“Rossi. Damon Rossi.” He ignored Gustavo’s shocked expression and Ian’s rigid disapproving presence behind him and extended his hand. Dominic hoped neither man would correct the hastily concocted variation of his name or his failure to mention his title.
“Madeline Spencer.” The brunette’s fingers curled around his. Her handshake was firm and strong and her gaze direct instead of deferential. When had a woman last looked him in the eye and treated him as an equal? Not since Giselle. Unexpected desire hit him hard and fast and with stunning potency.
A similar awareness flickered on Madeline’s face, expanding her pupils, flushing her cheeks and parting her lips. “I guess that only leaves one question. Can I afford you?”
Caught off guard by her breathless query and by his body’s impassioned response, Dominic glanced at Gustavo who rushed to respond for him. “I am sure Monsieur Reynard will cover your expenses, mademoiselle, since you are an honored guest of the family and a dear friend to his fiancée. Hi—Monsieur Rossi should not accept any money from you.”
Dominic didn’t miss the warning in Gustavo’s statement.
Madeline’s smile widened, trapping the air in Dominic’s chest. “When can we get together to set up a schedule?”
If he weren’t expecting a conference call from the palace with an update on the bridal selection process momentarily he would definitely prolong this encounter. “Perhaps tomorrow morning after your cake sampling?”
He realized he hadn’t released her hand, and he was reluctant to do so. Arousal pumped pleasantly through his veins—a nice distraction from the disagreeable dilemma which had driven him into temporary exile.
Madeline was apparently in no rush, either, as she didn’t pull away or break his gaze. “That’d be great, Damon. Where shall I meet you?”
Dominic searched his mental map for a meeting place not haunted by the paparazzi. The only option his testosterone-flooded brain presented was his suite, but the tour guide he’d implied himself to be could hardly afford penthouse accommodations. Already his lie complicated the situation.
Gustavo cleared his throat, jerking Dominic back to the present. “Perhaps le café located in the lower terrace gardens, Your—Monsieur Rossi?”
Dominic nodded his thanks—for the recommendation and for the conspiracy. He was used to being a leader and making decisions, but even a future king knew when to accept wise council. “A very good suggestion, Gustavo. What time will you finish, mademoiselle?”
Straight, white teeth bit into her plump bottom lip and Dominic struggled with a sudden urge to sample her soft pink flesh. “Elevenish?”
“I shall count the hours.” He bent over her hand and kissed her knuckles. Her fragrance, a light floral mingled with the tart tang of lemon, filled his lungs, and his libido roared to life like the mythical dragon island folklore decreed lived beneath Montagnarde’s hot springs.
Dominic had not come to Monaco with the intention of having a last dalliance before beginning what would in all likelihood be a passionless marriage. But he was tempted. Extremely tempted. However the lie, combined with his duty to his country meant he had nothing to offer this beautiful woman except his services as a guide. He would have to keep his newly awakened libido on a short leash.
It wouldn’t be easy.
Madeline Spencer’s fingers squeezed his one more time and then she released him with a slow drag of her fingertips across his palm. A sassy smile slanted her lips. “Until tomorrow then, Damon.”
With a flutter of her ringless fingers she entered the penthouse elevator—the one he’d just abandoned. The doors slid closed.
Dominic inhaled deeply. For the first time in months the sword of doom hanging over his head lifted. He had a short reprieve, but a reprieve nonetheless.
“Oh. My. God.” Madeline sagged against the inside of the penthouse suite door and pressed a hand over her racing heart. “I think I’m in lust.”
Candace and Amelia, two of Madeline’s three suite mates, straightened from their reclining positions on the sofas of the sitting room. They’d already changed from the evening gowns they’d worn to the casino earlier into sleepwear.
“With whom?” Amelia, wearing a ruffled nightgown, asked.
“I have just hired the most gorgeous man on the planet to be my tour guide.”
“Tell all,” Candace ordered. The bride-to-be was the reason Madeline, Amelia and Stacy, her bridesmaids, were sharing a luxurious suite in the five-star Hôtel Reynard. The quartet had been granted an all-expenses-paid month in Monaco compliments of Candace’s fiancé, Vincent Reynard, to plan the couple’s wedding, which would take place here in Monaco in four weeks.
“His name’s Damon and he has the most amazing blue eyes, thick tobacco-brown hair and a body that won’t quit. He’s tall—six-three, I’d guess. It was nice to have to look up at a guy even when I was wearing my heels.”
“Are you sure it’s not love at first sight?” Amelia asked with a dreamy look on her face.
Madeline sighed over her coworker’s die-hard romantic notions. “You know better. Love is not a fall I intend to take ever again.”
Thanks to her lying, cheating ex-fiancé.
“Not all men are like Mike,” Candace said as she stacked the tourist pamphlets she’d been perusing neatly on the table.
For Candace’s sake Madeline hoped not. Vincent seemed like a nice guy and he truly doted on Candace. But Mike had done the same for Madeline in the early days, and therefore Madeline no longer trusted anyone carrying the Y chromosome.
“No, thank goodness, but my jerk detector is apparently broken, and there are enough guys out there like Mike that I’ve decided to focus on my career and avoid anything except brief, shallow relationships from now on. Men do it. Why can’t I?”
Not that she’d had time for any kind of relationship lately, meaningless or otherwise, given the extra shifts she’d volunteered for at the hospital and the rigorous exercise program she’d adopted during the two years since Mike split.
“Sounds like you’re hoping for more than guided tours from this guy,” Candace guessed.
Was she? She couldn’t deny the electricity crackling between her and Damon when they’d shaken hands, and when he’d kissed her knuckles her knees had nearly buckled. The man might be a tour guide, but he had class and charisma out the wazoo. She’d bet he could turn a shallow affair into a momentous occasion.
“Maybe I am. Maybe I want to have a wildly passionate vacation fling with a sexy foreigner. If he’s not married, that is. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but—” Their pitying expressions raised her defenses. “What?”
Amelia frowned. “This is about Mike showing up at the hospital last month with his child and pregnant wife in tow, isn’t it?”
“It’s not.” Liar. But hey, a girl had her pride and Madeline planned to cling tightly to the ragged remnants of hers.
Mike had made a fool of her. He’d led her on with a six-year engagement, and then he’d dumped her on her thirtieth birthday when she’d jokingly suggested they set a wedding date or call it quits. As soon as he’d moved out of her town house and left his job as a radiologist at the hospital where they both worked, coworkers she’d barely known had rushed to inform her that while she’d been planning her dream wedding he’d been sharing his excellent bedside manner with other women. And judging by the family he’d brought by the E.R. last month, he’d married someone else and started pumping out babies as soon as he’d dumped her.
The lying, conniving rat.
Love? Uh-uh. Not for her. Never again. And she hoped reality didn’t slap