Scandal With a Prince (4 page)

Megan likely stood out in his memory because their encounter had been his one escapade at the lower end of the social scale.
 
Well, that was fine.
 
He’d made his choices in life and they hadn’t included her.
 
Or Anna.
 
By keeping that thought firmly in mind, Megan figured she could coast through the rest of the evening.

“When you finish your cake—
and
your homework—Grandma and Grandpa have a surprise for you.
 
So get to it.”
 

Anna’s eyes sparkled in delight before she returned to the sitting area with the napkins.

Megan did a quick check of her makeup in the bathroom, then returned to the kitchen to thank her mother once again for watching Anna for the evening.

“She’s a piece of cake…so to speak.
 
Your father and I don’t get to see her often enough.”
 
Joan’s voice dropped to a whisper as she walked Megan to the door of the suite. “You sure you’ll be all right?”
   

Megan flashed her most confident smile.
 
“Piece of cake.”

* * *

If Stefano wanted to savor a romantic evening with Megan Hallberg, one that could fuel a thousand future erotic dreams, the setting couldn’t be any better—or worse—than this.

Full moon low on the horizon?
 
Check.

Warm Mediterranean breeze?
 
Check.

Flowing
cava
and scattered trays of decadent dark chocolate-covered strawberries?
 
Check.

Fireworks illuminating the sky with cascades of gold, green, blue and red?
 
Check.

Local musicians playing in perfect time to the bursts of color?
 
Check.

Whispered oohs and aahs from the gathered crowd?
 
Check.

And that was the crux of the problem.
 
The crowd.
 
Dozens of CEOs, charity event organizers, and society mavens had monopolized every second of Megan’s time over the last two hours.
 
Whenever Stefano meandered closer to her, subtly moving through the rooftop crowd so he’d be in position to whisk Megan aside when the opportunity arose, another party guest captured her attention, gushing about the hotel’s facilities and asking how soon they needed to call in order to reserve space for an upcoming event.
 
After ensuring their booking needs were met, they lingered at her side to rave about the food, the beachfront setting, the modern facilities, even the lavender-scented shampoo provided in the guest rooms.

He wanted to be rid of them all.
 

The wicked part of him imagined shoving them all down the fire escape, even the musicians, leaving him alone under the stars with Megan, just as they’d been that night on the beach in Venezuela.
 
The more imaginative—and pacifist—part of him wanted to encourage every last couple to take full advantage of the romantic views and luxurious bedding in their beachfront hotel suites.
 
So few unattached guests were in attendance, they’d disperse quickly enough to pursue their own entertainments.
 
All but Megan, whom he’d capture for himself.

The mere thought of holding her again made his body harden with desire.

First, however, he needed to take care of Ilsa, the dark-haired Dane who’d remained at his side most of the evening.
 
There was no denying the woman’s beauty.
 
Even if Ilsa weren’t wearing a body-hugging red gown, with her height and unusual, sensuous eyes she drew the attention of men as certainly as hummingbirds flocked to sweet-scented nectar in the midst of summer.
 
Nor could he deny her intelligence.
 
She was a witty, entertaining conversationalist, having completed a graduate degree in art history at the Sorbonne before moving to Barcelona to work at its contemporary art museum.
 
But when Mahmoud politely inquired about the prince’s interest in Ilsa, Stefano hadn’t needed to engage in his usual conversational gymnastics to avoid the personal question.
 
He’d been able to give his father’s friend an unequivocal
no
.
 
Ilsa was his sister’s longtime best friend, the two women having been inseparable since they were assigned as boarding school roommates in Switzerland.
 
Stefano would no more pursue Ilsa Jakobsen than, well, his own sister.

Beside him, Ilsa relaxed into one of the cushioned benches that skirted the Grandspire’s rooftop deck, tilting her head back for a better view as the fireworks display reached its crescendo.
 
Five giant bursts of gold opened like flowers, then separated to fall to the sea in a rain shower of glitter.
 
Then, as a finale, a series of giant, spiraling fireworks were launched from barges at sea, their twisting shape mimicking the spires of La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona’s famous Gaudi-designed cathedral that served as the inspiration for the Grandspire Hotel’s name.
 
The booming, original finish drew raucous cheers from the crowd.
   

As the last burst faded to smoke, Ilsa said, “No offense, Stef, but I believe this outshines the fireworks your father arranged for your last birthday party.
 
I hope you’re circumspect when you report back to King Carlo.”

“No offense taken, because I agree.”
 
He glanced sideways at her.
 
“We’ve been up here quite a while.
 
You’re warm enough, I hope?”

He’d fallen into the role of her protector soon after his arrival at the hotel.
 
Stefano caught sight of Ilsa’s familiar face across the lobby and waved in greeting only to witness her date, a renowned art expert who’d acquired the pieces on exhibit in the hotel lobby, drunkenly attempt to slide a hand under the rear straps of Ilsa’s dress.
 
Though Ilsa remained calm despite her date’s increasingly aggressive behavior, Stefano immediately came to her aid, escorting her to the safety of the lounge where he could position himself between her and anyone entering the area.

It had dissuaded her date from continuing his misguided attempts at seduction during the cocktail hour, but only Stefano’s watchful eye kept the pompous lout from humiliating Ilsa again during dinner.
 
He’d kept her close ever since.

She laughed now.
 
“You know I am.
 
Much as you’d like to pretend I’m wearing your dinner jacket to stay warm, you know it’s because you wanted to hide me.”

“Not you.
 
That dress.
 
Or lack thereof.”

She rolled her eyes in a manner reminiscent of his younger sister.
 
“You’re terrible.”
   

“No, I’m male.
 
And some males, as you discovered earlier tonight, are not gentlemen.”

“Wish I could say that I discovered that only tonight.”

“Wish I could say I didn’t hear you say that,” he retorted.
 

“Fine, fine,” she muttered.
 
“I should never have accompanied Raoul to this party.
 
But I desperately wanted to see the art exhibit, so perhaps I’m as guilty of poor judgment as he is.”
 
Ilsa plucked a strawberry from the dessert tray set on the coffee table in front of them.
 
After savoring a bite, she arched an eyebrow and said, “She doesn’t like it when I talk to you.
 
And she definitely doesn’t like that you let me borrow your jacket.”

Stefano frowned at the change of topic.
 
“What are you talking about?
 
Who?”

Ilsa tipped her head briefly in Megan’s direction while keeping her eyes locked on his.
 
“The blonde in the gold dress.
 
The one you told Mahmoud you met in South America.”

“Megan?”

Ilsa elbowed him.
 
“Yes,
Megan
.”
 

“I doubt she concerns herself with who speaks to me,” Stefano said, giving his drink a lazy swirl.
 
“If she does, it’s only because she’s working the crowd and hasn’t had the chance to speak with me yet herself.
 
It’s her job to ensure I have a good time so I’ll bring King Carlo’s business to the hotel.”

“That’s not it.”
 
Ilsa shifted on the long bench, her casual gaze sweeping the crowd, which was beginning to dissipate now that the fireworks concluded.
 
“She glances this way every so often.
 
At first I thought it’s because you’re
you
and everyone is fascinated by royalty.
 
But the longer the evening goes on, the more I doubt that’s it.
 
She’s not in awe.
 
She’s curious about you and me.”
 

Stefano bit back a smile.
 
So he hadn’t mistaken the frisson of sexual tension between them in the lounge earlier, despite the formal attitude Megan displayed on the surface.
 
Good.
 
To Ilsa, he said, “You’re imagining things.”

“I don’t think so.
 
And frankly, I believe you’re interested in her, too.
 
Don’t pretend you’re not.”
 
She stood and eased his jacket off her shoulders.
 
“Take this back.
 
I’m safe now—I haven’t seen my so-called ‘date’ in nearly an hour, which means he’s likely passed out in a potted plant somewhere—so I’m going to call it a night and ring a car service to take me home.”

Stefano stood as well.
 
“I’ll escort you.”

“And hand tomorrow’s gossip headline to the paparazzi on a silver platter?
 
I don’t think so.
 
You stay here.
 
Conduct your business, make your father happy.
 
I’ll be fine.
 
You don’t need to be so overprotective.”

He accepted the jacket she proffered without further argument, knowing she was likely right about the paparazzi—he’d seen the cameras outside the hotel when he arrived—then kissed her on both cheeks before promising to give her regards to the rest of his family.
 

Less than thirty seconds after Ilsa stepped into the elevator, Stefano reached his target.
 
He smiled politely at the well-dressed man by Megan’s side, a local politician wishing to thank her and the rest of the Grandspire management for preservation work the hotel completed on their stretch of Barcelona’s beachfront, but in doing so Stefano made it clear he wanted to speak with Megan.
 
Alone.

For ten long years he’d dreamed of this woman.
 
Dreamed of how she’d look, how she’d sound.
 
How she’d smell if he took her in his arms again.
 
Now that she stood before him looking more luminous and sensual than in his wildest fantasies, he would not be denied.

Behind them, more guests meandered toward the elevators and stairwells, ready to call it a night.
 
The politician cleared his throat, then excused himself to locate his wife.
 
Stefano’s hand instantly went to Megan’s waist, claiming her before anyone else could approach.
 

“Hello again.”
 
He moved his hand up her back, leaving a healthy distance between their bodies so the action appeared more like a greeting between longtime friends than an attempt at seduction.
 
He gazed straight into her eyes, then exerted enough pressure with his fingertips at the spot where the zipper of her dress met her bare back to ensure Megan understood his true intent.

He thrilled at her sharp intake of breath.
 
Oh, yes.
 
This would be a night to remember.
 

“You promised you’d look for me,” he said.
 
“You did not try very hard.”

Chapter Three

If he only knew how long she’d looked for him last time they’d parted.
 
Weeks.
 

Yet he could have found her anytime, both then and tonight.
 
If he’d wanted to, he would have.
 
Even with romantic music filling the air and candles flickering atop each of the rooftop tables, Stefano hadn’t sought her out tonight until the gorgeous woman with the cut-to-there red dress departed.

It wasn’t so different than last time she and Stefano had been together; the moment another woman captured his attention, Megan had been forgotten.

“I apologize, Your Highness.”
 
Megan forced her breathing to remain calm despite the fact her lungs felt squeezed by an invisible force.
 
She offered Prince Stefano the same polite smile she’d given every other guest that evening.
 
“Unfortunately, I’ve been busy.
 
It’s a big night for the hotel.”

“I noticed.”
 
His fingertips brushed her zipper as he spoke.
 
Whether it was intentional or not, she couldn’t tell.
 
“Everyone is clamoring for your attention.
 
Still, I wanted to be certain you hadn’t forgotten me.”