The Prince Next Door

Then she heard it, the thud of a heartbeat. Then a weak lub-dub.

“Stop for a second,” she said, and put her ear to the man’s mouth. A shaky breath. Another, deeper. Feeling the carotid, she found a pulse. A little irregular, but recurring.

“Thanks,” she said to her neighbor.

He nodded, his dark eyes grave. “It’s the least I could do.”

But the danger wasn’t past. In the distance she could hear the wail of approaching sirens. She looked along the length of the man’s body and realized his swim trunks were shredded, and a zig-zaggy burn, almost like a lightning bolt itself, marked his left side and left thigh.

She grabbed the blanket and spread it over him. “Elevate his feet with my bag,” she said to one of the people in the crowd.

Then she returned her attention to her patient’s face. His color was improving, he was still breathing. Thank God. She touched his cheek, shaking his head gently. “Can you hear me?”

A moan escaped him.

“Does anyone know his name?” she asked.

“It’s Jack,” said a woman.

“Jack. Jack! Can you hear me? Open your eyes!” Much to her relief, his eyelids fluttered. His eyes were unfocused, but they were open. “Stay with us, Jack. Stay awake. Help is coming.”

He moaned again, but his eyes stayed open.

“I told him,” said the woman. “I told him not to go in the water! But no, he’s a tough macho idiot…” Her voice trailed away in sobs.

“Nobody ought to be on this beach,” Serena said firmly. “Nobody.”

“But it’s our vacation,” some man argued. “Damn it, I paid a fortune…”

“You’ll pay even more in hospital bills,” Serena said shortly, trying to pick out the speaker from the crowd. “This place isn’t known as the lightning capital of the world for nothing.”

As if to back her up, another bolt sizzled and crackled downward, farther out in the water.

As if on cue, the curious began to hurry away.

Then, other than the woman who was Jack’s companion, Serena and the mysterious neighbor were alone with the patient. She couldn’t avoid his eyes then.

“Thank you,” she said again.

“You saved his life,” he said, and smiled.

God, it was a devastating smile. Things inside her went all fluttery and soft, and she wanted to kick her own butt. She cleared her throat and shrugged. “I’m a doctor.”

“I heard.” He extended his hand. “Darius Maxwell. Art dealer.”

“Hi.” She had to drag her gaze away from him and return her attention to Jack, who was beginning to actually focus his eyes. They found her and he said thickly, “You’re an angel. Oh, God, I’m dead.”

“No you’re not,” the sobbing woman said, “but you damn well oughta be.”

Jack actually smiled.

Serena was saved by the arrival of the paramedics. She gave them a crisp, professional report and let them take over responsibility. Her specialty didn’t involve caring for lightning victims…until they wanted scars removed. “Take care,” she said to Jack and his wife.

Then she gathered up her things and headed back toward the building while another crackle of lightning sizzled behind her.

“Excuse me!” Darius Maxwell caught up with her.

Who was following whom? “Yes?” She didn’t want to look at him. Absolutely not. He was too…too…attractive.

“Listen, since we’re neighbors…can I buy you dinner?”

Her instinct was to refuse. After all, what did she know about this man? On the other hand, getting to know him would be a wonderful way to find out what he was up to.

Uh-uh. Moth, flame, singed and all that. “I don’t think so. But thank you.”

“I understand.” They had reached the shelter of the parking garage, safer from the lightning, which was now forking across the sky like Thor’s own fireworks show. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

She darted a glance at him, hoping he was about to spill the beans. He disappointed her.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll order takeout and we can eat at my place or yours.”

Serena didn’t know if that was much safer. She hesitated before the elevator door. On the one hand, here was a sterling opportunity to learn something about this man and his evil doings. On the other, she’d be about as safe as a lamb in a cage with a tiger. Or so she wanted to believe.

“Compromise,” she said finally.

“Yes?”

God, his smile was just too inviting. “I’ll ask Ariel to join us. You know Ariel?”

“Of course. The lovely young woman who lives at the other end of the wing. That would be delightful.” His dark eyes creased at the corner.

Damn, he was oozing warmth. She wondered if she was going to get a sunburn standing here.

“One more condition,” she said.

“Yes?”

“We eat inside if it’s still storming.”

He laughed. “Of course. Say seven?”

The elevator door opened, and she didn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed when he didn’t join her.

“I’ve got an errand to run,” he said pleasantly. “See you tonight.”

The door closed. Errand? He probably needed to deliver some dope, she thought sourly.

That’s when she realized that she was looking forward to the evening with entirely too much excitement.

Idiot.

“WHAT DO YOU need me for?” Ariel wanted to know. “I’m too young to chaperone someone your age.”

Serena tried not to grit her teeth. “I don’t know anything about him! I don’t want to be alone with him.”

“I thought that would be exactly what you’d want. So you could tie him to a chair and threaten to beat him with a kitchen appliance until he tells you the truth.”

Serena rolled her eyes. “Traitor.”

Ariel frowned. “No, he might like that.”

Serena gasped. “What do you know about such things?”

Ariel only laughed and winked. “A bullwhip would be better. You know, some leather, handcuffs—”

“Stop it!” Serena’s cheeks were so hot she felt she could illuminate the darkest night. All too often, Ariel seemed to read Serena’s mind.

Ariel just laughed. “Okay, I’ll be good…”

“Good!” Serena replied.

“…and you can be good at it!”

With that, the young woman dashed out of reach and into the kitchen, leaving Serena to consider what she would wear for this soiree. Shorts and a halter top were out of the question. Her eyes flicked over the leather corset she kept folded and hidden in a corner of the closet shelf, and her cheeks reddened again. Damn you, Ariel!

Finally she settled on her favorite sundress: light yellow, cotton, sleeveless. It was comfortable, casually attractive without going overboard. Most of all, she felt confident wearing it. And she had a feeling she would need all the confidence she could muster.

When she emerged from the bedroom, Ariel had already set the table, complete with rose linen napkins and a set of burgundy candles that Serena had forgotten she had.

“Do you like digging through my cupboards?” Serena asked.

“Of course!” Ariel replied, as if poking around in someone else’s kitchen were the most natural thing in the world. “You’d have used paper plates and napkins. And that would not do…not for an international art dealer. So I decided to give you some class.”

“Ummm, thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome,” Ariel said, her eyes suddenly deep as the Marianas Trench. “You’re very welcome.”

What did that girl know?

CHAPTER FOUR

HE WAS LATE.

Not fashionably late, ten or fifteen minutes. Not even a half hour.

No, it was ten minutes to eight. Serena’s stomach growled as she tapped her nails on the glass tabletop. She had rearranged the place settings three times. She had chilled the sauvignon blanc, and decanted the merlot, just in case. She had even deigned to endure that most hated of feminine habits and put on makeup. Not much. A light brushing of blush on her cheeks, mascara and a shimmery pink lip gloss. Just enough.

And he was late.

The grandfather clock in her living room had swung and ticked its way to 7:58 when the doorbell rang.

“I shouldn’t even answer,” Serena said.

“Of course you should,” Ariel replied.

“He’s late.”

“So?”

“It’s disrespectful.”

The doorbell rang again.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he was unavoidably detained.”

“Making a drug deal?”

“Maybe,” Ariel said. “Or maybe he was caught in traffic. Or maybe he had to close a million-dollar deal on a painting. There’s only one way to find out.”

The doorbell rang again.

“And that’s it,” Ariel said, pointing to the door.

With a heavy sigh—wondering yet again why this young girl intimidated her so—Serena walked to the door and opened it.

Damn him.

“Hi,” Darius said, holding out a bouquet of yellow carnations. “Sorry I’m late.”

The flowers even matched her dress.

“No problem,” Serena heard herself say, without so much as thinking about it. Then, as if another brain had taken charge of her vocal chords, she added, “I was late getting ready myself.”

What was she doing?

“It worked out well, then,” he said. He lifted the large plastic bag in his other hand. “I hope you like Italian.”

“Sounds yummy!” Ariel said, reaching out to take the bag. “Come on in.”

“Yes, do come in,” Serena added.

“Thank you,” Darius said, stepping into the small, tiled foyer. He paused a moment to look around. “You have a lovely home. That’s a Robert Franklin, isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Serena said, looking at the painting above her sofa as if for the first time. It was a pastel watercolor, a man and a woman caressing each other’s cheeks. “I just picked it because I liked it. I really don’t know anything about art.”

Darius offered a disarming smile. “Not to worry. You’ve chosen well. It fits the room.”

She hoped he’d turn that smile off soon. Before her brain made yet another detour into complete abandon. She fell back upon safe territory. “Well, let’s eat!”

In the kitchen, as she and Ariel transferred the steaming food from the containers into serving dishes, Ariel whispered, “Well, he recognized who did the painting in your living room. One point for art dealer.”

Serena, shocked back to reality for a second, was about to admit she may have been wrong, when a thought struck her. “The painting is signed.”

Ariel gave her one of those long, deep looks, then nodded. “That’s true.”

But Serena was beginning to wonder if her need for excitement hadn’t pushed her right over the edge. Then she remembered the weaselly man saying, “We have your mother.” Darius Maxwell was not acting like a man who was in any way worried about his mother. The weasel’s words had certainly sounded like a threat, not a reassurance.

Hmmm.

Food in serving dishes—scampi, pasta primavera, ravioli stuffed with Portobello mushrooms, and garlic bread, she and Ariel paraded into the dining area with the offerings.

“I hope,” said Darius, standing near the table, “that the selections please you.”

“Oh, definitely,” Serena said, managing a bright smile. At least he’d turned off that thousand-watt smile of his. It had settled into a pleasant curve of his very pleasant mouth.

After the women had finished placing the dishes on the table, Darius held their chairs out for them, Serena’s first. That was an old-world courtesy, so old that Serena had actually forgotten men could do such things.

Ariel’s gaze seemed to say, And you think this guy is a drug dealer?

Serena felt herself blushing, faintly, she hoped. Damn her fair complexion. Maybe she should bake in the sun, set herself up for melanoma, and make sure the world could never again see her cheeks pinken.

When they were all seated, Darius apologized again. “I really was unforgivably late. But like an idiot, I decided to go to this small mom-and-pop restaurant where they have the most wonderful Italian cuisine, and I totally forgot about rush hour across the drawbridges.”

Serena smiled politely. “It’s all forgiven. The food smells wonderful. Don’t you have to deal with rush hour?”

A clue, she thought. She had to deal with rush hour, as did every other upstanding American, except perhaps the president.

“Well, not usually,” he admitted as he passed the scampi. “My job has rather irregular hours.”

“Oh?” She lifted her brows at him, then scooped a small portion onto her plate before passing the dish to Ariel.

“I’m an art dealer, as I said,” Darius explained smoothly. Maybe too smoothly. “I’m working on a project in St. Petersburg right now. A new gallery is opening, centered on the works of Mateus Davilla.”

Ariel perked up. “Like the Dali Museum?”

“Yes, like that.” He smiled at her. “The gallery is very well funded by a collector, and I’ve been scouting for some additional paintings for them. Some of Davilla’s works have been missing since World War II. I’ve managed to find a few of them, along with a truly priceless collection of his charcoal sketches. But there are some provenance issues I need to work on while I continue to scout. At present, I have reason to believe a number of Davilla’s works are here in the U.S.”

“So you’re based here for a while?” Ariel asked.

“Yes, until my project is finished.”

So he was a drifter, Serena thought, stuffing her mouth. Then the flavor hit her and astonishment filled her. “My goodness, that’s the best scampi I’ve ever had!”

Darius grinned at her. “So maybe getting stuck at the drawbridge was worth it.”

Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t resist that smile. As the scampi warmed her stomach, that smile warmed every inch of her, including the cockles of her heart.

“It sounds like an exciting job,” Ariel said.

“It is,” Darius agreed, turning to her and releasing Serena from his thrall. “Well, to be fair, most of the time it’s terribly routine. I breathe a lot of dust in old archives chasing clues. But occasionally…well, there have been a few times when it’s been rather dangerous. One doesn’t always know who one is dealing with, and some of these paintings are stolen, so…” He shrugged, a very European gesture. “I’ve met a few thugs in my day.”

Like the one outside his door, Serena thought. She wished she had the nerve to ask him about it. Then it struck her that she did. “I was concerned about that man who let himself into your apartment yesterday. I’m glad it was all right.”

Darius shook his head. “As it happens, it was merely a nuisance.”

“But…you say you’ve met thugs. Why didn’t you let me call the police?”

There, it was out, the question that had been plaguing her.

He tilted his head, studying her, as if reading her mind. “Sometimes unsavory characters merely want to sell me a painting. Other times…well, I know how to deal with them.”

“Oh!” Ariel exclaimed, looking as thrilled as any teen faced with her idol. “Do you carry a gun?”

For an instant he looked shocked. “Never!” he said firmly. “Not ever. I realize you Americans depend on them, but I was raised in a different culture. I tend to believe that guns only elicit greater violence.”

Serena heartily agreed with him on that point, and felt herself thinking she might actually be able to like this man. How unfortunate, when he was probably just feeding her a pack of lies. Very good lies, but lies, nonetheless. Lies that could provide an excuse for all the unsavory characters that might come to his door.

Hmmm.

The evening light that poured through the sliding glass doors began to grow golden. The glow it cast through the living-dining areas was almost surreal, as if the room were under a spell.

“I wish,” Darius said unexpectedly, “that I had an ounce of artistic talent.”

“Why’s that?” Ariel asked.

“I’d love to be able to capture this light.”

“Did you want to be an artist when you were little?”

He nodded. “I most certainly did. I grew up surrounded by fine art, and was given every opportunity and a lot of very expensive lessons. Nothing helped. I can identify masterworks, but I’ll never paint one.” Then he laughed. “Oh, well. At least I spend my life looking at the things I love most. Not many can say that.”

Serena was beginning to believe him. She didn’t want to believe him. It would ruin her entire vacation, not to have a criminal living next door. Nonetheless, her suspicions were falling away like dead leaves. If this man wasn’t exactly what he said he was, then he deserved every acting award in the universe.

But still nagging at her was that threatening statement: We have your mother.

AFTER DINNER they moved out onto her balcony to watch the sun set over the water. Serena served Tia Maria in liqueur glasses along with Blue Mountain coffee. Between that, the wine they’d had with dinner, and the soothing glow of the sunset, Serena felt…delightfully buzzed.

The evening breeze was just warm enough to be delightful. The passing of the storm had left the air surprisingly dry, creating the kind of evening that made Serena want to close her eyes, let her head fall back and feel her hair toss gently.

“I love the wind,” she said impulsively. “Gentle or fierce, it always gives me such a feeling of freedom.”

“I love it, too,” Ariel said. “It makes me feel as if I could fly.”

Darius said nothing. Curious, Serena turned to him. He appeared lost in thought, not necessarily of the happiest kind. Maybe he wasn’t completely indifferent to that threat made earlier.

“Do you have any family in the area?” she asked, hoping to pry some information loose.

“No. My family, such as it is, is in Europe.”

“Such as it is?”

“My mother is the only close relative I have left.” His mouth twisted wryly. “She is, however, the world’s biggest schemer, highly manipulative, and highly volatile. And I love her dearly.”

Serena didn’t know how to reply to that. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if she had utterly misheard that weasel’s words. “Do you…see her often?”

“Whenever I’m in Europe, which is quite often. It can be something of a trial, though. She’s forever plotting to find a way to turn me into something I’m not.”

“Which is?”

“Well, it used to be James Bond. Right now it’s something else.” He waved a hand, as if to brush away the thoughts. “What about you ladies? Your families?”

“Well,” said Ariel, “I have none.”

That was a question Serena had never asked her, and now, hearing the answer, she felt her throat tighten. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Ariel said brightly. “It’s been a long time. And I’m well-off. Luckier than most, don’t you think?”

“You’re such a positive thinker.”

Ariel laughed. “Of course. Is there any other way to be?”

“Well, you can share my family from now on.”

Ariel looked impishly at her. “Are they all like you?”

A helpless laugh bubbled out of Serena, rising from deep within her. “Touché,” she managed to say between giggles.

Ariel laughed with her, and Darius looked from one to the other, amused, even though he must surely feel left out.

“Serena,” Ariel confided, “is a would-be adventuress. She gets into all kinds of trouble when she’s on vacation.”

“Hey,” Serena said, “I haven’t been arrested yet.”

“She came awfully close last Christmas,” Ariel explained to Darius. “She was playing Mrs. Claus at the mall, and one too many little brats mouthed off at her and kicked her in the shin. So she told the parents, all the parents, what they could do with their little monsters.”

Darius laughed heartily. “Good for you,” he told Serena.

“She was supposed to go on a naked cruise this time,” Ariel continued, “but the IRS seized the ship.”

“Ariel!”

The young woman shrugged. “It’s the truth. I know you keep saying ‘clothing optional,’ but I don’t know what the difference is.”

Darius’s gaze settled on Serena again. He was smiling, but his eyes seemed to hold some deeper message, something that made her squirm in her chair. Something that felt too pleasurable for her own good. She gripped the armrests tightly and forced herself to be still.

At that moment an errant gust hit her, blowing her hair across her face and somehow managing to blow her skirt up to the top of her thighs.

“Oh!” Embarrassment filled her and she blindly reached to pull her skirt down and tuck it tightly around her legs.

“Better than Marilyn’s,” Darius said, a laugh trembling in his voice.

Serena glared at him through strands of blond hair. “Don’t be a cad.”

“Odd. That’s one thing my mother has always hoped I’d become.”

Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she asked, “Why?”

“My father was a very stolid Swiss banker. She spent most of his life trying to turn him into D’Artagnan.”

“Poor man.”

“They were very much in love.” Darius’s gaze strayed back out over the water, his face growing pensive, almost sad. “Anyway, now she’s decided to reform me.”

Serena’s heart slammed. “How so?”

“She’s staged her own kidnapping.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“SHE WHAT?” Serena asked, words tumbling out of her mouth. “I can’t believe…who…why…I don’t understand.”

Darius looked at her and smiled. That smile again. “I don’t think you’d understand my mother if you lived to be a hundred. I certainly don’t. But yes, that’s what she’s done.”

“So that guy outside your apartment, he’s the kidnapper?” Ariel asked.

Darius chuckled. “He thinks so. I suspect it’s more a case of her holding them captive than vice versa. Truth is, I pity the poor man. But yes, such as it stands, he’s the kidnapper.”

“But…why?”

“Oh, that’s the easy part,” Darius said with a wave of his hand. “She thinks I’m a prince.”

If he’d said he had six ears, Serena couldn’t have been more floored. He said it so off-handedly, as if there were no great mystery involved in a mother staging her own kidnapping because her son was, or might be, a prince.

“Ummm…” Serena said.

“Exactly,” Darius replied. “Ummm…”

“I take it you don’t think you’re a prince?” Ariel asked.

He laughed. “No, I don’t. And what’s more, even if I were, I wouldn’t want the job. I mean, who in his right mind would want to be the crown prince of Masolimia?”

“That place in the Pyrenees, with the awful sheep?” Ariel asked. Both Serena and Darius looked at her in stunned silence. “Well, I read something about it in a science magazine.”

“Yes,” Darius said. “The place with the awful sheep. And the awful weather. And the awful…everything.”

“But that place is going to be rich!” Ariel countered.

Serena felt as if she had slipped into a reality warp. She’d never heard of Masolimia, but that was no surprise. There were probably hundreds of little places in the world she’d never heard of. The surprise was that Ariel had heard of Masolimia. And not only had heard of it, but seemed to be something of an expert on the place. That girl seemed to know entirely too much for Serena’s comfort. It was almost as if she’d been…set up.

Darius nodded to Ariel. “That’s what they tell me. Something about genetic research, I gather.”

“Yes!” Ariel said. She turned to Serena. “It’s like this. Geneticists are trying to figure out which parts of the human gene structure do what things. How much of what happens to us is inherited, how much is environmental. The old debate of nature versus nurture.”

“Right,” Serena said, nodding as if to say, I know this, dear. “I’m a doctor, remember?”

Ariel nodded excitedly. “Of course you are! So you know they’re trying to find out if there are genetic bases for diseases. Does this gene cause cancer? Does that gene cause depression? Things like that. But it’s complicated, because genes sometimes skip generations, lie dormant or some such. Plus a lot of places in the world have become so cosmopolitan, with people from all over the world adding to the local gene pool. So what you need is…”