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There’s no maybe about it. Her story says it all.
She’s American, the daughter of a Vegas showgirl, with a wild streak a mile wide and a “fuck off” attitude that shouldn’t be the least bit appealing to a guy like me.
But it is, and so is she.
Yeah, she’s about as far from my usual type as I am from being crown prince these days. In fact, nothing about her—save the killer body and sly sense of humor—would have been appropriate for the man I was nine months ago.
But I’m not that man anymore and everything about this woman is ringing my bell. From her rainbow-colored toenails to the jumble of bracelets crowding her wrists to the long, long eyelash extensions that make her already striking blue eyes really pop.
“I’m Garrett,” I tell her.
“I know,” she answers.
It’s not the answer I was expecting—or the one I want to hear. I scoot back a little, in surprise or disappointment or both, but she slaps a hand on my thigh before I can move more than an inch or so.
“Don’t go getting all stiff on me,” she says as she reaches for her drawstring bag with the other hand. “If you want people to pretend they don’t know who you are, you should probably ditch the bodyguards. And the royal attitude.”
I lift a brow. “Really? I’m the one with the royal attitude?”
She just laughs—something I’m finding out she does a lot, despite the grab-life-and-everyone-in-it-by-the-balls attitude she wears like a cloak that covers every part of her. “Is that your way of calling me a bitch?”
“It’s my way of calling you a lot.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She reaches into her backpack and suddenly Bastian and Bryce are standing two feet from us, eyes narrowed and faces set in the look I like to call royal-detail stern.
I tense despite my best efforts, but force myself to relax as Lola tilts the bag toward us so we can see that she’s pulling out a sweating bottle of chardonnay. “Don’t worry, boys. If I’d planned on killing him, I would have done it already.”
Bastian grins a little, tilting his head in acknowledgment. Then blends back into the trees.
“That’s a nice party trick they’ve got going,” she tells me as she unscrews the lid. “I wish I could blend in like that.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “No, you don’t.”
It’s her turn to lift a brow. “And what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means if yo
u want to blend in, then you’re going about it entirely the wrong way. Every single thing about you says ‘look at me, look at me.’?”
“Damn straight,” she answers with a grin. “And that’s the way I like it. Life’s too short to be anyone but who you really are.” She holds the bottle out to me. “Sip?”
Chardonnay isn’t exactly my drink of choice, but I find myself taking a long swallow anyway. It tastes better than I expected. Then again, that could just be because Lola’s smiling at me like I’m the only man on the planet. Except, of course, for my three-man security detail, all of whom are watching this exchange with avid interest, no matter how inconspicuous they’re trying to be…
I hand the bottle back and she takes a careless swig before wiping the back of her hand across that pink, pink mouth of hers. For long seconds I can think of nothing but what the wine would taste like if I sipped it from those lips.
She catches me staring and winks at me, right before she very deliberately licks her tongue all the way across her upper lip. I lean forward—more than a little hypnotized by every ridiculous, insouciant inch of her—but she slaps a hand across my chest. Then passes the bottle back to me with a little nod that urges me to have another drink.
“So, what’s a girl like you doing in Aubertin?” I ask after following her silent directions.
“I’m pretty sure I could ask the same thing of you. This village isn’t exactly known for its luxurious accommodations. You roughing it or something, Prince Garrett?”
I think about the lovely backwoods chalet I’m staying in, courtesy of American businessman and tech genius Ethan Frost—who also happens to be one of my closest friends. “I’m not sure that what I’m doing here exactly qualifies as roughing it…”
“Do you have thirty-seven servants to bring you breakfast in bed?”
“No.” I take another sip of wine. “But to be fair, I’ve never had thirty-seven servants to do anything for me. Even in the palace.”
“Geez.” She shakes her head in mock chagrin. “You’re really doing this prince gig all wrong, aren’t you?”
