The Playboy Prince and the Nanny (Royal Duology 1)

Then he took a deep drink from his glass, because he realized that what he said was absolutely true, and the idea of having her here, in the palace, potentially for years, and being off-limits was a sobering and uncomfortable thought.

He couldn’t do it. But he couldn’t leave now, not when things were still so unstable within the family. Maybe his father and brother didn’t see it, but for Diego it had always been family first. Even if he really wanted to strike out on his own, he wouldn’t until he was sure things were okay here in Marazur.

Silence was thick between them, until Rose put down her glass and folded her hands in her lap, incredibly proper and every inch a British lady. Humble upbringing be damned, the woman had poise and presence.

“Was there something else you wanted to say?” she asked.

He downed the rest of the wine. “I spoke to my brother tonight after I excused the children. You are a wonderful nanny, Rose, but they also need their father. The atmosphere in the house is so different since Ceci died. Raoul doesn’t laugh anymore or include them. He promised to make some time in his schedule tomorrow to be with them.”

Relief crossed her face. “Oh, thank you. I mentioned it this morning and he said he was going to try, and then neither of you put in an appearance. That’s why I was so short with you earlier. Well, that and the obvious.”

“They really were upset, then.”

“Max only ate half his tart before he started crying for his mother. Emilia got mad and snapped at him, but I think it was because she was also upset and if he kept it up, she was going to cry as well.”

It was so unfair. “What did you do?” Diego asked.

“I wiped tears, calmed everyone down, got them in their pajamas, and we sat on Max’s bed and read stories. It took a long time, but I finally got them both settled.”

She looked up at him, her bluebell eyes wide. “And then I had a little cry myself, and poured a glass of wine.”

“You care about them.”

“Of course I do. I hate seeing them hurting. I love them.”

And just like that, Diego knew he was in trouble. She’d said it so quickly, without thinking, that he knew it was true. Rosalie Walters with her sometimes prim ways, warm smile, and big heart, was sneaking past all his defenses. He loved it and hated it all at once. In this family, marriage meant loss. The king had lost his wife and Diego had lost his mother. Then his sister-in-law, and Mariana, too. He’d rather keep his heart safe and sound than go through that again. It would be ten times worse to lose the woman he loved.

And yet there was something wonderful about looking at Rose and feeling seen. Recognized. Appreciated.

“I should go,” he said, standing and putting his empty glass on the table.

“Yes,” she said softly, “you should. After today’s newspaper, it wouldn’t do for you to be caught coming out of my room late at night.”

“The staff is discreet.”

“They’re also human, and I have to work among them.”

“Right.”

She walked him to the door, put her hand on the knob. Such small, delicate fingers, he noticed. And such a strong, caring woman.

He put his hand over hers. “Rosalie . . .”

He didn’t know why he’d used her full name. She looked up at him, surprised, their hands still clasping the doorknob. He knew she couldn’t possibly be aware of it, but her tongue snuck out to wet her lips and his gaze dropped and clung to her mouth. His head kept a steady chant of It’s a mistake, but nonetheless he reached out with his free hand and pulled her close against his body.

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and then he dipped his head and kissed her, shutting out the voice in his head.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rose’s head swam with the sensations coursing through her body—his hand, splayed against the small of her back, holding her tight against his hips; the breadth of his chest beneath her palm as she put a hand up for balance; and the hard, muscled wall her fingertips encountered through his thin cotton shirt. And oh, his taste—rich and dark and fruity, like the wine they’d just drunk. His lips moved over hers, beguiling, seducing, sweeping her away into a fantasy such as she’d never encountered in her life.

She was in a palace and she was kissing a prince. A real prince, and for the second time in two days. And while she prided herself on her common sense, another part of her wasn’t ready for it to be over yet. Because once it was, it couldn’t happen again. And if this was all she could have she was going to let it be a moment to remember.

She expected him to end the kiss, but he didn’t. Instead he seemed to settle into it, enjoying her mouth, adjusting his embrace until she melted into him. Briefly his lips left hers and he dropped kisses at the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, while his fingers traced a sensitive part of her neck. She gasped at the light touch, feeling rather un

raveled as he kissed her again, deeper this time. As if he was enjoying himself immensely. As if he liked kissing her. Her, a mousy little middle child from Guildford.

She found herself pressed against the door to her suite, sandwiched between the hard wood and Diego’s body. He put his hands flat against the door, one on either side of her head, and kissed her in a way no man had ever kissed her before. Like she was the last bit of sweet icing on the cake.