Leopold: Part One: Royal Heartbreakers

by Ember Casey

  He glances around the room, too, probably trying to figure out what I’m looking at before his gaze returns to mine. “And how will she pay for the hospital? How will she get there?”

  I let out a long sigh and motion for him to follow me into my office. I drop onto the folding chair in front of my desk before I pick up the plastic tub with the other similar items, remove the top and place the new shell into it. I cover the box quickly with the lid and slide it back under the table.

  He drops onto the chair across from me and gives me a confused look. He nods at the floor toward the plastic bin. “That? Those are the payments?” He makes a face that seems a little too much like disgust. “Those are the only payments?”

  I press my lips into a line and narrow my gaze, not answering the question with anything but my stern expression. I wait a few moments, trying to figure out how the hell I can even begin to explain what goes on here.

  I gulp down my indignation and straighten my shoulders. “She’ll get to the hospital in the car your country has so generously provided for my use. The one that sits out back and has never once been driven by me.”

  I see something that looks close to a wince flash across his face, but the pained look is quickly replaced with the same look he’s had since we came back out of the treatment area. Some mix of confusion, disgust and anger, I suspect.

  “You can’t ask a doctor to come here and just…” I snap my mouth closed, unsure if I want to say the words out loud. “You can’t expect me only to provide care to people who can pay.”

  Leo

  Well, I guess I’m starting to understand where all the money is going.

  I rub my forehead. When my father sent me here, I thought my responsibility was simple—find the discrepancies in the accounts, figure out where the money was going, and report back. I thought it would be an easy task—sure, there was the chance I’d have to wade through some shoddy bookkeeping and possibly even sack a person or two, but I wasn’t expecting to deal with a situation like this. This…this complicates things.

  What in bloody hell am I supposed to do now?

  This isn’t supposed to be my responsibility. My family has launched philanthropic ventures all over the world—we’ve built clinics, schools, shelters, food banks, and dozens of other facilities, as expected of a wealthy royal family—but we don’t usually have to handle any of the finer details ourselves. We have people for that. Foundations to dispense the money. Boards of directors and diplomats to oversee the functions of any particular project. The only reason I’m here is because my father thought I needed to learn a lesson, to understand my place in this world.

  I understand my place just fine—and so does the rest of the world. My older brother is the crown prince, the heir to the throne of Montovia, and he’s played his part—he’s serious, dutiful, and everything a proper dullard of a prince should be. My next youngest brother is still finishing up his obligatory round of service in the royal military—God help him—and the one after that is pursuing his studies at university. And as for my sister, the youngest of us all…well, Sophia shows signs of being properly infamous someday, but she’s still too young to be making much trouble yet.

  Me? I’m the one who reminds the world not all of us are royal bores. I’ve done my duty at every major club in Europe, made appearances on yachts in the Mediterranean with supermodels and starlets, closed down the bars with the latest Hollywood A-listers in all corners of the globe. The tabloids have covered every minute of it. Someone has to remind the world that Montovia isn’t trapped in another century, that we aren’t all stodgy buffoons with pokers shoved up our backsides.

  And God, what a life it’s been. Beautiful women, luxurious resorts, VIP treatment everywhere I go. What’s the point of being a royal if I don’t take full advantage of the perks? If life has blessed me with certain advantages…well, I’d be a fool not to accept them graciously.

  And I have accepted them, with enthusiasm, and usually everything works out in my favor—until the one night I let things go too far.

  I straighten. That night is the reason I’m here. My father thought my actions were reprehensible enough to send me across the ocean, but he doesn’t even know the entire story. He knows I was reckless and irresponsible. He knows my actions put the reputations—and lives—of myself and my brother Andrew at risk. But he doesn’t know what else was at stake. He doesn’t know the part Andrew played, and he definitely doesn’t know the worst might be yet to come. He did what he needed to in order to keep the press from hearing anything. And I did what I could—including covering for Andrew with our father—to keep the situation from escalating in other ways.

  I’m not sure if it will be enough. But I’m here, paying my penance.

  The air in this place is feeling warmer and thicker by the minute. A bead of sweat drips down my back as I run a hand through my hair. I thought a journey to Rio de Campo might, at best, be something of an adventure; at worst, I was convinced it would be a chore. And though I’m beginning to understand I have my work cut out for me, this is all quite a bit more complicated than I anticipated. I haven’t even been here a day and I’ve met with a number of surprises—from the beautiful doctor to the reprehensible state of this clinic to the dramatic scene I just witnessed—and I’m not sure what to make of it all.

  I look down at my arm, at the small splatter of blood on my sleeve. I’m not sure what just happened here. But seeing Elle in action, watching her tend calmly and skillfully to that child, moved me in a way I didn’t expect. And for her to accept only a seashell in payment…

  I glance back up at her, realizing she’s waiting for me to say something. It’s clear from the look in her blue eyes that she has no intention of listening to me, though, however I might answer her.

  “We’re going to need to discuss your budget eventually,” I say carefully. “But I see no reason that we need to have this discussion now.” Not after what I just witnessed. She saved that child’s life, and though I can’t say I usually pay much attention to a woman’s talents—outside the bedroom, at least—there was something unspeakably beautiful about what I just saw. Maybe it was the determination in her expression when she bent over the child, or the tenderness in her hands as she helped her—or maybe it’s the passion I see in her eyes now as she glares at me. She’ll fight for this place and her part in it with every breath in her body. If I thought I wanted her before, it’s nothing compared to the desire I feel for her now.

  She, on the other hand, looks very much like she wants to throw a fist at my face.

  Her eyes fall closed, then open again. She shakes her head, and the wisps of hair that have come loose from her ponytail brush against her neck. I want to slide my tongue along the skin of her throat, to see if it’s as soft as I imagine it is.

  “You can discuss the budget now or later,” she says, her voice far too calm. “But my decision won’t change. I will never, ever charge these people for care. Take it or leave it.” She stands and moves toward the door again, and I rise and follow her back into the room where we just were.

  She doesn’t say a word to me. She grabs a pair of latex gloves and goes over to the gurney, bending over it and cleaning up. I try to keep my eyes away from the curve of her ass, but I can’t help myself—the woman is lush in all the right places, and I find myself musing about what it might be like to take her right here, to slide down her pants and take her from behind with that soft curve of her bottom pressed right against me. As feisty as she is, I can only imagine how passionate she might be in the throes of pleasure.

  No—I have no intention of further discussing business today. Why focus on such dull things, especially when they only seem to aggravate her? I’d much rather soften her up again, see if I might get her to turn her tender hands to me. I’m sure we’d both like to forget about the child and the money and turn our attention to something much more pleasant.

  When she’s done cleaning up the gurney, she peels off her gloves and tosses them in
the rubbish bin.

  A sudden thought occurs to me, and I glance down at my sleeve again.

  “I…uh, is this contagious?” I ask. I had a full round of vaccines before I left Montovia, but I have no idea what was coughed up all over my arm.

  Elle shoots me an almost disgusted look. “You’ll live.”

  I can almost hear the word she doesn’t say—unfortunately. But while she might prefer that I be gone, I’d prefer not to die out here. I might not be the heir to the throne, but there are still many things I’d like to do in life.

  Like her, for example.

  When you’re a prince—and blessed with charm and good looks—you always have your share of women to choose from. I can walk into any club in the world and snap my fingers and have a dozen gorgeous women hanging off my arm in seconds, or flash a smile at some hot little starlet and have her naked in my bed in under an hour. So meeting a woman who’s immune to my charms—or at least determined to be—is both a little perplexing and a little exciting. And I’m more than prepared for the challenge.

  Just soften her up a little. You’ve come into her territory, stepped on her toes. Show her what you can offer her and she’ll melt in your hands. I saw the way she looked at me when she first set eyes on me. She wants me. She might be fighting that desire now, but it’s just a matter of teasing it out again. Putting her at ease.

  “Does that happen often?” I ask her. “The baby, I mean. Is that something you see in here on a regular basis?”

  Surprise flickers in her eyes—I suppose she didn’t expect me to take an actual interest in the affairs of this clinic.

  She pushes a loose bit of hair behind her ear. “More than it should.”

  “Ah.” I clasp my hands behind my back. Tread carefully. “I thought you handled it quite skillfully.”

  She gives a dismissive shake of her head. “I was just doing my job.”

  “And you did it quite well, at least from what I could tell.” And you looked absolutely intoxicating doing it. I take a casual step toward her. “I can see you’re quite suited to the position here.”

  Instantly, I see her guard go up again.

  “What exactly are you trying to do?” she asks. “You can’t accuse me of mishandling funds one minute and then tell me I’m suited to this job the next.” She gives another shake of her head. “And while we’re at it, why the hell are you still here? You’ve seen the place. You’ve told me we can put off the money conversation until a different day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

  I don’t move. Instead, I smile at her, trying to lighten the mood. “I was hoping that since we have to work together we might do so on good terms, Elle. That we might be friends.”

  “Friends.” She snorts. “I know what you want, and it’s not friendship.”

  Well, I can’t deny that. But I’m not entirely sure I need to. Even as I take another step forward, I see her eyes fall to my lips—a sure sign some part of her subconscious mind is thinking about kissing me—and I swear I can see the pulse beating at her throat.

  “We have no choice but to work together,” I tell her lightly. “And I’d prefer to do so with some civility. Perhaps if we met somewhere neutral, somewhere outside of the clinic, we can chat on more casual terms. Get to know each other a little better.” I take yet another step toward her, and still she doesn’t move away. “You’ve had a trying day, Elle. You deserve a break. Is there somewhere in town where we might relax and have a couple of drinks?”

  She crosses her arms. “I can’t leave the clinic.”

  “After you’re done, then.”

  This time I get an exasperated roll of her eyes. “We are not having drinks. Ever. Your charms might work on other women, but they’re not going to work on me.”

  “Are you so sure about that?” I take one final step toward her, and this one brings me close enough that I hear the sudden sharp intake of her breath.

  Try as she might, she can’t fight it. My lips curl up into a slow smile as I lean forward, bringing my mouth close to her ear.

  “I think you’re trying very hard to convince yourself that my charms won’t work on you,” I murmur. “But I think they’ve been working since the moment you set eyes on me.” I bring my hands up slowly, carefully, to her sides, and though she flinches slightly at my touch, she doesn’t pull away. “It’s fairly easy to recognize a woman’s desire, Elle, even if she tries to resist it. Her eyes get darker. Her breath gets quicker. And her pulse…” I bring one hand up to brush my fingers against her throat, “…flutters so quickly you can see it dancing beneath her skin.” I press my fingers against the spot where I can feel the racing rhythm of her desire.

  “Anger also causes those reactions,” she says, but her voice is little more than a ragged whisper.

  “Mm. Then I am more than okay with your anger.” I move forward, leading her back one step and then another until her back is against the wall. Her body tenses slightly, but still she doesn’t push me away.

  I’m close enough now that my lips brush against her skin when I speak.

  “You want me, Elle,” I tell her. “And I want you. So why don’t we just do away with all the pretense and make the most of our time together?”

  Elle

  My temperature has risen to a point I’m sure isn’t healthy—my entire body feels like it’s on fire. It’s a good thing I’m almost one hundred percent certain the illness the baby has isn’t contagious, or I would be pretty sure I had contracted it.

  My heart is pounding in my chest. Except it isn’t so much pounding anymore as it is trying to burst itself right out of my body. He’s standing too close to me—not quite touching me—but so close I can feel the waves of heat emanating from him. I’m pretty sure I’m not breathing, except I can hear the ragged breaths escaping me that make me sound like an animal in heat. And I don’t even want to think about the goddamned pulsing between my legs that has made me embarrassingly wet.

  And he’s barely even touched me.

  He rocks back on his heels, pulling away just enough to look into my eyes, almost daring me to deny my attraction to him.

  Fuck.

  This is not how things are supposed to be happening. This is not how anything in my life is ever going to happen. I’m not going to let myself even consider how this is the stuff fantasies are made of—how one evening with Prince Leo would set me up with enough fantasy material to take care of my sexual needs for the rest of my life.

  If I can just stop looking at his lips…

  Almost as though he can read my mind, his tongue trails slowly across his bottom lip, and his eyes sear through me.

  My mouth opens, and I’m mesmerized, imagining his tongue in places I should not be thinking about—not here. Not ever.

  I blink a few times, snapping myself out of one hot daydream. That is all he is ever going to be to me—a fantasy. It isn’t like I haven’t fantasized about Prince Leo before, like every other warm-blooded woman on the planet. It’s just that the photos in the magazines do not do him justice—the man oozes sex appeal, which has obviously not translated itself completely onto the pages of the tabloids. It isn’t fair that a man this magnetic is also a royal.

  A royal pain in my ass. A royal bad boy who will never change.

  And that’s the problem. Never again am I going to be someone’s plaything.

  He lifts an arm, placing his hand on the wall behind me and almost pinning me there with his body. He tilts his head to whisper in my ear again, his breath hot on my neck. “Elle. I don’t believe you can deny our attraction, no matter how much you resist.”

  Something about his words snaps me to immediate attention and I duck under his outstretched arm, just as his other hand reaches up to touch my cheek. I back away, around the gurney to the middle of the room. There are no walls here—nothing he can pin me against now. My eyes dart around the room, planning my escape path, which is silly considering I’ve spent a year here, only leaving on rare occasions. I k
now this clinic better than I’ve known any other place I’ve ever worked, so escaping seems almost like an overreaction.

  I take a long breath, trying to slow my pounding heart as much as I’m trying to slow my racing thoughts. I don’t get like this—overcome. I just…don’t. I don’t know what sort of signals I’ve been sending out since Leo arrived, but he must have misinterpreted them.

  Ha.

  He hasn’t misinterpreted anything, but I didn’t know I was so…transparent. And knowing he’s somehow able to read my mind makes my cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and anger about my overactive libido.

  “Elle.” His voice is low, almost soothing. He turns to me with that same slow, sexy smile that he’s given me—Christ, I don’t even know how many times now. I might have to start counting.

  No. You. Won’t. I ball my hand into a fist and dig my fingernails into my palm, trying to remind myself with the prick of pain how this is not going to happen. That I am not going to allow my body to betray me. No matter how much I might think I want to.

  I don’t think I’ve ever had to do battle with myself like this before. There’s something about the whole sleeping-with-a-prince thing that is definitely…appealing. But I’m pretty sure I was hot for him before I knew he was Prince Leo. It was only an hour or so ago, but I seem to remember my body deciding to betray me before I ever had the slightest notion he was a royal…

  It doesn’t matter. This is wrong on so many levels. Even if I did decide it would somehow be okay to sleep with him, then what? Where would we even go? My room—if you can call it that—is small. The twin-size bed takes up almost the entire space, with only enough room left over for the small plank of wood I have sitting on two concrete blocks that serves as a makeshift desk, holding my laptop from home and the few personal items I brought with me. There isn’t even enough room for a dresser—I’m still living out of my suitcase a year after coming here. And I don’t even want to think about the state of my wardrobe.