Tempting the Prince (Sexy Misadventures of Royals)

by Christi Barth

  In the hustle and bustle of preparing, she and Kelsey had worried about jet-setting to another country. Well, two, since their destination was a family palace in the Italian Dolomites passed down from Queen Serena. How exotic did that sound? Outside the protective bubble of Alcarsa Palace, would everything feel foreign? Strange? A little bit scary?

  Looking at the stunning scenery, Mallory didn’t feel at all apprehensive anymore. This was who she was now. An international traveler. It did feel like a bit of the small-town Michigander in her had sloughed off. Like a butterfly shaking off its cocoon and stretching to its full size for the first time.

  Kelsey leaned forward to pat Genevieve’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Theo wasn’t allowed to come, Genny. Now I’ll feel guilty every time I get to kiss Elias on this trip.”

  “And well you should,” she snapped back tartly.

  Christian threw up his hands. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he snarled. “I didn’t turn Theo away. In fact, I made a point of inviting him. He’s attending a conference on some forward-thinking agricultural crap. Genny knows that.”

  “Indeed I do. However, two important points: you did make an exceedingly snarky comment about the nauseatingly-in-love couples. One for which you deserve a bit of payback. And two—I like to poke at you.”

  “See?” Kelsey piped up. “Brother and sister squabbling over nothing? This is already an authentic road trip.”

  The king burst out laughing. It took a couple of seconds, but eventually everyone in the car joined in, even Marko and Clara. Which was a shock. The bodyguards almost never revealed any reaction to their protectees.

  Mallory didn’t want to risk losing momentum. She jabbed Christian on the sternum. “You should sing.”

  “Professionally? Sorry, I’ve already got a job that allows me to dress well and be a recipient of constant applause. Plus, I’ve got way better job security.”

  With exaggerated patience, she clarified slowly. “You should sing now.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, woman.” He shook his head. “I mean, why?”

  “To start a new family tradition.” Good grief, she wasn’t asking him to orate Beowulf.

  He crossed his arms, huffing. As well as giving her a significantly annoyed side-eye. “I’m not singing.”

  “Trust me, Mallory. None of us want that,” Genevieve said with quite a surprising amount of fervor.

  Thank goodness, Kelsey was always guaranteed to back her up against the rest of the world. “If it was good enough for Captain von Trapp and his family fleeing the Nazis, then it’s good enough for the House of Villani as we roll out of Austria.”

  “All we’re fleeing is the threat of Christian’s bad voice kicking off a rockslide.” Genny shuddered. “Marko, you’re the one concerned with keeping all of us alive. Say it’s out of the question for security reasons.”

  A rich baritone suddenly flowed over the teasing bickering like syrup over glass.

  It was “Edelweiss.”

  And it was the king singing. He started in what Mallory guessed was German, and then switched to English after the first phrase. He must’ve remembered that he had two language-challenged Americans in the car. By the second phrase, Kelsey and Elias had joined in. Then Genny laid her head on his shoulder and also started singing.

  Christian’s hand shot out to grab Mallory’s. He didn’t just hold it; he squeezed it like a lifeline. Her knuckles felt like they were about to crack. It didn’t matter. She wanted to share this victory with him.

  Speaking softly, she murmured, “This was what you hoped for, wasn’t it? When we talked up on the tower. You said you’d do something drastic to get through to your dad.”

  “Yeah. It was a long shot. I wanted to remind him there are worthwhile things outside his suite. That there are a million reasons to rejoin the world. I figured his family might be the most important one. The, ah, emotional fulcrum to lever him out.”

  “That was brilliant.” Mallory wanted to hug him. She settled for putting her other hand on top of his. Maybe he’d feel her squishing her pride into him? Okay, that was beyond silly. But he beamed at her, with that full-out smile that made women the world over yearn for a chance to be his bride. So maybe he got it, after all.

  “What’s that saying about inspiration?” he asked.

  “Ninety-nine percent perspiration, one percent inspiration.”

  Christian huffed. “Well, in my case, it was ninety-nine percent desperation, one percent inspiration.”

  The singers moved on to “My Favorite Things.” Evidently The Sound of Music’s popularity was just as big on this side of the Atlantic. Hopefully they’d work their way through the entire soundtrack so that she and Christian could continue talking, semi-privately.

  “How’d you do it?” Mallory was genuinely curious how he’d gotten through to the man who’d ignored him—and the rest of the world—for almost three months. She also guessed, however, that Christian very much wanted to share the whole tale of his brilliance. After all, a win always got sweeter with each retelling. “Bribery? Or did you threaten to ride his favorite stallion?”

  After leaning forward to check that all the rest of the passengers were absorbed in the sing-along, he twisted to face her. “Nothing like that. I knew it had to be drastic, remember? Bold. Balls to the wall.”

  “Christian!” Mallory slapped a hand over his mouth. “You can’t say ‘balls’ when your father’s in the car.”

  Oh, no. Nononono. More to the point, she shouldn’t be touching him so familiarly. Or maybe she could? In his role as a pseudo-brother? But then why was Marko angling his chin to look at them in the rearview mirror?

  She snatched her hand back. Angled her head toward the seat so that her hair would hide her undoubtedly flaming face from Marko.

  “Papa can’t hear me. And I’m almost thirty. I’m certain he wouldn’t keel over in shock at hearing me say balls. Or cock. I mean, I wouldn’t do it in front of Gran—or in front of a microphone. But—” Christian broke off, putting a hand along her jaw. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m hiding.”

  “From what?”

  Mallory pointed forward, keeping her hand below the seat back. “Marko saw me. Saw us.”

  Christian bent low, put a hand to his eyes like a visor, and whispered, “When? Where? Doing what?”

  “You’re making fun. But this is serious. I touched you. Just now.”

  “Do you think you gave me American germs and now I can’t be king?” He laughed. Heartily. Loudly.

  Which prompted Mallory to swat his thigh. He’d blow their cover! “Hush. They’ll all want to know why you’re laughing.”

  “So I’d tell them.”

  “You can’t!” she squeaked.

  Christian patted her. On the shoulder. Up high where Marko could definitely see if he was still giving them the eagle eye. “Mallory, you can touch me. Nobody will care. You didn’t stick your hand down my pants. You were playful. It only raises suspicion if you act guilty.”

  It was like she was riding next to two versions of Christian. The man she knew, joked with, and kissed…but next to him, in her mind, was always a shadow Prince Christian, cloaked in protocol and royalness and solemnity.

  Clearly she needed to reconcile that they were two parts of a whole. And stop overreacting. This wasn’t Michigan. He wasn’t simply an untouchable—ha!—man about to rule an entire country. First and foremost, he was just a man.

  And Mallory knew how to handle men. A teasing prince was nothing compared to a drunk, handsy frat guy. She had the street smarts, the actual smarts, and the savvy to handle all of this much better.

  It was the pep talk Kelsey would’ve given her…if she’d confided in Kelsey, like always. This freak-out was of her own making. So she’d fix it herself.

  Big breath. Deep breath. “Okay. You’re right. Sorry. This is
just strange.”

  “Keeping secrets?” Christian let out another deep belly laugh. “That’s the axis that life at court spins around. Intrigue. Secrets. Innuendo.”

  “That’s only the court, Christian. Not your family.”

  “True. But we’re far from perfect. We lead a dysfunctional life under glass. We can only truly trust a handful of people. We have to hide our emotions a good portion of the time. And, as an example, my father hasn’t talked to his children in months. So I’d say he’s been keeping a few secrets of his own.”

  Mallory grabbed on to the U-turn of a segue he’d lobbed at her. “Yes. Your dad. What magic did you spin to get him into the car today?”

  “I waited until his dinner was served. Papa refuses to eat in bed. Even when he’s sick, he gets up and goes to a table.”

  “Wow. I eat in bed all the time.”

  “I do, too.” He gave it a beat, tracing a finger just below the hem of her corduroy miniskirt. “Sometimes there’s even food involved.”

  Ohhhhh my.

  Mallory swallowed, deliberately, and then cocked her head. “If you’re trying to shock me again, it won’t work. I’ve rebooted my respect level for you from future king down to average man. I’m immune to your innuendo.”

  “That’s fine. As long as you’re still susceptible to my charm.”

  Oh, so they were flirting now?

  Hey, it was his family, and thus his risk. If Christian wasn’t worried, then she’d play along.

  Tipping sideways, Mallory exaggeratedly looked out the window. Even managed to hold back a sigh as it hit her that the rest of the car was singing “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” as they motored through mountains that looked identical to those in the movie.

  “The sun’s still yellow. Those trees are still green. And just as indisputable is the fact that your charm is my Kryptonite.”

  “Less lethal, I hope.”

  That was yet to be determined. “So your dad’s eating dinner. What did you do—spell out escape is possible in peas and carrots?”

  “I put my face right up against the door, and I yelled. I told him that only cowards take a time-out from life. That we’d help him. That we missed him. And that he had two choices.”

  There was a boyish exuberance to his retelling, and it was ten times sexier than his earlier dirty talk. Christian was caught up in the story, talking fast, gesturing with his hands, mouth animated.

  God, she wanted to kiss that mouth.

  “Ooh, an ultimatum? I love those.”

  Christian held out his hands, palms up. “He could either be taken away in an ambulance to be examined for a psychiatric hold, or he could be on the palace steps this morning with a packed bag, ready to go on a trip with us.”

  Drastic, indeed. “Were you bluffing?”

  “No. That was the hardest part. I’m worried that if Parliament pushes, they could require a medical exam to prove Papa’s unfit to rule. I know he’s on medication. Mood stabilizers, the court physician described them.”

  “That sounds vague.” She’d overheard enough from her parents through the years to presume that was the equivalent of a bandage slapped on an arterial bleed. “Is this doctor a specialist in mental health?”

  “No. So either the drugs are working, and he’s well enough to join us—”

  Mallory picked up Christian’s thought thread. “Or they’re not working, and he actually needs a hospitalization to figure out how sick he is that he’s gone into extreme hibernation.”

  “Yes.” He laced his fingers through hers. “This isn’t a game of chicken, me against Parliament. I want to help my father, to make him well.”

  “It worked,” she said simply.

  “So far, so good.”

  Mallory tapped his Rolex. It had to be a custom piece, as it had the crest of Moncriano in the middle. Probably cost as much as a mortgage back home, but she’d no longer be fazed by the immense wealth the Villanis took so casually. Although she would text her dad later that she’d touched a Rolex!!!! “We left the palace over two hours ago. He’s coming out of his shell more and more. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not naive enough to assume he did a one-eighty just because I threatened him. I am, however, cautiously optimistic. He loves this palace we’re headed to. He proposed to my mother there.”

  “Aren’t you worried that will swamp him in memories? That he won’t be able to take it?”

  “Sure. But then we’ll know something, at least. I won’t steal the crown from him, Mallory. I won’t be forced into humiliating him, either.”

  That was proof he’d make a magnificent king someday. But for now, they’d been too serious for too long. Knowing Christian’s scheme, she’d do everything possible to help him. Including lightening his mood—and his burden.

  After an open-mouthed wink, she said, “Then perhaps you should stop him before they move on to ‘Do-Re-Mi.’ That song’s ridiculous coming out of a grown-ass man.”

  A slow smile that melted her heart as smoothly as butter and chocolate in the microwave spread across his face. “Right you are. I don’t know why I’ve never noticed that. Thanks for looking out.”

  “Dignity’s important. He is the king, after all.”

  For now…

  Mallory worried what it would do, not just to Christian, but to their entire family, if this weekend proved that he shouldn’t be king…

  Chapter Eight

  “Would you like some port?” Christian offered, his hand on the crystal decanter.

  Mallory blinked into a blank stare. Not that he minded the chance to wallow in the bottle-green glass depth of her eyes. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never had it.”

  “It’s a fortified wine, originally from Portugal, served as an after-dinner drink. And this is certainly after dinner.” He gestured at the napkins askew at each place, the goblets with mere drops of red remaining at the bottom, and the guttering candles on the table.

  She twisted around, looking toward the door, and then back again. “I’m amazed your crack staff is letting these empty glasses just sit there. I feel like the footmen at Alcarsa Palace clear my place the moment the last bite touches my lips.”

  Nodding in agreement, Christian said, “It’s probably giving them hives. But I asked not to be disturbed.”

  “Why?”

  Not yet. He’d make that inquisitive mind of hers wonder a little longer. “Do you have an adventurous palate?”

  “Not until recently. Now I want to try everything. Good or bad, you don’t know until you try it at least once, right? I’m having a once-in-a-lifetime adventure for the six months I’m here. I never want to look back in twenty years and wonder should I have tried Christian’s fabulous and undoubtedly vintage port?”

  He grabbed two glasses by the thin stems and brought them back to the linen-draped table. “Six months? I thought you were here to stay.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Her long, delicate fingers toyed with the chunky green choker around her throat. “I’m trying on this job to see if it fits or not. To see if I fit in Moncriano. Six months ought to be long enough to tell. Remember, Kelsey belongs here. I’m just a tagalong. With friends and a career and a life back in America. Did I really go to college to just be my sister’s lady-in-waiting?”

  “It’s only nepotism if you can’t do the job.”

  “Because you, with your seven-hundred-year run of a family business, aren’t biased at all,” she mocked.

  “Excellent point.” How could he already be running out of time with her? Although if they were flipping the calendar forward, he’d be stuck in his unwanted engagement by then. So why did it bother him so much? The prospect of her leaving? “Six months from when you and Kelsey first arrived, or when you returned in September?”

  “The latter. Why? Are you already mentally composing an ad to sublet my room at th
e palace?”

  It would’ve been appropriate to banter back. But even the possibility of Mallory leaving got under his skin enough to have him rolling a shoulder to slough it away. And his answer came out far too stilted. “It will be yours, forever.” He tried again, reaching over to tap the side of her head with a half grin. “How many times do we have to say that you’re a part of this family before it finally sinks in?”

  “The House of Villani is a centuries-old dynasty, Christian. I believe you all want me here. Now. I’m just not sure how I fit in moving forward. Which is nothing to do with how you’ve all welcomed me, and everything to do with how I need to create a life for myself.”

  Damn it. He had no choice but to respect that answer.

  Christian passed her a cordial glass. “Sip it. But first, a toast.”

  “Really? It’s just the two of us.”

  “Which is what enables me to make this toast.” He raised his glass. God, she looked pretty in the flickering light. Those parted red lips, the way her open green cardigan framed her breasts in the gathered cream blouse. “All my gratitude, Lady Mallory. For listening, for helping, and for driving me wild all day long.”

  Her soft smile warmed his heart as they clinked and drank. Until she shook her head.

  “Christian, we talked about this after we kissed in the tower. It really can’t happen again. You can’t flirt with me like that.”

  “I’m not flirting. I stated facts. Period.”

  “But there’s a problem.” She licked a glistening, thick drop of wine from her bottom lip. Did she realize how sensual that was? “It makes me want to flirt back.”

  “Good to know I haven’t lost my touch. I am on the cusp of thirty, you know. A man worries.”