The Bossy Prince - Rugged and Royal

But I confess, I’d love to hear her say those things out loud. I can’t imagine anything hotter than tightly wound, always on top of things Zan begging me to fuck her, to blow her mind, to make her lose control in the best way possible.

Which means I need to get laid. Soon.

Preferably the night we land in Baden-Bergen.

I’ll call Regina, my easygoing, model friend-with-benefits, settle in for a forty-eight-hour pre-birthday sex fest, and bang Zan right out of my thoughts. By the time I cut my cake to celebrate my twenty-fifth year, I’ll have banished this ridiculous fixation, Zan will be en route to an office far, far away, and I’ll have remembered all the reasons it’s stupid to fantasize about more than friendship with my colleague and sister-in-law.

Until then…I’ll just do my best not to be alone with Zan any more than absolutely necessary.

It shouldn’t be hard.

I’m here to penetrate a criminal organization, not my coworker.

Focus renewed, I rinse off the sand, step into my sandals, and start toward the pool at the center of the property, figuring it’s as good a place as any to start gathering intel. From what I saw on our way to our room, it’s the place for the wives and girlfriends to gather, and it’s nearly four o’clock.

Judging from my experience with Stefano’s crowd, cocktails will have been flowing since at least noon, so tongues should be flapping by now.

And these ladies are nothing like Zan.

Even stone-cold sober, they make no effort whatsoever to resist my charm.

I push through the gate surrounding the oasis-like pool deck. The bright blue water is surrounded by lush plants and pink and orange flowers, complete with a waterfall flowing from a smaller pool on the rise and into the larger one with the swim-up bar beneath. I skim the crowd, looking for an empty chair, but my eyes are drawn to the blonde on my right, seated at a wrought-iron table beneath a thatched umbrella.

Zan is wearing the simplest outfit I packed for her—a blue sundress with a deep V neckline and a long skirt. Her hair is pulled back, and she’s barely wearing any makeup at all compared to the heavily caked faces around her, but she pulls my focus instantly.

And it isn’t because of that V-neck.

It’s just…her. Something about her calls to me, summons me, demands my attention in a way that has nothing to do with our job or our dependence on each other until this mission is over.

And crazily enough, I suspect the awareness is mutual.

The moment my focus lands on her, she seems to sense it. Her spine straightens, and her ears lift. A beat later, she turns, her gaze meeting mine across the bright blue water of the pool.

Her eyes widen slightly, and she tilts her head to the right in a subtle but unmistakable invitation to “check this shit out.”

I shift my attention to the chair next to hers, and my stomach turns to stone.

No. No fucking way.

Fuck me.

Fuck us.

I curse beneath my breath, forcing a smile as the redhead next to Zan lifts a long arm and wiggles fingers my way, calling, “Nicky!” in a giddy voice that sets my teeth on edge.

Well, then…this mission just got even more complicated.

Chapter Twelve

Nickolas

Of all the people to run into at a time like this, in a place like this…

Beatrice Bissette is Zan’s third cousin, second in line to a throne of her own, and the first person the tabloids seek out when they’re looking for something juicy and embarrassing to publish on a slow scandal day.

Bea is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. She and her older brother, Jonah, joined my brothers and me on vacation several times when we were younger, and our paths often cross at various charity events. But she’s also a disaster waiting to happen.

Perhaps she’s cursed, perhaps she wronged a vengeful god in a former life, or perhaps she simply lacks the self-preservation gene that keeps the rest of us from stumbling into trouble at every opportunity.

I can’t say for certain, but if there’s a puddle of bad luck on the side of the road, Beatrice will fall into it.

Face first.

Splashing collateral damage all over her family in the process.

“Get over here, silly!” Beatrice calls.

“Coming,” I say cheerily while impending doom settles on my shoulders.

As I circle the pool, I mentally flip through a few of Bea’s more infamous mishaps.

At the tender age of nineteen, Beatrice, a devout animal lover, lost a sizeable chunk of her inheritance after being successfully sued by a wildlife preservation group. She apparently facilitated the extinction of a rare parasitic wasp while trying to save a not-at-all endangered species of miniature frog. A year later, she adopted a ferret who’d been trained by his former owner to steal jewelry, leading to a disastrous interaction with the Swiss police. And not long after, she began transforming the ground floor of her ancestral home in Nimway into a dog rescue so noisy her entire family soon moved to their other estate, leaving her to wander the halls of an eight-bedroom chateau alone—aside from her servants and a band of misfit mongrels.