The Prince & the Mommy

by Mindy Neff

  Just like Antonio did.

  “I’ll call right now. Hell, I’ll go over there myself. Damn it, how could this have happened? San Alegra’s so remote, I thought you’d be safe. How the hell could he find you?”

  His rambling was more of a one-sided conversation that didn’t require answers or explanations. Although the tone of his queries didn’t invite participation, Chelsa responded anyway. “Rick’s a con artist, Mitch. If he wants information bad enough, he’ll get it.”

  “Very few people know where you are, though. And those who do are people I’d trust with my life—and yours. I don’t see how your whereabouts could have leaked.”

  “I might be making something out of nothing, Mitch.” The tense silence on the other end of the line told her he didn’t believe that any more than she did. “To be on the safe side, though, would you look in on my parents?”

  “I’ll do that right after I check with the prison. In the meantime, stick close to the phone. I’ll call you back and make arrangements to get you some protection.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m...uh, I’m not alone.”

  “Who’s with you?” His voice was like a sharp report of a pistol, full of demand and protectiveness.

  “Antonio Castillo.”

  A beat of silence. “The Antonio Castillo? The Casanova prince?”

  She grinned and cut her gaze to Antonio, who appeared ready to chew nails because he was only hearing one side of the conversation. “One and the same.”

  “I’ll be a son of a gun. Are you comfortable with him there?”

  Comfortable wasn’t exactly the word she’d use, especially with the giddy way her stomach flipped every time she looked at him. Like now. His shirt was hanging open—thanks to her grip that had sent another button scattering—and the sight of that masculine chest covered with dark, enticing hair, gave her hormones a healthy surge that pulsed straight to her feminine core. “Yes, I feel...safe.”

  “Put him on the phone.”

  “Really, Mitch—”

  “Humor me, darlin’.”

  She hesitated, nearly hissed, then turned and held the receiver out to Antonio. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Good.” He took the phone from her. “Antonio Castillo, here.”

  “Mitch D’Ambra, Vicksburg P.D. I assume you’re up to speed on Ms. Lawrence’s history?”

  “I am.”

  “What’s your take on the situation?”

  “Hard to say. I know the people here on the island, and I haven’t seen any strangers. We’ve had a storm and the ferry hasn’t made a run, but that’s not to say a private boat hasn’t pulled up on the beach somewhere.”

  “I’ve got people stationed in Barcelona and Cole Martinez is covering the Valldorian port. But you’re right—slipups occur. Are you armed?”

  “Yes.” At least he was now. With Chelsa’s Beretta.

  “Do you have a problem with staying until I run down a few leads and get a handle on the whereabouts of Rick Lawrence?”

  “No problem. Right now, you would not budge me with dynamite.”

  Mitch D’Ambra gave a sigh that had Antonio frowning. “Yeah, she’s that kind of lady. Makes a man want to just wrap her up and take off running. Rick Lawrence is a first-class fool.”

  “On that we are in agreement.”

  “Okay. I appreciate your help. I’ll call as soon as I have news.”

  “Call before that. News or not, I insist on being informed.”

  “You got it.”

  Antonio replaced the receiver and turned to Chelsa. She had a mutinous expression on her face.

  “What?” he asked, bewildered.

  “I just want to go on record as having said I don’t appreciate that sort of male muscle flexing, or bonding, or whatever that was.”

  Ah, the lady and he had quite a bit in common. She, too, liked to remain in control. And it set her off that D’Ambra had asked to speak with him...as though she were the weaker sex.

  He made an effort to control his grin, and failed. “I don’t know D’Ambra well enough to bond, and as for muscle flexing, I assure you, I did no such thing.”

  She made a sound of disgust deep in her throat. “You know what I meant.”

  He sobered, stepped up to her and pushed a wayward strand of honey-colored hair behind her ear.

  “Yes, querida, I know. There was no disrespect intended, nor feelings on either part that you are incapable of conducting your own affairs. However, a good detective can discern a lot from hearing another man speak. He was merely taking my measure, making sure a wily fox was not guarding the hen house.”

  She gave him a look so astonished, he felt like a cad. Her disbelief was no less than he deserved. After all, the papers delighted in exploiting his prowess.

  “Shame on you, Chelsa. We were speaking about the safety of your person, not your virtue. And on that score, the only promise I will make is that I always wait until I am invited before I pounce.”

  He knew he got to her by the way her sexy mouth opened and closed, by the way she twisted her hands together. At last, she simply shook her head.

  “I’m not even going to touch that statement about my virtue.” Her voice trembled, charming him. “I’ve got to get some work done or the water babies are going to drown under breach of contract.”

  He watched her leave the room, and although he knew he shouldn’t loiter in her bedroom—his imagination was active enough as it was—he also knew he needed to make another call. And it would best be done privately so as not to alarm the children.

  This latest turn of events told him the heat was turning up. He hated to see her jump every time the phone rang or look for danger around every corner. And he believed her when she said someone had been in the house. The fact that it had happened right under their noses made his gut twist in anger and frustration.

  He disliked sitting on the sidelines, waiting for something to happen, at the mercy of others for action or information. It made him feel impotent that he was forced to do so now—and that particular description, even metaphorically, was horrifying in the extreme for a man such as himself!

  The line connected and a woman answered, her voice sultry with an underlying hint of sass. Raquel Santiago Martinez. He grinned.

  “Rocky? What are you doing answering the main line of the Royal Guard?”

  “Tony! It is so good to hear your voice. News has traveled of your shipwreck. And you must tell me all about the woman who has rescued you.”

  His stomach churned as Raquel’s words planted an inkling of suspicion in his mind. He’d called the palace when the phone lines had been restored, forgetting how fast any news involving him would travel. No telling how the story had been embellished, and by whom.

  The staff was normally discreet, but that wasn’t to say they didn’t converse among themselves, or with family members outside the palace, who in turn might tell other friends.

  And though Cole Martinez did background checks on everyone they employed, it was impossible to know every detail or connection of every single citizen in Valldoria.

  ¡Dios! Had he inadvertently been the one to leak Chelsa’s whereabouts? Now, more than ever, he wanted answers and action.

  Although Raquel’s questions were good-natured—and the norm between the two of them—he didn’t want to get into the subject of Chelsa right now. At least not with the slant of a playboy wooing the latest woman.

  “You did not answer my original question, mi bella.”

  “Oh, my receptionist duties.” She didn’t press him on the issue of Chelsa. Raquel was like a sister to him and respected his privacy. “Much has changed, my friend. I am convincing my husband that I can be quite an asset to him.”

  Antonio heard a masculine grumble in the background. Cole Martinez, head of the Royal Guard, was a stickler for rules and regulations. A quiet, intense man, he’d been a friend of Antonio’s since boyhood and secretly in love with Raquel Santiago for almost that long. Now they were
happily married, and Antonio suspected Raquel was having the time of her life keeping him off balance—and Cole was having the time of his life keeping up an appearance of bluster, when anyone with a set of eyes knew he would indulge his wife in anything.

  “I have no doubt you are an asset to him, Rocky. And a very sexy one I might add.”

  “I’m not talking about sex! Oh!” She giggled, and there was static on the line as though a friendly scuffle were taking place. “My big strong husband is turning a little green. Did you know he thought you and I had a thing going, Antonio? Oops, I must run. The brute is horribly territorial over the royal phone....”

  “Flirting with my wife, again, Tony?” Cole asked.

  “Ah, no, amigo. I would not dream of such a thing. I make it a point to steer clear of ladies whose husbands wear terrifying guns.”

  “Still full of it, I see. Is there a reason for the call, buddy?”

  Antonio sobered, all kidding aside. Cole Martinez was the best in the business when it came to protection and law enforcement. And he had access to information even agents with top-secret security clearance couldn’t get their hands on.

  “Yes. I need a favor. I need information and manpower. There is a woman at risk and I will not allow the danger to touch her.” He told his friend the whole story, and relayed the conversation he’d had with the detective.

  He could hear computer keys already tapping. “D’Ambra’s a good man,” Cole said. “We trained together in the military and I’d trust him at my back without question. But you’re right, he’s too far away to ensure the kind of protection you need.”

  “You are well aware of the case involving Rick Lawrence?”

  “Intimately aware. Several of the ship workers here got caught up in the scam, and I took a personal interest in the case because Don Carlos asked me to intervene on behalf of his employees.” Not to mention that the powerful Carlos Santiago was his father-in-law.

  Martinez swore. “There’s a glitch in the computer somewhere. It’s not letting me access the Mississippi penitentiary. I’ll try another avenue.” The beep of high-tech machinery sounded like alarms going off. “Come on, baby, put out for me.”

  Antonio couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease. “Really, my friend, I am terribly fond of you, but I’m not at all sure that is appropriate. Especially since your wife is no doubt listening. And if you but ask her, she will vouch for my gender preferences.”

  “You’re a barrel of laughs, Prince.” His mind obviously on seducing his computer to do his bidding, Cole said, “If Lawrence is in the area, that gives me jurisdiction, and believe me, our justice system is much less tolerant than in the States. That’s one of the reasons Mrs. Lawrence was sent here.”

  Antonio frowned at the satisfaction in Cole’s tone. “Are you telling me, you hoped he’d show? That you used Chelsa and her daughters as bait?”

  Cole hesitated. “Not bait, exactly. There were no guarantees that he would indeed pursue her. On the off chance, though, it is better for all that it happens here.”

  “Then why the hell did you send her to San Alegra? I have been here several days and no policia have conducted rounds of surveillance. She is isolated in this bungalow, just yards from the water where any private boat can come ashore. ¡Madre de Dios! What were you thinking?”

  “We are monitoring the waters, Tony,” Cole said. “The very remoteness of the island is protection in itself.”

  “Perhaps you have misjudged, my friend. The bungalow has been breached—”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  His gut fisted into a knot. He felt as though his own word had been challenged. “I trust Chelsa’s instincts. That gives me certainty. And that being the case, someone has fallen asleep on watch. I myself sailed these waters and was not stopped or questioned.”

  “Think, Tony. No one would stop the Diablo Plata.”

  “Which is foolish. Who’s to say I was not knocked over the head by pirates and my yacht stolen?” He was merely making a point. His pride wouldn’t let him truly entertain such an occurrence.

  “I’m as dedicated to this case as you are,” Cole said quietly. “I’ll have both answers and action for you by morning.”

  Antonio felt a punch of guilt for taking his frustrations out on a friend. “I appreciate it. And I apologize for coming on so strong.”

  “No problem. I know what it’s like to lose objectivity when it’s someone you care about. I went through the same thing when Raquel was in trouble. I’ll get back to you.”

  Antonio replaced the phone, frowning. Yes, he might have lost objectivity because Chelsa was involved, and because he cared what happened to her. But that was it.

  Cole, however, had inferred deeper emotions, likening them to those he’d had with Raquel. But Cole had been in love with the heiress.

  This wasn’t the same situation at all.

  Dios. Had he given the impression that it was?

  Chapter 8

  Chelsa was having trouble with her latest story. It was difficult to concentrate on sweet emotions and upstanding morals when her mind was constantly in a state of anticipation, waiting for the evil shoe to drop, wondering if she could keep her daughters safe.

  Giving up for the time being, she walked into the living room. After Antonio had called his friend in Valldoria, he’d offered to keep the girls occupied so Chelsa could get some work done.

  It appeared that Emily and Sophie were the ones doing the occupying. She paused just inside the doorway, watching, her heart going soft at the sight of the three of them on the sofa. The girls looked so small snuggled next to him. It was a perfect family picture, but Prince Antonio Castillo didn’t mesh with her everyday images of a father. He was too...well, she couldn’t actually come up with the proper word. He was beyond handsome, and had such a presence.

  Both Emily and Sophie were vying for his attention, interrupting one another in the telling of a story. It was impossible to wallow in the dumps around Antonio and her children. Just when she was about to succumb to a pity party, one of them would surprise her into laughter...or in Antonio’s case, giddy thrills.

  Like now, when he looked up and saw her standing in the doorway. His gaze caressed her, held her, made her feel feminine and pretty and desirable. Her stomach tingled and fluttered when he flashed his deep, sexy-as-sin dimples, stealing her breath.

  “And the granddaddy said, ‘Well, Toots...’”

  Antonio was aware of Sophie’s little voice, but his concentration had turned to mush. Seeing Chelsa in the doorway, backlit with soft light glancing off her wheat-colored hair, blanked his mind of everything but her. The utter distraction surprised him. He’d never met a woman who could hold him spellbound by just walking into a room, steal his every thought. The fact that she could scared him.

  “Toots?” he asked, trying to bring his attention back to the kids’ storytelling.

  “Yep.” Sophie smacked her lips together and nodded, sending her riot of curls bobbing.

  But like a magnet, his eyes were drawn once more to Chelsa. Her simple summer dress skimmed her body and fell to her ankles. There was very little shape to the garment, yet on Chelsa it looked sexy and tempting.

  Much too tempting for his peace of mind. He swore softly.

  The sound of a soft indrawn breath had him looking back down at his storytellers. Sophie’s eyes were solemn and round, Emily’s were impish and flirty.

  “You said a bad word,” Sophie whispered, scandalized.

  Cheisa’s fault, he decided, determined not to get sidetracked again. “Yes, I did,” he said to Sophie. “What is the penalty for such a crime?”

  “Well, da water babies hafta eat soap, then da water gets ’taminated.”

  “Contaminated?”

  “Yep. S’what I said. The water gets ’taminated wif the bubbles cuz the soap washes the bad words all out.”

  “Nasty. I suppose the baby has to get out of the water?”

  “Nope. She has to sit on the l
ily pad and think about it. And when she learns the lesson and won’t say bad stuff no more, the ’taminated bubbles dis go ’way.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yep.”

  Wouldn’t life be easy if bad things could be washed away so easily? He suspected there were bad things in Chelsa’s life that would take more than a bar of soap to cleanse away, hurts that made her wary to trust.

  To trust a man.

  It said something about her as a mother that her little girls didn’t share her fears and distrust. Obviously she’d done a good job shielding them.

  He looked back at Chelsa as she came all the way into the room. The kids followed his gaze.

  “Aw,” Emily complained. “Is it bedtime already? Can’t we stay up longer?”

  Her smile was gentle as she eased down on the couch and nodded.

  The kids scrambled over the top of Antonio, pouncing on Chelsa, snuggling into her arms, and for some reason, Antonio envied that profound love and closeness.

  ¡Dios! Had the knock on his head altered his personality? The very thought shook him up.

  “Did you do a new story?” Emily asked.

  “Yeah, you could read it and we could ’teak it.”

  “Teak?” Antonio interrupted. He’d gotten pretty adept at translating Sophie’s words, but this one stumped him.

  “Critique,” Chelsa clarified. “I usually read my work in progress and use the girls as sounding boards. If the story won’t hold their interest, it’ll bomb with other children, too. Emily and Sophie are my staunchest critics.” She looked back at the girls. “And no, I didn’t get very far on my story today. I’m having some trouble concentrating.”

  “We could help.”

  “Thanks sweetie, but Momma’s brain is mush right now. Maybe tomorrow, we’ll start fresh.”

  Antonio winked. “If we are arranging work schedules, I feel I must ask a question of the goddess and little mermaid.” He schooled his features into absolute seriousness. “I am assuming you have negotiated an equitable percentage of royalties?”