That couldn’t be the case, of course. Not that she was ugly. She rated maybe an eight on the cuteness scale. She had long, thick hair, which she normally wore in a messy bun. And nice rack and decent figure, which she generally hid under lots and lots of bulky layers. But surely he’d met more than his share of tens. Princes had them flocking to them, even princes from puny European countries nobody had heard of. Daughters of royalty or billionaire business moguls. Models. Actresses.
Who was she? A nobody from Detroit. No one who would normally have a chance to speak with a prince like Raphael.
Inside the cool, shaded interior of the house, Raphael led her to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She had to admit, it was charming that he was offering to serve her. A prince. Who had to be accustomed to everyone serving him. “What would you like? I have water, soft drinks, wine…” Swiveling to face her, he held a wine bottle, label out, for her to read.
Like she knew the difference between one brand and another. To her wine was wine. Red. White. Those were the only classifications that mattered. On those occasions when she was in the mood to get a little buzzed, she would grab a bottle at the grocery store. Five dollars a bottle. Ten. They all pretty much tasted the same.
“Water will do for now, thank you.”
“Very good.” He pulled out a fancy glass bottle of water and unscrewed the top. Then he opened a cabinet, presumably to get a glass.
“No need to dirty any dishes for me.” She grabbed the bottle, lifted it to her lips and enjoyed the chill as it raced down her throat.
Being very aware of the environment, she had never permitted herself the luxury of bottled water. But, whether she wanted to admit it or not, this water tasted good. Very, very good. She hoped it was because she was so parched.
Prince Raphael watched her gulp the water with a crooked smile on his face and sparkles in his eyes. She guessed he wasn’t used to real girls, like her, girls who didn’t have a closet full of Louis Vuitton and Prada, girls who worked hard for everything they had, girls who valued almost anything higher than the name on their clothing labels. Girls who guzzled water straight out of the damn Perrier bottle. “Thirsty?”
“A little.” Smiling, she licked a drop off her lower lip. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So… you never did tell me why you came outside to find me.”
“Yes, you’re right.” He stepped closer and plucked the bottle out of her hands. He set it on the counter. “I wanted to do this.” He curled his fingers in to the hair at her nape and pulled gently, forcing her mouth to his.
The world tipped and swayed.
The air left her lungs.
His mouth found hers.
His kiss was sensual, a quiet seduction. Lips, teeth, tongue, they made her forget where she was. They made her forget why she was there. They made her forget everything.
All that mattered was this. Him.
Never had she been kissed with such quiet strength. Her knees softened. Her legs wobbled. Her body leaned into his, both for support and just because she ached to be closer.
He was so big, so powerful, so devastatingly handsome. And he kissed like no man she’d ever kissed before. She never wanted him to stop.
And she’d thought she’d been in heaven before!
A whimper bubbled up her throat, and he kissed it away. He kissed a lot of other things away too. Her fear. Her confusion. Her ability to think…and stand. When the kiss ended, she practically slumped to the floor.
His face flushed, he stared into her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Regret? Already? It was too soon. “It’s okay.” She fingered her swollen mouth, lips tingling, body tingling. She wasn’t regretting that kiss. Not at all. Yet. Eventually she would. Once a little oxygen reached her brain.
“No, I shouldn’t have done that. You must think I’m a complete asshole.”
If he told her she had to fuck him to get the job with the GLC she would.
Maybe…
“You don’t have to do this for the job,” he explained. “I want to make that clear.”
“Which job?” she asked, her brain still lost in thick lust fog.
His jaw ticced. “Any. Both.”
“Both?” she echoed, confused.
What was he saying? What did he mean?
“You’ll stay with me,” he commanded. “For two weeks. Per your contract.”
3
He’d made a mistake. A rash and stupid and foolish mistake.
Now how would he undo it?
He cursed his weakness as memories of that searing kiss surged through his body. He’d told himself that one taste of Jenna McCall would be enough. It would set her out of his mind and allow him to send her home without a second thought.
But instead that kiss ignited an urgent craving.
Why this woman?
Was it the way she surrendered to him?
Was it how her lips softened beneath his?
Was it how perfectly her luscious body fit against his?
He cranked off the shower and snapped a towel off the towel bar.
Despite the cold shower, every part of him was still hot and hard for her. He wanted to hear her voice, to smell her skin, to consume her... all of her.
This was inconvenient. It was irritating. Crazy.
It had been a long time since he’d felt like this, since he’d wanted a woman so badly, craved a woman so relentlessly. He didn’t need this. Not now.
Not at any time.
His focus was on his duty. And his duty was to his career, his family and his country.
He would never forget that again.
While he wasn’t the oldest son, or expected to marry a woman of title, he was still the son of a king--the third in line behind his brothers Vin and Asher. That meant someday he would marry a woman his family could approve of, someone who could help them in their current situation. That meant she would need at least a drop or two of royal blood or vast properties or political influence.
Nevertheless, marriage was on the horizon. For all three brothers.
He would never be able to marry a woman like Jenna McCall. With her it could only be an affair. A brief affair. A brief, but very pleasurable affair.
Would that be enough for her?
Perhaps.
Would that be enough for him?
Yes, of course.
Maybe.
Gritting his teeth, he dressed.
Why had he insisted she stay? Now he would have to see her. She would be near enough to touch, to smell, to tempt him.
Cursing his weakness, he returned to his office and considered his options. There was one surefire way to force himself to keep his distance from the very alluring Miss McCall. He could invite one or both of his brothers to the island for the rest of the week. Normally he wouldn’t want Vin or Asher around when he was trying to focus on work. But in this case he might get more done with them here than without.
Decision made, he picked up the phone.
Hot.
Cold.
Hot.
Cold.
What was with this guy? It was enough to drive her crazy.
After that searing, bone-melting kiss, he’d asked—no, correction, commanded, in a very princely you’ll-do-as-I-say voice—her to stay the rest of the two weeks.
And then he’d locked himself in his office and avoided her the rest of the day.
Hours crawled by. One, two… five, six.
When she eventually got hungry, she discovered a prepared meal in the refrigerator with her name on it. So she took it outside and ate, with the beautiful ocean crashing on the shore and the big, heavy sun burning the horizon.
This place was heaven. It smelled good. It was lush and green and warm.
But now she was so on edge she could barely enjoy it.
Why was he acting like she was toxic? What was he thinking? After that kiss would he refuse to help her get her dream job? Had she blown it?
&nb
sp; Her stomach full of delicious food, she wandered down to the beach again, enjoying the feel of the cool sand under her feet and the gentle caress of the tide on her ankles. As she ventured around the bend, away from the house and the irritating prince inside it, she noticed a large boat skimming across the water, coming toward the island.
It looked like her reclusive employer was about to have some company.
And based upon the volume of the music and echo of laughter reaching her ears, that company would be loud and boisterous.
Maybe that would bring the mulish prince out of his funk. Before packing for this trip, Jenna had read up on Prince Raphael Karposh Stojanovski. She’d read he was a known womanizer (which was clearly spot-on). His so-called serious relationships with supermodel Anya Makarovich, actress Donatella Rossi, and socialite Joli Wrangel had all ended in disaster, thanks to his inability to commit to any woman for longer than an hour.
She’d also read he worked as hard as he played—a surprising trait, since it seemed most rich playboys with healthy family trusts to fall back on didn’t generally take work so seriously. They didn’t have to.
Assuming he had been working all those hours in his office, he was due some hours of play. If he actually crawled out of that shell he called his office, maybe she’d get the chance to talk to him more about the GLC job.
Glad to have some company, she turned back to the house. By the time she reached the patio, the guests were debarking the boat. Loud, raucous laughter, female laughter, cut through the silence, and a slight tingle of jealousy zipped up her spine.
She hadn’t considered that possibility!
There were women on that boat.
It took one brief look to see what kind of women they were.
Tens.
Party girls.
Tall, slim (make that skeletal), model-like women. Two of them. With teeny, tiny string bikinis tied around their perfect bodies.
Yep, it looked like Prince Raphael was about to get his party on.
Accompanying the women were two men, both as good looking as Raphael. Both were tall, dark-skinned and dark-haired, with lean, athletic bodies, sharp eyes and wavy, wind-tossed hair. They eyed her as they made their way up to the house.
“Hello there,” one of them said, giving Jenna the kind of look that immediately set her on edge.
She nodded, forced a smile, crossed her arms over her chest and followed the boisterous crowd into the house.
Inside, one of the bikini girls smiled and offered a hand. “Hi, I’m Nichole. Don’t mind Vin. Unlike his baby brother Rafe, he’s harmless. Vin and Asher are both more bark than bite.”
For some reason that didn’t put Jenna at ease.
Jenna shook her slender hand. “Jenna.”
“It’s nice to have some female company for once. Most of the time there’s way too much testosterone flowing on this island. Come on.” Without waiting for Jenna to respond, Nichole grabbed Jenna’s wrist and led her back outside. She plopped on a poolside chaise and pointed at the one next to her. “Have a seat. Tell me about yourself, Jenna. ”
“There isn’t much to tell,” Jenna answered. After all, she wasn’t a supermodel or a socialite or a famous actress—the kind of women a girl like Nichole was probably used to socializing with.
“I don’t believe that for one minute.” Nichole tipped her head and pursed her lips. “For one thing, I hear an accent. Are you American?”
Impressed, Jenna nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Let me guess. I’m usually pretty good at this.” Nichole tapped her chin. “Definitely Midwest United States… or maybe Canadian?”
“Michigan.”
“Yes!” Nichole pumped her fist in the air. “My perfect record continues. I went to boarding school with some Americans. Their accents are easy to pick out. Though it can be hard to pinpoint the exact region where they live.”
“And you?” Jenna asked. Nichole was obviously not American. She looked American enough, with smooth, suntanned skin and glossy hair. But the accent was a dead giveaway. Not that she could identify it. Since Jenna hadn’t been exposed to people from other parts of the world, with the exception of a couple of German exchange students in high school, movies, of course, and Prince Raphael—whose accent wasn’t as thick as she’d expected—she couldn’t tell one from another.
“Aragonia, of course. My father is an advisor to the king. Though I went to school in Sweden.”
“Then you know the princes well?”
“I know them very well. Because my father worked closely with the king, and he is a personal friend, we spent a lot of time with the royal family.” Nichole gave Jenna a conspiratorial grin. “What do you want to know?
What did she want to know? Everything? Nothing?
Did she have the right to get any dirt on the brothers? No, probably not. But she was curious.
“Are they really as bad as the media makes them out to be?” she asked, figuring the question was generic enough to slake her curiosity while respecting their privacy.
“Depends upon which brother you’re talking about? Rafe? He’s far worse than the media portrays him.” Grinning, she placed her hand on Jenna’s arm. “But don’t let that get to you. Sometimes a bad boy is exactly what a girl needs, if you get my drift.” She winked.
Slightly uncomfortable with Nichole’s implication, Jenna dropped that line of conversation immediately, moving on to the island itself.
It didn’t take long before Jenna felt like she’d made a new friend. Nichole wasn’t just a party girl in a bikini. Nor was she just a ten who was there to pound shots with Rafe and his brothers. She was friendly, well-educated, and funny.
Abandoning the other newcomers, Nichole sat poolside with Jenna all evening. They swapped stories about their childhoods. Discovered the many differences between their cultures and the few similarities. Talked about Jenna’s passion for animals and Nichole’s for gender equality. Compared experiences at school. Shared stories about first kisses and first boyfriends and first loves. And she told Jenna about her many antics with the royal brothers.
And before the night was over Jenna wasn’t just seeing Rafe as a prince or a rich man who could help her get what she wanted, but as a person. As a kid who’d been shipped off to boarding school before he’d had his seventh birthday. As the teenager who’d been caught with a girl in the school haystack… at the tender age of twelve.
Her heart softened, and she found herself watching the door, hoping he would join them, even for just a few minutes so she could talk to him. And not about the job she wanted.
At around midnight, Jenna smiled at her new friend. “Thank you for everything.”
Nichole returned her smile. “It would be great if someone like you would stick around. It’s been a long time since Rafe has dated anyone. He has the occasional one-nighter. Lately he hasn’t even had many of those.”
Jenna didn’t know what to think of Nichole’s comment. What kind of girl did Nichole think she was? Was she an affair? A ‘one-nighter’?
No.
She was Prince Raphael’s PA.
An assistant who hadn’t done any work yet…
An assistant who he’d kissed…
“I think you’ve got the wrong idea,” Jenna said. “I’m just here to do a job. I’m his PA.”
Nichole shook her head. “You’re not his PA. Rafe would never hire someone like you.”
That was an odd statement—someone like her. “What do you mean?” Jenna asked.
“You’re about thirty years too young. And much too attractive. I’ve known Rafe my entire life. He would never mix business with pleasure.”
Well that explained his hot and cold behavior. It explained why he’d tried to fire her before she’d even started the job.
But it didn’t explain why he’d kept her on.
Had he decided he wasn’t attracted to her after their kiss? If that was the case, wouldn’t he have given her something to do, anything, rather than just leaving
her to sit around and bask in the sun all day?
Rafe was one confusing man, prince or not.
“Well, thanks again. I don’t know if your insight helped clear things up or make them more confusing.”
Nichole laughed. “Rafe is like that. He’s complicated. He always has been. Nothing about him is simple.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that.” Jenna motioned toward the house. Even if Nichole’s stories hadn’t made things crystal clear, it was nice having someone to talk to. “I think I’m going to get some sleep. Coming in?”
“No.” Nichole stretched her mile-long legs, a sleepy smile on her face. “I think I’ll stay out here a little longer. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The stone was cold under her feet as Jenna circled the pool and walked to the house. Inside it was quieter than she’d expected. Lights blazed everywhere, the kitchen, the living area, the hallway. But the brothers were nowhere in sight. Jenna passed Rafe’s office. The door was shut. Light seeped through the crack underneath.
He was working late?
Just after she passed, the door swung open. She tossed a glance over her shoulder.
Rafe.
His gaze locked on her. The air zapped, electricity arcing between them. Heat prickled across her skin. He gave her a short nod and an even shorter “Goodnight,” before turning the opposite direction.
That was weird.
Bewildered, she watched his retreating back for a moment before a sound, again coming from his office, caught her attention. The other girl, the one she hadn’t seen since the group had arrived earlier, sauntered out of the office. She was still wearing her bathing suit, though she’d tied a sarong over it.
Her hair was disheveled.
There could be only one reason why she’d been in that room and come out looking like she’d just rolled out of bed. And it couldn’t have been because she was the replacement personal assistant.
It seemed the prince hadn’t been working late after all.
Jealousy, white hot and blinding, and totally unexpected, burned through Jenna’s whole body.
What the heck? Why should she care who that man was fucking?
She should be glad he’d found someone else to use that way, right? Of course she should. Because she wouldn’t have wanted it to be her.
Be My Princess - A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (Pretty Dirty Romance Book 1) Page 3