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Gulping in a deep breath, she glanced up. And he was just as hot as she remembered, too. Totally, unbelievably, undeniably hot. His disheveled, spiky brown hair was topped off with deep chestnut eyes, a five o’clock shadow to kill for, and a devilishly charming way with women. He was easily the most gorgeous, attractive man she’d ever seen.
Ever.
She hadn’t realized men came in this attractive of a package until she’d seen him earlier, but bonkers, they did. If all the men in Maine looked like this one, then sign her up on the dotted line. She’d be American for him.
Princesses never turn their backs on their native land, her mother’s voice said.
“Oh. Okay,” Isabelle said, patting his biceps one last time before letting go of him reluctantly. “About that idiotic Isabelle girl…”
“No need to continue that sentence.” He cocked a brow and didn’t let go of her, despite her own release of him. His continued hold on her was bold, forward, and hot all at once. That would never happen back in her home country. His gaze dipped down her body, taking way too long to come back up to her face, and her stomach tightened into a knot again. “You’re her.”
He said it like a curse, or a distasteful object.
She flinched. “You knew. In the shop?”
His jaw twitched, but he stared at her without replying. She cleared her throat, way too aware of the fact that she was completely alone in a room with a guy who looked as if he belonged on the cover of the Men’s Health magazine she’d snuck in on the way here. Did he have a six-pack under that suit?
She’d wager her country’s wealth that he did.
“Well, did you know?” she asked.
“I knew then. Not now. You tricked me.” His eyes darkened, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “I’m not used to that.”
“I am.” Her cheeks heated. “I mean…you may release me now.”
His brow went higher. “Oh, may I now?”
“Yes. You may.” She stared him down, trying her best to look completely calm when she was anything but. “Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed under his breath and let go of her without a sign of hesitation. Not like before he’d known who she was. “Nice fake accent, Princess. I’m impressed. It’s even better than that humble act you pulled off with me in the coffee shop. You seemed so…so…normal.”
“Thank you.” Isabelle smoothed her dress, dropping the act and letting her real voice through. “I’ve practiced for years.”
He stepped back, his brown eyes pinning her to the spot with their intensity. “You ready?”
She blinked at him. “For?”
“Dinner,” he said, watching her with a wrinkled brow. “You were due at the table by six-thirty. You’re late…again.”
“I know that, thank you very much,” she said, her voice tinged with annoyance at being reminded she was late. She knew that already. “Know what I don’t know? Your full name.”
He bowed at the waist. “Gordon Waybrook, at your service, Princess Isabelle. I’m one of two men who will be in charge of keeping you safe during your visit to America.”
Isabelle shook her head, unable to believe this hunk of a guy had been assigned to her. Her guards were usually old, overweight, and balding. Not…delicious. “You’re actually my guard?”
“Yep.” He cocked his head. “Is that a problem?”
Yes. It was. “No. Of course not.”
Except for the fact that he was too hot to see her stumble around without her makeup on, he was too hot to follow her around all day, and he was way too hot to resist. She stared at him, unable to believe her father had assigned this man, of all men, to her. He was an American version of pure temptation.
Princesses don’t drool over men.
He gave her a level look. “Good. Now, if you’re ready?”
“I need to…” She broke off, not knowing how to tell this hun
k she had to pee like one of her father’s prized racehorses. God, this was going to be a tortuous visit to the states. “I have to…”
