A Royal Temptation

“Alicia?”

“Yes?”

“It’s not your doing. I forgot about these appointments. We’re all learning here. It’s new to all of us.”

She had ten years of experience running a duke’s household in London, coordinating parties and events with dignitaries and the royal family. She hadn’t much to learn. He was the one who had screwed up.

“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll get on those cancellations right away.”

Juan Carlos rubbed the back of his neck and headed to the study.

With luck, he could salvage the evening.

* * *

Portia had been stood up. She’d been delivered to the palace minutes before seven, only to be informed that the king had visitors and to please be patient and wait. She was shown to the dining room and shortly after, the palace chef himself had set dishes of appetizers on the table before her.

Candles were lit and soft music filtered into the room.

The only problem? Her date wasn’t here. And she wasn’t about to eat a thing until he showed. Call her stubborn.

It was after eight. She knew because her stomach refused to stop growling and finally, she’d glanced at her watch.

She’d already taken in the paintings on the walls, assessing them and noting that they weren’t up to par with usual palatial art. Oh, they were lovely pieces, but from contemporary artists. Many of them were replicas of the real thing. It was a curiosity. The monarchy stretched way beyond the years of the dictatorship. There should be older, more authentic works on the walls. But this was only one room. Maybe for security reasons, the gallery held the most valuable pieces.

After wandering the dining hall, she picked a particular patch of space near the fireplace and began pacing.

She couldn’t fault Juan Carlos. His secretary had taken the blame, explaining that she’d failed to remind the king of his visitors. She’d tried her best to cancel the meetings, but she was afraid she wasn’t as successful as she’d hoped.

But the more Portia thought about it, the more pangs of anger replaced her patience.

How long would he keep her waiting?

Travis is in a meeting. He won’t be available for hours. He’d like you to wait, though.

This isn’t the same thing, she reminded herself. Her ex-boyfriend wasn’t a king. Well, maybe the king of late-night television. And she’d fallen for him. He was funny and charming and kind. It was like a regular Cinderella story, the poor broke comedian hooks up with a real live princess. Travis was far from poor now, although he’d come from humble beginnings and the press loved their story and ate it up.

A new American fairy tale, they’d called it.

Travis had been on top of the world when they were together. Everyone loved him and thought he was worthy of a princess from an obscure little country. Only dating a supermodel would have given him more credibility.

And here she was, doing the same thing. Another American fairy tale, only this time with a real king.

Stupid of her.

Her nerves were jumpy and by the time eight-thirty rolled around, she was royally pissed.

Juan Carlos had twisted her arm to accept this dinner date, the way charming men did. He’d trapped her and then kissed her until every brain cell was lulled into capitulation. God, she’d been looking forward to being alone with him again. That kiss was good. Better than good. It was the best kiss she’d ever had. Not even Travis could kiss like that, and he’d been plenty experienced in that department.

“Sorry, so sorry, Portia.”

She jumped. “Oh!” Juan Carlos entered the room, looking dashing in a dark buttoned-up suit but no tie. Another growl emitted from her stomach, this time not due to hunger.

“Did Alicia explain what happened? It was my fault. This is the first chance I’ve had to—”

“It’s been over ninety minutes,” was all she could think to say.

“I would’ve cancelled with you and sent you home, but this is your last night in Alma. Selfishly, I wanted to see you again.”

Guilt rose like bile in her throat. She remained silent.

He glanced at the feast of food that had been put before her. “You didn’t touch anything Chef prepared. You must be famished.”

“I’m not hungry anymore, Your Majesty.”

His lips pursed in disapproval.

She still couldn’t bring herself to call him by his given name.

“You’ve been so patient. There’s just one more meeting I have to get through. Will you wait?”

She shook her head. “Actually, I think I’d like to go.”

“You’re angry.”

“No, I’m tired and, and...”

“Angry.”

She didn’t respond. “Will you have your driver take me back to the hotel?”

Juan Carlos closed his eyes briefly. “Yes, of course. I just assumed after we kissed, you’d... Never mind. You’re right. I shouldn’t have made you wait.”

A man who admitted when he was wrong? How rare.

“Duty called. I’m afraid it always will.”

That’s how it had worked with Travis. The difference? Travis had been building his own personal dynasty, while Juan Carlos was trying to build one for his country. But that still left Portia with the same end result. She’d never be a top priority and while she liked Juan Carlos, she had vowed, after many disappointments with Travis, to never get herself in that situation again.

With that, she wished Juan Carlos a good evening, assured him she wasn’t angry and put enough distance between them that he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t plant his delicious lips on hers again and make her change her mind.

Three (#ulink_6fbada88-d81d-5f5c-9b06-ad8b8fcc47e1)

The beach at Playa del Onda was one of the most stunning Portia had ever visited. Warm sand squeezed between her toes as she sat on a lounge chair, reading a book. This morning she’d gotten up early and taken a long jog along the shoreline, the October sun warming her through and through. She’d met a lovely family of tourists and had breakfast with them at a terrace café that overlooked the Atlantic. But their two little children, aged five and three, reminded her that it would probably be a long time before she was blessed with motherhood.

Often, she thought of having a family. She’d been orphaned at a young age. Aside from her great-aunt Margreta, she had no other family. Her grandmother Joanna had died during Portia’s sophomore year in college. But she had her work and it fulfilled her, and she had good friends. She wasn’t complaining. Yet being here on this beautiful beach was not only relaxing, it was...lonely.

Face it, Portia. How many books can you read this week? How many hot stone spa treatments can you indulge in? How many solo dinners in your room can you enjoy?