by Tessa Bailey
I brush past Phillip, his heat close enough to warm me, and murmur, “Thank you,” before taking my seat.
He joins me a moment later in the backseat. “Security will take the lead car. There’s not much concern here on the island, but they’re helpful in public.”
There’s space between us. Even so, his fresh clean scent washes over me, making me want to lean closer just to breathe him in. Nice, Ruby, you’re turning into the panting desperate woman he thought you were. No wonder he’s a playboy. His pheromones are lethal.
The car smoothly drives down the curving palace road. I take in the gorgeous view of sparkling blue-green sea and bright blue skies with white fluffy clouds. It’s near the end of September and the weather is still a comfortable seventy degrees. Why did Phillip volunteer today? Did he do it as a favor to Anna, wanting to help with the royal fantasy suite? Or did he change his mind about spending time with me as a friend? I don’t think princes go shopping just to help out their maid.
I stealthily check out Phillip in profile—his expression is neutral. My gaze follows the line of his square jaw, his full lower lip, the cord of his neck, his wide shoulder, back up to—
Crap! He winked at me.
I face front, willing my blush to go away. Busted times a zillion. Augh. I am the worst kind of hypocrite, blaming him for being into his looks and then checking him out. Okay, back to work. Logistics, lists, tight schedule. It’s no use. My mind is static. I fear he short-circuited it.
I finally cool off enough to risk a look at him. He gives me a small smile, and I smile back. I’m genetically incapable of not smiling back. I can’t help it. I’m a smiler. Before my crash and burn with Satan, aka my ex, I used to be known for having lots of positive energy. I’ve been compared, in a good way, to a happy pixie with my petite size and energy.
I attempt a normal friendly tone with Phillip in line with today’s agenda. “Will you be mobbed by paparazzi?” That could really hamper our shopping progress.
“I hope not,” he replies.
“Let me hear you speak some French.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to hear if you sound fluent.”
A smile plays over his lips. “And you would know this how? Maya says you don’t speak French.”
“I’ve got an ear for language.”
“Oh, really? And what languages do you speak?”
“Err, English. But I can recognize a bunch of them.”
“How useful.” His tone is droll, and I can’t help but laugh. He holds up a finger. “Je ne peux pas manger les produits laitiers.”
Maya giggles.
“Why’re you laughing?” I ask, leaning forward to Maya. “That sounded like real French.”
“It was, ma’am,” she replies. “It’s the one phrase I know. Phillip taught me.”
Phillip takes on a mock aggrieved tone. “Did you think I spoke fake French?”
I lean back in my seat. “Well, I don’t know. Some people exaggerate their skills.”
He huffs and leans forward. “Maya, have I ever exaggerated my skills?”
She beams back at him. “No, sir. You excel at everything.”
I lean forward. “He’s going to get a big head if you keep saying stuff like that.”
He turns back to me and grins. We’re unexpectedly close and my breath catches, the air buzzing between us. His voice is husky. “There you have it.”
I lick my lips, surprised at how much I want to close the distance between us. My libido has been in deep freeze for two months for good reason, and now it dances for him. My libido is an idiot.
I sink back into my seat. “So what was that fancy French you said? What did it mean?”
His eyes sparkle with amusement. “I can’t eat dairy products.”
I laugh. “For real?”
“Yes, for real. Though I can eat dairy products. I said that for Maya. She’s lactose intolerant.”
“Sadly, it’s true,” Maya says.
Phillip gestures toward her with a smile. My lips curve up automatically, and I remind myself sternly that this is a business trip. This is my first big job in my new solo interior design business after losing my job at the Happy Mouse Kingdom in Orlando two months ago. I’d like to say I quit, but the truth is they let me go because I wasn’t performing at the expected level and there was a waiting list for my job. I lost my mojo, plain and simple. No energy, no creativity, nothing. That’s what happens when you find out the man you were living with for a year—madly in love—is married with triplets on the way.
Cue downward spiral.
We met at a club and he treated me so special I fell hard. He lavished me with affection, surprised me with little gifts like my favorite chocolate truffles or flowers for no reason at all, and the sex was hot. Then after a year of blissful ignorant happiness, he informed me I had to move out because we were living in his parents’ vacation condo and they were coming for a visit for the upcoming birth of his triplets. He actually expected me to be happy for him.
All I could do was hole up in my old bedroom at my parents’ house with its pink and white striped comforter, stuff my face with chocolate truffle ice cream, and hate-watch home decorating shows for being unrealistic. After a while, I scraped myself off the ice-cream-stained bed, pulled together a résumé, and blasted it out. Big lot of nothing. So I went out on my own. I got a few nibbles on the job front, small jobs mostly, redoing a sunroom kind of jobs that cover half a week’s rent. Not enough for me to move to my own place, which is necessary because guess who else is pregnant? No, not me. My mom! It’s her miracle baby. I was shocked when she told me last month because, after having me, she had a series of miscarriages, and the doctor told her to stop trying for her own health. She didn’t think she could get pregnant at forty-three (she had me when she was eighteen). Anyway, Mom’s pregnancy with a baby girl (yay!) is going well, and soon my parents will need my room for the baby. I won’t move far though. This is the little sister I’ve always wanted, and I definitely want to be part of her life.
So enough with the male distraction. This job is the key to getting back on my feet, and I won’t let a charming smile, intoxicating manly scent, or sexy scruff stand in my way.
I turn to Phillip in full professional mode. “Have you ever shopped in Nantes before?”
“Of course, it’s right next door.”
“Tell me everything.”
Phillip doesn’t disappoint, filling me in on the historic le Passage Pommeraye, one of the original shopping malls dating from 1843, to the best places for antiques, clothes, and jewelry. He’s unfamiliar with design stuff, but that’s okay because he can ask around to get what we need.
By the time we get to the port, I’m convinced Maya did the right thing asking Phillip along, even though I initially thought we wouldn’t need him. I step out of the car and spot the ferry already waiting at the side of a long dock. It’s filled with passengers.
I speedwalk toward the ferry. “Hurry! We don’t want to miss it.”
A large warm hand wraps around my wrist, stilling me. I look up into Phillip’s eyes—I swear they match the sea here—and the heat in them brings all my nerve endings to life. I felt it when he shook my hand yesterday, too, like an electric current. There’s a shimmering attraction between us that I instinctively know will ignite given the smallest push.
I gulp, caught in his grip literally and lustfully.
“This way,” he says, giving my wrist a small tug toward the other side of the dock. Maya is already being helped aboard a sleek white yacht.
He releases my wrist and I return to my sensible self. I should’ve known a prince wouldn’t travel crammed onto a public ferry. “Your royal yacht?”
“My royal yacht.” His voice drops to a husky drawl. “I promise a smooth ride.”
I narrow my eyes at his innuendo despite the obvious chemistry. Yesterday he acted above me; today he’s using his charm for what? Seduction? I don’t need a man like this, I real
ly don’t, even if I do admire him shirtless. And with his sleeves rolled up. And all the time…shit. What the hell is wrong with me? My hormones are out of control. Down, girl.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Maya calls from the deck.
“It’s gorgeous!” I yell back. Then I tell Phillip under my breath, “She has a monster crush on you.”
“I know. Shall we?” He places a hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the gangway.
I ignore the heat from his big hand on my lower back and allow it to remain there as a test of my fortitude. I will courageously resist temptation with every ounce of mental and emotional strength within me. Also, his hand feels too good to push away.
I look up at him. “So you just encourage her crush on you when there’s no chance?”
He shrugs one shoulder.
“What if she’s turning down guys because she thinks she’s in love with you?”
He drops his hand from my back and stares at me. “You think she’s in love with me?”
“Why not? You’re gorgeous, warm, and kind to her. Not to mention a frigging prince.”
A slow smile breaks until he’s smiling widely, his teeth flashing white against the dark stubble of his jaw. I am immune, dammit.
“What?” I ask.
“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. The warm and kind part, not the frigging prince part.”
I give him my best menacing scowl, though being a petite five-foot happy pixie, I can never quite pull it off. “Just don’t break her heart. I like her.”
“I do too, Ruby. I do too.”
A stab of jealousy alarms me. Maybe Maya does have a chance with him.
And why do I care?
Chapter Four
Phillip
I’m only here to help out Anna. When my sister-in-law returns from her honeymoon to my steadfast refusal to set foot in a bachelor auction, at least I can feel good about helping her friend with the royal fantasy suite. I tell myself that’s more than enough. I will make myself useful to Ruby, and she will hopefully pass along how helpful I’ve been.
Except I know that’s not the only reason I’m here. I want to spend more time with Ruby. Yesterday when I kept my distance after her open friendliness, I felt like I’d lost something important. She’s beautiful and has such joie de vivre, an inner spark of enthusiasm, an energy I find irresistible. I can’t deny the attraction, and I know it goes both ways. It’s like a living, breathing thing between us. Would it be so bad if I acted on it?
Yes! It would be very bad. Anna already warned you off.
I pull out my phone. Look, there it is, Anna’s Ruby-is-forbidden text. We need her, and I can’t afford to have you screw it up like you do with every other woman.
And this little gem: I love you, just keep it in your pants.
I study our texts for a moment. You know, it doesn’t say I can’t be friends with Ruby. I will stand on that virtuous mountain until I die of unsatisfied lust. Or until Ruby goes back to the US next week. That’s another good reason to keep it in my trousers. She’s leaving; I’m leaving. She’s not into casual sex, according to Anna, which means she’d regret a fling with me.
I’m not known for my steadfast commitment. Not since my ex, Lana. Our five-year relationship ended in a very public breakup that was well documented in the press and gossip rags. I admit I went a little nuts rutting my way through Europe after that. None of those women were right. I couldn’t make the leap to a third date let alone commitment. And then I met Hailey, the wedding planner for my sister Silvia’s wedding in the US. I purposely sabotaged myself by picking her to get closer to, a woman who was clearly in love with another man.
I exhale sharply. I’ve given up on finding the right woman. Maybe down the line I’ll agree to an arranged marriage to benefit the kingdom. It was an option offered to me and my siblings, though only Gabriel and Emma agreed to it. Gabriel changed his mind when he met Anna. Emma is still engaged and seems content with the arrangement.
I look down from the captain’s perch of the yacht, where I’ve been standing with the crew, at Ruby and Maya by the deck rail taking in the view as Villroy fades in the distance. They’re a study in contrasts—the blond Ruby with her hair wild and loose in the sea breeze, the brunette Maya, her hair mostly still contained in a neat bun. Maya is dressed in her uniform of white shirt and black trousers, while Ruby is all color in a vibrant floral dress in shades of red, pink, and yellow. Maya is composed propriety, albeit with a sense of humor. Ruby is looser, more open.
I take in the island that is home. It’s mostly untouched by modern times, though we do have cell phones and internet. The coastline is rugged with cliffs. Inlets with gorgeous sand beaches nestle between the cliffs. Port Axel is the main commercial base for fishermen, who mostly catch tuna, bass, monkfish, and shellfish. There’s an old lighthouse with a red top, the locals’ white boats anchored near the port, and farther out by the port are white buildings with red roofs for the commercial fishing industry. Inland and along the road to the palace are cottages, white with blue trim, and even farther out dunes and wetlands. Villroy is a part of me, and no matter how far away I travel, I always return home. I’m lucky enough to live in Amalie Palace, perched in the center of the island on a hill overlooking it all.
I join the women at the deck rail, standing next to Ruby. “Hello. Enjoying the view?”
She smooths her long dirty blond hair back behind her ears before turning to me. “Absolutely. The palace looks like something out of a fairy tale, even more so from a distance.”
I smile. I’ve heard that before, but to me it’s simply home. Amalie Palace is sandstone with copper roofs, five stories, reaching six stories in the two towers. There’s two long wings stretching out from the sides that form a courtyard in back, leading to manicured gardens and a long path to the sea.
“I think the last renovation is what put it over the edge with all the spires,” I tell her. “Fire took some of the earlier palaces. This one was built in the eighteenth century and renovated many times.”
She turns back to the view. “It’s enchanting.”
“To think my Viking ancestors started with a plain stone circular fortress.” I point over to the crumbling structure perched on one side of the palace.
“Is that what that is?” She turns to me and crinkles her nose. “I like the newer one better.” Her hair flies into her face as the yacht angles into a turn, and she holds it down with both hands. “Isn’t it a hazard to have a pile of rocks like that? It looks like it could crumble at any moment.”
“It reminds us of our heritage, our history, and it reminds the islanders that the proper family is ruling. It was our ancestors who started the settlement.”
“Cool.” She lets go of her hair and it slaps her in the face. I barely resist smoothing it back for her. She spits some out and smooths it back. “I should’ve brought a hair band or a hat.”
“We could go in the cabin.” I gesture to the enclosed cabin behind us. “You can still have the view. There’s a sofa, TV, wet bar, refrigerator.”
She peers in one of the windows. “Sure.” She turns to Maya. “You want to go inside with us?”
Maya smiles. “Thanks, but I’d like to enjoy the sun a bit, ma’am. You go ahead.”
Ruby turns to me. “Okay, lead the way.”
So I do, telling myself it’s harmless. An hour together in an enclosed cabin. It’s not like I’m taking her to the master bedroom suite. I open the door for her and follow her in.
She stops short. “This is gorgeous!”
“Thanks. Though I really shouldn’t take the credit.”
She moves farther into the cabin. “It’s so sleek.” There’s a white leather sectional, a glossy wood coffee table with matching cabinetry, and hardwood flooring. The ceiling is white with recessed lighting and glossy light wood trim that matches the furnishings and floor. Past the wet bar is a dining area on a raised platform with a bay of windows.
&nbs
p; “I suppose it’s sleek because it has to weather the sea,” I say. “Please have a seat. Would you like a drink?”
She sits in the center of the sectional across from the TV. “Sure! What do you have?”
I head over to the nearby wet bar. “Anything. It’s fully stocked.”
Her brows lift. “Is it too early for a margarita?”
I grin. It’s not yet noon. “Never. But I’m afraid I’m your bartender. I can pour scotch, whisky, beer, or wine. Not much of a cocktail maker.”
“Wow, a prince is serving me? Has this ever happened in the long history of the kingdom?”
I jab a finger at her. “Just for that you’re getting bilge water.”
She sticks out her tongue. “That sounds bad.”
“It is bad. It’s the dirty water that collects in the bottom of the boat.” I open the liquor cabinet and scan the contents. Fully stocked as usual, along with snacks—pretzels, roasted nuts, chips, dried fruit, and trail mix.
She appears at my side. “You weren’t kidding on the fully stocked. Now I wish I wasn’t so full from breakfast. You royals really know how to eat. Do you have iced tea?”
I head over to the refrigerator across the cabin. “We do.” I hand her the glass bottle and take a bottled water for myself.
She peers over at the dining area. “Ooh, let’s sit there. It’s a nice view of where we’re heading.”
I follow her to the table, and she takes a seat, facing the view. I sit to her right and stealthily admire her admiring the view. She’s so vibrant, her hair tousled from the wind, a light pink flush to her cheeks. My mind flashes to a bed-rumpled Ruby after a hard—no. Off-limits. Forbidden. I force myself to look out the window to the sea.
Silence stretches between us.
Suddenly I’m nervous like we’re on a first date and the long silence means it’s going terribly. I don’t get nervous on real first dates, why should I now? My hands are clammy, and my throat is suddenly parched. I open my bottled water and take a long swallow, suddenly conscious of the sound of my swallowing.