Читать книгу Princess Australia - Nicola Marsh - Страница 6

DANTE cast subtle glances Natasha’s way while an efficient young woman checked him in.

She intrigued him.

He was used to subservience, deference and awe when people learned his identity, but the stunning brunette hadn’t batted an eyelid. In fact, she’d grown more prickly, tension radiating off her in palpable waves.

She didn’t like him.

That much was obvious, and he wanted to know why. Maybe she had a hang-up about wealth? Or maybe his title?

No matter. The minute he’d set foot in the hotel, he’d known he would need the concierge onside if he was to perpetrate his plan. The fact the concierge was a gorgeous woman with caramel eyes, long legs and a fabulous body behind that frumpy dark green uniform just made his task all the easier.

Not that he could rely on charming the woman to his way of thinking. If anything, she’d give him a hard time, he just knew it. Her little holier-than-thou speech had been a dead giveaway that Miss Natasha Telford wouldn’t stand for any hanky-panky. Not that he had any in mind. Not really…

‘Here’s your welcome pack, Mr Anders. The card for your room is inside. Enjoy your stay at Telford Towers.’

He smiled his thanks at the young woman behind the check-in desk, grabbed his key and headed for the lifts.

Of course, it wasn’t his fault he had to pass directly in front of the concierge’s desk again, and it definitely wasn’t his fault that the sexy concierge chose that exact moment to look up.

He gave her his best smile, the one his mother said could rule Calida alone, and a half salute, enjoying the faint blush staining her cheeks.

So, she wasn’t immune to a little charm after all?

He’d have to remember that.

His plan to remain anonymous on the first leg of his trip might depend on it.

Natasha rifled through her wardrobe, flicking past formal dresses, sundresses, skirts and casual trousers before coming to rest on her favourite pair of jeans. At times like this, being super-organised—or obsessively tidy, as Ella liked to tease—was a definite plus. She’d dithered long enough.

Sliding the worn denim off the hanger, she wriggled into them, noting with irony the only good thing Clay had left her with was a slimmer figure. Stressing out over what he’d cost her and her family had shed pounds by the bucketful, and she’d never been so thin.

After slipping a fitted pink singlet top over her head, pulling her hair back in a low ponytail, fixing silver hoops in her ears and sliding her feet into black wedges, she stood back and stared in the floor-length mirror behind the door.

Her favourite outfit, the type of outfit that made her feel good, that gave her confidence.

Then why did she want to rip it off and pull a serious black dress over her head?

You’re a fraud, that’s why.

She poked her tongue out at her reflection, hating when her subconscious was right. No matter how casual she tried to dress, or how confident her clothes were supposed to make her feel, she was a mess.

Dealing with Dante Andretti would’ve been hard enough without the runaway prince playing some weird rebel game where he wanted to hide his identity. The same identity she needed to shout from the rooftops to boost the hotel’s profile and, ultimately, save it.

‘Damn it,’ she muttered, dashing a slick of gloss across her lips and waving a mascara wand over her lashes, knowing it would take a heck of a lot more than a bit of make-up to give her a much needed boost.

She needed the prince’s help.

Apparently, he needed hers.

Then why the awful, sinking feeling their needs were poles apart? Or, worse, she’d be coerced into putting his first…and all because of a charming smile and a pair of blue eyes that had haunted her memory since the first time she’d seen them in grainy print on a computer screen.

Why couldn’t he be a boring, fuddy-duddy prince hell-bent on performing normal royal duties—like getting his face on every media outlet?

Why was he masquerading as some sexy bad boy? Okay, so he couldn’t help the sexy part but, honestly, wasn’t he taking the whole rebel image a tad far? How did a guy like that own a pair of worn jeans anyway? Wouldn’t he wear perfectly pleated formal trousers all the time?

And why did he specifically need her help to perpetrate whatever game he was playing?

Determined to get answers to the questions swirling in her mind, Natasha picked up her keys and purse and headed for a rendezvous with a prince.

Dante glanced around the cosy bar, surprised by the homey feel. He’d travelled the world, stayed in the best hotels and sampled the finest luxuries money could buy, yet something about this place tugged at him.

The rich, mahogany coffee-tables and bar covering an entire back wall, the deep comfy armchairs in burgundy, the muted light from brass lamps and the scattering of antiques were nothing out of the ordinary. Yet together they created an ambience which beckoned like the privacy of his own room at the palace at the end of a long day.

Suddenly it hit him—the privacy aspect of the room, the same comforting feeling he’d expect from a private lounge, not some hotel lobby bar. That was it. This room beckoned like his sitting room back home.

Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to create this effect, to offer travellers a home away from home. Someone with taste, good business sense and a keen sense of what it felt like to belong.

At that moment, Natasha walked into the room, and his desire to admire the decor went up in smoke.

He smiled and waved her over, mesmerised by the sway of her slim hips in poured-on denim, the way the lamplight highlighted the toffee tints in her hair, and how her overall outfit combined sassy casual with an innate elegance. Though he guessed that had more to do with the woman inside the clothes than the garments themselves.

Natasha Telford, quite simply, took his breath away.

Now he only hoped she had an open mind to go along with his plan.

‘Glad you could make it,’ he said, rising to his feet and pulling out a chair.

‘No problems.’ She inclined her head in thanks and sat down, gesturing to a waiter behind the bar. ‘What would you like?’

‘Espresso, please.’ And a healthy dollop of your co-operation.

‘Make that two,’ she said, smiling at the waiter in a way that made Dante’s pulse roar.

Why couldn’t she give him one of those smiles? Was the young guy a flame?

He studied her carefully, watching for a flushing of cheeks, a coy expression, a change in body language, but he came up blank. In fact, while he’d been making a few irrational leaps of thought it looked like she’d been studying him just as intently. By the slight frown marring her smooth forehead, he’d come up lacking.

‘So what did you want to discuss?’

She sat ramrod-straight, her hands clasped firmly in her lap, a determined look on her face, and Dante had a sneaking suspicion his plan was about to hit a major snag in the form of one beautiful wet blanket.

‘I need your help.’

‘So you said earlier.’

Her caustic tone didn’t inspire much confidence and he ploughed on, choosing his words carefully.

‘My visit to your country is multi-faceted. Official duties, fostering foreign relations and a family visit. Everyone knows the prince will be staying at your hotel and for how long. What they don’t know is that I’ve arrived on schedule, assumed a different identity and will have my secretary ring to say I’ve been delayed by a week. So during that week I wish to remain anonymous.’

‘Why didn’t you let me know your need for anonymity when you booked?’

Good question; he just couldn’t give her an honest answer. How could he explain to a woman he barely knew that the spur of the moment decision had as much to do with a desperate need to escape as his desire to spend time with a nephew he’d hardly seen?

‘My extra week here is impromptu and I need some time out from my duties.’

She raised an eyebrow, a delicate gesture that made him smile. Somehow, he knew there was nothing delicate about Natasha Telford. She came across as a vision of feminine loveliness…with a backbone of steel beneath.

‘I see.’

By the tiny frown creasing her brow, he seriously doubted that.

‘For family reasons?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Natasha sat back in the armchair and fixed the prince with a suspicious glare, wondering if he thought she were completely stupid.

Guys like him didn’t flit around countries trying to hide their identity for ‘family reasons’. They did the whole cloak and dagger thing for floozies, mistresses or whatever the name was for their hidden love interests.

The prince must have a secret lover, someone he didn’t want the press to get wind of, and that had to be the real reason behind this elaborate farce.

So what? It wasn’t any of her business. As long as he came out of the closet—so to speak—at the end of the week, she’d still get the much-needed publicity boost for the Towers. And, after playing along with His Sneaky Highness, she had every intention of milking his royal presence for every cent he was worth.

‘You don’t look too impressed.’

Silently cursing her expressive face, Natasha said, ‘What you do in the next week is no concern of mine.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’

The arrival of their espressos put paid to the questions raging through her brain, and she waited till they were alone again to continue.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘You are the only person who knows my real identity and I want it to stay that way. It is imperative. Do I make myself clear?’

She stared at him in open-mouthed shock. Who did he think he was, talking down to her like that?

Then again, he was a prince, and obviously used to ordering people around. Not to mention the guy who would get her family’s business out of crisis.

She’d bite her tongue. For now.

‘Perfectly clear,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee, enjoying the caffeine rush and trying not to notice the way his long, tanned fingers wrapped around the tall glass mug with ease, as if they were made to hold things…caress things…

‘Good.’

He stared at her over the rim of his mug, those blue eyes capturing her attention and making it impossible to look away no matter how much she wanted to.

‘How long have you been a concierge?’

His question came out of left field though she should have been grateful. With his probing stare, she’d half expected something more personal.

‘Less than a week.’

He lowered his mug, surprise etched across his handsome face. ‘By your surname, I assumed you were part of the Telford family and in the job for a long time. Maybe I’ve entrusted my secret to the wrong person?’

‘Relax,’ she said, enjoying her first genuine smile of their meeting.

No matter how laid back His Highness seemed, this whole secrecy thing was getting to him. She could see it in his suddenly tense shoulders, his rigid neck, his clenched fingers. His floozy must be some woman for him to go to these lengths to protect her identity.

‘My father runs Telford Towers and I’ve worked here since I could walk. Our concierge is away for the next twelve weeks on sick leave, so I’m filling in for seven days till his temporary replacement starts next week. Does that allay your fears?’

He nodded and visibly relaxed, placing his mug on the table between them and leaning back in his chair. ‘So, what do you usually do here?’

‘Everything.’

From ensuring things ran smoothly, to mediating staff disputes, to pampering VIPs, she did it all. It was what she loved about this place, had always loved about it. Being a part of Telford Towers came as naturally to her as breathing and she couldn’t let it slip away.

Especially when this entire mess with Clay was her fault.

‘Such as?’

She should’ve been flattered by Dante’s interest, but she wasn’t a fool. Now that he had her here, he wanted to know every last thing about the only person who knew his little secret. He probably still didn’t trust her.

‘I’m my father’s right-hand woman. After I graduated with an MBA, I joined him in the everyday running of the Towers. Whatever needs to be done, I do it.’

His eyes widened, the admiration in the steady blue gaze warming her from the inside out. ‘Is it only the two of you?’

‘Uh-huh.’

And the painful fact ripped through her, reopening old wounds. Would her mum have survived the heart attack without the added stress Clay had brought upon them? Would Natasha have to spend the rest of her life harbouring the unspeakable guilt that she had contributed to her mum’s death as well as potentially ruining the family?

‘You should be proud. Your father and you have done a marvellous job. This hotel is wonderful. This is wonderful.’

He threw his arms wide in a dramatic gesture characteristic of his Italian heritage, and she managed a tiny smile when in fact she felt like bolting to the sanctity of her room and bawling her eyes out. Memories of her mum always made her feel like crying.

‘Did you hire a designer to create this room?’

Natasha shook her head, a burst of pride making her sit up straighter, and she quelled the urge to sniffle. ‘I did it.’

‘Really?’

If his eyebrows shot any higher, they would’ve reached the elaborate cornices lining the patterned ceiling.

‘That’s right. I wanted to create a home away from home for weary travellers. It’s the type of room I’d like to spend time in if I was stuck in a hotel miles away from everything familiar.’

Her voice rose as she spoke, filled with excitement, and she marvelled at the sudden change. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything bar intense, draining responsibility. She’d made a major mess of things and she had to clean it up.

Where every day used to bring joy and a thrill as she flitted from task to task, the last year had brought nothing but guilt, recrimination and a weary determination to do a job she used to love wholeheartedly.

But that was all about to change. Starting with the prince-playing-hooky sitting in front of her, if he agreed to help.

‘You’ve captured the exact feeling I had when I first sat down,’ he said, glancing around the room with a sparkle in his eyes before his gaze came to rest on her. ‘You’re a very talented woman.’

‘Thank you.’

She blushed, an annoying surge of heat that probably made her look like a sideshow clown. Somehow, his simple compliment meant more to her than all the accolades she’d received in the hotel business.

She really was in a soppy mood. Time to escape before she did something silly like beg him to head up the Towers’ next ad campaign or, better yet, grovel in the hope he would book out the Presidential Suite for the next decade. Both would be financial boons and either option would get them out of trouble.

Making an obvious show of glancing at her watch, she said, ‘If our meeting here is over, I really must go.’

The cheeky glint in his eyes faded. ‘Ah, yes, your secret assignation.’

That’s your game, bucko, not mine.

Thankfully, she bit back that retort. ‘Nothing too secret about meeting my best friend for our daily catch-up at our favourite trattoria.’

She could’ve sworn she saw relief in his eyes before his super-sexy smile drew her attention. ‘You meet your friend every day?’

She nodded, knowing she would never have survived the last few years without brash, exuberant Ella, the sweetest, most loyal friend a girl could ever wish for. The two of them had met through Telford Towers when Ella had moved into one of the apartments five years ago.

The dastardly duo, her mum had called them.

Natasha preferred ‘dynamic duo’ because that’s how great Ella made her feel. Her best friend was reliable and loads of fun. And it seemed like so long since she’d had any.

‘Yeah, keeps us sane. Nothing better than unwinding over a latte at the end of a hard day.’

‘You are lucky.’

He shrugged, a simple, eloquent gesture that spoke volumes when combined with the wistful tone in his voice.

At that precise moment, Natasha could’ve sworn the prince sounded lonely. Very lonely.

‘I know. Now, I’m sorry, but I really must dash.’

She stood quickly, eager to put distance between them before she leaned over and gave him a comforting hug. He looked like he needed one.

Though maybe that had more to do with her crazy hormones coming to life after a few glimpses of his muscled chest beneath cotton?

Either way, she wasn’t sticking around.

‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. And for agreeing to assist with that other matter.’ He stood and gave a strange, little formal bow which made her want to giggle, considering his bad-boy outfit.

Guys with day-old stubble, unruly hair and faded denim didn’t bow. They rode motorbikes and broke hearts maybe, but bowing? Uh-uh.

‘If you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact me,’ she said out of habit as she grabbed her purse and stood.

Not that His Sneaky Highness would need anything more of her. She bet he had his whole week planned out, starting with a rendezvous with the royal floozy.

‘How do you propose I do that?’

She halted, surprised by the hint of urgency in his voice. ‘Uh…through Reception.’

He sent her a sceptical look as if knowing she was giving him the brush-off.

Okay, so it wouldn’t be too smart to get her walking, talking promo-dream offside this early. She needed to appear a tad friendlier, more approachable.

Unsure if what she was about to do was the right thing or a huge mistake, she rifled through her purse and handed him a business card. ‘Or, here’s my mobile. You can contact me on that number if you need anything.’

As long as it wasn’t a triple choc-fudge sundae in the middle of the night!

‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’

Natasha returned his smile, knowing he was only being polite but unable to shake the deep-seated niggle that there was more to this prince’s charade than met the eye—and she’d just handed him an easy way to involve her in it!