I grit my teeth at his familiar tone and use of a nickname with her. A large part of me begins to burn with jealousy. I hate that he knows her on a personal level, while I spent the day wrangling my focus back on my work instead of the dozens of questions I want to ask her about who she is and what she likes.
Is it irrational to feel this possessive over a woman I’ve known for five minutes and have no reason to believe she wants anything to do with me beyond performing her cabin attendant duties?
Absolutely.
Do I give any fucks right now?
Not a single one.
Marguerite tries to move past me, but I stop her. “She’s not going anywhere, and neither are you. Sit your sorry ass down, Paulo.” I point to a deck chair and call Rolf from a nearby deck phone. If we were anywhere but my yacht or the palace grounds, Rolf would be stuck to me like my shadow. But I refuse to be watched over on my own property. A man has his limits.
Rolf arrives in under a minute, concern etched on his face. He knows this isn’t a social call. Nodding at the now seething man, I make it short, barely containing my rage. “Paulo, here, is no longer under the crown’s employment. I want him detained until we dock in the morning, then I want him off my goddamn yacht.”
I also want him arrested, but I’ll give Rolf the details later. Right now I just want him out of my sight. Rolf nods and gives me a look of understanding. He might not know exactly what happened, but he’s not an idiot, either.
As soon as Rolf hauls Paulo away, I take a cleansing breath to steady my emotions, then finally turn and get my first real look at Marguerite.
Her thick hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head and she’s wearing a one-piece bathing suit under an almost sheer cover up. But it’s the way she’s holding herself that makes me wish I’d decked that fucker into next week. Her arms are wrapped around her middle like she’s trying to hold herself together, and her eyes are cast down at her painted toenails.
“Marguerite,” I begin, but she cuts me off with a shake of her head.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I just thought I’d spend a few minutes relaxing in the hot tub before turning in, but then Paulo—” Still looking at the ground, she releases a shuddering breath. Then pulls her shoulders back, drops her arms, and raises her head enough to stare straight ahead at my chest. “Thank you for intervening, your highness, but I’m all right. If you’ll permit me to pass, I’ll retire to my quarters for the night.”
I want her to look up so I can see her eyes and make sure she’s as good as she claims. I wait a few seconds, but her focus is locked onto the silver medallion with our royal crest that hangs above my sternum.
“Marguerite,” I repeat, softening my voice. Again, I wait, allowing her time to truly process any emotions she has before releasing her to go to her room. The soothing white noise of the ocean spray wraps around us for several minutes as the vessel cuts through the black waves with ease. The strong breeze tugs at the loose wisps of hair around her face, making my fingers itch to tuck them behind her ears.
When a tear suddenly escapes down her cheek, she mumbles something about the wind making her eyes water and dashes it away with her fingers. I almost believed her. But then another one takes its place, followed by another.
“Goddamn it, did he hurt you?” A new maelstrom of emotions slams into me—the innate desire to protect and comfort warring with a primal need to avenge and punish. “I’ll fucking toss him overboard and leave him to the sharks right—”
“No!” she says quickly, pressing on my chest with the flat of her palms as though she could stop me if I wanted to do as promised. “Please don’t make the situation any worse. I’m not hurt, it’s just the adrenaline dump, that’s all.”
Cupping her jaw lightly with my hands, I tilt her face up so I can study her features and determine if she’s telling the truth. Expressive golden eyes stare back at me as my thumbs absently brush over her tear-streaked cheeks. The corner of her mouth twitches up on one side in the weakest show of reassurance I’ve ever seen, but something in her eyes makes me believe it’s genuine. That maybe I got here in time.
“You’re really okay? You promise?” I ask, my voice suddenly thick and raspy.
“Pinky promise, your highness.” She solemnly offers up a slender pinky finger.
Hooking one of my pinkies with hers, I pull her in a little closer. “What’d I tell you about calling me that when we’re alone?”
Even in the pale moonlight, I can see the blush coloring her cheeks. “I guess old habits are hard to break.”
“Then we’ll just have to create some new ones,” I say, allowing the barest hint of innuendo to color my tone. Lifting our joined fingers, I give her pinky a quick, chaste kiss, like I’m sealing the one-sided deal for the both of us. Then I release her and force myself to step back, giving her space. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.”
We walk in comfortable silence for the few minutes it takes us to get to the staff’s quarters. I can’t remember the last time a woman didn’t inundate me with questions about my life as a crown prince, or what it’s like to be an Atland heir, or for a rundown of all the celebrities I know. And because Danataria is also one of the most powerful and richest countries this side of the Prime Meridian, dating other royals is like a three-ring circus.
Of course, Marguerite probably has other things on her mind after what just happened, so maybe she’d be the same way under different circumstances. But I doubt it.
“This is me.” She stops in front of a cabin door, then huffs a little laugh. “Well, me and three other girls who I hope are fast asleep already.”
I have to bite my tongue so I don’t tell her there’s plenty of room in my bed if she’d like to downsize to a single roommate. “And I hope you’re soon to follow.” With a shy smile, she opens the door and quietly slips into the room. “Sweet dreams, Marguerite,” I rumble softly.
She pauses and bites her lip for a long moment, then finally whispers back, “Goodnight, Preston.”
When the door clicks shut, I spin on my heel and stride in the direction of my room feeling ten feet tall. I haven’t felt this way about a woman in…hell, maybe ever. I don’t have a clue what this feeling is—whether it’s simple intrigue and enough interest for a weekend fling, or something more—but I’m looking forward to exploring the former to see if it leads to the latter.
Bottom line: I want to get naked and sweaty with that girl in a sex marathon that would put Winston Churchill’s personal record to shame.
Chuckling at the hyperbolic comparison, I round the corner and find Rolf standing outside my room. My humor drains out of me as I remember how this night started. “He’d better be locked up somewhere, and if you want him to be in the same condition in the morning, I wouldn’t tell me where that somewhere is.”
“Got it,” he says with a clipped nod. Rolf is only a few years older than me, but he acts more like he’s my father’s age. He’s a man of few words and takes the liberty I gave him to lose the formalities when we’re alone, allowing him to use even fewer. “Just wanted you to know it’s handled. I watched the security footage. I’ll escort him off as soon as we dock.”
“Fucker’s lucky she wouldn’t let me throw him overboard as shark bait,” I grind out through clenched teeth as I enter my room.
“Agreed.” He follows me in but hangs back by the door. “Are you going to call her father tomorrow or wait to tell him in person when we arrive home?”
“She’s a grown woman, Rolf. Why would I—”
I drag a hand over the dark stubble on my jaw and stare at my bodyguard in disbelief. “Paulo called her Mags. Art was telling me on the way to the marina that his daughter has a new summer job, but I was distracted with work and holy shit. Marguerite is Arthur’s daughter. She’s Maggie.”
“Welcome to the present, your highness,” he says with a smirk. “I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t debark until I get back.”
&nbs
p; Lowering my ass to the bed, my head reels with the realization of who my new employee truly is and how I’m going to break the news to her father that she’d been in danger on my watch. And that’s not even the worst of it. Because now that I know my cabin attendant is also the youngest daughter of a decades-long family friend and employee of the crown, the naked, sweaty sex marathon with the captivating Marguerite is so far out of the realm of possibility it might as well be in the Amazon jungle.
I blow out a sigh and flop backward onto the mattress, cursing my bad luck. “Fuck a dilly-duck, indeed.”
CHAPTER THREE
It’s a good thing I’m used to running on fumes. After Rolf left my room, I spent all night trying to clear my head enough to sleep. I paced as I ran the day’s events back again and again, wishing I could change one of a dozen details that would’ve made me realize it was Maggie before I started lusting after her like a dog in heat.
Once I’d firmly beaten that dead horse, I hit the exercise room and put myself through a punishing workout, hoping mental exhaustion would follow the physical. I was dragging ass by the time I stumbled into the shower, but Maggie was still front and center in my mind.
And not the Little Maggie who chased butterflies in our gardens, either. It was the very grown, very filled-out woman who commands my dick’s attention with every glance and every smile.
I’m not proud of what I resorted to under the cold shower spray. But when my hand found my cock, my head lost the battle. With a feverish desperation, I jerked myself hard and fast to a montage of perverted fantasies of a brown-eyed goddess with hair the color of spun gold. I think I broke a personal record for the fastest finish in a solo mission since my teen years. It did the trick, though. As the evidence of my shameful depravity slipped through the shower drain, so did every thought in my head, finally allowing me a few precious hours of dreamless sleep.
I don’t know if that was all I needed or if it’s the idea of seeing Maggie again today that has me so energized. But by the time she arrives with my morning coffee I feel like I’ve already downed an entire pot.
My eyes follow her as she sets the tray on the low table in the sitting area then turns to face me. It’s only when she arches a slim brow at me that I realize I’m grinning at her like a damn fool. “Spend the day with me.”
Her musical laughter lifts into the air but cuts short when she notices I’m waiting for a response.
“I have work to do while we’re docked,” she begins, “plus we were told to be as invisible as possible around you, which is the exact opposite of your request.”
“Believe me, Marguerite,” I say, my voice dropping low, “you could never be invisible to me.”
Her lips part on a soft gasp. “Oh.”
Didn’t even last five damn minutes, Atland. Before she arrived, I cut a deal with myself that I could take her sightseeing and for lunch as long as I kept things strictly platonic—just a man showing his old friend’s daughter around Italy’s picturesque coastal towns.
Completely innocent.
Until I outright insinuated that I can’t stop eye-fucking her whenever she’s around. Jesus, I need my ass kicked. Reciting a mantra of “just friends” in my mind, I back the train up and try again.
“Look, Maggie…” That’s good, use her childhood name. The one that makes you think of curly blond pigtails and summertime giggles. “I promise I have no ulterior motives for my invitation other than to get to know you again. Our families are good friends, and I think the last time I saw you, you had braces and an unhealthy appreciation for One Direction.”
That brings back the smile and the tension in the air dissipates. “I’ll have you know that my taste in music has matured a lot over the years. Now I just have an unhealthy appreciation for Harry Styles.”
I bark out a laugh. “First he steals my title as Europe’s Sexiest Bachelor and now this? I have serious beef with that man.” Crossing the room, I open the door and jerk my head toward the hall. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Have you not been listening? Out. Sights. Lunch. You did serious damage to my ego with that Harry Styles crap, so you owe me.”
“So, as friends?”
“Friends.”
Just when I think she’s about to pummel my ego into a thick paste, she surprises me. “Let me go change first.”
“I suppose that’s acceptable,” I quip with a sly smile.
Fifteen minutes later, we debarked the Prince At-Sea—with Rolf in plain clothes and hanging back at a respectable distance—and began our day together. A day that I can honestly say was the best I’ve had in years.
Maggie is a whirlwind of energy and wonder, and though I’ve been here dozens of times before, I found myself seeing everything in a new light through her eyes.
Every shop we passed, Maggie pulled me inside, insisting she was sure there was something different in this one that she hadn’t seen in all the others. She took her time studying the handmade goods, marveling at the craftsmanship with gentle strokes of her fingers. And because I’m apparently weak as hell, I had to look away and mentally chant the friends mantra to keep my pants from getting tight in the groin.
After window shopping (she refused to let me buy anything for her), we stopped at a corner cafe for an al fresco lunch and got reacquainted over great food and even better wine while she fed scraps to a small dog that found its way under our table. She told me about pursuing an art history degree at university, her desire to curate works by talented up-and-coming artists, and her dream of someday owning her own gallery. I’ve never been much of an art enthusiast, but the passion and excitement in her words inspired me to want to visit every art gallery in the country with her, so I could view every piece through Maggie’s eyes.
When we left the cafe, we ended up taking a lazy stroll around a park while eating gelato and playing the game Would You Rather that instigated the most hilariously bizarre conversations I’ve had in my life. And I’m good friends with Jack Black, so that’s saying something. I lost count of how many times I laughed till I ached from it.
But mostly, I lost count of how many times I had to stop myself from kissing the hell out of her.
I couldn’t stop my wayward mind from conjuring new filthy scenarios to add to my growing collection of Maggie Hammond fantasies. Repeating the mantra lost its power somewhere between her slowly tracing a fingernail across my palm as she pretended to read my future and when she took her first bite of salted caramel gelato and moaned around the fucking spoon. I didn’t know it was possible to be jealous of a tiny plastic shovel until that moment.
Yet even as amazing as the day with Maggie was, I couldn’t shake the shadow of responsibility for the purpose of my trip. Our relaxing time together had been fast approaching its expiration. I’d be fulfilling my obligation as the philanthropic prince at the evening’s charity event, and afterward, she’d be busy with her duties on the ship as we sailed back to Danataria. Beyond that, the convenient excuse of having forced proximity to her as I do now would be over.
That’s when I formed a plan to make our day together continue into the night and asked her to be my plus-one for the event. Looking down at where she’s poised gracefully in my arms as we sway to the song on the dance floor, I commend myself on the best plan I’ve ever had.
“What?” she asks, a hint of a smile playing at her red painted lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Marguerite, every man here is looking at you like this.”
Fuck the mantra, it’s not working. She blew a canon-sized hole in my resolve to keep things platonic the second she walked out of the dressing room in this curve-hugging, matador-red halter dress with plunging neckline and slit clear up to her hip. I’m not a goddamn robot, though I’m still doing my best to hide that fact.
She blushes but doesn’t avert her gaze this time. Progress. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she says thoughtfully. “And I don’t mean because you’re Danataria
’s crown prince or the world’s youngest tech billionaire. I’m talking about Preston Atland, the man.”
Her words sink into my skin and root themselves deep in my bones. No one’s ever separated the celebrity from the man before. My titles and wealth are what everyone wants to hear about, what everyone wants to exploit. But I never got that feeling from her today. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“What a coincidence,” I say with a quirk of my mouth. “I was thinking the same thing about you. You’re completely different from the women I would usually date. And I mean that as the highest of compliments.”
I’m rewarded with her full, brilliant smile. “A date? And here I thought today was all about old friends getting reacquainted.”
“Exactly. We’re on one of those friend dates people have.”
She raises her eyebrows in mock surprise. “Interesting. I didn’t realize people have friend dates.”
“Oh, absolutely.” I manage to keep a straight face, although I’m certain she knows I’m full of shit. “You don’t ‘hang out’ with your friends anymore, you ‘go on dates’ with them. It’s the latest celebrity trend.”
“I see. And do any of these friend dates turn into other things?” She peers up at me through her lashes and runs a hand down the lapel of my jacket that I feel as sharply as if we were skin to skin. “Like maybe...non-friend dates?”
I groan and my fingers tighten reflexively on the exposed flesh of her lower back. “Maggie, don’t say things like that. I’m trying to be good here.”
“What if I don’t want you to? What if I changed my mind and the only thing I want now is for you to stop being good...” Rising up on the balls of her feet, she places her lips at the shell of my ear to whisper, “And start being bad.”
I force myself to take a deep breath through my nose, even as I pull her against me so that the hard implication of what she’s suggesting is pressing against her belly. I’m holding on to my control by a thin fucking thread. But until I know for sure this is what she wants, I don’t dare let go.
Charming the Prince: A Mistaken Identity and Forbidden Love Romance, Racy Royals #2 Page 2