Prince Not So Charming: A Royal Love Story

by Tawny Taylor

  She grimaced, flopping onto her back. “So it’s just me? Aren’t I lucky? Or did I do something wrong?”

  “No, not just you. And you’ve done nothing wrong.” He took her hand in his. “I’ve explained this before. I won’t have an affair with a woman who works for me.”

  “Yes, so you’ve said,” she muttered on a sigh. “But at the end of my contract I won’t be working for you anymore. Heck, I’m barely working for you now. Hey, how about this—fire me!”

  “Hmmm.”

  “So…? Am I fired?” She wiggled again. That part down there sure liked her!

  He shook his head. “That isn’t the only issue.”

  Huh?

  What?

  If he fired her then… A light bulb came on. “Ohhh!” You mean if I get hired at the GLC I’ll still be an employee?”

  “No.” He cupped her cheek. She liked that. And the way he looked into her eyes. “If I start a relationship with you it would only be an affair. And you deserve better than that.”

  Her fingers decided they needed to take a little stroll. Up his chest. It was so broad. And hard. And perfect. “Why would it have to be an affair? Couldn’t you just do what most people do and see where things go on their own?”

  “I’m a prince. I don’t have that luxury.”

  She was confused by that statement, too. So much of what he said confused her. “Huh?”

  “When I’m ready to be married, I’ll choose my wife…” He shook his head, his waves flopping. “How do I say this?”

  “I’m totally confused now. What? Choose how? You’ll interview for a wife? You’ll go to a market and buy her? How?”

  “I’m expected to marry a woman who brings something to our family, whether it’s a royal title, influence, or property.”

  Once again the inner light bulb illuminated. But this time it was blindingly bright.

  She smacked her forehead.

  Of course! How stupid could she be?

  He didn’t like Bikini Babe more because she was skinnier or sexier.

  She just had more money!

  “Oh! I’m not rich enough to be a serious contender for Mrs. Prince Rafael.”

  He scowled. Even scowling he looked scrumptious. Life wasn’t fair! “When you say it like that, it sounds shitty.”

  “Maybe because it is shitty? This isn’t the twelfth century, you know.” She poked his chest again.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You look like your family has a lot of money and influence as it is. You own a freaking island forgodssake. Why would you need more?”

  He rolled onto his back beside her, arms bent, his head resting on his hands. “You would be surprised to find out the status of many royal family’s finances. They aren’t always living as high on the hog as you might think.”

  Her gaze skipped—or rather, wobbled—around the room. “No doubt because you royal types spend too much money on yachts and designer shoes and stuff.”

  He smirked. “No doubt. You see now why I can’t offer you what you deserve?”

  In other words, by being all cold and aloof, he was trying to be gallant. To protect her honor.

  Wasn’t that wonderful?

  Not.

  “You know? I should be flattered that you think so highly of me that you refuse to have wild, passionate, no-strings-attached sex with me. But I’m not.” She felt her mouth pull into a pout. “You’re the sexiest man I have ever laid eyes on. And I could totally fall for you.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Did I just say that out loud?”

  He chuckled. The warm, rich sound flowed through her like molten honey. “You did. But I promise I won’t let it get to my head.”

  Her gaze flicked down. That sure was a big pants-tent going on. Her compliment might have gone to one head. She cleared her throat and motioned to his pelvis.

  He pointed at his other head, the one on top of his wide shoulders. The one that made decisions she wasn’t entirely happy about. At least not at the moment. Later, well, it was possible she would have regretted having sex with Rafe. When she read about his engagement to Bikini Babe in the tabloids. “This one. That one has a mind of its own.”

  He drew in a deep breath. His eyelids heavy, he gave her a drowsy look. “How about we take a little nap? You’ll thank me later, when you wake up with your clothes on.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  He didn’t respond. He just lay there, breathing. Slowly. Looking all yummy. And sleepy.

  What a freaking waste.

  She snuggled against him and inhaled. He even smelled good.

  Oh well, there was always later. After their nap.

  13

  Rafael

  Was Jenna sleeping?

  Rafe hoped so. He prayed so.

  Because he would not, could not seduce a passed-out drunk woman.

  He’d been so close to buckling. Within a few seconds of saying to hell with it and accepting her offer, despite the consequences.

  The wine he’d consumed before going out to get her hadn’t helped matters. Wine made every woman more tempting. But it made Jenna the most alluring, enticing woman he’d ever met.

  And why was that?

  Because not only was she sexy. She made him laugh. She was beautiful. And intelligent. And sexy. And adorable. From the top of her head, and the tumble of waves that cascaded from it, to her little toes, and everything in between.

  Her voice was adorable, too. Especially when she was a little drunk and it became husky and seductive. Her touch made him almost forget everything he believed, everything he knew… everything he’d learned.

  There were three types of women.

  There were the ones he could screw. Gold diggers, after his money (not realizing there wasn’t as much as they thought) or thrill seekers. All they wanted were gifts and sex. With him. With a prince. One night, or one week, of living a fairytale. After that they wanted to move onto the next party and their next fantasy, whatever that might be. Rock star. Football player. Whatever. He didn’t have to avoid these women. Gifts, he would do. Sometimes. Sex was a mutual thing. No strings. No expectations. Just living in the moment.

  Then there were the others, the women who he couldn’t have for one reason or the other but were looking for more. For a future. For a relationship. These were the women he had to avoid. Like the plague. Because they were the ones who got hurt.

  Like her.

  Like Jenna.

  And finally there were the ones he could marry. The ones from royal families, or the daughters of tycoons or powerful political figures. He had yet to meet one he liked, let alone would marry.

  Sure, they were all beautiful. Money could buy miracles… if paid to the right surgeons. And some of them were intelligent, thanks to a well-funded education. But they all lacked something. It was an intangible quality.

  Already he could see she had it. Jenna. That thing that made him ache to see her the minute she left his office.

  Dammit, why couldn’t she have been the daughter of an American banking mogul or senator? There was no way, absolutely none, that he would get his family’s approval—particularly his father’s—to marry her.

  And so, he would continue to suffer through the time remaining in her contract. He could send her home. He’d considered that possibility many times. He had even gotten as far as calling to schedule her flight. But then he’d slammed down the phone. The thought of watching her leave left him feeling cold and empty inside.

  Why? Why did she affect him so profoundly?

  He vowed to stay strong. When he felt his resolve weakening, he would remind himself of Emelia.

  Emelia had been a lot like Jenna. Sweet. Funny. Genuine.

  She hadn’t played games like most of the others. She just loved and lived. With joy in her heart.

  He hadn’t been able to resist.

  And it had led to a terrible tragedy.

  He couldn’t let that happen again.

  His resolve reinforced, he propell
ed himself off the bed.

  That was the answer. To keep reminding himself of the disaster he had caused.

  And the future heartbreak he was determined to spare Jenna.

  14

  Jenna

  She was in a strange bed.

  Whose?

  Why?

  How?

  Jenna tried lifting her head, but it practically exploded when she moved it. She clenched her eyes and swallowed hard.

  Her face burned. Her arms. What was wrong with her…?

  Oh.

  The wine.

  And sun.

  So much wine. Too much wine.

  And too much sun.

  And what else? Her memories were hazy.

  Rafe. She remembered talking to him.

  A nap. Rafe had brought her here to take a nap. That was it!

  But he wasn’t with her now.

  She looked at her arm. Her skin screamed, angry pink-red.

  Holy crap. How long had she been sitting out in the sun?

  Moving slowly, she sat up. Every blood vessel in her head throbbed, and she squeezed her eyes shut again.

  “I will never drink wine again!” she vowed.

  “Might be a good idea,” Nichole agreed as she peered through the open doorway. “Glad to see you up and moving.”

  “I’m not exactly moving.” Jenna grimaced. “Wow, do I feel like crap. I suppose this is what they call a hangover. What time is it?”

  “It’s eight.”

  “Eight o’clock? That was a long nap.”

  “Longer than you think. It’s eight AM. You slept all afternoon, evening and night.”

  She’d slept… how many hours? Her brain was too stewed in alcohol to do math. She’d never done that before! “Oh. Um… how drunk was I?”

  “There’s a pitcher of water and some aspirin on the nightstand. And some toast.” Nichole crept into the room and sat on the bed beside Jenna. “You were pretty messed up yesterday. I was worried about you. But not as worried as someone else.”

  “Someone? Who?”

  “Who do you think?” Nichole poured Jenna a glass of water and handed it to her. Then she grabbed the bottle of aspirin.

  “Rafe?”

  “He stayed up with you all night long.”

  “He did?”

  Nichole patted Jenna’s knee. “He was really upset when I told him what you’d said yesterday.”

  Jenna felt her eyes bulging. “What did I say?” she asked, hoping it wasn’t too awful.

  “You know, about how he’d thrown you out of his office so he could have sex with Adri. You should have seen him when I told him that.”

  Okay, so that wasn’t so bad. “Why would he get upset? It was the truth.”

  “You don’t know Rafe as well as you think you do.”

  “What are you saying? Was I wrong?”

  “I’m saying it’s up to Rafe to tell you. If he wants to. I’m doing my best to stay out of this.” Nichole held out her fisted hand. “Here. Take these.” When Jenna raised a hand, palm up, she dumped a couple of tablets into her palm.

  Obediently, Jenna tossed them into her mouth and washed them down with some water. She followed them up with a chaser of unbuttered toast that turned into dust in her dry mouth.

  Nichole jerked a nod. “Good. Eat up. You’ll be feeling as good as new in no time.”

  Jenna smiled and nodded around the wad of cotton in her mouth. “Shower.”

  “Yes. Good idea. While you’re doing that, I’ll let Rafe know you’re doing better.”

  “Thanks.” Jenna slid off the bed, onto her feet, testing her rubbery legs. They weren’t exactly ready for a mile-long race, but they weren’t as shaky as she’d expected either. At least they’d get her back to her own room. As they both headed toward the door, she asked, “Did he really stay up all night with me?”

  “Yes. He did. He just fell asleep an hour ago. In one of the guest rooms. And that’s only because I threatened him if he didn’t go get some rest.”

  “Why? I was just sleeping.”

  Nichole shrugged. “Even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you.” She scrunched her nose. “Better get that shower. You’re not exactly smelling like a rose. And speaking of that…” She pointed at Jenna’s arm. “I have some aloe. I’ll bring it to your room. That has to hurt.”

  “It’s a little sore,” Jenna admitted.

  “We’ll have to keep you out of the sun today.”

  “Not a problem. I think my head would blow up if I was exposed to that much light anyway.”

  Nichole’s laughter followed her down the hall as she dragged her miserable body toward her room.

  This was one lesson she’d never forget.

  Wine was not her best friend.

  But Rafe… he was a better man than she’d thought.

  15

  Jenna

  An hour and a half later Jenna was feeling like a new woman.

  Between the twenty-plus hours of sleep she’d had, the half-gallon of water she’d guzzled (at Nichole’s insistence), and the aspirin, she was almost back to normal.

  This was a good thing. Hangovers sucked.

  However, now she was bored.

  Sitting in the great room, and gazing longingly out the open French doors, she snarled. “Look at all that gorgeous sunlight. I can’t believe I’m stuck in here.”

  “Your arms are blistering,” Nichole pointed out. She was sprawled on the couch, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Even with no makeup, bedhead, and wearing an old, raggy t-shirt, unraveling denim shorts, and flip-flops Nichole was a knockout. “You may even have a touch of sun poisoning… on top of that hangover. You need to stay out of the sun.”

  There was no denying the obvious. Unlike Nichole, Jenna was looking like a blistered beet. “Yes, I know. But what else is there to do on a tropical island if I can’t go outside?”

  “I opened the door. At least you’re getting some fresh air.” Nichole waved at the open door.

  “Which I appreciate.”

  “And we have satellite TV.”

  Now that was a welcome surprise! No one had told her about the television. She hadn’t seen one, or heard one, so she’d assumed there wasn’t one.

  She wasn’t normally a big TV-watcher, but with nothing else to do, it was better than staring at the walls. “We do? Where?”

  Nichole yanked open a table drawer, next to the couch and pulled out a remote. “Voila!”

  Jenna did a three-sixty. “Okay, where’s it hidden?”

  Nichole hit a button and what Jenna had thought was a large mirror hanging on the wall transformed into a television screen. “In plain sight! Did you really expect there wouldn’t be a TV?”

  Jenna shrugged. “I thought rich people didn’t watch television.”

  “Many don’t. But they still own them. For when they get bored counting their money.” Nichole winked and sat up, patting the cushion. “Come here.”

  “Am I being judgmental?” Jenna asked, making herself comfy next to Nichole.

  “No. You don’t know them. They’re normal people, Jenna. Rafe… he’s just a guy.” Nichole clicked the remote’s buttons, and images flashed on the screen as she changed channels.

  Jenna leaned back, reclining with her legs curled on the couch. “A guy who can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants.”

  “Nobody can live like that—do what they want all the time. Especially not Rafe.”

  The room filled with voices speaking a foreign language.

  Great. The TV shows were in Spanish or something.

  “Oh yes, that’s right,” Jenna said. “He’s a prince. And being a prince is so hard. He has to do what he’s told by his father, the king. And who else? His mother? His people? His advisors and lawyers?”

  “No, he doesn’t. And yes, it is hard sometimes.” Nichole pointed the remote at Jenna. “Rafe chooses to do what people tell him to. Because he thinks he has to..”

  “Why does he think that?�
�

  Nichole shrugged and went back to channel surfing. “Stop asking questions. I shouldn’t have told you that much. He should. I’ve been burned before, playing matchmaker. I told myself I wouldn’t make that mistake again.”

  “How?” Jenna asked.

  Just then a bird soared through the open French door and swooped up, up, up, roosting on a beam at least twenty feet above their heads.

  The conversation was forgotten.

  Jenna looked at Nichole.

  Nichole looked at Jenna.

  Then they both jumped to their feet and exclaimed, “Oh crap!”

  “What do we do?” Jenna asked, gaze locked on the bird. It was big. With a brown and white speckled chest, dark wings and a striped tail. It looked like some kind of hawk.

  “I don’t know. Crap. I shouldn’t have left that door open.”

  “Which is my fault. You opened the doors for me. I didn’t know… That thing is huge.”

  Nichole blinked up at the enormous predator. “And it looks hungry. I suppose we should get it out of here somehow.” Nichole’s pretty mouth twisted. “I’m pretty sure there’s a gun in the house--”

  A gun? “You’re kidding, right?”

  Nichole shrugged. “Kind of.”

  “You scare me,” Jenna teased as she scurried to the kitchen. The bird, as if it knew they were hunting for a way to scare it out of the house, launched from its perch and sailed across the room, landing closer to the hallway, on top of a shelf.

  “Well at least it’s lower now.” Nichole yanked open a door, grabbed a broom from the closet Jenna hadn’t found yet, and slowly crept toward the confused bird. “I think I can reach it.”

  Jenna’s protective instincts kicked in. “Don’t hurt it!” After that gun comment, Nichole was the last person she trusted to get the bird out without killing it.

  “I won’t. I’m just going to scare it back toward the door.”

  “Maybe you should let me do it.” Jenna trailed the armed Nichole as she circled around the bird’s current location. She said a little prayer that the bird would go the right direction—toward the door, rather than return to its first perch.