The Montoros Affair: The Princess and the Player / Maid for a Magnate / A Royal Temptation

No point in beating around the bush. “Am I permitted to call you Bella or is there some other title you’d prefer?”

“What, like Princess?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really used to all that yet. And besides, I think we’re a little past that stage, don’t you?”

The feel of her soft curves flush against his body flooded his mind and his board shorts probably wouldn’t conceal his excitement much longer if he didn’t cool his jets. “Yeah. Formality isn’t my specialty anyway. Bella it is.”

Strangely, calling her Bella ratcheted up the intimacy quotient by a thousand. He liked it. And he wanted to say it a bunch more times while she lay stretched out under him again. Without the bikini.

She smiled and glanced down, as if the heat roiling between them was affecting her, too, and she didn’t know quite what to do with it. “This is all so awkward. I wasn’t sure you knew who I was.”

Shrugging, he stuck his hands behind his back because he had no clue what to do with them. It was the first time he’d been unsure around a woman since the age of fourteen. “I recognized you from your pictures.”

She nodded and waved off her friend who’d most likely come to investigate the disappearance of her Frisbee partner. “Me, too. I wasn’t expecting to run into you on the beach or I would have dressed for the occasion.”

Ah, so she did know who he was—and dare he hope there was a hint of approval there? She’d gotten rid of the friend, a clear sign she planned to stick around for a while at least. Maybe he wasn’t so far out of her league after all. “I’m a fan of your wardrobe choice.”

Laughing, she glanced down. “I guess it is appropriate for the beach, isn’t it? It’s just not how I thought meeting you would go. The picture my father sent painted you as someone very serious.”

“Um...you don’t say?” He’d just completely lost the thread of the conversation. Why would her father be sending her pictures, unless... Of course. Had to make sure the precious princess didn’t taint herself with the common riffraff. Stay away from that Rowling boy. He’s a boatload of trouble.

His temper kicked up, but he smoothed it over with a wink and a wicked smile. “I’m every bit as bad as your father warned you. Probably worse. If your goal is to seriously irritate him, I’m on board with that.”

He had no problem being her Rebel Against Daddy go-to guy, though he’d probably encourage her to be really bad and enjoy it far too much. Instantly, a few choice scenarios that would get them both into a lot of trouble filled his mind.

Her eyes widened. “He, uh, didn’t warn me about you... Actually, I’m pretty sure he’d be happy if we went out. Isn’t that the whole point of this? So we can see if we’re suited?”

This conversation was going in circles. Her father wanted them to date? “He’s a football fan, then?”

She shook her head, confusion clouding her gaze. “I don’t think so. Does that matter to you, Will?”

“Will?” He groaned. This was so much worse than he’d anticipated. “You think I’m Will?”

More importantly, her father had sent her a picture of Will for some yet-to-be-determined reason, but it wasn’t so she could flirt with Will’s twin brother on the beach. And this little case of mistaken identity was about to come to an abrupt halt.

Two

Bella laced her fingers together as she got the impression all at once that she wasn’t talking to the man she thought she was. “Aren’t you Will Rowling?”

He had to be. She’d studied his picture enough on the plane and then again last night while she tried to go to sleep but couldn’t, because she’d been wondering what in the world her father was thinking with this arranged marriage nonsense. And then she’d come to the beach with the daughter of one of the servants who was close to her age, only to trip over said man her father had selected.

Except he was staring at her strangely and the niggle of doubt wormed its way to the surface again. How could she have made such a mistake?

“Not Will. Not even close,” he confirmed.

He grinned, and she let herself revel in his gorgeous aqua-colored eyes for a moment because she didn’t have to fight an attraction to him if he wasn’t the man her father picked out for her.

The sun shone a little brighter and the sea sparkled a bit bluer. Digging her toes into the warm sand that suddenly felt heavenly against her bare feet, she breathed a sigh of relief and grinned back.

This was turning out better than she’d hoped. Geez, she’d been one heartbeat away from believing in love at first sight and trying for all she was worth to shut it down. Because she’d thought he was Will Rowling. Imagine that. Her father would be insufferable about it and demand they get married right away if she’d become smitten so fast. It would have been a disaster.

But if this extremely sexy man wasn’t Will—perfect. She slid her gaze down his well-cut body, which a T-shirt and long shorts couldn’t hide. Of course she’d felt every single one of his valleys and hard peaks. Intimately.

No. This was not perfect. She was supposed to be meeting Will and seeing if they got along, not flirting with some look-alike stranger who made her itch to accept the wicked invitation in his gaze, which promised if he got her naked, he’d rock her world.

With no small amount of regret, she reeled back her less-than-innocent interest.

“Well, sorry about that, then,” she said and held out her hand. Might as well start over since this whole thing had blown up in her face. “Bella Montoro. I guess you already knew that, but I’m at a disadvantage.”

His rich laugh hit her a moment before he clasped her hand in his and the combination heated her more than the bright sun or her embarrassment. “I’m the one at a disadvantage, if you were hoping I was Will. I’m James. The other Rowling. Will is my brother.”

“Brother? Oh,” she drawled as it hit her. “You and Will are twins.”

“Guilty.” His eyes twinkled, sucking her under his spell for a moment.

“Then I’m doubly sorry.” Mortified, she racked her brain, but if her father had told her Will had a twin brother, she surely would have remembered that. “I’ve made a complete mess out of this, haven’t I?”

“Not at all. People confuse us all the time. It’s fine, really.”

It was not fine. It was so the opposite of fine, she couldn’t even wrap her head around how not fine it was. Because she’d just realized this sensually intriguing man she’d accidentally tripped over was the brother of the intended target of her father’s archaic arranged marriage plan.

If that didn’t complicate her life a million times over, she didn’t know what would.

Her hand was still gripped tight in his and he didn’t seem in any hurry to let her go. But he should. She pulled free and crossed her arms, wishing for a cover-up. Why did that glint in James’s eye cause her to feel so exposed all at once?

“I’m curious,” James said casually as if the vibe between them had just cooled, which it most definitely had not. “Why did your father send you a picture of Will?”

“Oh, so I would know what he looks like.” Actually, she’d demanded he do so. There was no way she was getting on a plane to meet someone blind.

“I’m sensing there’s more to the story.” His raised eyebrows encouraged her to elaborate.

“Wouldn’t you wonder about the appearance of a person your father wanted you to marry? I sure did.”

Surprise flew across James’s face. “Your father wants you to marry Will? Does Will know about this?”

“Of course he does. Your father was the instigator, actually. You didn’t know our fathers cooked up this idea of an arranged marriage?”

His laugh was far more derisive this time. “The elder Rowling doesn’t share much of what goes on his head. But somehow it doesn’t shock me to discover dear old Dad wants his son married to a member of the royal family. Did you agree?”

“No! Well, not yet anyway. I only agreed to meet Will and see what happened. I’m not really in the market for a steady relationship, let alone one as permanent as marriage.”

Groaning, she bit her lip. Too late to take that back, though it had been the God-honest truth. Regardless, spilling her guts to the brother of her potential fiancé wasn’t the best plan. James would probably run off and tell Will his future bride had felt up his brother on the beach— totally not her fault!—flirted with him—maybe partially her fault—and then declared marriage to be worse than the plague.

Instead of falling to his knees in shock, James winked and dang, even that was sexy.

“Woman after my own heart. If you don’t want to get married, why even agree to meet Will?”

Why was she still standing here talking to the wrong brother? She should go. There was nothing for her here. But she couldn’t make herself walk away from the spark still kicking between them.

“It’s complicated,” she hedged.

She sighed and glanced over her shoulder, but there was no one in earshot. She didn’t want to draw the attention of a camera lens, but surely it couldn’t hurt to spend a few minutes chatting with the man who might become her brother-in-law...so she could keep reminding herself that’s who he was to her. If nothing else, she could set the record straight in case he intended to repeat this conversation verbatim to his brother.

“I’m the king of uncomplicating things,” James said with another laugh that curled her toes deeper into the sand. “Try me.”

It wasn’t as if anyone was expecting her back at the gargantuan house perched on the cliff behind them. Gabriel was never home and her father... Well, she wasn’t dying to run into him again.

She shrugged. “We’re all new at this royalty thing. I don’t want to be the one to mess it up. What if I don’t try with Will and it has horrible repercussions for my brother Gabriel? I can’t be responsible for that.”

“But if you meet Will and you don’t like him, how is that different than not meeting him in the first place? Either way, you don’t end up with him and the repercussions will be the same.”

How come she’d never thought of that? “That’s a good point.”

“Told you. I can uncomplicate anything. It’s a skill.” James’s smile widened as he swept her with an impossible to misinterpret look. “I just figure out what I want to do and justify it. Like...if I wanted to kiss you, I’d find a way.”

As his gaze rested on her lips, heat flooded her cheeks. And other places. She could practically feel the weight of his kiss against her mouth and he hadn’t even moved. A pang of lust zinged through her abdomen and she nearly gasped at the strength of it. What was it about him that lit her up so fiercely?

“You shouldn’t be talking about kissing.” She inwardly cursed. That should have come out much more sternly, instead of breathy with anticipation. “Flirting as a whole is completely off-limits.”

A hint of challenge crept into his expression and then he leaned in, stopping just short of touching her earlobe with his mouth. “Says who?”

“Me,” she murmured as the scent of male and heat coiled up low in her belly, nearly making her weep with want. “I’m weak and liable to give in. You have to be the strong one and stop presenting me with so much temptation.”

He laughed softly. “I’m afraid you’re in a lot of trouble, then.”

“Why?”

“Because I have absolutely no reservations about giving in to temptation.”

The wicked smile spreading across his face sealed it—she was in a lot of trouble. She was supposed to marry his brother. And the last thing she needed was to set herself up for a repeat of the Drew Debacle, where she accidentally broke James’s heart because she ended up with Will. Better all around to stay away from James.

Why did the wrong Rowling have to be so alluring and so delicious?

Maybe she could find Will similarly attractive if she just gave him a chance.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” All right, then. She was going to have to be the one to step away. Noted.

So step away. Right now.

Through a supreme act of will, she somehow did. James’s gorgeous aqua eyes tracked her movement as she put one foot, then two between them. He nodded once, apparently in understanding but definitely not in agreement.

“See you around, Princess.”

He stood there, one hip cocked in a casual stance that screamed Bad Boy, and she half waved before she turned and fled.

As she climbed the stairs to the house, she resisted looking over her shoulder to see if she could pick out James’s yellow T-shirt amidst the other sun worshippers lounging on the white sand. He wasn’t for her and there was no getting around the fact that she wished otherwise.

James Rowling was forbidden. And that might be his most attractive quality.

* * *

Bella entered the Playa Del Onda house through the kitchen, and snagged a glass-bottled cola from the refrigerator and a piece of crusty bread from the pantry. Both the colas and the bread tasted different in Europe but she didn’t mind. All part of the adventure.

Thoughts still on the sexy man she’d abandoned on the beach, Bella munched on the bread as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She almost made it before a dark shadow alerted her to the fact that her least favorite person in the house had found her.

“Isabella.” Her father’s sharp voice stopped her dead, four steps from the landing on the second floor.

“Yeah, Dad?” She didn’t turn around. If you didn’t stare him in the eye, he couldn’t turn you to stone, right?

“Is that how you dress to go out?”

“Only when I go to the beach,” she retorted. “Is there something new you’d like to discuss or shall we rehash the same subject from last night? You didn’t like that outfit either, if I recall.”

Ever since Adela, Bella’s mother, had left, this is how it went. Her father only spoke to her when he wanted to tell her how to run her life. And she pretended to listen. Occasionally, when it suited her, she went along, but only if she got something out of it.

“We’ll rehash it as many times as it takes to get it through your scattered brain. Gabriel is going to be king.” Rafael stressed the word as if she might be confused about what was happening around her. “The least you can do is help smooth his ascension with a little common sense about how you dress. The Montoros have no credibility yet, especially not with that stunt your brother pulled.”

“Rafe fell in love,” she shot back and bit her tongue.

Old news. Her father cared nothing for love, only propriety. And horror of all horrors—his eldest son had gotten a bartender pregnant and then abdicated the throne so he could focus on his new family. In Daddy’s mind, it fell squarely into the category of impropriety. Unforgivable.

It was a reminder that her father also cared little for his daughter’s happiness either. Only royal protocol.

“Rafe is a disappointment. I’ll not have another child of mine follow his example.” He cleared his throat. “Face me when we’re speaking, please.”

She complied, but only because the front view of her bikini was likely to give him apoplexy and she kind of wanted to see it.

He pursed his lips but, to her father’s credit, that was his only reaction. “When have you arranged to meet Will Rowling?”

Ah, of course. Complaining about her bikini was a smoke screen—this was actually an ambush about her arranged marriage. With the scent of forbidden fruit lingering in her senses coupled with her father’s bad attitude, she’d developed a sudden fierce desire to spend time with someone who had clearly never met a good time he didn’t like.

And his name wasn’t Will. “I haven’t yet.”

“What are you waiting for, an invitation? This is your match to make, Isabella. I’m giving you some latitude in the timing but I expect results. Soon.” The severe lines around his mouth softened. “This alliance is very important. To the entire Montoro family and to the royal legacy of Alma. I’m not asking this for myself, but for Gabriel. Remember that.”

She sighed. “I know. That’s why I’m here. I do want to be a credit to the royal family.”

Hurricane Bella couldn’t whirl through Alma and disrupt the entire country. She knew that. Somehow, she had to be better than she’d been in Miami. The thought of Miami reminded her of Buttercup and Wesley, her feathered friends she’d left behind. Some said the wild macaws that nested in southern Florida were people’s pets set free during Hurricane Andrew. She’d always felt an affinity with the birds because they’d all survived the storm. Buttercup and Wesley could continue to be her source of strength even from afar.

“Good. Then arrange to meet Will Rowling and do it soon. Patrick Rowling is one of the most influential men in Alma and the Montoros need his support. We cannot afford another misstep at this point.”

It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, but on the heels of meeting James, the warning weighed heavily on her shoulders. Gabriel hadn’t wanted to be thrust suddenly into a starring role in the restoration of the monarchy to Alma’s political landscape. But he’d stepped up nonetheless. She could do the same.

But why did it matter which Rowling she married anyway? Surely one was as good as the other. Perhaps she could turn this to her advantage by seeing where things went with James.

“I’ll do my best not to mess this up,” Bella promised.

If it didn’t matter which Rowling she picked, that meant she didn’t need to call Will anytime soon. The reprieve let her breathe a little easier.

Her father raised his eyebrows. “That would be a refreshing change. On that note, don’t assume that you left all the tabloids behind in Miami. The paparazzi know no national boundaries. Stay out of scandalous situations, don’t drink too much and for God’s sake, keep your clothes on.”

She saluted saucily to cover the sharp spike of hurt that she never could seem to stop no matter how many times she told herself this was just how he was. “Yes, Father.”

Escaping to her room, Bella took a long shower but it didn’t ease the ache from the showdown with Rafael.

Why did she still care that her father never hugged her or told her he was proud of her? Not for the first time, she wondered if the frosty temperature in her father’s demeanor had caused her mother to leave. If so, Bella hardly blamed her. She hoped Adela had found happiness.

Happiness should be the most important factor in whom you married. The thought solidified Bella’s resolve. If her father wanted a match between the Montoros and the Rowlings, great. Bella would comply—as long as the Rowling was James.

She’d rather see where that led than try to force a match with the right brother.

Why shouldn’t she be allowed to be as happy as Rafe and Gabriel?

* * *

The loud, scornful whispering at the next table over started to annoy James about two bites into his paella. Couldn’t a bloke get something to eat without someone publicly crucifying him? This time, the subject of choice was his lack of a decision on whether to take a spot on Alma’s reserve team.

The two middle-aged men were in complete agreement: James should be happy to have any position, even though Alma wasn’t a UEFA team. He should take his lumps and serve his penance, and then it would be acceptable to play for a premiere club again, once he’d redeemed himself. Or so the men opined, and not very quietly.

The paella turned to sawdust in his mouth. He was glad someone knew what he needed to do next in his stalled career.

Playing for Alma was a fine choice. For a beginner. But James had been playing football since he was seven, the same year his father had uprooted his two sons from their Guildford home and moved them to the tiny, nowhere island of Alma. Football had filled a void in his life after the death of his mother. James loved the game. Being dropped from Real Madrid had stung, worse than he’d let on to anyone.

Of course, whom would he tell? He and Will rarely talked about anything of note, usually by James’s choice. Will was the perfect son who never messed up, while James spent as much effort as he possibly could on irritating his father. James and Will might be twins but the similarities ended there—and Will was a Manchester United fan from way back, so they couldn’t even talk football without almost coming to blows.

And Will had first dibs on the woman James hadn’t been able to forget. All without lifting a finger. Life just reeked sometimes.

Unable to eat even one more bite of the dish he’d found so tasty just minutes ago, James threw a few bills on the table and stalked out of the restaurant into the bright afternoon sun on the boardwalk at Playa Del Onda.

So much for hanging out at the beach where fewer people might recognize him. He might as well go back to Del Sol and let his father tell him again how much of a disappointment he was. Or he could swallow his bitterness and get started on finding another football club since none had come looking for him.

A flash of blond hair ahead of him caught his eye. Since Bella had been on his mind in one way or another since he’d met her the day before, it was no wonder he was imagining her around every corner.

He shouldn’t, though. She’d been reserved for the “right” Rowling, the one who could do no wrong. James’s black sheep status hadn’t improved much. Frankly, she deserved a shot at the successful brother, though he had no clue if Will was even on board with the match their father had apparently orchestrated. When Bella mentioned it yesterday, that was the first he’d heard of it. Which didn’t mean it wasn’t legit.

The woman in front of him glanced into a shop window and her profile confirmed it. It was Bella.

Something expanded in his chest and he forgot why he wasn’t supposed to think about her. Unable to help himself all of a sudden, James picked up his pace until he drew up alongside her. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Tilting her head down, she looked at him over the top of her sunglasses and murmured something reassuring to the burly security detail trailing her. They backed off immediately.

“James Rowling, I presume?” she said to him.

He laughed. “The one and only. Getting in some shopping?”

“Nope. Waiting around for you to stroll by. It’s about time. I was starting to think you’d ordered everything on El Gatito’s menu.” She nodded in the direction of the restaurant he’d just exited and leaned in to murmur, “I hope you skipped the cat.”

She’d been waiting for him? The notion tripped him up even more than her wholly American, wholly sexy perfume, for some odd reason.

“I, uh, did. Skip the cat,” he clarified as he caught her joke in reference to the restaurant’s name. “They were fresh out.”

Her smile set off a round of sparks he’d rather not have over his brother’s intended match.

“Maybe next time.”

“Maybe next time you’ll just come inside and eat with me instead of skulking around outside like a stalker,” he suggested and curled his lip. What was he doing—asking her out? Bad idea.

One of her eyebrows quirked up above the frame of her sunglasses. “I can say with absolute authority that me noticing you heading into a restaurant and accidentally-on-purpose hanging around hoping to run into you does not qualify as stalking. Trust me, I’m a bit of an expert. I have the police report to prove it.”

He had a hard time keeping his own eyebrows from shooting up. “You’re a convicted stalker?”

Her laugh was quite a bit more amused this time. “Not yet. Don’t go and ruin my perfect record now either, okay?” She shrugged and slipped off her sunglasses. “I picked up a stalker in Miami a couple of years ago. So I’m pretty familiar with American law. I would hope it’s reasonably similar in Alma.”

Sobering immediately, he tamped down the sudden and violent urge to punch whomever had threatened Bella’s peace of mind. She’d mentioned it so casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but it bloody well was. “What do you mean, you picked up a stalker? Like you went to the market to get milk and you just couldn’t resist selecting a nutter to shadow you all the way home? No more jokes. Is he in jail?”