The Prince's Ultimate Deception. Emilie Rose

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      “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He dropped his mask and fins on the chair, donned his sunglasses and ruffled his hair to shake off the excess water and then finger-combed the dark strands over his forehead.

      “What made you decide to become a tour guide?” She dried off as he bagged their diving gear.

      “When a country has few natural resources and limited territory, its people and the tourism industry become its greatest assets.”

      Surprised by his answer, she blinked. She’d expected a simple response such as he enjoyed meeting new people or the flexible hours, not something so deep. “Studied that, have you?”

      “Yes.”

      She dragged her knit sundress over her head. “Where? I mean, are there tourism schools or what?”

      Holding her gaze—or at least she thought he was, beneath those dark lenses—he hesitated so long she didn’t think he’d answer. “I have a Travel Industry Management degree from the University of Hawaii at M

noa.”

      He seemed tense, as if he expected her to question his statement, and she should. If he had a college degree and spoke four languages fluently then why was he acting as a tour guide? It didn’t make sense. She reminded herself that not everyone was as career driven as she was, but Damon didn’t seem the type to kick back and let the fates determine his future. She’d seen enough type A guys to recognize the signs and he waved them all like flags. But that was his business. A string-free affair—if they had one—didn’t give her the right to interfere.

      “The States? No kidding. What brings you to Monaco?”

      “I am studying their tourism industry.”

      “And then what?”

      “I’ll apply what I’ve learned to my future endeavors.” He zipped the dive bag and grabbed the handles. Eager to go, was he? Before she could ask what kinds of endeavors, he said, “If we leave now we’ll have time to stop at the hotel café for a snack before I leave you. You have missed lunch.”

      “I’m in no rush. I had hoped we could spend the rest of the afternoon together. Maybe play some beach volleyball or jump on the trampoline at the far end of the beach? And this place is surrounded by restaurants. We could grab a bite here.”

      “I have another appointment.”

      She tried to hide her disappointment. While she had enjoyed the day, it hadn’t gone quite as she’d hoped. Admittedly, she wasn’t a practiced seductress, but if she wanted a vacation romance it looked as though she’d have to work harder for it.

      Time to initiate Plan B. First she freed and finger-combed her hair while trying to build up her courage, and then she reached beneath her dress, untied her damp bikini top and pulled it through the scooped neckline.

      A muscle at the corner of Damon’s mouth ticked and his throat worked as he swallowed.

      “You may change in one of the dressing rooms, as I will,” he said hoarsely. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

      “No need. Besides, I didn’t bring a change of clothing.” Her nipples tightened when he didn’t look away. Well, hallelujah. He’d been so professional and distant she’d begun to think she’d imagined the sparks between them.

      And then in an act more brazen than anything she’d ever dared, she reached beneath her dress and shucked her bikini bottom. She twirled the wet black fabric once around her finger before tucking it along with her top in her tote. Take that, big guy. If Damon insisted on hustling her back to the hotel and dumping her, then he’d have to do so knowing she was naked except for a thin knit sheath.

      Never let it be said that Madeline Spencer wouldn’t fight for what she wanted, and in her opinion, Damon Rossi was the perfect prescription to mend her bruised ego and heart. A few weeks with him and she’d return home whole and healed.

      “I wonder what all the commotion’s about?”

      Madeline’s question pulled Dominic from his complicated calculations of hotel occupancy rates as the taxi approached Hôtel Reynard. He’d been attempting to distract himself from the knowledge that she was completely nude beneath her dress and failing miserably.

      A camera-carrying group of a dozen or so paparazzi stood sentry across the street from the hotel with their zoom lenses trained on the limo parked by the entrance. Dominic silently swore. His escape route had been sealed. He leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Rue Langlé, s’il vous plaît.”

      Madeline’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Where are we going?”

      “I do not wish to fight the crowd. We’ll dine in a quiet café instead of the hotel.” Ian would not like the unplanned detour, and Makos, the second bodyguard who kept in such deep cover that Dominic rarely spotted him, would like it even less.

      “I thought you were in a hurry to get to another appointment.”

      “It can wait.” There was no other appointment. He merely needed time away from the tempting woman beside him before he grabbed her and kissed that teasing smile from her lips. Even in the cool water, touching the wet silkiness of her skin had heated his blood. He’d wanted to flatten his palms over her waist, tangle his legs with her sleek limbs and pull her flush against him. A maneuver that probably would have drowned them both, he acknowledged wryly.

      Dominic faced a conundrum. With each passing moment his desire for Madeline increased, and yet his lie stood between them. He ached for her, but he was reluctant to lose the unique relationship they had established. She looked at him, flirted with him, desired him. Not Prince Dominic. He was selfish enough to want to enjoy her attentions a while longer.

      She twisted in her seat to stare out the taxi’s back window at the paparazzi as the driver took the roundabout away from the hotel. The shift slid her hem to the top of her thighs. A few more inches and he’d see what her bikini bottom should be covering. He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands against the urge to smooth his palm up her sleek thighs and over her bare buttocks.

      “It’s probably just another celebrity,” she said. “Amelia says the hotel is crawling with them.”

      “Who is Amelia?”

      “My friend and one of the other bridesmaids. She’s a huge fan of entertainment magazines and shows. She claims the security inside the hotel makes it a celebrity hot spot. Supposedly paparazzi aren’t even allowed on the grounds, which would explain why they’re staked out across the street.”

      He’d have to avoid her friend. “You are not interested in star gazing?”

      She settled back in the seat and faced him. “No. I don’t have time to watch much TV or read gossip rags. I work four or five twelve-hour shifts each week, depending on how much overtime the hospital will allow me, and I usually go to the gym for another hour after work.”

      That could explain why not even a flicker of recognition entered her eyes when she looked at him—not that he was a household name, but he was known unfortunately, thanks to a couple of wild years after Giselle’s death when he’d tried to smother his grief with women and parties. “Your diligence at the gym shows.”

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