Isle and made the decision to move there permanently to be with a family that was, to put it mildly, suspicious of her motives, she barely broke a sweat. She took her late mother’s advice and viewed it as an adventure.
So, visiting Thomas Isle, the former rival of her native country, and meeting the royal family, really wasn’t a big deal.
Until she saw him.
He stood on the tarmac of the small private airstrip in the bright afternoon sunshine, flanked by two very frightening-looking bodyguards and a polished black Bentley at the ready. And he was, for lack of a better word, beautiful. Tall, fit and well put together in a tailored, charcoal-gray pinstriped suit.
Prince Christian James Ernst Alexander, next in line to the throne of Thomas Isle. Confirmed bachelor and shameless playboy. His photos didn’t do him justice.
She descended the steps of the Learjet and the prince approached, flashing her a million-watt stunner of a smile. Her heart leapt up into her throat and a curious tickle of nerves coiled in her belly. Was it too much to hope that he was to be her guide for the duration of her two-week stay? Although in her experience that task was typically left up to the princess since the crown prince was usually busy with slightly more significant tasks, such as preparing to run the entire country.
Flanked by her own equally threatening entourage—the security detail her half brother, King Phillip, insisted she have accompany her—she stepped forward to meet him halfway.
When they were face to face, he nodded his head in greeting and said, in a voice as rich and as smooth as her favorite gourmet dark chocolate, “Welcome to Thomas Isle, Your Highness.”
“Your Highness.” She dipped into a curtsey, turning on the Southern-belle charm. “It’s an honor to be here.”
“The honor is all ours,” he said with a lethal smile. Lethal because she could feel it, like a buzz of pure energy, from the roots of her hair to the balls of her feet.
He watched her intently with eyes a striking shade of green, and behind them she could see very clearly a hint of mischief and sly determination. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d spent his previous life as a cat.
He noted her security detail and with one brow slightly raised, asked, “Expecting a revolution, Your Highness?”
Nodding to his own “muscle,” she answered, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
If the question had been some sort of test, she could see that she’d passed. He grinned, playful and sexy, and the coil of nerves in her gut twisted into a hopeless knot. This really wasn’t like her at all. Heaven knows, she was used to men flirting with her. Young and old, rich and poor, and all of them after the ludicrous trust her great-aunt and uncle had left her. But somehow, she didn’t think the prince had money on his mind. He was one of the few men she’d met whose wealth exceeded her own. At least, she was assuming it did.
“The bodyguards were King Phillip’s idea,” she told him.
“Of course, you’re welcome to keep them with you,” he said, “but it’s certainly not necessary.”
Phillip had insisted she take the bodyguards with her, but he never said she had to keep them there. And call her optimistic, but entrusting her welfare to Prince Christian’s staff seemed to her a valuable gesture of good faith. In the vast, stormy history of their two countries, the peace they had adopted was for all practical purposes still in its infancy. And her duty, the way she saw it, was to build on that.
“You’ll see that they’re flown back safely?” she asked.
He nodded. “Of course, Your Highness.”
She cringed inwardly. She still hadn’t grown used to the royal title. “Please, call me Melissa.”
“Melissa,” he said, with that sexy British accent. “I like that.”
And she liked the way he said it.
“You can call me Chris. I imagine it best we drop the formalities, seeing as we will be spending a considerable amount of time together the next two weeks.”
Would they? Another jolt of nerves sizzled inside her stomach. “Are you to be my guide?” she asked.
“If you’re agreeable,” he said.
As though she would say no to two weeks with a gorgeous and charming prince. She smiled and said, “I look forward to it.”
He gestured to the waiting car. “Shall we go?”
She turned to her bodyguards, dismissing them with a simple, “Thank you, gentlemen.”
They exchanged an uneasy glance, but remained silent. They knew as well as she did that Phillip would not be happy she’d sent them home.
Oh, well. If there was one thing her new family had learned, it was that she had a mind of her own. As deeply as she longed to be accepted as one of them, to have a real family for the first time since losing her parents, there was only so much of herself she was willing to sacrifice. At thirty-three, in many respects she was too set in her ways to change.
The prince touched her elbow to lead her to the car, and despite the layers of silk and linen of her suit jacket, her skin simmered with warmth. When was the last time she’d felt such a sizzling connection to a man? Or perhaps the better question was, when was the last time she’d let herself? This was as much vacation as business, and it wouldn’t hurt to let her hair down and have some fun.
He helped her into the back, and she sank into the rich, butter-soft leather seat. He circled the car and climbed in the opposite side, filling the interior with a warm and delicious scent that left her feeling lightheaded. Were she home, she might have blamed it on the Southern heat, but the temperature here hadn’t even topped eighty degrees and there was no humidity to speak of. Warm for mid-June on Thomas Isle, but mild by her standards.
As soon as the doors were closed they were off in the direction of the castle, which couldn’t be more than a few minutes away, as they had flown past it just before landing. It appeared massive from the air—dare she say larger than the much more modern palace on Morgan Isle—and seemed to have acres of emerald-green lawns, ornately patterned gardens, and even a shrubbery maze.
A passionate lover of nature, she could hardly wait to explore it all. Her mother had been an avid gardener. Melissa’s childhood home on Morgan Isle was renowned for its award-winning gardens, and she’d carried on the tradition at her own estate in New Orleans. Though it had been hard to leave that and move back to Morgan Isle, the U.S. had never really been her home. Since losing her parents, she had never felt as though she truly belonged anywhere.
“My parents, the king and queen, are anxious to meet you,” Chris said.
“The feeling is mutual.” She turned to him and realized he was studying her, a curious look on his face. “What?”
“Your accent,” he said. “I can’t quite place it.”
“That’s because it’s a mishmash of different dialects. Little bits of every place I’ve lived pop out occasionally.”
“How many different places have you lived?”
“Let’s
