, but yet you wink at me just as I am crowned king.”

* * *

Portia froze. Surely the king didn’t believe she’d actually winked at him. It was that darn nervous twitch of hers. It would have to happen at the exact moment she’d first made eye contact with him. She should be immune to royalty—she’d met enough princes and princesses in her twenty-eight years—but Juan Carlos Salazar seemed different, strikingly handsome and down to earth. Before she could explain about the wink, the orchestra began playing a lovely Latin waltz.

He bowed in old world fashion. “Princess Portia, I’d be honored if you danced with me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t waltz.”

“Neither do I,” he replied. “We can wing it and set a new trend.”

She chuckled. He didn’t act like the stuffed-shirt royals she’d met in the past, and when he took her hand and led her to the unoccupied dance floor, she didn’t protest. He was a better dancer than he let on, and she glided across the floor with him, fully aware every set of eyes in the room were on them.

“We’re the only ones out here,” she whispered.

He grinned, flashing white teeth against golden-brown skin. He was tall and dashing and at the moment, charming her silly by staring into her eyes as if she was the only person who existed in the world. It was quite flattering.

“Don’t worry. Other guests will join in after the king’s first dance. It’s tradition.”

“Then I should be honored you picked me.”

“After that wink, how could I not pick you?” He held her possessively and spoke with authority, as if he’d been king all of his life.

“It was a twitch. I had something in my eye.”

“I choose to believe it was a wink.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He smiled again and moved her across the dance floor as if she were light as air.

When the dance ended, he didn’t release her hand. “Will you take a walk with me?”

“You want to leave your own gala?”

He shrugged and didn’t appear worried. “It’s been a long, monumental day. I could use a little break.”

Portia couldn’t very well say no. And getting some fresh air did sound good. Because of her title, she’d been invited to the gala, and to refuse such a high honor would’ve been unheard of. Her mother and father’s greatest wish, as her grandmother told it, was for her to remain true to her royal bloodlines, even while having a career and life of her own. So she juggled her time accordingly, to honor her deceased parents’ wishes. She hadn’t had enough time with them, but she’d hoped to make them proud. “Well, then, yes. I’ll walk with you.”

They strode off the dance floor in silence. His hand pressed to her back, he guided her toward a small back door and they ducked out to a deserted foyer. “There are private gardens just outside where we can sit.”

He opened a door she was sure only royals were privy to, and a gust of cool autumn air hit her. Without a second’s hesitation, Juan Carlos removed his tuxedo jacket and placed it around her shoulders. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” She tugged the lapels closed and kept her hands there, away from the king’s tempting grasp. His dark eyes were on her every move, and when he touched her, her pulse raced in a way it hadn’t in a very long time.

He led her to grounds surrounded by lattices covered with vines. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Okay.”

She sat on a delicately woven rattan love seat and he lowered down beside her, his six-foot presence looming large next to her. Aware of the solid breadth of his shoulders and the scent of his skin, she found the new king of Alma a little too appealing. “It’s nice here. Quiet,” she said. “You must be exhausted.”

“Yes, but invigorated, too. If that makes any sense to you.”

“It does. When I’m researching a piece of art for a client, I might work sixteen-hour days, but I always get excited when I locate it.” His brows came together as if he were puzzled. “I’m an art advisor,” she explained. “I help collectors build their collections.”

“Impressive. And do you work in your country?”

“I’m based out of Los Angeles and New York. I don’t spend any time in Samforstand.”

“That’s how it was for me. I worked out of Miami and New York, but now, Alma will be my permanent home. My duty is here and I will adjust. The country is beautiful, so it won’t be a hardship.”

“Excuse me, Your Highness,” said a voice from behind the bench.

“Yes?” Juan Carlos turned around.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Chancellor Benoit has been called away and insists on saying his farewells to you personally. He is waiting in the antechamber.”

“All right, thank you. Please tell the chancellor I will be in to see him shortly.”

The man gave a curt nod and walked off.

“Well, looks like duty calls. I’m sorry.” He rose and extended his hand. “Please save another dance for me tonight, Portia. There’s more I want to learn about...art advising.” He smiled.

Her heart hammered. She didn’t know what to make of the cocoon-like hold he had on her. She’d only just met him and already he was wrapping himself around her thoughts with his silent compliments and easy ways. “I will.”

She rose and he walked her back to the ballroom, depositing her exactly where he’d found her, beside Maria and Alex.

“I will be back,” he said.

Portia’s throat hitched and she nodded.

“Looks like the king is smitten.” Maria kept her voice low enough for only Portia’s ears. She was sure Maria, a public relations expert and friend, had been instrumental in her receiving an invitation to the coronation and gala.

“He’s being gracious, Maria.”

Maria seemed to ignore her comment. “He’s a good man.”

“Perfect for Alma. But not for me.” She was attracted to Juan Carlos. Any woman with blood running through her veins would be, but talk about high profile. You couldn’t get much higher, and that’s the last thing Portia needed in her life. It had taken her three years to climb out of the hole she’d dug for herself by getting involved with the Duke of Discourse, Travis Miles, LA’s favorite talk show host.

Charming, debonair and controversial, he’d dragged her into his limelight from the start of their love affair to the bitter, heartbreaking end. Her career had suffered as the details of his neglect and wandering eye came into play. She’d almost lost all credibility with her clients. Luckily, she’d managed her way out of that situation, vowing to keep a low profile, stay in the small circle of the art world and not allow another high-profile charmer to get to her. And that included the king of Alma.

“I don’t know about that,” Maria said, matter-of-factly.

“I do,” she said, convincing herself of that very thing. “I have an important meeting in Los Angeles with a client in a few days.”

“A lot could happen in a few days, Portia.”

But the conversation ended when a nice-looking gentleman approached, introduced himself as Alma’s secretary of defense, and asked her to dance.

Portia accepted, and as she was being led to the dance floor, shot an over-the-shoulder glance at Maria.

Only to find Juan Carlos standing there, his gaze following her every movement.

He had indeed come back for her.

* * *

Gnashing his teeth, Juan Carlos ran a hand down his face to cover the tightness in his jaw. Princess Portia had danced nonstop with three men since he’d returned from seeing Chancellor Benoit off. Every time Juan Carlos thought to approach, he was interrupted or summoned into a conversation with a group of dignitaries. He couldn’t fall short of his duties on his coronation day, yet the beautiful snow queen consumed his thoughts, and as he spoke with others, he kept one eye on Portia.

Finally free from conversations, he had an aide approach the orchestra and suggest that they take a five-minute break. The music died instantly and Juan Carlos strode over to the table where Portia had just taken a seat. “Hello again.”

Those startling blue eyes lifted to him. “Hello.”

“I’m happy to see you having a good time.”

“I am,” she said. “Would you like to sit down?”

“I have a better idea.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Really? What would that be?”

He offered his hand again, hoping she’d take it. “Come with me and find out.”

Her hesitation rattled his nerves. “Where?”

“Trust me and I’ll show you.”

She rose then, and as they walked out of the ballroom again with her hand in his, she watched him carefully. She had no reason not to trust him. He would never steer her wrong.

“In here,” he said.

He tugged her into a spacious office and shut the door. It was black as coal at first, but the light of the full moon streamed in and his eyes adjusted so that he could make out Portia’s silhouette. He took her gently into his arms and overwhelming sensations rushed through his body. Silently, with a look, she questioned his actions, but with his eyes he assured her she had nothing to fear. Then the orchestra began playing and as music piped into the room through the air ducts, he began to move her along to the beat. She tossed her head back and laughed. “You aren’t serious.”

He grinned. “It’s the only way I can assure us not being interrupted again.”

“You are resourceful, Your Highness. We have an entire dance floor all to ourselves.”

“What would make it perfect would be if you’d call me Juan Carlos.”

“But you’ve earned the right to be called king.”

“Tonight, for now, think of me as a man, and not a king.”

“I’ll try, but you have to understand, after all the adoration, the photos and parades and galas in your honor, it’s not easy for me.”

He did understand, but pressed his reasoning a little further. “Think of it this way. How would you like it if everyone you knew called you Princess Portia?”

She gave it some thought and nodded. “I see your point.”

He drew her inches closer, so that her sweet breaths touched his face, but he didn’t dare do more. Though he wanted to crush her against him, feel her body sway with his, he couldn’t rush her or scare her off. These feelings pulsed through him with near desperation. He’d never been so...besotted. Such an old-world word, but that’s exactly how he felt.

“How long will you be in Alma?” he asked.

“I leave for the States in two days. I’m due back at work.”

News he didn’t want to hear. “Are you working with a client?”

“Yes, he’s someone very influential and I’m thrilled to have the chance to meet with him for the first time. He’s new to collecting, and I have an interview with him to see where his tastes lie.”

“I see. It’s a good opportunity for you. I would imagine being Princess Portia of Samforstand carries some weight in your line of work.”

“I’ll admit, using my royal heritage has helped me attain clients, but it’s my expertise that has earned their trust.”

“Trust is important,” he said.

“You have the trust of the entire country right now.”

“Yes,” he said, sighing. “It’s a big responsibility. I’m sure you take your responsibility seriously.”

“I do. My reputation earns me that trust and I guard it like a mother would her child.”

He smiled at the image gathering in his mind, of Portia, mother of his child.

Dios. He was in deep. How was it possible? He had known her less than a day.

And already, he was naming their first-born child.


Two (#ulink_7715e2cb-306d-5c39-b6b0-5814a36db914)

Stately and grand, Portia’s hotel in Del Sol was just a short distance from the palace. The big bed in her room was cushy and comfy. The morning sunlight streamed in to warm her and the air was sweetened by a bouquet of roses, compliments of the hotel manager. It was all fit for a princess. Yet she hadn’t slept well.

Last night, as Juan Carlos bid her farewell, he’d almost kissed her. She was sure he would have if they hadn’t been surrounded by his guests. She’d thought about that nonkiss during the night. How would his lips feel against hers? Heavens, she hadn’t had so much as a date with a man in almost a year, and it had been even longer since she was ravaged by a kiss. Which, she was sure, would have happened had they been alone.

She was thankful that he hadn’t locked lips with her in front of the attendees at the gala. Yet, lightbulbs had flashed and pictures had been snapped of the two of them. It was last thing she needed and she’d dashed out as rapidly as Cinderella racing against the midnight hour.

When he’d asked her to join him for brunch this morning, she’d quickly agreed, despite her tingling nerves and fuzzy brain.

Her brunch “date” with the King of Montoro would happen precisely at ten o’clock and he’d promised they wouldn’t be interrupted.

She heard the familiar Bruno Mars ringtone of her cell phone and grabbed it from the nightstand. Her assistant’s name popped up on the screen and she smiled. From the very beginning, her assistant had been her closest friend. “Hello, Jasmine.”

“Hi, Portia. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“No, not at all. I’m getting ready to have brunch. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Did you survive the coronation?” Jasmine Farr never minced words. “I know you weren’t thrilled about attending.”

“Actually, it wasn’t so bad.” The newly named king was quite a man. “And it’s my lot in life to attend these functions every so often.”

“That’s what you get for being a princess.” She chuckled. “I saw some of the coronation on YouTube.”

“That was fast.”

“It always is. Anyway, I’m calling to tell you that Mr. Greenboro had to cancel your meeting this week. He’s flying out of the country and won’t be back for three months. He sends his apologies, of course, and he did reschedule. I hope it’s okay that I took the liberty of making that appointment. I didn’t think you’d want to let him get away.”

“Oh, I’m disappointed. I’d set the entire week aside to work with him, but I’m glad you’re on the ball and rescheduled with him. Text me that date and I’ll mark it on my calendar.”

“Will do. So, now you don’t have to rush back. There’s really nothing else going on this week.”

“Right.”

“You’ve worked hard these past few months and you’ve been meaning to pencil in a vacation. Seems like a perfect opportunity.”

“It is beautiful here.”

“From the pictures I’m seeing, the beaches are to die for. I wish I could join you. I’d come in an instant.”

“Why don’t you come? We could have spa days together.”

“I can’t. I’m flying to Maryland for my cousin’s wedding at the end of the week. “

“I’d forgotten about that. Darn.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t stay on. I can book you a villa suite in Playa del Onda. The beach resort is top notch. You’ll get lots of R&R.”

“Let me think about it. I’ll get back to you later on today.”

After she ended the call, she stripped off her pajamas and entered the shower. The pounding water rained down and woke her up to the possibility of an actual vacation: away from phones, away from the hectic pace of gallery openings, away from the pressures of making art selections for her obscenely rich or drastically eccentric clients. Her schedule was a busy one, and this did seem like a perfect opportunity to unwind.

When she was finished with her shower, she slipped into a white dress with red polka dots that belted at the waist, slid on navy patent leather shoes and tossed her hair up into a ponytail. She applied light makeup, including eyeliner and soft pink lip gloss.

The jewelry she chose was delicate: a thin strand of pearls around her neck and wrist. She fastened her watch on her left arm and noted the time. Juan Carlos was sending a car for her in ten minutes. She grabbed her purse and left the hotel room.

In the lobby, she was greeted by a uniformed driver who escorted her to an ink-black limousine. She played the role of princess well, but she would rather be wearing a pair of jeans and going to the local café for a bite of breakfast.

“Your Highness,” the driver said, as he opened the door for her, “allow me.”

She slid into the backseat and bumped legs with Juan Carlos. Her breath hitched in her throat. He took in her wide-eyed surprise and grinned. “Good morning, Portia.”

“Excuse me, but I didn’t expect you to come to pick me up.”

Should she worry about the implications? This wasn’t a date. At least, not in any real sense.

“It’s a nice morning for a drive. After yesterday’s events, I thought you might like to join me to see some of the city. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve changed our brunch plans for today.”

He wore dark slacks and a casual white silk shirt, opened slightly at the collar. She glimpsed his tanned chest and gulped for air.

“Of course not.”

“Great. You look very pretty this morning.”

“Thank you.” And you look dynamic, powerful and gorgeous.

He issued directions to the driver and they took off.

“How were your first twenty-four hours as king?” she asked.

He rubbed his chin, thinking for a second. “It’s strange that I don’t feel any different. I keep expecting a big transformation, but I’m just me.”

She smiled at his earnest answer. “I thought it would be an adjustment for you. Every move you make now will be documented somehow.” She glanced out the window, expecting to see photographers following the limo, snapping pictures. She’d had experience with her ex-boyfriend’s fame and it had gotten old very fast. No one should be followed and photographed at every turn for entertainment’s sake. “How did you escape the palace?”

He chuckled. “You make it seem like prison.”

“No, no. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, Portia.” Her name slid effortlessly from his lips. “There are some advantages to being king.”

“Such as?” she probed.

“Such as, I didn’t make my intentions known. No one expected me to take a drive this morning. No one questioned me. I had the car ready to pick you up, and then I merely slipped into the backseat before anyone at the palace got wind of it.”

“You snuck out.”

He laughed again and she joined in. “Okay, yes. I snuck out.”

Speaking to him put her at ease and she settled back in her seat. “Do you have bodyguards?”

“Yes, they are following behind somewhere.”

“You’re not worried?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m not worried. And neither should you be.”

“Okay, I’ll trust you.” She’d never traveled with bodyguards, but her situation was quite different. As an exiled princess, she’d grown up in America and never had what Juan Carlos now had: a citizenry eager to reinstate their monarchy. “But you must have dozens of dignitaries and family members waiting to speak with you at the palace.”

“Which I will do later. But for now,” he said, reaching for her hand, “I find being with you more important.”

* * *

Juan Carlos held her hand during the tour of the city. He showed her sites of great historical significance and some trendy new hot spots that were cropping up. The rise of democracy was good for enterprise, he explained.

As he spoke, the tone of his deep and sincere voice brought a smile to her lips more times than she could count. It was intimate in a way, hearing the love he had for a country that was almost as new to him as it was to her. He kept her hand locked in his as if it was precious. As if he needed the connection. To hear him say that being with her was important did wonders for her ego.

Yet she only indulged him because nothing could possibly come of it. And because it had been a long time since she’d enjoyed a man’s company so much.

Tomorrow, she would leave Del Sol.

The limo stopped at a tiny café off the main street of town. “I hear Matteo’s is fantastic.”

“You’ve never eaten here before?” she asked.

“No, I haven’t. We’ll experience it together. Do you mind?”

“I love adventure.”

He nodded, a satisfied glimmer in his eyes. “I thought you might.”

They exited the limo, which looked out of place on the backstreets of the royal city. Once inside, they were escorted to their table by the owner. He was sweating, nervous and fidgety. Juan Carlos clapped him on the back gently to reassure him. “Bring us your specials, Matteo. I hear they are the best in all of Del Sol.”

“Si, si. I will be glad to serve you myself, Your Majesty.”

Juan Carlos nodded. “Thank you.”

Though the café walls showed signs of age, it was a clean, modest place. “Are you sure the food is good here?” she asked.

His brows gathered. “It comes highly recommended. Why?”

“We’re the only ones seated.”

Juan Carlos looked around the empty café. “My bodyguards. They called ahead to announce my arrival. I’ll make it up to Matteo. I can’t have him losing business on my account.”

“I’m sure he’ll be boasting that King Montoro of Alma dined in his café. His business will double by next week.”

Juan Carlos sharpened his gaze on her. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You’re new to this royal thing.”

“Yes, I guess I am.”

Just wait, she wanted to say. He was an intelligent man, from all she’d read about him. He managed the sizable personal accounts of the Montoros and had helped build a fortune for the family. He had wits and smarts, but nothing would prepare him for the limelight he’d just entered. He’d have to experience it himself, the good, the bad, the ugly. His life would be under a microscope now.

And she didn’t want to be the amoeba next to him.

Coffee was served, along with fresh handmade tortillas, butter and a bowl of cut fruit. “Looks delicious,” Juan Carlos said to Matteo.

“Please, is there anything else I can bring you while the meal is cooking?”

“This is perfect. Don’t you agree, Portia?”

She nodded and smiled at the owner.

When Matteo left the room she continued to smile. “You’re kind. He will always remember this day because you put him at ease.”

Travis Miles had been kind, too, in the beginning.

“Now who is being kind?” he asked.

“I’m just speaking the truth. You’ll impact a great many lives.”

“In a positive way, I hope and pray.”

“Kind,” she repeated. “You care about the people in the country.”

“Thank you.” His incredibly warm brown eyes softened and her stomach did a little flip.

She buttered a tortilla, rolled it up and took a few bites. She sipped coffee and asked Juan Carlos a few pointed questions about his life to keep the conversation flowing and her mind off the fact that King Montoro was a hunk.

The meal was delivered with fanfare. Matteo and his staff put out the dishes in sweeping motions and finally left them to dine privately. The food was delicious. The main dish consisted of bits of sautéed pork topped with eggs and lathered with a creamy, mildly spicy sauce. There was also some type of sweet corn soufflé served inside the husks, as well as caramelized plantains. Every bite she took rewarded her taste buds. “Mmm...this is heavenly.”

Juan Carlos nodded, his mouth full.

As he chewed, his gaze remained on her. He had warm, luxurious, intense eyes that didn’t stray. Goose bumps rode up and down her arms. As far as men went, Juan Carlos had it all, except for one thing. His fatal flaw. He was king. And that meant after today, she couldn’t see him again.

“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m, uh, going to...” She really didn’t have any plans. Maybe do a little shopping. Check out the only art museum in the city. “I’ll be packing.”

“That can’t take all day.”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“Would you consider having dinner with me?”

No. No. No. “I really shouldn’t.”

Juan Carlos leaned back in his seat, studying her. “Do you have a man in your life, Portia?”

Slowly, she shook her head. She felt a trap coming.

“No one? I find that hard to believe. Do you date?”

“Rarely. My career is demanding. And it’s very important to me. I’ve worked hard to get where I am.”

“Admirable. Are you working tonight?”

“No, but I...”

He grinned. “I’m only asking for a dinner date, Portia.”

Her shoulders sagged an inch. A barely noticeable move, but she felt the defeat all the way down to her toes. She couldn’t insult the king. “Then, yes, I’ll have dinner with you.”

After the meal, Juan Carlos escorted her to the limo. She took a seat at the far window and he climbed in after her. To his credit, he didn’t crowd her, leaving a modest amount of space between them. But as the car took off, he placed his hand over hers on the empty seat, and wild pings of awareness shot through her body.

Don’t let him get to you, Portia.

He’s not the man for you.

As the limo pulled up to the hotel, Juan Carlos spoke to the driver. “Give us a minute please, Roberto.”

The driver’s door opened and closed quietly. Silence filled the air and suddenly she did feel crowded, though Juan Carlos hadn’t made a move toward her. “I cannot walk you to your door, Princess.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Do you know how much I want to?” His eyes were down, gazing at her hand as his thumb worked circles over her fingers. Her nerves jumped, like kernels of corn popping in a fry pan, one right after the other. “I don’t want to cause you any inconvenience.”

“I...know.”

He tugged her hand gently and she fell forward, closing the gap between them. His dark-fringed eyelids lifted; she was struck by all-consuming heat. He wasn’t moving a muscle, but leaving it up to her. As if she had a choice now. As if she could deny him. His mesmerizing hunger was contagious; years of abstinence made her hungry, as well. Her gaze lowered to his mouth. Lord in heaven, she wanted his kiss.

She moistened her lips and his eyes drew down immediately. “You leave me no choice, Princess.”

He used a finger to tilt her chin, and then bent his head toward her. Anticipation pulsed through her veins. Every single second was an unnerving kind of torture. And finally, his mouth was on hers, his hand coming to wrap more firmly around her jaw, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he would devour her.

Long live the king!

Her tummy ached from goodness and she indulged like a miser finding a hidden supply of cash. She touched his face, his jaw steel under her fingertips, and a groan erupted from his throat.

A whimpering mewling sound came from hers. Mortification would have set in, if the king wasn’t equally as needy. But there was no shame, just honesty, and it was, after all, the kiss to end all kisses. Juan Carlos didn’t let up, not for a moment. His lips worked hers hard, then soft, then hard again. Under her dress, her nipples ached. She was pretty sure the king was experiencing the same agony, but farther south on his body.

She didn’t know whose mouth opened first, or whether it was at the exact same instant, but suddenly she was being swept up and hollowed out, his tongue doing a thorough job of ravaging her. Any second now, she’d be out of her head with lust. But Juan Carlos placed his hands on her shoulders and, she sensed, with great reluctance, moved her away from him.

He leaned back against the seat, breathing hard. “I’ve never made love to a woman in a limo before, Princess. It wouldn’t take much to change that,” he said. He tried for amusement, tried to chuckle, but a serious tone had given away his innermost thoughts.

“It would be a first for me, too,” she said, coming up for air.

A rumpled mess, she tried her best to straighten herself out before she exited the limo.

He pressed a button and the window rolled down. Roberto appeared by the car door. “See Princess Portia to her hotel room,” Juan Carlos said calmly. He’d gotten his emotions in check already, while she was still a ravaged jumble of nerves.

Again, those warm brown eyes lit upon her. “I’ll send a car to pick you up for dinner at seven.”

She swallowed. “Maybe...we shouldn’t,” she squeaked.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, though his confident tone indicated that it wasn’t even a concern.

She shook her head. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

“And you love your job. Your career means a lot to you. Yes, that’s clear.”

He’d made her refusal seem silly. And it was. Nothing would happen unless she wanted it to happen. She already knew Juan Carlos was that type of man.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said finally. When the driver opened the car door, she rushed out.

She hadn’t exactly lied to him, had she?

She said she’d be gone, and he thought she meant back to the States. But she’d made up her mind to vacation on the shores of Alma, at least until the end of the week.

But he didn’t need to know that.

* * *

After a late lunch, Juan Carlos had a meeting in the city with the prime minister and few of Alma’s most trusted and prominent business leaders. He struggled to keep his mind on the topics at hand. The restoration of the entire country was a tall order. But every so often, his mind traveled to that place where Portia was in his arms. The image of her lips locked on his, their bodies pulsing to the same lusty rhythms, knocked him for a loop and sent his brain waves scrambling. She was, in his estimation, perfect. For him. For the country.

Wow. Where had that come from? Why was he thinking of her in terms of permanence? As a queen for Alma, for goodness’ sake.

Because aside from the fact that his sensual response was like the national flag being hoisted to full mast every time he looked at her, there was no doubt in his mind that she could take a place by his side at the throne.

As a public figure, he was never alone much anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lonely. He hadn’t had a serious relationship for years. His ambition had gotten in the way and sure, he’d had a few women in his life, but nothing serious. No one who’d made him feel like this.

Portia’s face flashed in his mind, that porcelain skin, those ice-blue eyes, that haughty chin, that mouth that tasted like sweet sin. The snow queen had become important to him in a short time, and...

“Your Majesty? Juan Carlos, are you all right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Prime Minister Rivera was giving him a strange look. “Just deep in thought.”

They’d been talking about how to bring new enterprise to Alma and how the rise of the monarchy would bring in tourism. They needed to brand themselves as a free country and show the world that democracy reigned, that new visitors and new businesses were welcome to their stunning Atlantic shores.

“Actually, I have an idea as to how to draw more tourists,” Juan Carlos said.

“Really?”

Alex Ramon’s ears perked up. As the deputy prime minister of commerce, he was fully immersed in the issue. “Tell us your thoughts.”

“It’s been rumored in our family for years that our ancestors had stashed a considerable amount of artwork, sculptures and paintings on land that had fallen to ruin. Land that Tantaberra overlooked. Right before the family was deposed, they’d thought to hide the art so it wouldn’t fall into the dictator’s greedy hands.”

Juan Carlos’s mind was clicking fast. He didn’t know how true those rumors were. He’d only heard the tales while growing up; Uncle Rafael had spoken of hidden treasures the way a master storyteller would about a pirate’s bounty. It had all been exciting, the sort of thing that captured a little boy’s imagination. But the rumors had held fast and true during his adulthood, and only recently, his cousin Bella had found a hidden cache of letters at one of the family’s abandoned farms, letters that proved that he, a Salazar and not a Montoro, was the rightful heir to the throne.

“I have plans to visit the area myself and see what I can find. If it’s true, and artwork is indeed on the property, think of the story. The art could be restored, and we could have a special showing or a series of showings to bring awareness to Alma.”

“It’s genius, Your Highness,” Prime Minister Rivera said.

Others around the board table agreed.

The meeting ran long and Juan Carlos didn’t get back to the palace until six. He had just enough time to shower and dress for dinner. His pulse sped up as he thought of Portia again, of her sweetly exotic scent and the way she’d filled his body with pleasure when he was near her. She caused him to gasp and sweat and breathe hard. It wasn’t ideal. She was a hard case. She didn’t seem interested in him. And that worried him, because as far as he was concerned, she was The One.

He came down at precisely six forty-five and bumped into his new secretary at the base of the winding staircase, nearly knocking the clipboard out of her hands. “Oh, sorry, Your Highness.” She was out of breath, as if she’d been running a marathon.

“My apologies,” he said. “I’ve been preoccupied and didn’t see you.”

Alicia was redheaded, shapely and quite efficient. She wore glasses, but under those glasses were pretty, light green eyes. She’d taken on a lot, being a first hire, as there was much ground to cover. “Your seven o’clock appointment is here.”

Warmth spread through his body at the mention of his dinner date. “Princess Portia?”

“Oh, uh. No, Your Highness. I’m sorry. I don’t see Princess Portia on the books.” She studied her clipboard, going over the names. “No, you have appointments every half hour for the next few hours. I penciled in a dinner break for you at nine.”

“I thought those were on tomorrow night’s schedule.” Surely, he hadn’t been mistaken, had he? Yet he had to take Alicia at her word. He’d already come to find that she rarely if ever made mistakes. He, on the other hand, had been hypnotized by a pair of deep ocean-blue eyes and was more than distracted.

“I can’t possibly make all of those appointments.” High-ranking officials and the heads of businesses along with their wives or husbands wanted to meet the new king. It was as simple as that. It was good for commerce to know the pillars of trade in Alma, so he’d agreed to a few evening appointments. Under normal circumstances, he’d rather cut off his right arm than cancel them, but he couldn’t break a date with Portia. “See what you can do about cancelling them. Who was first on the schedule?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Rubino. The Rubinos are in the royal study. And your next appointment after that is already here, I’m afraid. They are notoriously early for every occasion, I’m told. They are waiting in the throne room.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Fine. I’ll see them. But see what you can do about cancelling the rest.”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll do my best.” She bit her lower lip, her eyes downcast. “Sorry for the confusion.”

“Alicia?”

“Yes?”

“It’s not your doing. I forgot about these appointments. We’re all learning here. It’s new to all of us.”

She had ten years of experience running a duke’s household in London, coordinating parties and events with dignitaries and the royal family. She hadn’t much to learn. He was the one who had screwed up.

“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll get on those cancellations right away.”

Juan Carlos rubbed the back of his neck and headed to the study.

With luck, he could salvage the evening.

* * *

Portia had been stood up. She’d been delivered to the palace minutes before seven, only to be informed that the king had visitors and to please be patient and wait. She was shown to the dining room and shortly after, the palace chef himself had set dishes of appetizers on the table before her.

Candles were lit and soft music filtered into the room.

The only problem? Her date wasn’t here. And she wasn’t about to eat a thing until he showed. Call her stubborn.

It was after eight. She knew because her stomach refused to stop growling and finally, she’d glanced at her watch.

She’d already taken in the paintings on the walls, assessing them and noting that they weren’t up to par with usual palatial art. Oh, they were lovely pieces, but from contemporary artists. Many of them were replicas of the real thing. It was a curiosity. The monarchy stretched way beyond the years of the dictatorship. There should be older, more authentic works on the walls. But this was only one room. Maybe for security reasons, the gallery held the most valuable pieces.

After wandering the dining hall, she picked a particular patch of space near the fireplace and began pacing.

She couldn’t fault Juan Carlos. His secretary had taken the blame, explaining that she’d failed to remind the king of his visitors. She’d tried her best to cancel the meetings, but she was afraid she wasn’t as successful as she’d hoped.

But the more Portia thought about it, the more pangs of anger replaced her patience.

How long would he keep her waiting?

Travis is in a meeting. He won’t be available for hours. He’d like you to wait, though.

This isn’t the same thing, she reminded herself. Her ex-boyfriend wasn’t a king. Well, maybe the king of late-night television. And she’d fallen for him. He was funny and charming and kind. It was like a regular Cinderella story, the poor broke comedian hooks up with a real live princess. Travis was far from poor now, although he’d come from humble beginnings and the press loved their story and ate it up.

A new American fairy tale, they’d called it.

Travis had been on top of the world when they were together. Everyone loved him and thought he was worthy of a princess from an obscure little country. Only dating a supermodel would have given him more credibility.

And here she was, doing the same thing. Another American fairy tale, only this time with a real king.

Stupid of her.

Her nerves were jumpy and by the time eight-thirty rolled around, she was royally pissed.

Juan Carlos had twisted her arm to accept this dinner date, the way charming men did. He’d trapped her and then kissed her until every brain cell was lulled into capitulation. God, she’d been looking forward to being alone with him again. That kiss was good. Better than good. It was the best kiss she’d ever had. Not even Travis could kiss like that, and he’d been plenty experienced in that department.

“Sorry, so sorry, Portia.”

She jumped. “Oh!” Juan Carlos entered the room, looking dashing in a dark buttoned-up suit but no tie. Another growl emitted from her stomach, this time not due to hunger.

“Did Alicia explain what happened? It was my fault. This is the first chance I’ve had to—”

“It’s been over ninety minutes,” was all she could think to say.

“I would’ve cancelled with you and sent you home, but this is your last night in Alma. Selfishly, I wanted to see you again.”

Guilt rose like bile in her throat. She remained silent.

He glanced at the feast of food that had been put before her. “You didn’t touch anything Chef prepared. You must be famished.”

“I’m not hungry anymore, Your Majesty.”

His lips pursed in disapproval.

She still couldn’t bring herself to call him by his given name.

“You’ve been so patient. There’s just one more meeting I have to get through. Will you wait?”

She shook her head. “Actually, I think I’d like to go.”

“You’re angry.”

“No, I’m tired and, and...”

“Angry.”

She didn’t respond. “Will you have your driver take me back to the hotel?”

Juan Carlos closed his eyes briefly. “Yes, of course. I just assumed after we kissed, you’d... Never mind. You’re right. I shouldn’t have made you wait.”

A man who admitted when he was wrong? How rare.

“Duty called. I’m afraid it always will.”

That’s how it had worked with Travis. The difference? Travis had been building his own personal dynasty, while Juan Carlos was trying to build one for his country. But that still left Portia with the same end result. She’d never be a top priority and while she liked Juan Carlos, she had vowed, after many disappointments with Travis, to never get herself in that situation again.

With that, she wished Juan Carlos a good evening, assured him she wasn’t angry and put enough distance between them that he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t plant his delicious lips on hers again and make her change her mind.


Three (#ulink_6fbada88-d81d-5f5c-9b06-ad8b8fcc47e1)

The beach at Playa del Onda was one of the most stunning Portia had ever visited. Warm sand squeezed between her toes as she sat on a lounge chair, reading a book. This morning she’d gotten up early and taken a long jog along the shoreline, the October sun warming her through and through. She’d met a lovely family of tourists and had breakfast with them at a terrace café that overlooked the Atlantic. But their two little children, aged five and three, reminded her that it would probably be a long time before she was blessed with motherhood.

Often, she thought of having a family. She’d been orphaned at a young age. Aside from her great-aunt Margreta, she had no other family. Her grandmother Joanna had died during Portia’s sophomore year in college. But she had her work and it fulfilled her, and she had good friends. She wasn’t complaining. Yet being here on this beautiful beach was not only relaxing, it was...lonely.

Face it, Portia. How many books can you read this week? How many hot stone spa treatments can you indulge in? How many solo dinners in your room can you enjoy?

It had been three days of torturous relaxation. And it didn’t compute. How odd for her to realize while on a vacation in a beautiful locale that she wasn’t made for inactivity. She liked to keep active, to busy herself with things that mattered. Yesterday, she’d given herself a mental slap. You deserve this vacation, so shut up, sit back and enjoy yourself.

Today, the mental slaps weren’t working. Her relaxation was even more forced. She fidgeted in her chair; the book in her hands no longer held her interest. Sunglasses shading her eyes, she watched others frolicking on the sand, tossing a Frisbee, their laughter drifting over to her, reminding her how lonely she was. How bored.

She wished Jasmine was here. They would’ve had a good time with shopping, spa dates and maybe a nightclub or two.

The Frisbee landed at her feet and a teenage boy trotted over and stopped abruptly, blasting sand onto her legs. “Excuse me,” he said. He reached for the Frisbee slowly, eyeing her legs, then her bikini-clad body. “Want to play with us?” he asked.

He had Spanish good looks, dark hair, bronzed skin and a charming smile. He was sixteen tops, and she would’ve actually considered tossing the Frisbee around with him, if he hadn’t been so blatant about ogling her breasts.

She was saved from refusing, when the concierge from the Villa Delgado approached. “Excuse me, Princess.”

The boy blinked at her title, turned a lovely shade of cherry-blossom pink and bowed, before dashing off. She chuckled under her breath. Her royal status did have some advantages. “Yes,” she said to the concierge, removing her sunglasses.

“You have a phone call at the desk. A woman named Jasmine. She says she works for you. Apparently, she hasn’t been able to reach you on your cell phone.”

“I left my cell in my room,” she replied. She didn’t want to be interrupted in her state of lonely boredom. Now she realized how silly that seemed. “Sorry you had to track me down.”

“Not a problem, Princess Portia.”

“Will you tell her that I’ll call her as soon as I get to my room?”

“My pleasure,” he said.

When he walked off, she gathered up her beach bag, hat and sunglasses and promptly made her way toward the villa. Her suite with its second-floor terrace came into view. It was really quite picturesque, the columns and archways suggesting old-world grace and style. Why couldn’t she like being here more? Why wasn’t she okay with being idle? Maybe things had changed with Jasmine. Maybe her friend would come join her, after all. Her hope in her throat, Portia hiked a little faster to reach her suite of rooms.

Once inside, she set her things down on the dining table and headed for the bedroom, where she was sure she’d left her phone. It was charging on her nightstand. She unhooked the charger, just as she heard a knock at the door.

She belted her cover-up a little tighter and moved to the door. With a gentle tug on the knob, the door opened and she came face to face with Juan Carlos Salazar. The king.

She blinked and a rush of heat rose up her neck. She trembled at the sight of him, the gorgeous, unexpected, surprising sight of him. The phone slipped slightly in her hand and she grabbed at it before it crashed onto the floor.

His eyes were on her, and those dark raised brows made her flush even hotter. With guilt. Piercing disappointment flickered in his eyes. She hadn’t told him the absolute truth when she’d left Del Sol.

“Princess,” he said.

“Your Majesty,” she responded.

His lips twitched. “I see you’ve decided to stay on in Alma, after all.”

“I, uh, yes.” She didn’t owe him an explanation. One heart-robbing kiss didn’t give him that right. “My plans changed.”

“Quite unexpectedly, I assume.”

“Yes, that’s right.” The movement of two bodyguards caught her attention. They stayed back, at least five feet away, but she was certain they could hear every word. “Would you like to come in?”

His gaze dipped down to her bikini-clad body, covered only by a soft robe of silk that reached her thighs. “Yes.”

She backed up a few steps and he nodded to his bodyguards and then entered. They stood face-to-face again, alone in her suite.

Despite her guilt and a sense of being caught red-handed, this was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in three days. But how did he find out where she was and what did he want from her?

Her cell phone buzzed and she looked down at the screen. A text was coming through from Jasmine. She hadn’t had time to call her back yet. Quickly, she scanned the message.

Heads up. I might’ve made a mistake by giving King Montoro your location. He was charming and said it was a business thing. Apologizing in advance. Love you!

She lifted her lids to him. Okay, so he wasn’t psychic. But he was thorough.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said.

Warmth swelled inside her like an overflowing river. He had too much of an effect on her.

“It’s nice to see you, but I do admit, it’s quite a surprise.”

On this warm day, he was wearing dark trousers and a tan shirt, sleeves rolled up with his hands in his pockets, looking as casual and delicious as any man she’d ever met. Man, not king. But she couldn’t forget who he was. “I have to admit, I was also surprised to learn you hadn’t left the country.”

“You were looking for me?”

“Yes, I spoke with your assistant. She’s very nice, by the way, and she’s loyal to you. But the fact is, I have something of a business venture for you. And after I told her a little about it, she was willing to let me get in touch with you.”

His eyes skimmed over Portia’s body. Another wave of heat shimmied down to her belly and she turned away from his hot, assessing stare. Man or king, he was dangerous. “Would you like to sit down?” She waved him over to a latte-colored leather chair by the window that faced the Atlantic. “Please give me a minute to change my clothes.”

“Only if you have to.”

There was a wicked twinkle in his eyes that tweaked something lusty and recently unleashed in her body. It made her run, not walk toward her bedroom. “I’ll be a minute, Your Majesty,” she called over her shoulder.

His chuckle followed her into her room.

She scrubbed her face clean of sunscreen and removed her hair fastener, combing the tangles away and then gathering the strands back up into a long ponytail. She put on a pair of white capris and an off-the-shoulder cornflower-blue blouse.

A hint of lip gloss, some shading to her eyelids and she was ready. And more than mildly curious as to what was so important that King Juan Carlos had come all the way here to seek her out. She gave a last glance in the mirror and nodded. She felt a little less vulnerable to the king’s hungry eyes now.

* * *

Juan Carlos stood when Portia entered the room. His heart hammered in his chest at the sight of her. She didn’t know it yet, but he was determined to possess her. Aside from his newfound reign over Alma and his duties here, she’d become the most important thing in his life.

In such a short time.

It wasn’t rational. He had no explanation for it. He’d never experienced anything quite like this. When she’d left the palace the other night, remorse had plagued him and lingered for days. Was he pathetic? Or simply a man who knows what he wants.

She was perfect, his ideal woman. She was royal, beautiful, smart, but at the moment...quite unattainable.

“Princess,” he said.

“Would you like something cold to drink?” she asked.

“No, thank you.”

“Okay, then maybe we should sit down and you can tell me what this is all about.”

She took a seat, her eyes widening as she waited for him to explain.

“It seems I might have need for your services.”

“My services? As an art advisor?”

“Well, yes. In a way. It would be something quite adventurous. You did say you liked adventure, didn’t you?”

“I do.”

“Well, then, let me explain. I don’t know how much you know about the history of Alma, but it’s been rumored that right before my family fled the country, they hid artwork dating back before World War II on the grounds of their abandoned farm. It’s very run-down and Tantaberra never went there, so it was the perfect hiding place. Now that I’m king, I want to find those treasured pieces belonging to the royal family. It would go a long way in helping the country heal and bring new hope to our people. Imagine what a find that would be.”

“It would be monumental,” she agreed. Fireworks lit in her eyes at the mention of hidden art.

Good. He had her attention.

“But I see that you’re vacationing here, so maybe you’d be too busy to help me locate the treasure.”

“You want my help in locating the artwork?”

“Yes, I would need someone to help me hunt for it, and then assess its value. You’d be able to look at something and determine if it’s authentic, I would imagine.”

“Yes, for the most part. It’s what I do. But you plan on doing this by yourself?”

“I can donate a few days of my time, yes. I wouldn’t want word to leak out about what I was doing. If I come up empty, or if there are other issues regarding the artwork we find, I would rather it not become public knowledge immediately. Bella and her husband had already begun renovations on the property but given the site’s historical significance, they’ve agreed to allow me to take over and devote the full resources of the crown to the project. As we speak, there is a team working on the grounds, getting it ready for my arrival. So Princess Portia, would you consider helping me? Of course, you’d be paid for your time.”

“So, this is a job offer?”

“Yes, I’m offering you a job and an adventure.”

She smiled, leaning forward and placing her hands on her crossed knee. “Who else will be there?”

He gathered his brows. “No one but my bodyguards. As I said, I plan to do this discreetly.”

“It’s intriguing, Your Majesty. But the two us alone, all that time?”

“Is that a problem for you?” God only knew, it was a problem for him. How could he keep his hands off her? It would be a living hell, but not worse than having her living a continent away. A few days was all he was asking of her.

“Maybe. Answer one thing for me, please.”

He extended his arms, palms up. “Anything.”

“Do you have an ulterior motive in offering me this opportunity? And please don’t make me spell it out.”

He smiled. She’d made her point and he wouldn’t do her a disservice by lying to her. “If you mean, do I value a few more days in your company, then yes. I suppose. But I do honestly have good reason to be asking this of you. You are an expert, are you not?”

“I am.”

The sparkle in her eyes evaporated.

“What is it?”

She rose from her seat, and good manners had him rising, too. She walked behind the chair, putting distance between them, and leaned her elbows on the back, a battle raging in her eyes, on her face. “I’m not presuming anything here, but I do have to tell you where I stand. It’s...it’s complicated. Because I do like you.”

Encouraging. He nodded.

“And that kiss we shared...well, it bordered on amazing.”

He nodded again. She had something to say and he wanted to hear it.

Or maybe not.

“But the truth is, you’re King Montoro of Alma. You’re new to this king thing, but you’ll find out how demanding a job it will be. And you’ll be in the spotlight. All. The. Time.”

“Does that worry you?”

“Yes. You see, I’m not one to share heartbreak stories, but in this case, I should probably share with you, why I’ve been—”

“Playing hard to get?” He couldn’t hold back a smile.

“Yes. Only I’m not playing. I’m seriously not interested in getting involved with a man with so much...glitter.”

“Glitter?” He laughed. “What’s that?”

“You’re always going to shine. No matter what.” His smile faded. She was dead serious. “And any woman who gets involved with you, will be giving up her identity, her dreams, her heart, to someone who has pledged his life to his country.”

“Who was he, Portia? Surely, someone has broken your heart.”

“Yes, my heart was broken. I don’t like talking about it, but since it’s important to our conversation, I’ll tell you about Travis Miles. He’s like a king in America, a big time Hollywood celebrity.”

Juan Carlos nodded. “Of course I know of him. I don’t go in much for entertainment news, but he sure has quite a résumé.”

“Travis knows everyone of substance in the country from sports figures and superstars to high-ranking politicians. We ran hot for a short time, and then...I became old news to him. He didn’t have time for me and we began seeing less and less of each other. Shortly after, I found out he’d been cheating on me with a woman on the staff of his TV show for a long time. Seems that everyone knew about it but poor little gullible me. He’d made me out to be a fool and my career and credibility suffered. It’s taken me three years to get my reputation back. Princess or not, I wasn’t immune to the blonde-bimbo stigma and so now, I’m cautious. Which is why your royal status isn’t a plus in my book.”

He stood with hands on hips, silent, taking it all in. He understood her caution. The pain in her eyes, the tremor in her voice were telling, and his heart hurt hearing her confession. He should leave and let her resume her vacation. He shouldn’t press her. But his feet were planted and they weren’t moving. He couldn’t face not seeing her again.

“If things were different, would you accept my offer?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes clear now. “I wouldn’t hesitate. It sounds far too exciting to pass up.”

“Then let’s pretend that we’ve just met. There was no amazing kiss from before. We haven’t danced and spent time together. This is a business meeting. And I promise to keep things completely professional between us.”

“Why is it so important to you?” she asked.

“Because, I...I see how much you want to say yes. I see that you’d love to locate the secret artworks.”

“And you promise that after we discover this wonderful treasure, we’ll just be friends?”

He let a split second go by. He was a man of his word. If he promised, he’d have to adhere to his vow, regardless of how much he wanted things to be different.

“I promise, Princess.”

She nodded. “I know you mean what you say. So yes, I accept your offer.”

* * *

The next morning, Portia informed the concierge that she’d be checking out earlier than expected from Villa Delgado and offered her thanks for his accommodations. He’d questioned her, hoping she hadn’t been disappointed in her stay, and she assured him that was not the case. She’d been called away unexpectedly, she explained. And his brows arched as if he’d suspected King Montoro had something to do with her sudden departure.

And so, her adventure was beginning. Dressed for the search, wearing a pair of Gucci jeans and a red plaid shirt tucked in and belted at the waist, she swopped out her Bruno Magli shoes for tall leather boots and stood outside the villa at precisely eight o’clock. Sunglasses shielding her eyes, her bags packed and ready to go, she gave one last glance to the Atlantic shoreline and the clear azure waters lapping the sands. There would be no five-star accommodations where she was going. She was told to expect rustic and that was fine with her. She’d gone camping before; she knew how to rough it.

Sort of. Jasmine had convinced her once to rent a motor home and they’d trekked as far as Pismo Beach, California. They’d parked the giant thing facing the ocean, and then had gone out for lunch and dinner every night. They’d hit a few clubs, too, dancing until dawn. So maybe that wasn’t roughing it per se.

But they had cooked their own breakfasts and hiked the beach in the mornings. Did that count?

One of Juan Carlos’s bodyguards drove up in a black SUV, right on time. Poker-faced, he promptly opened the door for her and she got into the backseat as he hoisted her luggage into the cargo space.

As they drove off, she sat quietly in the car, enjoying the sounds of morning, excitement flowing through her veins.

She’d taken Juan Carlos at his word. He would treat her as a professional and so she had nothing to fear and everything to look forward to. Her little heartfelt speech seemed to convince him that she wasn’t looking for romantic involvement. Surprisingly, it hadn’t been hard admitting her failings to him. He’d put her at ease and that was saying something, since she didn’t go around revealing her innermost feelings to anyone but her best friend.

They drove away from the shore, through the streets of Playa del Onda and onto a highway that led inland. “Excuse me. When will we be picking up King Montoro?” she asked Eduardo, the driver-slash-bodyguard.

“His Majesty will be meeting you there,” he said.

Ah...discretion.

“Is it a long drive?”

“Not overly so. We should arrive in less than an hour. Is there anything you need, Princess?”

“No, no. I’m perfectly comfortable.”

She gazed out the window taking in the scenery, where residential streets were soon replaced by more rural-looking spaces. As the minutes ticked by, the groomed vegetation bordering the road gave way to untamed brush and wildflowers. There was a certain neglected beauty to the land that inspired her. The road though was becoming less and less car friendly. The tires spit broken gravel as they traveled along a bumpy country road.

“Sorry, Princess,” Eduardo said. “The road is washed out from here on.”

“Is it much longer?”

“No, just another mile or two.”

And shortly, he turned onto a path and drove through wrought-iron gates clawed by fingers of dead branches and vines. Weeds and overgrown scrub led to a two-story house in desperate need of a good solid paint job. Banging sounds reached her ears and she searched for the source as the car came to a stop in front of the house. Juan Carlos appeared on the porch holding a hammer, his shirt slung open and sweat glistening on his beautiful bronzed chest. His dark hair gleaming under the October sunshine, he gave her a wide welcoming smile.

She sucked oxygen in. If she could slither away in a trembling mass, she would. She could order Eduardo to turn the car around, drive and keep on driving until she forgot the exact chestnut color of Juan Carlos’s eyes, the deep dark shine of his hair and the powerful rock-solid muscle of his body.

She bit her lower lip until it pained her.

As he made his approach, she bucked up and remembered why she was here, and the promise Juan Carlos had made to her. Now, if she could get her heart to stop racing...

“Welcome,” he said, opening the door wide for her. He offered her his hand and helped her out of the car. Eyes shining, his smile broadened. “I hope your trip wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

“No, no. It was fine,” she said, looking beyond him to the house.

“Sorry about my appearance.”

She nearly choked on her own saliva. Was he kidding?

“I found some loose planks on the porch. They could be dangerous.”

“You’re handy with a hammer?”

“You sound surprised. Actually, I had a lot of odd jobs in my younger days. My uncle believed in hard work and I was always employed during my college years.”

“Doing?”

“All sorts of things. Remind me to tell you about the time I worked at a strip club in Miami.”

“You were a stripper?”

The image of him shedding his clothes made her mouth water.

“I didn’t say that. But I sure got a quick education.” Her eye fluttered and he squeezed her hand. “There’s that wink again. I’m very happy you’re here, Portia.”

“It’s not a wink,” she assured him.

He smiled again and released her hand. Breath quietly swooshed out of her mouth.

“Let me assure you, the inside of the house is in better shape than the outside. Bella and James had two bedrooms renovated upstairs and my crew made sure the kitchen and living space are clean and functioning.”

She flinched at the mention of the bedrooms and slid a glimpse at Eduardo, who was removing her luggage, appearing stoic as ever. “That’s...fine.”

She only wished that Juan Carlos would button his shirt so that she could breathe freely again.

Eduardo stopped at the steps with her two suitcases. “Just leave them. I’ll take it from here,” Juan Carlos said. “Thanks, Eduardo.”

The man nodded, but it looked more like a bow. “Your Highness.”

Juan Carlos rolled his eyes.

She chuckled. It would take him a while to get used to being royalty.

“Stop laughing,” he whispered out of earshot of his bodyguard.

“I’ll try,” she whispered back. “Not promising anything.”

He shook his head but grinned like a schoolboy.

She was up against massive charm and a killer body.

“Let me show you around.” Juan Carlos took her arm and guided her inside.

The living room was cozy with a large brick fireplace and old wood floors that looked as though they’d been scoured and polished. A new patterned rug was laid down between two sofas covered with floral tapestry pillows. The smell of fresh drying paint filled the room.




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