But she wasn’t happy. No. Not at all.
In fact, the thought of Rafe running his hands over that woman’s body made her blood burn in a bad way.
If the job at GLC didn’t mean so much to her, she would have stolen that boat tied outside and sailed out of there. Tonight. Right now.
Furious, and confused by her anger, she hurried upstairs and locked herself in her room.
4
Jenna didn’t sleep… at least no better than a baby robin surrounded by a pack of hungry cats.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Bikini Girl’s face, the glow of satisfaction in her cheeks. The wild tumble of waves falling over her bare, boney shoulders.
Then Jenna saw him. Raphael.
He kissed the girl in the bikini, his tongue dipping between her lips, fingers tugging at the strings, untying the bows holding the skimpy bottoms together. His hand sliding between her thighs…
Jenna jerked upright for the hundredth time, her entire body burning. If she didn’t know better she would swear she’d caught some deadly tropical fever.
But she did know better.
She wasn’t sick. She was just hurt. And jealous. And… really, she had no right to feel either. After all, the prince had made it (semi)clear he wasn’t interested in her.
Right?
Right!
One kiss didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t a promise.
No, really, it wasn’t.
She sighed. Hard.
Who was she kidding? Not herself, that was for sure.
That kiss had felt like a promise. It felt like a whole lot of promises!
That was why her insides ached like they’d been put through a pasta-maker.
Irritated, she climbed out of bed and tottered to the bathroom. A cool, refreshing shower cleared some of the haze from her head but it didn’t make her feel better.
She didn’t want to see him.
Or her.
Or any of them.
But sooner or later she was going to have to leave this room. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to see Raphael and his stunning brothers flirting with those… women.
What were they doing here anyway? Didn’t Raphael say he’d come to the island to concentrate?
Concentrate on what? Maybe that was the question she should have asked him.
Delaying the inevitable, she checked her phone for messages. Mikki had texted her. Several times. She needed an update ASAP.
Yeah, well, when Jenna knew what to tell her, she’d have that update.
She typed, Was told I will be staying for the full term of the contract. No need to find a replacement. Will text when I find out more.
That wouldn’t satisfy her curious bestie, but it was all the info she had. So that was all she was getting.
Her stomach rumbled.
Crap.
It was safe in this room. There were no eight-feet-tall bikini models in here. Models whose eyes sparkled whenever they gazed at Raphael.
And in here she didn’t have to see Rafe’s eyes glitter back.
But she had to eat.
She peered at the clock.
It was early. Maybe, with any luck, Bikini Girl liked to sleep in.
Jenna inched her door open and peeked into the hall.
All was quiet.
Cool. Maybe she’d be able to sneak out to the kitchen and smuggle something back to her room without being caught.
Feeling braver, she ventured out, tip-toeing silently while her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She reached the end of the hall.
Coffee. She smelled coffee. Darn. Someone had to have made it. Who?
She turned the corner.
Raphael stood at the kitchen island, staring at the coffee cup in front of him.
Just the man she wanted to see… not.
Was he alone? She looked left. She looked right. No Bikini Girl. No brothers. No Nichole either. She inched closer, eyes darting around the open space.
He was concentrating hard. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her if she was very quiet.
He glanced up, and her heart did a flip.
So much for that.
Her face burned. “Good morning,” she said, jerking up her chin.
She would not let this man obliterate her self-respect. Would. Not.
So what if he preferred women who were more bones than curves? That didn’t mean she was any less attractive. She was smart. And resourceful. And independent. And he was stupid. Insanely gorgeous but stupid.
“Good morning.” His brows lifted. “You’re up early. Coffee? Or maybe you’d prefer something to eat? There’s fruit, yogurt, quiche, and those round things are Johnny cakes.”
“Thanks.” She kept her distance as she filled a small plate with food and helped herself to the coffee. Although she intentionally ignored Raphael, she didn’t need to look at him to know he was watching her every move. She felt his gaze on her, like the heat of the sun, warming her skin.
God, this was awkward.
What should she say? What could she say?
Nothing. That was what.
She circled around the island and settled onto one of the stools, swiveling to stare out the wide windows as she nibbled. Her hands trembled a bit. Her blood pounded hot and fast through her body.
This was freaking torture.
I should just go back to my room.
No way! Quit being such a sissy. Don’t let him run you off like that!
She forced herself to look at him.
Yep, he was still staring at her. Why? Wasn’t boning Bikini Girl enough for him?
“Will I be earning my paycheck today?” she asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Or do I get to spend the day working on my sunburn?”
The corners of his mouth twitched then curved up. He lifted his cup and sipped.
Really? He wasn’t even going to answer her question?
She asked, “Has anyone ever told you, you could use some training in interpersonal communication?”
“Yes.” He set his cup down. “More than once.”
She nodded. “Good advice. You should consider it.”
“I will. Thank you.”
She heaved a heavy sigh. “Well, I suppose I can find a way to amuse myself today… since it’s abso-freaking-lutely gorgeous out, with all that white sand and warm water and crazy-blue skies. That is, if you don’t have something business-y for me to do. Since you’re paying my salary, I feel obligated to at least offer.”
“Thank you. It won’t be necessary. Ripen that sunburn as much as you wish.”
If he wanted to pay her to bake herself in the tropical sun, eat his food—which was crazy-delicious—and sleep in his palatial mansion, who was she to question him? Right?
“Very well.” She slipped off the stool and grabbed her cup and plate. “I guess I’ll head outside. Considering the weather back home, I’d be a fool to miss a single minute of this glorious sunlight.”
“Very true.” He watched her as she made her way to the back door.
She felt his gaze upon her, like the gentlest caress. Before stepping outside, she glanced over her shoulder.
Why was he still watching her?
She threw him a smile and wave and, with her face already burning, headed out to soak up some more radiation.
Well, that had been excruciating, but at least she’d survived. Especially the first few minutes. They’d been awkward as hell. But she hadn’t fallen into a fit of anger, cursing him for being an idiot.
She’d put on her big girl panties and sucked it up, and now look where she was. On this patio. Enjoying the most magnificent view on earth. And downing one of the best cups of coffee she’d ever tasted.
And all of this while collecting a (very) healthy paycheck.
Life was great!
Unfortunately, her contentment only lasted for a few minutes. By the time her cup and plate were empty she was bored of sitting around, even with the blue skies and crystal-clear water and empty
beach.
Who, in their right mind, got bored in a place like this?
She did.
Which, on the surface, made no sense. Here, she was surrounded by beauty while the world back home was gloomy, gray, and freezing. But she had never been good at just sitting around, doing nothing.
If only she had something to read.
Knowing she risked running into Bikini Girl, which could be more awkward than this morning’s run-in with the prince, she quietly tiptoed back inside, checking for signs of life as she crept through the house.
All was quiet again.
Raphael was gone. The kitchen was empty.
She put her dishes in the dishwasher and wandered around the open living space, checking table drawers and shelves for books or magazines.
She totally struck out, finding nothing, not even a bible. So she ventured deeper into the house, peering into rooms she hadn’t visited yet, hoping one might be a library.
Didn’t rich people have libraries anymore? Or had they been converted into yoga studios or meditation rooms? She was beginning to think she was out of luck. Until she found what could be called a library just a few doors down from the prince’s office.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t just housing books.
“Well, look who we have here!” Vin said as he circled around the round table positioned in the room’s center.
He wasn’t alone.
One. Two. Three. Three handsome princes.
Jenna’s gaze skittered from one face to the other. Two of the brothers, Asher and Raphael, were lounging in deep leather armchairs, bare ankles resting on the opposite knee, and muscular arms stretched along armrests. The third brother, smiling, was striding toward her.
He was sporting a wicked glint.
It wasn’t a friendly glint, either. It was a naughty one.
She took a couple of steps back and lifted her hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting,” the prowling Vin said as he captured her hand and gave it a pull. “Come in. We were just having a little discussion.”
“Leave her out of this, Vin,” Raphael grumbled.
“And why should I do that?” Vin challenged, wearing a wolfish grin. “She is a guest here, isn’t she? Shouldn’t we ask her opinion?”
Guest? Was that what Raphael had told his brothers, that she was his guest?
A silent exchange arced across the room, between the brothers.
Hmm. Something was up. Had they been arguing about her?
“I’m not a guest,” she corrected as she wriggled her hand, trying to break free. The prince had a crazy-strong grip. “I’m an employee.”
“Yes, it’s just as I said,” Raphael snapped. “Miss McCall is my temporary assistant. So let her go. She has work to do.”
Work to do? This was news to her.
He was lying. Why?
She looked at him. Their gazes tangled. She read something in his eyes. A warning. A threat. She nodded. “Yes. Of course. Work.” She yanked her hand again, this time harder. When Vin didn’t release it, she shot him a glare. “Would you mind letting go?”
His wicked smile didn’t fade. But he slowly loosened his grip, one finger at a time until she was free. She back-stepped into the hall, halting at Rafe’s command.
“You may wait for me in my office. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, sir.” Flustered, she scurried to his office and plunked down into the chair in front of his desk. The door to the library shut with a loud, angry thump. She flinched, hands clawing at each other, heart doing a triple flip in her chest. Outside of the out-of-control thudding of her heartbeat, she could hear the rumble of the brothers’ voices from the room down the hall but couldn’t make out the words. The volume was growing.
Yep, they were arguing all right.
I’m so nosy. Why should I care?
Feeling totally out of place, but desperate to distract herself, she took a little visual tour of the room. The furnishings, except the desk, were all masculine. Solid wood with an emphasis on solid. Big. Overbearing. Slightly intimidating. Just like the man.
Speaking of which…
The door down the hall swung open. Footsteps echoed on the polished wood floor.
She watched the office’s open doorway, waiting, breath caught in her throat.
Prince Rafael turned into the office and shut the door, hard, before swiveling around to face her.
She didn’t know what expression she read on his face. His jaw was tense. She could clearly see the muscles clenching. But other than that she couldn’t tell if he was angry or frustrated or irritated. Or maybe all of those things.
She cleared her throat. “I apologize if I’ve done something—“
“You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s my brothers. Sometimes—“ He cut himself off and sank into his chair, moving with smooth grace. “I don’t know what I was… unlike them, I come here to concentrate on work. I don’t want or need distractions. Just quiet. I need quiet!”
“I understand. I can be quiet.”
“Yes, I know you can,” he snapped. “Which is good. Because I need you to stay here, in this room, with me.”
Did she want to know…? Yeah, she did. “Why?”
“If you don’t stick close to me, my brother is going to treat you like he treats every other woman who comes out here to amuse him. You’ll be his plaything and then he’ll toss you aside like discarded trash. If that’s what you want, then by all means, leave.” He swept an arm toward the door. “Enjoy the rest of your stay.”
Her face burned. What was he saying? He was keeping her cooped up in his office to protect her? That was… unexpected, considering what had happened between them. Maybe even a little noble. Kind. Respectable. “Of course that’s not what I want. I’m no man’s plaything. Prince or not.” She marked the end of her proclamation with a stern glare.
“As I expected.” He gave a quick nod then opened his laptop and set to work, a little furrow creasing between his brows as he read his screen.
Feeling totally out of place, she watched him, wishing she had something to read.
He sighed and peered over the top of his computer screen. “You’re bored.” It wasn’t a question.
So she didn’t answer. She shrugged. “If I must be in this room with you…” and you’re paying me, “maybe you could give me something to do. Even licking stamps is better than just sitting here watching you.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” He looked at his computer. He looked at the door. He sighed again. “Very well.” He stood, grasped the laptop’s screen and spun it around so it faced her. “You may start with checking my email. No one of consequence contacts me by email.”
Which was to say, it was a total waste of her time.
But what else did she have to do? If he wanted her reading his spam, it was better than staring at the walls.
She skimmed the titles of the emails in his inbox, her eyes falling on one. It was one of those ridiculous phishing emails. “But look,” she said, pointing at the screen. “You’ve just inherited a million, zillion dollars from a kind widow in England.” She glanced up to catch a smile so brilliant it nearly took her breath away.
Well, look at that. This man did have a sense of humor.
He cleared his throat. “Kindly inform the generous widow that I, Raphael Karposh Stojanovski, the prince of Aragonia, thank her for her offer but wish to suggest she consider donating her funds to the charity of her choice instead.”
“Very well, sir.” She typed out the response and clicked SEND. “Done.”
Rounding the desk to stand beside her, he pressed his hands to the desktop and leaned over her shoulder. “That was very quick, indeed. At this rate, my inbox will be clear of all junk mail by the end of the week.”
“If not sooner.” Without reading the next one, because her gaze was locked on the world’s most handsome face, she clicked. “Let’s see what we have next.” She glanced down. Get a bigger, har
der— She clicked the X, closing the message. “Oh!” Her face burned.
It’s just a stupid email.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. One side of his mouth curved into a sexy lopsided smile.
“No. Not at all.” Unable to look him in the eye after that silly email, she checked the titles of the remaining messages. She didn’t need any more embarrassing surprises.
Evidently satisfied his inbox was in good hands, the prince returned to his seat and flipped open a file folder to review its contents.
Meanwhile, she concentrated on breathing normally and tried to read his email.
It was awkward, being so close to him, feeling his presence, and yet not speaking to him. The relative silence made her keenly aware of every little noise. The husk of her own breathing. The crackle of paper as he flipped pages. The echo of his brothers’ voices somewhere in the house.
Every few seconds she lifted her gaze. She’d never met a more handsome man. For some reason she just couldn’t stop looking at him. It was as if she had to keep checking, to see if he still looked so perfect.
Of course, he did. Because the aristocratic nose, strong jaw, sharply angled cheekbones and supremely kissable mouth weren’t going anywhere.
His gaze met hers again. Gold met brown. Her breath caught in her throat.
He stood, and she tracked his every movement, the flex of his arm, the tensing of his chest, the smooth stride as he returned to her side. He stopped next to her, his gaze still drilling into hers.
Her heart started doing gymnastics in her chest.
He was about to do something. But what?
Would he kiss her again?
Would he coax her out of her chair and plunk her on the desk?
Would he bury his hips between her thighs and torment her until she begged him to take her?
God help her, she would gladly accept any of those things. Even if it made her something she’d sworn she would never be again—a man’s plaything.
His plaything.
Prince Raphael of Aragonia.
5
Rafe cupped Jenna’s cheek. His smoldering, liquid gold gaze locked on hers.
Be My Princess - A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (Pretty Dirty Romance Book 1) Page 4