Tempting the Prince (Sexy Misadventures of Royals)

by Christi Barth

  Slamming his palm flat on the desk, Christian said, “Fuck that.”

  “Christian.” Hopefully, in that single word, her tone conveyed come on, now. You and I both know this can’t happen. Don’t make it harder on both of us by pretending to fight centuries of tradition and expectation.

  “When it became apparent the palace had been breached?” He threw an arm out to the side as if to point at the whole of the palace. “Yes, I was worried about my family. But I was most worried about you, Mallory. About how scared you’d be if you heard. If you’d have flashbacks to getting shot. I was, sure, ‘distracted’ by the thought of not getting to spend more time with you.”

  The air quotes Christian made with his fingers in no way diminished the power of his speech. It was hard to truly comprehend that this man who was already bowed under the weight of double the workload and responsibility put her at the forefront of his mind.

  Automatically—as she’d said on repeat to her parents, Kelsey, and every single friend who asked after her well-being with that careful, kid-glove tone—Mallory said firmly, “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “You can’t stop me. And I can’t stop thinking about you.” Christian crossed the same floor in about half the steps and time as she had. Then he grabbed her shoulders. “You caught my attention when you curtsied to me getting off the plane that brought you here. I was meeting my missing sister for the first time in twenty-four years, and yet I noticed you.”

  Oh. Well.

  Now he was being plenty romantic. It was only fair to repay honesty with honesty. “I noticed you, too.”

  “Even when you were an ocean away, I thought about you.” He spun on his heel to U-turn to the desk. When he turned back around, a bright green-and-purple tie-dyed rabbit’s foot hung from one finger. “Kelsey asked you to pick this out for me. She thought I needed a good-luck charm for polo.”

  “You kept it?” The thing cost less than three dollars. Besides the Q-tips in the bathroom, it was probably the least expensive item in the entire palace.

  “Of course. It was the first gift my sister ever gave me. I carry it to every game.”

  Oh, this man! He had cars and horses and estates and watches that cost more than her parents’ house…and yet he treasured a rabbit’s foot that had been a team effort from the Wishner sisters?

  This was the kind of man Mallory had dreamed of finding someday. A man who would treasure a gift certificate for ten hugs from his child. A man who cared more about people than things.

  A few steps brought her close enough to stroke the soft, fake fur. “I’m sure that means the world to Kelsey.”

  His hand closed around hers. “Do you have any idea how often I pull it out and stare at it, wondering why you chose it for me? These colors? How pleased I was that she said you’d enjoyed the task and picked it out special for me?”

  No. Nonononono. It was too embarrassing.

  But with Christian showing her everything he felt, Mallory had to tell him. And hope he didn’t laugh too hard.

  “I thought about you, too. So when I stared at the display rack and I saw one that paired your eye color with mine—albeit in nuclear-waste versions of the colors—I had to get it. Silly, I know. Something a teen might do for her crush. Blame it on the painkillers I was on back then.”

  For a split second, her knuckles ached with the pressure from his tight squeeze. His other hand went to the small of her back, as if to pull her in for a kiss.

  Then he let go. A cocky, taunting, smug smile widened slowly until Christian finally threw his head back and laughed.

  “I knew it.”

  “That painkillers make you loopy?”

  “Don’t pretend. We both know you were past drugs and deep into rehab when Kelsey asked this favor. I knew that you liked me.” Still beaming from ear to ear, Christian pointed straight at her. “You want me.”

  Yes. A hundred times yes.

  And why’d he have to look so sexy when he teased her?

  “I also want a single pill that treats the common cold, a career that’s fulfilling and makes a difference, and to experience that moment at the Olympics when you’re draped with a gold medal and they start playing the anthem.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Wanting something doesn’t mean you can have it.”

  He sauntered across the room to fling himself down on the sofa. Propped his polished brown loafers on the low table, and spread his arms out across the back. “You can have me.”

  “Okay, I had you. But I can’t have you. I can’t keep you. And if we keep going with this secret whatever-it-is, someone’s going to get hurt.”

  Or already had.

  She’d made a game out of sussing out his prospective fiancées at the ball. Underneath, though? There’d been a stab of pain as Mallory talked to each one. Each woman who might have the chance to be with the man she, yes, wanted.

  “Not secretly.” And he flashed her another smug grin. “I’ll bet you.”

  “What? Who gets hurt first? As competitive as I am, I’ll pass on that, thanks.”

  “I’ll bet you that you can date me without the world imploding. Just try it. For four weeks.”

  Wow. A bet? That was playing dirty. Not to mention exponentially harder to refuse. “Christian, we both know that you simply can’t. I’m a huge scandal in the making, not a one-time bar fling people could overlook. I’m a commoner.”

  “Not anymore. You’re a baroness.”

  Mallory kept forgetting her new promotion. “I’m an American.”

  “More than half the women on that preapproved marriage list you keep mentioning are also from other countries.”

  “But they’re European nobility. Which gives them automatic extra points. Whereas I’m quite aware that the nobility of Moncriano is not at all thrilled with having an American commoner at your breakfast table every morning.” How was it that all these facts had been insurmountable a month ago—and now Christian blithely dismissed each objection? Well, he couldn’t ignore the biggest problem. “I’m your sister’s…sister.”

  “Nope. You’re Kelsey’s best friend, and you love each other like sisters, but that’s it. Believe me when I say the whole country knows of Kelsey’s blood ties to the House of Villani…and thus her lack of shared DNA with you. There is zero impediment to us dating for a few weeks.”

  Only a few weeks.

  That was a twist. She’d accepted that she couldn’t be with him forever. Because not only was Mallory a commoner, she’d never be able to give him the heir and a spare he needed. Not that she’d mentioned it. And not that it mattered. She’d never be queen and they’d started their fling over drunken bets and desk sex. There’s no good segue when stealing kisses behind garden statuary to dive into fertility issues.

  And yet, this handsome, charming, thoughtful, ultra-responsible man was insisting that they date? That she get to spend more time with him?

  Damn it, she wanted to live that dream. Wanted to get the good guy. Enjoy his attention. Enjoy the satisfaction of making him laugh. Enjoy all the things that could happen if they had sex in an actual bed.

  It was selfish. But Mallory wanted those four weeks he was offering.

  There was little doubt it would last any longer than that. His Privy Council, his prime minister, and for sure his grandmother would convince him that an average American wasn’t appropriate marriage material for the heir to the throne, sooner rather than later.

  Christian’s sudden lurch forward pulled her out of her swirling thoughts. His feet thudded to the thick carpet. “In case you forgot, you scared off most of my other prospects at the ball. You owe me.”

  Oh, her prince thought he was so clever, boxing her into a corner, looking at her like he’d already won.

  “If I take your bet, and you lose, what happens?”

  Christ
ian shrugged. “It all goes to shit. A shitstorm the likes of which has never been seen before in Moncriano. Total humiliation, embarrassment, and quite possibly deportation.”

  “You do know how to entice a woman, Your Highness.”

  “What you’re failing to take into account is what happens if I win. If we date and it goes great. We have the best four weeks ever, Mallory.”

  Well.

  At the beginning of the summer, she’d almost died.

  Mallory didn’t get morose about it, because, hey, she was still here. But she did think that Moncriano, and by extension Prince Christian, owed her a little something for her pain and suffering.

  So yes, she’d take these four weeks of dating the dreamiest man ever. It was not the smartest decision she’d ever made. There was an all-but-guaranteed broken heart for her at the end of it.

  But four weeks with Christian, really being with him, was worth it. Mallory was certain of it. Because all the time they’d spent together so far had been fun and toe-curlingly sexy and tender and wonderful.

  “I already know what happens if you win. As a matter of fact, I know what will happen the moment I graciously accept your bet.” Mallory rushed over to straddle those long legs, putting both her hands on his chest. “We both get to be very, very happy. You’re on.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Mallory twisted to peer around the edges of her high-backed rattan chair. “I feel like I’m in an old Bing Crosby movie.”

  Was that good or bad? Christian didn’t know. He stalled with a follow-up. “Which one?”

  “The one—or ten—where the undeservedly down-on-their-luck hero and his sidekick buddy hide from the bad guys in a swanky nightclub behind a potted palm.”

  Ah. Hanoi’s dim lighting and flickering candles on every table accentuated the shadows from the oversize exotic plants that gave the illusion of privacy to most of the diners. Their table along the wall was bracketed by an eight-foot palm on one side and something, well, junglelike on the other.

  He shook his head. “That’s more of a Some Like It Hot vibe. Tony Curtis and Marilyn Monroe.”

  In an exaggerated motion, Mallory clasped her hands to her heart. “You know classic American movies?”

  What kind of idiots had she been dating that this was noteworthy? “Mallory. I’m very well educated. I’m fluent in four languages. Can quote you chapter and verse on World Cup statistics going back thirty years. And I’m equally conversant in the Hope, Crosby, Astaire, and Hepburn cinematic oeuvres.”

  Mallory gave him the slow double blink. Slow enough to make him note that her eyeshadow was the same forest green as her dress, as well as her eyes. It was like looking into the deepest, darkest of mystical wells.

  If he drowned in them, he’d never try to get out.

  She crumpled her linen napkin and dropped it beside the gold charger. “No need to continue the date. Now that I know you’re an old-movie buff, it’s official. You’re the perfect man.”

  “That simply means I can relax and stop trying to impress you.”

  “You don’t…” Her voice trailed off. Mallory cocked her head to the side. She also gave her hair a flip, sending the thick red curls tumbling. “You’re serious? You’re trying to impress me?”

  “This is our first date. Officially. Of course I am.” He’d put on a new tie. And then removed it, because Christian didn’t want to come across as a stuffy, buttoned-up royal. So the collar of his cream polo shirt was spread casually wide, notching over the brown-and-orange plaid sport coat.

  “Not me.” She leaned back, hands out on the wide armrests. “I never try to impress a date.”

  “Come on. You can’t expect me to believe you.”

  “Being on your best behavior? That’s too hard to maintain and sets false expectations. I don’t want a man willing to be with the best version of me. I want the man who wants to hang around the worst version of me.”

  Holy shit. Not only was the woman whip-smart, she understood how people worked. “You’re brilliant. Why doesn’t everyone use that approach?”

  “Ego. I mean, I did my hair. Put on makeup. Because I still want to be alluring. That way, should you see me at my very worst, you’ll have a memory of me on a good day to pull you through.”

  “I’ve seen you white as a sheet from blood loss in a hospital gown. With your hair in two adorable braids. You were still beautiful.”

  “Doubtful,” she said, crinkling her nose. “I don’t remember you visiting me in the hospital?”

  Oh, the memory would never, ever leave him.

  Christian leaned over the trio of glass candleholders to run a long red strand of curl through his fingers. “You vacillated between being asleep and so drugged you might as well have been asleep. But I had to see for myself that you were okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  The soft clatter of silver against china punctuated the silence that hung between them. Silence that was his fault. Christian had meant to give a compliment, but he’d just ended up reminding Mallory of her near-death experience.

  Nothing romantic about that.

  Mallory might be relaxed, but clearly he needed to focus more. It took a considerable amount of arm-twisting to convince her to date him at all. A lackluster first date would kill his chances of a second.

  Putting her hand to the side of her mouth, Mallory stage-whispered, “Christian!”

  “What?”

  She pointed behind the shield of her hand. “That table across the aisle is staring at you.”

  Nothing romantic about that, either. Christian pulled back his shoulders, lifted his chin, and turned to give them a brief smile/nod combo. Then there was a scraping of six chairs as they all pushed back, half stood, murmured Your Highness and then sat.

  “Remember Elias’s warning that dating me could be a pain in the ass? Consider that exhibit one in his argument. Apologies for the interruption.”

  “Shouldn’t you go say hello?”

  Yes.

  Maybe.

  But he wouldn’t. “No. I’m not here on an official function. I’m not ‘working,’ as it were.” Christian tugged on her wrist to pull it away from her face. Then, since he had a hold of it, he rubbed the edge of his thumb along the satiny softness of her skin.

  “They still made a huge deal out of you recognizing them.”

  “Because they’ll go home and tell all their friends and family that they dined alongside the prince. That they spoke to me.”

  “They didn’t, though, not really. They acknowledged you. There was no conversation.”

  “Nobody will quibble over the details. Or ask for video playback for confirmation.”

  After taking a sip of her lychee martini, Mallory slowly waved the glass toward the other table. “If you were in a movie, they would’ve gotten paid twice as much as you and gotten union credit because they spoke. You were mute. An extra in the scene. Like a fidgety kid who can’t remember lines, so they make him a tree in the background of a school play.”

  That’d be a first. Even in the navy, Christian never felt like he blended into the background. It cracked him up that Mallory’s view was so different. He winced. “Did you take a vow to cut me down to size whenever possible?”

  Barely looking up from beneath half-closed lids as she took another sip, Mallory said, “It’s more of a fun game than a vow.”

  And then she did look up.

  And slyly winked at him.

  Christian howled with laughter. Because the woman got him. She didn’t just ignore the shadow of his looming crown. No, Mallory drop-kicked it away. Genevieve and Kelsey were the only other two in the world who treated him so casually.

  He loved it. He chuckled all the way through the delivery of beef wrapped in leaves and a spicy, fried calamari. It finally trailed off as the waitress, garbed in a traditional silk split
tunic, served both of them portions on small green lacquered plates.

  “I try to balance my dings with compliments. You, sir, earned yourself some big-time points by asking if you could order for me.”

  Were American men truly that thoughtless? Regardless, he’d take the easy win. “I love this restaurant. I know their specialties. But it’d be a dick move to assume you want to eat whatever I order.”

  “Well, there are a lot of self-centered dicks out there. They’re ridiculously easy to find. Hard to avoid. More or less like cockroaches.”

  “I’d like to think my countrymen are better than that.”

  “I’m sure you would.” Mallory scooped up some beef with her leaf and moaned as she tasted the mouthful. “This is exactly the kind of thing I wanted to try in Manhattan.”

  Odd. When Christian thought of New York, he thought of steak and Italian. “Vietnamese food?”

  “All food. Midwestern small towns aren’t known for their vast array of world cuisine. Or availability of ingredients to make it yourself. This is so yummy.” Then she giggled as drips ran down her fingers. “But messy.”

  “Let me.” Christian swiftly wrapped her hand in his napkin. Blotted. And licked each of her fingertips clean. Sucked on them, really.

  Squirming a bit, Mallory asked, “Oh, so you’re already trying to get me into bed? Before the main course?”

  “Wasn’t that your plan when you put on that outfit?” he countered.

  It’d been impossible to not glance at her legs on the ten-minute drive here from the palace. Mallory wore knee-high brown leather boots. The bottom of her dress hit several inches above that. The exposed section of thigh and knee had captivated him. Somehow, only having that small part visible made it twice as alluring. Christian was positive Mallory knew the effect it would have on him.

  October—when women pulled out their boots—might just be his favorite month.

  Mallory inhaled another bite. “Nope. Skipping straight to sex is too fast. Too easy. Amateur hour.”

  Amateur? The woman was calling his moves amateur? Or…no, she was simply baiting him again? He’d almost fallen for it, too. “You really don’t pull any punches, do you?”