His Royal Secret (2 page)

I look at him for a moment. Drinking on the job is against the rules. However, I need to obey everything the Prince asks of me. Conflicting rules. What do I do? Hell, when will I ever get a chance to drink wine with a Prince?

“Thank you, Your Highness,” I say as one of the men offers me a glass.

The Prince raises his glass and says, “To Los Angeles. Let the fun and games begin!”

We toast, I take a drink. Then I just look at this Royal hunk of a man. He looks to be in his early 30s. He seems really laid back and cool. Though he most certainly seems like a man who knows how to take charge.

I take a sip of that precious Merlot and I’ll tell you, that little hit of wine taste better than anything I have ever had in my life. It is not just the libation itself. It’s that feeling of relief. I have lived in terror, trying to get everything right for the Prince’s arrival. Not only is the man happy, I’m actually drinking in the same room with the royal guest.

“So if I need you, I just pick up the phone?” the Price asks me.

“Oh yes, Your Highness. I will personally answer for you,” I say as I look at that hunky Royal’s broad chest and strong arms.

“Excellent. Well, I won’t keep you from your duties.”

“It is my pleasure to have met you,” I say. And boy, do I mean it.

I walk out of the hotel room feeling like a million bucks. I glide over to the elevator and head back down to the lobby. When the elevator doors open, I saunter back to the desk. As I casually make my way back to my station, the boss sees me.
And he sees me holding that glass of wine.

“You are drinking on the job?!” the manager says to me.

My face turns white. My ability to breathe has completely left my body. As my manager’s face begins to turn seven shades of red, I say, “His Royal Highness the Prince insisted that I share a toast with him.”

The manager looks down at the glass made of a special crystal exclusive to the Presidential suite.

He then yanks me to the side. “I believe you only because it would be insane to think that you would just walk around the hotel with a glass of wine. However, you should know better than to continue walking around the Beverly Wilshire Hotel with that glass in your hand. Did you forget that you are on duty?!”

Tears begin to well up in my eyes. I have just gone from having the greatest day to having the worst day of my life. I think I am going to be fired. The manager takes the glass of wine from me. “The only reason why I am letting you stay on the job is because I need as many people as possible available to serve the Prince. However, I strongly suggest that you start looking for employment elsewhere,” the hotel manager says as he storms off. Great. I’m screwed.

I walk back to the concierge desk and do exactly what I am told. I begin to make a mental list of places that will hire me. Of course, I will have to eliminate any high-end hotel or resort in the LA area. Well, maybe I can get a night shift job at a Holiday Inn Express in Culver City.

I get back to my station and just stare at the concierge phone. There is nothing else to do but wait for the Prince to ring me up and cater to his wishes. An hour passes and there is no ring. Funny, but I almost feel neglected.

Then I shake my head and remind myself that the less he calls, the less likely I’ll screw up and further anger my boss. After a while, I begin to daydream about Prince Julian. My goodness, that man is drop dead gorgeous. I wonder what he looks like with his shirt off. Oh, I’m being a dirty girl!

At 3:15 p.m., the phone rings. “Concierge, how may I help you?”

“Amy, this is Prince Julian,” the Royal hunk says in the most exquisite European accent.

“Your Highness,” I say in a tone that is nearly a squeal.

“I am reclining by the pool and I could use a nice deep tissue massage.”

“Certainly. I can have our best masseuse over at your bungalow immediately.”

“That won’t do.”

Now, I panic. What could he possibly want? “Your Highness?” I ask nervously.

“I would like you to come over to the bungalow.”

“Yes, Your Highness. I will be there immediately.”

I hang up the phone and nervously walk over to the pool. I know absolutely nothing about massage therapy. But if I can get a chance to see Prince Julian with his shirt off, then it will be worth it!

I head over to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel pool where famous faces are as abundant as the aspiring actresses with their implants. It’s easy to spot the bungalow tent occupied by the Prince. A small army of security men have created a human wall around the man’s tent.

I walk inside and find the Prince with one of his friends. He is wearing a swimsuit and nothing else. Damn, what a body on this guy. He is trim but not overly muscular. His abs look like they were sculpted by Michaelangelo. And his chest is just sublime. I can’t help but smile.

“Amy. So glad you could make it. Looks go out by the pool,” Prince Julian says to me.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

The Prince steps out and grabs a beach chair in front of the pool. The entire pool area is looking in our direction. In an area full of “A”-listers, the Prince certainly stands out above the crowd.

The crowd reclines back. I stand behind him and just look at his wonderful body. Then I slowly take my hands and run them onto his shoulders. My body feels like I am going to melt. I can honestly say that this is the best moment I’ve ever had on the job.

Prince Julian relaxes and watches the water and I run my hands down his strong arm. I glide my fingers back to his neck and give him the best back rub possible. Prince Julian reclines the beach chair and turns over on his stomach.

The royal hunk’s position gives me a great view of his Princely rump. This man has it all! I start to run my fingers all around the Prince’s back. He seems to be enjoying it. As I rub down the royal hottie, more than a couple of girls around the pool look at me as though I have hit the lottery.

“You may be able to get a better hold of me if you climb onto my back,” the Prince advises.

Well, he doesn’t have to ask me twice.

I straddle Prince Julian’s butt. Oh my, I think I am going to have to stay here for a while. I take my hands and just rub into the Royal man’s skin. Prince Julian looks back at me and smiles. I smile back at him. Oh my God. I think we are flirting.

I lean in and rub the man’s shoulders. “Are you enjoying yourself, Your Highness?” I say in a slightly flirty voice.

“You are doing an excellent job.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You may call me Prince Julian.”

“Thank you, Prince Julian.”

Wow. We are on a sort-of first name basis. I run my hands down to the small of the Prince’s back. I then carefully guide my fingertips right along the top of those swim trunks. I am so tempted to spank that Royal ass that it is driving me crazy.

“Amy, I would like my thighs massaged,” Prince Julian demands. I swear that I must be in a dream. I slide my body down and start to squeeze and massage those healthy and strong thighs. Then I run my hands down to the Prince’s strong calves.

As I rub down the Prince, one of those tall blonde models walks up to him. She leans in, showing off her ample cleavage. I instantly get jealous. I want to tell this blonde airhead to stay away from my Prince!

Prince Julian is polite but obviously uninterested in the blonde. The woman doesn’t hesitate to tell the woman her room number. When the blonde leaves, the Prince sighs. “Such forward behavior is such a turn-off,” the Royal stud remarks as I work his legs.

“Would you like some privacy, Prince Julian?” I ask.

“Sure, why not?” the Prince says as he gets up. He walks over to his bungalow tent. While the front of the tent is open, the structure allows privacy from three sides. The Prince lies down with his head facing poolside. I get back to massaging the Prince.

My face begins to blush because of the privacy involved to this massage session. I feel like I am being a bad girl even though I am just doing my job. Perhaps it could be the enclosure that is causing my body temperature to rise.

“So how long have you been working at the hotel?” the Prince asks me.

“About six months, Prince Julian.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“It’s nice,” I say because I lapse into some honesty. “It can be a very scary job.”

“How so?”

“I can get fired for the smallest infraction.”

“If you have kept your job, then it sounds like you are doing excellent work.”

“I try my best, Prince Julian.”

The royal hottie turns over and looks at me. “Well, you certainly know how to relax me. I feel completely refreshed. I believe I am going to go for a swim,” he says.

The Prince getting that hot body all wet? I have to see this.

“I will have the towels ready for you, Prince Julian,” I say as I grab a set of our plush Beverly Hills Hotel towels.

The Prince hops out of the tent and jumps into the pool. The backsplash causes my entire front side to get wet. A couple of people at the pool laugh at me.

The Prince comes up from the water and looks at me. He notices that I am soaked. Prince Julian climbs out of the pool, his sleek body dripping. “You are all wet, Amy.”

“It is my mistake, Your Highness. I was too close to the pool.”

The Prince grabs a towel and begins to dry himself. He looks me up and down. “Why don’t you get out of those clothes and make yourself more comfortable. I feel awkward having you around in such a boring uniform.”

My eyes open wide. Then I giggle. “As your wish, Prince Julian. Please excuse me while I change out of these clothes,” I say as I take two steps back and disappear into the ladies’ poolside spa.

“You have to give me something cute and appropriate to wear,” I say to one of the spa workers.

The spa worker, a prim Asian woman in her 40s looks me up and down and denounces, “Look at you! The manager is going to fire you if he sees you all wet like that.”

“Prince Julian would like me to wear something more casual while I serve him at the pool.”

The spa employee looks around and offers me a white pullover shirt with a matching white skirt. It kinda looks like a country club tennis outfit. I’m not going to complain. I’ll take it.

I rush into one of the spa suites and change my clothes in under a minute. Before I walk back outside, I check myself out in the mirror. Damn, I don’t look that bad. I would go even so far to say I look cute.

“Now that is more like it,” the Prince says as I approach the Royal stud reclined on a beach chair. He is enjoying a mixed drink while sunning himself in the hazy Los Angeles sun.

“May I get you anything, Prince Julian?” I ask.

“You could tell me where I should go to dinner tonight. I have not been to Los Angeles in over a year. Are there any new places worth checking out?”

“There is an excellent new restaurant in Malibu called The Pier. It is one of the biggest celebrity hotspots. And Your Highness will enjoy the fact that the eatery is secluded and far away from prying eyes.”

“Excellent!” the Prince says as he motions to one of his men. “Book me a table at The Pier in Malibu at 9:00 p.m.,” the Prince orders.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the man says as he puts his phone up to his ear.

As the Prince takes a drink, another member of his entourage approaches him. “Your Highness, your meeting in Century City will begin in one hour.”