The Montoros Affair: The Princess and the Player / Maid for a Magnate / A Royal Temptation. Charlene Sands
body would start getting into the moment in a huge and inappropriate way.
Sexy strangers signaled big-time problems and he had enough of those.
Reluctantly, he rolled off her and helped her sit up. “Sorry about that. You okay?”
“Totally.” Her husky voice skittered across his skin and he was hooked on the sound of it instantly. American. His favorite. “My fault. I was focused on this thing instead of where I was going.”
She kicked at a Frisbee he hadn’t noticed lying in the sand two feet away. But who’d pay attention to a piece of plastic when a fit blonde in a tiny bikini landed in your lap? Not him.
“I like a girl who goes for the memorable introduction.”
It was certainly a new one. And he’d experienced his share of inventive ploys for getting his attention. Knickers with cell phone numbers scrawled in marker across the crotch, which he discovered had been shoved into his pocket. Room keys slipped into drinks sent over by a knot of football groupies at a corner table. Once, he’d gone back to his hotel room after a press junket to find two naked women spread out across his bed. How they’d gotten in, he still didn’t know.
The logistics question had sort of slipped his mind after ten minutes in their company.
“Oh, I wasn’t angling for an introduction.” She actually blushed a bit, which was oddly endearing. “I really didn’t see you there. You kind of blend into the sand.”
“Is that a crack about my British complexion?” he teased. “You’re pretty pale yourself, darling.”
She laughed and rearranged her hair, pulling it behind her back so it didn’t conceal her cleavage. A move he thoroughly appreciated. This gorgeous klutz might be the best thing that had happened to him all week. Longer than that. The best thing since arriving in Alma for sure.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here cooling his heels until a football club whose jersey he could stomach wearing knocked on his door.
“No, not at all. I wouldn’t be so rude as to point out your flaws on our first meeting.” She leaned forward, her vibe full of come-hither as she teased him back.
Intrigued, he angled his head toward her. “But on our second date, all bets are off?”
Glancing down coquettishly, she let loose a small smile. “I’m more of a third-date kind of girl.”
His gut contracted as the full force of that promise hit him crossways. She was a unique breed of woman, the most fascinating one he’d met thus far on this stupid rock he was being forced to call home for the time being. The memory of her hot flesh against his was still fresh—it was enough to drive him mad. And he suspected she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
“I have a feeling you’d be worth the wait.”
She picked that moment to stand and for some reason, the new angle cast her in a different light. It tickled his mind and he recognized her all at once. Pictures of the new princess had graced every news channel for the past couple of weeks, but she’d been clothed. Regardless, he should have recognized her sooner and maybe not disgraced himself by flirting with a woman who probably really had no clue she’d stumbled over a former football player for Real Madrid.
A princess—especially one as fit as Bella Montoro—wasn’t running around the beach at Playa Del Onda looking to meet guys, whether they were semifamous or not. Which was a dirty shame.
He shoved his hat back onto his head and repositioned his sunglasses, both of which had flown off during the sand tango.
Ms. Montoro... Princess Bella... Your Royal Highness... What did you even call her when her brother hadn’t been crowned yet? Whatever the form of address, she was way out of his league.
But that didn’t mean she thought so. She hadn’t bothered to hide the frank attraction in her gaze when she’d been in his arms earlier. If there was anything he knew, it was women, and she might be royalty but that didn’t necessarily make her off-limits.
He quickly scrambled to his feet in case there was some protocol for standing when princesses stood...even if she was wearing a postage stamp–sized white bikini that somehow covered everything while leaving nothing to the imagination.
No point in beating around the bush. “Am I permitted to call you Bella or is there some other title you’d prefer?”
“What, like Princess?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really used to all that yet. And besides, I think we’re a little past that stage, don’t you?”
The feel of her soft curves flush against his body flooded his mind and his board shorts probably wouldn’t conceal his excitement much longer if he didn’t cool his jets. “Yeah. Formality isn’t my specialty anyway. Bella it is.”
Strangely, calling her Bella ratcheted up the intimacy quotient by a thousand. He liked it. And he wanted to say it a bunch more times while she lay stretched out under him again. Without the bikini.
She smiled and glanced down, as if the heat roiling between them was affecting her, too, and she didn’t know quite what to do with it. “This is all so awkward. I wasn’t sure you knew who I was.”
Shrugging, he stuck his hands behind his back because he had no clue what to do with them. It was the first time he’d been unsure around a woman since the age of fourteen. “I recognized you from your pictures.”
She nodded and waved off her friend who’d most likely come to investigate the disappearance of her Frisbee partner. “Me, too. I wasn’t expecting to run into you on the beach or I would have dressed for the occasion.”
Ah, so she did know who he was—and dare he hope there was a hint of approval there? She’d gotten rid of the friend, a clear sign she planned to stick around for a while at least. Maybe he wasn’t so far out of her league after all. “I’m a fan of your wardrobe choice.”
Laughing, she glanced down. “I guess it is appropriate for the beach, isn’t it? It’s just not how I thought meeting you would go. The picture my father sent painted you as someone very serious.”
“Um...you don’t say?” He’d just completely lost the thread of the conversation. Why would her father be sending her pictures, unless... Of course. Had to make sure the precious princess didn’t taint herself with the common riffraff. Stay away from that Rowling boy. He’s a boatload of trouble.
His temper kicked up, but he smoothed it over with a wink and a wicked smile. “I’m every bit as bad as your father warned you. Probably worse. If your goal is to seriously irritate him, I’m on board with that.”
He had no problem being her Rebel Against Daddy go-to guy, though he’d probably encourage her to be really bad and enjoy it far too much. Instantly, a few choice scenarios that would get them both into a lot of trouble filled his mind.
Her eyes widened. “He, uh, didn’t warn me about you... Actually, I’m pretty sure he’d be happy if we went out. Isn’t that the whole point of this? So we can see if we’re suited?”
This conversation was going in circles. Her father wanted them to date? “He’s a football fan, then?”
She shook her head, confusion clouding her gaze. “I don’t think so. Does that matter to you, Will?”
“Will?” He groaned. This was so much worse than he’d anticipated. “You think I’m Will?”
More importantly, her father had sent her a picture of Will for some yet-to-be-determined reason, but it wasn’t so she could flirt with Will’s twin brother on the beach. And this little case of mistaken identity was about to come to an abrupt halt.
Bella laced her fingers together as she got the impression