Honeymoon With a Prince (Royal Scandals)

by Burnham, Nicole

  No wonder he’d stilled when she’d discovered it. Injuries like his were life-altering.

  Funny…her initial impression of him had been beach bum. A gorgeous beach bum with an extremely likable dog, but not much more. Then they’d engaged in a bit of banter, and she’d been fascinated enough—and heck, deserving enough after all she’d been though—to indulge her curiosity. But the longer she spent in his company, the more she saw a man constructed of complex layers. One who’d traveled the world and had charisma to spare, yet appreciated simple pleasures like fishing, good wine, and good friends. A man of substance.

  So unlike Ted, whose substance clung like shiny lacquer to his surface, but went no deeper.

  Then again, she’d misjudged Ted badly. Perhaps she was misjudging Massimo and seeing attributes he didn’t truly possess. Not that it mattered. He’d likely disappear before she could utter the words, “Want to go for pancakes?” Because suddenly she craved coffee and a hot, sticky, sweet stack of carbs. There had to be a place to get them on Sarcaccia.

  If she was hungry, he was likely ravenous. Once his appetite for food was met, then perhaps she could satisfy his other appetites. Again.

  She scooted closer to touch the back of his waist. He was still warm with sleep. Instead of speaking, he reached around to put a hand on her forearm and raised the other to signal that he was listening.

  She frowned, straining to hear what he heard.

  “Gaspare, come.” The words were spoken quietly. A subdued, responding woof came from the living room.

  “He doesn’t bark without reason.” Massimo’s voice was low and firm, just as it was when he called the dog’s name. Gaspare’s nose, then the rest of his large body pushed through the cracked bedroom door, sending a blast of sunlight spilling across the bed. “What’s up, boy? Someone on the beach get too close?”

  As he spoke to the dog, Massimo reached down to the floor to retrieve his underwear and slacks, pulling them on with the deftness of a man used to dressing in seconds.

  Aware her own nakedness was now on full display, Kelly lifted the top sheet to cover her breasts. “You think there might be a person outside? He’s not just asking to be let out?”

  “If he needed to go, he’d have nudged me, not barked. Plus, I let him out after our shower, so he shouldn’t have to yet. But we’ll see.” Massimo whipped on his shirt and was midway through buttoning the front when a pounding shook the front door.

  “Signor Robards! Polizia!”

  A second voice, the accent thick, added, “Mr. Robards, this is the Cateri police. Please now to open the door, or we will enter with the manager of this property.”

  Massimo spun to look at her. “Robards?”

  Ted? Her heart thrummed against the walls of her chest in a panic. What in the world was going on? Why would the police be looking for him here?

  And geez, she was naked.

  “Just a moment! I’m getting dressed!” she called to the door.

  “We will give you one minute, yes?” came the annoyed reply.

  “Thank you, I’ll be right there!” She sprang from the bed and raced across the bedroom for her clothes. Her suitcase was perched on a luggage rack beside the bathroom door. Rummaging through, she located a clean bra and underwear, a T-shirt, and a pair of jeans, then began yanking them on. The silence from the opposite side of the room felt like a knife to her back.

  “I had this reservation under another name,” she explained as she put one foot, then the other into the jeans. “I’m sure there’s some confusion is all. Give me a second and I’ll straighten it out.”

  “Of course, Signor.”

  She whirled around as she pulled the T-shirt over her head. Bemusement lit Massimo’s features as he strolled across the bedroom, then took a seat in the armchair beside the window. His eyes never left her body as she pulled her hair out of the neck of the shirt and fluffed it over her shoulders. Did he actually find this funny? Or was his humor sarcastic? Given that she had a more pressing concern at the front door, she wasn’t sure it mattered.

  “It’s a long story.” Because what else could she say? That she was supposed to be here on her honeymoon? “I’m shocked the police are here. It makes no sense.”

  “I’m sure they’re more than willing to explain it to you.”

  Great. She glanced at Gaspare as she crossed to the bedroom door, then said to Massimo, “You want to hang out in here with him so he doesn’t freak out the police?”

  Massimo leaned back in the chair and made a wide gesture. “Go right ahead. But don’t take too long or Gaspare really will need to make use of the outdoors.”

  When she reached the front hall, Kelly smoothed her hair as best she could before putting her eye to the peephole. Sure enough, two uniformed police officers stood at the door. Just behind them, an agitated-looking man in a pair of black slacks and a light gray shirt paced back and forth in front of the police car that now blocked in Massimo’s Jeep.

  She closed her eyes, stepped back from the door and exhaled. These gentlemen were serious.

  The door shook with another pounding just as she reached for the handle, causing her to gasp. Slowly, she opened it to the officers. “Good morning,” she managed. “How can I help you?”

  “My name is Officer Scarpa. I am with the Cateri police. Is Mr. Robards here?” This from the shorter of the two officers, the one who must’ve called out in English.

  “No. I’m Kelly Chase. We booked this villa together.”

  The man in the black slacks had stopped pacing to study her when she opened the door, but now he said something in rapid Italian she didn’t understand, though she did catch the words Signor Robards, telefonato, and Euros.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to the officers, “but my Italian is very limited. What is the problem, exactly?”

  “The manager says that this villa was reserved by a Mr. Robards. But yesterday afternoon, a man claiming to be Mr. Robards called and said that he had been unable to make his flight. He said he would forfeit the deposit and cancel the reservation. The manager, he explained to this man that his wife gave the key to a woman claiming to be Mrs. Robards yesterday morning. Mr. Robards assured him that there is no Mrs. Robards and that he is unmarried. He demanded that the manager accept the deposit and cancel the reservation, because this is what is in the contract.”

  She stared at the officer, becoming more dumbfounded with every word he uttered. She muttered, more to herself than to the officer, “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “No.” Officer Scarpa’s voice was level. “There is no kidding. This is why we are here.”

  “I see.” Anger boiled in her gut. How dare he?

  Ted had to have heard that she decided to take the honeymoon alone. Even if he hadn’t, if he’d called to cancel and was told there was a Mrs. Robards who’d checked in to the villa, he should’ve known that it was her.

  And what right did he have to cancel and forfeit the deposit, anyway? She’d paid for it. With her own hard-earned money. Money made from selling her business. Her heart and soul. How he had the nerve—

  The jaded looks on the officers’ faces as they waited for her to speak suddenly horrified her more than the thought of what Ted had done. Without having heard her side of the story, the two men assumed she was the person at fault in this situation. Not Ted. And they had the villa’s manager wearing a rift in the gravel driveway behind them as if to confirm it.

  Mustering her most businesslike, placid tone, she explained, “As I said, my name is Kelly Chase. Mr. Robards and I booked this villa together for our honeymoon. However—”

  The taller officer interrupted in Italian. Officer Scarpa grunted in response without taking his eyes off Kelly. The grunt sounded ominous.

  Before Kelly could continue her explanation, Officer Scarpa said, “Please, do you have your passport? And papers proving that you have paid for this? The manager, he says that only Mr. Robards was named on the reservation, though it was made for two per
sons.”

  Not true, she wanted to argue. She’d made the reservation herself and had given the manager’s wife both names when she booked. As tightly as Sarcaccia clung to its old world traditions, the woman must have only written down Ted’s name. But she could show them proof. She angled a thumb behind her. “I have my passport inside. I don’t have the confirmation, but if I can access a computer, I can pull up the reservation info and my e-mail communications with the manager’s wife. The final payment was set to come automatically from my bank yesterday after I checked in, so I should be able to pull up a record of that, too.”

  Officer Scarpa gestured past the villa’s manager, who was now grumbling at the taller police officer but was being ignored, toward his police cruiser. “Please, then, to come with us to our station and we will use the computer. Bring with you your passport.”

  Her relief at having identification faded. “To the police station? Surely we can handle this here and now.” Especially since she had a recently nude man lounging in her bedroom and there was ample evidence of what had gone on the night before. Evidence that would not ingratiate her with the manager, she suspected, should he decide to inspect the premises while she was out.

  The officers looked at each other, but the silent message passed between them was clear to Kelly. Incredulous, she asked, “Wait, am I being arrested?”

  The taller officer couldn’t hide his annoyance. Officer Scarpa’s voice was firm as he said, “This is not your house. The manager, he called yesterday all afternoon. You did not answer the phone. You are not the name of the reservation and you have not paid. He says that your payment did not work from the bank, and—”

  “The payment what?”

  “—you are to stay in our custody until you prove for us who you are and make payment. This villa, it is very expensive and in demand for honeymoon people like you, yes? And so the manager wishes to rent it to someone else for the week. This is a very busy time now on the island.”

  The manager apparently knew enough English to understand, because he stopped his pacing and exhaled, as if his problems were about to be solved.

  “I spent yesterday afternoon at the beach, which is what anyone who rented this place would do.” She fought to hit the right tone, one that would resonate with the officers. “The manager does not need to re-rent it—I truly understand that it would be a great loss of money to him—but the reservation should never have been considered cancelled in the first place, especially given that I picked up the key before Mr. Robards called.” The idiot. “This is a simple matter. I can ensure the manager is paid and show you all the paperwork without—”

  “Do you have a dog there?” The click of dog paws against tile came to Kelly’s ears at the same time the officer asked the question.

  Fabulous. There was likely some no-pet policy that would get her in even more trouble. “I have a guest at the moment, yes. He has a dog with him, but the dog is not staying here.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she should have phrased that better. Who had a male guest at this time of the morning? And after admitting that she’d booked the place for her honeymoon?

  The cops picked up on that, too.

  “Bring out your guest, Ms. Chase. Now.”

  * * *

  This would not end well.

  Massimo waited until he heard Kelly open the front door, then made quick work of tidying the bedroom. Sheets smoothed into place, bedspread righted. Her clothing—the panties she wore last night had indeed been plain white cotton—shaken out, folded, and placed atop her suitcase. Towels straightened in the bathroom once he’d glanced in the mirror and splashed his face, hoping he appeared well-rested, though he’d be far more confident of pulling off the look if he had a razor.

  She might not know Cateri’s local police force, but he did. They didn’t operate in the same manner as the American police. There would be no warrants, no niceties, not unless she insisted upon it. If this was anything other than a wellness check—which he couldn’t imagine, given her rather vigorous state of health and the fact the man hammering on the door asked for a Signor Robards—then the police would soon be walking through the villa as if they owned the place.

  He wasn’t about to let the police see him inside the villa in its present state. He couldn’t believe he was going to see police at all. He preferred his police contact to remain limited to the occasional parade or security detail they provided at state functions.

  Then again, what did he expect when he picked up a random woman on the beach?

  He signaled Gaspare to heel before slipping from the bedroom to the kitchen. The officer was speaking to Kelly. No one could mistake the fact he was losing patience over whatever was being discussed. Massimo swept the wine glasses from the countertop and—opting not to run water and draw attention—hid them under the sink. Kelly would find them later. As he closed the door to the cabinet, Kelly’s voice came to him clearly. She was asking if she was about to be arrested.

  She sounded stunned. The policeman sounded brusque. Another voice, one coming from somewhere behind the officers, rambled in self-righteous Italian about a phone call from the United States and how he was losing money by the minute.

  Massimo leaned against the refrigerator, straining to hear the man in the background. Whoever he was, he’d clearly been the one to bring the police to Kelly’s doorstep at this hour.

  Then a phrase from the police officer stood out from the Italian chatter. “This villa, it is very expensive and in demand for honeymoon people like you, yes?”

  It was the like you that sent a chill through him.

  She was here on her honeymoon?

  He swiped a hand from his forehead to his jaw as if he could wipe away what he’d just heard.

  How in the…what the hell had he gotten himself into with her? Who the hell had a one-night stand—because that was certainly all it was, no matter what delusions gripped him in the middle of the night—on their honeymoon?

  A low noise came from Gaspare. He’d remained in place beside Massimo, but his hungry gaze was locked on the bowl Kelly had put down the night before. Massimo muttered an oath, then motioned for Gaspare to go ahead and take a drink. Food would be required soon, too, judging from how quickly the dog crossed the tile floor to lap up the water and the sloppy way in which he did it.

  Kelly’s arguments grew more and more adamant, but Massimo didn’t hear any denial about the fact she was on her honeymoon. In fact, it seemed as if she were well acquainted with the mysterious Mr. Robards, because he’d apparently called to cancel the reservation.

  Her fiancé ? Or…her husband?

  The idea left him nauseous. Never in his life had he flirted with a married woman, let alone bedded one. There were certain lines he would never, ever cross. Even if she’d portrayed herself as single, he’d feel guilty for the rest of his life if she turned out to be a Mrs.

  If only the police would decide. Make the arrest or leave. At the moment, he didn’t care which, as long as they didn’t discover him here. He didn’t need a scandal on top of the guilt.

  Gaspare crossed the kitchen, water dripping from the fur under his jaw, at the same time the police officer asked Kelly, “Do you have a dog there?”

  A few heartbeats later came the words Massimo dreaded, a demand for Kelly to bring out her “guest.”

  Massimo picked up the water bowl and placed it in the sink, then used a paper towel to wipe the floor. With deliberate steps, he headed for the front door. If he was compelled to see the police this morning, he’d do it on his own terms.

  This would not end well.

  Chapter Eight

  She should be intimidated. The police stood in front of her with their feet apart, hands at their belts, as if prepared for a full-on physical assault. As if they did this day in and day out while facing down criminals who should know better.

  Well, she wasn’t a criminal. She was a twenty-seven-year-old closet organizer from Dallas visiting the i
sland for a little rest and relaxation. The only eyebrow-raising thing she’d done was have a night of phenomenal sex with an incredibly good-looking—and rather well-endowed—man and, well, good for her. If every visitor to Sarcaccia had a night like hers, tourism would explode.

  After a deep breath, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Again, am I being placed under arrest? If so, what is the charge? I’ve committed no crime here. I booked this villa months ago, I paid a deposit, I picked up the key. I have access to the confirmations you’ve requested and I can prove—”

  “Excuse me, may I be of assistance?” Massimo’s deep voice came from behind her.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder as he filled the entry hall. Aside from the day-old scruff on his face, he appeared as put-together as when he’d met her at the parking lot last night. His shirt was tucked neatly into his pants, his shoes were on his feet, and his close-cropped hair kept him from having any signs of bedhead. She sent a prayer heavenward for the small favor. The police were far more likely to consider him an early-morning guest—one who just happened to stop by with his dog—than if he looked the way he had five minutes earlier, when he’d been naked in her bed.

  And maybe, given that he’d offered assistance, he’d be willing to explain in Italian what the police didn’t seem to understand in English. Quietly, she said, “I’m sorry, Massimo, but there’s been a misunderstanding—”