The Prince's Ultimate Deception

“Clever. But if the paparazzi catch you with a woman on the eve of your engagement…”

“As of this morning there is no engagement. A woman has not been selected, and if the council continues to argue as they have done for the past four months over birthing hips, pedigrees and whatever other absurd qualities they deem necessary for a princess, they will never come to an agreement, and I will not be forced to propose to a woman I know or care nothing about.”

The council members had dehumanized the entire process. Not once had they asked Dominic’s preferences. They might as well be choosing animals to breed from a bloodline chart.

Dominic had been nineteen when the council had chosen Giselle as his future bride, and he had not objected for he’d known her since they were children. His parents and hers had been friends for decades. He had convinced their families to postpone the marriage until after he obtained his university degree, and in those intervening years he and Giselle had become friends and then lovers before becoming husband and wife.

In the nine years since her death he had not met one single woman who made an effort to see the man behind the title and fortune.

And now once again the council would decide his fate as the traditions of his country decreed, a circumstance which did not please him, but one he was duty-bound to accept. But this time the idea of the group of predominantly old men choosing a stranger to be his wife did not sit well.

Dominic threw a change of clothing on top of the towels, masks and fins already in his dive bag. “Mademoiselle Spencer wishes to see Monaco. I wish to explore the tourist venues as a vacationer instead of as a visiting prince. Perhaps I will see a different side to the enterprises than I have seen before. The knowledge will benefit Montagnarde’s tourist development plan which, as you know, I will present to the economic board again in two months. This time I will not accept defeat. They will back my development plan.”

He had spent the years since he’d left university studying successful tourist destinations and laying the groundwork to replicate similar enterprises in his homeland. He wanted to model Montagnarde’s travel industry after Monaco’s, but the older members of the board refused to accept that the country had to grow its economic base or continue to lose its youth to jobs overseas. His father had sworn to lend his support in return for Dominic agreeing to marry before the end of his thirty-fifth year. With sovereign backing Dominic’s plan would be passed.

“You know nothing about this woman,” Ian insisted.

“A circumstance I am sure you have already begun to rectify.” Any acquaintance with whom Dominic spent more than a passing amount of time was thoroughly investigated.

“I have initiated an inquiry, yes. Nevertheless, an affair would not be wise.”

“Not an affair, Ian. A harmless flirtation. I cannot have sex with a woman to whom I am lying.”

We’ll see if you have what it takes to tempt me.

His heart rate quickened at the memory of Madeline’s enticing banter and vibrant eyes. He would very much like to be her lover, but for the first time in years he found himself savoring the idea of being merely a man whom a beautiful woman found attractive. He didn’t want to ruin that unique experience by revealing his identity, but he couldn’t sleep with Madeline until he did. “I am aware of the risks.”

“How will you explain my presence?”

Dominic zipped the bag and faced Ian, knowing his decision would not be a popular one. “The Larvotto underwater reserve is well patrolled by the Monaco police. No other boats or watercraft are allowed in the area. You can rest easy knowing the only dangers I face while snorkeling are that of the fish and the artificial reef. You will wait on the shore and keep your distance.”

“I am charged with your well-being. If something should happen—”

“Ian, I have not given you reason to worry about my safety in years, and I won’t now. I am a skilled diver. I have tracking devices in my watch and my swim trunks, and no one knows our plan. I will be fine.” He hefted the bag. “Now come. I wish to see if Mademoiselle Spencer looks as good in a swimsuit as I anticipate.”

Getting practically naked with a guy on your first date certainly moved things right along, Madeline decided as she removed the lemon-yellow sundress she’d worn as a cover-up over her swimsuit and placed it on the lounge chair beside her sandals and sunglasses.

Her black bikini wasn’t nearly as skimpy as the thong suits so popular on the public beach around them. She scanned the sunbathers, shook her head and smothered a smile. The women here thought nothing of dropping their tops on the beach, but they didn’t dare lie in the sun without their jewels. Bet that makes for some interesting tan lines.

To give him credit, Damon had stalked right past the bare breasts on display without pause. When his attention turned to her, raking her from braid to garnet-red toenail polish, she said a silent thank-you for the discounted gym membership the hospital offered its employees and the sweat and weight she’d shed over the past two years. Her body was tight and toned. It hadn’t always been. But she wished Damon would lose the sunglasses. The thinning of his lips and the flare of his nostrils could signify anything from disgust to desire. She needed to see his eyes.

In the meantime, she did a little inspecting of her own as he untied the drawstring waist of the white linen pants he’d worn over his swimsuit due to Monaco’s strict rules about no beachwear, bare chests or bare feet on the streets.

Damon’s white T-shirt hugged well-developed pectorals and a flat abdomen. And then he dropped his pants. Nice. His long legs were deeply tanned, muscular and dusted with burnished blond hair beneath his brief trunks. “You must spend a lot of time outdoors.”

He paused and gave her a puzzled look.

“The sun has bleached your body hair and the tips of your lashes,” she explained.

“I enjoy water sports.” He handed her a snorkel, mask and fins that looked new. “You have snorkeled before?”

“Yes, off the coast back home.”

“And where is home?”

“North Carolina. On the eastern coast of the U.S. I live hours from the beach, but I used to vacation there every summer.” She missed those boisterous vacations with Mike’s family more than she missed Mike. The devious, dishonest rat. How could such a great family spawn a complete schmuck?

She dug her toes into the fine grains beneath her feet. “Is it true that all this white sand is brought in by barge?”

“Yes. That is the case for many of the Riviera beaches. Of the nations bordering the Mediterranean Sea, Monaco has the cleanest and safest beaches because the government is the most eco-conscious. Thanks to the Grimaldi family, the country is almost pollution free. In recent years the government has expanded its territory by reclaiming land from the sea. The underwater reserve we are about to explore was built in the seventies to repair the damage of overfishing and excessive coral gathering. The reefs are home to many fish species and red coral.” He indicated the water with a nod. “Shall we?”

He’d certainly studied his guidebook. “Don’t you want to take off your T-shirt?”

He tossed his shades on the chair beside hers. “No.”

“Do you burn easily? I could put sunscreen on your back.” Her palms tingled in anticipation of touching him.

“I prefer to wear a shirt, thank you.”

Did he have scars or something? “Damon, I see shirtless men at work every day. If you’re worried that I can’t control myself…”

His chest expanded, and this time she received the full effect of those hot blue eyes. Arousal made her suck in her breath and her stomach. “It is not your control I question, Madeline. Come, the reef waits.”

She’d never get used to the way he said her name with a hint of that unidentifiable accent. It gave her goose bumps every time. And speaking of control, where was hers? She wanted to jump him. Here. Now. “Where did you say you were from?”

“I did not say.” He flashed a tight white smile and strode toward the water, where he dunked his fins and mask before donning both.

She mimicked his actions and then stared at him through the wet glass of her mask. “You like being a man of mystery, eh?”

He straightened and held her gaze. “I like being a man. The mystery is all in here.” He gently tapped her temple. “Stay close to me. Watch for jellyfish and sea urchins. Avoid both.”

Admiring the view of his taut buttocks and well-muscled legs, she followed him deeper into the water. For the next hour she swam and enjoyed the sea life. Each time Damon touched her to draw her attention to another sight she nearly sucked the briny water down her snorkel. Miraculously, she managed not to drown herself. By the time he led her back to shore her nerves were as tightly wound as the rubber band ball the emergency room staff tossed around on slow nights.

“That was great. Thanks.” And then she got a good look at the shirt adhered like shrink-wrap to his amazing chest, the tiny buttons of his nipples and his six-pack abs. An even better sight and definitely one she’d like to explore.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He dropped his mask and fins on the chair, donned his sunglasses and ruffled his hair to shake off the excess water and then finger-combed the dark strands over his forehead.

“What made you decide to become a tour guide?” She dried off as he bagged their diving gear.

“When a country has few natural resources and limited territory, its people and the tourism industry become its greatest assets.”

Surprised by his answer, she blinked. She’d expected a simple response such as he enjoyed meeting new people or the flexible hours, not something so deep. “Studied that, have you?”

“Yes.”

She dragged her knit sundress over her head. “Where? I mean, are there tourism schools or what?”

Holding her gaze—or at least she thought he was, beneath those dark lenses—he hesitated so long she didn’t think he’d answer. “I have a Travel Industry Management degree from the University of Hawaii at M