One Night With The Prince: A Royal Without Rules

“Second,” she said, staring back at him repressively, which had no discernible effect, “it’s past time for your companions to leave, no matter how energetic they may have been—and please, don’t feel you need to share the details. I’m sure we’ll read all about it in the papers, as usual.” She aimed a chilly smile at him. “Will you do the honors or should I call the royal guard to remove them from the palace?”

“Are you offering to take their place?” Pato asked lazily.

He shifted, and despite herself, Adriana’s gaze dropped to the expanse of his golden-brown chest, sun-kissed and finely honed, long and lean and—

For God’s sake, she snapped at herself. You’ve seen all this before, like everyone else with an internet connection.

She’d even seen the pictures that were deemed too risqué for publication, which the palace had gnashed its collective teeth over and which, according to Lenz, had only made his shameless brother laugh. Which meant she’d seen every part of him. But she had never been this close, in person, to Prince Pato in his preferred state of undress.

It was...different. Much different.

When she forced her gaze upward, his expression was far too knowing.

“I like things my way in my bed,” he said, his decadent mouth crooking into something too hot to be any kind of smile. “But don’t worry. I’ll make it worth your while if you follow my rules.”

That crackled in the air, like a shower of sparks.

“I have no interest in your sexual résumé, thank you,” Adriana snapped. She hadn’t expected he’d be so potent up close. She’d assumed he’d repulse her—and he did, of course. Intellectually. “And in any case it’s unnecessary, as it’s been splashed on the cover of every tabloid magazine for years.”

He shocked her completely by reaching over and tugging gently on the chic jacket she wore over her favorite pencil skirt. Once, twice, three times—and Adriana simply stood there, stunned. And let him.

By the time she recovered her wits, he’d dropped his hand, and she glanced down to see that he’d unbuttoned her jacket, so that the sides fell away and the silk of her thin pink camisole was the only thing standing between his heated gaze and her skin.

Adriana swallowed. Pato smiled.

“Rule number one,” he said, his husky voice a low rumble that made her wildly beating heart pump even faster. Even harder. “You’re overdressed. I prefer to see skin.”

For a moment, there was nothing but blank noise in her head, and a dangerous heat thick and bright everywhere else.

But then she made herself breathe, forcing one breath and then the next, and cold, sweet reason returned with the flow of oxygen. This was Pato’s game, wasn’t it? This was what he did. And she wasn’t here to play along.

“That won’t work,” she told him coolly, ignoring the urge to cover herself. That was undoubtedly what he thought she’d do, what he wanted her to do before she ran away, screaming, like all the previous staff members Lenz had assigned him over the years. She wasn’t going to be one of them.

His golden eyes danced. “Won’t it? Are you sure?”

“I’m not your brother’s lapdog any longer.” Adriana squared her shoulders and held his gaze, tilting her chin up. “Thanks to your appalling behavior last night, which managed to deeply offend your soon-to-be sister-in-law and her entire family—to say nothing of the entire diplomatic corps—I’m yours until your brother’s wedding.”

If anything, Pato’s eyes were even more like gold then, liquid and scalding. As wicked as he was, and her whole body seemed to tighten from the inside out.

“Really.” He looked at her as if he could eat her in one bite, and would. Possibly right then and there. “All mine?”

Adriana thought her heart might catapult from her chest, and she ignored the curl of heat low in her belly, as golden and liquid as his intent gaze. This is what he does, she reminded herself sternly. He’s trying to unnerve you.

“Please calm yourself,” she said with a dry amusement she wished she felt. “I’m your new assistant, secretary, aide. Babysitter. Keeper. I don’t care what you call me. The job remains the same.”

“I’m not in the market for a lapdog,” Pato said in his lazy way, though Adriana thought something far more alert moved over his face for a scant second before it disappeared into the usual carelessness. “And if by some coincidence I was, I certainly wouldn’t choose a little beige hen who’s made a career out of scowling at me in prudish horror and ruffling her feathers in unspeakable outrage every time I breathe.”

“Not when you breathe. Only when you act. Or open your mouth. Or—” Adriana inclined her head toward his naked torso, which took up far too much of her view, and shouldn’t have affected her at all “—when you fling off your clothes at the slightest provocation, the way other people shake hands.”

“Off you go.” He made a dismissive, shooing sort of gesture with one hand, though his lips twitched. “Run back to my drearily good and noble brother and tell him I eat hens like you for breakfast.”

“Then it’s a pity you slept through breakfast, as usual,” Adriana retorted. “I’m not going anywhere, Your Royal Highness. Call me whatever you like. You can’t insult me.”

“I insulted the easily offended Lissette and all of her family without even trying, or so you claim.” His dark brows arched, invoking all manner of sins. Inviting her to commit them. “Imagine how offensive I could be if I put my mind to it and chose a target.”

“I don’t have to imagine that,” Adriana assured him. “I’m the one who sorted out your last five scandals. This year.”

“Various doctors I’ve never met have made extensive claims in any number of sleazy publications that I’m an adrenaline junkie,” Pato continued, studying her, as if he knew perfectly well that the thing that curled low and tight inside her was brighter now, hotter. More dangerous. “I think that means I like a challenge. Shall we test that theory?”

“I’m not challenging you, Your Royal Highness.” Adriana kept her expression perfectly smooth, and it was much harder than it should have been. “You can’t insult me because, quite honestly, it doesn’t matter what you think of me.”

His lips quirked. “But I am a prince of the realm. Surely your role as subject and member of staff is to satisfy my every whim? I can think of several possibilities already.”

How was he getting to her like this? It wasn’t as if this was the first time they’d spoken, though it was certainly the longest and most unclothed interaction she’d had with the man. It was also the only extended conversation she’d ever had with him on her own. She’d never been the focus of all his attention before, she realized. She’d only been near it. That was the crucial difference, and it hummed in her like an electric current no matter how little she wanted it to. She shook her head at him.

“The only thing that matters is making sure you cease to be a liability to your brother for the next two months. My role is to make sure that happens.” Adriana smiled again, reminding herself that she had dealt with far worse things than an oversexed black sheep prince. That she’d cut her teeth on far more unpleasant situations and had learned a long time ago to keep her cool. Why should this be any different? “And I should warn you, Your Royal Highness. I’m very good at my job.”

“And still,” he murmured, his head tilting slightly to one side, “all I hear is challenge piled upon challenge. I confess, it’s like a siren song to me.”

“Resist it,” she suggested tartly.

He gave her a full smile then, and she had the strangest sense that he was profoundly dangerous, despite his seeming carelessness. That he was toying with her, stringing her along, for some twisted reason of his own. That he was something far more than disreputable, something far less easily dismissed. It was disconcerting—and, she told herself, highly unlikely.

“It isn’t only your brother who wants me here, before you ask,” Adriana said quickly, feeling suddenly as if she was out of her depth and desperate for a foothold. Any foothold. “Your father does, too. He made his wishes very clear to Lenz.”

Adriana couldn’t pinpoint what changed, precisely, as Pato didn’t appear to move. But she felt the shift in him. She could sense it in the same way she knew, somehow, that he was far more predatory than he should have been, standing there naked with a sheet wrapped around his hips and his hair in disarray.

“Hauling out your biggest weapon already?” he asked quietly, and a chill sneaked down the length of her spine. “Does that mean I’ve found my way beneath your skin? Tactically speaking, you probably shouldn’t have let me know that.”

“I’m letting you know the situation,” she replied, but she felt a prickle of apprehension. As if she’d underestimated him.

But that was impossible. This was Pato.

“Far be it from me to disobey my king,” he said, a note she didn’t recognize and couldn’t interpret in his voice. It confused her—and worse, intrigued her, and that prickle filled out and became something more like a shiver as his eyes narrowed. “If he wishes to saddle me with the tedious morality police in the form of a Righetti, of all things, so be it. I adore irony.”

Adriana laughed at that. Not because it was funny, but because she hadn’t expected him to land that particular blow, and she should have. She was such a fool, she thought then, fighting back a wave of a very familiar, very old despair. She should have followed her brothers, her cousins, and left Kitzinia to live in happy anonymity abroad. Why did she imagine that she alone could shift the dark mark that hovered over her family, that branded them all, that no one in the kingdom ever forgot for an instant? Why did she still persist in believing there was anything she could do to change that?

But all she showed Pato was the calm smile she’d learned, over the years, was the best response. The only response.

“And here I would have said that you’d never have reason to learn the name of a little beige hen, no matter how long I’ve worked in the palace.”

“I think you’ll find that everybody knows your name, Adriana,” he said, watching her closely. “Blood will tell, they say. And yours...” He shrugged.

She didn’t know why that felt like a punch. It was no more than the truth, and unlike most, he hadn’t even been particularly rude while delivering it.

“Yes, Almado Righetti made a horrible choice a hundred years ago,” she said evenly. She didn’t blush or avert her eyes. She didn’t cringe or cry. She’d outgrown all that before she’d left grammar school. It was that or collapse. Daily. “If you expect me to run away in tears simply because you’ve mentioned my family’s history, I’m afraid you need to prepare yourself for disappointment.”

Once again, that flash of something more, like a shadow across his gorgeous face, making those lush eyes seem clever. Aware. And once again, it was gone almost the moment Adriana saw it.