The Prince & the Mommy

by Mindy Neff

  She felt her eyelids go heavy, felt her stomach give a giddy leap. “Maybe I will.” Astonished, she realized she was on the verge of flirting.

  And it felt entirely too good.

  * * *

  The evening meal was light and delicious. He’d dined with movie stars and royalty, in glamorous settings and sparkling cities. Yet the simple table set for four in a small island bungalow, where children switched subjects faster than any sane person could keep up, and a delicate Southern belle presided like a born socialite, taking the chaos in stride, was somehow more stimulating than he’d ever experienced.

  While Chelsa went through the ritual of putting her daughters to bed, Antonio wandered the rooms. There were drawing boards, sketch pads and computer apparatus lying about, the tools of Chelsa’s trade. He picked up the sketchbook and grinned at the half-finished drawings of frogs depicting various states of emotion, spiders wearing bow ties and fish twirling in stiff net tutus.

  Curious, he thumbed through the published copies of the books the girls had told him about.

  She wrote under the name of Rose O’Mally.

  The animated characters appealed to his sense of fun, and he chuckled. Obviously Chelsa Lawrence shared that sense of fun. Otherwise she would not have been able to create such magical whimsy.

  Yet to look into her lake-blue eyes, one would never know she possessed such a delightful streak. She harbored secrets and the crushing weight of responsibilities. There were fears, barely leashed, and a distinct hesitation over every move or decision.

  Not the characteristic of a creator of fancy.

  Intrigued, he eased onto the sofa, wincing only slightly when his ribs protested, and was thoroughly captivated by the tale that unfurled.

  The story was about a water baby—a frog naturally, he remembered Emily saying—being scared by a bad spider. But the spider was scared of the water. Nobody liked the spider because he was hairy and ugly, and because nobody liked him, he was lonely and sad and he cried. So the baby finally looked past the ugly exterior and extended a lily pad for the spider to sit on and float. The spider was happy and became friends with the water baby, and the moral was not to be mean to people because they look different or because somebody else says they bite. Give a chance and be sweet to everybody.

  “Did it hold your interest?” Chelsa asked from the doorway.

  His gaze lifted, met hers and held. Soft lamplight created a halo backdrop for her wheat-blond hair, giving her the look of an angel. His savior angel. So sweet and poised, yet full of contradictions. “I was riveted. You tend to put different spins on the same themes. Morality and honesty.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose because they’re important to me. I try to instill those qualities in my daughters.”

  “And in the process, you teach millions of other children the same lessons.”

  “The world could use a little more morals and honesty. For some it’s too late. Catch them while they’re young and perhaps we’ll make an impact.”

  “A worthy goal. So why do you not take credit by writing under your own name?”

  Now they were treading on shaky ground. “It’s not uncommon to take a pseudonym.”

  “In the event of fame and fortune?”

  She smiled evasively. “I’ll leave the fame stuff to you. You’re so good at it.”

  “I have fun, yes. But we were speaking of you. Is the writing of children’s books a lucrative one?”

  “For me it is. I don’t make a fortune, but I’m comfortable. The series took off practically overnight and at times I’m hard-pressed to keep up. In fact, I’m terribly behind right now because the girls are so intrigued by San Alegra. They’ve never seen the ocean before and they’d stay outdoors twenty-four hours if I’d let them. Makes it tough to maintain any kind of regular work schedule.”

  “Perhaps I could assist you there. Since the ferry won’t be here for another week, and my yacht is in pieces, I will need to go into town and purchase some essentials. I would be happy to take the girls with me, allow them to explore, and in turn allow you some time to yourself.”

  “No.” She twisted her hands, lowered her voice. “Thank you, but no. The girls can be a handful and I don’t like to impose.”

  He frowned at her obvious agitation. “It is not imposing when an offer has been extended.”

  Her smile, though strained, inched up. “If you had any idea what you’d be getting into, you wouldn’t extend it in the first place. I’m saving your sanity.”

  She was holding something back, but he decided to let her off the hook. For the moment. “There are those who say my sanity has already snapped.”

  “There is that,” she said, her features easing. “I’ve read about you, you know. You court danger like it’s nothing more than a leisurely Sunday drive. Race cars, motorcycles, boats. The journalists say you’re fearless.”

  “Ah, no. Not in everything.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “My mother,” he said immediately. Then more thoughtfully, “Southern women whose souls speak so loudly through their eyes.”

  She glanced away.

  “What are you running from, querida?”

  “Nothing.”

  He rose, took both her hands in his. They trembled, he noticed. And that wariness was flashing in her eyes. “You can trust me.”

  “My ability to trust was lost long ago. Besides, I don’t even know you.”

  “I am an open book—ask anyone.” He gave her fingers a gentle, encouraging squeeze. “Are you in trouble?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you panic when I suggest you or your daughters accompany me outside?”

  Chelsa pulled her hands away and wrapped her arms around her waist. She didn’t want to air her dirty laundry, but she felt she had little choice. She’d made a decision to rescue this man, and felt responsible for him. Although she could ask him to relocate to a hotel in town, there would be nothing stopping him from coming back to visit, whether to see her girls, who were already half in love with him, or to canvas the sand for strewn parts of his yacht.

  And because of who he was, he would put them in danger.

  She had to make him understand this.

  Letting out a resigned breath, she looked out the darkened windows where a million stars twinkled like magical diamonds above the sea. The lulling, rhythmic sound of surf meeting sand should have soothed. Yet her stomach was twisted in knots.

  “In a way, I guess you could say I’m a fugitive. But I’m not running from the law. I’m running from the screwed-up system the law’s become.” She glanced at him, braced herself. “Sophie told you her daddy is in jail. I put him there.”

  His gaze sharpened, searching.

  She read his thoughts before he could even voice them. “No, no scars. Yet.” Feeling exposed, she drew the curtains closed, fisting the delicate fabric, shutting out the bogeyman. “He didn’t beat me. He beat the system.”

  “How?”

  “International fraud. He sold Mississippi mud to unsuspecting folks, convincing them they were investing in an up-and-coming, affordable resort. Senior citizens turned over their life savings and couples raided their nest eggs and children’s college funds in order to invest. Rick was a gambler, always looking for a way to make an easy buck. He was charming and slick and dishonest as the day is long.”

  She let go of the curtains, found she didn’t know what to do with her empty hands, so she crossed them at her waist, holding on, wishing desperately that for once there was another set of arms besides her own to hold her, to protect her.

  But wishes were for fairy tales and the pages of her books.

  “At first I closed my eyes to what was going on. We married young and had the girls right away. I thought I had the perfect family, the perfect life. But soon after Sophie was born, something changed in Rick. What I’d always passed off as moodiness gradually escalated into nastiness. He became paranoid and suspicious, and tried to put that blame
off on me. For a while I took it, until I realized that my misery was affecting the children.” The shame of being such a stupid, blind doormat still had the power to sting.

  “Then the late-night disappearances began and his phone constantly rang at all hours of the day and night.”

  “Where did he go when he left?”

  “He’d rented a room outside of town, and a telephone. That’s where he did his betting and his telemarketing to fleece trusting individuals out of their savings. He used our household money to bet on everything from horses to armadillo races. I never saw any of the money he swindled with those phony property deeds. He banked it overseas.”

  “Did none of these people think to check out what they were purchasing?”

  She could understand his incredulous tone, but he didn’t know Rick, didn’t know his slick manner. “Evidently he sent phony pictures, and held people off from coming by telling them he would arrange prepaid travel for a groundbreaking ceremony.”

  “Were there others involved?”

  “A couple of young kids he’d hired to make calls. As it turns out, they didn’t know it was a scam. But somebody must have caught on.” She’d never seen such a serious, fierce expression on Antonio Castillo’s face. She almost liked it better when he was grinning like a spoiled, obscenely rich second son of a king with nothing more on his mind than the next adventure. The handsome man standing before her, though, was proving there were deeper layers beneath the carefree mask he showed the world.

  For some reason, that depth scared her, made her realize this was a man she could easily fall for. And that, she could not do.

  “We lived in a small town in Mississippi, and people began to notice the changes in Rick. I made excuses for him until the day the detective showed up at my door and told me they suspected him of being involved in a fraud scam. For a while they suspected me, too.”

  “You were investigated?”

  She nodded. “Thankfully my father is a retired police officer, and that went a long way to giving me credibility. I started divorce proceedings and set a trap. I was instrumental in putting him in jail.”

  “And the money? Was it recovered?”

  “Some of it.” She shrugged. “The rest, I don’t know. Maybe he blew it on gambling.” She closed her eyes, shoved at her hair with her hands. “I feel so guilty, like I should make restitution to those people.”

  Dios, this woman carried a lot. And her sense of honesty and fairness would make her want to pay from her own pockets. Antonio made a mental note to dig deeper into the case, to add his own funds to the pot if it were indeed dry.

  “What was your husband’s prison term?”

  “Not nearly long enough. Slick lawyers have a way of getting reduced sentences. Then there’s time off for good behavior.” She made a disgusted sound.

  “His behavior has not been good?”

  “Oh, the prison officials don’t see him as bad. They claim he’s a model jailhouse citizen, totally repentant for his misdeeds.”

  He frowned, feeling a sense of foreboding at her tone. “You are not only speaking of the fraud, I think.”

  “No. He swore to get even with me. To make me pay.”

  “Dios.”

  “Exactly, and he’s up for parole. If he’s freed, I become a prisoner.” She pinned him with a steady look.

  “Do you understand now, Tony?” In her agitation, she didn’t appear aware that she’d used his name. “Because of who you are, you could put us in danger. You’re recognizable worldwide. Even Rick followed your racing career like a demented fan. Tabloids snap your picture if you so much as step out a door. Sports enthusiasts and social columnists speculate over and document your every move—and those of whoever happen to be standing next to you. I can’t allow my daughters to be in the limelight like that. I can’t take the chance on Rick finding us.”

  “How serious of a threat are we talking about here?”

  “About as serious as it gets. He wants me dead.”

  “¡Madre de Dios!” Her stark statement stole his breath. He was a man who laughed at death, challenged it even.

  But that was him. The thought of threat or harm befalling Chelsa Lawrence and her children was intolerable.

  “Why are you here alone?” he demanded. “Why are you not under police protection?”

  “Because there’s no evidence of intent. Only the whispered words of a convict just before he was taken away in chains.”

  He had to get a grip, yet it was difficult to think clearly past the rage that roiled inside him. She was so delicate, so beautiful, so genuine. She didn’t deserve this strife. “Perhaps he has had a change of heart.”

  She shook her head. “I saw his eyes, Tony. And I won’t gamble with my children’s future on the off chance that he’s had a sudden attack of remorse.”

  “Are you in contact with the officials? Will you know if the parole board frees him?”

  “Detective D’Ambra is keeping tabs, and he’s promised to call and let me know what happens. Mitch is the one who arranged for us to come here.”

  “Mitch?”

  “D’Ambra. The detective. He trained with a man named Cole Martinez, and when this case came up, they worked on it together. You see, Rick didn’t limit himself to fleecing only Americans. He branched out internationally.”

  Which gave the Castillos jurisdiction if Lawrence showed up in their country. Smart man, this D’Ambra, Antonio thought. Because, in Valldoria, they handled felons differently, had less red tape to cut through.

  “Cole is one of my closest friends,” he said. “Is he still on the case?”

  “That’s just it. There is no case. Only the panic of an ex-wife.”

  She said it self-deprecatingly, but he didn’t believe it for a moment. Chelsa Lawrence might be delicately built, only reaching as far as his chin—and that was stretching it—but she had a backbone that was amazing. They bred them strong in the South. The poise and manners were deceiving, though. This wasn’t a woman who’d be blown away by a gust of wind.

  Nor would she panic at nothing.

  Admiration warred with his protective instincts. He had an idea she had a core of strength that just might outmatch his. Still, he had connections. And he knew how to evade the press, knew how to become invisible.

  “I do not believe it is possible for you to overreact.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her eyes meeting his with both relief and reserve. “But whether or not I’m fabricating the whole thing, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  He shook his head, stepped closer, cupped her cheek. He’d thought he knew all there was to know about women, but with Chelsa, he realized he would have to learn all over again. This woman was wounded. Oh, she hid it well, but the wound was there, and it cut deep.

  And he was attracted to her in a way he couldn’t quite define.

  But playboy innuendos and whirlwind affairs wouldn’t work with her. Nor would a sophisticated one-night stand. This was a woman who needed a slow touch, an easy touch. A woman who needed the security of a guy who had staying power, not one who lived in fear of moss growing under his feet.

  Nevertheless his hero’s heart kicked in. The need to take care of her was fierce, blocking out all else.

  He ran his thumb over her soft jaw. “You need someone to lean on. And I have broad shoulders.”

  “I can’t—”

  He placed a finger over her lips. “You are in my country now—or at least on Castillo land. It is both my obligation and my pleasure to see that you come to no harm.”

  Chapter 4

  Chelsa stepped back from his touch. The timing was so inappropriate for her to react to his masculinity, to his velvety eyes that radiated sincerity and a sex appeal so strong, it nearly brought her to her knees.

  “Weren’t you listening to me?” she demanded.

  “To every word.”

  “Then you’ve got to know that staying with me is impossible.”

  “If we were
in Mississippi, perhaps. Here, we are in my territory. I know these people. I know their loyalties and their creeds.”

  “Their loyalties to you?”

  “Yes. This island is small, and though tourism is important, the locals do not actively pursue it. They would be as upset as you with a media circus.”

  “I doubt it.” Her words rang with unresolve. He still didn’t understand. And why would he? Being the center of attention was a way of life to him, a given.

  But that wasn’t a life-style most normal people lived. And because she was one of those everyday type of souls, she felt like she was the wiser one on the subject.

  “It was not my intention to discount your feelings, querida. Let us agree that your reasons for anonymity and the town’s are vastly different. Yet you would be surprised at the ally they represent.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I have grown up in and around here. My appearance or presence does not cause the citizens to go into a dither. They respect my privacy because I am one of their own.”

  “And your family owns the island,” she inserted. “Let’s don’t forget that.”

  “Ownership is not an issue among friends.”

  He seemed so certain. “What about tourists? Maybe they’re not so common, but there are bound to be some.”

  “And they are just that. People enjoying a vacation. You are becoming paranoid to think they would run immediately to the telephones to notify the press.”

  The word paranoid stung. She turned, pushed through the screen door and walked out into the night, the sand cool beneath her bare feet. The windows remained open, so she could hear the girls if they woke up. She needed a minute to herself, to steady her emotions.

  But she wasn’t permitted that moment. A soft touch at her shoulder had her jumping.

  “Easy,” Antonio murmured. “Just me.”

  Her nerves were screaming, and she was almost afraid to open her mouth and speak. No telling what would come out. She wanted to lash out at someone—anyone—and Antonio was the closest. But the mess she was in wasn’t his fault.