Princess Australia

Natasha squeezed Ella’s hand. ‘The prince is important for business, and I’ll treat him like I treat the rest of the customers. With respect, care and—’

‘Yeah, yeah. Save the spiel for someone who hasn’t heard it a million times before.’ Ella held up her hand, though her fond grin underlined the lack of malice in her words. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have a gardening column to write and a few more botanical drawings to do before lunch.’

‘Coffee at Trevi’s, usual time?’ By then, she’d definitely need a caffeine hit.

‘Sounds great. See you at five.’

Ella gave her a cheeky wave and sauntered away, a slim, tall figure in head-to-toe denim with her short, shaggy auburn bob swinging in sync with her steps.

Her best friend was stunning, enjoyed life and had energy to burn, while Natasha felt like a worn facecloth wrung dry. Stress did that to a person, the type of stress that dogged her every waking moment, and unfortunately most of her sleeping ones too. Little wonder she looked so pale next to her vibrant friend.

Glancing at her gold and silver link watch—the one her dad had given her for her twenty-first, years before money had become a problem for them—she wondered why the prince was late. Most of the VIPs she usually dealt with had their itineraries scheduled to the last second and she assumed royalty would be more pedantic than most.

Especially a prince who looked like he couldn’t crack a smile, if that tiny pic on the Net had been any indication.

At that moment, a gleaming black Harley roared to a stop outside the front door, and Natasha nibbled nervously on her bottom lip, hoping Alan the doorman would get the noisy thing valet-parked as soon as possible. First impressions counted, and she desperately needed to make this one count with the prince.

After another nervous glance at her watch, and more subtle rearranging of the tourist brochures stacked on the concierge desk, she glanced up in time to see the Harley’s rider stride through the glass doors.

And her mouth went dry.

The guy looked like a walking advertisement for Bad Boys Inc: tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders hugged in soft grey cotton, long lean legs encased in faded denim, black wavy hair mussed by a helmet and a gusty southerly Melbourne wind, and a bone structure that could’ve been chiselled by one of the Italian masters.

Natasha took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to refocus. What on earth was she doing? So the guy looked like every woman’s fantasy come to life—since when did she have time to ogle guys, let alone lose her concentration on the job?

Especially at a time like this!

Mentally slapping herself for letting her long-dormant hormones get the better of her in that one, glorious moment when he strode into the foyer, she exhaled and opened her eyes, ready to march out onto the street and haul the prince into her hotel the minute his limo pulled up.

Being antsy was getting the better of her and making her think all sorts of crazy things, like how much she’d like to walk up to the sexy bad boy and ask in her best, sultriest voice, ‘Can I help you?’

He saved her the trouble.

‘I need your help.’

Natasha quickly smoothed her cuff over her watch—she really had to stop glancing at it every five seconds—and fixed her professional welcoming smile in place. However, her smile froze when she looked up and locked gazes with the bad boy.

Clear blue eyes.

Almost aquamarine, the mesmerising colour of the Great Barrier Reef on a sunny day.

A colour imprinted in her memory banks, considering it was the only stand-out feature she could remember from the prince’s fuzzy picture.

‘Miss Telford, is it?’

The bad boy glanced at her name tag before returning his gaze to her face. A face flushed with heat at the realisation that she really must be losing the plot if she thought for one second that this scruffy, wind-tossed guy could be the Prince of Calida.

She really needed a day off to unwind. Badly.

‘Yes, that’s right. What can I do for you?’

Apart from bustle you out of here and get ready for the most important meeting of my life.

‘Plenty, hopefully.’

He rested his forearms on the desk, and she tried not to stare at the way his biceps bunched at the simple action.

Oh boy, maybe she needed to change her whole non-dating policy. It had been eighteen months since the Clayton disaster, and she hadn’t been out with a guy since, preferring to concentrate on fixing the mess Clay had lumbered her family with.

Resisting the urge to take a peek over his shoulder towards the door in case the prince snuck in without her seeing, she said, ‘Do you have a reservation, sir? If not, perhaps I can arrange it with someone at Check-in and we can discuss your needs later?’

‘No, I need this sorted now, and you’re just the woman I want.’

His low, gravelly voice sent an unexpected shiver down her spine, and her smile faltered as he fixed her with a penetrating stare.

Those eyes…that colour…no way!

It couldn’t be.

His voice dropped lower as he leaned across the desk barely inches from her face, enveloping her in a heady scent that reminded her of hot cross buns: warm and sweet and cinnamon. Yum.

‘I think you’ve been expecting me. I’m Dante Andretti.’

Natasha gripped the desk to steady her wobbly legs.

This couldn’t be happening.

No way could this guy be the prince.

‘The Prince of Calida,’ he added as an afterthought, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small, sexy smile which did strange things to Natasha’s insides, things she’d never felt before, things she had no right to experience now.

He was the prince.

This…this…rebel was the man she’d pinned all her hopes on for saving her father’s business?

Lord help her.

‘Is there a problem, Miss Telford?’

Swallowing her first response of ‘you bet your sweet butt there is’, she said, ‘Not at all, Your Highness.’

‘Ssh!’ He shook his head vigorously and put an index finger to his lips, like some second-rate spy. ‘Someone might hear you.’

‘And that might be a problem because…?’ Her voice held a slight tinge of hysteria, and she took a few steadying breaths.

This was crazy. It had to be one of those stupid Candid Camera stunts where her dad and Ella would leap out at any moment and say ‘Gotcha!’

She’d expected the prince to arrive in a stretch limo; this guy had revved in on a motorbike.