Honeymoon With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (20 page)

“For the record, I don’t treat normal people the way I treated you.
 
Last night was unique.”
 
She let that sit with him for a heartbeat, then pushed her rear end further back in the seat so she could sit straighter now that the breeze had cooled the leather seat and dried her shirt enough to make her comfortable.
 
“As for my comments about rich people, I can’t remember my exact words—”
 

He made a noise that indicated that he did, even if she didn’t.

“—but I’ve had some rough experience in that area.
 
I let it get to me and I ran my mouth when I shouldn’t have.
 
I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Obviously.”

They rounded a bend that brought them alongside Cateri’s famous marina.
 
Dozens of luxury yachts lined the docks near the boathouse while others were moored in the bay.
 
Massimo switched lanes, which afforded her a better look at a sleek white vessel as it moved out to sea.
 
An impossibly fit-looking couple stood on the aft deck gazing back at the island.
 
Wind caught the woman’s hair, blowing it in her face.
 
She held it back with one hand and knotted a scarf around her head with the other, her motions smooth and elegant, the way one would expect a woman on a yacht to move.
 
It was like watching a scene from a movie with Cary Grant and Grace Kelly, but in real life.

She stole another glance at Massimo.
 
“I said something about yachts, right?
 
That I’d rather go out with a man who owns fishing boat than a man with a yacht.
 
But I bet you own a yacht, don’t you?”

“Not personally.”
 
His tone sent her brow arching skyward.
 
He grinned and added, “My family owns three.
 
The fishing boat, however, is all mine.”

She didn’t want to think too deeply about why that reassured her.
 
It wasn’t as much about his honesty on that point, but about what it represented.
 
This morning as she’d awakened beside him and studied his back, she’d thought about his scars, his dog, and yes, his fishing boat, and she’d thought him a man of substance.
 
One with complex layers.
 
One who may have been as moved by what transpired between them as she was.

And she’d hoped.
 

Hope, however, was a dangerous thing.
 
It caused women to make disastrous decisions.
 
Decisions like the one she’d made with Ted.
 

She sensed he was waiting for a response.
 
“I give you points for being honest about the fishing boat.”

“Thank you.”
 
His tone, once again, was dry.

“And you were honest about your height.
 
When we left the police station and you held open the door for me, I noticed that according to the measurement on the door frame, you’re precisely 192 centimeters tall.”

“Does that earn me points, too?”

She opened her mouth to make a wry comment about what he could do with the points, but at that moment, a cheery male voice came over the line thanking Kelly for her call and asking if he could be of assistance.
 

Massimo turned back to the road and began humming quietly to himself.
 
It took Kelly a moment to realize that she recognized the tune.

I Saw Three Ships.

Chapter Twelve

Wrinkles furrowed Kelly’s brow as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line.
 
Massimo didn’t envy the man at the bank his job.
 
Given Kelly’s lack of sleep and the time she’d spent with the police, he doubted she had much patience for dealing with bank bureaucracy.
 

He doubted she had much patience at the moment, period.

Massimo eased the Jeep into an empty parking spot in a lot located a few blocks past the marina.
 
It afforded them a panoramic view, yet kept the traffic of the main road and pedestrians well behind them for privacy.
 
He cut the engine so Kelly could hear without straining.
 
The conversation did not seem to be going well.
 
To give her the space to speak candidly, Massimo caught her eye and motioned that he was going to one of the benches a few feet in front of the Jeep.
 
Once settled, he took a deep breath, savoring the brisk sea air and the warmth of the sunshine on his skin as he stared out across the blue waves.
 
It didn’t take long to spot the
Libertà,
the largest of the three yachts belonging to his family, anchored offshore.
 
Its white hull and silver trim gleamed.
 
He hadn’t been on board in at least three or four years.
 
Having been built for entertainment rather than for sport, the yacht was more to the twins’ taste.
 
Vittorio used it frequently to host business luncheons or entertain foreign dignitaries.
 
Alessandro, who escaped the privileges and duties bestowed upon the crown prince by virtue of being born four minutes after Vittorio, preferred to entertain foreign actresses and models.
 

The mental image of the twins standing on the deck surrounded by flowing champagne and platters of hors d'oeuvres made his stomach rumble.
 
If he’d had half a brain in his head, he’d have grabbed food on the way out the door.
 
No matter what happened with Kelly and her bank, a meal was his next order of business.

A polite, “Would you please check that?
 
It’s very important…yes, of course I’ll wait,” came from the Jeep, though he suspected the words were said through clenched teeth.
 
He didn’t turn around to look, choosing to keep his eyes trained on the distant vessel.
 
He could understand why Kelly had trouble meshing her idea of Massimo, the dog-owning man from the beach, with Massimo, the yacht-owning prince.
 
The two sides of his life were worlds apart both economically and socially.
 
But last night, when he’d made love to her, he’d been completely honest about his emotions.
 
From the first kiss in the driveway until the moment he’d left her bed this morning, he’d been completely focused on her and on what she did to him.
 
While the sex was astounding, it was more than that.
 
He’d never felt more like
himself
than in those hours with her.
 
He might’ve been dishonest about his identity, but he hadn’t been dishonest during those hours in her bed.
 
Or on her floor.
 
Or in her shower.

He swiped a hand over his face.
 
If he didn’t purge the image of her naked, perfectly sculpted body from his thoughts, he’d end up with a massive hard-on all over again, and now was not an opportune time.
 
He had to figure out what to do with her, and that “do” did not involve sex.

Typically he wasn’t the impulsive one in the family.
 
That character trait was more descriptive of Alessandro or Stefano.
 
But in this case, Massimo hadn’t thought past getting Kelly out of jail, he’d only known he needed to do it.
 
Tooling around town in his Jeep with her at his side for the rest of the afternoon wasn’t an option.
 
Life was complicated enough at the moment as he made the transition from being on his own, answering only to his military commanders, to being back in his formal role as a prince, answerable to his parents and to his country.
 
The last thing he needed was to be entangled in a foreign woman’s legal trouble.

He stretched his legs in front of him and eased his arms across the back of the bench.
 
He was kidding himself.
 
He was entangled, whether he wanted to be or not.
 

When he’d spoken with the officers manning the lobby desk, they’d pulled up Kelly’s info on their computer.
 
He’d feigned interest in one of the officer’s badges so he could lean across the desk and read the information on screen.
 
Within seconds, he spotted his name in the report as being present at the time of arrest.
 
If any of the press looked at the day’s police logs—which they were bound to do, now that he’d been seen leaving the station—they’d start asking questions.
 

Picking her up at the station had been the right thing to do, regardless of the risk.
 
Hopefully his appearance convinced the police that there was nothing more to his relationship with Kelly than a dog rescue.
 
If they’d dropped that tidbit to the carnivores at the station door, he’d be fine.
 
Kelly would soon be on her way home and he’d be back at the palace, reading his mother’s lists and listening to Vittorio’s demands that he attend this or that reception.

Problem was, he wasn’t ready to let Kelly go just yet.
 
Despite the tension between them on the drive from the police station—no surprise, given that he’d left her in the lurch this morning—he wanted to know more about her.
 
Their discussion over dinner gave him insight into her character, but it wasn’t enough.
 
She’d run her own business, she was kind to Giulia, and she appreciated the simple things in life.
 
Her ability to read his mood in the wine cellar and to enchant Gaspare intrigued him.
 
But now he wanted to know what happened to her wedding.
 
What had convinced her to take what was obviously a well-planned honeymoon alone.
 
What really happened with her bank account.

Why their sexual chemistry left him on fire hours later.
 

Why, for the first time in his life, he’d given precedence to lust over common sense.

His phone vibrated in his back pocket.
 
A glance at the Jeep showed Kelly was still on her call, so he clicked to answer.
 

“Mother says you need a stylist,” his sister said without preamble.
 
“Do you really?”

“She’s the boss.”

That drew a particularly unladylike snort from Sophia.
 
“I suppose I need to find one for you?”

“I suppose.
 
Someone efficient.
 
Not too chatty.
 
And I only want them long enough to satisfy Mother that I’ll have all the appropriate suits.”
 
Not that he couldn’t pick them himself.
 

“Anyone specific in mind?”

“You’re kidding me, right?
 
I barely know what they do.”
 
At her answering laughter, he added, “I still can’t fathom why Mother doesn’t believe I can dress myself.”

“You can,” Sophia assured him.
 
“You have surprisingly good taste.
 
But you haven’t been to any big public events in years.
 
How many suits do you own now?”

“That fit?”
 
He did a quick mental inventory.
 
His closet primarily held suits from his college years, when he’d attended royal functions during summers and his visits home.
 
The military had changed his physique since then.
 
“Maybe three.”

“That’s it?”
 
He could envision her look of horror.
 
“You need an entirely new wardrobe.”

“
Need
is such an overused word—”

“I can’t picture you wanting to shop for clothes.
 
A stylist will meet with you to discuss your preferences and offer suggestions, then do the shopping for you.
 
Once he or she brings you a selection, you can try on everything and choose what you think suits you best—pun completely intended—in the privacy of your apartment.”

“Shopping made faster, in other words.”

“Precisely.”

“Then hire away.
 
And thanks.
 
I owe you one.”
 
Perhaps he’d tell Giulia he spilled the ravioli and get another order to go.
 
Sophia would love him for it.

He was about to say goodbye and pocket the phone when his sister asked, “So where are you now?”

“Running errands.”
 
Safe an answer as any.

“With the closet person?”

Vittorio and his mother must’ve talked about him at their luncheon.
 
He twisted on the bench to steal another look at Kelly.
 
She was leaning back in the passenger seat, cell phone pressed to her ear, with her other hand pressed to her forehead and her face turned up to the sky.
 
Her auburn hair gleamed in the sun, but he suspected she wouldn’t be appreciative of the effect at the moment.
 
“I haven’t hired one yet.”
 

“Do it soon.
 
Mother is on a mission.”
 
There was a commotion on the other end of the line, then she said, “I have an appointment, so I need to go.
 
I’ll let you know when I find a stylist.”