Honeymoon With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (36 page)

Massimo stepped inside behind her and frowned down at the dog.
 
“He’s wet.”

“He needed a bathroom break.
 
I only saw you because he did first.”

Massimo processed that as they entered the bedroom.
 
She crossed to his en suite bathroom and grabbed two large, white towels from the shelf beside the shower enclosure.
 

“Were you working?” he asked when she re-entered the bedroom.
 
Standing in his room in a formal suit and jacket, dripping water onto the floor, he appeared an entirely different man than the one who’d commanded everyone’s attention at the parade this afternoon.
 
He had the same strong, debonair look as James Bond might if he’d pursued a villain through the rain, but there was a vulnerability, too, as if he’d faced a life and death battle and doubted his ability to survive it.
 
She forced her gaze away, knowing he’d never want her to notice.

“I had a couple things I wanted to do after the parade, but I’m finished for the night.”
 
She handed him a towel, then unfolded the other and started rubbing her head.
 
Gaspare watched from the corner of the room, fascinated, but Massimo made no move to dry himself.
 
It was as if his thoughts were stuck on whatever occupied him while he’d been sitting on the bench staring into the rain.
 
She paused, draping her towel around her shoulders.
 
“And you?”

“And…me?
 
Me what?”

Now she knew he was preoccupied.
 
“Were you finished for the night?
 
I assume whatever you were doing in the garden wasn’t part of your meet-and-greet duties at the banquet.”

That brought the life back into his expression.
 
Not a smile, exactly, but a crack in the tension that enveloped him.
 
“I was about to go back, but I’m not in any condition at the moment.
 
And by the time I find the right clothing amongst all these racks and change, I suspect the celebration will be winding down.”

“I’m happy to help with the clothing part.
 
Your suits and formalwear are mostly on that rack over there if you decide to return to the banquet” —she indicated the far corner of the room— “and the casual clothing is in this dresser and stacked over here.
 
I think Robert was hoping that the closet would be finished before he brought in his first round of purchases, but I did the best I could in the meantime.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you weren’t doing a good job.”

“I know.”
 
She bit the inside of her lip.
 
“Well, whatever you decide to change into, I recommend you dry off first.”

“At this point, I’m going casual.”
 
Before she could excuse herself, he stripped off his jacket and dropped it to the hardwood floor, then began mopping his face and hair with the towel.
 
The last time she’d seen him swiping a towel over his head, he’d been stepping out of the shower in her villa and gloriously naked.
 
He’d caught her admiring him, flipped the towel over his head and wrapped it around her, using it to pull her body fast to his.
 
He’d given her a soul-searing kiss, one that drove them right back to bed.

She shoved back the mental image and forced a neutral expression.
 
How was it her mind instantly went to sex with the man when his mind was assuredly on anything
but
sex?
 

“Would you like me to find something for you to wear?” she managed.

“That’d be great, thanks.
 
T-shirt is fine.
 
Whatever color.
 
And I saw some khaki pants earlier.
 
I think I can find those.”
 

Kelly turned toward the dresser where she had stored the prince’s few T-shirts until Robert filled out the collection.
 
She took her time picking through them, allowing him privacy as he dried off while giving herself a break from temptation.
 
She shouldn’t have noticed the way his formal shirt clung to his chest after he’d removed the suit jacket, but how could she not?
 
The man was ripped.
 
And a man built like Massimo in a wet, white shirt demanded one’s attention.
 
She located a light blue T-shirt Robert had selected, then turned and handed it to Massimo.

Only to discover that now he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all.
 
Both the white formal shirt and the undershirt lay on the floor in a soggy pile beside the suit jacket.
 

She handed him the T-shirt, careful to keep a polite distance between them.
 
She needed to find a way to extricate herself from the room before his trousers joined the pile.
 
If she didn’t, she’d be blushing so furiously he’d know the direction of her thoughts.
 
As he looped the towel over a nearby clothing rack so he could pull the shirt over his head, she began gathering his clothes from the floor, then used her own towel to sop up the mess left behind.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Better not to ruin the hardwood, don’t you think?
 
Where should I put all this?”

He frowned at the sodden clothing as he eased the shirt over his abs.
 
“I have a laundry bin in the bathroom that housekeeping checks daily, but I’d rather not put those in there.”

“I’ll just hang them in the bathroom.”

“I’m perfectly capable.”
 
He scooped the dripping pile from her arms.
 
His warm skin, the wet garments, and the faint hint of his cologne combined to render her temporarily speechless.
 
What man with his wealth, his looks, his engaging personality, and a house full of staff would do what amounted to housework as if it were his normal routine?
 

She gazed up at him as he captured a sleeve that escaped from the bundle, preventing it from leaving a water trail on the floor.
 

I could fall in love with a man like Massimo
.

The thought frightened her as soon as it entered her mind.
 
It’d taken her months to commit to Ted.
 
And now she was looking at a man she’d only known a few days and considering…what?

Massimo paused and met her gaze, then held it, as if the contact affected him, too.
 
“I’m so sorry about the garden, Kelly.
 
I never should have—”

“You’ve already apologized.
 
It’s all right.”

She needed to get out of the room before words like
love
stuck in her brain rather than flitting through with all the staying power of a floating soap bubble.
 

“No, it’s not.”
 
He looked at her for another heartbeat, his eyes searching hers before he broke contact and strode to the bathroom to set the wet clothing on the counter.
 
He reached back into the bedroom to snare a pair of folded khakis from a stack of clothing near the dresser.
 

She was about to excuse herself when he said, “Hang on.
 
I’ll be right back.”

* * *

Damn.
 

The word echoed in Massimo’s head as he wrung out his shirt and flopped it over the door to the shower, adjusting the fabric so it would drip dry into the shower rather than onto the tile floor.
 
His undershirt and jacket followed before he stripped off his slacks, wrung them out, then spread them over the towel rack.
 

Unfortunately, in taking off his slacks, Massimo discovered his underwear soaked through from sitting on the wet bench.
 
He was forced to lean out the door and ask Kelly to hand him a new pair.

It was that, walk out there in drenched shorts, or struggle back into the wet pants so he could fetch the underwear himself, neither of which were good options.
 
Ditching them entirely and walking out nude was out of the question.

When she handed them to him from the top dresser drawer, she acted no differently than if she’d handed him a pen.
 
But even in that quick motion, he knew better.
 
He’d seen the tamped-down flare of attraction in her gaze when she’d handed him the towel.
 
And when he’d taken the clothes from her arms, she’d inhaled sharply and he could’ve sworn her eyes began to flutter closed before she caught herself.

Why the hell would she feel that way when he could have killed her?
 
Didn’t she realize what he’d been about to do?
 
If he’d hit her in the face, at the very least, he’d have broken her nose or her jaw.
 
But if he’d caught her in the temple or side of the head as she’d ducked…dear God, he’d have put her in the hospital.
 
It was a miracle he he’d been able to hold back his fist.
 
He never could’ve lived with himself if he’d harmed her.
 

It was bad enough thinking about what
might
have happened.
 

And here, only an hour ago, he was congratulating himself on feeling in control, knowing that all was well, that he would be just fine handling his life as a royal.
 
What a crock.
 
Who in the world did he think was going to attack him outside the palace?
 
This wasn’t central Africa, there wasn’t a well-armed jungle warlord lurking in the rosebushes to torture or beat or shoot him.
 

He stared at himself in the mirror, wondering what Kelly had seen in his expression as he’d come over the bench.
 
He could’ve
killed
her.

He finished dressing, swiped his hands over his face, which was reddened from the chill of the rain, then walked out to the bedroom.
 
It was then he noticed that she was still soaked, despite toweling off.
 
He could see the outline of her beige bra beneath her white shirt, the same top she’d been wearing when she interrupted his meeting with Robert this morning to ask about the bureau in the living room.
 
Her skirt was streaked with rain and her sandals looked like they’d squish if she walked in them.

He forced his eyes to her face, but something about her wet clothing and still-dripping hair nagged at his brain.
 

“You said Gaspare needed out?”
 
At her nod, he continued, “But when you came to the bench, you’d put him in.
 
What made you come back outside?”

“Maybe I like the rain.”
 

He skewered her with a look of skepticism.

“I wanted to check on you.”

Check
on him?
 
“Why?”

“Why does anyone check on another person?
 
I wanted to see if you were all right.
 
You were sitting by yourself in a downpour, for crying out loud.
 
You looked” —her brows scrunched— “bothered, like you’d just been given terrible news.”

“Funny, because I actually heard some good news tonight.
 
I went out because I needed a moment away from the party.”
 

He should offer her a fresh towel or allow her to head back to her apartment for a change of clothes, but knowing she’d witnessed him in a moment of weakness left him off-balance.
 
Worse, her deepening frown indicated she didn’t buy his explanation for a second.

“There was more to it than that.
 
You could’ve gone to another room or excused yourself and claimed a headache.”
 
Gooseflesh rose on her arms and she crossed them in front of her, unconsciously warding off the cold. “You needed air, and you needed it badly enough to go out in a storm.
 
Something or someone bothered you at that banquet, whether you want to admit it or not.”

He moved toward the bathroom for another towel.

“You asked me why I came out to check on you.
 
Don’t ignore this, Massimo.”
 

The insistence in her voice made him stop and look back.
 
“I’m not ignoring anything.”

“You’re not a violent person.
 
Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do.
 
You’d never strike out at someone without reason.
 
It wasn’t simply that I surprised you.
 
Anyone could’ve walked up behind you.
 
There must be dozens of staff and family members with key cards who could’ve gone out to the garden, just like the person who ducked out to try and grab a smoke.
 
With the banquet going on, everyone in the building is up late.”

She took a step toward him.
 
He wanted to move away, but he’d never backed away from anyone.
 
“I’m fine, Kelly.”

“Are you?
 
I don’t think so.”
 
Caring hands cradled his face.
 
Her fingertips were cold, but firm.
 
“I don’t expect you to tell me what’s wrong.
 
But you scared yourself when you came at me over the bench.”