Princess Australia

‘Why didn’t you let me know your need for anonymity when you booked?’

Good question; he just couldn’t give her an honest answer. How could he explain to a woman he barely knew that the spur of the moment decision had as much to do with a desperate need to escape as his desire to spend time with a nephew he’d hardly seen?

‘My extra week here is impromptu and I need some time out from my duties.’

She raised an eyebrow, a delicate gesture that made him smile. Somehow, he knew there was nothing delicate about Natasha Telford. She came across as a vision of feminine loveliness…with a backbone of steel beneath.

‘I see.’

By the tiny frown creasing her brow, he seriously doubted that.

‘For family reasons?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Natasha sat back in the armchair and fixed the prince with a suspicious glare, wondering if he thought she were completely stupid.

Guys like him didn’t flit around countries trying to hide their identity for ‘family reasons’. They did the whole cloak and dagger thing for floozies, mistresses or whatever the name was for their hidden love interests.

The prince must have a secret lover, someone he didn’t want the press to get wind of, and that had to be the real reason behind this elaborate farce.

So what? It wasn’t any of her business. As long as he came out of the closet—so to speak—at the end of the week, she’d still get the much-needed publicity boost for the Towers. And, after playing along with His Sneaky Highness, she had every intention of milking his royal presence for every cent he was worth.

‘You don’t look too impressed.’

Silently cursing her expressive face, Natasha said, ‘What you do in the next week is no concern of mine.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’

The arrival of their espressos put paid to the questions raging through her brain, and she waited till they were alone again to continue.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘You are the only person who knows my real identity and I want it to stay that way. It is imperative. Do I make myself clear?’

She stared at him in open-mouthed shock. Who did he think he was, talking down to her like that?

Then again, he was a prince, and obviously used to ordering people around. Not to mention the guy who would get her family’s business out of crisis.

She’d bite her tongue. For now.

‘Perfectly clear,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee, enjoying the caffeine rush and trying not to notice the way his long, tanned fingers wrapped around the tall glass mug with ease, as if they were made to hold things…caress things…

‘Good.’

He stared at her over the rim of his mug, those blue eyes capturing her attention and making it impossible to look away no matter how much she wanted to.

‘How long have you been a concierge?’

His question came out of left field though she should have been grateful. With his probing stare, she’d half expected something more personal.

‘Less than a week.’

He lowered his mug, surprise etched across his handsome face. ‘By your surname, I assumed you were part of the Telford family and in the job for a long time. Maybe I’ve entrusted my secret to the wrong person?’

‘Relax,’ she said, enjoying her first genuine smile of their meeting.

No matter how laid back His Highness seemed, this whole secrecy thing was getting to him. She could see it in his suddenly tense shoulders, his rigid neck, his clenched fingers. His floozy must be some woman for him to go to these lengths to protect her identity.

‘My father runs Telford Towers and I’ve worked here since I could walk. Our concierge is away for the next twelve weeks on sick leave, so I’m filling in for seven days till his temporary replacement starts next week. Does that allay your fears?’

He nodded and visibly relaxed, placing his mug on the table between them and leaning back in his chair. ‘So, what do you usually do here?’

‘Everything.’

From ensuring things ran smoothly, to mediating staff disputes, to pampering VIPs, she did it all. It was what she loved about this place, had always loved about it. Being a part of Telford Towers came as naturally to her as breathing and she couldn’t let it slip away.

Especially when this entire mess with Clay was her fault.

‘Such as?’

She should’ve been flattered by Dante’s interest, but she wasn’t a fool. Now that he had her here, he wanted to know every last thing about the only person who knew his little secret. He probably still didn’t trust her.

‘I’m my father’s right-hand woman. After I graduated with an MBA, I joined him in the everyday running of the Towers. Whatever needs to be done, I do it.’

His eyes widened, the admiration in the steady blue gaze warming her from the inside out. ‘Is it only the two of you?’

‘Uh-huh.’

And the painful fact ripped through her, reopening old wounds. Would her mum have survived the heart attack without the added stress Clay had brought upon them? Would Natasha have to spend the rest of her life harbouring the unspeakable guilt that she had contributed to her mum’s death as well as potentially ruining the family?

‘You should be proud. Your father and you have done a marvellous job. This hotel is wonderful. This is wonderful.’

He threw his arms wide in a dramatic gesture characteristic of his Italian heritage, and she managed a tiny smile when in fact she felt like bolting to the sanctity of her room and bawling her eyes out. Memories of her mum always made her feel like crying.

‘Did you hire a designer to create this room?’

Natasha shook her head, a burst of pride making her sit up straighter, and she quelled the urge to sniffle. ‘I did it.’

‘Really?’

If his eyebrows shot any higher, they would’ve reached the elaborate cornices lining the patterned ceiling.

‘That’s right. I wanted to create a home away from home for weary travellers. It’s the type of room I’d like to spend time in if I was stuck in a hotel miles away from everything familiar.’

Her voice rose as she spoke, filled with excitement, and she marvelled at the sudden change. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything bar intense, draining responsibility. She’d made a major mess of things and she had to clean it up.

Where every day used to bring joy and a thrill as she flitted from task to task, the last year had brought nothing but guilt, recrimination and a weary determination to do a job she used to love wholeheartedly.

But that was all about to change. Starting with the prince-playing-hooky sitting in front of her, if he agreed to help.

‘You’ve captured the exact feeling I had when I first sat down,’ he said, glancing around the room with a sparkle in his eyes before his gaze came to rest on her. ‘You’re a very talented woman.’

‘Thank you.’

She blushed, an annoying surge of heat that probably made her look like a sideshow clown. Somehow, his simple compliment meant more to her than all the accolades she’d received in the hotel business.

She really was in a soppy mood. Time to escape before she did something silly like beg him to head up the Towers’ next ad campaign or, better yet, grovel in the hope he would book out the Presidential Suite for the next decade. Both would be financial boons and either option would get them out of trouble.

Making an obvious show of glancing at her watch, she said, ‘If our meeting here is over, I really must go.’

The cheeky glint in his eyes faded. ‘Ah, yes, your secret assignation.’

That’s your game, bucko, not mine.

Thankfully, she bit back that retort. ‘Nothing too secret about meeting my best friend for our daily catch-up at our favourite trattoria.’

She could’ve sworn she saw relief in his eyes before his super-sexy smile drew her attention. ‘You meet your friend every day?’

She nodded, knowing she would never have survived the last few years without brash, exuberant Ella, the sweetest, most loyal friend a girl could ever wish for. The two of them had met through Telford Towers when Ella had moved into one of the apartments five years ago.

The dastardly duo, her mum had called them.

Natasha preferred ‘dynamic duo’ because that’s how great Ella made her feel. Her best friend was reliable and loads of fun. And it seemed like so long since she’d had any.

‘Yeah, keeps us sane. Nothing better than unwinding over a latte at the end of a hard day.’

‘You are lucky.’

He shrugged, a simple, eloquent gesture that spoke volumes when combined with the wistful tone in his voice.

At that precise moment, Natasha could’ve sworn the prince sounded lonely. Very lonely.

‘I know. Now, I’m sorry, but I really must dash.’

She stood quickly, eager to put distance between them before she leaned over and gave him a comforting hug. He looked like he needed one.

Though maybe that had more to do with her crazy hormones coming to life after a few glimpses of his muscled chest beneath cotton?

Either way, she wasn’t sticking around.

‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. And for agreeing to assist with that other matter.’ He stood and gave a strange, little formal bow which made her want to giggle, considering his bad-boy outfit.

Guys with day-old stubble, unruly hair and faded denim didn’t bow. They rode motorbikes and broke hearts maybe, but bowing? Uh-uh.

‘If you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact me,’ she said out of habit as she grabbed her purse and stood.

Not that His Sneaky Highness would need anything more of her. She bet he had his whole week planned out, starting with a rendezvous with the royal floozy.

‘How do you propose I do that?’

She halted, surprised by the hint of urgency in his voice. ‘Uh…through Reception.’

He sent her a sceptical look as if knowing she was giving him the brush-off.

Okay, so it wouldn’t be too smart to get her walking, talking promo-dream offside this early. She needed to appear a tad friendlier, more approachable.

Unsure if what she was about to do was the right thing or a huge mistake, she rifled through her purse and handed him a business card. ‘Or, here’s my mobile. You can contact me on that number if you need anything.’

As long as it wasn’t a triple choc-fudge sundae in the middle of the night!

‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’

Natasha returned his smile, knowing he was only being polite but unable to shake the deep-seated niggle that there was more to this prince’s charade than met the eye—and she’d just handed him an easy way to involve her in it!

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU’RE late.’

Ella tapped her watch and sent a mock glower Natasha’s way as her friend rushed into Trevi’s and fell into her usual seat.

‘Sorry,’ Natasha said, unable to stop a smile spreading across her face.

She’d never been any good at keeping gossip involving guys from her best friend and, considering the afternoon she’d had, starting with meeting Dante and ending in agreeing to assist his clandestine plans, she knew this would be another one of those times where she couldn’t help but share. Every last juicy detail…

‘No, you’re not.’ Ella grinned and gestured for Luigi, their favourite waiter, to bring them the usual. ‘You’ve got that look that says you’ve been up to no good. And enjoying it way too much.’

Natasha laughed and threw her hands up in surrender. ‘Give me a chance to catch my breath! And remind me to never try and hide anything from you. What are you anyway—the secret police?’

Ella pounced as soon as the words left her mouth. ‘Ah! So you do have a secret! Come on, tell all.’

‘Can’t I at least wait till my mocha-cappuccino arrives?’

‘No!’ Ella shouted, and Luigi’s head snapped up from the coffee machine, an indulgent smile on his face as he winked at his two favourite customers. Though Natasha suspected he said that to all the girls.

Natasha usually enjoyed toying with Ella, feeding her tiny titbits of gossip gleaned from her varied and unusual jobs in the hotel. However, by the avaricious gleam in Ella’s eyes, she knew now wasn’t one of those times to tease. Besides, she had the strangest urge to blurt the whole truth out and get her friend’s point of view.

‘Okay. Though what I’m about to say must adhere strictly to our lips-zipped policy, right?’

‘Absolutely,’ Ella said, miming a quick-lock zip over her lips and throwing away the key. ‘It’s nothing serious, is it?’

‘No, everything’s fine.’

She’d make sure of it.

There was no way she’d ever burden her friend with her financial troubles or the fact she could lose her home if the Towers went under.

Ella snapped her fingers. ‘I know! It has something to do with the prince. How did it go? Has he swept you off your feet? Does he want to take you back to his castle and make you his love slave? Should I buy you some of those funky princess slippers?’

Natasha laughed, more than a little disturbed that Ella’s preposterous questions elicited a thrill of excitement. What would it be like to be swept off her feet by a prince and spirited away to his castle to live happily ever after like the fairytales promised?

Something you’ll never know about, her voice of reason screeched, and even the small romantic part of her that had survived Clay’s treachery, the part that still harboured dreams of finding the elusive ‘one’ despite what she’d been through, had to agree.

‘You can hold off on the slippers,’ Natasha said, watching Ella lean forward with an avid look on her face. ‘I don’t think I’m the prince’s type.’

‘But you’re gorgeous! You could have any man you want.’ Ella’s indignant quick-fire response brought an unexpected lump to Natasha’s throat.

Ella had stuck by her through dating disasters, the Clay fiasco and her mum’s death. She was loyal, fierce and beautiful inside and out.

‘Thanks, but I think the prince has other fish to fry, so to speak. He’s going incognito for a week and has asked me to keep his identity a secret. He’s checked in under a false name, is parading around like an unshaven lout, and is determined to keep his true identity under wraps.’

‘Wow.’ Ella’s eyes widened, digesting the interesting news before her razor-sharp mind predictably focussed elsewhere. ‘Unshaven lout? I thought you said he looked pretty uptight.’

‘I was wrong.’

Very wrong.

An instant image of dazzling blue eyes, day-old stubble, tousled dark curls and a sexy smile flashed across her mind.

‘Uptight’ didn’t begin to describe what she thought of Dante.

Unfortunately, some of what she was thinking must’ve shown on her face for Ella leaned closer and patted her forearm. ‘Okay, spill it. You’ve given me the official lips-zipped version. Now, tell me more about this prince. Is he hot?’

Natasha smiled at Ella, who was an expert at picking up on nuances especially when they had anything to do with the male species.

She could’ve avoided the question, danced around it or made up a whole heap of boring platitudes. Instead, Natasha sat back and fanned her face with a red-and-white checked serviette.

‘He’s hot.’

Ella’s eyebrows shot up in a familiar sassy look that demanded the whole truth and nothing but the truth. ‘How hot?’

Natasha stopped fanning her face, threw the serviette on the table and tapped her lips as if deep in thought when, in reality, she didn’t need time to ascertain how hot Dante was.

She’d known the minute he’d strutted into the lobby, all six-feet-plus of testosterone-filled male with the body of a Greek god and the face of a model.

‘Tash, you’re killing me here,’ Ella said, her tone implicit with warning that, if Natasha didn’t spill soon, she’d drag it out of her.

‘Hang onto your latte, I’m trying to get my adjectives right. After all, how many ways can you say bad-boy babe with a smile that can make your knees wobble at twenty paces, and eyes that could melt a maiden aunt?’

‘He’s that good?’

Natasha nodded, heat seeping into her cheeks at the memory of Dante’s eyes staring at her over their espressos, an unfathomable expression in the true-blue depths. ‘Better.’

Ella squealed and clapped her hands. ‘This is fabulous.’

‘What’s fabulous?’

‘This is the first time I’ve heard you notice a guy in months, let alone sing his praises,’ Ella said, a genuinely pleased smile on her face. ‘You usually pretend guys don’t exist, or criticise my dates to hell and back, which is usually totally accurate by the way. Men can be scum. But this is fabulous. You’re into this guy. Who cares if he’s a prince? Time for you to have a little fun.’

Natasha frowned, dread creeping through her. If she was negative about guys, she had reason to be. Clay had used her, hurt her and left a lasting legacy which still threatened those she loved the most. She couldn’t help the protective barriers she’d erected around her heart, but was she as bad as Ella made her sound?

Usually she would’ve laughed it off, but maybe her friend had a point. Perhaps she’d sounded like a shrew the last few years? As for Ella’s other observation, that she was ‘into’ Dante, nothing could be further from the truth.

‘I’m not planning on having fun with the prince,’ Natasha said, ignoring her dormant devilish side which insisted it would be a blast to try. ‘He has asked me for a favour, that’s it. Once this week is over, I’m going to ask him for one and milk his presence in the hotel for all it’s worth.’

Ella grinned. ‘You don’t think you’re protesting just a tad too hard?’

‘No!’

Okay, so that had come out a bit too defensive. Natasha forced a smile and said, ‘Give it a break, will you? I’ve given you your gossip fix for the day, so lay off. Can’t a girl enjoy her mocha-cappa in peace?’

As if on cue, Luigi bore down on their table bearing a tray filled with steaming mugs.

‘Ciao, bambinas. How are my favourite girls today?’

He grinned broadly and placed the usual skinny latte in front of Ella and Natasha’s mocha-cappuccino directly into her outstretched hands. She needed the creamy blend of chocolate and coffee desperately. The earlier espresso with Dante had barely touched the sides; besides, she’d been too engrossed in listening to His Royal Sneakiness.

Ella batted her eyelashes in the usual semi-flirtation she carried on with most men. ‘We’re fine, Luigi. And you?’

The Italian, old enough to be her father, kissed his fingertips and threw his hand into the air. ‘All the better for seeing you, bella. Now, would you girls like anything else? Maybe some of my best tiramisu? Or better yet, you stay for dinner?’

‘We’re right for now, thanks,’ Ella said, her bold smile sending the old guy into another fit of finger-kissing, hand-throwing and wistful grinning.

After Luigi had left, Natasha shook her head. ‘I swear you must’ve come out flirting with the doctors when you were born.’

Ella shrugged, a self-satisfied smirk playing about her glossed mouth. ‘Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. Besides, the old guy loves it. And what better way to ensure we keep getting the best coffees this side of Carlton, huh?’

Natasha chuckled and took another mouth-watering sip of her mocha-coffee blend. ‘You’re a menace.’

‘And you are changing the subject. Is there anything else about this prince I should know?’ Ella took a healthy slurp of her latte and sighed with pleasure.

‘No.’

Though, try as hard as she could, Natasha couldn’t dispel the memory of Dante’s intense gaze as she’d handed over her card and he’d locked stares with her, his holding more than a hint of challenge. ‘The prince will go about his business, I’ll go about mine.’

‘We talking about funny business, here?’ Ella winked, and Natasha rolled her eyes before burying her twitching smile behind her giant mug.

‘No, I’m not interested, and besides he’s a prince,’ Natasha said, amused by Ella’s shenanigans despite herself.

‘And?’

‘And nothing.’

Natasha’s response had a hollow ring to it and she knew it. However she wanted to explain it away, however she wanted to dress it up, the bizarre exchange with Dante hadn’t been ‘nothing’.

Dante was something.

Way too much something for her peace of mind.

‘I’ll let you finish your mocha,’ Ella said, smiling at Natasha like a co-conspirator before spoiling the effect with, ‘I’m sure you’ll keep me posted about your stud-muffin prince.’

‘He’s not my prince!’

However, as the words left Natasha’s mouth, she wondered what the stab of disappointment was about.

Natasha had just stepped out of the shower and slipped into a fluffy purple bathrobe when her mobile rang. She considered ignoring it, as she had a date with a thriller DVD and a super-size bowl of her favourite choc-fudge ice-cream.

However, it could be her dad calling from Perth.

Or it could be the prince.

She wavered for a few seconds, hoping for the former, knowing a quick glance at call display would put her out of her misery. The phone continued to shrill its funky tune, and she finally gave up, crossing the room and grabbing it out of her bag.

She didn’t know the number.

Punching the answer button, she put on her best phone voice, the one Ella said could scare an army into battle.

‘Natasha Telford speaking.’

‘Natasha, Dante here. I need your help. Urgently.’

She swallowed, surprised by the quick thrill of pleasure at the sound of his deep voice, annoyed that the movie and ice-cream would have to wait.

‘What’s up?’

‘I’m being followed. Can you meet me out the front of the hotel in two minutes?’

Okay, so this was slightly crazy. What did he expect her to do—pull some bad-cop routine on his stalker, who was probably some lovesick girl anyway?

Shaking her head, she said, ‘I’ll be there.’

‘Thanks, hurry,’ he said, hanging up and leaving her staring at the phone.

‘Drama prince!’ she muttered, pulling on underwear, sweatpants and a hoodie in record time, slipping her feet into flip-flops and keys into her pocket.

She pulled her hair into a dripping ponytail as she rode the lift down to Ground, making it out the front of the hotel with thirty seconds to spare, and in time to see Dante strolling around the corner as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

‘So where’s the fire?’ she said, before he strode straight up to her, enfolded her into his arms and planted his lips on hers.

Nuts.

Insane.

Crazy.

However, as his warm, firm lips plied her with a skill she’d expect from a guy like him, her initial reaction that he’d lost his mind was quickly replaced by heat.

Burning, scorching, intense heat which raced through her body and promised to consume her from the inside out, the kind of heat that could make a girl lose her mind and do something completely out of character, like kiss him back.

Before she could react, he broke the kiss and murmured, ‘Sorry, go with me for now.’

He didn’t leave her much choice as he resumed kissing her, his arms sliding around her waist and feeling way too good, his chest pressed up against hers as one of his hands strummed her back like a virtuoso.

Natasha prided herself on her logic. She was a thinker, weighing up options carefully, always doing the right thing.

Then what on earth was she doing responding to the prince’s passion, the heat crackling between them turning to bone-melting sizzle, enjoying this kiss more than she could’ve dreamed possible?

Someone moaned—to her endless embarrassment, she had a sneaking suspicion it was her—and she clung to him, belatedly realising that his rock-hard chest felt as good beneath her splayed palms as it looked.

Her senses reeled as he deepened the kiss to the point where she could’ve forgotten who she was, where she was and all the reasons she shouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t for one small intrusion.