Читать книгу A Royal Baby For Christmas - Scarlet Wilson, Scarlet Wilson - Страница 11

PROLOGUE

May

HIS EYES SCANNED the bar as he ran his fingers through his hair. Six weeks, three countries, ten flights and thousands of miles. He’d been wined and dined by heads of state and consulate staff, negotiated trade agreements, arranged to be part of a water aid initiative, held babies, shaken hands for hours and had a number of tense diplomatic conversations.

All of this while avoiding dozens of calls from his mother about the upcoming royal announcement. His apparent betrothal to his lifelong friend.

All he wanted to do was find a seat, have a drink and clear a little head space. Il Palazzo di Cristallo was one of the few places he could do that. Set in the stunning mountains of Montanari, the exclusive boutique hotel only ever had a select few guests—most of whom were seeking sanctuary from the outside world. The press were banned. The staff were screened and well looked after to ensure all guests’ privacy was well respected—including the Crown Prince of Montanari. For the first time in six weeks Sebastian might actually be able to relax.

Except someone was sitting in his favourite seat at the bar.

There. A figure with shoulders slumped and her head leaning on her hand. Her ash-blonde hair was escaping from its clasp and her blue dress was creased. Two empty glasses of wine sat on the bar in front of her.

The bartender sat down a third and gave Sebastian an almost indiscernible nod. The staff here knew he liked to keep his identity quiet.

Odd. He didn’t recognise the figure. Sebastian knew all the movie stars and celebrities who usually stayed here. She wasn’t a fellow royal or a visiting dignitary. His curiosity was piqued.

He strode across the room and slid onto the stool next to hers at the bar. She didn’t even look up in acknowledgement.

Her fingers were running up and down the stem of the glass and her light brown eyes were unfocused. But it wasn’t the drink. It was deep contemplation.

Sebastian sucked in a breath. Whoever she was, she was beautiful. Her skin was flawless. Her features finer than those of some of the movie starlets he’d been exposed to. Being Prince of Montanari meant that a whole host of women had managed to cross his path over the last few years. Not that he’d taken any of them seriously. He had a duty to his future kingdom. A duty to marry an acceptable neighbouring princess. There was no question about it—it had been instilled in him from a young age it was part of his preparations for finally becoming King. Marriage was a business transaction. It wasn’t the huge love and undying happiness portrayed in fairy tales. There were no rainbows and flying unicorns. It came down to the most advantageous match for the country and his parents had found her. Theresa Mon Carte, his childhood friend and a princess from the neighbouring principality. They were to be married within the year.

Part of the reason he was here was to get some time to resign himself to his fate. Because that was what it felt like.

But right now, he couldn’t think about that at all.

He was entirely distracted by the woman sitting next to him. She looked as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. There was no Botox here. Her brow was definitely furrowed and somehow he knew this woman would never be interested in cosmetic procedures.

‘Want to tell me about them?’

‘What?’ She looked up, startled at the sound of his voice.

Light brown eyes that looked as if they’d once had a little dark eyeliner around them. It was smudged now. But that didn’t stop the effect.

It was like being speared straight through the heart.

For a second neither of them spoke. It was the weirdest sensation—as if the air around them had just stilled.

He was drinking in everything about her. Her forgotten-about hair. Her crumpled clothes. Her dejected appearance.

But there was something else. Something that wouldn’t let him break their gaze. A buzz. An air. He’d never felt something like this before. And she felt it too.

He could tell. Her pupils dilated just a little before his eyes. He didn’t have any doubt that his were so big right now the Grand Canyon could fit in them.

There was something about her demeanour. This woman was a professional. She was educated. And she was, oh, so sexy.

He found his tongue. ‘Your worries.’ He couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn upwards.

She gave the briefest rise of her eyebrows and turned back towards the waiting wine glass. Her shoulders straightened a little. He’d definitely caught her attention.

Just as she’d caught his.

He leaned a little closer and nudged her shoulder. ‘You’re sitting on my favourite bar stool.’

‘Didn’t have your name on it,’ she quipped back.

Her accent. It was unmistakeable. The Scottish twang made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He could listen to that all day. Or all night.

She swung her legs around towards him and leaned one arm on the bar. ‘Come to think of it, you must be kind of brave.’ She took a sip of her wine. Her eyebrows lifted again. ‘Or kind of stupid.’

He liked it. She was flirting back. He leaned his arm on the bar too, so they were closer than ever. ‘What makes you think that?’

She licked her lips. ‘Because you’re trying to get between a Scots girl and the bar.’ She smiled as she ran her eyes up and down the length of his body. It was almost as if she’d reached her fingers out and touched him. ‘Haven’t you heard about Scots girls?’

He smiled and leaned closer. ‘I think I might need a little education.’ He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more.

Instant attraction. He’d never really experienced it before. Not like this. He’d wanted to come in here to hide and get away from things. Now, his sanctuary had become a whole lot more exciting.

A whole lot more distracting.

His stomach flipped over. What if he never felt like this again? Or even worse, what if he felt like this when he was King of Montanari and married?

Right now he was none of those things. The engagement hadn’t been announced. He was about to step into a life of duty and constant scrutiny.

Theresa was a friend. Nothing more. Nothing less. They’d never even shared a kiss.

He hadn’t come here to meet anyone. He hadn’t come here to be attracted to someone.

But right now he was caught in a gaze he didn’t want to escape from. The pull was just too strong.

Something flitted across her eyes. It was as if her confidence wavered for a second.

‘What’s wrong?’ He couldn’t help himself.

She sucked in a breath. ‘Bad day at the office.’

‘Anything to do with a man?’ It was out before he thought.

She blinked and gave a little smile again, pausing for a second. ‘No. Definitely nothing to do with a man.’

It was as if he’d just laid himself bare. Finding out the lie of the land. He couldn’t ignore the warm feeling that spread straight through him.

He had no royal duties this weekend. There were no hands he needed to shake. No business he needed to attend to. He’d told Security he was coming here and to keep their distance.

If he lived to be a hundred he’d remember this. He’d remember this meeting and the way it made him feel. The buzz was so strong the air practically sparkled around her.

He was still single. He could do this. Right now he would cross burning coals to see what would happen next.

He leaned even closer. ‘I came here to get some peace and quiet. I came here to get some head space.’ He gave her a little smile and lowered his voice. ‘But, all of a sudden, there’s no space in my head at all.’

He took a chance. ‘How about I stop searching for some peace and quiet, and you forget all about your bad day?’

She ran her fingers up the stem of her wine glass. He could tell she was thinking. She looked up from beneath heavy eyelids. ‘You mean, like a distraction. An interlude?’

The warm glow in his body started to rapidly rise. He nodded. ‘A distraction.’

She licked her lips again and he almost groaned out loud. ‘I think a distraction might be just what I need,’ she said carefully.

He tried to quieten the cheerleader squad currently yelling in his head.

‘I’ve always wanted to meet a Scots girl. Will you teach me how to wear a kilt?’ He waved to the barman. ‘There are some killer cocktails in here. You look like a Lavender Fizz kind of girl.’

‘I’ll do better than that.’ There was a hint of mischief in her voice. ‘I’ll teach you how to take it off.’

* * *

This wasn’t her life. It couldn’t be. Things like this didn’t happen to Sienna McDonald. But it seemed that in the blink of an eye her miserable, lousy day had just got a whole lot better.

It was the worst kind of day. The kind of day she should have got used to in this line of work.

But a doctor who got used to a baby dying was in the wrong profession.

It had been little Marco’s third op. He’d been failing all the time, born into the world too early with undeveloped lungs and a malformed heart; she’d known the odds were stacked against him.

Some people thought it was wrong to operate on premature babies unless there was a guarantee of a good outcome. But Sienna had seen babies who had next to no chance come through an operation, fight like a seasoned soldier and go on to thrive. One of her greatest successes was coming up on his fourth birthday and she couldn’t be prouder.

Today had been draining. Telling the parents had been soul-destroying. She didn’t usually drown her sorrows in alcohol, but tonight, in a strange country with only herself for company, it was the only thing that would do. She’d already made short work of the accompanying chocolate she’d bought to go with the wine. The empty wrappers were littered around her.

She sensed him as soon as he sat down next to her. There was a gentle waft of masculine cologne. Her eyes were lowered. It was easy to see the muscled thigh through the probably designer trousers. If he was staying in this hotel—he was probably a millionaire. She was just lucky the royal family were footing her bill.

When he spoke, his lilting Mediterranean accent washed over her. Thank goodness she was sitting down. There was something about the accent of the men of Montanari. It crossed between the Italian, French and Spanish of its surrounding neighbours. It was unmistakeable. Unique. And something she’d never forget.

She glanced sideways and once more sucked in her cheeks.

Nope. The guy who looked as if he’d just walked off some film set was still there. Any second now she’d have to pinch herself. This might actually be real.

Dark hair, killer green eyes with a little sparkle and perfect white teeth. She might not have X-ray vision but his lean and athletic build was clear beneath the perfectly tailored suit. If she were back in Scotland she’d tell him he might as well have sex on legs tattooed on his forehead. Too bad she was in a posh kingdom where she had to be a whole lot more polite than that.

He hadn’t responded to her cheeky comment. For a millisecond he looked a little stunned, and then his shoulders relaxed a little and he nodded slowly. He was getting comfortable. Did he think the game was over?

She was just settling in for the ride. She didn’t do this. She didn’t ever do this. Pick up a man in a bar? Her friends would think she’d gone crazy. But the palms of her hands were tingling. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. She wanted to know exactly what those lips tasted like.

He was like every erotic dream she’d ever had just handed to her on a plate.

She leaned her head on one hand and turned to face him. ‘Who says I’m a cocktail kind of girl?’

He blinked. Her accent did that to people. It took their ears a few seconds to adjust to the Scottish twang. He was no different from every other man she’d ever met. The edges of his mouth turned upwards at the sound of her voice. People just seemed to love the Scottish accent—even if they couldn’t understand a word she said.

‘It’s written all over you,’ he shot back. He mirrored her stance, leaning his head on one hand and staring at her.

There was no mistaking the tingling of her skin. Part of her stomach turned over. There was a tiny wash of guilt.

Today wasn’t meant to be a happy day. Today was a day to drown her sorrows and contemplate if she could have done anything different to save that little baby. But the truth was she’d already done that. Even if she went back in time she wouldn’t do anything different. Clinically, her actions had been everything they should have been. Little Marco’s body had just been too weak, too underdeveloped to fight any more.

The late evening sun was streaming in the windows behind him, bathing them both in a luminescence of peaches and purples. Distraction. That was what this was. And right now she could do with a distraction.

Something to help her forget. Something to help her think about something other than work. She was due to go home in a few days. She’d taught the surgeons at Montanari Royal General everything she could.

She let her shoulders relax a little. The first two glasses of wine were starting to kick in.

‘I don’t know that I’m a Lavender Fizz kind of girl.’

‘Well, let’s see what kind of girl you are.’ The words hung in the air between them, with a hundred alternative meanings circulating in her mind. This guy was good. He was very good.

She half wished she’d changed after work. Or at least pulled a brush through her hair and applied some fresh make-up. This guy was impeccable, which made her wish she were too. He picked up the cocktail menu, pretending to peruse it, while giving her sideways glances. ‘No,’ he said decidedly. ‘Not gin.’ He paused a second. ‘Hmm, raspberries, maybe. Wait, no, here it is. A peach melba cocktail.’

She couldn’t help but smile as she raised her eyebrows. ‘And what’s in that one?’

He signalled the barman. ‘Let’s find out.’

Her smile remained fixed on her face. His confidence was tantalising. She sipped at her wine as she waited for the barman to mix the drinks.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked as they waited. He held out his hand towards her. ‘I’m Seb.’

Seb. A suitable billionaire-type name. Most of the men in this hotel had a whole host of aristocratic names. Louis. Alexander. Hugo. Augustus.

She reached out to take his hand. ‘Sienna.’

His hand enveloped hers. What should have been a firm handshake was something else entirely. It was gentle. Almost like a caress. But there was a purpose to it. He didn’t let go. He kept holding, letting the warmth of his hand permeate through her chilled skin. His voice was husky. ‘You’ve been holding on to that wine glass too long.’ Before she could reply he continued. ‘Sienna. It doesn’t seem a particularly Scottish name.’

A furrow appeared on his brow. As if he were trying to connect something. After a second, he shook his head and concentrated on her again.

She tried not to fixate on the fact her hand was still in his. She liked it. She liked the way this man was one of the most direct flirts she’d ever met. He could have scrawled his intentions towards her with her lipstick on the mirrored gantry behind the bar and she wouldn’t have batted an eyelid because this was definitely a two-way street.

‘It’s not.’ She let her thumb brush over the back of his hand. ‘It’s Italian.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘I was conceived there. By accident—of course,’ she added.

A look of confusion swept his face as the barman set down the drinks, but he didn’t call her on her comment.

Sienna had a wave of disappointment as she had to pull her hand free of his and she turned to the peach concoction on the bar with a glimpse of red near the bottom. She lifted the tiny straws and gave it a little stir. ‘What is this, exactly?’

Those green eyes fixed on hers again. ‘Peach nectar, raspberry puree, fresh raspberries and champagne.’

She took a sip. Nectar was right. It hit the spot perfectly. Just like something else.

‘Are you here on business or pleasure, Sienna?’

She thought for a second. She was proud to be a surgeon. Most men she’d ever met had seemed impressed by her career. But tonight she didn’t want to talk about being a surgeon. Tonight she wanted to concentrate on something else entirely.

‘Business. But it’s almost concluded. I go home in a few days.’

He nodded carefully. ‘Have you enjoyed visiting Montanari?’

She couldn’t lie. Even today’s events hadn’t taken the shine off the beautiful country that she’d spent the last few weeks in. The rolling green hills, the spectacular volcanic mountain peak that overlooked the capital city and coastline next to the Mediterranean Sea made the kingdom one of the prettiest places she’d ever visited. She took another sip of her cocktail. ‘I have. It’s a beautiful country. I’m only sorry I haven’t seen enough of it.’

‘You haven’t?’

She shook her head. ‘Business is business. I’ve been busy.’ She stirred her drink. ‘What about you?’

He had an air about him. Something she hadn’t encountered before. An aura. She assumed he must be quite enigmatic as a businessman. He could probably charm the birds from the trees. At least, she was assuming he was a businessman. He looked the part and every other man she’d met in this exclusive hotel had been here to do one business deal or another.

But for a charmer, there was something else. An underlying sincerity in the back of his eyes. Somehow she felt if the volcanic peak overlooking the capital erupted right now she would be safe with this guy. Her instincts had always been good and it had been a long time since she’d felt like that.

‘I’ve been abroad on business. I’m just back.’

‘You stay here? In this hotel?’

He laughed and shook his head. ‘Oh, no. I live...close by. But I conduct much of my business in this hotel.’ He gave another gracious nod towards the barman. ‘They have the best facilities. The most professional staff. I’m comfortable here.’

It was a slightly odd thing to say. But she forgot about it in seconds as the barman came back to top up their glasses.

She took a deep breath and stared at her glass. ‘Maybe I should slow down a little.’

His gaze was steady. ‘The drink? Or something else?’

There it was. The hidden question between them. She ran her finger around the rim of the glass. ‘I came here to forget,’ she said quietly, exposing more of herself than she meant.

Her other hand was on the bar. His slid over the top, intertwining his fingers with hers. ‘And so did I. Maybe there are other ways to forget.’

She licked her lips, almost scared to look up and meet his gaze again. It would be like answering the unspoken question. The one she was sure that she wanted to answer.

His thumb slid under her palm, tracing little circles. In most circumstances it would be calming. But here, and now, it was anything but calming; it was almost erotic.

‘Sienna, you have a few days left. Have you seen the mountains yet? How about I show you some of the hidden pleasures that we keep secret from the tourists?’

It was the way he said it. His voice was low and husky, sending a host of tiny shivers of expectation up her spine.

She could almost hear the voices of her friends in her head. She was always the sensible one. Always cautious. If she told this tale a few months later and told them she’d made her excuses and walked away...

The cocktail glass was glistening in the warm sunset. The chandelier hanging above the bar sending a myriad of coloured prisms of light around the room.

The perfect setting. The perfect place. The perfect man.

A whole host of distraction.

Exactly what she’d been looking for.

She threw back her head and tried to remember if she was wearing matching underwear. Not that it mattered. But somehow she wanted all her memories about this to be perfect.

She met his green gaze. There should be rules about eyes like that. Eyes that pulled you in and held you there, while all the time giving a mischievous hint of exactly what he was thinking.

She stood up from her bar stool and moved closer. His hand dropped from the bar to her hip. She brushed her lips against his ear. ‘How many of Montanari’s pleasures are hidden?’

There it was. The intent.

It didn’t matter that her perfect red dress was hanging in the cupboard upstairs. It didn’t matter that her matching lipstick was at the bottom of her bag. It didn’t matter that her most expensive perfume was in the bathroom in her room.

Mr Sex-on-Legs liked her just the way she was.

He closed his eyes for a second. This time his voice was almost a growl, as if he were bathing in what she’d just said. ‘I could listen to your accent all day.’

She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘How about you listen to it all night instead?’

And the deed was done.