Fit for a Queen (Royal Scandals: San Rimini Book 1)

by Nicole Burnham

  “I’d like that.”

  She retrieved her phone, fired off a message, then returned to his side. She stood close enough that he could easily slip an arm around her…or not. He did.

  For the next few minutes, they talked stars and the difference in visible constellations from summer to winter. She described climbing a boulder-filled hill near her childhood home whenever she craved a view of the sea, and how she’d always wanted to go there at night to see the stars.

  “My mother rightly said it was no place for me to go alone, and that she and my dad had no desire to break an ankle trying to pick their way uphill in the dark. Next time I visit, I’ll take a flashlight from the kitchen and go. This has inspired me.”

  “Ankles be damned?”

  “I know every rock on that hill. I’ll be fine.” Daniela’s phone pinged and she exhaled. “That’s my five-minute warning.”

  “It’s a two-minute walk to the marina entrance.” He could see enough of the parking lot from the boat to catch the headlights of approaching cars. “You don’t talk much about your parents.”

  “Not much to tell. They’re long separated, but it’s amicable. Dad lives in Cateri, Mom still lives in our house in the countryside.”

  “And you help her out from time to time?”

  “When she needs it.” He felt rather than saw the change in her. Apparently helping her mother was a delicate topic. Perhaps the weekend visit had been contentious.

  “Since I need to get going in three minutes—less than three minutes—I’d rather not talk about my parents.”

  There was a flirtatious note in her voice, though he wasn’t sure it was deliberate.

  Cautiously, he said, “I didn’t expect tonight to go quite like this, but it ended up feeling a lot like a first date.”

  “Aside from the huge guy with bad facial hair punching you?”

  “Aside from that.” He turned toward her, easing her closer. With most women who interested him, he’d move from a touch of the hand to kissing to bed in fairly rapid succession, providing that was what the woman wanted, too. With Daniela, he wanted to take things slowly, to avoid the quick physical high and inevitable fizzle that followed. He wanted to know her.

  He waited a beat, then said, “I’d expected to spend the evening explaining why I’d deceived you, talking about our respective jobs, and then walking back here with a takeaway box of leftover pasta. Alone.”

  “Liar. I can’t imagine having leftovers.” She had to angle her head to meet his gaze. When he saw her from across the room, she always seemed taller. More of a presence. But now, as he held her, their height difference became apparent.

  Her hands moved to rest at his waist. His throat tightened with the knowledge he’d get the good night kiss he craved.

  As with the night he left her at the hotel in Cancun, there was a ticking clock on the kiss. But this time, he knew he’d see her again. He could enjoy the skim of her fingertips over his shirt, the scent of her hair as she moved, the soft glow of her skin in the moonlight.

  “I’ve had leftovers from Trattoria Safina precisely twice. I told you when we made this date that you’d get the truth.”

  “So you did.” The pads of her fingers spread along his sides, her thumbs lingering above his hipbones. The movement was casual, as if she were perfectly comfortable, but her breathing intensified. “It’s not every day a woman hears that one of a guy’s fondest memories is a walk they took together years earlier.”

  “You had me cornered this afternoon. I was afraid Miroslav would arrive at any moment or I never would have admitted it, but its the truth.”

  “And when you said it gave you hope?” There was a wry note in her voice on the last word, one that said she believed the fond memory part of his statement, but not the line about hope. That it was too corny or too placating, and that he’d gone too far in his attempt to diffuse the situation.

  Time was slipping away, but he didn’t dare scan the parking lot for headlights. Quietly, he said, “It’s funny what goes through someone’s mind when they’re in the middle of a conflict zone. Especially when they’re walking the perimeter of an aid station, watching parents wait in long lines to secure medical help or safe passage out of the area for themselves and their kids. You see a familiar action like a kid biting their nails and a mother signaling the kid to stop, and you realize that could be your family, your wife, your child. You realize there are a lot of people doing bad things in the world to drive these families to such desperation. When a person is in that situation, with grit in his eyes and sweat running down his back, a romantic memory is a reminder that the world is a good place on the whole. That beauty still exists.”

  She was silent at that.

  He touched her cheek. “I would very much like to kiss you good night.”

  Desire flashed in her eyes, but she feigned consideration. “You did buy me a very nice dinner.”

  “I don’t want a kiss in exchange for dinner. I’m not that type.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  He’d barely moved his head when she clarified, “I want something in exchange.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m dying to know. Why Donati? Is that your name for the boat, or did it come from the previous owner?”

  Not what he was expecting. “It’s mine, and we have thirty seconds before we need to start walking.”

  “What does it mean? Donati?”

  “Twenty nine, twenty eight—”

  Her gaze went dark. They moved at the same time, hips aligning, the front of her shirt grazing the front of his. He caught the faintest wash of her breath before their lips met.

  The first kiss was gentle, taking measure more than pleasure. Then her fingers tightened, pulling the fabric of his shirt, and the tension that had twisted tighter and tighter during an evening of shared touches and rushing adrenaline unfurled with the snap of a sail caught by a brisk wind.

  Kissing Daniela held both the thrill of the unexplored and the intimate sense of the familiar. It made no sense; he’d kissed her one time, five years ago. In the intervening years, he’d enjoyed far more than starlight kisses with some incredible women. Yet as Daniela’s mouth met his, and her head angled ever so slightly, allowing him to intensify the kiss, it was as if he were reliving a memory—or a need—burned deep in his soul.

  Her fingers grazed his biceps at the same time he drew her closer. He tasted the slight tang of the carbonated water she’d had while they sat on his deck, and behind that, the wine. Then there was her. Warm and delicious and welcoming.

  Damn, she made him ache.

  Daniela stretched, sliding both hands to reach his shoulders. He had the overwhelming urge to tighten his grip at her waist and lift her from the ground, then carry her back to his berth. His body begged for it even as his brain knew it was too much, too fast. A car would soon sit idling in the marina parking lot, if it wasn’t there already.

  Thirty seconds more, he thought.

  He used every one of them before allowing himself one last, lingering kiss and a quick tightening of his embrace. Then, with regret, he pressed a kiss to her temple and relaxed his hold on her.

  “Car’s probably here,” she said. “I kind of lost count there. Did you keep track?”

  He laughed into her hair. “I did not.”

  She brushed her hand over his chest—a gentle, romantic gesture—as she stepped back and shouldered her purse so they could walk to the parking lot. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her against him, and she reached up to hold his hand. They were halfway to the lot when the distinct headlights of a Mercedes sedan swung across his field of vision, then stopped.

  “Nice ride,” he said.

  “Queen Fabrizia treats me well. King Eduardo offered a car service, but Fabrizia insisted. Apparently the company is owned by a close friend of her security chief.” She glanced at him and added, “It’s enough to make me feel quite spoiled. And grateful for my job.”

  “I’ve seen how
hard you work. I’m sure Queen Fabrizia is grateful you have your job, too.”

  She said nothing, but he knew from the shift in her shoulders that she appreciated the observation. A moment later, he said, “Speaking of the palace, I don’t want to discount this” —he flexed his fingers in hers— “but I’d rather not let on to anyone that we saw each other tonight. I was careful when I picked Trattoria Safina.”

  “You want to be sure no one in the palace knows we are anything but polite work acquaintances.”

  “Exactly. Particularly Miroslav or Chiara Ascardi. I don’t suspect either of them, so it might not be a problem if they know we met for dinner, but—”

  “It’s better if they don’t ask questions. Your secret is safe with me.” Her steps slowed as they neared the marina entrance. The Mercedes had dimmed its lights, but the driver sat alert, his eyes sweeping the lot. From this angle, they could see him, but he’d have difficulty spotting them.

  Daniela stopped walking. “I know you’d have preferred to keep your secret safe from me, too, but I’m glad I know. Plus, it was nice to see you without your coveralls.”

  He grinned. “Are you flirting with me?”

  “Maybe.”

  He kissed her quickly. “I’d like to do this again.”

  “Between the two of us, I suspect we’ll find a way. And Royce?”

  “Yes?”

  “First thing when you get back to the boat, take off your shirt.”

  “Now you’re telling me I need cold water?”

  Her smile turned wicked, then she was gone, slipping through the marina gate and striding toward the Mercedes.

  Chapter 21

  Daniela enlarged the photo on her computer screen, studied it for several seconds, then cropped the image. Satisfied that she’d captured the snakeskin texture of the elegant flats, she typed a description and saved the file before linking it to a photo Helena Masciaretti had sent her, one that showed Queen Aletta wearing the same pair as she boarded a boat for a tour of Copenhagen alongside the Prime Minister of Denmark.

  While part of Daniela’s brain mulled the best way to use the photos in the auction book, another part wondered if Royce had ever visited Copenhagen. The city boasted stunning architecture, especially when viewed from its waterways. At nightfall, she imagined it would exude romance, its eclectic buildings lit from within as the stars emerged overhead.

  She grumbled to herself as the sentimental image entered her mind. One kiss from Royce Dekker and she had it bad.

  Last night had been surprising. Not only had he provided the full truth behind the Roy or Royce mystery, there’d been the matter-of-fact description of his experience in Turkey, the arrival of Del Prete, and the tumultuous moments as Del Prete’s lookout careened into the trattoria with Royce at his back. Despite the flying fists, the insight she’d gained into Royce’s personality stuck foremost in her mind. He’d listened attentively and asked insightful questions as she talked about the counterfeit handbag. He’d praised the work ethic of the teen who picked up dinner for his family, but wasn’t comfortable with Daniela knowing that he tutored the young man. Royce had made it sound as if it were the teen doing him the favor by indulging Royce’s love of physics.

  Daniela wondered that any non-professional chose to spend their free time thinking about physics, but given Royce’s fascination with the night sky, she supposed it made a certain sense. He had a curious mind, one that was further reflected in his eclectic choice of reading material. Few people kept a shelf of favorites that included The Odyssey and Lady Chatterley’s Lover alongside a slew of crime thrillers and what appeared to be a well-read history of World War II.

  Along with glimpses into his passions, she’d discovered that once Royce set a goal, he pursued it with laser focus. She’d seen it as he’d worked in the king’s residence and stood back, hands on hips, to inspect the room and mentally plot his tasks, but now she knew that determination went beyond work. A quiet pride had radiated from him when he’d talked about renovating his flat, when he’d taken her on the tour of the boat, and when he’d smoothed a hand over the front of the cabinets he’d installed. They were such male things to take pride in. Things that must have taken planning and concentration to accomplish in a short time span.

  She strode to the table where she’d displayed the snakeskin flats and swapped them for strappy black heels, angling the pair to eliminate shadows even as she contemplated the man working in the adjacent room.

  Royce was traditional enough to value weekly dinners with his parents, but rather than live as they did, in a city flat, he’d chosen a setup that allowed him to spend his free time on the water, experiencing the rush of wind against his skin as he explored new places. Then there was his career. First with the military, and now in security, where risk was part of his job. The guy could hold his own in a fight.

  No one possessed that combination of traits without also possessing an innate sense of adventure. Most men with a penchant for thrill-seeking wore it on their sleeve. Royce didn’t, and it fascinated her.

  Her soul recognized a kindred spirit.

  She might not know how to guide a boat through the Adriatic to the Mediterranean, and she certainly wasn’t the type to wrestle a criminal to the ground, but deep down, she’d always had an intrepid streak, enough to send her climbing any tree that would hold her weight or sneaking off to scale rural hillsides long before she was old enough to do so safely. Later, at Michigan, she’d wandered the hidden corners of the university’s sprawling arboretum, forging routes that required her to push against her thighs with her hands to make progress up the hills. Occasionally she’d scale the giant trees alongside the larger trails, scraping her palms and shins as she shimmied far higher than was possible at home. She’d find a stable vee to use as a perch, then watch from above as the Huron River wended its way along the arboretum’s edge. Students jogged by, talking about their classes or their weekend plans, oblivious to her presence overhead. The solo explorations gave her the opportunity to breathe, to clear her thoughts, and to feel the rush of adrenaline in her veins with a simultaneous sense of peace.

  She’d always liked that daring in herself, the trait a secret lurking in her otherwise practical soul.

  Somehow, Royce brought it out in her. First, when she’d said yes that night in Cancun, agreeing to his offer to walk her to the next bus stop, then all the way back to her hotel. He’d done it again last night when she’d flirted with him. She wasn’t a natural flirt, even when she found a man both attractive and receptive. For her, to flirt was to dare, and her brand of daring never involved witnesses.

  She moved to Queen Aletta’s window and adjusted the shade, peeked at the shoes, then lowered it another smidge. Perfect.

  Now that she thought about it, she’d even made the first move when she’d touched Royce’s hand at dinner. Oh, she could lie to herself and say she’d done it out of friendship or to show Royce she was paying attention to his words, but that hadn’t been it at all. As Royce spoke of family and travels and duty, she found herself more and more attracted to him. She’d had the urge to absorb and memorize everything about him, from the warm smile he gave Basia, to the detail he infused into his stories, to the position of his fingers as he rested them at the base of his wine glass. When she’d placed her hand on his, she’d continued to listen, but she’d also noticed the texture of his skin and the fine, dark hair that dusted the backs of his hands. She’d felt the latent strength in his long fingers and noted the lean muscle in his forearms.

  Royce Dekker was built as efficiently as his beloved boat.

  When his hand went to the small of her back as they’d moved from the cabin to the deck, what should have been simple contact pulsed with meaning. There’d been protectiveness, guidance…and attraction. The memory sent a shiver through her.

  She cursed under her breath, then retrieved her camera from a nearby chair, crouched in front of the black heels, and snapped a photo. The shoes. She needed to concentrate on t
he shoes.

  Helena had pointed out this pair the day of her surprise visit, noting that they were purchased for a black tie reception honoring several of San Rimini’s top musicians. The soles were immaculate, which made Daniela wonder if Aletta had worn them on any other occasion. They certainly hadn’t been worn outdoors.

  She rounded the table and took several more shots, then went through the same drill as before, checking the photos on her computer and writing a description before setting the shoes aside. She replaced them with a pair of carnation pink heels from one of the smaller but longstanding Italian design houses, a style they’d manufactured for decades and that Queen Fabrizia owned in multiple colors.

  The rote task made it far too easy for thoughts of Royce to prowl through Daniela’s mind, no matter how frequently she attempted to force them back. To imagine the scent of his skin, the feel of his hands at her waist, and the hungry look in his gaze as she rose on her toes to kiss him and he lowered his head to meet her halfway. The firm muscle she’d encountered when she’d spread her fingers over his arms.

  She puffed out a hard breath and stared at the pink heels.

  For several moments before Royce kissed her, she’d known it was coming. She’d also known she’d reciprocate, but given how their first kiss lingered in her memory, she feared her expectations would outshine reality.

  That hadn’t been the case. Last night’s kiss had blown her away and stirred a deep, primal craving within her.

  A flash of gold inside the left shoe caught Daniela’s eye as she lowered the camera. Certain it was a trick of the light, she reached for the shoe and realized that the pair wasn’t quite like those in Queen Fabrizia’s collection. Queen Aletta’s initial had been embossed in gold foil on the insole. An ornate floral design surrounded the initials. Daniela ran a finger over the surface and was about to set them beside the black heels when an odd loop in the foil made her pause.