“Excellent. Draw me a map on a napkin and I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh. There will be no direction giving. No napkin drawing.”
“Is that so?”
She tossed her hair and for a moment he saw a glimmer of royalty beneath her rather dowdy exterior. And that was all the more fascinating. “No. I’m not giving you directions, because I have the directions. You are taking me with you.”
He laughed at the imperious, ridiculous demand. “I most certainly am not.”
She crossed her arms, the sweater bunching beneath them. “Yes, you are. You don’t know how to get there.”
“Gabriella, I am an expert at getting the information I want. Be it with money or seduction, it makes no difference to me, but I will certainly get what I need.”
Her cheeks turned a rather fetching shade of pink. He imagined it was the mention of seduction, not bribery, that did it.
“But I have the key,” she insisted. “Or rather, I know where it is. And trust me when I tell you it is not something you’ll be able to acquire on your own.”
“A key?” He didn’t believe her.
“And the...the instructions on how to use it.”
He studied her hard. She was a bookish creature. Not terribly beautiful, in his estimation. Not terribly brave, either. Intensely clever, though. Still, the lack of bravery made it unlikely that she was lying to him. The cleverness, on the other hand, was a very large question mark.
It made her unpredictable.
This was why he preferred women who were not so clever.
Life was complicated enough. When it came to interactions with the female sex he rather liked it simple, physical and brief.
He had a feeling his association with Gabriella would be none of those things and that only set his teeth on edge all the more.
“I do not believe that you have the key, or rather, have access to it that I cannot gain.”
“Okay, then. Enjoy the journey to Isolo D’Oro without me. I’m sure when you get there and find that you hold nothing in your hand but your own—”
“Well, now, there’s no need to get crass.”
She blinked. “I wasn’t going to be crass. I was going to say you hold nothing in your hand but your own arrogance.”
He chuckled. “Well, I was imagining you saying something completely different.”
“What can I have possibly—?” She blinked again. “Oh.”
He arched a brow. “Indeed.”
She gritted her teeth, her expression growing more fierce. “Crassness and all other manner of innuendo aside, you are not gaining access to the painting without me.”
“Right. So, you know where it is, and you clearly possess the key. Why not go without me?”
“Well, it isn’t that simple. I am a member of the D’Oro family. And while technically I can return to the island because I am only of the bloodline, and I never ruled, gaining access could still be a problem.”
“I see. So, how do we play this? Wealthy American businessman on a vacation takes a beautiful...” He paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to sweep over her, not hiding how underwhelmed he was by the sight. “A beautiful princess as his lover?”
“Absolutely not!” She turned a very intense shade of pink, and he found himself captivated by the slow bleed of color beneath her skin.
“You have a better suggestion?”
“I want to prevent scandal. I want to bring the painting back here with as little fanfare as possible. I don’t want you making a big production of things.”
“And I assure you I will not. This is for a private collection and has nothing to do with causing embarrassment to the royal family.”
She worried her lip between her teeth. “I don’t trust you.”
“Excellent. I wouldn’t trust me, either.”
“Excellent. No trust.” Her cheeks were getting redder. This time, he figured it was from frustration. “I want to go with you. But I don’t want to cause a scene. I can’t cause a scene. You have no doubt seen the kind of scandal my parents create in the headlines with their drug use, affairs, separations, reconciliations... The press would love to smell blood in the water around me and I just can’t chance it.”
An evil thought occurred to him and it made him smile. “Well, if you don’t wish to go as my lover—”
“I don’t!”
“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to come as my assistant.”
“No one will believe that I’m your assistant. I’m a princess.” She lifted her little nose in the air, dark hair cascading over her back like spilled ink. Now she did indeed look every inch insulted royalty.
“What do you typically look like when you go out and about? I imagine it isn’t like this,” he said, indicating her rather drab trappings.
“I don’t go out frequently. But when I do I have a stylist.”
“Your glasses?”
“I normally wear contacts.”
He nodded slowly. “Princess Gabriella D’Oro. I have seen pictures of you—it’s only that I would never have recognized you in your current state. The difference is remarkable.”
He had an immediate picture in his mind of a glossier, more tamed version of the woman in front of him. Sleek and, actually, quite beautiful. Though not remotely as interesting as the version of Gabriella that stood before him.
She waved a hand. “Between professionally fitted dresses, undergarments to hold in all undesirable lumps and bumps, makeup to cover every flaw, false eyelashes, red lips... I’m scarcely the same person.”
“A good thing for our current situation.” He regarded her for a longer period of time. “Yes, that will do nicely. You will come as my assistant. With your hair just like this. With your glasses. And with some horrible pantsuit. No one will ever believe you are Princess Gabriella. No one will look twice at you. Certainly not close enough to identify you. That eases any and all problems we might have with the press, with the local government and with scandal.”
He could see that she was fuming, radiating with indignity. He quite liked it. He didn’t have a lot of time. He certainly didn’t have extra time to stand around negotiating about keys and directions with a silly girl.
So she would come. It was no difference to him either way.
“That is a ridiculous idea,” she said. “Anyway, I’ve never traveled. I mainly stay here in the estate.”
“Curled up on a cushion reading a book?”
She blinked. “What else would one do on a cushion?”
“Oh, I can think of several things.”
“Drinking tea?”
“No. Not drinking tea.”
Her expression was a study in confusion. It was almost cute. Except that he had no interest in bookish virgins.
She was...naive. Young. For a moment he was concerned about how young. “How old are you?”
She sniffed. “I’m twenty-three. You can stop looking at me like I’m some sort of schoolgirl.”
“Cara mia, you are a schoolgirl to me.”
“How old are you?”
“That is none of your