He moved the Jeep to the inside lane, away from the curb. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“No. You can’t just get out of the car and wander.”
“I’m not your problem, Massimo, but I could be if I stay in the Jeep. You don’t need that.” She reached for the door handle as they stopped at the light, but another car pulled to a stop in the lane beside them, blocking her exit. She shot him an exasperated look. “Come on. Pull over at the next intersection. I’ll be perfectly fine. Tell you what, I can call you later and let you know where I am, just so you feel you’ve done your job.”
The trees lining the road sent dappled sunlight across Kelly’s face, casting shadows in such a way that a tiny brown dot near her mouth caught his attention. Without thinking, he reached out to wipe it away. It didn’t move. At her baffled expression, he said, “Sorry. Thought you had chocolate on your face.”
“Freckle.” Her fingers reached to the spot he’d just touched. “Wish it were chocolate.”
The car beside them began to move. He tore his attention from Kelly to drive through the intersection and then the next, ignoring her requests to stop. “I have a better idea.”
The image of what he’d been doing the last time he uttered that sentence leaped full-force into his mind’s eye. She’d been about to roll on top of him, but he’d wanted desperately to explore her most intimate places, to taste her, to see her come apart at his touch. He’d held her fast, then slowly worked his way down her body—
Stop stop stop stop stop.
“How better?”
He forced his attention to the situation at hand. “We’ll both think more clearly on full stomachs. I’m starving, and I bet you haven’t eaten since last night, either.” At her confirmation, he said, “That settles that. I know a place where we can eat in private.”
“Giulia might have questions if we show up twice in a row, and every restaurant we’ve passed is jam-packed with tourists.”
“More private than Giulia's. My apartment.”
Chapter Thirteen
“This is not what we call an apartment in the States.”
Kelly froze inside the doorway of Massimo’s suite of rooms, unsure where to sit. When he’d turned away from the waterfront and its grand hotels to nose his Jeep through Cateri’s twisted streets, she assumed he had a place in the old part of town, near the palace. She hadn’t equated the word apartment with the palace itself. It wasn’t until after he turned the Jeep into a gated alley, past a guardhouse, then down a ramp into an underground garage that she realized she was going underneath the country’s most famous residence. And that Massimo lived here.
What in the world was she doing?
Digging yourself a deeper hole, idiot. But there was nothing to do about it now. Massimo had used a pass card to bring them up in a private elevator from the garage, and she doubted she could simply make her apologies and walk out of the palace without running a gauntlet of security.
And frankly, she wanted to eat first.
“It’s not a typical apartment for Sarcaccia, either, but it’s what I have. Make yourself at home. If you need a restroom, there’s one down there, second door, past the library,” he said, indicating a wide hallway off to her right. “Assuming Gaspare will let you go. Here he comes.”
Sure enough, the dog approached from Kelly’s left. He pressed his furry body into the side of her leg, anxious for attention.
She decided her bladder could wait as she scratched the dog’s head and took in the main living area of Massimo’s so-called apartment. The most notable thing about the room in which she now found herself was its sheer size. Richly-papered walls rose at least twenty feet from the floor and decorative squares of carved wood—was it walnut? mahogany?—covered the vast ceiling. Beneath her feet, elegant rugs in shades of red and navy spread out over immaculately polished hardwood floors. Detailed inlays wrapped around the floor’s perimeter. She’d thought the marble floors and carpeting in the gallery they’d just walked through were impressive. This was…unbelievable. Museumlike. And dark.
It wasn’t the type of place she expected Massimo to live, palace or not. He didn’t strike her as the dark type, especially given his affinity for the outdoors. Even the furniture was heavy. Muddy brown sofas devoid of pillows faced each other on either side of a thick coffee table. Beyond that, a stone fireplace almost tall enough for her to stand inside anchored the room. A mahogany bureau topped with an antique clock dominated the wall to her right, opposite a set of drawn curtains in a brocaded navy fabric. A writing desk she guessed to be an expensive antique occupied a corner not far from where she lingered near the door.
The entire place struck her as the type of spot dour, gouty old men came to brood.
“Staff shut the drapes again. They claim it’s to protect the furniture and rugs when I’m not here, but it drives me crazy.” He strode across the expansive room and reached behind one large panel. Within seconds, the fabric was withdrawn to expose a massive floor to ceiling window and she was gifted with a first-rate view of the palace’s famous gardens. As he moved to open the curtains over the second and third windows, Kelly approached the glass for a better look. Now she could understand the appeal of living here. The view was even more breathtaking than that of the flowers fronting the marina road.
“Massimo, this is spectacular.”
“The roses are in bloom now. Makes the place less of a villain’s lair, more of a residence.”
She let her fingers drift along the substantial window frame as she stared outside. A massive fountain surrounded by low, perfectly-trimmed hedges and hundreds upon hundreds of flowers filled her sight. Pink, white, red, and yellow roses ran as far as she could see. The grass surrounding the flowerbeds was bright green and thick. She could only imagine how soft it would be under her bare feet. At the edge of her vision, near the wall that marked the end of the gardens, a colossal tent had been erected. A party appeared to be taking place. “Can you get out there from here?”
“There’s a back exit from my bedroom. I don’t use it during the day unless I need to let Gaspare out for a quick break. Public events are often held in the garden so it’s kept locked for security purposes. But at night, when the place is quiet, I’ve gone to sit on the benches and stargaze.” He let out a little laugh and admitted, “Well, I’ve done it twice since I returned from Africa. But I hope to do it more often.”
“The stars must’ve been brilliant there, where they didn’t have to compete with Cateri’s city lights.” She couldn’t imagine having access to such a beautiful place as this garden. At night, when the breezes blew and no one was about, it would be particularly restful. The scent of the flowers then would be heavenly. “Still, if I lived in these rooms, I think I’d be out in the garden all the time. Not that there’s anything wrong with the rooms. I mean, they’re amazing—”
“No, you can say it. The place resembles Batman’s Batcave.” He grinned, glad to talk about the rooms instead of what the sky looked like in the jungle, with the smoke of burned-out villages stinging his nostrils. “I’ve only been in this place a few weeks. The rooms sat empty while I was away at college and in the military. While I was growing up, I lived in my parents’ apartment. It’s at the opposite end of this wing.”
Before she could make another comment about the space not meeting the definition of an apartment—or the high-tech Batcave—he said, “Their apartment is significantly bigger than this one. A veritable palace.”
This time, his attempt at humor did work. She couldn’t stop the smile that crept over her face.
“So would you rather stare at the flowers or eat?”
“Oh, food. Definitely.” As if on cue, her stomach let out a long, bubbly rumble. “You said you have a kitchen?”
“I do, but it’s small.”
“Compared to what?” She swung a hand to encompass the massive room. A few minutes later, once he led her through the hall opposite the one where he’d pointed ou
t the bathroom, he proved he was being honest about the kitchen.
“It used to be a storage closet,” he explained as she took in the cramped space. Barely big enough for its European-sized fridge, a two-burner cooktop, and a sink, it held only the bare essentials. Even the tiny counter was useless, given that his coffee maker took up much of the real estate. “It was added in the seventies so these rooms could be used as a living space separate from the rest of the palace.”
She lingered outside the door, apparently not trusting herself to stand as close to him as necessary to fit inside the room. “Where do you keep the food?”
“Well, there’s the refrigerator. And here.” He opened the lone cabinet to reveal three boxes of cereal, two boxes of pasta, and a few cans of soup alongside a stack of plates, bowls, and coffee mugs.
“I’m hungry enough to eat anything, so I won’t complain.”
He pulled a box of cereal from the cabinet and set it in front of the coffee maker. “Help yourself. Or if you can wait another fifteen minutes, we can have sandwiches with all the fixings.”
She eyeballed the tiny fridge, not bothering to hide her doubt. “Really?”
A slow smile spread across his face, one he hoped would put her at ease in his presence once more. “I’ll call the palace kitchen and have them sent up. Unless you’d rather have breakfast. For some reason, I could really go for pancakes. Haven’t had them in ages, but I woke up craving them today.”
“Pancakes?”
He shook the cereal box. “Unless you’d rather—”
“No, I’d love pancakes.”
“I figured.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, so he explained, “You were mumbling about pancakes as you woke up. I’ve been craving them ever since. They might not be brain food, but I think a full stack each will help us see the situation more clearly, don’t you?”
She leaned against the door frame. “Massimo, I was feeling awkward before. First, I discover you’re a prince. Then you bail me out of jail and hear my tale of woe about my bank account and how my ex screwed me over—and believe me, that’s a subject I prefer not to discuss—and now you’re telling me I was talking pancakes. While I remember thinking it, I don’t remember saying it. I’m feeling doubly awkward now.”
“Do you want pancakes or not?”
“Yes.” It came out as a plea. She realized it too, and flushed.
“Then I’ll call in an order. Feel free to take your suitcase to the bathroom and freshen up. I’ll go to my bedroom and do the same. Meet you in the living room in fifteen. We’ll discuss how to un-awkward our relationship then. Deal?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”
* * *
Despite the gnawing in her belly, a full twenty minutes elapsed before Kelly exited the bathroom. Once she’d rolled her suitcase into the quiet, cozy powder room and spied the fluffy towels and washcloths hanging beside the porcelain sink, the compulsion to put herself completely to rights took hold.
Fresh clothes, a quick scrub, and a thorough toothbrushing went a long way toward making her feel human again. Applying makeup and combing out her hair did the rest. When noises from the main room reached her ears, quickly followed by the scent of fresh pancakes, she abandoned the suitcase and cautiously approached the main room. When she poked her head out of the hall, Massimo was alone—save for Gaspare, who lay beside one of the room’s two sofas—and busy removing dishes from a covered trolley and arranging them on the coffee table. He hadn’t said as much, but given the speed with which he’d walked her from the Jeep to his suite, she wondered if Massimo wanted her presence at the palace kept quiet for the time being.
“Breakfast is here,” he said, waving for her to come out.
The sight of him standing in the center of the room left her speechless. While she’d pulled herself together, so had he, and the difference in his appearance was astounding. The scruff covering his jaw had been shaved away, his hair was damp from a shower, and he’d changed clothes. A pair of well-fitted black slacks highlighted his long legs while an olive green shirt made his eyes pop against his Mediterranean complexion. Unlike the casual shoes he’d worn to dinner, the pair he now sported were made of high-quality leather with exquisite construction. She might not be in the fashion industry, but she knew well-made accessories. Even his belt, simple and clean as it was, made it clear he came from money. A lot of money.
It wasn’t the clothes that transformed him, though. His demeanor seemed different now that he stood in the royal palace looking as refined and polished as any business mogul or head of state.
I made love to a real prince last night.
Until now, the reality of his identity hadn’t sunk in. Seeing him like this left her flailing for words. How did one talk to a prince?
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a dining table of any kind,” he said. “I’m supposed to hire a decorator, but haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
As tempting as Massimo himself appeared, her attention drifted to the trolley, which stood a few feet in front of him. Warmed butter, hot syrup, and an assortment of jellies filled its surface. Needing something to do, she carried them to the table, where Massimo had set out two large stacks of pancakes and silverware. A carafe of hot coffee and a selection of creamers and sweeteners were already in place, as were two chilled glasses of orange juice. Her mouth watered at the array. “You don’t sound too excited about the prospect of redecorating.”
“Even I know this place needs a face lift, but I want it done without having to actually do it.”
“You sound like every one of my clients,” she said as she read the label on one of the jelly jars. “I tell them that’s why they’re hiring me. To save themselves headaches.”
He waved for her to take a seat on one sofa as he stepped past Gaspare to sit on the other, across the coffee table from her. “This isn’t the most comfortable or practical way to eat, but I’m too hungry to care.”
“If you don’t care, then I don’t.” Frankly, she’d eat off the floor right now.
With plates in their laps, they dove in. For several minutes, neither said anything, each of them too intent on satisfying their need for sustenance. Once Massimo polished off half his pancakes and was pouring himself a second cup of coffee, he said, “When you wake up thinking about breakfast, you sure do it right. This hits the spot.”
His mention of their time spent in her bed sent a flame of embarrassment through her again, though she knew that wasn’t what he intended. “I only wish we could’ve had this six or seven hours ago.” She stole a look at him in between sips of her own coffee. Never had coffee tasted so divine as it crossed her palate. “Again, I’m sorry for everything that happened this morning.”
“Water under the bridge. The question is what you’ll do next.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” She set her coffee cup on the table. “Having coffee and some quality carbs helps.”
“Told you we needed to prioritize food,” he said before taking another syrup-drenched bite, then murmuring his pleasure as he withdrew the tines of the fork from between his lips.
She tore her gaze from his mouth. “While I no longer have the villa, I do have my plane ticket home. I hadn’t thought about it earlier, but I can contact the airline to see if I can switch to one that leaves sooner.”
“You’d cut short your vacation?”
She didn’t have much choice, did she? “The island isn’t going anywhere, so it’s not as if I can’t return. Maybe even next summer.” Forcing a smile, she told him it was all for the best. “I can use the time to find a temporary job in Dallas that’ll tide me over until I get my money back and get started on my next business.”
After taking a long drink of her orange juice, she cut another triangle of pancake and forked it into her mouth. Whoever cooked for the palace had a way with pancakes. These were phenomenal. “Besides,” she said once she swallowed, “if I know I have a future beach vacation lined up, I’ll have incenti
ve to eat healthy so I can rock a bikini next year.”
“You rocked a bikini plenty this year.”
Her face heated. “Well, if I did, it’s not because I’ve been living on pancakes like these. Or on Giulia's food.”
Amusement lit his face at that. He watched her over his cup as he took a long, slow sip of his coffee. Only a few bites remained of his pancakes, but she was sure they’d disappear soon. Then she’d need to disappear.
Funny, as uncomfortable as it was to tell him about her financial woes—and as embarrassing as it was to admit to being duped by a former flame—she didn’t relish the thought of saying goodbye. Even with the headache of the villa and the bank account, this turned out to be the most interesting trip she’d ever taken.
She was in a palace, for crying out loud. Eating pancakes. With a man who gave her the most mind-bending, full-body orgasms she’d ever experienced.
His cup clattered when he set it on its saucer. “You’ve formulated a rather logical, straightforward plan for yourself.”
“Thank you,” she replied as she stabbed another bite. “Told you I’d be fine. Just needed time to think.”
“Oh, I didn’t say it as a compliment, though I do give you credit for being resourceful.” He straightened, as if gearing up for a momentous announcement. “Unfortunately, your oh-so-logical plan didn’t take me into consideration.”
She paused with a jelly-smeared wedge of pancake halfway to her mouth.
“You?” Was he about to ask her to stay…for him? Uncertain of his point, she simply raised her brows and ate the bite of pancake to buy herself some time.
Massimo moved his plate from his lap to the coffee table and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Here’s the thing, Kelly. I have a reputation to protect, too. The fact I was present at the time of your arrest and paid your villa bill to get you out of jail is now public record. So even if you do manage to rebook your flight—which may be a challenge, since it’s the busiest time of the year for our airport—it’s possible I’ll have questions to answer. How do you think it’d look if you took the first available flight back to Texas?”
Honeymoon With a Prince (Royal Scandals) Page 14