The Crown Prince's Bride (Royal Duology 2)

He got the rest of the way in and swam a bit, though it wasn’t big enough of a pool for him to do laps or anything. Still, it was refreshing, and he got the pleasure of being near Stephani. Once he reached out and pulled her close, felt her cool skin rub up against his. He kissed her and then let her go, but the hazy look in her eyes told him all he needed to know. Maybe later. He had something special planned, in her suite where she’d be sure to have privacy.

“We should probably get ready for the day,” she said, rather reluctantly, he thought.

“If you want to take some extra time, why don’t you? I can handle this one.”

She shook her head. “No, I want to be there. I’m being indulged sufficiently, Your Highness.” She put a sassy little inflection on the title. “The least I can do is my job.”

“Fair enough.” He moved to the steps and got out, dripping water while reaching for a towel. She followed behind, and he swallowed at the sight of her skin glistening with water, then the way she efficiently used the white towel to dry off.

She paused and looked out over the terrace. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it? I mean, I spend the majority of my time in a palace, but this . . . maybe I needed a vacation more than I thought.”

“You look more relaxed,” he offered.

“So do you.” She went over to him and touched his cheek. “You needed to get away, too. You’ve shouldered everything for years now. It’s better now that Diego has stepped up, but he’s also been busy with his charity and getting married.” He held his breath as her fingers stroked his skin. “No one really understands how hard you work, and how much you worry.”

“Apparently you do,” he replied, his voice sounding strangled. He couldn’t think straight when she touched him this way.

“I’ve noticed. I just wasn’t at liberty to say anything before.”

He held her gaze, then dipped his head and kissed her cool, soft lips. They tasted like salt from the pool, and a little bit of sweetness that was uniquely hers.

When the kiss ended, she licked her lips and sighed, another one of those replete sounds that he loved so much.

“Make sure you eat something before our meeting. I’ll come get you in forty-five minutes, okay?”

“Perfect.”

She walked back through the sliding doors to his suite, her damp feet leaving little prints on the terrace floor. She’d go next door and shower off, he realized. He’d do the same. And they’d dress in different suites . . .

Yes, maybe it would be tonight. He only had so much restraint, and the waiting was beginning to affect his thinking.

* * *

The meetings filled the day until nearly four in the afternoon, but for Stephani, it wasn’t hard work. They spoke with the architect of the resort, who agreed to work up a proposal for a resort on the Marazur west coast, among the limestone cliffs and with spectacular vistas over the ocean. They had a delicious lunch, sampling chef specialties until she couldn’t possibly eat another bite. Particularly when Raoul kept insisting she try something else and she would love it. Invariably she did, though she avoided anything with the word “tartare.” It was a taste she’d never managed to acquire.

The mango sorbet, though, was the perfect finish.

She took notes with regard to services offered to guests, the shopping available on-site, and the pricing structure. It was the latter that stopped her up every time. While the resort was solidly booked, the sheer number of euros required nearly stopped her breath. She was enjoying herself so much, but she also knew she could never have an experience like this without Raoul footing the bill. He wanted a five-star exclusive resort. She wondered if he’d be open to something a little less glamorous and slightly more affordable. With the current economy, perhaps having a slightly lower price point would bring in more people.

During the afternoon, they toured one of the two villas on the property, both with three full bedrooms and all the amenities. The other, they were informed quietly, was not available for touring, since it was occupied by a certain famous actor and her family.

By the time they finished, Stephani had taken several pages of notes and wanted to get back to her suite to put them in some sort of order, filling in blanks and recording full thoughts and impressions. It was three thirty and she was ready to take off her heels and sink her bare feet into the thick carpet of her room. Raoul left her at her door with an intimate smile and an assurance that he would see her later for dinner. She put her keycard in the door and stepped inside.

She had taken off her shoes and opened a bottle of water when there was a knock on the door. She assumed it was Raoul, and she hurried to answer, wondering if he’d decided he couldn’t wait until the evening to see her. Her heart pounded an excited tattoo, but instead she was greeted by a lovely French woman who smiled and offered a quiet “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Savalas.”

“Bonjour,” she replied, then noticed the foldable table at the woman’s side.

“You ordered a massage, oui?”

She hadn’t, but she knew who had. She tried to feel badly about not transcribing her notes and couldn’t. “Please, come in.”

“May I set up on the terrace? It is so beautiful this afternoon.”

It felt as if her whole body sighed at the mere thought of a massage while the soft Mediterranean air caressed her skin. “Oh, that would be fantastic,” she replied. The notes could wait. “Shall I put on a robe?”

In less than five minutes she found herself face down on the massage table, a sheet covering her from feet to tailbone. Her face rested on a soft pad, and the masseuse, who she’d now determined was named Mariel, opened a little bag and took out a selection of oils.

“What scent do you prefer, mademoiselle?”