Princess Australia

So what? It wasn’t any of her business. As long as he came out of the closet—so to speak—at the end of the week, she’d still get the much-needed publicity boost for the Towers. And, after playing along with His Sneaky Highness, she had every intention of milking his royal presence for every cent he was worth.

‘You don’t look too impressed.’

Silently cursing her expressive face, Natasha said, ‘What you do in the next week is no concern of mine.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’

The arrival of their espressos put paid to the questions raging through her brain, and she waited till they were alone again to continue.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘You are the only person who knows my real identity and I want it to stay that way. It is imperative. Do I make myself clear?’

She stared at him in open-mouthed shock. Who did he think he was, talking down to her like that?

Then again, he was a prince, and obviously used to ordering people around. Not to mention the guy who would get her family’s business out of crisis.

She’d bite her tongue. For now.

‘Perfectly clear,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee, enjoying the caffeine rush and trying not to notice the way his long, tanned fingers wrapped around the tall glass mug with ease, as if they were made to hold things…caress things…

‘Good.’

He stared at her over the rim of his mug, those blue eyes capturing her attention and making it impossible to look away no matter how much she wanted to.

‘How long have you been a concierge?’

His question came out of left field though she should have been grateful. With his probing stare, she’d half expected something more personal.

‘Less than a week.’

He lowered his mug, surprise etched across his handsome face. ‘By your surname, I assumed you were part of the Telford family and in the job for a long time. Maybe I’ve entrusted my secret to the wrong person?’

‘Relax,’ she said, enjoying her first genuine smile of their meeting.

No matter how laid back His Highness seemed, this whole secrecy thing was getting to him. She could see it in his suddenly tense shoulders, his rigid neck, his clenched fingers. His floozy must be some woman for him to go to these lengths to protect her identity.

‘My father runs Telford Towers and I’ve worked here since I could walk. Our concierge is away for the next twelve weeks on sick leave, so I’m filling in for seven days till his temporary replacement starts next week. Does that allay your fears?’

He nodded and visibly relaxed, placing his mug on the table between them and leaning back in his chair. ‘So, what do you usually do here?’

‘Everything.’

From ensuring things ran smoothly, to mediating staff disputes, to pampering VIPs, she did it all. It was what she loved about this place, had always loved about it. Being a part of Telford Towers came as naturally to her as breathing and she couldn’t let it slip away.

Especially when this entire mess with Clay was her fault.

‘Such as?’

She should’ve been flattered by Dante’s interest, but she wasn’t a fool. Now that he had her here, he wanted to know every last thing about the only person who knew his little secret. He probably still didn’t trust her.

‘I’m my father’s right-hand woman. After I graduated with an MBA, I joined him in the everyday running of the Towers. Whatever needs to be done, I do it.’

His eyes widened, the admiration in the steady blue gaze warming her from the inside out. ‘Is it only the two of you?’

‘Uh-huh.’

And the painful fact ripped through her, reopening old wounds. Would her mum have survived the heart attack without the added stress Clay had brought upon them? Would Natasha have to spend the rest of her life harbouring the unspeakable guilt that she had contributed to her mum’s death as well as potentially ruining the family?

‘You should be proud. Your father and you have done a marvellous job. This hotel is wonderful. This is wonderful.’

He threw his arms wide in a dramatic gesture characteristic of his Italian heritage, and she managed a tiny smile when in fact she felt like bolting to the sanctity of her room and bawling her eyes out. Memories of her mum always made her feel like crying.

‘Did you hire a designer to create this room?’

Natasha shook her head, a burst of pride making her sit up straighter, and she quelled the urge to sniffle. ‘I did it.’

‘Really?’

If his eyebrows shot any higher, they would’ve reached the elaborate cornices lining the patterned ceiling.

‘That’s right. I wanted to create a home away from home for weary travellers. It’s the type of room I’d like to spend time in if I was stuck in a hotel miles away from everything familiar.’

Her voice rose as she spoke, filled with excitement, and she marvelled at the sudden change. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything bar intense, draining responsibility. She’d made a major mess of things and she had to clean it up.

Where every day used to bring joy and a thrill as she flitted from task to task, the last year had brought nothing but guilt, recrimination and a weary determination to do a job she used to love wholeheartedly.

But that was all about to change. Starting with the prince-playing-hooky sitting in front of her, if he agreed to help.

‘You’ve captured the exact feeling I had when I first sat down,’ he said, glancing around the room with a sparkle in his eyes before his gaze came to rest on her. ‘You’re a very talented woman.’

‘Thank you.’

She blushed, an annoying surge of heat that probably made her look like a sideshow clown. Somehow, his simple compliment meant more to her than all the accolades she’d received in the hotel business.

She really was in a soppy mood. Time to escape before she did something silly like beg him to head up the Towers’ next ad campaign or, better yet, grovel in the hope he would book out the Presidential Suite for the next decade. Both would be financial boons and either option would get them out of trouble.

Making an obvious show of glancing at her watch, she said, ‘If our meeting here is over, I really must go.’

The cheeky glint in his eyes faded. ‘Ah, yes, your secret assignation.’

That’s your game, bucko, not mine.

Thankfully, she bit back that retort. ‘Nothing too secret about meeting my best friend for our daily catch-up at our favourite trattoria.’

She could’ve sworn she saw relief in his eyes before his super-sexy smile drew her attention. ‘You meet your friend every day?’

She nodded, knowing she would never have survived the last few years without brash, exuberant Ella, the sweetest, most loyal friend a girl could ever wish for. The two of them had met through Telford Towers when Ella had moved into one of the apartments five years ago.