Royally Scandalized: Riches & Royals, #2

Chapter 1

P

rince Constantine Phillippe Ramon D’Malia resisted the urge to pull his shoulders back with military precision. Instead, he slouched beneath his poorly tailored suit coat and ignored the brush of his longer-than-normal hair against his brow.

People saw what they expected to see. His disguise—thin as it was—had allowed him to pass for a tourist many times since he’d learned the trick from his friend Clayton McClaine.

Today, the disguise was critical to his mission. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out the black-frame glasses his brother had given him as a joke. Well, why not? It always worked for Superman. He slipped them on.

At his side, his aide whistled softly, breaking his concentration. Constantine squinted through the clear lenses and followed the man’s gaze to the tall, leggy brunette exiting a bank of elevators on the other side of the cavernous office building. Her tailored, red power suit revealed a generous portion of leg and more than a hint of tight, sculpted curves.

Look at that one, Your Highness. A woman like that could make you forget this cold Chicago wind.

Yes, she’s a beautiful woman. Constantine watched her glide across the marble foyer, imagining everyone in the twenty floors of windowed offices flanking the foyer stopping to look down at her.

He turned to his friend and long-time confidante. Remember, Edmund, don’t address me as ‘Your Highness’ in public. Until we find the stolen Crown Jewels, I’m a low-level accountant here to audit the books and learn about our stake in the import business.

That’s a pity. A royal title could convince her to warm your bed within a week.

You underestimate me. It’s not the title that lures them to my bed. Or keeps them there.

Maybe it’s your fabulous wealth.

It’s neither. Constantine turned his full attention to the woman, who was almost within earshot.

Care to make a wager on that? Edmund’s lilting Melesian dialect was no louder than a whisper. A thousand U.S. dollars says you can’t tempt her into your bed without resorting to either title or money.

Interesting theory, he replied, switching to English as the lady came face-to-face with them. Good morning, beautiful one, he said, deliberately letting a thick accent flavor his words. The smile she gave him didn’t quite reach her eyes, but, like a poised diplomat, she didn’t flinch at his greeting.

He took her hand offered for a cool American handshake, and raised it to his lips instead, lingering over the soft satin of her knuckles while he enjoyed the view. Her neck was slender, its elegance enhanced by a deceptively simple necklace nestled in the hollow of her throat.

His pulse quickened at the sight and all that it implied, confirming his suspicions about the woman. He shoved the thoughts aside and continued his perusal.

More soft, creamy skin was perfectly framed by her tightly buttoned suit coat. Its deep V neck covered just enough to be decent and exposed just enough to whet his imagination.

Black, he thought, momentarily distracted from his purpose. A woman like her would wear only black lace beneath that jacket. As if she could read his thoughts, a blush crept along her skin, delicate pink against the vibrant red silk. He lifted his head but kept her hand in his.

I am Phillip Raymond, and this is my associate Edmund Russell. I believe you are expecting us.

Yes, I… she tugged her hand free. The slight breathlessness in her voice was at war with the frank, assessing look in her eyes. I’m Jill Bradley. I’ll be assisting you during your visit to McKinley and Company Imports. If you follow me, I’ll introduce you to the staff and show you to your temporary offices.

She motioned to the elevators, her smile completely cool and professional. Only the pink flush peeking above her neckline and the fluttering pulse in her throat indicated she’d had any reaction to him at all.

But for Prince Constantine Phillippe Ramon D’Malia, second in line to the Melesian throne, and second-to-none in the art of seduction, it was enough.

The offices she led them to were adequate, and most importantly, private enough to conduct his investigations. An attempt at providing Melesian décor explained the royal green and gold furnishings and the potted palm tree withering in the chilly April sunshine that seeped through a lone window.

A portrait of his brother, posed in regal splendor against the backdrop of the Melesian flag, stared down at him from the wall facing the desk.

Constantine felt the involuntary clench of his jaw. Calling on years of royal discipline, he forced himself to relax. His half-brother, King Alexander Augustus Tyronne D’Malia, had been splendid on the day of his coronation five years ago. Now he was gaunt, crippled by disease and pain, his tragic legacy from the king before him.

I shall not fail you, brother. He executed the formal half bow to the portrait as he repeated his silent vow. Beside him, Edmund did the same. Jill stood to one side, respectfully quiet.

Miss Bradley, I thank you for this touch of home. Your kindness is appreciated.

Melesia is always in the heart, she said softly in his native tongue.

You know our national motto? And in our own language? I’m impressed, Miss Bradley.

She shrugged, the self-deprecating gesture at odds with her power suit and its come-hither neckline. I host all of the firm’s international clients when they visit. I’m conversant in most European languages, and I speak three of the seven Melesian dialects.

Three? He didn’t try to hide his admiration. Most natives speak only one or two dialects—from the islands closest to their homes. And those outside of the islands rarely learn our language at all. You are, indeed, gifted.

It’s nothing special, really. Languages are easy for me. But despite her protest, a smile tugged at her lips and she glanced down, looking, for a moment, almost shy.

Constantine shrugged the image aside. He couldn’t be distracted by the blushing schoolgirl act. Nor would he be seduced by the vixen in red. He studied her, slowly sweeping his gaze from her head to her toes and back again until it came to rest on the filigree necklace with its tiny diamond chip nestled in the hollow of her throat.

The necklace. His mission. It was almost too easy. This woman quite likely held the key to his country’s future and stability. With luck, he could be on the way home within a matter of days.

Yes, Jill Bradley was more than she appeared. Yes, she was a woman with secrets. But he was a man with power and purpose. She’d already shown she wasn’t immune to him. He would use his charm and any other weapon at his disposal, to uncover each of her secrets. Starting with why the filigree setting of her necklace had the royal insignia, forbidden by ancient law and modern tradition to all but members of the Melesian court, woven into its design.

Jill kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes in the thick carpet in the lounge area of the private washroom. Almost as an afterthought, she locked the door. She padded to the sink and splashed cold water on her hands before collapsing in an upholstered chair.

Careful not to disturb her makeup, she dabbed her face with a cold, damp paper towel. Even after the icy dousing, she still felt the warm touch of Phillip Raymond’s lips on her hand.

It had taken all of her will not to react to the sizzling representative of McKinley and Company’s wealthiest client—the island nation of Melesia. Even from across the lobby, he’d drawn her attention.

Approaching him was like walking up to a poorly grounded electrical circuit—her skin tingled and prickled, the downy hair on her forearms lifting in a shiver of sensation. She was aware of her body, the shifting of her hips as she walked and the pull of her breasts beneath her jacket with each breath.

She was aware, too, of how her suit molded to her shape like a lover’s caress. The image she’d so carefully cultivated felt tawdry, false. For the first time in years, she’d longed to smooth her jacket and tug at her skirt. The weight of his gaze rested on her until she struggled with every move, like a fish trying to swim in molasses.

He was the incarnation of a lustful dream, easily a head taller than his companion, with thick, dark hair and golden-bronze skin stretched over chiseled cheeks and jaw.

Up close, he was even more magnificent, his startling aqua-blue eyes both mesmerizing and melting, even behind the lenses of his glasses. Their sparking intelligence had shifted to a simmering, smoldering seduction the moment he’d taken her hand.

At the touch of his lips, an image flashed through her mind—him waking, his jaw covered in a faint morning beard, his sleep-rumpled hair sliding over her naked shoulder.

Her breath quickened. Thoughts like that could only spell trouble.

Not that Mr. McKinley would mind. He never minded her using the illusion of sex appeal to soothe an irate client or to entice a reluctant one. A potent smile, a hint of flirtation, and a gaze full of implied promises had eased many tense situations over the years.

But instinct warned her that Phillip Raymond wasn’t easily manipulated. For reasons she didn’t fully understand, Jill needed to keep the upper hand. She’d let charm and passion sweep her away once before, and it had brought her nothing but pain and loss.

Warmth spread through her as she pictured Phillip again in her mind. Like a recovering alcoholic savoring a sip of medicinal brandy, she knew she was in trouble.

Jill wadded up the paper towel and tossed it into the trash, forcing her thoughts back to the present. Your family depends on you. Four younger siblings and an overburdened stepmother were counting on her to provide a better future. Don’t let lust ruin their lives like it ruined yours.

Every dollar she saved or sent home—for college funds or other expenses—made their lives easier. Her own comforts didn’t matter. Her father would have been proud of her sacrifice.

She opened her purse to grab a tube of lipstick and instead pulled out the invitation to her high school reunion. Could she return home and face her broken dreams of a husband and family? Would her classmates pity her for still being single? Or envy her for her supposed glamorous life? Both options made her stomach knot. But she’d promised her family she’d visit. If for no other reason than to assure herself they were doing well.

And they were doing well, thanks to her job. A job she needed to get back to. Jill shoved the invitation and memories out of sight.

She stood and smoothed her jacket, trying to ignore the tiny whiff of Phillip Raymond’s scent that clung to it. The tangy, spicy aroma carried a hint of exotic floral overtones that conjured up images of sun-drenched beaches and cool shaded palm groves. It was a complex scent, as rare and expensive as the imported Melesian perfumes that McKinley and Company traded.

The expensive cologne fit the man perfectly, but it was out of place with his unpretentious, off-the-rack suit and slightly scuffed shoes. Unease nudged at the back of her brain.

She pushed it aside, shifting her attention to the essentials: a fresh coat of lipstick, a spritz of perfume, and her job. Long hours and dedication weren’t enough. She may have graduated near the bottom of her class, but she was smart enough to know what the boss valued her for: her eye appeal, not her mind.

At twenty-seven, it was getting harder and harder to maintain the image of perfection. You’re the pretty one, not the smart one. Her stepmother’s voice hadn’t been unkind, just truthful. She’d loved all her children and taught them to use their natural strengths to overcome adversity.

If not for Jill’s ability to mimic others and learn languages, she’d have flunked out of school. She knew her beautiful façade—not any unusual intelligence—was responsible for her successes. Once it slipped, she doubted she could provide for her siblings’ futures. Ivy league tuition—or any tuition at all—for four didn’t come cheap.

She focused on their hopes and dreams as she carefully applied the lipstick. But, despite her best intentions, she tucked the perfume away, unable, or unwilling, to douse his scent with her own.

I tell you, Edmund, the woman is involved. I want her followed.

You’ll pardon me for saying so, Your—Phillip, Edmund glanced at the closed door before continuing, but I don’t think she’s the brains behind an international smuggling ring. She’s far too…

Too beautiful to be that corrupt? Or to be that smart?

Let’s say I don’t think she’s Director of Client Relations because of her organizational skills.

Nonsense. Our visit has been organized in meticulous detail. As for her intelligence, Melesian is one of the most difficult languages on earth to learn. If she’s even half as competent as she claims, she’s got a brilliant mind.

So you truly think she’s the mastermind behind the thefts?

Constantine grinned at his friend’s naiveté. For one who grew up inside the royal court and spent his days guarding a prince, he showed a remarkable innocence when it came to politics and intrigue.

Edmund, I don’t know who she is, but I know that her sex appeal is a smoke screen. Consider this. The design of the royal insignia is one of our most guarded secrets. Even the international press humors us by respecting our tradition. A replica like the one on her necklace couldn’t have been created by chance.

He studied the painting of his brother. In the official coronation portrait, the artist had obscured the exact details of the insignia, as demanded by a centuries-old tradition. The insignia is worn by none except the royal court.

Or the intended bride of the monarch.

That’s nothing but a romantic legend. It may have been true in the days when our brides were married by proxy and shipped to the Caribbean from Greece. But in recent history, outsiders have not seen that specific design.

Constantine leaned back in his chair and stared at his long-time friend and bodyguard. She’s involved. And I intend to find out everything there is to know about her.

As you wish. I’ll set up a surveillance team immediately. He rose to leave.

Edmund?

He turned back, almost snapping to attention. Yes?

Try to relax, or you’ll accidentally reveal our identities before the week is out. Constantine hid his smile. Edmund wasn’t cut out for subterfuge. And leave the door open when you go. I want to pick up any stray gossip that might help us in our quest.

Taking on this mission himself was risky. Edmund’s actions could easily unmask him. Unfortunately, intelligence reports had led him—and the king—to suspect that someone in the top ranks of government was also involved with the theft.

They’d decided not to trust the mission’s leadership to anyone outside of the family. And to be honest with himself, he’d wanted one last adventure before he settled into his new role.

An hour later, Constantine scanned the piles of invoices on his desk. They were as empty of information as the hallway was empty of people. No gossip. No paper trails. No leads. He reached for another stack of invoices, but a quiet knock interrupted him.

Jill stood framed in the open door, her hand resting on the polished wood. I brought you a list of local restaurants and attractions you might enjoy over the weekend. She placed a thick folder on his desk. I see you’re already reviewing the Melesian shipping manifests. Is everything in order?

He waved his hand over the cluttered desk and grinned. There’s a lot to learn.

This business can be overwhelming at first. I try to make things easier by at least keeping the office stocked with everything you need.

Constantine looked around the room, again taking in the details of the décor. Small Melesian artifacts and pictures of his island nation graced the bookshelves and credenza top. Even the chairs and the carpeting featured the green and gold of the Melesian flag. Including the touches of home?

She smiled and walked over to his bookshelf. Each of our major clients has a guest office. The Melesian suite is my favorite. She picked up a mother-of-pearl vase and ran her slender fingers over the surface.

Constantine remembered the fragile feel of those fingers in his hand. He watched her circle the room, lightly touching the artifacts, pausing reverently in front of the portrait of his brother. How could one so in tune with the soul of his country steal its most important symbols?

The office is beautiful, he said softly when she returned to his desk.

Thank you. Her eyes glowed and a touch of pink colored her cheeks. I try to make our visitors as comfortable as possible. Which brings me to the other reason I’m here. You must be hungry by now. There’s a tea shop and deli on the second floor of the building that might interest you. They have a variety of sandwiches as well as some international specialties.

More ways to cater to your international clients? From the look in her eyes, he guessed she had a hand in the international offerings. Miss Bradley, you are an amazing host. Since my associate has left me to visit with some acquaintances in the area, may I ask you to join me for some tea? You could explain how you process incoming shipments, he added before she could decline the offer.

Of course.

As Jill transformed from shy into professional before his eyes, Constantine found he missed the young woman who lit up at his modest words of praise and who showed such fondness for his country.

But no matter which face she showed him, he was determined to get close enough to uncover her secrets. He watched the movement of her hips beneath the tight, short skirt as she led the way to the elevator. Either way, it promised to be a pleasure.

Chapter 2

J

ill’s heart beat a little faster, and her breath hitched as Phillip guided her to the back of the tearoom. His fingertips grazed her shoulder, and a jolt of heat shot down to her pedicured toes. She hadn’t been this aware, this responsive to someone since…

Never. Not her first kiss behind the back row of lockers with Tommy Jacobs. Not the time they’d hidden beneath the bleachers at the homecoming game. Not the night of the party that changed her life forever. Not any of the bland, possessive kisses she’d pretended to enjoy since then. Never.

Jill slid into the chair he held for her and tried to regain her composure. But it didn’t matter. Even with him settled across the table, his hands occupied with his lunch, waves of heat rippled through her body. She cleared her throat and tried to focus on something normal.

How long have you been in the import business, Mr. Raymond?

Call me Phillip, please. And my involvement in the business is fairly recent. He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. You, on the other hand, seem well versed in imports. How long have you been with McKinley and Company?

I joined the company six years ago. They needed an administrative assistant; I needed a job. It was a perfect fit.

Something tells me there’s a lot more to the story than that. To rise from administrative assistant to Director of Client Relations in only six years takes something special. The look he sent her was hotter than her steaming cup of Ceylon black tea.

Jill touched the good luck charm at her throat then jerked her hand away, irritated that her nervous gesture brought attention to her plunging neckline. She fidgeted with her lemon knot cookie instead, shredding the shortbread between her fingers.

Phillip’s eyes followed her movements. Even though I know little of the import business, I’d find someone with your skills quite an asset.

A familiar tightness settled in her belly as she imagined what he saw in her—eye candy. Exactly what skills did you have in mind?

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She’d been more professional with clients who talked only to her breasts. Phillip didn’t deserve her condemnation. He hadn’t shown any salacious interest. Those hot looks and searing touches were only in her imagination. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.

I intended it as a compliment, Jill. He captured her hand, pulling it away from the shredded cookie crumbs, distracting her again. Someone with your knowledge of languages and international cultures must be in high demand.

It’s nothing. I just have an ear for it, I guess.

His thumb slid over her knuckles sending tingling, peppermint-cool shivers across her skin. You underestimate yourself, he said softly in Melesian. You are a beautiful, desirable woman, and you think that is the reason for your success, do you not?

"Aaya," she whispered in reply, using his native language. Yes.

Shall I tell you what I see when I look at you?

"Aaya." Did she really want to know? She braced herself for his judgment, curling her toes in a hidden display of tension that left her visible features unaffected.

I see a woman with rare intelligence and exquisite beauty. Yet she does not know herself. I see an actor playing a role with great skill, yet hiding in the shadows off stage. I see someone who sparkles with as many facets as a diamond, who cannot see her own worth.

I’m no diamond. She fingered the crumbs on her plate with her free hand. The tension seeped out of her toes. Cut glass, maybe, but no diamond.

Still, you sparkle. Like the sun on the sands of my homeland. He sighed. I have been away from my home for only a day, and already I miss the sounds of my island. It is a pleasure to hear my own language from your beautiful lips.

He smiled and a twinkle popped into his ocean-blue eyes. Warmth replaced the tightness in her belly and spread throughout her body. Like a vacationer under a tropical sun, she relaxed in his presence, basking in his compliments, letting down her guard in a way she hadn’t done for a long time.

Jill, it’s Friday night, and I’m alone in a strange city. May I take you to dinner?

The music in his voice and the hunger in his eyes tempted her to think of her own desires first and her duty to her family second. His hand wrapped around hers in a beguiling invitation. Longing as tight as a vise squeezed her chest, forcing air from her lungs, making her head swim in a giddy haze of sunlit fantasies.

Come with me, he repeated in Melesian.

"Aay—I, uh, I can’t. I have a previous engagement."

Cancel it.

She almost obeyed the hint of command in his voice. I can’t. She’d delayed tonight’s confrontation for too long. Her attraction to Phillip only intensified her desire to get it over with.

She’d dated the wrong kind of men for too long, thinking they would help her provide for her family. Tonight she would put that option behind her. She didn’t have to marry for money—at least not yet. With luck—never.

Ah, well, maybe another time. Phillip’s voice pulled her back to the tearoom. Regret darkened his eyes. He brushed a kiss across her knuckles and released her hand.

All she could do was stare, her heart and mind at war. The man tempted her to throw common sense to the wind. And she knew the disasters that could result from giving in to that kind of temptation.

She had to leave. With a mumbled excuse about a meeting with Mr. McKinley, she stood and hurried from the tea shop, away from Phillip Raymond, before her heart could overrule her mind.

Constantine stashed the glasses in his pocket as he watched Jill leave, more disappointed than angry at her refusal. He’d seen the desire in her eyes, soft and dreamy, as he seduced her with his native tongue.

He felt her shivering response to his touch. And he’d heard the breathless