He bowed in old world fashion. “Princess Portia, I’d be honored if you danced with me.”
“I’m afraid I don’t waltz.”
“Neither do I,” he replied. “We can wing it and set a new trend.”
She chuckled. He didn’t act like the stuffed-shirt royals she’d met in the past, and when he took her hand and led her to the unoccupied dance floor, she didn’t protest. He was a better dancer than he let on, and she glided across the floor with him, fully aware every set of eyes in the room were on them.
“We’re the only ones out here,” she whispered.
He grinned, flashing white teeth against golden-brown skin. He was tall and dashing and at the moment, charming her silly by staring into her eyes as if she was the only person who existed in the world. It was quite flattering.
“Don’t worry. Other guests will join in after the king’s first dance. It’s tradition.”
“Then I should be honored you picked me.”
“After that wink, how could I not pick you?” He held her possessively and spoke with authority, as if he’d been king all of his life.
“It was a twitch. I had something in my eye.”
“I choose to believe it was a wink.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He smiled again and moved her across the dance floor as if she were light as air.
When the dance ended, he didn’t release her hand. “Will you take a walk with me?”
“You want to leave your own gala?”
He shrugged and didn’t appear worried. “It’s been a long, monumental day. I could use a little break.”
Portia couldn’t very well say no. And getting some fresh air did sound good. Because of her title, she’d been invited to the gala, and to refuse such a high honor would’ve been unheard of. Her mother and father’s greatest wish, as her grandmother told it, was for her to remain true to her royal bloodlines, even while having a career and life of her own. So she juggled her time accordingly, to honor her deceased parents’ wishes. She hadn’t had enough time with them, but she’d hoped to make them proud. “Well, then, yes. I’ll walk with you.”
They strode off the dance floor in silence. His hand pressed to her back, he guided her toward a small back door and they ducked out to a deserted foyer. “There are private gardens just outside where we can sit.”
He opened a door she was sure only royals were privy to, and a gust of cool autumn air hit her. Without a second’s hesitation, Juan Carlos removed his tuxedo jacket and placed it around her shoulders. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.” She tugged the lapels closed and kept her hands there, away from the king’s tempting grasp. His dark eyes were on her every move, and when he touched her, her pulse raced in a way it hadn’t in a very long time.
He led her to grounds surrounded by lattices covered with vines. “Would you like to sit down?”
“Okay.”
She sat on a delicately woven rattan love seat and he lowered down beside her, his six-foot presence looming large next to her. Aware of the solid breadth of his shoulders and the scent of his skin, she found the new king of Alma a little too appealing. “It’s nice here. Quiet,” she said. “You must be exhausted.”
“Yes, but invigorated, too. If that makes any sense to you.”
“It does. When I’m researching a piece of art for a client, I might work sixteen-hour days, but I always get excited when I locate it.” His brows came together as if he were puzzled. “I’m an art advisor,” she explained. “I help collectors build their collections.”
“Impressive. And do you work in your country?”
“I’m based out of Los Angeles and New York. I don’t spend any time in Samforstand.”
“That’s how it was for me. I worked out of Miami and New York, but now, Alma will be my permanent home. My duty is here and I will adjust. The country is beautiful, so it won’t be a hardship.”
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” said a voice from behind the bench.
“Yes?” Juan Carlos turned around.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Chancellor Benoit has been called away and insists on saying his farewells to you personally. He is waiting in the antechamber.”
“All right, thank you. Please tell the chancellor I will be in to see him shortly.”
The man gave a curt nod and walked off.
“Well, looks like duty calls. I’m sorry.” He rose and extended his hand. “Please save another dance for me tonight, Portia. There’s more I want to learn about...art advising.” He smiled.
Her heart hammered. She didn’t know what to make of the cocoon-like hold he had on her. She’d only just met him and already he was wrapping himself around her thoughts with his silent compliments and easy ways. “I will.”
She rose and he walked her back to the ballroom, depositing her exactly where he’d found her, beside Maria and Alex.
“I will be back,” he said.
Portia’s throat hitched and she nodded.
“Looks like the king is smitten.” Maria kept her voice low enough for only Portia’s ears. She was sure Maria, a public relations expert and friend, had been instrumental in her receiving an invitation to the coronation and gala.
“He’s being gracious, Maria.”
Maria seemed to ignore her comment. “He’s a good man.”
“Perfect for Alma. But not for me.” She was attracted to Juan Carlos. Any woman with blood running through her veins would be, but talk about high profile. You couldn’t get much higher, and that’s the last thing Portia needed in her life. It had taken her three years to climb out of the hole she’d dug for herself by getting involved with the Duke of Discourse, Travis Miles, LA’s favorite talk show host.
Charming, debonair and controversial, he’d dragged her into his limelight from the start of their love affair to the bitter, heartbreaking end. Her career had suffered as the details of his neglect and wandering eye came into play. She’d almost lost all credibility with her clients. Luckily, she’d managed her way out of that situation, vowing to keep a low profile, stay in the small circle of the art world and not allow another high-profile charmer to get to her. And that included the king of Alma.
“I don’t know about that,” Maria said, matter-of-factly.
“I do,” she said, convincing herself of that very thing. “I have an important meeting in Los Angeles with a client in a few days.”
“A lot could happen in a few days, Portia.”
But the conversation ended when a nice-looking gentleman approached, introduced himself as Alma’s secretary of defense, and asked her to dance.
Portia accepted, and as she was being led to the dance floor, shot an over-the-shoulder glance at Maria.
Only to find Juan Carlos standing there, his gaze following her every movement.
He had indeed come back for her.
* * *
Gnashing his teeth, Juan Carlos ran