The Prince's Secret Baby Page 9

  He shrugged, creating a disturbing ripple effect in the muscles of his shoulders and chest. “I’m used to it, I suppose. Don’t worry about it.”

  What did it matter? No one here knew who she was, anyway. Her book and her totally undeserved status as some kind of unlettered relationship expert meant nothing in Altaleone.

  His phone rang again. “Do excuse me.” He picked it up. “Hey, bro, yes, I was going to call you but not today.” She braced herself to hear him explain that he had a guest—code for bedmate. “You all wonder why I didn’t let you know I was coming? It’s because I need some time to unwind first.” He glanced up at her and smiled. “No, I can’t go skiing tomorrow. I’m kind of busy now. Can I call you back later?”

  She could hear a male voice talking at the other end.

  “Yes, she’s a friend.” He glanced at her warmly. She stiffened. She didn’t much like being called a friend, but she knew she wasn’t really his girlfriend, either. “Yes, she’s American. And she’s standing right here next to me. Would you like to talk to her?”

  Serena’s heart thumped as she prayed the answer was no. Sandro finally got rid of his brother and hung up.

  “It seems people are very curious about you.”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes. My family rarely asks any questions about girls I date until I’ve been with them at least a few months.”

  “They’ve grown accustomed to a rapid turnover?” She tried not to sound catty, but it didn’t work.

  He looked sheepish. “Something like that. Maybe they can tell the situation is different this time.”

  “Or maybe it’s because I’m black.” She didn’t want to say it, but her ethnicity was beginning to feel like the elephant in the room.

  “Nonsense. People in Altaleone aren’t racist.”

  She inhaled. “Perhaps there’s no overt racism here because everyone is white.” That’s how it looked in the town, anyway. “That doesn’t mean they’re totally open-minded. You might be too optimistic about people’s attitudes.”

  He didn’t respond immediately but seemed to digest what she had to say. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  She felt a sense of relief that he took her concerns seriously.

  “I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.” He stood there in his towel, serious. “But if anyone—and I mean anyone—displays even a trace of racism toward you, or toward us, I will deal with them very severely.”

  His words sent a frisson through her. He sounded protective, like a bear. “Pistols at dawn?” She suddenly felt the need to lighten the atmosphere.

  “Something like that.” Warmth sparkled in his eyes.

  Her heart swelled. She felt like they’d had a moment of genuine communication about something that had been silently nagging at the back of her mind. It was good to know his thoughts.

  Now she liked him all the more.

  And he still looked damned delicious in that towel…

  “Would you please get dressed!”

  “Why?” He lifted a teasing brow.

  “Pregnancy has a strange effect on the mind as well as the body. Watching you walk around almost in the buff is having a dangerous effect on my sanity.” It was a relief to joke about it, because seriously, heat was building up inside her at an alarming rate.

  Sandro was so gorgeous she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes off him. Lucky, crouched adoringly at Sandro’s feet, was clearly having the same problem.

  “What’s the point of these wonderful radiant heat floors if I can’t feel them through my bare feet.” He wriggled his toes.

  She had to laugh. “Perhaps you can keep your feet bare, but put some pants on.”

  “If it will make you happy.”

  “It would be a huge relief.” She had her hands crossed over her chest and hated the way her nipples kept tingling against the inside of her bra.

  Sandro’s broad back flexed as he pulled a long-sleeved gray T-shirt and a pair of army-green pants from his closet. His biceps rippled as he pulled the pants on over his strong legs. She still couldn’t look away, and if she closed her eyes she might just fall over.

  Looking at Howard’s body never had anything like this effect on her. In a way it was therapeutic to see how much more attracted she was to someone else.

  Even if that someone was far less likely to fulfill her criteria—outlined in chapter three of Waiting for Mr. Right—for choosing a successful husband. A guffaw escaped her at her own hubris in presuming to tell other people how to live their life and especially how to make relationship decisions.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re exactly the kind of man I told my readers to stay away from.”

  “What?” He wheeled around. “Why?”

  “I told them to hold out for someone who shares your lifestyle goals.”

  “You don’t believe in energy access for everyone on the planet?”

  She laughed again. “Okay, that I am onboard with. But having your own jet aircraft and living in an ancient Roman villa were never on my to-do list.”

  “Ah, but that’s simply because they hadn’t occurred to you. Can you see how handy it is to have your own jet? And the Romans knew how to construct a wall that stands the test of time. My lifestyle choices are simply practical.”

  “For someone with vast sums of money at their disposal.” That was the bottom line, really. He lived in a world where very few could even breathe the air.

  “Money is simply a resource, like water. There’s no point in hoarding it, as there are ways to find more when you need it.”

  She stared at him. “There are so many things wrong with that statement that I don’t even know where to start. Don’t you believe in conserving water?”

  They both cracked up. How could Sandro get away with saying such outrageous things and still be adorable? On most people it would be obnoxious and unbearable. “My resources have been strained by buying an apartment that’s way too expensive for my actual income. I had one amazing year—when I got the book advance—and for some dumb reason I thought that was just one step on the ladder to riches. I sure wish I could turn on a tap and watch more money flow out.”

  “Do you love your apartment?”

  “No. I don’t even like it anymore. The best thing about it is the neighbor who looks after Lucky while I’m working.”

  “So sell it.”

  “It’s been on the market for months. There’s a lot of competition, and apparently my view is considered subpar.”

  “Perhaps we can convince my friend Zadir to buy it. He’s a real estate investor. He owns several apartments in New York.”

  He was the guy who owned the Georgia beach house she’d rented—only to find out that he’d simultaneously loaned it to Sandro. “I don’t trust Zadir. Look what happened last time I made a deal with him.”

  Sandro’s face creased into a smile. “Yeah. I owe him big time.” He’d pulled the T-shirt on over his head, giving her another breath-stealing view of his six-pack in action. “I should buy your apartment and give it to him as a present.”

  “Oh, my goodness.” Serena blew out. “You’re illustrating exactly why an ordinary mortal like me needs to stay far, far away from guys like you and Zadir.”

  “We’re ordinary mortals too. We’re just successful in our chosen business. As you are in yours. I think it’s quite arrogant of you to suggest that we’re different.”

  “You crack me up.”

  “Good.” He took a step toward her. Uh-oh. Her skin jumped as he grew nearer. How did he get her so overheated? It wasn’t just his good looks. His infectious good humor had a way of undermining her tendency to be too serious—which loosened up her body in an alarming way. “A crack is where the light gets in.”

  “Says who?” Her belly shimmered as he took another step closer.

  “Leonard Cohen.”

  “Who?”

  “He was a brilliant poet and philosopher and singer. You’d like him.�
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  “Oh, would I? You presume to know quite a lot about me.”

  His gaze rested on her face, his dark eyes—as usual—seeming to peer past the surface to something deeper. No doubt her powerful attraction to him was written in her dilated pupils, swollen lips and alert nipples.

  It was hard to hide anything from this guy.

  Sandro’s gaze shifted to her mouth, which quivered slightly. He’s going to kiss me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I want him to kiss me.

  She felt her body move toward his, as if drawn by unseen forces. And she took the final step, tilted her chin to raise her face to his. Her eyes slid closed and—

  His phone rang.

  Her eyes snapped open. Sandro’s arms closed around her waist, stopping her sudden attempt to step back. He held her firm. “Where are you going?” he asked softly.

  “You should answer it.”

  “I can call back.”

  “What if it’s important?”

  “Nothing could be more important right now than kissing you.” He said it slowly, and from the look in his eyes she could tell he was deadly serious. She felt herself melting under the heat of his desire—and her own.

  Their lips met and their tongues tangled. Her body leaned into his as heat raced through her. Kissing Sandro, tucked away in his secluded house, even Lucky being here—as he was when they made love at Christmas—felt perfect.

  The kiss deepened, and his warm arms closed around her. She found herself wanting to peel off the clothes he’d just put on. Her heart filled as she thought of his words—that she was the most important thing to him right now. Maybe the idea of them being together wasn’t so crazy after all.

  Her heart squeezed as she thought of the way he’d pursued her—respectful but insistent—even following her to Chicago. He seemed serious. Maybe she should take him seriously.

  His hands roamed up and down her back, stirring hot waves of pleasure that coursed through her.

  Then his phone started ringing again.

  They ignored it, but just as he slid his hand under her top to touch her agonizingly aroused breasts—it rang again.

  A sigh shook him. “Who on earth could be calling me right now?”

  “You really should check.” Her heart sank as she said it. For a few moments there she’d been so sure, so confident, in her desire and affection for Sandro. But now their peace and seclusion were shattered.

  Sandro pulled his arms from her with considerable reluctance, at least that was how it seemed from how agonizingly slowly he tore himself away. Then he strode across the room to where his phone vibrated on a ledge. He frowned. “It’s from the palace.”

  Odd. Why wouldn’t he say, “It’s my mom,” or whatever other relative it was.

  He answered the call with a gruff, “What’s going on?”

  There was a long pause. Then Sandro dropped an uncharacteristic curse. “Is my mom okay?” He shook his head. “Damn. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you for calling me.”

  Still holding the phone he turned to her, expression now dark with fury. “Someone dug up the bodies. My dad’s and my grandma’s.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “They cut off my dad’s finger and sent it to my mom in a box.”

  She shuddered. What a horrible image.

  Before she even had a chance to respond, he was calling someone else on his phone.

  “Gibran, what the hell is going on? Weren’t the bodies under guard?” He paced, shaking his head. “It’s got to be an inside job.” He bent to pet Lucky. “What kind of drugs? How did they administer them?” He rose and strode around the room. She could feel the frustration and anger rolling off him.

  Their lovely interlude was over. Her heart ached for the sweet sense of confidence that she’d enjoyed, even for a few fleeting seconds. Clearly she was not the most important thing on his agenda now—and with good reason. As a member of the royal family he had responsibilities and duties beyond his own desires and wishes, and she admired that he took them seriously.

  Sandro hopped into a pair of socks and grabbed a jacket from the closet. “We need to head to the palace.”

  But you promised I wouldn’t have to meet your family. She couldn’t whine about it now in the middle of a crisis. Still, she dreaded the thought of being thrown into his royal milieu. What if they hated her? At the very least they wouldn’t think her worthy of Sandro. “Could I stay here until you get back?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not safe. The old family graveyard where the bodies were buried was under guard, and someone managed to drug the guards and dig up the bodies in the night. It’s right on the palace grounds, and the very expensive and highly recommended security chief we hired doesn’t seem sure how it happened. Under those circumstances we really can’t consider anywhere to be safe.”

  She suddenly felt cold. She wasn’t any safer with him at the palace than she was here all by herself if there was some kind of crazy person out there who would dig up a dead body and cut off the finger. An involuntary shiver shook her again, and a wave of nausea rose inside her.

  “Are you okay?” He rushed toward her. “You look like you might pass out.”

  “I overheard the part about the finger.” She wasn’t sure if it was that or the prospect of being introduced to his mom that had her the most freaked out. “It’s so horrible.”

  “It is, and my mom is having such a hard time dealing with the deaths already. I don’t imagine that she saw the severed finger herself, though. All of her mail is opened by her assistant. I’m not even sure what they’ve told her. Let’s get over there fast. Where’s your coat?”

  He knew where her coat was since he’d taken it from her and hung it in the closet in the foyer. She straightened her clothing. “Should we bring Lucky?”

  “Definitely. We might be there for a few days.”

  “Days! Then we need clothes too. And his crate and bowls.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We can send someone for those. Let’s go.”

  He scooped Lucky up in his arms and headed for the front door so fast that she could barely keep up. Every time something in her life seemed like it was about to start going right, something else exploded in her face.

  Don’t be so selfish. At least no one in your family is dead. This was Sandro’s own father who’d been desecrated in this cruel way. She’d better take a page from Sandro’s royal notebook and learn how to put other people’s concerns before her own for a change.

  Sandro drove so fast over the icy roads that they skidded a few times—despite the tire chains. She bit her tongue although she wanted to tell him to slow down. This was not a situation where she felt qualified to give advice or warnings. Once again she was out of her depth and in over her head.

  “Is there anything I should know before we meet your family?” she asked tentatively. They were waiting while the scrolled black-and-gold wrought iron gates were rolled open by uniformed guards.

  “That we’re a family.” He turned to look her in the face. “Just like any other family in a lot of ways. A conglomeration of different personalities and interests yoked together by blood. Don’t get too hung up on the royal thing. It’s just a distraction.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” It must be hard to know that every person meeting you showed up with a set of expectations that had nothing to do with you as a person. For all she could fault her too-perfect online persona, it was her own creation and she had no one but herself to blame.

  They pulled up in front of a grand neoclassical building wrapped around a wide courtyard. Staffers rushed forward to open their doors, and two tall men rushed down the steps and up to the car.

  “Does Mom know what happened?”

  The taller man, regally handsome and dressed in a black shirt and pants, nodded. “She hates when we keep things from her. She hasn’t seen the package, but I described the contents.” They removed their coats and handed them to waiting staff.

  “Serena, this is my
brother Darias.”

  The king. “Very pleased to meet you.” She followed his lead in extending her hand. For an awkward moment she wondered if she should curtsey, but he continued talking to Sandro.

  “Gibran wants to replace our entire security staff with his own hired men.”

  “It’s the only way to assure neutrality.” The second man, also with bold features and dark hair but with a more Middle Eastern look about him, cut in. “I know it causes upset to remove people from long-held positions, which is why we’ve avoided it up till now, but I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety when it appears we have dangerous elements here on royal property.”

  “Serena, this is Gibran, the chief of security.” Gibran didn’t offer his hand but simply nodded. “Can we give all of the staff lie detector tests?” Sandro started to walk with them back to the palace.

  “We’ve administered quite a few,” said Gibran. “But the problem is that a sociopath—the kind of person who plots and murders without a qualm of conscience—doesn’t react to this kind of test, which ultimately measures emotional response to the question, so they slide under the radar. It’s just not effective at catching that one bad apple in the barrel.”

  “I see.” Sandro climbed the steps, carrying Lucky in his arms. Serena thought it odd that no one had commented on the dog, but of course they had bigger things to worry about.

  As did she. She was about to meet Sandro’s mother.

  “Sandro, darling!” A blonde woman of about fifty rushed out of a gilded archway at the sound of their voices. “I had no idea you were coming to Altaleone until Beatriz told me she saw you in the village! No one tells me anything anymore.”

  He kissed her on both cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mama. My trip wasn’t planned. I hadn’t even unpacked yet when I heard the grim news.”

  “Can you believe it?” His mom’s pretty face creased with distress. “Whoever they are, I feel like they’re taunting us.”

  “We’ll find them. Don’t upset yourself.” Darias put his arm around his mother.

  “But why now? The murders, all of it… Things have been peaceful for decades. For centuries, even.”