Once upon a Billionaire

Billionaire Boys Club - 4

Jessica Clare

Chapter One

The timing of Griffin Verdi’s personal assistant-slash-valet was appalling. “What do you mean, you have the chicken pox?”

“I mean just that,” Kip Rothwell said into the phone, with a hint of the proper ruefulness. “My doctor assures me I won’t be contagious after ten days have passed. He suggested I stay in a hotel until I’m no longer contagious, because I know you can’t get sick right now.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Griffin said, using his friend Reese’s favorite expletive. It seemed appropriate at the moment. “You’re contagious for ten days? We leave tomorrow for Bellissime. I can’t go without my assistant.”

“I realize that, sir, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”

Furious, Griffin hung up the phone on his long-serving personal assistant. The man had never troubled him before. Kip had worked for Griffin for ten years, all the way back to when Griffin was an eighteen year old who insisted on coming to the States for his education. Griffin’s mother had insisted on sending an entourage of servants to join him as befitted his class. He’d fired all of them except for Kip. Someone had to pick out his clothes and drive him around, after all.

And now, when he needed his assistant the most, the man was abandoning him.

Griffin stared at the pile of periodicals on the corner of his paper-strewn desk. Under a copy of Scientific American and Archaeology Today, there was a copy of Bellissime National News, which he had imported in. And below it, Time magazine, which had the same damn headline.

COUNTDOWN TO THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY, it read in big, bold letters. Below, there was a picture of his cousin, Crown Princess Alexandra Olivia the Third, Duchess of Beaulac, Heir Apparent to the throne of Bellissime, and her fiancé, Hollywood action star Luke Houston.

Not only was Her Royal Highness marrying an American commoner, but she was marrying a very famous one, which meant that both American papers and Bellissime ones would be covering it to a ridiculous extent.

Bloody annoying was what it was.

As the upcoming event was the wedding of a royal princess of Bellissime, it meant every Verdi had been invited to the wedding and festivities, Griffin included. And while he could get away from most of his titular duties since he was an unimportant younger son and lived stateside, he couldn’t get away from this. The royal family—right down to far-flung cousins with better things to do—would be rounded up in Bellissime to celebrate HRH Alexandra’s wedding. Griffin fully expected to spend a week utterly miserable, avoiding paparazzi, smiling for photos (he hated photos), and generally avoiding whichever eligible princesses his mother threw in his direction.

All of which would be made even worse because his faithful assistant and traveling companion wouldn’t be at his side. He needed an assistant. Griffin couldn’t keep his own schedule straight, and according to his mother, it wouldn’t do for a royal to make his own arrangements. If his mother knew that his one and only assistant abandoned him, she’d resume her efforts into pressing him into a lifestyle he hated. His mother, Her Royal Highness Princess Sybilla-Louise, believed that a royal lifestyle should consist of an entourage, and she never had less than forty-six staff in her employment at all times.

But Griffin hated that sort of lifestyle. As long as he had things under control, he could live in his small, book-scattered townhouse off Central Park, with only Kip to assist him and a cleaning lady who came by to straighten things on weekends. It was how he preferred it. He hated hovering, and he hated having people around at all times. He hated fuss.

Griffin’s mother thought fuss was a necessity for the royal family.

Hell.

He had to figure out something, and fast. His mother would suspect him the moment she clapped eyes on his tie. If it was even so much as askew, she’d hyperventilate and force servants on him. It wasn’t proper, she’d say. Look at how he was running his own life into the ground, she’d say. Wouldn’t it be easier if he had an equerry and a valet and a driver and a few maids, and the next thing Griffin knew, he’d be tripping over people determined to make themselves useful. Then he’d have no peace at all. His loft would be crawling with maids and butlers and . . . he shuddered at the thought.

Griffin’s phone buzzed. He picked it up eagerly, hoping that Kip had texted him to state that he’d called the doctor because he knew Griffin was displeased, and had been cleared to fly. That he was returning to Griffin’s townhouse and it had all been a complete misunderstanding.

Sir, I have called the agency to see if they can provide a replacement. Will keep you posted. And I’ve arranged for a selection of high-end clip-on ties to be delivered this afternoon.

Dear God. The only thing worse than his mother seeing his tie askew was if she saw him in a clip-on.

Something simply had to be done.

* * *

“Ante up, boys.” Reese tossed his chips into the center of the table. “Let’s get this show on the road. Some of us don’t want to be here all night.”

“You never minded before,” Jonathan grumped as he threw his chips after Reese’s. “Marriage turning you into an old man?”

“Nope,” Reese said easily. “Just eager to get home and see my firecracker. Pregnancy really increases a woman’s hormones, you know.” He wagged his eyebrows at the others in a devilish manner.

“Please, spare the details,” Cade said with a grimace. He added his ante. “Audrey’s a childhood friend of mine, and I don’t want to hear about her raging hormones.”

“Jealous?” Reese said with a grin. He nudged Griffin on the other side of him. “You in, buddy?”

“Hm?” Griffin looked up from his phone, frowning at Kip’s message. It was two simple words. No luck. Damn it all. “I’m in.” He forced his attention back on the card game.

Logan put in his ante and arched an eyebrow at Griffin. “Everything okay?”

“Just family issues,” Griffin said sourly, and reached backward to the drink table and grabbed the bottle of cognac. The others preferred whisky, but he liked something a bit smoother. He didn’t bother pouring it into a glass, just opened the bottle, swirled it, and took a swig.

Now, both of Logan’s eyebrows went up. “I’m pretty sure,” Logan began, “that there’s no such thing as ‘just’ family issues. At least, not in my experience. They asking for money?”

“If only.” If he could toss a few million at his family and make this go away, he would. Griffin chugged the cognac again. Maybe he should have gone for whisky after all.

Reese began to flick cards out on the table, dealing. “So where the hell is Hunter tonight?”

“Gretchen said he was on his way,” Logan said with a shrug. “I assume he got caught in traffic.”

Jonathan picked up his cards off the table and gave Griffin a curious look. “You nervous about the site visit?”

“Site visit?”

“The dig we sponsored. Spain?” Jonathan looked surprised that Griffin had forgotten. “We’re supposed to go next week and see how things are progressing. You know they found a promising cache of coins.”

“Damn it.” He’d forgotten. “I can’t go. I have to be at the royal wedding.”

All the men groaned sympathetically. “God, that sounds like the biggest whipping ever,” Reese said.

Griffin didn’t disagree.

Jonathan was frowning. “You’re bailing out on me, man? But I—”

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and all five men turned, conversation forgotten.

Hunter appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a heavy jacket, scarf, and carrying a box of Kleenex. His nose was red, his eyes bleary, the ugly scars on his face livid. He sneezed.

As Hunter descended the stairs, his girlfriend, Gretchen, trailed close behind him, a worried look on her face. “Do you need more cold medicine, baby?”

She looked like she was the one who’d been sick. Her vivid red hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she wore a baggy sweater and yoga pants. If he’d have passed her on the street, Griffin would have questioned if she was homeless or not. He still couldn’t believe Hunter had fallen for her. She seemed so very . . . uncouth.

“I’m fine,” Hunter said, though he hardly sounded like himself. His voice was raspy and broken.

“Oh, clearly,” Gretchen said sarcastically. She tromped to the bottom of the stairs after him and began to unwind her scarf, tugging off her jacket. “Hi boys, sorry we’re late.”

Griffin groaned into his cards. This wasn’t the first time Hunter had brought his loudmouth girlfriend with him to one of their “supposedly” private meetings, and it annoyed Griffin each time. “Really, Hunter? You couldn’t come without her?”

Gretchen shot Griffin the finger as she reached for Hunter’s jacket, helping him take it off. “He’s sick as fuck, prick. I told him to stay in bed, but he wouldn’t, so I came with him. You can just suck it up.”

“Lovely,” Griffin muttered. “Just what the evening needed, a visiting harridan.”

“That’s my sister-in-law,” Reese murmured to him. “So can you shut your mouth before I hear about it when I get home?”

Griffin gave Reese an icy look. “Not you, too? Am I the only one who has a problem with the whole ‘secret society’ being secret?”

Jonathan shot him a sympathetic smile across the table, but Griffin noticed he didn’t speak up. Coward.

“Hey, I know,” Gretchen said, giving Griffin a wide-eyed innocent look as she settled Hunter into the only empty chair at the table. “Why don’t you take another swig of ‘Shut the Hell Up’ and let me care for my man?”

Dignity didn’t allow Griffin to answer. He settled for giving her his best cold aristocratic stare-down. It seemed to be wasted on Gretchen, as she was currently fussing over Hunter, and the scarred man was letting her. Disgraceful. When Gretchen was satisfied with the state of Hunter’s attire, she turned around and sat in his lap. “So, what are we playing?”

Griffin stared at her and waited for someone to correct her impertinence.

“Hold ’Em,” Cade volunteered, ever the suck up.

“Cool,” Gretchen said, and grabbed Hunter’s chips, wiggling on his lap. “I’ll help Hunter play.”

“What, are his hands sick, too?” Jonathan asked, a dry note of humor in his voice.

Gretchen wagged a playful finger at him, and Hunter only wrapped his arms around her waist, a pleased look on his ugly face as he wiped his nose with a Kleenex. He seemed to like Gretchen there.

Traitor.

Even Logan, the head of their society, didn’t seem displeased to see Gretchen at their table. Sure, she’d signed a non-disclosure agreement in which she’d promised not to divulge a single detail of their secret Brotherhood, but it was the principle of the thing, wasn’t it?

“We’ll skip the professional discussions this week,” Logan said, lighting a cigar.

Figured. He’d been looking forward to losing himself in some business talk. It seemed like everything was against him right now. He said nothing as the first cards were dealt, and chipped in his amount to match Cade’s bid.

“I’ll see your amount,” Gretchen said, pushing chips forward. “And raise you that gigantic stick up Griffin’s ass.”

Griffin threw down his cards. “Oh, come on. This is ridiculous.”

“Kids, kids,” Reese said. “Let’s settle down.”

“He started it,” Gretchen said sulkily. “It’s that snotty accent of his. Everything he says sounds ten times more jerkish.”

Griffin glared at the hateful woman. “If you don’t like it, feel free to leave. I don’t seem to recall anyone inviting you here in the first place.”

Hunter only tightened his grip around Gretchen’s waist and gave Griffin a small shake of his head, warning him not to pick a fight. Good God. A man fell in love and all of a sudden, he was letting his woman walk all over him. Griffin vowed that he’d never let that happen to himself.

Cade peered at Griff from over his cards. “You all right? You seem unusually moody tonight.”

Griffin rubbed at his face. “I’m having a hell of a time, thank you for asking.”

Logan grunted acknowledgment of this.

“What’s the problem?” Jonathan wanted to know. “Anything I can help with?”

“Not unless you have a spare assistant,” Griffin said. He put his cards down, unable to concentrate. “My assistant-slash-valet is ill and won’t be available to travel for at least another week, and I fly to Bellissime tomorrow night for the circus that will be cousin Alexandra’s wedding.”

Gretchen gasped. “Holy shit. Princess Alexandra of Bellissime is your cousin?” She fanned herself, looking excited. “That explains that douchey attitude! You’re royalty?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. He never tried to hold his title over anyone here in the States to make them feel inferior, but at this moment, he was sorely tempted. “I don’t see why it matters.”

“That wedding is a huge deal!” Gretchen exclaimed. “It’s kind of neat that you’re going.”

“Except that Griffin is probably almost as antisocial as Hunter there,” Jonathan acknowledged with a nod. He shot a glance at Griffin. “And it’s interfering with other projects.”

Damn. Griffin was going to be upset about missing that dig for weeks. He just knew it. He’d go check on things afterward, of course, but it wasn’t quite the same as getting that initial tour of the grounds and being there on site as things transpired.

“It doesn’t even matter if I wanted to go,” Griffin said. “Which I most emphatically do not wish to attend. But if I don’t have an assistant, I’ll be forced to rely on my mother’s staff.” His collar felt chokingly tight at the thought, and he tugged at it and his necktie. “So I need an assistant.”

All of the men groaned in sympathy.

“What? What is it?” Gretchen asked, curious.

“His mother is kind of . . .” Cade began, clearly trying to think of the best word.

“Unpleasant,” Hunter offered, finally speaking.

“That branch up Griffin’s ass? It’s an entire redwood for Her Royal Highness Sybilla-Louise,” said Jonathan.

Gretchen’s eyes widened. “Holy crap.”

“Thank you for that lovely reminder, gentlemen,” Griffin said in a clipped tone. “Ever so grateful. Really.” He swigged his cognac again. Manners be damned—he needed the burn of alcohol, and he needed it sooner rather than later.

“Well,” Gretchen said sweetly. “Hunter has an extra assistant at his office. I bet he would let you borrow her. He’s sick right now anyhow, and he’s not going in.”

Hunter broke off into a coughing fit. He raised a hand, and Gretchen pulled it against her waist, that saccharine smile never leaving her face.

Griffin gave her a narrow-eyed look. Why was she trying to be helpful all of a sudden? After the hissing they’d done to each other across the table? “He does?”

Gretchen nodded, holding on to Hunter’s arms while he coughed and hacked. The man did sound brutally sick. “She’s very sweet. Hardworking. I’m sure she’d travel on short notice if offered overtime.”

“I’m going to need someone who can run a very busy schedule for me while I’m in Bellissime. There are many high-profile functions I must attend.”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Maylee’s very . . . task-oriented. And she takes a lot of notes.”

Griffin pondered this. He looked at Hunter. “You wouldn’t mind if I borrowed her for a few weeks?”

“God, no,” he said between coughs.

Gretchen elbowed him. “He’s sick and needs to be on bed rest right now,” she said. “So he shouldn’t be working anyhow. And if he needs help, he can count on me.”

Griffin eyed Gretchen’s disheveled appearance. “Quite.”

But her smile only grew broader. “Want me to make a call to her?”

He considered this. He didn’t entirely trust Gretchen . . . but Hunter wouldn’t tolerate inefficient employees. He’d seen how the man’s household was run. And to be honest, he was low on options. “I’ll check in with Kip again tonight, and I will let you know if I need her services.”

“Of course,” Gretchen said smoothly. “Just let me know. I can’t wait to hear.”

* * *

Gretchen was on pins and needles about the Maylee situation. She fidgeted and checked Hunter’s phone a dozen times every few minutes, just in case. The poker party had wrapped a bit early, since there was no business to be discussed with Gretchen there and Hunter’s hacking cough distracted all of them.

An hour after Hunter and Gretchen returned home, Griffin texted Hunter with a message.

It seems I need your assistant after all. Think she can meet me at the airport at 18:00 with her passport, as much formal business wear as she can carry, and be ready to work? I’ll pay her double what you normally pay.

Gretchen snatched the phone out of Hunter’s hand as she tucked him into bed, read the screen, and cackled merrily. “Oh, my God, this is going to be so good. I wish I could be there to see his face when you send him Maylee.”

Hunter grimaced between coughs. “He’s going to kill me when he gets home, Gretchen. You know she’s terrible with etiquette, and you know Griff is a stickler for it.”

“Maylee is worse than terrible with etiquette,” Gretchen agreed. “But friendly and oh so sweet. It’ll be the perfect situation, because she’ll be so awful at everything, and too nice for him to say an unkind word about the poor dear. Then, he’ll be stuck with her.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he said. “Because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to save you from his wrath.”

She grinned wickedly. “So can I call her? Can I, can I? Pleeease?”

He sneezed and waved a hand at her. “Just bring me some more medicine on the way back.”

Gretchen cackled with sheer delight again.

* * *

Maylee Meriweather was watching an episode of Duck Dynasty on her small television, eating popcorn, and feeling rather homesick when her phone rang. It wasn’t unusual for family members to call at odd hours, just because that was how her family was. “Hello?”

“Maylee? It’s Gretchen Petty.”

She put aside her bowl of popcorn and licked her fingers to clean them. “Oh! Hi there, Ms. Gretchen. How are you?” Fear gnawed in her belly. If the boss’s girlfriend was calling her after nine on a weeknight, that . . . wasn’t good. Maybe she was calling to say that Mr. Hunter couldn’t put up with her any longer and was letting her go. She wouldn’t be surprised; Mr. Hunter was never quite happy with her, though she tried so very hard. She just sort of forgot things.

“Great. How are you?”

“I’m good!” She didn’t say right as a pig in mud because she’d said that to Ms. Gretchen once and her eyes had nearly bugged out of her pretty head. They didn’t say that sort of thing here in the big city, as she was learning. So the longer she worked in New York City, the harder she worked on improving her speech. She was now down to “mostly country” instead of “fresh off the turnip truck.”

“Well, Maylee, the reason I’m calling . . .”

Maylee squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the worst.

“. . . is that Hunter and I need a favor. Do you have a passport?”

Maylee frowned. “Well, that’s a mighty odd question, Ms. Gretchen, but yes, I do. My mama says it’s best to be prepared for anything, so I got a passport before I came here to the big city.” She was rather proud of that passport. Not many people in her hometown had one. Not many people in her hometown traveled out of state, much less out of the country.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Gretchen said, and Maylee could have sworn she was stifling a laugh. Ms. Gretchen was such a happy person, always smiling and laughing. It made Maylee happy to see her with Mr. Hunter, who could use a good belly laugh or two.

“Do y’all need more paperwork on me? I gave copies of everything to the employment agency . . .” She let her words trail off. Did people need more ID when they were letting you go? She bit down on a fingernail, feeling miserable. She’d tried so hard, she really did. She never complained about the long hours or the fact that people who called in were rude to her. She just endured it. And she still wasn’t good enough for working for Mr. Hunter, she suspected. He wanted someone polished who would never ask a single question, and that just wasn’t Maylee. She was rather lacking in the polish department, sadly.

“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m scaring the crap out of you, aren’t I?”

“Well, I might need to change my britches after this call,” Maylee admitted with a small smile. “But it’s okay. I can handle it. What’s up?”

“I’m calling because Hunter and I need a favor. Hunter has a friend who is in need of an assistant as soon as possible because his is sick, and he’s about to go on an important trip.”

“Oh?” So, wait . . . she wasn’t getting fired? Thank you, Jesus.

“Yes. His name is Griffin Verdi. Have you heard of him?”

“Can’t say that I have, Ms. Gretchen. Sounds a bit like a Harry Potter character.” Maylee loved the Harry Potter books. She was pretty sure she’d be a Hufflepuff.

This time, Gretchen giggled out loud. “He’s not. He’s kind of a dick, actually. But, he’s offered to pay you double time if you go on a trip with him and act as his personal secretary. He needs someone to manage his appointments and such. He’s a bit absent-minded and Hunter tells me he’s useless without an assistant.”

Maylee had stopped listening after the magical words of “double time.” Maylee looked at her small, Goodwill-furnished, closet-sized apartment, and crossed her legs on the mattress she’d thrown on the floor that acted as her bed. A little more money would go a long way, though she’d never ask Mr. Hunter for a raise. She wasn’t a beggar, no matter what New Yorkers thought of country folk. “So he’s a jackass and needs his hand held while on vacation? I think I can manage that, Ms. Gretchen.”

“That’s it in a nutshell,” Gretchen said smugly. “I knew you were perfect for this job when I heard it. So can you go? He needs you to meet him at the airport tomorrow.” She gave Maylee some rattled-off details that Maylee quickly wrote on a nearby Post-it, then said, “I can send you an email with everything if you like.”

“That would be great, Ms. Gretchen. Just . . . are you sure you want me?”

“Oh, no doubt in my mind,” Gretchen said. “You were the first one I thought of when I heard he was looking.”

“Really?” Maylee’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Oh. Um, you’re young and you’re not tied down by family, so I figured you could leave at a moment’s notice. Am I right?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, great. I’ll text Griffin and let him know. He’ll be so pleased. Just pack all of your normal business wear.”

She’d have to get a cab to the airport. Actually, no. Cabs were expensive. Maybe she could take the subway instead. That was cheaper. “Can I ask where we’re going, Ms. Gretchen? Is it England? Italy?” Oh, she’d always wanted to see Italy! Excitement began to spin in her mind. Double time and a vacation? It was like Christmas around here. Ms. Gretchen was so sweet for thinking of her.

“It’s a place called Bellissime. It’s a very small country on the border of Italy and France. Right next to Monaco. Have you heard of it?”

“Um.” Maylee thought for a moment, then snuck a piece of popcorn and tossed it in her mouth. Geography wasn’t a strong suit of hers. “Isn’t that the place they’re gonna have that royal wedding?” She didn’t read a lot of tabloids, but it was hard to miss the headlines. A pretty blonde princess in some European country was marrying Hollywood actor Luke Houston, who had a chiseled jaw, a dreamy smile, and was in a lot of really bad movies. “It’s so sweet.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re going,” Gretchen said. “Griffin’s been invited to the wedding.”

She choked on a piece of popcorn, wheezing. “Beg pardon?”

“Royal wedding,” Gretchen repeated. “Big shindig. Lots of stuck-up assholes getting their picture taken.”

Maylee coughed, the popcorn lodged in the back of her throat. “Oh. Oh mercy,” she wheezed. She knew there was a reason why she liked Ms. Gretchen. She was so down to earth. “And again, you’re sure you want me to go to this?”

“You’ll be fine,” Gretchen said, a coaxing note in her voice. “It’ll be fun. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell afterward! And don’t forget, double time. All you have to do is make sure Griffin gets to places on time and take his phone calls. It’ll be easy.”

And Ms. Gretchen had wanted her to do it? Maylee beamed at the thought. “You tell Mr. Griffin he’s got himself an assistant.”

“Perfect!” Gretchen sounded utterly delighted. “I’ll send you an email with all the deets. Thanks, Maylee. You’re the best!”

They hung up and Maylee immediately unfolded her legs, heading across her tiny apartment over to the rickety old desktop computer she had set up. She couldn’t really afford a laptop yet, and someone had sold her this great—if noisy—computer on a street corner. She clicked it on and waited for it to start up, then she snagged a local hotspot and went web-surfing to find out everything she could about Bellissime.

The Wikipedia page on Bellissime was fascinating.

One of the oldest constitutional monarchies in Europe, Bellissime is a small mountainous country bordered on the east by Italy, west by France, and north by Switzerland. Tucked into the Alps, the official language is French, but as the monarchy has had British connections since the Middle Ages, English is commonly spoken. Bellissime is known for three things: its monarchy, its chocolate, and the tiny size of the country. Only Monaco and the Vatican are smaller.

A tiny mountain country in the Alps with a princess who was having a royal wedding? And she got to go? And she’d be paid a bonus?

Maylee pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Chapter Two

“Lordamercy,” Maylee breathed as the courtesy transport cart drove onto the tarmac toward the jet. She juggled her bags, clutching them in her lap.

“Almost there, Ms. Meriweather,” the driver told her.

“That’s rather a small plane, isn’t it?” It didn’t look very big. Or safe. She’d flown in an exceedingly large plane on the way to New York City, with three rows across and goodness knows how many up and down. This . . . was clearly not the same kind of plane.

“It’s a private jet, ma’am,” the driver said, an elderly man who seemed to be having a great time watching her reactions to everything in the airport. “Some are smaller than others. This is one of the larger ones.”

It was? She stared at it, gaping. “So there won’t be any other people on it?”

“No ma’am. Mr. Verdi won’t be flying coach.” She could have sworn he smiled to himself at the thought.

“Oh. Okay.” She felt incredibly out of her depth at the moment. Maylee clutched her luggage tighter. This suddenly felt a little overwhelming.

Double time, she repeated to herself. Double time. Gretchen had figured Maylee would be perfect for this job, and really, she was doing Mr. Griffin a favor by traveling at the last minute with him. She just needed to remember that.

He needed Maylee. Not the other way around. Lifting her head high, Maylee resolved that she was going to enjoy this trip. She’d never left the States before, and this would be the adventure of a lifetime.

The cart parked in front of the jet and a wheeled staircase had been set at the door. At the top, a flight attendant waited. The man took Maylee’s suitcase from her arms and frowned a bit at the bright red tartan of it, along with the trailing ribbons she had decorating the handle. He touched one of the ribbons. “Did you need to secure these, miss?”

“Oh, no,” she said cheerily. “That’s so it doesn’t get lost in the luggage pick-up.”

“There’s no luggage pick-up on a private jet,” he said, smiling at her. “Otherwise, it’s a smart idea.”

She beamed at him for the compliment. “I can carry the suitcase, honey. No need for you to go up all those stairs.”

“I don’t mind. It’s my job.”

“You’re so sweet,” she told him, and the man grinned at her. Mama had always told her you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so Maylee was always friendly to the staff. Heck, she was staff. These were her people. “I can’t thank you enough for the ride out here.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am,” he said again, and gestured for her to ascend the stairs ahead of him.

Maylee clutched her purse close, shifted her backpack onto her shoulder, and let him carry her suitcase. She was glad she’d worn low-heeled loafers with her skirted suit, because that staircase looked mighty steep. Didn’t most flights normally have a tunnel ramp thingie you went down to get onto the plane? She supposed this baby plane was too dinky for that sort of thing.

Nearby, another flight attendant smiled at her. She was wearing a black-jacketed suit that looked way fancier than anything Maylee owned. Her blonde hair was pulled into an elegant twist and she wore more makeup than Maylee. Still, she looked model beautiful. “Welcome. Mr. Verdi is inside. Can I take your things?”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Maylee said, and shrugged off her backpack. “You are so kind to offer. And my goodness gracious, you are so pretty!” It wasn’t a lie—the woman was flat-out gorgeous.

She chuckled at Maylee’s effusive compliment and took the bag from her. “Thank you. Follow me, and I’ll show you where you can sit.”

The interior of the jet was nothing like the time that she’d flown coach. Then, she’d been at the back of the plane and the ride was so bumpy that she’d felt like she’d ridden a bull all the way to NYC. They’d hit turbulence and it had given her nightmares so badly that she’d gone to the doctor for a prescription of relaxers, which were in her purse at the moment, for the next time she flew. She’d also been a middle seat, and had spent the entire terrifying flight squished between two fat businessmen, who’d looked terribly displeased at the thought of someone sitting in the middle seat. As if she could help it!

It hadn’t been an experience she’d wanted to repeat. The trepidation of flying had been on her mind this morning as she’d packed her suitcase, but double time pretty much won the argument every time. She had her pills. She’d be fine.

The smiling flight attendant led her in. “The first flight will be eight hours to Heathrow. We’ll refuel and then fly straight on to Bellissime.”

“Eight hours? Lordamercy,” Maylee said. “That’s longer than my cousin Bobbie Jo’s first marriage lasted.”

The attendant giggled. “It is long, but the second flight is only about four hours. And this is an overnight, so you can sleep.”

“Oh, I’ll be too riled up to sleep,” Maylee told her. And then the attendant stepped aside and Maylee got her first really good look at the private jet. “Lordamercy.”

It was like something out of a movie.

Soft golden lighting filled the cabin, the ceiling striated in a decorative seashell pattern designed to make the interior seem much bigger than it actually was. There were no ridiculously crowded—and claustrophobia-making—overhead compartments here. Instead, more lights were built into the ceiling, and beautiful carpeting in a soft, pale patterned brown lined the floor of the cabin. The few seats inside the cabin were enormous, made of a buttery leather, and a pretty table jutted out from each wall, accompanied by a flat-screen TV on an arm that could be pulled out so the seated occupant could watch whatever they wanted. Maylee counted eight of these seats, and in the back, there was another door to what must have been a private room. Flowers in small vases adorned each of the tabletops in the main cabins.

This was far nicer than her apartment. Lordamercy.

“What do you think?” The flight attendant was smiling at her, clearly seeing Maylee’s awe.

“It’s so . . . swanky. This is where we’re flying?” My goodness, they were paying her to fly in this jet? And then take a trip to Europe? Gracious, she didn’t know how she’d gotten so lucky. She couldn’t stop smiling, either.

The attendant laughed. “It is. Mr. Verdi is in the back room and doesn’t wish to be disturbed at the moment.” She inclined her head at the closed door. “Let’s put down your things and I’ll show you where the bathroom is. Just pick a spot.”

Maylee walked through the spacious cabin, running a hand over the silky-smooth leather of each seat before selecting one in the back. She wasn’t quite sure where employees were supposed to sit, but she guessed it wasn’t in the front. The back was always where the roughest ride was on a plane, right? She was pretty sure the boss wouldn’t want to sit there, then. Maylee picked a seat and sat down, then clasped her hands in her lap.

“This isn’t like a normal flight,” the attendant said. “So anything you need, you just let me know.”

She patted her purse, now in the seat beside her. “I have my panic pills in here.”

The attendant laughed and gave her a sympathetic look. “Afraid to fly?”

“Afraid of the crashing part,” Maylee admitted. “I haven’t flown much and it makes my heart race around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“Do you want a drink? I can make you a lovely cocktail.”

A cocktail? “That’d be very nice of you.”

She winked at Maylee. “How about a mojito?”

Maylee had never had one. How could she pass up a nice fancy drink? “That would be lovely.” She pulled out her purse. “Do you want to see my ID?”

The attendant giggled again. “Not necessary. This is a private flight. I’m sure you’re old enough.”

“I’m twenty-four,” Maylee admitted. She usually got carded, though. It was probably her silly curls (which made her look young) and her freckled snub nose (which didn’t help) and her round cheeks (which certainly didn’t help). Without makeup, she normally looked like a teenager.

“I’m Megan,” the attendant said, and bustled away, her hips swaying in that awful nice suited jacket. Maylee smoothed her own polyester dress. She’d gotten it at Sears on sale. It had buttons going up in a fake seam and the jacket was attached to the skirt so the entire thing zipped up the back. It fit a bit like a sack, but it had been on sale, and you couldn’t ask for more than that. She’d just safety-pinned it in the worst spots and called it a day. Of course, she’d had to take those out when they’d wanded her at security, so it was a little loose at the moment.

As she waited for her drink, Maylee ran her hands along the smooth leather of the seats and tinkered with the buttons she could reach. Some were for air vents, some for lighting, and one let her call the attendant (which she didn’t press). There was a control for the television, earphones tucked into a pocket on the side of her chair, and a fancy little pillow and matching blanket just for her, if she wanted them. It was impressive. Heck, it was nicer than some motel rooms she’d stayed in. The motel she’d stayed in while searching for an apartment had water damage on the ceiling and she’d had to share a bathroom with everyone else on the floor.

Megan returned a few minutes later with her drink. “Here you go.” It looked like a Sprite with some chewed-up green leafy crap in it. Okay. Not quite as glamorous as she’d imagined.

Maylee took the glass. “You’re so thoughtful. Thank you.” She sipped it and smiled at Megan. “Wonderful.” It was pretty good, actually. She kept drinking as she settled into her seat.

As the minutes passed, the cabin remained empty. Maylee tried to finish her drink quickly, so she could be done before they took off, but it seemed that they weren’t in any particular kind of hurry. They were just . . . sitting here, waiting on Mr. Verdi. Maylee fished a piece of ice out of her glass and chewed on it, sucking the last of mojito off the cube.

Megan eventually returned and snagged Maylee’s glass with a smile. Before Maylee could protest, she was pouring another. Well, she could drink another one of those. It was pretty tasty with all that mint. The plane began to taxi down the runway just as she started to drink her new one, and Maylee chugged it, trying to finish it before they took off. That was just polite, right?

By the time she’d sucked down that second mojito, she was feeling a little . . . tipsy. Nothing ridiculous, just a little floaty and loose. It was probably because she’d drank them so fast. The plane stopped again, and waited.

Maylee peered out the window. She couldn’t see anything except the night sky and the lights on the runway. Why weren’t they getting into the air?

The attendant floated past again, and as Maylee watched, Megan went to the door at the back of the plane and knocked. “Ready to leave whenever you are, Mr. Verdi.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just swung back around to Maylee and smiled. “Another drink?”

“Oh, no,” Maylee said. “I couldn’t possibly. Thank you, though.”

Megan took the glass from her. “Go ahead and buckle up. We’ll be leaving as soon as Mr. Verdi is finished with his meeting.”

Maylee fumbled with her belt, snapping it at her waist and then tightening it. Anxiety began to gnaw at the pit of her stomach. She’d be meeting rich Mr. Verdi, and they’d be flying—both things that made her very, very nervous. Combined with the drinks, she rather felt like she was going to throw up.

Time for her pills.

She fished the bottle out of her purse and peered at the label, uncertain of how many to take. One or two? There was a bright yellow sticker on the side that said DO NOT MIX WITH ALCOHOL but it was a mite too late for that, wasn’t it? She hurriedly popped one into her mouth, dry swallowing it.

Five minutes later, she felt nice.

So, so nice.

Mellow.

All floaty and wonderful.

Mmmm.

In a pleasant haze, she watched as Megan buckled herself in at the far end of the cabin and they both waited for Mr. Verdi to appear. Maylee blinked slowly, and that was rather fun, so she blinked again, watching her eyelashes descend.

Wow. Who knew eyelashes were so interesting?

“We might be another minute,” Megan said to her. “Can I get you anything else?”

Maylee beamed at her and gave her a thumbs up. One hardly seemed to convey how good she was feeling, so she thrust her other one into the air, too. “I’m wonderful. So, so wonderful.”

And she wagged her thumbs at the woman.

The smile on the attendant’s face faltered a little in its sincerity. “Um. All right. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Maylee thought for a moment, not an easy feat given the alcohol and pills. Then, she said, “Knitting.”

“I’m . . . sorry? I don’t think I caught that.”

She flapped her hands—a bit like a chicken, really—and said, “These are bored.”

“Bored?” Megan blinked at her. Hard.

“Yes. And my knitting is all tied up in my luggage.” Maylee made a sad face. “It’s probably lonely.” She stared down at her hands. “I bet it misses them.”

“Your suitcase is actually just up here,” Megan said, that curious look still on her face. “Do you want to get it?”

“Oh, that would be just peachy.” She stood up—or tried to, anyhow. She was still buckled in, and it knocked her back to her chair. Maylee began to giggle wildly. “Oopsie daisy.”

“I can get it for you,” Megan said quickly.

“That would be peachy, too,” Maylee said with a languid smile. “It’s in a side pocket.” Gosh, they were nice on private airplanes. She liked everyone here so much.

A moment later, Megan handed her the knitting, and she made a happy sound in her throat. So perfect. Now she could knit all the way to Bellissime. Maybe she’d knit a hat for her new employer. Wouldn’t he just love that? “Everyone likes hats,” she mumbled aloud to herself, and began to knit.

* * *

“If you get a chance to bail out early,” Jonathan said to Griffin over the phone, “you should really come out to Spain. They’ve found some interesting pottery shards at one site and a few new areas they’d like to excavate, but there’s permits to be filed and funding to be acquired, so nothing can really move ahead without you.”

Damn it. He really wanted to be there. The timing could not be worse. “It’ll just have to wait a few weeks. I’m afraid there’s no way I can leave early, short of insulting my entire family and offending the crown.”

“I do not envy you,” Jonathan said. “Tell you what. I’ll upload my photos online later tonight and you can get a glimpse of what I’m seeing here. I think you’ll like it. The canal system is so incredibly impressive. I’m told that the swampy grounds make it hell to excavate, but I think it just makes it all the more promising.”

“And we’re sure it’s Atlantis and not just Tarshish?”

“I don’t know. The lead on the project, Doctor DeWitt, says he’s uncovered something significant, but since you’re the benefactor, he won’t reveal it without you here.”

Griffin felt a little stab of pleasure at that, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Jonathan was one of his best friends, and trustworthy, but this project was Griffin’s baby. “I see. Like I said, it’ll have to wait a few weeks.”

“Cadiz isn’t that far away from Bellissime, is it? Can’t you just hop a plane and take a same-day flight?”

“You’ve never seen a royal schedule around one of these functions, have you?” Griffin asked drily.

“God no.”

“I’ll be lucky if I have an hour to myself.”

“Fuck, that sounds miserable.”

It did. That was why Griffin preferred minimal fuss when he was on his own, and why he preferred being on his own as much as possible. It was why he ‘made do’ with one assistant versus his mother’s forty-six staff.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Ready to leave whenever you are, Mr. Verdi,” the attendant said.

Griffin ignored it and continued talking to Jonathan for a few minutes more. He was jealous as hell that his friend got to poke around in the marshes of Spain for the next few weeks while Griffin had to dress up in starchy suits, kiss babies, and have his blasted photo taken eight hundred times a day.

Reese should have been Viscount Montagne Verdi, not Griffin. Reese loved people. Griffin could barely tolerate them.

When he could put off the inevitable no longer, Griffin ended the call with Jonathan, put away his laptop, and left his private room. He nodded at the attendant at the far end of the plane and sat in his seat, rubbing his face. He was looking forward to this about as much as one would look forward to a tooth extraction, or perhaps a vasectomy. A colonoscopy? He pondered a list of horrific things that could possibly be less painful than a week-long royal wedding.

He buckled his seat belt, closed his eyes and leaned back, and the plane began to taxi forward. Griffin kept his eyes closed, relaxing, as the plane ascended into the air, the roar of the engines drowning out everything but his own thoughts. Eventually the sound of the engines leveled out, and Griffin became aware of a new noise.

Clicking.

He frowned, opening his eyes just in time to see the flight attendant lean over his chair. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Verdi?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

She nodded and disappeared, and the clicking began again. He looked to his left. Nothing. Looked behind him.

And paused.

What on earth . . .

There was a woman behind him. A blonde. And she was knitting.

That was . . . odd.

This had to be Hunter’s assistant. Gretchen had texted him last night and told him that she’d send her over to meet him at his plane. To be perfectly honest, he’d been so wrapped up in his own misery that he hadn’t even given it much thought. It was just taken care of.

But this? This made him pause.

This woman was a mess. Her hair was a messy pile of white-blonde corkscrew curls that haloed her head in a frizzy nimbus, barely brushing her slim shoulders. She was lightly tanned, a sprinkle of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her face was round and looked impossibly young . . . except for the knitting. And she had on what had to be the most sincerely godawful ugly suit he’d ever seen. It hung off her small frame like a shapeless sack, and he was pretty sure that shiny fabric was polyester. Dear Lord.

He’d asked for competent. Experienced. Gretchen had assured him that Hunter’s assistant was all these things.

Gretchen.

He’d bloody kill her when he got back.

“Just who are you?” Griffin barked out at the strange woman, furious. He was too polite to add the bloody hell that he wanted to that statement. This had to be a mistake.

She blinked slowly. Twice. As if it were difficult to do so. Long, white-blonde lashes skimmed her eyes and there was something peculiar about her gaze. Her eyes were extremely dark.

“Howdy,” she said in a husky Southern drawl that was so thick that it made him inwardly cringe. Small hands dropped the knitting into her lap and she stuck one out at him. “I’m Maylee Meriweather. That’s Maylee after both my Nana May and Pepaw Lee.”

He just stared. “Please tell me the words ‘Nana’ and ‘Pepaw’ did not just come out of your mouth.”

She tilted her head and blinked slowly again. Then she giggled, the sound musical and sweet and young. “You must be Mr. Gryffindor.”

“Griffin,” he gritted. Up in the front of the cabin, he heard the flight attendant smother a laugh, and he shot her an irritated look.

“I think I would be a Hufflepuff,” she said, her voice quite serious. “They seem to be the happiest ones. Quite homey, Hufflepuff.”

He stared at her a moment longer, and then looked over at the flight attendant. “Is she drunk?”

The attendant’s eyes widened. “I only gave her two drinks, sir.”

“Sounds like two too many,” he muttered. He turned back to the wild-haired blonde, who was blinking those owl-like eyes at him. “Are you drunk?”

“No sir,” she breathed. “I’m Maylee. That’s Maylee after my Nana May and Pepaw—”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted. “You already told me. And you are clearly drunk. Either that, or a fool. Why did Hunter send you?”

“Double time,” she said, and gave him a beaming smile. “You’re caught in a poke and I get to make lots of money and a fancy trip to all them nice parts of Europe.”

Dear God, her accent got worse the more she talked. There were all kinds of revolting twangs rumbling out of her mouth. “Caught in a poke?”

He was really going to kill Gretchen.

“Yesiree,” Maylee breathed. “You’re plumb outta assistants and so Ms. Gretchen called me and asked me if I could look after Mr. Gryffindor. And I said I surely could. How come you sound all English, Mr. Gryffindor? I thought you were from Bellissime.”

“Griffin,” he corrected again stiffly. “And we speak English there. And I lived in Britain during my formative years.”

“Ah,” she said, and then leaned close. “Hogwarts, right?”

Bloody fucking hell. It was like having a conversation with a two-year-old. A very country two-year-old. He pulled out his phone and began to furiously text.

“Whatcha doin?” Maylee asked, that drawl making him even angrier.

“I’m texting Hunter to let him know how much I hate his girlfriend,” Griffin snapped. “You absolutely cannot be my assistant for this trip. This is a job that requires delicacy and an ability to maintain a tight schedule—”

“I can do all that—”

“—and manners!” Griffin barked. “This is inexcusable and utterly ridiculous and you are not going to be my assistant.”

“I’m not?” The two words were soft and trembly.

He shot her another angry look. “Don’t you dare—”

But it was too late. The horrid creature burst into big, gulping, noisy sobs.

Chapter Three

Griffin had grown up in a family that prized restraint and considered emotional displays to be bad form. Crying? Never happened, not even when his father died. It simply wasn’t done amongst the peerage, even now. And given that Griffin normally wasn’t his best with people, he really, really did not know what to do with a crying female.

This trip was going from bad to worse, and rapidly.

Griffin stared at the sobbing young woman seated behind him. She blubbered loudly, her youthful face turning splotchy red, her white-blonde curls bouncing as she wiped at her face with a cocktail napkin.

“Stop crying,” Griffin commanded.

She only cried harder.

This was ridiculous. He glanced at the flight attendant to see if she could help him, but she was averting her eyes, her mouth a reproachful line of disapproval. Lovely. It seemed that even his staff was not on his side.

With a sigh, Griffin looked back at the awful creature that was his assistant. “What will it take for you to stop crying?”

She sniffed loudly. “I need a hug.”

“You what?”

She extended her arms out.

“I’m not hugging you.”

She began to cry harder.

Griffin’s jaw clenched so hard he heard his molars scrape. This was beyond ridiculous. “Stop crying,” he said again.

“You don’t like me,” she blubbered.

No, I don’t, he wanted to say, but he had no desire to see more waterworks. He decided to try manipulation instead. “I will if you stop crying.”

“O-okay,” she said, and sniffed loudly.

That worked? Really? That had been easier than he’d thought. Griffin gave her a firm nod and turned back around in his chair. He’d give the creature some time to compose herself, and then he’d see the best way to get rid of her as soon as they stopped in Heathrow for refueling. He’d have to borrow a few members of staff from his mother, or his older brother, and he’d simply have to endure their incessant advice about adding employees and then cheerfully discard any suggestions once he got back to the States. He barely glanced over as the creature got up from her seat, likely to go and clean herself up in the lavatory. He was still thinking about staffing issues and how his mother would point out smugly that she’d warned him of such a problem, and she couldn’t possibly spare one of her own staff, because—

A shadow fell over Griffin.

He looked up, just in time for the strange, bizarre woman to drop herself into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck.

He stiffened in shock.

Had this . . . horrible woman really just climbed into his lap and put her arms around his neck? It wasn’t to be endured. He was her employer, first of all, and this wasn’t proper in the slightest. He was also a royal, and no one touched royalty without their permission, even in this day and age. “Miss,” he said flatly. “What do you think you are doing?”

She burrowed her face against his neck. “Told you I needed a hug,” she mumbled. And she snuggled closer, oblivious to his rigid posture.

“Get off me.”

She ignored him.

He looked for the attendant to help him out, but she’d disappeared from her seat, no doubt hiding up in the cockpit with the pilots. Blast.

Griffin was trapped.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, trying to think. Strands of curly blonde hair tickled his nose as she nuzzled closer, and he began to feel inappropriately aroused. Her arms around his neck were soft, her hair fragrant, and her slight hip was pressing against his cock. Any red-blooded male would have that reaction, he told himself.

All the more reason to get her off his lap.

So he thought for a moment. What was her name? Nana? Millie? “Get up, girl.”

She gave a small sigh of pleasure and tucked her head even closer to his neck. “Don’t wanna.” Her lips moved against his throat, and Griffin shifted in his seat, willing his cock to quit responding to the touch of a drunk woman.

“What is your name again?”

“Maylee,” she breathed, and her soft breath tickled his skin. “Maylee Meriweather.”

“I need you to get off me, Maylee,” Griffin said, mentally applauding himself at his calm, even tone despite the odd situation. “It isn’t proper.”

Her head jerked up, narrowly missing his jaw, and she peered up at him. As she did, he noticed that her red-rimmed eyes were a brilliant green-brown that seemed to glow in her pale face. Damn it, those were rather nice eyes for a little country bumpkin who wore polyester.

That was another thought he shouldn’t have as her employer, he reminded himself.

“You still gonna get rid of me?” she asked, and her hand began to play with his hair, fingers toying with the base of his neck in a way that sent inappropriate shivers through his body.

Griffin gazed into those big green-brown eyes. He decided to level with her. “This is a very delicate job—”

“I’m good with handling delicate things.”

Great, now his mind was thinking of those small hands playing with his hair and touching all kinds of delicate things. Inappropriate. Inappropriate.

“But this is a job that will require a lot of skill—” Oh, hell, now that was a particularly bad choice of words.

“I have skills,” Maylee said in a husky voice, staring up at him. The side of her breast was pressing against his chest, and it felt a great deal rounder than what that godawful suit led on. “I can file, and take messages and type and I’m a burn talker.”

He was about to scoff at that paltry list of skills when he caught the last part of what she was saying. “A what? What in the devil is a burn talker?”

“It’s me. I’m a healer. If you burn yourself, I just rub it and talk to the burn and make it go away.” And now her fingers were rubbing the exposed line of skin at his neck. God have mercy.

“That sounds ridiculous,” he said, and cleared his throat because his voice wasn’t as convincing as it should have been. “And you should really get off my lap. This is very . . . inappropriate.” He sounded like a stuffy prig.

“Burn talkers are real,” Maylee said in a dreamy voice. “We have great hands. Great at rubbing. I can take the heat out of anything with a touch.”

Good God, his body reacted to that. Did she even realize what she was saying? “You really should get off my lap.”

“You need me.”

He groaned. Parts of his anatomy were agreeing with her, and that was making him furious not only with her, but himself.

She stared up at him again. “Are you still going to get rid of me?”

“I certainly am now that you are flinging yourself all over me,” Griffin began, and glanced down at her upturned face again. There was something else about her deep eyes that was bothering him. After a moment, he realized what it was. Her pupils were dilated to an enormous size. He frowned and grabbed her face, peering into her eyes. That was more than just two drinks. Concern flared through him as he recalled Cade’s horrific recent stories of Audrey’s sister overdosing in front of him. His friend was still scarred from the fact. “Did you take something else?”

“Just a happy pill,” she told him, petting his hair and looking up at him with soft, drugged eyes. “I don’t like flying. It scares me.”

“Damn it. Give me your pill bottle.” He needed to see if she was going to start foaming or convulsing in the next few minutes. This horrible trip was just getting worse by the minute.

“’Kay.” Instead of getting up, Maylee twisted in his arms, mashing her breasts against his chest as she reached behind her. There was no question—she was stacked in the front despite her baggy suit, and she was pushing them against him with enthusiasm.

Griffin closed his eyes and counted backward from a hundred to distract himself as she shifted and twisted in his arms, rubbing all over him.

When he was at seventy-two, she twisted back to the front. “Here you go, Mr. Gryffindor.”

He opened his eyes and flinched. This crazy woman had a purse that looked like a saddle. “This is your handbag?”

“Isn’t it something?” She seemed proud.

“Oh, it’s something,” he muttered. He took it from her and began to dig through the contents, and his hand wrapped around a small pill bottle a moment later. He read the side of it and then looked over at her.

Her face was inches away from his, and she was staring at him, doing that weird, slow blink.

“It says that you’re not supposed to mix this with alcohol,” he pointed out unnecessarily.

“Did you know that you have a really straight nose?” She touched the bridge of his nose with the tip of her finger and then ran it all the way down to the tip. “Like one of them guys on the coins.”

“Lovely. Can you get off my lap while I look up side effects of this on the Internet? No? Figures.” He picked up his smartphone and typed with his thumb, while she played with his hair and ran her hands all over him. He had the biggest cockstand at the moment, thanks to her careless touches and wiggling, but he suspected she wouldn’t notice a thing . . . which was good, because he was rather chagrined about it himself.

It seemed that alcohol combined with her anxiety drugs made the effect that much stronger. Lovely. That explained her bizarre actions, at least.

“Your hair’s funny,” she breathed into his ear, and gave a soft giggle that made his cock twitch all over again.

He flicked his phone off and frowned at her. “Funny?”

“It’s like it’s spackled down. That’s funny.” Her fingers played at the crisp lines of it. “I bet it’d be pretty if you didn’t put so much hair goop in it.”

“The last thing I want is to be ‘pretty’,” he told her in a tight voice. “Now. Come on. Stand up.”

Though she protested (and if he was honest, so did his cock), he managed to get her to stand upright. He got up and when she put her arms up around his neck again, he figured that was a good thing, and lifted her into his arms. Carrying her to the back room, he laid her down on the narrow bed he kept there for overnight flights . . . like tonight’s.

“Ooo, is it nap time?” Maylee’s drawl seemed to get thicker with every word she spoke. “You going to come sleep with me, Mr. Gryffindor?”

“No,” he said in a firm voice. “You are going to lay there and sleep, and when you are no longer out of your mind, we are going to discuss what we’re going to do with you. Understand?”

“You’re not very nice,” she muttered as he laid her on the bed. She wiggled into the pillows. Her skirt hiked up, showing far too much tanned thigh, and he felt himself break out into a cold sweat.

He was definitely going to kill Gretchen when he got back.

He averted his gaze and pulled a throw blanket over her legs so she was modest. “Sleep. We’ll talk later.”

“Not tired,” she said, and then ruined it by yawning hugely.

“Stay there anyhow,” he commanded her.

It didn’t matter, because she was already drifting off to sleep. He watched her for a minute longer, completely confounded by the entire situation. Then, rubbing his face to refocus, he left the small room, shut the door, and returned to his chair.

And picked up his phone so he could finish his text to Hunter. Your girlfriend is dead to me.

Sorry man. Maylee was available, though.

She’s rotten. She’s wearing a polyester zip-up suit. It’s disgraceful. I’m supposed to mix with royalty this week with her at my side?

There was a long pause, and then Hunter responded. Gretchen says that you’re a snob. And Maylee is very sweet and hardworking. We didn’t lie about that. She was also the only one available at the last minute, so take what you can get.

I am not a snob. Well, he was, but he didn’t give a shit, really. And she’s going back on the first flight I can dump her on.

Suit yourself, Hunter texted back. And a moment later, another text came through. SNOBSNOBSNOBBYSNOB.

Griffin rolled his eyes. I hate you, Gretchen. Give the phone back to Hunter.

He got nothing but a smiley face in return.

* * *

Any plans of dumping Maylee at Heathrow were discarded when the woman continued to sleep all the way through the fueling stop. Griffin briefly contemplated waking her up and leaving her at the airport as soon as she woke up, but he wasn’t entirely sure how long she’d be unconscious. If it was six hours, he didn’t want to loiter on a runway.

He could just as easily leave her at the airport in Bellissime, after all.

So they flew on toward his home country, and Griffin napped in his chair since the bloody woman had his bed. When he awoke, he smoothed down his hair with gel and then, an hour out from the landing, he changed clothing into a dark navy jacket with his family’s crest on the pocket. He refused to sash-up and go full regalia simply because they were leaving the airport, even though he knew there would be photographers waiting to see his exit from the plane. A jacket and tie would be fine.

Except that he couldn’t make his blasted tie work.

Normally Kip was on hand to tie it for him, and in his daily life, he preferred to have no tie at all. But now? To show up in his home country for a royal wedding with his collar open? He would never hear the end of it. So he stared at the mirror and cussed to himself as he tried to tie his bow tie, over and over again.

And failed each time.

* * *

Maylee woke up, confused as to where she was. The lights were off and she was lying in a bed, but she could hear the roar of a plane engine. These things did not make sense. She sat up in the bed and felt around until she found a bedside lamp and flicked it on, staring at her surroundings.

She was in a small room in what must have been the back of the plane. A picture on the wall of a family crest, complete with unicorns and dragons, stared back at her. She blinked rapidly, trying to recall how she’d gotten into this room.

The last thing she remembered was taking her pill. Oh, dear. Had she even met Mr. Griffin? Her mouth had an awful taste in it, and she licked her lips. Why didn’t she remember anything? Her bladder made its need known, and she got up from the bed, noticing that her shoes were gone. When had she lost those? That made her panic a little, but a quick check showed she was still wearing her cotton panties and her dress was intact. That was good, at least. Maybe those drinks Megan had given her were stronger than she’d thought.

She found a bathroom off to one side of the strange room and gasped at her reflection. Her hair was practically standing up on end, frizzy curls everywhere. Drool tracks lined her mouth in several directions, and she had bags under her puffy eyes. She looked awful. Maylee turned on the tap, scrubbed her face, and wet her hands, trying to tame the worst of her curls. Oh, God, she really hoped Mr. Griffin hadn’t seen her like this. He’d think she was a tumbleweed.

Repairing her appearance as best she could, Maylee straightened her dress and gave it an approving nod. Polyester was a great fabric—she’d slept in the thing and nary a wrinkle. That was perfect. With one final smoothing touch to her hair, Maylee left the bathroom behind and emerged from the cabin.

A man sat in one of the big, buttery-soft leather chairs at the far end of the plane. An upraised newspaper hid his face from her, and she squinted, trying to recall what he looked like. Young? Old? Ugly? Had to be old if he was able to afford a jet like this, she decided. Elderly people were nice people, weren’t they? She rather hoped he was nice.

Maylee cleared her throat. “Mr. Griffin?”

The paper folded. A man stared at her from behind it, a frown on his face.

Well . . . he wasn’t old. His dark hair was slicked down into a neat part, and black-framed glasses hid part of his face. His features were regular and pleasant and average, she supposed. If she’d have passed him on the street, she wouldn’t have noticed him.

He gave her a dismissive look. “Are we back to ourselves now?”

She resisted the urge to rub her eyes like a sleepy child. “Beg pardon, sir?”

“I’m going to assume that’s a yes.” He folded the paper and set it aside, then stood. He was tall, she realized, that dark, slicked hair almost brushing the ceiling of the plane. He wore a crisp navy jacket with a symbol on one pocket, khaki-colored slacks, and a loose bow tie hung around his neck, as if he hadn’t quite finished dressing.

“I’m sorry if I took up your room,” Maylee said, resisting the urge to twist her hands in anxiety. “Did I fall asleep or something?”

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “I trust you don’t remember flinging yourself at me?”

Maylee blinked. “I flung myself at you?”

“If I recall correctly, you asked for a hug,” he said in a sour voice. He gave her an unhappy look. Maylee straightened her clothes, but he turned to a mirror on a far wall and began to jerk at the tie around his neck, trying to tie it . . . and doing a rather lousy job.

“A hug?” Maylee choked on a laugh. That sounded so funny. “Really?”

The look he shot her wasn’t amused. He untied the tie and then tried to tie it again. “Yes, and then you crawled all over me and wept. It was not how I anticipated spending my flight, Ms. Meriweather.”

She bit her lip, a flush of embarrassment heating her cheeks. He sounded so utterly disgusted with her. So much for a great first impression. “Sorry about that. I must not have been myself.”

“You were not. You combined alcohol with your pills and it affected your brain.” He gave her another displeased look. “At least, I assume that’s not how you normally are.”

The smile that curved Maylee’s mouth was tight. She’d be nice and super polite to this man despite his mean words. “I can assure you I normally don’t go around asking my employer for a hug, Mr. Griffin.”

“Mr. Verdi,” he corrected. “My last name isn’t Griffin, it’s my first name.”

She knew that. It was a polite sort of thing to add a “mister” in front of a first name, but she supposed he didn’t grasp that. Well, it wasn’t her place as his employee to correct him. Instead, she watched as he knotted the tie, scowled at his reflection, and then undid it again. At this rate, he was going to destroy the poor thing. It already looked rather mangled.

“As soon as we get to Bellissime, I’ll book you a flight back home,” he said.

Maylee frowned. But . . . they were almost at the airport. The worst part of the trip—the flying—was nearly over. She wanted to see Bellissime and she wanted to get that double-time money. “I’m real sorry about my behavior last night, but I’m not normally that kind of girl. It won’t happen again.”

“I know that. I took your pills.” Before she could protest, he attempted to knot the tie again and continued speaking. “Are you aware that you have an exceedingly pronounced drawl, Ms. Meriweather?”

“Call me Maylee, and yes, I’m aware. I’d have to be dead not to notice,” she told him, smiling. “It’s a Southern thing.”

“And are you aware that you’re wearing a polyester one-piece that pretends to be a two-piece suit?”

She gave the too-large dress a little shake. “No wrinkles. I’d say that’s pretty spiffy considering I slept in it.”

The look he shot her was scathing, which surprised Maylee. “Ms. Meriweather,” he began again, dragging the tie from his neck and starting over once more. “I am the Viscount Montagne Verdi. You may call me Lord Montagne Verdi, or Mr. Verdi, but not Lord Verdi. Not Mr. Griffin.”

“That sounds like a mouthful,” she teased. “Bellissime titles are named after places, right? I read that on Wikipedia.”

He gave her a withering look for interrupting him. “Are you quite finished?”

Maylee swallowed. “I guess so.”

“As I was saying. My cousin is Her Royal Highness Alexandra Olivia the Third, Crown Princess to Bellissime. She is getting married next week. This means there will be social functions that require knowledge of the rules of etiquette, someone who is willing to work night and day to wrangle my increasingly difficult schedule and, above all, I need someone who is capable at my side. I do not need a ‘burn talker.’”

She flushed a little. Had she mentioned that to him? “You might if you burn your hand,” she said cheerily. This man was grumpy, all right. But it was probably because he had to sleep in one of these chairs. It looked like he was destroying his poor tie, too. She had to do something about that. If it was anything like Mr. Hunter’s ties, it probably cost more than her rent did every month.

Maylee stepped forward and before Griffin could protest, she swatted his hands away from his tie. Expertly, she flipped up his collar, smoothed the silk fabric along his neck, and then began to fix his bow tie, taking great care to make sure the knot was perfect. “Mr. Griffin, I understand that you don’t want an assistant like me on this trip. I realize I’m not fancy like you expected.” She kept her voice soft and apologetic, and he’d gone silent. “But I am real good at keeping out of the way. And I’m real good at managing a schedule.” She tweaked the now perfect bow tie and then smiled at him. “And I can tie a mean tie.”

Griffin frowned at his reflection, touching the tie as if he didn’t quite believe she’d fixed it so quickly—or so effortlessly. “I can manage a schedule well,” he said.

“You too? Then why do you need me?”

“I was correcting your English. The proper phrase is ‘I can manage a schedule well. Not ‘I’m real good with a schedule.’”

“But I am,” she told him, and then ran a hand down the front of his jacket. He’d buttoned it wrong, too. She quickly undid his button and then redid it. Did the man not know how to dress himself? Lordy. He needed her more than he realized. “I’m real good with schedules. And men’s clothes.”

And when she looked up from fixing his jacket, she winked at him.

She could have sworn he blushed just a little.

* * *

This was a predicament. Griffin touched his tie again as he waited at the front of the plane for the stair car to arrive. Behind him, the flight attendant chatted with Maylee, and both women were laughing and talking as if they were the best of friends.

Maylee was totally wrong for this job. She was a train wreck. She wore polyester. She drawled like a hillbilly.

She’d cuddled against him last night in his lap.

She tied a mean tie.

And she was already here.

He wasn’t sure what to do. The smart thing would be to immediately send her back to the States. But then what? Admit to his mother that his one assistant had fallen sick and now he had to rely on her tender mercies? Hear the same talk he’d heard a dozen times before about hiring more staff and acquiring a massive residence to live in the style that was expected of a viscount of Bellissime? When all he wanted to do was work on his research and sponsor his pet projects?

It was one reason why he had more money than anyone else in the family. Griffin was the wealthiest national of Bellissime. While all of the royal family was wealthy to an extent, they also had extravagant households, multitudes of country homes that featured twenty rooms or more, and dozens of staff to take care of their needs. Griffin used his money for other things—like investments and joint projects with his friends in their small secret society—and he’d made his money double year after year.

So . . . he didn’t want to hear disparaging remarks about his lifestyle.

He looked back at Maylee. She was grinning at the flight attendant, pinching her dress to her side as the other woman safety-pinned it back. She was friendly, that was obvious. And surely she couldn’t be that incompetent or Hunter would not have kept her on as an employee.

And she could tie a crisp tie.

Griffin sighed. He supposed he could give it another day or two. It couldn’t possibly hurt things, could it?

Adjusting his cufflinks (another blasted item that was difficult to put on without Kip), Griffin prepared himself to emerge as the stair car arrived. Below, there was already a crowd of paparazzi waiting, along with several people from the local newspapers. Here in Bellissime, he was an important person.

How he hated that.

As the stair car came to the door, the attendant hurried forward and a moment later, the door opened. She gave him a warm smile. “Welcome to Bellissime, Mr. Verdi.”

He nodded at her and stepped into the sunlight.

A roar of voices went up.

“Lord Montagne Verdi! Lord! Look over here!”

“Viscount!”

“My lord! Is it true you’ll be looking for an eligible bride while attending the royal wedding?”

“My lord! Over here!”

On and on, the cacophony of voices shouted. Griffin ignored all of them, raised his hand, and gave a polite wave. He put on a fake smile for the cameras, thinking that he loathed this part of his life more than anything else.

“Lordamercy!” he heard a voice exclaim behind him. “Look at all these people! You some kind of celebrity here, Mr. Griffin?”

“Mr. Verdi,” he said, pausing at the top of the stairs. “And only here, I’m afraid.”

Which was why he never came home if he could help it.

Chapter Four

These people were plumb crazy over the man. They must not know him real well, Maylee thought to herself. Sure, Griffin Verdi looked suave and elegant, but he was not a nice man. He’d done nothing but snarl at her since she’d woken up, mocked her clothes, said she wasn’t a good employee, and then tried to ignore her. She could see why his last assistant hadn’t wanted to come with him.

She’d been nice and fixed his clothes, and had he even said so much as a thank you?

Not a peep.

Still, he’d stopped talking about sending her back, which was a small win. It’d be a long trip, but she’d smile and take the double time and enjoy her first trip to a foreign country. She’d dealt with cranky men before—her Pepaw wasn’t exactly a gem—and she knew how to handle men like him. You simply ignored their pissy moods, remained pleasant, and they’d eventually come around.

Maylee followed Griffin as he walked down the red-carpeted tarmac and followed him to the limo waiting for him. It was ridiculously shiny, the windows heavily tinted, and on the door was another one of those family crests like the one that had been on the wall of the plane.

Not exactly inconspicuous.

Maylee shouldered her bags as assistants loaded Griffin’s luggage into the car. No one touched her bright plaid suitcase. She guessed the help’s luggage didn’t get to mix with the viscount’s.

“Shall I take that for you?”

Maylee turned around and saw a man in a suit and a dark hat. The chauffeur. He was young and handsome and had the same accent that Griffin did. He was also smiling at her with appreciation, his hand extended to take her things. She beamed a smile at him. “I’m not sure where my stuff is supposed to go.”

“It can go up front with me. Just like you.” He winked at her. “So I can listen to that lovely accent of yours.”

She grinned at him. “Well, thank you kindly, sir.”

“Mr. Sturgess,” he said, taking her bag and giving her another flirty smile.

“Mr. Sturgess,” she repeated, smiling and extending her hand. “I’m—”

“—my assistant,” Griffin cut in, clearly displeased. “And she will have to ride in the back with me to go over my schedule.”

Mr. Sturgess’s face lost its friendly smile, and he gave Griffin a crisp nod. “Of course, my lord.”

Maylee gave the driver an apologetic look as he opened the door to the back seat and Griffin slid inside. Maylee was surprised by that, as it was common for women to get into the car first, but Griffin was a lord something or other, so she guessed she fell below him on the totem pole. Keeping a bright smile on her face, Maylee entered the car after her new boss.

Griffin didn’t speak to her for at least a half hour. They drove on, and Maylee was distinctly uncomfortable as they headed through the city. After a while, though, she stopped caring what he thought and just enjoyed the sights. Bellissime was gorgeous. The streets were narrow and paved with cobblestones, and the buildings that lofted above them seemed old and full of personality. In the distance, mountains soared above the rooftops, and everywhere, people walked the streets. It was so charming and quaint, like all the stories she’d heard of Swiss villages. No one ever talked about Bellissime when they mentioned tourism, and she didn’t understand why. The little city was so very pretty.

They turned down the main thoroughfare and Griffin looked behind them. He groaned.

“What is it?” Maylee turned to look, but all she saw were more cars.

“The paparazzi are still following us.”

She gave him a surprised look. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“I’d rather hoped they’d give up once we left the airport.”

She glanced out the window. It seemed like they were heading through the heart of the city. In a limo. With a big crest on it. This man didn’t know the first thing about subtlety, did he? But she didn’t point that out, because he was already cranky and he could still send her home. So instead, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“L’hotel de Bellissime.”

“Sounds fancy.”

He shot her a vaguely scathing look. “It is the premiere hotel in the city.”

“So why not stay with your mama and them?”

“First of all, I’m not even sure what language ‘mama and them’ is. It’s certainly not English.” He toyed with his cufflinks. “Second of all, we are not staying with my mother because of various reasons.”

“What reasons?” she couldn’t help but ask.

He glared at her again, as if he didn’t like the line of questions, but he still answered. “My mother firmly believes in the appearance of royalty, even though I’m simply a viscount. She believes that no titled man of good family should have less than thirty staff on hand at all times and should never give less than the appearance of complete and utter wealth to the common people. This includes several estates, as many society functions as one can possibly squeeze into one’s schedule and, of course, keeping it all heavily documented in the newspapers and magazines so everyone else can see just how very regal we are.” His tone dripped with contempt.

Maylee blinked, trying to process this information. “Did you say . . . thirty staff?”

“At the very least.”

“Good gravy. For what?”

“Whatever is deemed necessary. Several valets, a butler, kitchen staff, maids, an equerry—”

“Someone to cut your meat into itty-bitty royal chunks for you—”

He snorted, but a hint of a smile curved his austere face. “Something along those lines, yes.”

“It sounds a bit ridiculous.”

“It’s utterly ridiculous,” he agreed. “I spent my formative years being completely and totally hovered over by one person after another. I hate the fuss. Loathe it. I refuse to live that way.” For a moment, he looked so utterly tired that she felt sorry for him. Then, he glanced at her again as if remembering himself. “Regardless, that’s why we’re staying at the hotel.”

“I see.”

The car fell silent again. She glanced over at Griffin, but he looked so miserable, a stress-line between his brows, that she felt guilty for bringing the conversation around to family, when it clearly bothered him. Maybe a change of pace would do them both good. “Well, Mr. Griffin,” she said in a cheery voice, dragging a pen and a pad of Post-its out of her purse. “Why don’t we work on your schedule while we wait?”

He continued to stare out the window so she bent over her pad of Post-it notes and began to write. “That sounds like a good idea,” he said. “I . . .” his words trailed off. “What on earth is that?”

She looked up at him to see him staring at her Post-its with a frown.

“What is what?” she asked.

“You cannot possibly keep track of my schedule on Post-it notes.” He shot her an appalled look.

She forced another bright smile to her face. “It’ll be fine. Don’t you worry. Now, what’s on track for tomorrow?”

“First of all, I don’t know what’s on my schedule. That’s your responsibility. Second of all, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t belong on a Post-it note. Get out your laptop.”

The man was such a snob. Paper wasn’t good enough for him? “I don’t have one.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have a laptop?” He gave her an incredulous look. “Everyone has a laptop.”

“Not everyone, Mr. Fancypants.” Maylee poised her pen over the Post-its. “Now . . . your schedule?”

“We’re not doing this on paper. It’s all saved online. We’ll just have to wait until we get to the hotel, and then you can borrow my spare.”

“You have a spare?”

He gave her another scathing look. “Of course. I’m not poor.”

Ouch. “Well, I am.”

“That’s evident from your wardrobe.” He stared out the window again.

All right, any budding likability he might have had was promptly squashed by that. Maylee tucked her pen and Post-its back into her purse and stared out the opposite window. Did the man even know how to be pleasant?

She sincerely doubted it. No wonder his assistant had come down with a cold. She’d have faked measles to get out of his company for the next few weeks herself, if so much money wasn’t involved.

Sitting back, she watched the quaint buildings of Bellissime pass by and thought of all the things she could buy her family with the bonus she was getting for this trip. That made her feel better.

Maylee’s initial pleasure at the sight of the hotel—a beautiful pink building with columns and covered with green ivy—immediately fled when Griffin groaned. Cars were everywhere, people lining the sidewalks with cameras in hand. More paparazzi.

“This is ridiculous,” Griffin said. “They’re determined to make my life hell on this trip, aren’t they?”

Was he serious? “If you don’t mind me saying so, Mr. Griffin—”

“Mr. Verdi, and I’m sure I will mind—”

The man was determined to be unlikeable, wasn’t he? “It’s your own fault.”

That hadn’t been what he expected, clearly. He turned and gave her an incredulous look. “What did you say?”

“I said, it’s your own fault,” Maylee repeated, her voice mild as she peered out the window at the big, swanky hotel. “You’re trolling down what is probably the equivalent of Main Street around here, in a big ass limo with a royal seal on it, heading to the most luxurious hotel in the city. That doesn’t exactly scream ‘Gee, I really want my privacy.’”

Griffin’s mouth thinned. “Then what do you suggest?”

“Get a regular car,” Maylee said immediately. “None of this limo business. Get a regular car, and skip the seals and just go to a regular hotel. Go down the back roads instead of parading down Main Street. You’ll be a lot harder to find that way.”

“In other words, slink away like a common thief?”

“No, like someone who values their privacy.”

He turned back to the window. “It’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion, isn’t it?”

The man was an insufferable ass, but she was being paid to put up with him. “I guess it is,” she said and kept her voice cheerful.

* * *

The next morning, Maylee had a fresh outlook on things.

She’d parted with her employer last night, utterly infuriated with Griffin Verdi. She’d had to check him into the hotel since he “didn’t do that sort of thing on his own” and that was what his assistant was for. She was beginning to think that this assistant in New York City should have been nominated for sainthood. Griffin liked to preach that he didn’t like hovering, but he also didn’t like doing anything for himself. So she’d checked him into the hotel, had staff arrange to bring up his luggage, and she’d had to tip them because Griffin hadn’t had cash on hand. Embarrassed, she’d pulled out a few dollar bills, and then ended up taking down names and promised to deliver a real tip later. Everyone seemed very understanding and kind.

Except Griffin.

He’d been given one of the finest rooms in the hotel and Maylee had been agog at how wondrous and luxurious the suite was. Heck, even her adjoining room, clearly meant to be staff quarters, was sumptuous. This was the kind of place, she decided, that left chocolates on the pillows, and she was excited to be staying there. She’d never been someplace so posh.

Griffin had simply looked down his nose at all of it, asked Maylee to arrange for a change of linens for his bed since he didn’t trust the staff to do a good job, and then had picked up a book and began to read.

He was . . . a bit of a pretentious jerk. Okay, a lot of one. She was sure he had a nice side, though. Everyone did, right?

So she’d unpacked her things in her fancy room, found a money exchanger with the help of the hotel’s friendly concierge, and then had tracked down the staff and given them their tips supposedly from Mr. Verdi, and went on and on about how pleased Lord Montagne Verdi had been with their service. Everyone had been thrilled, and when the manager had met with Maylee to see if anything else could be done to ensure that Mr. Verdi’s stay was a comfortable one, she asked for a tour of the place and met all kinds of fascinating people from all different walks, from the kitchen staff to the linen staff. Everyone was so sweet and friendly, and they were giving her advice on the best places to get food, to places to avoid, to the best ways to avoid the paps camped out up front for the royal wedding.

She immediately loved Bellissime and its friendly people.

Maylee had slept in a revoltingly delicious bed that was probably the size of her apartment in New York, complete with feather pillows and thick duvet cover. So far, everything on the trip was wonderful except for her employer. Even Mr. Hunter wasn’t nearly as grumpy as Mr. Griffin, and she’d eventually won him over.

She’d win over Mr. Griffin, too. She just had to give it time.

* * *

The next morning, Griffin was feeling guilty.

He’d been an ass to Ms. Meriweather yesterday. He knew he was, and yet he couldn’t seem to help himself. Every time she’d made a soft exclamation of wonder at a sight in Bellissime, he’d been annoyed. Every time she’d smiled at someone and thanked them with her soft drawl, he’d gotten even more annoyed. It wasn’t her as much as it was Bellissime, and the weight of being a viscount and a member of the royal family. Even in New York City, he had a certain amount of anonymity. He was only recognized when he wanted to be. Here? He couldn’t show his face anywhere without someone bowing and scraping.

And having Maylee tell him it was his own fault hadn’t helped.

Nor had the feeling that she’d been right.

That evening, alone in his bed, he’d had a difficult time going to sleep. The hotel was silent, and when he’d given Maylee her leave for the evening, she hadn’t checked in on him once. She’d just disappeared, as if she had been utterly grateful to get away from him. And that didn’t set well with him, either. Kip was his assistant, and he knew Griffin’s habits from long years of working together. He’d check in on Griffin once or twice in the evening, even if Griffin was doing nothing but reading a book, just to ensure that he didn’t need anything else.

Maylee hadn’t. He’d released her and she’d been gone.

Perhaps he was being too harsh with her. She was a soft, fluffy thing and smiled so much that he was sure she had tender feelings. He’d probably made her cry with his cold mannerisms, and that made him feel guilty.

It hadn’t helped that that night, he’d had filthy dreams about her, those white-blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders as he’d slid her into his lap and fucked her, breasts pressing against his chest, her mouth hot on his skin. She’d panted and moaned like a wild woman in his dream—no polite reserve there—and his mind had been filled with that soft drawl crying out for more as he pounded into her.

Griffin had woken up in a sweat, his cock aching.

Downright embarrassing. A cold shower had rid him of his erection, but not of the unsettling memories of her mouth on him. Those had lingered, even as he’d dressed himself in the day’s jacket and slacks. His tie hung around his neck, waiting for her to fix it.

And Griffin tried not to picture her standing in front of him, then grabbing the tie and dragging him down for a kiss. Because he wasn’t attracted to her. He wasn’t.

So he tried to tie it himself.

And naturally, he couldn’t. Griffin gave it three tries before he sighed, crossed his hotel room, and went and knocked on Maylee’s door.

“Be there in a jif,” she called out.

He pictured her sliding a bra strap over her shoulder, those frizzy curls brushing her bare skin, and he shifted, uncomfortably aware of his cock hardening. He grabbed his book—a non-fiction brick of a book about the Royal Expedition Society —and held it in front of him.

A moment later, the door opened. Maylee looked . . . different today. Gone was the wretched polyester suit. In its place was a black knit skirt that showed slim, pale legs, those same ugly loafers, and an equally ugly orange brocade jacket with an enormous pin on one side. Her corkscrew blonde hair was pulled into a bun, strands of kinky hair escaping and sticking up at wild angles and making it look even messier than usual. Her eyes seemed dark and her lips were glistening and pink with gloss. Maylee smiled at him. “Yes, sir?”

He gestured at his tie. “Can you fix this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, and stepped closer, grabbing the ends.

That had been so very close to his visual from a few moments ago that he nearly groaned aloud, lust flaring through him. He counted backward from a hundred again, trying not to notice that the tip of her tongue poked out between her lips as she concentrated.

“All done,” she said a moment later, and gave his chest a friendly little pat. “See for yourself.”

The front of his shirt still felt warm from her touch, but he went to the mirror and checked. Sure enough, his bow tie looked immaculate. Better, he had to admit, than when Kip tied it. “Very good. Shall we go down to breakfast?”

“Sounds great,” Maylee said. “I’ll just get my bag.” She disappeared into her room and he grabbed his spare laptop. When she returned, she had that ugly saddle purse with her again. He bit back a “Really?” and said nothing. Today, he was going to try and be nice to Maylee. He really was. It wasn’t her fault he was stuck here.

She beamed at him. “Y’all ready?”

He flinched at her twang.

This . . . could be harder than he thought.

As they emerged from the elevator down to the main floor of the hotel, Griffin half-expected to be bombarded with more paparazzi or at the very least, fawning staff.

To his surprise, they made it to the restaurant without a peep, and as soon as they got to the dining room, the maître d’ greeted them with a smile. “Your table is this way, Lord Montagne Verdi.”

Maylee beamed at the man and then gave Griffin an expectant look.

Griffin nodded at him and was surprised to see that a private dining room had been opened at the back. Normally when he visited, he was in the common dining room with the others. Why had he never been separated before?

They sat down and the host poured them two glasses of water and laid menus in front of them. “Your waiter will be by shortly to take your orders. Please let me know if I can get anything for you.” And then he disappeared.

There was no gushing over his title. No “Can I have my picture taken with you?” No diners staring at him as he drank and ate. It was silent, and they were alone.

It was . . . nice.

He looked over at Maylee as she spread her napkin in her lap. She seemed unaware that anything was unusual, but it was clear she was trying hard to please him today. Her ugly brocade jacket wasn’t polyester, for one, and she’d tried to tame her hair. She’d even worn makeup. He stared at her slick pink mouth and that full lower lip that she nibbled on as she set his laptop off to one side and began to boot it.

She was young and innocent, and she was trying really, really hard. It wasn’t her fault she was completely out of her depth. She’d received a phone call from her employer asking her to take a last-minute job halfway around the world, and she’d been stuck with his surly ass. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t want to be here, experiencing a host of social events he didn’t want to attend for a wedding.

But, still. An employer did not apologize to his employee. A viscount certainly did not.

Her gaze flicked over to him and the smile she gave him was tentative, uncertain. Very different from her smiles in the past.

And for some reason, that made him feel like more of an ass.

The waiter came by a moment later and they both ordered, Griffin first. He couldn’t help but notice that Maylee had ordered the same thing he had. Was she unfamiliar with the food on the menu? He watched her for a moment longer, and she sipped her water with an anxious slurp, her gaze darting about the room.

Definitely nervous around him.

Hell. Griffin leaned back in his chair and regarded her. “I . . . apologize.” There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? He was rather proud of himself for doing so.

Her pale brows drew together and she looked confused. She glanced over her shoulder.

“I’m talking to you,” he said, irritated anew but fighting it back. He wasn’t that much of a beast, was he? “I realize I haven’t been the most pleasant of employers, and I apologize for that. I’m unhappy to be here and I’m taking it out on you, and that isn’t fair.”

Her eyebrows rose again, as if she couldn’t quite believe this admission. Then, it happened. That slow smile unfurled on her face, lighting it up. Her green-brown eyes danced with happiness and her entire face seemed to glow. She was rather pretty when she smiled, he noticed.

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Griffin.” She beamed at him. “That’s right sweet of you.”

He didn’t even correct her English, or her bizarre misuse of “mister.” That was him being nice. Again. He grunted and glanced away, not wanting to stare at her. But he felt . . . better. He liked that smile of hers. It was completely and utterly sincere, and her eyes shone when she smiled.

Not many people were sincere around him, and he appreciated the ones who were. He began to pick up his book so he could get a few pages in, then put it back down, because she was still smiling at him. Like she expected . . . conversation. Since he was in a charitable mood, he obliged. “I trust your sleep was pleasant?”

“It was wonderful,” she gushed. “The pillows were as fluffy as baby lambs. I can hardly believe that they give those kinds of pillows to hotel guests. Aren’t they afraid people will steal them?”

He nearly choked on the water he was sipping. “Steal?” From L’hotel de Bellissime? Did she realize that the people who stayed in his suite were usually visiting royalty or celebrities? Did she think everyone had the same accommodations? But she seemed so thrilled about everything that he didn’t correct her.

He didn’t even point out that it was pronounced “pillow” and not “piller.” He was heading straight for sainthood if this kept up.

“Yup. Every time I went on a trip with my aunties and uncles down to Georgia or Florida or someplace, they’d strip the motel room of everything they could carry off. Said it was expected.” She shook her head. “I’m guessin’ most folks don’t do that, then.”

“I can assure you, I’ve never stripped a hotel room of anything.”

“You’d want to if you had my pillow,” she said with a cheery nod. “Best pillow I ever snuggled.”

For some reason, the mental image of a sleepy Maylee, curls tossed on her pillowcase, clasping a pillow to her breast . . . did unspeakable things to his groin. Griffin cleared his throat. “I shall take your word for it.”

The waiter delivered their breakfasts, and Maylee was effusive in her thanks. She chatted with him about the weather, the delicious smells coming from the kitchen, and how pretty his home country was. The man’s attention was completely removed from Griffin, and he conversed with her for a few minutes as if they were old friends, and then disappeared.

Griffin frowned as he picked up his silverware. “The staff is acting odd this morning.”

“Oh?” She looked innocently curious. “I thought he was lovely.”

Of course she did. The waiter was clearly flirting with her. Perhaps Maylee’s uneducated drawl was some sort of aphrodisiac to men who only heard fluid French and British English. Who knew.

He decided to let it go and took a bite of his toast, then opened up his book and began to read, enjoying the peace and quiet of breakfast without scrutiny. Maylee was quiet as she ate, too, though that happy smile remained on her face.

Griffin had only read a page before a shadow fell over his book, dampening the light. He glanced up and frowned as two men approached the table, one dressed as a chef, and one as a waiter. He closed his book with an annoyed sigh. The silence had been too good to last, he supposed. Now he’d have to endure the stream of questions. Bracing himself, Griffin frowned at the two men and leaned back in his chair. “What is it?”

Maylee shot him a quick look—as if he was the rude one—and turned her smile on the men.

“Beg your pardon,” the waiter said, and looked at Maylee. “I’m sorry to intrude, but my companion wanted to thank you for your help last night.”

He had no idea what the man was talking about. Or why he was looking at Maylee and not Griffin.

“Oh, no!” Maylee’s hands rose into the air and she shook her head. “You absolutely cannot thank me. It won’t work if you do.”

“What won’t work?” Griffin asked, perplexed. He glanced between the two men and Maylee.

The cook said something in French, and the waiter nodded, translating. “Etienne, he says the pain is gone this morning.”

Maylee beamed, proud. “I’m so glad to hear that. Tell him to be more careful when pulling the bread out of the oven next time. I—”

“Excuse me,” Griffin cut in. “What are you talking about?”

That warm smile was turned on him, and Griffin felt momentarily dazzled. “Burn talking,” Maylee said. “Mr. Etienne here,” she said, gesturing at the cook whose name she’d just butchered, “had a very nasty burn on his hand, so I offered to take a look at it.”

“Why?”

“I’m a burn talker.” Maylee folded her hands on her lap as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “It’s a gift. My mama can talk the warts off anyone, but I’m only good with burns.”

“I . . . see.” Folk healing. How . . . strange.

“It worked, my lord,” the waiter said. “The burn has bothered Etienne for days, to the point that it made it difficult for him to work. But Ms. Meriweather worked on his hand and fixed it right away. Which is why—”

Maylee raised a hand again, smiling. “Remember—no thank yous or it won’t work anymore.”

The men nodded and, after a few more moments of chatter, they glanced his way and then left.

And again, Griffin was surprised.

“Sorry about that,” Maylee said with a small smile. “I asked them not to come up while you were seated, because I know you said you hate hovering.”

“I do,” he admitted, and glanced around the empty private dining room. He could hear people in the next room over, but theirs was blissfully quiet. “Is that why we’re here instead of in the main room?”

Maylee nodded. “Last night, I talked to the manager a bit to learn some about the place.”

Griffin was surprised at her thoughtfulness. “Oh?”

“Yes, and I told him how much you value your privacy and asked what we could do to make sure that you wouldn’t be bothered during such a stressful time. We discussed a few things and among them, we suggested that you dine in here if the room isn’t in use. No one wants their breakfast interrupted,” she admitted with a careful bite of her eggs. When she finished chewing, she added, “I told them that if you were able to enjoy your meal in peace, you’d probably stop by and tell the kitchen staff if you enjoyed it. I hope that wasn’t presumptuous. I know they’d love to hear from you. You’re a big deal to them.”

Trade a few minutes of compliments for peace and quiet while he dined? It was genius. He pulled his book out again. “That’s very thoughtful of you. And yes, I am enjoying having a nice quiet breakfast. Thank you.” With another bite of toast, he flipped his page and continued reading about the exploits of Edward Shackleton.

“I’ll move over to this other table and work so I don’t bother you,” Maylee said, picking up the laptop.

He looked up from his book and glanced at the laptop, then at her. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to stay, but he nodded instead. “Thank you. You have the schedule Kip left?”

“It’s all right here,” she said. “I’ll give you a rundown of the day when you’re ready to go.”

He nodded again and returned to his book.

The dining room was silent, and Griffin sipped his hot tea as he ate his breakfast and read. The sunlight poured in through a nearby window, and it felt like an island of calm in this moment. Occasionally, he would look up and see Maylee working on the computer, taking notes on her sticky pad, or occasionally chatting with one of the staff nearby. They were always smiling and happy to see her.

All so bloody happy around his assistant. He wasn’t sure if he found that interesting or irritating.

* * *

Maylee’s first day in Bellissime was an exhausting one.

Once they’d finished breakfast, she’d given Griffin a brief overview of his schedule for the day. For someone who didn’t visit the country much and wasn’t getting married, he sure did have a heck of a social calendar. There was a museum visit, a fitting at the royal tailor, an afternoon tea with a dignitary of a neighboring country, a visit to a charity of something or other, a photo op with another viscount, and an interview for a gentleman’s magazine that dealt exclusively with archaeology and exploration, which she learned was one of Griffin’s passions. And it was her job to herd him along and ensure that he got to them all on time.

It had been a struggle, but Maylee was proud of herself for keeping things going. At one point, she’d panicked to discover that the venerable Kip had double-booked Griffin to tea, so she’d had to smooth a few feathers, make some phone calls, and reschedule his appointment with his mother for the next day. She hadn’t told Griffin, because she knew he’d give her that particular down-his-nose look as if it was her fault.

But she’d managed it. She’d spent the day with her phone pressed to one ear, laptop on her thighs, and waiting in the limo as Griffin went to one social appointment after another.

It was obvious he didn’t like any of this; his mood got fouler as the day went on, though he was always polite and gracious to the people waiting for him. It was just Maylee and the driver, Mr. Sturgess, who received the brunt of his unhappiness.

Between Griffin’s appointments, Maylee had to also juggle incoming press requests to interview Griffin, more requests to visit local charities, and somehow make arrangements in regards to the wedding. She had to make calls to the palace to speak with the Royal Wedding Coordinator—who hadn’t wanted to talk to her at first, thanks to her accent—so she could find out what clothing colors should be avoided for royal appointments, and when and where the rehearsal dinners, wedding breakfasts, and the like would be held. The locations were secret, Maylee was told, because the press would get a hold of the information and descend like a horde.

She couldn’t argue with that. The moment they saw the seal on Griffin’s limo, they were followed everywhere. She really had to talk to that man about an inconspicuous ride.

But at least the worst was over and Griffin had only snarled at her once (when his tie was askew and he was about to drive up to his tea appointment). She’d fixed it without so much as a thank you from the man. Not that she blamed him—if she was feeling frazzled by his schedule, she could only imagine what it felt like to be the pony in the dog and pony show.

The grueling day was over, though, and even if she hadn’t had a chance to eat—or breathe—since the quiet breakfast, she’d gotten Griffin to all his appointments on time and looking respectable, and now they were back at the hotel. He’d disappeared into his room for the evening and that meant she was finally free to explore Bellissime.

Of course, she was so tired that all she wanted to do was take a shower and raid the mini-bar in her room to see what she could scarf down before breakfast tomorrow.

Maylee took a long, hot shower, luxuriating in the fancy soaps and shampoos that were complimentary with the room. She made sure to hide the bottles once she was done with them, so the staff would replace them daily and she could get new ones to bring home with her. Maybe Mr. Griffin wouldn’t mind if she snuck his extras, she mused as she wrapped one of the huge, opulent towels around her torso.

Humming to herself, Maylee tucked the top of the towel in at her breast and headed into her room. She moved to the bed and began to adjust her towel when she noticed the closet door was slightly ajar. With a frown, she crossed the room and went to go close it . . . but something about it nagged her, and she peeked inside it instead.

A man stood there, camera in hand. “Don’t scream,” he whispered, “I can offer you a very lucrative deal if you’re willing to work with me to get the inside story—”

Maylee slammed the closet door shut.

Then, she screamed.

Chapter Five

A bloodcurdling yell arose from Maylee’s room, shocking Griffin out of his book. He flung it aside, hopped out of bed, and bounded across the room to the door that adjoined their suites.

When he flung it open, a wet blonde wrapped only in a towel tumbled into his room, her hands going to his waist. “Man in my room,” she babbled. “There’s a man in my room!”

Stunned at the sight of Maylee nearly naked, dripping wet, and now wrapping her arms around his waist, Griffin remained frozen in place. Lustful fantasies bloomed in his mind, only to come skidding to a halt at her terrified sob.

A man in her room? It finally sank in. “You have a man in your room?” he repeated.

“Yes!” she sobbed, clinging to his back. “There is some weird creep in my closet!”

He patted her arm, warm, damp, and smelling like flowery soap. “Wait here,” he said. He looked around for a weapon, grabbed a lamp from a nearby table, unplugged it, jerked off the shade, and then brandished it like a bat. Then, he moved into Maylee’s room.

The closet door was shut tight. For a moment, he wondered if this was simple feminine hysterics to try and seduce him. He knew Reese had all kinds of wild stories about what girls would do to get into his bed, but Griffin had never run into such scenarios himself. Still, Maylee hadn’t seemed the type.

So he approached the closet and knocked on it. “Someone in there?”

“Please don’t kill me,” a muffled voice responded. “I’ll come out if you promise not to kill me.”

Astonished, he looked over at Maylee. She was biting her knuckles, terrified, her eyes dark and huge in her face. And she was naked under that towel. She was completely and utterly vulnerable.

And someone had broken into her room and tried to harm her.

A protective surge shot through him, and Griffin grabbed a nearby chair and jammed it under the handle of the closet door. He tested it, but it was stuck fast. Good. He looked over at Maylee, who was trembling so hard that droplets of water were shaking off the ends of her wet curls. “Wait in my room,” he told her. “Go through my clothes and put on something of mine.”

She nodded and disappeared into his room.

Griffin scanned her bedroom. It was tidy despite the fact that she’d been interrupted out of the shower. Her knitting sat on the corner of the bed, clearly waiting for its owner to return. Nothing else seemed out of place, so he couldn’t see where someone had broken in. Furious, he went to the phone next to her bed and dialed the front desk.

“Ms. Meriweather,” the voice on the other end said smoothly. “What can I get for you tonight?”

“This is Lord Montagne Verdi,” Griffin said in his iciest, most austere tone. “Ms. Meriweather has an intruder in her room. I’ve locked him in her closet but I want security up here right away. Understand?”

“Absolutely, my lord! We’re sending someone up—”

He hung up. Across from him, he watched the closet doorknob turn, the man in there clearly testing it. The door rattled, and he heard a soft curse. Griffin moved over to the chair, straightened it, and then sat down, pinning the door shut with his weight.

And he waited for security.

Luckily, the hotel was prompt. A mere minute or two later, there was a quick knock at the door. “Security.”

Griffin got up from the chair and headed to the door, letting them in. “He’s in the closet.”

The security team extracted the man, who was clearly one of the paparazzi. The man babbled and tried to make excuses, but the camera in his hand—and the fact that he was hiding between Maylee’s ugly dresses—told the real story. They took him away and another man stayed behind to take down Griffin’s information. He told them what he knew, then glanced back at his room. His assistant hadn’t shown her face since the others had arrived. “Maylee? Can you come give this man your statement?”

A moment later, she stepped through the doorway of their adjoining rooms. Her hair was still wet, but had been finger-combed into loose, damp waves. She wore one of his button-up shirts, the hem of it grazing her tanned thighs. It was big on her, though when she moved forward, he saw the soft bob of her breasts under the fabric.

And holy Christ, she was sexy in his shirt.

Griffin clenched his fists, willing away the inappropriate surge of lust he felt at the sight of her. Those greenish-brown eyes were still huge and troubled, and when she stuck her hand out for the security officer to shake, he noticed it was still trembling. She was terrified.

Her fear made his protective instincts arise. He put a hand on her shoulder and tugged her closer to him, ignoring the security officer’s questioning look. As Maylee gave her statement, he remained at her side, and she seemed to relax a bit, toying with the too-long sleeves of his shirt as she spoke.

“He told me he wanted me to work with him,” she said in her soft drawl. “That he wanted the inside story. I’m guessing he wanted details on the wedding, or on Mr. Griffin. He said he’d pay me lots of money.”

“And what did you say to him?” the man asked.

She looked surprised. “Why, I screamed. I screamed and slammed the door in his face.”

Griffin smiled faintly.

“Thank you,” said the security officer once Maylee had given her statement. “We’ll turn this information—along with the intruder—over to the police.”

“What are you going to do to ensure this doesn’t happen again?” Griffin’s voice was cold, authoritative, and he gave the man a hard look. “I’m not keen on the idea of my employees being harassed while I’m staying at what is supposed to be a safe establishment.”

“Of course, sir—er, my lord,” the man said, and he looked embarrassed. “We’ll post a security guard on this floor in addition to the ones downstairs. You won’t be disturbed again.”

“See that we are not,” Griffin said.

“Thank you,” Maylee said in a trembling voice. “I appreciate it.” Her arms crossed over her chest, and Griffin noticed that the man’s gaze slid there.

“We’ll call if we need anything else,” Griffin said brusquely. With a nod, he indicated that the man should exit the room.

The security officer left, and Maylee shut the door behind him. Now, it was just Griffin and Maylee in her room. He kept his eyes on her face as she turned around, all soft and curvy in his shirt. Her round face looked exhausted, though she tried to give him a game smile. “I guess we’ve had our excitement for the evening,” Maylee said.

Griffin examined her face closely. “Are you all right?” She didn’t sound like her normal cheery self.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I feel like a ninny. Maybe I should have just talked to him instead of screaming my fool head off.”

“He broke into your room. You absolutely did the right thing.” He squeezed her shoulder.

She gave him a tremulous smile. “I guess.”

Griffin was already impressed at her trustworthiness. She hadn’t even considered giving details to the paparazzi. She’d immediately thought of defending his reputation. That kind of loyalty couldn’t be bought, no matter the price. He’d give her a nice bonus when they got home, he thought. But she still looked so troubled and that bothered him.

I need a hug, she’d told him when she was drugged up on the plane.

He considered her. She still seemed lost and small and lonely.

So he pulled her closer to him and gave her an awkward hug. It wasn’t his normal thing to do. He was terrible at comforting, in fact. But she’d wanted a hug in the past when she’d cried. This he could do, he supposed.

Maylee stiffened in surprise and then melted against him a moment later. She was all warm curves, and he was surprised at how good she felt in his arms. His hand rubbed her back, and he tried not to think about her being naked under the flimsy fabric of his shirt.

Then he released her. “Better?”

A giggle escaped her. “I have to admit, Mr. Griffin, I didn’t peg you for much of a hugger.”

“It seemed appropriate.”

She turned and looked at her room again, then bit her lip.

“What?” he asked.

The knuckle went back to her mouth, and she bit down on it. “I don’t feel safe. I’m sorry. Could you check my room for me?”

He relaxed. “Of course. Go wait in mine.”

She tensed again. “But . . . what if there’s someone in yours?”

She was in there earlier, wasn’t she? He didn’t understand this reluctance, but Griffin nodded and put an arm out, gesturing for her to move in. “Come here, then. Stay by my side.”

Immediately, Maylee trotted to him and moved under his arm. Her breast brushed against his side and her fingers went to the waistband of his sleep pants, as if she could somehow hold onto him in case he tried to escape her.

It should have been irritating. Griffin hated clinging, and he hated hovering. But . . . for some reason, having Maylee against his side, warm and soft and sweet, was rather nice.

Together, they checked out her room, opening up the wardrobes, going through every cabinet, the closet, and even checking under the bed. There was nothing. Griffin checked her front door again and tested the locks twice, then latched the chain. “From now on, you should keep this locked. You can just exit out of my room.”

She nodded at him. “Thank you.”

He glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. You should probably head to bed.”

Her face went white again but she nodded, releasing him. Those soft fingers slid away from his waistband, and for a moment, Griffin felt regret, which was foolish. She was his assistant. A very temporary one.

“Thank you again,” Maylee told him, her voice soft. She gave him another smile, but it didn’t hold its normal brilliance. “I really do appreciate it.”

“I know,” he said, his tone a bit more abrupt than it should have been. She was fragile at the moment, damn it. There was no point in him biting her head off. He gave her a quick nod. “Get some sleep. We have a full schedule tomorrow.”

“Of course,” she murmured, and stepped away.

After a moment’s hesitation, he gave her another nod and retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him. Griffin leaned against it for a moment, exhaling heavily.

Good God. He should have been upset about the fact that the paps were all over him on this trip, enough to warrant sneaking into his assistant’s room to hash out a deal. He should have been furious that someone had breached their privacy.

But his brain kept focusing in on Maylee’s bare legs under the hem of his shirt, the soft curve of her breast pressing against his side, those fingers brushing against his waist as she held onto his pants.

His cock was hard as a rock. Griffin reached into his pants and adjusted himself, but it was no good. This wasn’t going down anytime soon, not with Maylee’s softness and near nudity in his mind. He kept flashing back to her running into his room, dripping with water, the towel barely containing her heaving breasts—

Griffin headed to the bathroom. He shut the door, stripped out of his pants, and climbed back into the shower. Running the water on hot, he soaped up his body for the second time this evening, then took his cock in his hand and began to stroke it, thinking of Maylee in his shirt. Thinking of pushing her back on his bed and watching the fabric slide up, revealing the full length of her thighs, the pale floss between her legs that would be the color of her brows, and slick, soft lips waiting for his cock—

He came with a grunt, his hand rough as he stroked himself to orgasm. Fucking pathetic that he had to jerk himself off in a hotel bathroom at the thought of his assistant.

He was going to kill Gretchen Petty when he returned, that was for damn sure.

Five minutes later, he was dressed in his sleep pants and climbing into bed when there was a knock at the adjoining door. He tensed, alarm shooting through him, and headed to the door. “Maylee?” he called, worried. Had someone tried to break in again?

When he swung the door open, she was standing there, still in his shirt. A pillow was clutched to her chest, and she looked up at him, eyes red and shining with unshed tears.

“Can I . . .” She paused and gulped, then continued. “Can I come sleep with you?”

* * *

Lordamercy, but Griffin Verdi was a pretty man when he was in a state of undress.

Not that he wasn’t normally pretty, Maylee reasoned. In his jacketed suits and his proper ties, his hair slicked down so not a bit was untamed, he looked right nice. Of course, when he was all done up, he was also incredibly unapproachable. Now he was freshly showered, his hair wet and a bit messy, and he wore no shirt.

Which allowed her to gawk at all those muscles that a bookworm shouldn’t have.

Griffin had a real nice chest. Real nice. Broad, with strong, triangular shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist. His chest was mostly smooth, and had a thin line of dark hair creeping up from his navel that she found rather fascinating. He also had a black skull tattoo with money sticking out of the eye sockets on one shoulder that surprised her—His Royal Stuffiness certainly hadn’t seemed like the tattoo type.

But she liked seeing it. It made him human. Like maybe he wasn’t quite so stiff and proper as she’d pegged him.

It was that tattoo that had given her the strength to knock on his door again after he’d gone back to bed. She’d hesitated, terrified he’d say no and then give her a verbal putdown to let her know what he thought of her suggestion. And in her rather shaky state of mind at the moment, it’d probably break her.

But at her ridiculous question, he hadn’t laughed, hadn’t mocked, or anything of that sort.

He’d simply opened his door a bit wider to let her in.

And Maylee felt so relieved that she could have kissed him. She didn’t, but she would have if he’d have been even the slightest bit receptive to something like that from a country girl like her.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she stepped into his room. She’d been here earlier, and she had been a bit agog at how much nicer his room was than hers. He had fancy couches and fancy tables and an enormous window with a balcony that would probably have an incredible view of the city. The window was shut, the curtains drawn. It was late and getting later by the minute.

He ran a hand through his messy, half-wet hair and glanced around the room. “I can take the couch. You can have the bed.”

Her eyes widened at his suggestion. Sir Stuffy was going to give up his bed for her? Immediately, Maylee felt guilty. That hadn’t been her intention. She’d simply been scared to stay alone, sure that she’d have nightmares about strange men jumping out of her closet with a camera. She looked over at his bed. It was enormous. “I thought we’d both sleep together.”

“Did you.” The two words were flat.

Maylee blushed. “Not like that. But look at this bed. It’s the size of my apartment back home. We can just put some pillows in between us and it’ll be right as rain. Kinda like camp. You know?”

Griffin simply stared at her.

“And that dinky little couch looks mighty uncomfortable,” she admitted. “Especially for a man your size.” Oh, lordamercy, now she was blushing again. Why had she said man your size? She was not going to look at his happy trail. She was not. “I mean, if anyone should take the couch, it should be me.”

The room fell silent. Griffin considered the bed, then her, then gestured at the pillow she was clutching. “Go get your pillows out of your room.”

She trotted back into it happily and grabbed all the pillows, then returned to Griffin.

He took them from her and tossed them onto the bed, making a barrier between them. “I’ll sleep on the right,” he said, the imperious note back in his voice. “It’s closer to the door.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“And I’m going to read for a while longer. I trust that won’t bother you?”

She shook her head. “I’m kinda too wound up to sleep. Mind if I get my knitting?”

He shrugged his shoulders and climbed into his side of the bed, grabbing his book and opening it back up again, ignoring her. This was perfect, really. If he was going to pretend like she wasn’t there, she wouldn’t feel so weird about asking to sleep with him.

Maylee bounded up from the bed and went to her room, grabbed her knitting, and scurried back into his room. For some reason, her own hotel room didn’t feel safe anymore, but the moment she walked through his door, she felt like she could relax. Breathing a happy sigh of relief, she bounded back into bed, dragged the blankets up around her, and then sat up, crossed her legs, and began to knit. The feel of the yarn and the needles was soothing to her, as were the repetitive motions. It allowed her to calm down and relax, and she began to chain her yarn with easy motions.

She glanced over at Griffin, but he was silent, reading a book with tons of tiny words on the page. Looked like heavy reading. Huh. Interesting that he was so smart when he didn’t have to be. She went back to her knitting.

A comfortable silence fell between them for a long time.

“Why are you afraid to sleep by yourself?”

Maylee glanced over, and was startled to see that he was looking in her direction. His thick book was flat on that divine chest, and his hair had dried into a light brown tousle that looked different now that it wasn’t slicked down by a pound of hair gel. He looked different. Younger. Easier to approach.

Cute, even.

She felt herself blushing, though she continued to knit, her needles moving. “You really want to know?”

“Would I have inquired if I didn’t?”

“You might if you were just being polite.”

He snorted. “I can assure you that I don’t ask people about themselves unless I’m interested.”

She supposed that was the case. “I guess I should be mighty flattered then, huh? And it’s nothing big, really. My apartment got broken into when I first moved to the city. I’d only been in New York a few days. I went on a job interview and when I came back, someone had broken in my door and gone through all my stuff.”

“Did you go to the police?”

“I went to my landlord,” she admitted, looping her yarn around one needle as she spoke. “He told me that since he was only charging me three dollars a square foot, I shouldn’t expect much. So I just had him fix the door and I got myself a baseball bat, but it was scary for the first few days.”

He was silent. She looked over from her knitting to see him frowning at her.

“What?” she asked.

“I don’t know what part of that story is the most ridiculous. I’m trying to decide.”

“I can’t help if I was scared,” she said defensively. “It was the first time I’d ever left home, and then someone came through and raided my stuff. It was rather alarming for a girl from Arkansas.”

“I would suppose so.” He sat up and leaned against the headboard. “That’s not the ridiculous part. You’re being charged three dollars a square foot?”

She nodded at her knitting. “It’s a room in Bushwick. No windows or anything, which makes me sad, but I’m told it’s quite a steal at $450 a month.”

“A flat in Bushwick, Brooklyn? That sounds horrific. I think my closet is larger than a hundred and fifty square feet.”

She laughed. “I don’t doubt that, Mr. Griffin.”

As she glanced over, he rubbed his chest idly. Oh, that bare chest with all those muscles. She needed to quit peeking over or she was likely to get herself into trouble.

“Just call me Griffin if we’re going to sit here in bed together,” he mused, rubbing his chest. “Feels weird otherwise. So you’re renting a hole of an apartment in a terrible part of the city. Does Hunter not pay you very well?”

Oh, dear. “Mr. Hunter pays me very nicely, sir. I just try to live frugally so I can send money home to Mama and them.”

“God, your language is appalling. Mama and them, indeed. That’s not English.”

“It is.”

“Really? Where in the grammar books do you suppose they cover ‘and them’? Who, pray tell, is ‘them’?”

“My sisters and my Nana and my Pepaw—”

He waved a hand. “You know what? I’m sorry I asked. Never mind. Please, continue with your horrific tale of woe.”

Maylee was silent. He was mocking her, wasn’t he? She couldn’t exactly tell him off, so she just said nothing at all.

He sighed and rubbed his face. “So you send money home? Why not get a job closer to where you were?”

“Mama wants me to be successful,” she said softly, and was surprised by the ache of homesickness that swelled in her. “She said all the truly successful, dynamic people live in the big city, and that I should go there. She said I was such a good daughter that I didn’t deserve to end up stuck in the backwoods with a bunch of hillbillies for the rest of my life.” Tears pricked Maylee’s eyes. She loved those “hillbillies” and would have stayed with them forever, if they’d have let her. “Plus, I have two younger sisters and I’m trying to set a good example for them, so I can’t come home with my tail tucked between my legs the first time someone breaks into my apartment, you know? I’m a Meriweather, and we don’t give up.”

“Two younger sisters? I shudder to think what their names are.”

Maylee giggled at his snotty tone. “One is Alabama, and the other is Dixie.”

“Dear God. Of course they are.”

“I’m the oldest, so I got the honor of being named after Nana and Pepaw. After that, my daddy sorta ran out of names, so he went with songs.”

“And what does your father do?”

She sobered and made a quick, sloppy sign of the cross. “Daddy died ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” His snotty tone was gone and it kinda sounded like he meant it. “I lost my father at an early age, too.”

She looked over at him and put her knitting down, a bit surprised. “Oh?”

“When I was sixteen. Boating accident.”

She reached across the pillows and touched his arm to comfort him. “I’m sorry. It’s hard when you’re that age. I wish I’d been younger so I wouldn’t have so many memories.”

He looked surprised that she touched him, staring down at her hand.

Oh, had she messed up? “Sorry,” she said, drawing back. To lighten the mood, she added, “I promise to behave for our little slumber party.”

He snorted again.

“So what about your family?” she asked, picking her knitting back up again. “Are you the oldest?”

“Thank God I am not,” Griffin said. “I have an older brother, George. He is the official duke. Since I’m the younger son, I am a mere viscount.”

She blinked in surprise and looked over at him again. “Your brother is a duke?”

“My mother is the younger sister of the queen,” he admitted. “That’s the reason why we’re going to be hounded night and day while we’re here.”

“Oh. Wow.”

She had just asked to share the blankets with royalty. Lordamercy. No wonder he was so starchy all the time. He was probably appalled by her. Maylee swallowed hard. “I thought you were fancy, I just didn’t realize how fancy.”

He groaned. “Please, please, never refer to me as ‘fancy’ in front of anyone.”

Her eyes widened and she put down her knitting. “Why?”

“Because I’m not gay?”

“I didn’t mean that you were gay! Just, you know.” She waved a hand at him. “Fancy. With your hair and your bow ties and stuff.”

“Ah yes, my ‘spackled’ hair.” His cool voice actually sounded amused for once.

She laughed at that. “Who said it was spackled?”

“You did. On the plane. And then you asked me for a hug.”

Maylee sucked in a breath and tried not to giggle. “Oh, lordy. I’m so sorry. How did you not fire me on the spot?”

“Because I am stuck. And because you are good with bow ties.” With that, he set his book aside and flicked off the light. “Good night.”

Maylee fumbled to collect her knitting in the dark, then placed it carefully on the bedside and slid under the blankets. She fluffed her pillow and stared into the darkness at the pillow wall separating them. “Good night, Mr. Griffin,” she said softly. “And thank you for being so kind.”

“Kind is a much better moniker than fancy,” he retorted. “Feel free to call me ‘kind’ in public.”

She grinned.

Chapter Six

The next morning was a little . . . odd.

She’d woken up out of a deep sleep to the sound of an alarm clock going off. As she usually did, she groaned and snuggled deeper into the pillows, rolling over.

And then she jerked upright, because she realized she’d rolled over onto a nice, warm hand and pressed her breast into it. Disoriented, Maylee looked around the room, which was much nicer than her own, and it took a moment for her to realize where she was. Oh. Right. She looked down at the bed and apparently Mr. Griffin was a bit of a restless sleeper. The pillow wall they’d built had been almost demolished while they’d slept, and his arm had snaked underneath the pillows. His big hand was palm up on her side of the bed.

And she’d plopped her titty right into it like a big ol’ hussy. Lordamercy.

Blushing, Maylee crawled out of the bed, tugging at the borrowed sleep shirt to ensure it covered her panties, and then went to Griffin’s side of the bed and shook him. “Mr. Griffin? Time to wake up and go to breakfast.”

He opened his eyes and then gave her a soft smile, stretching on the bed. His hair stuck up in all directions.

And her heart gave a little flip-flop at how boyish he looked.

“I’m getting up,” he murmured, sitting up, his delicious chest exposed again. When he rubbed his face with one hand, she blushed to think about how she’d plunked her boob into it. Gawd.

“I’m going to go change,” she told him.

“Wait,” he said, and got to his feet. “I’ll go check your room for you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. I don’t want any other devils in there scaring you.”

He really was a sweet man once you got past his icy demeanor. Very gentlemanly, she decided. Once Griffin had cleared her room for her to go in and change, she went in and wetted down her curls, then twisted them into a knot at her nape to keep them out of the way. Griffin had made it clear he didn’t approve of her messy hair, but it was hard to do anything with it. She put on her makeup, then headed to her closet to find something to wear for the day.

The intruder last night had knocked over half of her clothes and trampled on them. She picked up her favorite dress and stared at the gigantic footprint on it with a wince. Maybe she could get it dry cleaned, but she was low on cash thanks to tipping all the staff. She’d have to run out tonight to see about getting them cleaned—but wait, she couldn’t. Griffin had a dinner party he was attending. It’d have to wait a day or two.

She picked through her clothing again. Nothing else went together. Oh, dear. She had a red blouse and a green pencil skirt, but she’d look like an elf if she wore those together. She’d worn her black skirt yesterday. Maybe she could re-use some of her clothing . . . but she’d thrown it into a wadded ball in her laundry, so it’d need to be ironed and aired first.

Biting her lip, she put on a pale yellow sleeveless patterned dress that she liked to wear with a dark green jacket, which was currently at the bottom of the closet. She put a short red knitted shrug on over it, hoping she didn’t look too nonsensical.

She slung her purse over her shoulder and knocked on the adjoining door.

“Good,” Griffin said as he opened the door. “I can’t seem to figure out which blasted tie goes with this shirt. I—” He looked over at her and stopped, staring at her outfit. She could see his face visibly ice over. “Maylee, I don’t mean to be unkind, but we’ll be meeting with the royal family for photos later today. Your outfit is rather”—he rubbed his freshly shaven chin—“unorthodox.”

“I know,” she said quickly, rushing forward to look at the ties thrown into a heap on his bed. “It’s just that the guy hiding in my closet messed up a bunch of my clothes and stepped on them, and I’ve got to get them dry cleaned. I’m so terribly sorry,” she told him, holding up a dark tie with a faint black pattern on it that wouldn’t be too showy. “I’ll try to stay out of sight today. I’ll just hide in the limo.”

“Sedan,” he murmured. “I asked the driver to come in an unmarked sedan for the rest of the trip. It should be easier to get around.”

That was her suggestion. She beamed at him. “I think you’ll find it much easier. We can even go out the back if you’d rather. The doorman told me of a special side entrance—”

He touched the fringed sleeve of her shrug. “Did you make this?”

“I did,” she said proudly.

“It’s hideous. Can you take it off?”

She winced at his cruel words and tugged it off, then crossed her arms under her breasts, waiting for him to pick apart her dress next. It didn’t exactly match her shoes, but she’d honestly not given much thought to multiple pairs of shoes when she’d packed. She’d been in too much of a hurry.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me that he’d destroyed your clothing. You’re just making do with what you have.” He patted her arm. “Forgive my words.”

Maylee was shocked. He’d . . . apologized? Over insulting her clothing? He’d done that repeatedly. “Um, okay.”

“We’ll fix it.”

Her brows furrowed, but when he didn’t clarify, she simply looped his tie around his neck and tied it for him, then straightened his jacket. His hair was slicked down again, and he looked like the same old fussy, slightly stodgy and completely disapproving Griffin. She wouldn’t think too much about that, though. Smiling at him, she turned to the door. “Come on. Let’s go get breakfast. I forgot to eat dinner last night and my stomach’s been growling like a badger.”

He frowned as they left his room. “Why didn’t you eat dinner?”

She waved a hand at his concerns. “I got distracted with all the goings on last night.”

“I see.”

Maylee saw several of the familiar staff as they went down to breakfast, and as soon as they were seated, she pulled out Griffin’s laptop and began to go over his schedule, writing notes to herself for things to remember on Post-its. She ordered the same thing that Griffin did for breakfast again, since she didn’t recognize half the stuff on the menu and didn’t want to seem like a rube.

She noticed him watching her, and then she looked up from the computer. His hands were empty. “Did you forget your book upstairs? Do you want me to go get it for you?”

He shook his head and looked thoughtful. “What’s first on the schedule this morning?”

She ran a finger down the screen. “From nine until eleven, you’re meeting with the Bellissime Historical Society—”

Griffin nodded. “Go ahead and cancel it.”

She blinked at him. “But . . . it’s my job to keep your appointments.”

“I know. And I want to cancel that one. What’s after that?”

“Lunch with the mayor?”

He grunted. “I guess I can’t get out of that one. He’s an old family friend. Very well.”

She pulled out her phone and then frowned. “What shall I tell them is the reason for the cancellation? Anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “A viscount doesn’t make excuses. I’m simply busy.”

She nodded and got up, crossing the empty private dining room to make the phone call. He was right, though. No one questioned his cancellation in the slightest.

When she returned to the table, breakfast had been served, and she intercepted the waiter on his way back to the kitchen and pushed a twenty into his hand for a tip. “Thank you.”

He took it with a smile and winked at her.

Maylee sat back down at the table and picked up her napkin. Breakfast this morning looked like runny eggs covered with some sort of weird reddish gravy and what looked like caviar on top. Ew. Why couldn’t the man order some grits and bacon like a normal person? It was a shame she was so hungry. She was going to eat it anyhow. “So . . . what would you like to do this morning now that you’ve got it free?”

“After this, I’m going to have the staff go up to our room and arrange to have your clothing dry cleaned at their expense so you can have it back tonight.”

She blushed. Our room? “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t,” he agreed. “But they do. And then we’re going shopping.”

Maylee gave an excited little wiggle in her chair. “We are? Souvenir shopping?”

He gave her a funny look. “I am a native of Bellissime, Maylee. I’m sure I don’t need postcards or cheap shot glasses to remind me of the fact.”

“Oh.” How did he always manage to make her feel so stupid with just a word? She poked her fork at her egg-things, her appetite disappearing.

“We’ll get you clothing. Something appropriate to wear.”

Maylee’s heart thumped with excitement . . . and then it was followed by immediate hurt. “Because I look so awful?”

“That, and because what you’re wearing is appallingly unacceptable for a visit to the Bellissime Royal Palace,” he said, salting his eggs and taking a small bite.

That took all the fun out of the thought of going shopping. Maylee stared at her food until tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away. She was sure he didn’t mean to be so cruel . . . did he? “Mr. Griffin—”

“Mr. Verdi,” he corrected. “Or Lord Montagne Verdi. Or Viscount Montagne Verdi. Not Mr. Griffin. Please watch your tongue when we’re at the royal palace.”

“I was going to say that I can’t really afford to buy new clothes, Mr. Verdi.” She carefully stressed his correct title. “Perhaps I should just stay behind,” she said in a small voice, scraping the caviar off the top of one of her slimy-looking eggs.

“Nonsense.”

She waited for more. Maybe you’re indispensable to me, Maylee or I need your help today or even a you’re great company, Maylee. Something that would tell her she wasn’t just an ugly, unfashionable burden on him.

When she looked up at him expectantly, he added, “I might have to change clothes for the royal portraits and you’ll need to be there to fix my tie.”

She sighed.

* * *

Maylee was utterly impossible to please.

Griffin had thought she’d be happy to get new clothes. Not only were hers hideous, but she was constantly knitting. When he saw the weird little shawl she’d worn earlier, he’d realized . . . she was so poor that she was creating her own clothing. And that made him feel terrible. He hadn’t even realized how underprivileged she was until then, and her embarrassment at not having anything decent to wear for the day was palpable. So he’d offered to take her shopping. She’d been excited when she’d thought they were going to a cheap tourist stand. At the thought of clothing, though?

She’d snapped her mouth shut and looked like a kicked puppy.

He didn’t know what to make of her. She had him all turned around this morning. He’d been nearly unable to sleep last night, fully aware of her body on the other side of the pillows. She talked in her sleep, too. No nightmares, just mutterings about home and if she had put the dog outside. Did she have a dog? Surely not with the size of apartment she’d mentioned having.

So he’d tossed and turned all night, listening to her mumble, before finally falling asleep sometime before dawn. He’d woken immediately, however, when the alarm went off . . . and was stunned when she’d rolled over and pressed her breast into his hand. Memories of that soft, full breast haunted him even now and made him break out into a cold sweat. He’d feigned sleepiness—hell, what else could he have done?—and she hadn’t seemed to notice that he’d clutched the sheets at his waist to hide his hard-on.

It was damn embarrassing being attracted to your employee. Especially when she was as completely inappropriate for his station as Maylee.

They’d finished breakfast in silence. He noticed that Maylee ended up pushing around her food more than she ate it, and he remembered how hungry she’d said she was. He supposed she wasn’t a fan of traditional Bellissime dishes like their breakfast of brandied sauce and caviar atop lightly poached eggs. Still, it was nice to eat in private, and after their dishes were cleared and he’d finished his coffee, they headed to the kitchen to give their thanks to the chef and his crew.

Griffin had to admit, Maylee was a genius when it came to handling staff. At first, he’d been skeptical of her plan for him to stop by the kitchen, but she’d politely explained that if he did five minutes of chatting with the staff, he wouldn’t be surprised by constant drop-ins and requests as he ate. And she’d been right. More than that, the staff positively beamed with pleasure as he went to talk to them and let them know how much he appreciated their delicious cooking.

He enjoyed it so much, he told them, that he wouldn’t mind a few wrapped sandwiches to take with them in the car. . . and immediately the staff had scrambled to make them.

Maylee pulled out her wallet and tried to pay, but everyone had protested so much that she’d eventually put it away. And to make up for the sandwiches, Griffin agreed to pose for a few photos.

Immediately, the staff whipped out smartphones, ready for such an occasion.

Ten minutes later, Griffin and Maylee left the kitchen, and her good mood had returned. “That was so sweet of you, Mr. Griffin,” she said in that twangy drawl. Her arms held the small brown paper bag of the sandwiches he’d requested. “You could tell how excited they were to meet you and get a picture with you. One-on-one time is important. It makes people feel valued.”

“Is this a lecture, Miss Meriweather?”

She sighed heavily. “No. Can’t I just comment on something without you thinking there’s an ulterior motive?”

“No,” he said in a cool voice, and she fell silent. Damn it all, why was it that he always ended up being the churl in these conversations?

They were both silent as the sedan pulled into the street. This time, only one car pulled away to follow them instead of the fleet that normally trailed them. An improvement, Griffin admitted to himself. The driver pulled into the shopping district of downtown Bellissime and parked in front of one of the metered sidewalks.

“Oh, dear,” Maylee said at the sight, and began to dig through her purse. “I don’t have any Bellissime change on me. Just a few U.S. quarters.”

“Just ignore the meter,” he told her as they got out of the car. “They wouldn’t dare ticket a member of the royal family.”

Her brows furrowed at that. “But why not? You’re not obeying the law.”

“The laws don’t apply to my family.”

She looked like she disapproved of that answer, but followed him into the nearest store.

Inside, Griffin scanned the clothing. Dark suits, neutral-colored dresses. Modest fascinators. Nothing with flash or a pattern. “This will do nicely. Go find a salesclerk.”

“Here?” Maylee asked, and her mouth was pulled into a frown. “This looks like funeral wear. I thought we were going to a wedding.”

“I assure you it is not funeral wear,” Griffin said. “And even if it was, you are my employee. I reserve the right to request that you wear the appropriate clothing for the occasion, especially if I provide it.”

She pursed her lips.

“You’re stalling,” he warned her.

“Mr. Griffin,” she began. “I’m mighty uncomfortable with you buying me clothes. It ain’t right.”

“It isn’t right,” he corrected.

“I know. I just said that.”

Jesus Christ. He rubbed his brow. “Just get the salesclerk, please. We can’t spend all day here.”

An hour later, Maylee was appropriately attired in a dark blue-skirted suit, matching modest heels on her feet. He’d even—against Maylee’s protests—managed to get her a somber, normal purse instead of that heinous saddle-shaped monstrosity she carried around. Bagged up for the rest of the trip were several more sedate outfits, shoes, and fascinators to go with the more dressy outfits.

Griffin was pleased. She’d hardly fussed over any of the clothing, not fighting him over any of it. The entire purchase was charged to his personal account, which was why he was puzzled when Maylee paused as they left the shop and hurried back to the salesclerk. He watched as she murmured a few words to the woman and then pressed something into her hand. The salesclerk beamed and thanked her with a nod. Then, Maylee trotted back to his side.

“Sorry ’bout that, Mr. Griffin.”

He was going to be forever correcting her on his proper title, wasn’t he? But curiosity weighed heavier on him than a correction. “What was that about?” he asked as they exited the store.

“Oh, I was just giving her a tip,” Maylee said. “It’s only polite.”

He turned and frowned at her. “Why would you tip her?”

“Because she helped us?”

“Helping us should be enough of a privilege for her,” he told Maylee. Was that why the staff was so bloody friendly? Was she handing out money to all of them?

Maylee snorted. “You sure do have a high opinion of yourself, Mr. Griffin.”

Of course he did. He was a viscount as well and had once been ninth in line to the throne. Why shouldn’t he? “Exactly how much have you been spending on tipping these people?”

“Well, Mr. Griffin, Mr. Hunter always gives me money so I can tip his people. It’s the polite thing to do.” And she gave him a prim look, as if he was the one at fault in his manners.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

She sighed. “A couple hundred. I figured I’d just expense it when we got back.”

“A couple hundred?” Out of her personal wallet? When she lived in a hovel so she could send money to her parents? And dressed like a vagrant? “Are you insane?”

She shot him another hurt look. “Excuse me for trying to be polite.”

“Look, if you’re going to hand out money to everyone, at least let it be my money.”

“That’s fine.” She turned to him and put her palm out.

He looked down at it, then at her. “I don’t have any money on me right now.”

She arched a brow. “Like I was saying?”

“Let’s just go.” He gestured for her to get back into the car, when he spotted a garish stand at the end of the street. It was covered in the bright yellow and blue Bellissime flag and he spotted touristy T-shirts. He paused. Sighed. Looked at Maylee’s frowning face. “Actually, let’s do one more stop before we go on.” He took her elbow and gently turned her until she faced the souvenir stand.

Maylee’s undignified squeal of delight was rather fun to hear, he admitted to himself.

* * *

Griffin was just escaping from a dinner party when his phone rang with a very distinct ringtone. “Excuse me,” he told the waiting Maylee and driver, and walked away a few steps to answer the call. “Jonathan,” Griffin said into the phone. “How goes the trip to Spain?”

“Incredible,” Jonathan said. “You really should be here. Some of the artifacts they’re finding are downright unbelievable. They’re convinced we might have enough proof in a few years to give strength to the theory that it’s truly Atlantis and not Tarshish.”

Griffin felt a surge of excitement, followed quickly by jealousy. “I wish I was there.”

“Me too, buddy. How goes the wedding bullshit?”

“As expected,” Griffin said sourly. “Lots of hand shaking, gossiping, dinner parties, and endless rigmarole. And the wedding won’t officially start until next week.”

“Glad it’s you and not me,” Jonathan said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t trade places with the lofty viscount for anything.”

“Of course not,” Griffin said mildly, glancing around as he paced down the sidewalk. It was getting late and the street was rather empty, which was a blessing. Maylee leaned against the sedan and listened to the driver tell a story. He was standing a little closer to her than was polite, but Maylee was laughing and smiling up at him. They looked cozy.

Griffin didn’t like that. Did the man have to stand so close to her? And did she have to look so darn pleased with the conversation? The limo driver pointed at a nearby building and he watched Maylee shade her eyes and lean so she could see. When she leaned, her bottom thrust out in her skirt, rounded and rather . . . eye-catching.

“Anything exciting happen?”

Griffin shook his head and looked away, thoughts returning to his phone conversation. “Other than a pap sneaking into my assistant’s room to try and bribe her?”

“Jesus. They’re determined, aren’t they?” Jonathan snorted. “Listen, hey, can you clear your schedule this weekend?”

Griffin frowned. “I doubt it. Why?”

“Because they’re breaking ground in a new area. You know, the one with all the ruins on the radar printouts? You said you wanted to be there for it.”

His heart sank. He did want to be there. “I can’t get away from the wedding. I’m sorry. Can they put it off a week?”

“Probably not. Weather’s supposed to be perfect this weekend. And Spain’s only a short plane ride away from where you’re at, right?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Griffin murmured. “I can’t abandon my familial duties.”

“Sounds awful. I’ve got to go. I’m having dinner with Dr. Phineas DeWitt about future plans. I’ll send you a recap.”

“Sure,” Griffin said dully. He wanted to be there more than anything. Damn it, it wasn’t fair. He hated being part of the Bellissime royal family. It was just a constant chore. All he wanted to do was be left alone with his books and his pet projects.

“Oh, before I go—how’s the assistant?”

Griffin rolled his eyes. “So you heard about that?”

“How could I not? I had lunch with Hunter and Gretchen before I left and Gretchen wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“That woman is a nightmare.”

“Yeah, but she’s Hunter’s dream so I tolerate her. You have fun,” Jonathan said, and hung up.

Griffin ended the call and stared at his phone, glum. He should have been there in Spain with Jonathan, merrily tromping through swamps on archaeological expeditions. Instead, he was stuck in stuffy suits in his home country, attending the wedding of a cousin he rarely saw.

He felt . . . sad. And low. And incredibly disappointed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and approached the sedan, masking his emotions. The driver—he couldn’t remember the man’s name—scurried away at the sight of Griffin. Maylee tilted her head, watching him.

“Everything all right?” For some reason, he found her drawl soothing tonight.

“Of course.”

She gave him a knowing look, and when he gestured that she should get in the car, she shook her head. “You don’t look happy. You want to talk about it?”

“Do I ever want to talk about it?” he bit out.

That didn’t faze her. Maylee beamed a smile up at him, still cheery from her raid of the souvenir stand. He’d never seen a woman get so excited over ugly postcards and bumper stickers, all purchased for “Mama and them.”

“You can talk to me. I’m a good listener.”

He glanced over at the driver, then noted the street they were on. It was quiet, nearly empty. He doubted he’d get recognized at this late hour, but you never knew. For some reason, getting back into the car felt like admitting defeat. Like admitting that he was trapped into being their creature instead of the independent man he wanted to be.

“We’re not far from the hotel,” Griffin said, then hesitated. “Do you think we’ll get noticed if we walk back? I don’t want to have to deal with anything tonight.”

She put a finger to her lips and studied him. “Can I try something?”

“Be my guest.”

Maylee reached up and undid his bow tie. She yanked it off and tossed it into the back seat of the car, and then reached forward and loosened the top buttons of his collar, rumpling it a little. She crooked a finger at him. “Bend down.”

That crooked finger was doing insane things to his imagination. Griffin forced himself to concentrate on the moment and not on his dirty thoughts, so he obediently leaned forward.

Maylee’s fingers dragged through his gel-stiffened hair and she roughed it up, tousling it into a mess. She patted and smoothed it down again. Stepping back, she surveyed her handiwork. Then, she shook her head and held out her hand. “Jacket?”

He slid it off and held it out to her . . . and tried not to wince when she tossed it in the back of the car, too. But then she grabbed his hand and undid his cufflink, rolling up his sleeve. His hand was close enough to her body that he immediately thought of that breast pressing into his palm.

He couldn’t have pulled away if he’d tried.

Once Maylee had finished rolling up one sleeve, she moved to the other. “Much, much better.” She shut the car door and gestured for him to glance into the tinted window at his reflection.

The man staring back had fashionably tousled hair, a rumpled shirt, and looked nothing like his normal stuffy self except for the glasses. After a moment’s hesitation, he took those off and handed them to her.

“No one will recognize you at all,” she said, pleased. “We can take as long as we want on the walk back.” And she moved to his side and slid her arm into the crook of his.

Like they were dating.

It was too presumptuous. She took way too many liberties—something that his mother or anyone in the royal family would scold both him and her at the sight of. But there was no one around, and it was just a quiet evening street, and she was smiling up at him like he was special and she wanted to hear what he had to say.

And so he placed his hand over hers and led her down the street.

They walked a few blocks in silence, enjoying the night air. After a few minutes, Maylee squeezed his arm. “Give me a second. These shoes are killing my feet.” She leaned on him as she lifted one foot and removed one shoe, than the other.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d decided to go barefoot through the streets, he told himself. Maybe she never wore shoes at home. For some reason, the thought of a barefoot Maylee padding around New York City made him smile to himself.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said with a relieved sigh, tucking her shoes into her free hand. She beamed up at him. “You look like you’re relaxing a little, too. Feeling better?”

“A bit,” he admitted.

“Sometimes I like to get away,” she told him, lifting her face to look at the claustrophobic huddle of buildings around them. The snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance, and Maylee’s breath was puffing into the air next to him, but Griffin wasn’t cold. Her hand on his arm felt as warm as a brand. “You know. The whole city thing gets to be too much, and even my apartment doesn’t feel like home, so I take a day and just walk around the city.”

He could imagine that her apartment didn’t feel like home. It probably felt like a cave . . . an unsafe one at that. “Where do you like to go in the city?”

“Central Park is pretty,” she began.

He grimaced. Everyone always said the park.

“But I like the museums better,” she continued. “They’re so full of life. Not just the people there, but the things. Everything there represents so much knowledge and talent and creativity. I go there and I feel like I’m surrounded by the pinnacle of what people can attain. You know? And it refreshes me and makes me think I can keep going.”

Griffin was surprised to hear her say that . . . surprised and a bit pleased. That seemed far more astute an observation than a country girl would have. “I am a big advocate of museums.”

“Of course you are,” she said with a brilliant smile. “It’s clear you’re smart as a whip.”

“Are you flattering me, Miss Meriweather?” Because he was. Flattered, that is.

“Just callin’ it like I see it,” she said. “You’re always reading and trying to learn. I admire that.”

“What was your major in college?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Filing.”

“I . . . beg your pardon?”

“I went to an advanced secretarial school,” she told him proudly. “Best one in Arkansas. We learned all kinds of good stuff like how to answer the phone, do spreadsheets, and take messages, but I was real good at filing.”

“They have classes on . . . filing?”

“You bet.”

“And you paid for these classes?”

That full lower lip stuck out. “Are you making fun of me?”

He immediately felt like an ass. “Not at all. I was merely curious.”

The hand on his arm tightened a little, as if she wasn’t sure if he was making fun of her or not, and she was bracing herself for a cut-down. “My mama heard about the classes and she told me that if anyone in our family stood a chance of making a real living, then I needed to go there. So she saved her money for months and I took a second shift at the Burger Shack to make ends meet.”

“Burger Shack? People really eat at a place with “shack” in the name?”

“Hush, you’re distractin’ me from my story. So, Mama saved her money, and I saved my money, and I went to the school on the nights I wasn’t working. And once I graduated, Mama gave me a nest egg she’d been saving and told me that if I was going to make something of myself, I needed to go to the big city. Not just any big city, but the big city. My success would help my sisters, she told me. So up I came to New York.” She looked up at him, her big eyes wary. “It probably sounds silly to you.”

“Not at all,” he told her honestly. “You’re making sacrifices for your family. It’s very noble. And your mother’s right. I doubt there’s much of a career in a burger shack.” He couldn’t even imagine.

“Our town is very small,” she said. “And you can’t get far on burn talking. So Mama thought I should get a fresh start. You know, let hard work speak for itself. I guess she was right, because without her, I’d have never worked for Mr. Hunter in his fancy office, or come to this pretty place.” She gestured at the narrow streets of Bellissime.

He tried to see what she was seeing, but all he saw was a city that looked more like a Swiss tourist trap than its own country. He saw buildings that were crowded close together and outdated for all their quaintness. He saw cobblestone streets that made a godawful racket when one was in the car. He saw a place that felt stifling and choking when he was here.

Griffin glanced down at Maylee, who saw none of these things, and was regarding their surroundings with a satisfied look.

He liked her purity of spirit. He liked that she was pleased with the smallest gestures and didn’t seem to care about the bigger ones. She had a good heart, he decided.

“So how did you get to New York, Mr. Griffin?” she asked, daintily sidestepping a puddle as they walked. “You obviously grew up here.”

“I did. When I was eighteen, I decided I wanted to go to college in the States. Dartmouth. I wanted to major in art history and archaeology, but my brother was the duke and my family was in rather dire financial straits at the time, so George said the only reason he’d let me go to the States was if I majored in finance. So I did.”

That sympathetic little hand squeezed his arm again. “So we both sacrificed for our family.”

He wasn’t sure that his was much of a sacrifice. An Ivy League college versus a school where they taught you how to work a filing cabinet? There was no comparison. “After I graduated, I was doing well fiscally with some small investments, so I decided to stay in the States. I chose New York City because it seemed like a central place.” That, and his friends in their secret society were all located in or around the city itself. “I’ve been there ever since.”

“You must love it.”

He actually hadn’t given much thought to it. He still lived in the same book-scattered townhouse that he’d purchased when he’d first moved to New York. The others had acquired penthouses or entire buildings. That didn’t interest Griffin. It was simply a place to sleep in between trips around the world, usually with Jonathan on another one of his expeditions.

He sighed. And Jonathan was currently in Spain, digging up the site of what could possibly be the ruins of Atlantis.

“Oh, no,” Maylee said. “Don’t sigh, Mr. Griffin. I thought we were distracting you from whatever made you so sad. I can tell you more about my move to New York City, if you like. Did you know I cried the first time I rode the subway? I was so scared I thought I’d be mugged every time I turned around. People always tell such stories about the subway, but it’s really just like a big ol’ bus.”

Griffin gazed down at her as she chattered. Her springy hair was escaping the knot at the base of her neck, and white-blonde tendrils were blowing in the breeze around her face. Her feet picked their way along the sidewalk, and her hand remained in the crook of his arm.

She was his employee, and yet she was trying to cheer him up because he seemed melancholy. That was . . . thoughtful.

For a brief, crazy moment, he wanted to stop her in her happy chatter and put his hand under her chin. He wanted to cover her mouth—that soft mouth with the full lower lip—with his, and see how she’d react. Would she blush and spout some countryish saying? Or would she fling her arms around him and give into the kiss with enthusiasm, as he suspected she would?

Or . . . would she slap his face because she was his employee and she was just being nice by talking to him?

Griffin patted her hand and continued walking, listening to her speak about her adventures in New York. It was clear after hearing a few more stories that Maylee was terrified of the city. He didn’t blame her. For a girl raised in a small town in the South, he imagined it was a very different sort of place.

But she never gave up. She never turned around and went home. She soldiered on, because it meant that her family would have a better life and more money.

When Gretchen had saddled him with Hunter’s laughable assistant, he’d been furious at her idea of a practical joke, in a time when appearances and scheduling was crucial. But the more he got to know Maylee, the more he wondered how someone so strong and determined had ended up being a mere assistant. She was smart and she was kind and she deserved a better lot in life.

Being Hunter’s assistant was a step up from the Burger Shack, but answering a phone didn’t seem like a dream career for a girl like her.

It was clear that someone like Maylee never backed down, though. And Griffin had to admit that he’d never imagined himself admiring someone like Maylee for her loyalty, stubbornness, and her resolve to do what her family needed no matter the personal cost to herself.

After all, he was a man who had spent the last ten years of his life avoiding his family as much as possible.

* * *

When they got back to the hotel, Maylee hesitated outside of her front door. “Can you . . .”

He nodded. “I’ll check it out for you.”

He did, and there was nothing in her room. She smiled her gratitude at him and closed the door behind her, and Griffin couldn’t help but feel a vague sense of disappointment that she wasn’t coming over for another night in his bed.

Twenty minutes later, a soft knock came at the adjoining door. Griffin’s heart thudded and he jumped to his feet, going to the door and throwing it open.

Maylee stood on the other side, clutching a pillow, just like the night before. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and her fresh-scrubbed face gave him a sheepish smile. “Would it be weird if—”

“Not at all.” He gestured to his bedroom. “Come on in.”

“Thank you, Mr. Griffin,” Maylee’s voice was clearly relieved. “You’re the best, you know that?”

He was either the best, or the most ruled by his dick. Of that, he couldn’t decide. She bounced into his bed on the left side and tossed the pillow she’d brought into the middle of the bed. He turned to look at her and paused. “Are you wearing camo pajamas?”

“Yup,” she said, adjusting the blankets around her. “My mama had some extra fabric so she made me some PJs. They’re not the rough camo, though. Just cotton. You want to feel?” She held out a sleeve for him to touch. “It’s soft, I promise.”

That innocently worded request was enough to set off his body again. Damn it, why did he react to every word she said? He immediately flicked the lights off and then adjusted himself, flattening his cock against his belly and tucking the head into his waistband so it wouldn’t tent out—just in case.

“Oh, we going straight to bed?” she asked. “You’re not going to read?”

“Not tonight,” Griffin told her. “Go to sleep.”

“Night, Mr. Griffin,” she told him in a cheerful voice. As if they were truly having a slumber party.

He sighed.

Chapter Seven

Days Later

“Oh, lordamercy! Look at the pretty gardens!” Maylee exclaimed as their sedan drove up to the royal palace of Bellissime. Her hand touched the glass of the tinted car windows, as if she could somehow get a better look by pressing herself closer. “I’ve never seen flowers like that. Ain’t that something!”

“They’re plants,” Griffin said, not looking up from his book. He’d found a few references to Tarshish in his book and was poring through it, looking for additional information that could also point to Atlantis and back up their theory about the ancient city being in the swamps of Spain. “Truly exciting,” he said in a dry voice, then flipped a page.

“Do you suppose there’s a hedge maze?”

“There is.”

She gasped so loudly that his head jerked up. “Oh, do you think we can go see it?”

He frowned at her. “These are the royal gardens. They’re not for anyone to go gallivanting around in. Especially not today.”

Maylee looked disappointed. “Of course not.” She clasped her hands on her lap, resting them on the laptop.

She looked rather elegant today, Griffin had to admit. She was wearing a pale blue dress with a matching jacket and heels, and her wild curls had been pulled back with a matching scarf that acted as a headband. She was quite fetching, really. He felt like he should tell her that, so she knew her appearance met with his approval.

So he said, “You look very appropriate today, Maylee. Well done.”

Instead of giving him one of her brilliant smiles, she gave him a frown.

Damn it, what did he say now? He ignored the fact that she turned back to the window and grew silent. He had more pressing things to worry about.

Today, he could no longer avoid his mother and brother. Griffin watched the palace approach with a sense of encroaching dread, and straightened the cuffs of his ceremonial jacket. As was tradition, it was dark blue with golden epaulets and dozens of medals he’d received simply for being born into the right family. The ridiculous jacket was his least favorite part of the pomp that came with being in the royal family, because he felt like a sham. Not only that, a sham in a hot, uncomfortable, tight-necked coat made of thick wool.

And it was a warm day. Ridiculous. It would look appalling if members of the royal family were beaded in sweat in the photo.

The sedan stopped in front of the palace, and attendants came to the door of the car. Maylee turned to him with a wide-eyed look. “What should I do?”

“Do not address anyone unless spoken to first,” Griffin said in a blunt voice. “Try to tone down your accent, smile, be polite, and stick to the other servants.”

She flinched.

“What?”

“Servants? I’m not a servant. I’m your assistant.”

“In the eyes of the crown, they are one and the same. Now, you should let me out first.” He gestured at the doors. “I outrank you. It’s only proper.”

“Of course,” Maylee murmured.

They managed to make it inside the palace without causing a scene, for which Griffin was grateful. It seemed that Maylee had taken his instructions to heart. She walked several steps behind him, kept her eyes downcast, and greeted no one who walked past.

There was something that struck him as wrong about that.

“Viscount Montagne Verdi,” the butler announced, and the great double doors to the common room in his grandmother’s palace opened.

Griffin greeted them with a nod, and before he could take two steps into the room full of waiting royals, his mother was upon him.

Her Royal Highness Princess Sybilla-Louise moved toward him, her gloved hands extended. His mother looked as hale as ever, tall and robust, her clothing practically glittering from all of the beads and sequins and God-knew-what-else she was wearing. Sybilla-Louise’s hair was a stately, steely-blue upsweep, a tiny crown adorning the top of her head. She gave him a critical look and then leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“You look well enough, my dear,” his mother said. “I’m glad to see that living with the Americans suits you.”

Her voice was not quite approving. She still hated that he’d given up any claim to the throne in exchange for the right to go to college in the Americas. It was his mother who had suggested that he be removed from the rankings of HRH and demoted down to a viscount. She’d done it to punish him and keep him in line; however, Griffin couldn’t be happier. He had no desire to handle any of the crown duties.

“Mother,” he said, ignoring her comments. “You look well.”

“It’s a wonder,” she said, her voice taking on that long-suffering tone he remembered well. “What with the royal family marrying commoners right before our eyes.” And she gave him a look that told him that she did not approve, even though she was here for the official wedding portraits.

“Is Cousin Alexandra happy? I suppose that is all that matters,” Griffin said. He tucked his mother’s hand into the crook of his sleeve and led her deeper into the crowd.

“Does it matter? She could have married a prince. Instead, she is marrying an actor.” His mother gave a haughty sniff. “It’s like she thinks Bellissime needs to be Monaco or some such nonsense.”

Count on his mother to focus on what the royals of Monaco had done decades ago. A sister country to the small French-bordered kingdom, Bellissime often felt in competition with the Monaco royalty. It seemed that hadn’t changed since he’d last talked to his mother.

A quick glance behind him showed him that Maylee had moved to the line of servants in the back of the room and was talking to one of them. Good.

“Brother! Glad you could make it.” A big hand clapped Griffin’s back, and he turned to look at George. He was everything Griffin wasn’t—athletic, dashing, more interested in sports than learning, and had married a gorgeous Swedish duchess who was busy producing heirs for the family. At thirty-two, George was four years older than him, a father thrice over, and owned three palaces.

George had also been completely penniless before Griffin had taken over his finances. Her Royal Highness Sybilla-Louise, too. In fact, all the staff that she currently insisted she had to have? And her summer and winter palaces? All paid for on Griffin’s dime . . . and yet they disapproved of his lifestyle.

Not that he was bitter about that sort of thing.

“Come and say hello to your cousin and the American,” George said with a wide grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Interesting fellow.”

For the next hour, Griffin greeted and chatted with various members of his extended family. There was his grandmother, who was ancient and barely did any governing anymore. She simply sat on her throne and smiled at everyone, petting one of her infamous longhaired white cats. There was her daughter, Her Royal Highness Princess Alexandra Olivia the Second, who had removed herself from the line of succession once she hit the age of fifty-five, stating that the last thing she wanted to do was spend the rest of her life attending to the throne. She’d abdicated in favor of her daughter, the Crown Princess Her Royal Highness Alexandra Olivia the Third, the twenty-five-year-old bride-to-be who was marrying the American.

The American was Luke Houston, who was shorter than Griffin had imagined, as Hollywood handsome as he’d expected, and charming and friendly. Southern, too, if he recognized the accent as similar to Maylee’s. He liked the man, but he felt a bit sorry for him for marrying into such a starchy family. Still, his cousin Alexandra looked at Luke with quiet approval. In the undemonstrative family of royalty, she was practically fawning over him. Griffin just hoped Alex knew what she was getting into. Marrying a commoner—especially an American one—meant a lifetime of snide remarks from family.

Griffin endured endless conversations about wedding colors and the weather for the upcoming day, all the while doing his best not to seem twitchy. It wasn’t that he cared about the wedding—he didn’t. However, he’d abandoned Maylee as soon as they’d stepped into the palace. He knew she felt out of her depth, and he hadn’t bothered to help her with that transition. He felt a little guilty about that.

Of course, when the royal parties eventually moved to the portrait gallery for the official photo sessions, Griffin wasn’t surprised to see that Maylee was standing next to the photographer, holding two water bottles and smiling as the man talked to her. He said something, and she laughed, that sparkle returning to her eyes.

And Griffin felt a surge of jealousy.

It wasn’t helped when the photographer—who he noticed was young, British, and rather handsome—began to arrange them in order of importance. In the front were Her Majesty the Queen, of course, Her Royal Highness Princess Alexandra, and her husband-to-be, Luke Houston. In the very back? Griffin, the lowly viscount who probably would not have been included in the portrait if not for the fact that his mother was the queen’s sister. And he’d been shuffled to the rear like riffraff in front of Maylee, who was watching the entire thing with shining, fascinated eyes.

The photographer moved to Maylee’s side and took a water bottle from her, swigged from it, and then handed it back. He winked at her and said something that Griffin couldn’t hear, and Maylee laughed.

“That’s a rather obnoxious servant,” George observed, picking imaginary lint off his medal-heavy jacket. “Flirting with the camera crew. Do you suppose she’s new?”

Griffin glared at his brother, who had a penchant for chasing the skirts of any female servant in his household. “She’s my assistant.”

“She looks like a poodle with all that hair. It’s quite fascinating.”

“Don’t even think about it, George.”

George raised an eyebrow at Griffin. “Ah. Is that why she’s your assistant?”

He knew what George was implying and he wanted to punch his brother in the mouth. “No, she’s my assistant because . . .” Because what? She was great at her job? That wasn’t true. She was decent, and her friendliness smoothed over a lot of problems, but she’d never be an excellent assistant. “I’m borrowing her from a friend.”

“Ah, a swap.”

How did his elegant, arrogant brother manage to make everything sound so filthy? Griffin ignored him.

George chuckled and moved forward to his seat. “Let me know if you’re interested in a swap yourself, little brother.”

Griffin glared at his brother, stepping forward and leaning in to whisper to George despite the photographer’s protests. “You cannot be attracted to her,” he told his brother. “You just compared her to a canine.”

But George simply grinned. “I like poodles. They’re exceedingly . . . energetic.”

“Viscount Montagne Verdi, please straighten,” the photographer was saying over and over again, waving his hand to try and force Griffin back into line. Everyone was staring at him, impatience stamped into every royal face.

Griffin straightened, masking his emotions. “Apologies.”

“Hang on just a sec,” Maylee said, and stepped forward. She rushed to Griffin’s side and squeezed in next to him. Likely she hadn’t seen his mother’s horrified gaze or she’d have flinched away. As it was, she trotted up to him, flipped one of his medals over, and smoothed the braid on his shoulder. Then, she beamed up at Griffin. “There you go, Mr. Griffin. Right as rain. Can’t have you looking all raggedy in the family portrait, can we?”

And she bounded away again.

“We can’t have that,” George murmured, clearly fascinated.

Griffin was scowling when they took the photographs.

As soon as the portraits were finished, Griffin pushed away from the others and made a beeline for Maylee. She turned to look at him, a bright smile on her face. “You looked very elegant, Mr. Griffin—”

He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her away from the others. “Please come with me, Miss Meriweather.”

She did, her heels clicking on the marble floors as she trotted to keep up with his angry strides.

Griffin dragged her down to the end of a nearby hall, away from listening ears, though he was sure quite a few people stared at them when they left. He didn’t care. Some would think he was disciplining an out-of-line employee. George would think he was chastising a lover.

For a moment, Griffin felt so completely smothered by the entire situation he wanted to turn around, exit the building, and head straight onto the next flight back to the States.

When he finally stopped and turned around, her wide-eyed surprise irritated him. “Clearly, Miss Meriweather, I need to go over things with you again.” He raised a finger. “First, it is Lord Montagne Verdi, or my lord or Viscount Montagne Verdi. You can also use Mr. Verdi, since you are American. It is not, and has never been Mr. Griffin. I am not sure how many times we have to go over it, but we will go over it once more.”

She flinched.

He ignored it and ticked up another finger. “Second of all, do not, I repeat, do not interrupt me in front of the queen, the crown princess, and any other royal personages so you can straighten my clothing. It implies a familiarity that we do not have.”

She gave a jerky nod and said nothing, her eyes huge in her pale face.

“Next, you are here to do a job. So is the photographer. So is the chauffeur. I am not paying you to stand around and talk to them.”

She said nothing.

“And finally . . .” he trailed off and tried to think of something to criticize. He’d pretty much gotten everything out of his system at this point, but he still wanted to end on something. So he focused on her hair because of George’s lewd commentary. “Do something with that, please. A tousled look is not appropriate for palace visits.”

Her hand touched the curls springing out of her scarf. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Yes. Well.” He straightened and tugged at the tight collar of his uniform. “See that you keep those things in mind, please.”

“Yes, Lord Montagne Verdi.” Her voice was so quiet and stiff that it didn’t even sound like her. Her gaze was averted, and he knew that if he made eye contact with her, she’d probably be teary-eyed.

And that made him feel . . . shitty.

He stalked away, furious with her . . . and himself.

Damn it, what was he supposed to do? Just ignore his employee stomping all over decorum simply because she was American? He didn’t see Luke Houston going around and adjusting people’s ties or calling people by the wrong title.

Then again . . . Alexandra had probably coached Luke for hours on how to act in front of her family. And Luke was an actor, so he was used to handling situations with other famous people.

Maylee was simply out of her league.

Which made him feel guilty again. He stopped just as he re-entered the portrait gallery. He should go apologize to her and explain that how they acted in private wasn’t the same as how she should act in public or in front of the queen.

“Darling, is everything all right?”

His mother. Griffin turned to the Princess Sybilla-Louise. “It’s fine, Mother. I was just educating my assistant on proper manners. The scene we had with the portrait won’t happen again.”

She looked down her long nose at him. “Does she truly call you Mr. Griffin? That’s so improper.”

“I am told it’s a form of respect in Southern states, but yes, it’s a bad habit of hers. One I intend she correct.” He offered his mother his arm and led her back toward the others. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You know, darling, you’ve let your staff become far too familiar.”

“It’s fine, Mother.”

“I have my equerry spend a few days with all of my new staff so he can educate them. It’s clear that you need to do so with yours. It might do her good. Oh, but then you only keep the bare bones of staff, correct?” She sniffed. “That must explain that poor girl’s manners. No one to show her how to be a proper servant. You should really hire someone to take her in hand.”

“It’s handled, Mother.” He was barely paying attention. He kept thinking of Maylee’s flinch as he’d laid into her. He hadn’t been wrong . . . exactly. But he could have gone about it in a much kinder fashion.

She’d been so excited to be at the palace, and here he’d yelled at her more or less in front of everyone. She had to be humiliated.

Griffin decided he would apologize later. In private.

* * *

When he finally emerged from the portrait session, Maylee was nowhere to be found. The photographer hadn’t seen her since Griffin had forcefully corrected her, and no one in his family would remember her, since employees—even bad ones—tended to blend into the wallpaper as far as they were concerned.

Except, perhaps, when it came to George, the womanizer. And he didn’t want George to remember her.

Just when he was ready to give up on finding his assistant, he spotted a familiar blonde wealth of curls out by the sedan. Maylee’s back was to him, and the chauffeur, whose name he didn’t remember, was patting her on the back, comforting her.

Griffin stalked toward them, just in time to hear a bit of their conversation.

“—They’re not like regular people, much as we like to think so. It’s just something we have to remind ourselves of. If we don’t, they slap us back down.” The man ran a hand over Maylee’s shoulder. “Don’t let it bother you too much, love.”

Love? A furious retort lodged in Griffin’s throat, then died as the two of them turned around and faced him. Maylee’s eyes were red, and she’d clearly been weeping. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, her scarf tying it into a semblance of neatness.

But she gave him a game, polite smile, clearly pretending all was well. “Ready to leave, Lord Montagne Verdi?”

He nodded, noting the flat delivery of his formal title. The chauffeur leapt into action and opened the back door of the sedan. Griffin gestured that Maylee should get in.

She shook her head. “I’ll ride up front with Robbie. It’s only proper.”

And when she wouldn’t meet his gaze, he didn’t argue the point.

When they got back to the hotel, he offered to check her room for her.

She declined.

Nor did she come knock on his door later. He even left the adjoining door unlocked, just in case she got scared and needed to come sleep next to him.

To come cuddle, you mean, he told himself.

He felt like a prat. He was no better than his brother, was he? Lusting after his staff and then slapping them down when they got too familiar.

* * *

The next morning, Maylee was all business. Her crazy hair was smoothed back into a bun that looked as if it was ready to fly apart at any moment. Her suit was sedate, and she didn’t speak unless he spoke to her.

In short, it was like an entirely different person had showed up to be his assistant that morning.

And Griffin wasn’t sure he liked it.

He tried to make conversation. “Maylee? Which tie do you think I should wear this morning?”

She’d picked one out without saying a word.

At breakfast, she’d ordered toast and coffee, and when she ate, she only nibbled at bites and looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but beside him. She kept her gaze downcast and worked on his laptop while he tried to read his book.

He tried, but failed.

Maylee’s silence was driving him insane. After a few more minutes of quiet, he closed his book and looked over at her.

She gave him a cool look. “What can I help you with, Lord Montagne Verdi?”

“You can start by letting me know if you plan on sulking all day?”

A bit of her old spark flared, then died again. Her mouth flattened. “I’m not sulking.”

“Aren’t you? You’ve not spoken two words since we sat down.”

“Forgive me,” she said in that icy voice. “I thought that was what you wanted in an assistant.”

He got irritated at that. “You know, if you’re going to be like this, I can just send you home.”

She gave him a blank look. “I don’t think you can, Mr. Gr—, er, Lord Montagne Verdi.”

“You don’t think I can?”

“No, sir.” She gave him a challenging look.

“And why do you think that you are so very crucial?” God, she was infuriating.

“Because you have a full schedule today, Lord Montagne Verdi,” she said. “Kip double-booked two of your appointments again so I have to see which one I can move to ensure that everyone is happy.” She closed the laptop and gave him a tight smile. “But I suppose since you’re so in control, you already know that, correct?”

He said nothing.

“Mr. Verdi, if I may be so blunt,” she said, and that soft drawl was nearly gone from her voice. “You say that you wish to be independent and don’t want hovering, but I find that you are not very independent at all.”

Griffin tugged off his glasses so he could give her an appropriately scathing stare. “I beg your pardon?”

“You should,” she said mildly. “But in the meantime, I’d like for you to quit threatening my job, because I don’t think it’s in danger.”

“You’re fired.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, but you may not like having a country bumpkin like me here, but you still need me.”

“And why is that?”

She tilted her head, and he watched as one curl sprang free from its jail. “What time is your first appointment today and where is it to?”

He licked his lips and thought. Was this a trick question? “I’m meeting with . . . a board of trustees . . .” He tried to think.

Her eyebrows went up. “Go on.”

“Over a . . . donation of some kind.” He waved a hand. “That’s what they’re always about.”

“Wrong. You’re having a late breakfast with your mother at ten in the morning. Then, you’re going to a polo match with your brother, George. And then you have a family dinner at your mother’s later tonight.” She gave him a prim look. “Which you would know if you knew anything about your own schedule. I, meanwhile, have packed your suit for dinner this evening, selected a different tie and shirt for you to wear to the polo match so it doesn’t look like you’re recycling your clothes, and have arranged for you to have a breather in between in case you need to get away from your family because they’re hovering.” Her voice was utterly cool. “So I’ve tried to accommodate that. And I certainly won’t be hovering in the future—”

“Maylee—”

“Further, you don’t carry money. You can’t tie your own tie, can’t pick out your own clothes without assistance, and you don’t drive yourself anywhere. Let’s face it, Mr. Verdi, you’d be lost without someone here to hold your hand.”

“That is ridiculous—”

“Yes, it is,” Maylee said quietly. “Which is why you shouldn’t treat me like I’m garbage just because I work for you.”

“I do not!”

“You constantly act like I’m not good enough to breathe your air, Mr. Verdi. I may not be the assistant you wanted . . .” Her voice broke a little and she paused. “But I’m the one you got, so you just need to suck it up and deal.”

He scowled at her. “I can drive myself.”

She crossed her arms. “So drive yourself. Do you want me to untie your tie so you can do it yourself as well?”

Griffin put a hand protectively over his tie. “No.”

She waited.

He threw his napkin down on the table. “For the record, I am completely capable of handling such things on my own. You tie my tie because it pleases me to have it done. I have a driver because I am rich enough to pay someone else to drive. Are you going to chide me for not cooking my own meal and having someone else deliver it to the table?” He gestured at the breakfast laid out before them.

She said nothing.

Furious, Griffin snatched his book off the table. “I am going to drive myself to Her Royal Highness’s palace for breakfast this morning. You,” he said, pointing at Maylee, “can stay here and pack your bag. I don’t need servants. I’m not helpless.”

“Of course not, Lord Montagne Verdi,” she murmured in that toneless voice.

Griffin stalked away from the table. She wanted him to prove that he was capable and independent? Fine then. “I will see you tonight.”

“Until then,” Maylee said, and sipped her coffee.

He was helpless?

He’d show her.

* * *

An hour later, Griffin had to admit to himself that he was hopelessly lost in the maze-like streets of Bellissime. He parked the sedan on the side of the street and jerked open the glove compartment, searching for a map. Nothing. Goddamn it. He slammed it shut and got out of the car, then began to pace.

So driving himself was harder than he’d suspected. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to drive; he did. It was that he had no clue of where he was going. He could recognize his mother’s palace from the outside, knew the street it was located on. He just had no idea how to get to that street. Nor could he ask for directions without looking like a fool. Frustrated, he tugged at the tight collar of his shirt . . . and then swore again when he felt the knot of his tie loosen.

Blast.

Jerking at his tie, he turned to the car window and used the reflection to loosen his tie. Maylee thought he was helpless? He’d tie his own fucking tie and she’d be forced to eat her words. Then he’d send her home in disgrace, and everyone would know just how terrible of an assistant she was.

So he undid his tie and tried again.

And again.

And again.

Someone passed him on the street and frowned, as if trying to figure out what he was doing. Irritated, Griffin ripped his tie off and shoved it into a pocket. He’d just go with a loose collar. Fuck it. He got back into the car and pulled into the street. He’d just use his fucking phone app. He pulled out his phone, and a red battery symbol flashed at him, and then the screen went dark.

Fuck.

He tore onto the street, determined to find it on his own . . . and was lost again for another half hour.

By that time, he was beyond patience. When he saw a man walking down the street, he swerved over to the side of the road and hopped out. “Excuse me.”

The man stopped and looked at him, startled. “Um, hello, your grace—”

Griffin waved a hand, dismissing the man’s mangling of his title. He wasn’t a grace. “I will pay you one hundred Bellissime notes if you can drive me to Her Royal Highness’s summer palace.”

“Uh, okay,” the man said.

“Splendid.” Griffin pulled out his wallet. It was empty. He didn’t carry cash. Blast it. He raised a hand. “Wait here. I’m going to find an ATM.”

He left the bewildered man behind and stormed down the street, looking for a bank. He found one two blocks away and rushed over.

Griffin couldn’t remember his pin number. He stared at the screen and snarled. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Three tries later, and he was locked out. He jerked his card out of the machine and stormed back to his car. The man on the sidewalk looked at him curiously, but Griffin ignored him. He’d just find the fucking place himself.

He got into the car, slammed the door, and then punched the steering wheel so hard he saw stars.

* * *

When he eventually made it back to the hotel, Griffin was in a foul mood. Ignoring the curious looks of the staff, he went up to his room, his now-swollen hand cradled against his chest. But instead of going into his room, he knocked on Maylee’s door.

She opened it, and surprise flared in her eyes, then wariness. “Can I help you, Mr. Verdi?”

He pushed into her room. “You win.”

“Excuse me?”

Griffin searched her room for an open suitcase. There was none. Nor was there one by the door. She hadn’t packed because she knew she wasn’t going home. That was as relieving as it was infuriating. He turned to her. “I said you win. You were right. I’m fucking helpless. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Why are you sorry?” he snapped. “You’re the one who won.”

“No,” she said, and those big green-brown eyes smiled up at him for the first time in a day. “That’s what I wanted to hear. ‘I’m sorry.’”

Oh. He licked his lips, considering. He wasn’t fucking sorry. He was pissed as hell. He didn’t like the realization that he congratulated himself on how independent and how different he was from all the others in the royal family. How very liberated he was. What a fucking joke. He was just as helpless as the rest of them. Without an assistant, he was useless.

It wasn’t a realization he was happy to make.

And his hand fucking hurt. He shook it, trying to jiggle away the pain. “I’m a Verdi. We don’t know how to apologize.”

Maylee’s mouth quirked, as if she was hiding a laugh. “I noticed you’re not very good with humility. Do you need help?”

“No,” he said, but it sounded sulky even to his own ears. “I’m tired of needing everyone’s help. I drove around for two goddamn hours this morning and couldn’t find my own arse if it bit me. I messed up my tie, my hand, and I think I locked myself out of my bank account.”

A small giggle escaped her.

He turned to glare at her. She should have been cautious of his feelings, damn it. He was having an uncomfortable moment.

But she was smiling, that round, pretty face lit up with humor, and her fascinating eyes were sparkling.

Griffin relaxed a little. He supposed it was a little funny. Here he was, a member of the royal family of Bellissime, a billionaire, and an important man . . . and he was completely useless.

“May I see your hand?” She stepped toward him, her own outstretched.

He extended it toward her, annoyed with himself. “I tried to beat a steering wheel into submission,” he said grumpily. “The steering wheel won.”

She giggled again, and Griffin’s mouth twitched as if it wanted to smile at her in return.

Her hands touched his aching one, and cool fingers brushed over his skin. “Tell me about where it hurts,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on his swollen knuckles.

“It hurts bloody everywhere,” he muttered. But her fingers felt surprisingly good on his hand. Soft, strong, and soothing.

“Of course it does,” she told him. Her face was one of concentration, and he watched as she gently rubbed the skin between his knuckles and felt the bones of his hand with her fingers. “Hands aren’t meant to be punching cars.”

“Not the entire car,” he admitted. “Just the steering wheel.”

“Of course. Did you teach it a lesson?”

“More like it taught me.”

She chuckled again. “I don’t think there’s anything broken here.” Her rubbing fingers were relaxing him. When her hand smoothed over the back of his, he felt an uncomfortable awareness in his groin.

Now is not the time, he sternly reminded his cock. I’m busy apologizing to my assistant.

“I can see that it hurts,” Maylee told him. “Did you want to give me the pain?”

“What?” He tried to jerk his hand out of hers, but her grip was astonishingly tight.

“You’re supposed to say yes, Mr. Griffin. That’s how this works.” Her hands kept rubbing his, working over his knuckles. She moved a little closer, and his hand was practically pressed against her breasts. He wondered if she even realized what she was doing. She seemed to be utterly focused on his hand.

“Are you trying to do that folk-healing business on me?”

Her hands rubbed on his again, and damn it all if his cock didn’t respond once more.

“Tell me you want to give me the pain,” she told him, but her voice was so husky it made him think about giving her . . . other things.

“I’d give it to you,” he told her, fascinated. And because that sounded sick and dirty, his cock got even harder. He’d give it to her, all right. His mind was full of images of him giving it to her. On the bed, on the floor, with her pressed onto a table—

“Thank you,” she said, and gave his knuckles one last rub, then released his hand. “Should be right as rain tomorrow.”

Oddly enough, the ache in his hand was nearly gone. Strange. He shook it out once more, frowning. “How did you do that?”

She shrugged. “I’m a burn talker. You rub the pain out. It’s not a burn, but the concept is the same.”

“Thank—”

She put her hand to his lips, stopping him before he could get the words out. “If you thank me, Mr. Griffin, you’ll ruin it and the pain will come back.”

He nodded, spellbound by those small fingers on his lips. He wanted to kiss them . . . kiss her. She was all soft yet authoritative today, and he found it an arousing combination. Competence and confidence. He liked that in her.

She pulled away and gave him a smile. “You still haven’t apologized.”

“I told you I’m quite bad at it,” he said, fascinated by her. By that springy, white-blonde hair that was even now escaping her bun. By those dark green-brown eyes that watched him. That light sprinkle of freckles on her nose and cheeks.

“It’s easy enough. Just repeat after me. ‘I am.’”

“I am.”

“Sorry.”

“Very sorry,” he whispered. “I’m a prat.”

“Whatever that is, yes, you are.” Maylee smiled again, and it was like the sun bursting from the clouds. “My mama would say you’re a nasty varmint when you’re cornered.”

“Whatever that is,” he told her, “I’m sure I am.”

She reached forward and straightened his collar, smoothing it. “Tie?”

He pulled it out of his pocket and offered it to her.

Maylee began to fix his appearance, and he watched as she licked her lips as she concentrated. “I’m not a quitter, you know.”

“Hmm?” He was captivated by those lips. Her upper one was a small half bow, but her lower one was full and lush. It made her look like she was constantly pouting, like she was begging to be kissed. He found those lips utterly entrancing, especially when they gleamed after she licked them.

“I said, I’m not a quitter,” she repeated as she expertly looped his tie into a knot. “You can pile as much shit onto me as you like, but I’m staying. I’m a Meriweather. We don’t run and hide from our troubles. You can be as mean to me as you want, Mr. Griffin, but I’m going to do my job to the best of my ability, no matter how nasty you are.”

She thought he was nasty to her? He got frustrated, but . . . he liked her. Hell, parts of his body liked her entirely too much. “I’m sorry,” he told her, and meant it. “I wasn’t trying to be nasty. I’m not good with . . . people.”

“I know,” she said, and gave his tie a pat. “But I like you anyhow.”

That smile did in all his self-control. Griffin’s hands went to her shoulders and he dragged her forward a few steps, pressing his mouth to hers in a tight, awkward kiss. She was stiff in his arms—hopefully in surprise—so he relaxed his mouth and swept his tongue against the seam of hers, encouraging her to let him in.

He felt her give a gasp, and then her hands grabbed his lapels, and she was kissing him back, her mouth opening to accept his tongue.

And oh, fuck, it was glorious.

Maylee’s tongue swept against his, their lips melding, and he realized she kissed with all the intensity and enthusiasm that she approached life with. She kissed like there was no tomorrow. She kissed like it was her greatest joy on earth. She kissed and tongued and licked and made these low noises in her throat that told him how much she was enjoying the kiss.

And his cock was as bloody hard as a rock.

He groaned when her tongue rubbed against his. He wanted to push her down on the bed and strip that dowdy, prim suit off her and see what she was wearing underneath. Camo underwear? He didn’t fucking care. On her, it’d be amazing.

She broke the kiss, mewing little pants escaping from her throat. “Oh. Oh, dear.”

He blinked at her, dazed. “What?” He needed to kiss her mouth again. To feel it part under his tongue, to thrust into her mouth and feel her receive him . . . and imagine that it was his cock.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

That was a blast of cold water on his ego. He stepped away from her. Oh, fuck. He was sexually harassing an employee, wasn’t he? Dear God, he was a repulsive, repulsive man.

Her fingers patted his jacket, smoothing where she’d clutched it. “You’re going to be late to your lunch appointment.”

Fuck his lunch appointment. He scrubbed his good hand down his face. “Maylee, I sincerely apologize for touching you.”

“Why? It was a mighty good kiss.”

He didn’t know what to say. “I shouldn’t have kissed you in the first place.”

“Oh.” She flinched. “I see.”

“Because of who you are,” he said quickly.

Her look grew even more hurt.

“No, no,” he said. “It’s not the commoner thing. Well, it is partially that, but—”

“We should go, Mr. Griffin. I mean, Mr. Verdi.” And she was back to giving him those hurt, unhappy looks all over again.

Hell, he’d fucked up once more.

Chapter Eight

To Griffin’s surprise and pleasure, breakfast at his mother’s included the bride-to-be and the groom. He liked his cousin Alexandra. She was levelheaded and rarely ruffled by the pettiness of court. They ate a formal lunch, but when everyone left the table to mingle and walk the grounds after the meal, he sought out Alexandra.

“Your Highness?”

Alexandra turned and gave Griffin a delicate smile. “Hello, cousin.”

Like many in the Bellissime royal family, Alexandra wasn’t a beauty. She had regal, elegant features, but there was a hint of sternness to her face that bespoke of a woman who got her way. There was no softness in his cousin, Griffin mused. Not like Maylee, who wore her heart in her eyes at all times.

“May I talk to you for a moment?” Griffin asked. “It is in regards to a personal matter.”

“Of course,” Alexandra said, and offered him her hand. He placed it in the crook of his elbow and they strolled into his mother’s famous gardens. When they were alone, Alexandra craned her neck, looking around. When she was satisfied they were alone, she gave him a devilish grin. “We can drop the formalities now that your mother isn’t around. I swear, she breaks into hives every time she hears Luke call me Alex.” She nudged him with her elbow. “So, what’s troubling you, Griff?”

He gave his cousin an awkward smile. “Lots, actually.”

“You can tell me.” She winked at him, all of the austere dignity disappearing from her face, and for a moment, she looked like a sly young woman instead of Her Royal Highness. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Griffin considered for a moment. He didn’t have anyone he could talk to except for Alex. Alex would understand. “How, exactly, does one woo a commoner?”

She laughed. “Well, for starters, you stop calling them ‘commoners’. It’s rude.” She leaned in. “Is this about your little assistant? I saw her. She looks charming.”

He shot Cousin Alex a frown. “Why would you assume it’s her?”

“Because I’ve never seen you lose your temper so fast, Mr. Griffin,” she teased, deliberately stressing Maylee’s inappropriate naming convention for him.

He groaned. “I have tried so many times to correct her, but she doesn’t seem to understand it.”

“It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute when she does it in front of my mother.”

Alex laughed. “No, I can imagine not. Sybilla-Louise is a bit of a dragon, isn’t she? I’d say she’s more proper than our Grandmother, and I always thought she was a terrible stickler for decorum.”

Griffin sighed as they continued walking. “So . . . how exactly did you let Luke know that you were interested in him? It’s not something I find easy to do.”

“Goodness, Griff. Have you not dated in the past?”

He had. But those girls had either been daughters of nobility in Bellissime he’d been tossed in with, or rich girls at an Ivy League college who were used to a very specific lifestyle—glamorous parties, polo events, and anything that involved society. “This is . . . different.”

“Well,” said Alex. “When I decided I wanted to meet Luke, I invited him to the palace for dinner. And then I made sure both my mother and my grandmother were unavailable, so it was just the two of us. And I feigned a great interest in the movie he was making, which was filming here in Bellissime last summer. He invited me onto the set and I showed up every day. After that, he got the hint.”

He was impressed. “Grandmother didn’t find that extremely forward?”

“I didn’t ask her opinion,” Alex said, her eyes shining. “I’d already turned down four proposals from suitable candidates in the last two years. I think she was suspecting that I was going to marry who I wanted and when I wanted to, not who she thought I should marry.” Alex shook her head. “It’s a good thing we’re not as stuffy as other royal families, or they’d probably have a fit I was marrying an American.”

“And a commoner to boot,” Griffin added with a grimace.

Alex smacked his arm with a silk-gloved hand. “You really need to let go of the commoner thing, Griff. That’s step one.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Step two is to let her know that you’re interested. Did you?”

He thought of the kiss they’d shared that morning. “I think she has an idea.”

“Then let her know that you are serious,” Alex advised. “That you’re not interested in pursuing anyone else. You’re not, are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” Griffin bit out. “She’s . . . different.”

“How?”

“She’s very . . . American. Southern American.”

“I’m not following.”

“They would refer to her as a ‘redneck’ at home,” Griffin said. At Alex’s confused look, he added, “Very backward country people. For example, Maylee believes she is a burn talker.”

“A what?”

He explained it to his cousin, who looked more intrigued than amused. “And you said she used this on your hand?”

Griffin showed her his knuckles, which, surprisingly, weren’t even bruised. Huh. “I must not have hit it as hard as I thought.”

“Or maybe there’s something to it,” Alex said. “Stranger things have happened. Very curious. Luke’s superstitious, you know.” She got a soft smile on her face at the mention of her fiancé.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I originally set the wedding date for the thirteenth but he refused. We had to wait until the seventh of the following month, because he believes seven is lucky. And I’ve caught him throwing salt over his shoulder before heading on the set. It’s rather amusing.”

“Have you ever caught him trying to heal someone with a touch?”

“Well, no.”

“Then I rest my case,” Griffin said. “My American is more peculiar than yours.”

“Your American?” She gave him a shrewd look. “It sounds as if you’ve claimed her.”

Griffin sighed. “I don’t know what I think when it comes to her.” He still wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to pursue Maylee, but he found he was obsessed with her lately. Thought about her in his dreams, jerked off to her in the shower . . . He had it bad, whatever it was. “I suppose I should clarify my intentions.”

As soon as he figured them out.

Alex nodded her approval. “Try doing something nice for her. Last time I saw you with her, you were running the poor girl ragged. Why not find out what she wants or needs, and provide it for her?”

He thought about this. Every time he pictured Maylee, he thought of that wild, springy blonde hair that was constantly escaping its confines. It made her look tousled and fresh from bed. It drove him wild, but he knew it wasn’t entirely appropriate. “I’m not sure.”

“Is she accompanying you to the ball tomorrow night?”

“I imagine so.” He wasn’t sure if she had an suitable dress. He’d quite forgotten about the ball. He pictured her in a pale dress, as pale as those wild curls . . . and snapped his fingers. “I think I have just the idea. You’re a genius, Alex.”

She laughed. “I’ll have to add that to my list of titles. Her Royal Highness Alexandra Olivia the Third, Total Genius. It has a nice ring to it.”

Griffin smiled.

* * *

When he got back to the hotel, he spoke privately with the concierge for a few minutes, had an appointment set for the next day, and went up to his room feeling rather proud of himself for being so thoughtful. He even kept his surprise secret through breakfast the next morning, as Maylee chattered on about his schedule. He had another family meeting this morning, followed by a rehearsal of the wedding in which all of the royal family had to attend. After that, there was a celebratory ball. Bellissime’s oldest chapel was Sainte-Anne de la Vallée. All of Bellissime’s monarchy had married there since the time of Charlemagne, and it was a rather tiny affair. As an apology for having a small crowd at the actual wedding, there was an enormous wedding ball that all those who weren’t important enough for the actual chapel could attend. This meant the royal family’s staff, lesser nobles, visiting nobles, diplomats, celebrities, and anyone else who could sneak their way in.

Griffin was unlucky enough to be invited to both the wedding and ball, as a member of the royal family. Maylee, however, merely had to look presentable for tonight, as she would be on call for the wedding, but not actually invited.

Which was why his gift was perfect.

Once he was done with breakfast, Griffin folded his newspaper and tucked it under his arm. “Ready to start the day?”

“Ready,” she said with a smile at him, and closed the laptop. She threw it into a large tote bag she’d taken to carrying around—a ghastly touristy contraption that read BELLISSIME: LAND OF BEAUTY. He didn’t criticize it, though. Time enough for that later.

“We have a full day,” Griffin told her as they left the table. When they entered the main lobby of the hotel, he pretended that he’d forgotten something and snapped his fingers. “I need to retrieve something. I’ll meet you at the car.”

She gestured at the elevator. “Do you want me to go get it, Mr. Griffin?”

He shook his head. “Under control.”

Mystified, she headed out of the hotel and he turned and headed to the concierge’s desk to make sure Maylee’s beauty appointment was set up. The concierge was all smiles, even if she seemed a bit mystified that Lord Montagne Verdi was making a hair appointment for his assistant.

Five minutes later, Griffin made his way out to the sedan . . . and frowned.

Maylee was leaning against the car door, laughing and smiling as the driver, Robbie, hovered close nearby and flirted with her. It was clear that the man was staking his claim, judging by the possessive way he regarded Maylee.

And it pissed off Griffin. He stormed back into the concierge’s office. “I want a new driver by this afternoon,” he informed her.

“Oh, I’m not really sure if that falls under my jurisdiction—” she began.

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Just get it done for me.”

“Right away, Lord Montagne Verdi.”

Griffin straightened his jacket and headed back out to the car. He scowled at Robbie and gestured for Maylee to enter the car. He scowled again when Robbie winked at Maylee and opened the door for her, and she thanked him in her soft drawl. He slapped the business card given to him by the concierge into the man’s hand. “Take us here first.”

“Very well, my lord,” the driver said.

Inside the car, Maylee opened up the laptop and began to go through his emails. “Your two o’clock got shuffled to three,” she told him. “So I had to move a few things around to ensure that we can pick up your tuxedo from the tailor and get everything ready for the ball tonight.”

“And do you have a gown?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “Well, Mr. Griffin, I do, but it’s far too fancy and expensive. I was going to suggest you return it.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “It was purchased with the anticipation of the ball in mind. You’re required to attend while you’re in my employment.”

“I’m not sure I belong,” she hedged.

“Trust me, every fool in Bellissime is going to be at this thing tonight. You’ll belong just fine.”

She winced.

Oh, hell. That wasn’t exactly what he’d meant. “Don’t worry about it,” he added brusquely. “You’re there to work, regardless of who attends.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you should be properly attired.”

“Yes, sir.”

Griffin sighed and glanced up at the driver. He wanted to knock on the glass partition that separated the front of the sedan from the back, but that would make him seem impatient. Still, they had to be arriving soon, didn’t they? The concierge had assured him that the salon was no more than a few blocks away. He stared out at the streets, covered with Bellissime flags and banners, ready to celebrate the wedding of their royal princess. People walked the streets, taking pictures of the decorations, and it seemed like everyone in the world was in the city this morning.

They pulled up to a busy sidewalk and the driver parked the car, then exited to open the door. Maylee glanced up from her laptop, peered at the location, and frowned. “I think we’re at the wrong place.”

“We are not,” Griffin assured her. “I asked to come here.”

Her pale eyebrows rose. “Why?”

“It’s a surprise for you.” He kept the smug expression off his face. He wanted to see her reaction. See that sunny smile spread across her round face. “I’ll arrange for Mr. Sturgess to pick you up in a few hours,” he said as the driver came to her side of the car and not his.

“Pick me up?” She looked even more confused. “But . . . I don’t understand. Why? What are we doing here?”

Griffin adjusted his cuffs, pleased with himself. “I’ve arranged to have a makeover for you. They’ll do your hair and makeup for the ball tonight.”

She flinched again. “Oh.”

He pursed his lips. She didn’t look very pleased. Perhaps she didn’t understand. “It’s so you can have an appropriate hairstyle for the ball and look like the other ladies.”

“I understand,” she said flatly.

Well, this wasn’t going how he’d anticipated. “You’re welcome,” he snapped.

“Thank you,” she said in just as nasty a voice. Then, she got out of the car and slammed the door, practically storming to the very expensive salon that he’d booked for her.

Scowling, Griffin stared after Maylee. He did not understand that woman at all. When the sedan pulled away from the curb again and began to drive toward the palace for the wedding rehearsal, Griffin checked his watch. It was early in Bellissime, but the day would be in the early dawn hours over back in New York City.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Hunter.

The phone rang six times on Hunter’s office phone and went to voicemail. He hung up and dialed Hunter’s personal line instead. Six times, voicemail. Damn it. Wake up, he texted to Hunter. I need advice. I made a hair appointment for Maylee. Why would this make her angry?

Ten minutes later, his phone rang, Hunter’s name showing up on his screen. “So? Any ideas?”

“First of all, you’re on speakerphone,” Hunter said in a gravelly voice.

“Second of all, you’re a fucking idiot,” Gretchen yelled into the phone from the other side. “Why did you call at four fucking am?”

Griffin glared at nothing in particular as he held the phone away from his ear. “Is your girlfriend going to scream epithets at me the entire time? Because I can hang up.”

“Hey, don’t get pissy at me, buddy. You’re the one who called at four fucking o’clock in the morning.”

“That’s because I wanted to talk to Hunter,” he emphasized. “Not you.”

“We’re a package deal. Isn’t that right, baby?” Her voice got sweet, and he heard Hunter barely stifle a groan in response.

“Please tell me you’re not making out while I’m trying to have a conversation with you,” Griffin said, revolted.

“Um . . . Hunter’s occupied,” Gretchen said, and she sounded a little silly and breathless. “I’ll dispense advice. Look. Did she know you made her a hair appointment?”

“It was a surprise.”

“And did you say it was a surprise because you wanted to treat her for working so hard?” Gretchen prompted.

Griffin went silent.

“Hello?” Gretchen called. Griffin could have sworn he heard another muffled groan coming from Hunter, and then a stifled giggle coming from Gretchen. This wasn’t helping.

“I . . . ,” Griffin began. “I told her that it was so she could be appropriately attired.”

“Okay, so you implied she’s gross-looking normally. Way to go, shit for brains.”

“I did not.”

“You basically told her that she looked like crap.”

He frowned. “But she looks inappropriate most of the time. She knows this.”

“Oh, boy. Let me guess. You’ve told her several times that she looks inappropriate?”

“Of course. We had to buy her new clothes because her others were garish. She looked completely improper.”

“Wow, Griff. A pike up your ass and a foot in your mouth. That’s quite a feat.”

He groaned. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why do you care?”

“What do you mean, why do I care?”

“I mean, you’re a douchebag to me all the time and you never care about that. Why care about Maylee?”

He frowned. “That is none of your business.”

“Ooooh,” she said into the phone, and for a moment, he had the revolting thought that he’d just heard Hunter’s girlfriend orgasm into the phone. But in the next moment, she sang out, “Griffin and Maylee, sitting in a tree, F U C K I N G—”

The phone clattered to the ground and Griffin held it away from his ear again. A moment later, there was a rustling on the other line, and he heard Hunter’s voice. “Hello?”

In the background, Griffin could hear Gretchen’s laughter.

“I’m still here,” Griffin snapped. “Can’t you control her?”

“No,” Hunter said, and Griffin could have sworn he heard a smile in the man’s voice. “But man, you’ve got to be nice to Maylee. She’s a good girl.”

“I know that,” Griffin retorted. God, why were his friends so incredibly infuriating? “I was trying to do something nice for her. I thought she would like it. What woman doesn’t want a makeover?”

“A woman who was just told she was ugly,” Gretchen shouted on the other end of the phone.

“Take me off speakerphone,” Griffin said. “Right now.”

“Hunter has to go,” Gretchen called out, her voice tinny and loud over the speakerphone.

“No,” Griffin said. “I still need—”

“Nope, he’s got to go,” Gretchen yelled. “He has an enormous boner and I have to take care of it.”

“God, Gretchen,” Hunter said, and it sounded like they were wrestling over the phone again.

Ugh. Griffin hung up on them. Those two were like wild animals in heat. He drummed his fingers on his leg, thinking. Maybe there was something to what Gretchen had said, despite her crude mouth. Maybe he’d somehow offended Maylee after all.

He’d just have to be that much more complimentary when she returned, to let her know how nice she looked.

Then, maybe, she’d stop frowning long enough to let him kiss her again. He thought about her soft mouth and how enthusiastically she’d kissed him in return.

He definitely had to shower her with compliments, he decided. He wanted to see her face blossom into that smile that made his heart pound. That smile let him know he’d done right . . . and that she was pleased.

And he liked seeing her pleased.

* * *

Griffin finished adjusting his antique familial cufflinks, then examined the way his tailcoat fell in the mirror. Perfect. If it was even slightly off, his mother would flip out, declare that Griffin had gotten shoddy with his appearance, and then he’d never hear the end of it. No one cared about appearances more than Princess Sybilla-Louise, not even the queen. He examined the tails on the tailcoat with a small turn. Ludicrous. He looked like a penguin. Why did men have to dress up in such ridiculous getups for a party? He slung his bow tie over his neck and went to the door adjoining their rooms. Robert had picked up Maylee this afternoon and she’d run errands while Griffin had met with the Bellissime Museum Society to discuss a donation to fund a new wing. He hadn’t seen her all day.

And it was . . . strange.

He rather missed her cheery competence and unbridled enthusiasm. Kip took everything in stride and was more of an assistant than a companion, but Maylee felt like the opposite. Now that Griffin was used to Maylee’s extreme reactions to seeing new things, he found he missed that. He considered things with her eyes in mind. Would Maylee smile when she saw that souvenir stand? Would she want to go for a walk tonight and visit the chocolate district? They’d passed it on the way back from his mother’s palace, and he’d stopped and purchased her a box of truffles, one of the few things that Bellissime was known for, and had them carefully packed so he could present them to her later. He wanted to see Maylee’s face when she saw the expensive treat.

He wouldn’t mind feeding them to her, actually. Watching her exclaim in delight at the first taste, seeing her eyes open in sensual wonder as the flavors slid across her tongue. Watch her lick her lips with pleasure and turn to him for more. Maybe she’d lick his fingers, too . . .

Griffin’s pants felt uncomfortably tight. Adjusting himself with a quick movement, he counted backward from one hundred to get control over his body. When he was satisfied, he cleared his throat and moved to the door adjoining their rooms, strangely nervous. He had a small jewelry case in his hand—ancestral jewels that were attached to the Viscount Montagne Verdi title and had been since the nineteenth century. He wanted Maylee to wear them tonight, so anyone who saw her in them would know he was claiming her for his own.

He wondered what his mother would think when she saw his American personal assistant wearing the Verdi emeralds.

Then, he decided he didn’t give a shit.

* * *

Maylee touched her hair, pleased with her appearance.

She looked . . . pretty tonight. Very pretty, if she said so herself. The lady at the salon had babbled in constant French, but Maylee had caught enough to hear “blow-out” and “Lord Montagne Verdi” and “makeover.” So she’d sat quietly and let the woman do what she wanted to her hair. A few hours later, Maylee’s frizzy corkscrews were straightened into a smooth, shiny blonde mane. Her bone-straight hair was pulled into an elegant upsweep, a small flowered clip at the back of her head keeping everything in place. Thick makeup had been applied with an airbrush—an airbrush, of all things!—and Maylee’s skin was perfect, not a freckle or a rosy spot showing. Her eyes were smoky, fake eyelashes making her own baby-blonde lashes seem dark and full.

She looked rather like a princess, Maylee thought. Griffin wouldn’t be able to find fault with her appearance today.

She dressed in her princess gown, too. The dress had been included with the other clothes that Griffin had purchased for her, and when Maylee first saw it, she’d thought it was a mistake. But sure enough, she was supposed to wear this gorgeous, fancy gown out to this party. The lady at the boutique had told Maylee the name of the designer, but she’d forgotten. All she knew was that it was stunningly beautiful, and she got to wear it. She put on her strapless bra and then the sleeveless bodice. It was a deep, almost velvety rose, and the fabric was a delicious, rustling taffeta. The bodice itself was simple, straight across the bustline and sleeveless. The waist was nipped by a full beaded sash in a pale ivory, and from the sash, the full skirts rustled and pleated their way downward to the floor. She had matching ivory high heels, too. She didn’t have jewelry to go with it, so she left it alone. She didn’t want to be too ostentatious tonight.

It took a little bit of hopping, but she was able to do up the zipper in the back of her dress—no way was she going to ask Mr. Griffin to do it for her. She still didn’t know what to make of him. The man kissed her and then insulted her. He gave her these intense, longing looks . . . and then drove her to a hair salon so she’d look “normal.” He flattered her ego one minute, and stomped it into dust in the next.

Which was really rough, because she rather liked him. He was smart, and took his duties very seriously. He didn’t smile much, but when he did, it felt a bit like a present. He made her laugh with his dry wit, and he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, which was nice considering most people heard her accent and dismissed her as an idiot. And he kissed divinely, like he had all the time in the world to taste and savor her.

Sometimes, she really, really liked him.

And other times, she wanted him to take a long walk off a short pier.

There was a knock on the adjoining door, and Maylee sucked in a breath, jerking up the last of her zipper. “Just a sec!” She dragged on the skirted crinoline that would make her dress have a little bit of flare and act as a slip, and shimmied it up her legs before sliding her feet into her shoes. “Be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!”

She could have sworn she heard a snort on the other side of the door.

When she was dressed, Maylee hurried to the door and pulled it open. “Yes, Mr. Griffin?”

He lowered his hand, clearly ready to knock again, and stared.

Maylee preened a little under that stare. He had to be impressed with her new look.

“Maylee?”

“Who else?” She smiled and touched her hair when his gaze went there. “Do you like it?”

His brows drew together. “You look so . . . different.”

Her happy bubble burst. Maylee’s shoulders slumped. “I thought we wanted different.” Hadn’t he deliberately driven her to the salon because he hated the way she looked and was tired of her disgracing him?

“No, no,” he said quickly. “It’s fine. I was just surprised. You look like a different person.” He gave her a quick smile. “It’s good.”

It didn’t feel good. Maylee swallowed her hurt and blinked back her tears, because she didn’t want to mess up those weird spidery eyelash extensions the nice French lady at the salon had given her. “Well,” she said in a fake cheery voice. “What can I do for you, Mr. Griffin? Do you need your tie fixed?”

He held it out wordlessly.

* * *

She looked like a stranger.

Griffin couldn’t stop staring at Maylee. At the gorgeous blonde angel that stepped into his room, dressed in a sleek pink gown that made her breasts plump up from the banded neckline. Her hair was shiny and her eyes were dark and lush and she looked so polished that she could have held her own with anyone in the palace’s halls.

And that threw him for a loop.

He’d sent her there to get transformed, so why was he disappointed to see the perfect, elegant creature before him? Why was he sad to see those wild corkscrew curls had been tamed into a sleek upsweep? That her errant freckle or two on her nose was now totally covered by makeup?

She was exactly what he’d wanted, right?

Griffin rubbed his face, frustrated. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

He knew he didn’t want that sad, unhappy look on her face that was there right now. She hadn’t missed his reaction. She knew he wasn’t thrilled, and the keen disappointment on her face was obvious, even though she was doing her best to hide it. “You look fine, Maylee. Really. I’ve just had a long day and I’m sorry if I’m not saying the right things.”

“You don’t have to say the right things,” she said in a faux-cheerful voice. “I’m your assistant.” She took the tie from his hand and crooked her finger, gesturing that he should lean forward. He did, and a moment later, she had his tie fixed and smoothed his collar down over it. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, and glanced in the mirror to straighten his clothes. He wanted to say romantic things to her. That she looked like a vision, that she looked like a princess. But he couldn’t get past the fact that she didn’t look like Maylee. It was making him feel rather confused.

“Since we’re doing makeovers today, can I make a small suggestion?”

He looked over at her, surprised. “What did you have in mind?”

Her mouth quirked on one side, and his heart flip-flopped. It was as if his Maylee was peeking out from underneath the glamorous exterior.

Then he swore to himself. His Maylee? He was insane. She wasn’t his in any sense of the word.

“I’d love to do something different with your hair,” she told him.

He looked in the mirror again, surprised. “What’s wrong with my hair?” He’d smoothed it down and gelled it like he normally did. His part was perfectly straight, not a strand out of place.

“It’s fine if you’re eighty,” she said, and that teasing little smile returned to her face, and all of a sudden he wanted to kiss her, to smear all that thick makeup off and see the bright, happy country girl underneath who he was obsessing over.

He needed to get ahold of himself. “What did you have in mind?”

She crooked her finger at him again, arching a now-perfect eyebrow. And he was lost to that enticing finger. He couldn’t resist that come-hither expression on her face. She could have told him she wanted to shave him bald, and he’d still have approached her, helpless to pull away.

“You should take off your jacket so we don’t mess it up,” she told him. “Shirt, too.”

Interesting. He removed his jacket first, and then undid the tie she’d just fixed so beautifully, tossing it onto the bed. This felt a bit like a strip tease. He looked over at her to see if she was thinking the same thing, but he noticed that her gaze was averted, and she had so much makeup on her cheeks it was impossible to tell if she was blushing or not.

He really needed to have a word with that hotel concierge. Even though she was just doing her job, he wanted someone to blame for his vague unhappiness with how Maylee looked. She was impossible to criticize; her gown, her makeup, and her hair were perfection.

And it was bothering him. He didn’t like it, and he couldn’t exactly say why he didn’t like it, just that he didn’t. Disgruntled, he stripped off his shirt.

When he was down to his undershirt, he looked over at Maylee. “All right. You have me half-naked. What do you want to do with me?”

The words came out huskier than he’d expected.

Her eyes widened, and her smile grew wider, then she bit her lip, as if she were trying to hide her expression. “Um. I’d like to borrow your bathrobe, actually, so I don’t get anything on myself.”

“Take whatever you need,” he told her. Damn, that sounded incredibly erotic, too. What the hell was his problem?

She went to his closet and pulled out the bathrobe, shrugging it on over her lovely pink gown. When she tied it at her waist, he felt another surge of possessive lust and had to count backward from one hundred again.

“Now,” she told him, tightening the belt of his robe at her narrow waist. “I need you to bend over the sink.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Maylee was pleased with Griffin’s transformation. Gone was that old, glued-down, bone-straight hair that was always plastered to his skull. She’d washed his hair and then put a bit of styling wax on her fingers to tousle his hair, and with the help of a blow dryer, Griffin’s hair was now a light golden-brown crown that topped his head in stylish spikes. It was slightly tousled, but trendy, she decided. Way better than his old hairstyle. “There,” she announced. “You look ten years younger.”

He gave her a curious look, then reached for his glasses and put them on, studying his expression in the mirror. “I look like I belong in a boy band.”

She laughed. “No, you don’t. You look very handsome. And I’ll have you know, this is how Luke Houston’s hair was done in his last movie.” She’d seen a picture of it in one of the magazines at the hair salon and was inspired. “Trust me, you look like a young, dashing viscount instead of like my Pepaw did your hair for you.”

He still looked uncertain, touching one of the spikes. “And you like this?”

“I love it,” she enthused. He did look incredibly handsome this way. It took his look from slightly too nerdy and scholarly to a bit more devilish.

Griffin nodded, and then reached for his shirt. “Very well, then. We should get going.”

“All right.” She averted her gaze so she wouldn’t watch him dress—because really, if she was caught staring at her temporary boss, that would embarrass both of them—and concentrated on taking off the borrowed robe and then replacing it in the closet. Her hand smoothed down the soft fabric of the robe. It had smelled like his soap, and it was odd how reluctant she was to part with it. Party dress, she reminded herself. You’re wearing the prettiest party dress ever. You can’t wear a bathrobe over that, no matter how good it smells.

But, she had to admit, it did smell mighty nice.

When he put his jacket back on, it was safe for her to turn around, and she watched him put on his cufflinks with long, elegant fingers, and then held the tie out for her again. She fixed him up, and then gestured at the door. “Shall we go?”

Griffin smoothed his jacket one last time in the mirror, and she realized he was nervous. It made her feel a little better about tonight. Heck, she was nervous, too, and no one was really expecting much out of her.

“I have something for you to wear with your dress,” Griffin said.

“An employee badge?” she asked.

He gave her a wry smile. “Not a badge. A necklace and some earrings. They belong to my title.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I don’t know that I could, Mr. Griffin.”

“Well, I certainly can’t,” he said, fidgeting with his tie. “They’d clash terribly with my cummerbund.”

Maylee’s voice rose in a hysterical giggle. “I’m picturing you with earrings on and it’s kinda funny.”

He grinned over at her, and she felt like she always did when he smiled—genuinely smiled—at her. Like she’d been gifted a present. “I’m more of a brooch man.”

“Stop it,” she said with a laugh, pressing her hands to the front of her gown. “You’re going to make my boobs pop out of this dress.”

“Heaven forbid,” he said in a dry voice that implied he wouldn’t mind that so much, and it made her flustered all over again. And she could have sworn he glanced down at her boobs.

They did look pretty nice in this dress, if she said so herself.

He picked up a small case off the top of the dresser and opened it, then showed her the jewels. Big, square unadorned emeralds hung from two earring posts, and the necklace consisted of glittering diamond ropes twisted together, with three more square emeralds dangling from the center.

“Oh, lordamercy, that looks rather expensive,” Maylee breathed.

“It is.”

“Oh, dear.” She touched an earring and winced. It was heavy. “What happens if I lose one?”

“I sue you for three hundred thousand Bellissime notes.”

Maylee felt sick. She dropped the earring back onto the velvet tray. “Really?”

“No. It’s just an earring. And it’s insured. Don’t be so nervous.”

“What happens if I barf on it?” she asked as he picked up the necklace.

“Is that likely?” He indicated she should turn around.

“Pretty likely,” she admitted, turning around. Lordamercy, this was just like something out of Pretty Woman, except she wasn’t a hooker. Maylee frowned at the thought. “Do you normally buy girls’ clothes?”

The cool chain of diamonds slid over the base of her throat, and then she felt Griffin’s hands brush against her nape as he did the clasp. “I can say with perfect honesty that you are the first one I have ever purchased clothing for.”

For some reason, that made her feel better. She patted the necklace and then picked up the first earring. To her relief, it had two backings—one that was a normal gold clasp, and the other a wax ball that would prevent the post from slipping out of her ear. Thank goodness. Maylee put both earrings on and gave her head a little shake to test them. “How do I look?”

“Quite elegant,” Griffin said.

“So in other words, nothing like myself.”

“Nothing like yourself,” he agreed, that odd look on his face.

And for some reason, that hurt her feelings all over again. He didn’t seem to like her dressed up or in her regular clothing. She couldn’t win with him. Couldn’t he just tell her he thought she was pretty and actually mean it, darn it? Maylee sighed, all the fun of the evening vanishing again. Now she just felt weighed down, like she was wearing a wallet around her neck. “Are you ready to go, Mr. Griffin?”

He extended his arm to her in a courteous gesture.

She put her hand in the crook of his sleeve, and they headed downstairs.

To Maylee’s surprise, it wasn’t Robbie driving the car tonight. Nor was it the usual sedan. The Verdi limo was out again in full force, and an elderly gentleman was their driver. Maylee smiled at him to make him feel welcome. He had to be nervous on such a big night. She knew how that felt.

“You changed drivers?” Maylee whispered to Griffin, curious.

He shot her a quick look of satisfaction. “Mr. Sturgess will be unavailable for the rest of our visit.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

“Yes, quite,” Griffin said in a voice that didn’t sound displeased at all.

As they got into the limo, Maylee slid over on the seat, tugging at her bust line to make sure that her dress didn’t expose anything. She smoothed her skirts and waited patiently as Griffin got in, checking her earrings and necklace again to make sure she still had them.

When he got into the limo, his pocket buzzed. Griffin pulled out his phone and then made a grunt as if he was in pain.

“What is it?” Maylee asked. “Is everything okay?”

He showed her his screen. “They uncovered a marble column and some tile work. They think it might be part of a floor.” The picture he showed her looked like a bunch of broken stonework, but she’d take his word for it.

“Your archaeological dig in Spain?” she guessed.

He nodded, staring at the picture. There was a look of intense longing on his face. “I wish I was there.”

“If it makes you feel better,” she told him, “I wish I was there, too.”

He looked over at her, surprised. “You’re not enjoying yourself here in Bellissime?”

Maylee sat, tongue-tied. She wasn’t sure what to say. She could tell him that she enjoyed his company but she found the whole wedding and society thing stressful? That she constantly felt like she was never good enough? That she kept waiting to slip up again and it made her so nervous that she’d almost thrown up in the sink before putting on her pretty dress? Would he be insulted that she didn’t want to be here? So she thought carefully, and then answered, “There’s just . . . so much going on.”

“True.” He looked down at his phone again and sighed. “I imagine it’s a lot calmer in Spain. No one’s mother to complain that you’re letting your staff become too familiar and too complacent.”

Her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth. “Your mother said that about me?”

His expression became a little distant, as if he’d revealed too much. “I wouldn’t read that much into it, Maylee. My mother is affectionately referred to as a harridan and not so affectionately as a royal bitch. No one likes her, not even the common people. Not the queen, not even her sons. She is a stickler for the old monarchy, and Alexandra and her family are more progressive. Don’t worry about it.”

Maylee swallowed hard. “Should I be wearing this jewelry, then? Won’t your mother think that’s too familiar of me?”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

Oh, lordamercy. Was he setting her up to fail? So Her Royal Highness Sybilla-Louise would cut Maylee into itty-bitty chunks with her tongue? That sick knot lurched in her stomach again.

“Really,” he said again. “It’s fine, Maylee.”

“If you say so,” she whispered. It occurred to her that it was the first time he’d called her anything but Miss Meriweather.

She had no idea what that meant, either.

Chapter Nine

The limo pulled up to the palace, and slowed to a crawl as it waited for its turn at the front of the opulent building. As it inched forward, Maylee grew more and more nervous. They’d passed the gates where paparazzi hovered. The grounds themselves swarmed with people dressed in finery, and the stairs leading to the massive doors of the palace were carpeted in red.

Maylee was pretty sure she was going to puke on that nice red carpet.

“Are you all right?” Griffin asked her for the second time in the last minute.

“Just a little . . . scared.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” he said in a soothing voice. To her surprise, he put an arm around her shoulders and gave her an awkward hug.

It was strange to have Griffin comfort her, but welcome. She huddled a little closer. “I’ve never been to anything like this. Well, I mean, we had prom back home in Pine Valley, but they held it at a Best Western. This is a bit different.”

His mouth twitched. “Just a bit.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “I’m afraid I’m going to mess something up.”

“I’ll be with you,” he told her reassuringly, and that heavy arm over her shoulders squeezed her again.

“Aren’t you supposed to go and hang out with the royals?” she asked him. “And I’m supposed to go hang out with the staff?”

“Mmm, something like that.” He leaned a bit closer, and she blinked up at him, startled at how attractive he was in the dim light of the car. Not that he wasn’t normally attractive, of course. But the way he normally looked at her—like she was a bug for squashing—was gone. In its place was a warm, appealing gaze. “Tell you what. I’ll steer you to the appropriate people so you don’t get lost. Is that a good compromise?”

It was. “I’d really appreciate it so much, Mr. Griffin.” Then she wouldn’t have to worry about smiling at a duke to be polite and having him look at her like she was garbage.

The limo stopped and the driver got out. Maylee’s stomach lurched again, and she gave Griffin a terrified look. He smiled down at her, encouraging. “It’s going to be fine. No one’s going to be paying a bit of attention to you, Maylee. They’re all here to see my cousin and the famous actor she’s marrying.”

She relaxed a little at that. He had a point.

The chauffeur opened the door to the limo, and a voice began to ring out over the crowd. “Griffin, Viscount Montagne Verdi.”

Heads turned just as Maylee slid out of the limo. Her eyes widened, and her stomach felt like it was trying to make an escape from her gut.

But Griffin was right there, shielding her from prying eyes as she got out of the car. She tugged at her low-cut bodice again to make sure everything was proper, touched her jewelry, and then smiled at Griffin when she noticed he was fighting a laugh at her actions. “Easy for you to laugh,” she muttered, but she put her hand in the crook of his arm that he offered.

And they went in.

* * *

Griffin wasn’t surprised to see that the party was wall-to-wall. Everyone who was slightly anyone in Bellissime and several surrounding countries had been invited, and no one wanted to miss out. As soon as they entered the room, the temperature went up by a few degrees simply from the crush of bodies, and he heard Maylee’s uncomfortable gasp as they made their way in.

His hand tightened on the fingers that lay on his sleeve. “Everything all right?”

“I didn’t expect to see so many people.”

He did. But that wouldn’t make her feel better, so he simply patted her hand. “I’ll help you find my mother’s equerry.”

“What’s an equerry again?” she asked as they descended the stairs into the ballroom.

“It’s a word that the royal family uses for personal assistant,” Griffin said in a dry voice. “But my mother would never be so common as to use an assistant.”

He heard Maylee stifle a giggle. If she could laugh, she’d be okay. He knew she was incredibly nervous—hell, this wasn’t fun for him, either—but he doubted he was feeling the same levels of panic that were written across her face.

A visiting dignitary nodded at Griffin as he passed by, followed by a Hollywood actress. The royal family was nowhere to be found. Damn it all, where were those cowards hiding? If he had to be out here, mingling, so did they.

With Maylee clinging to his side, it would be almost impossible to navigate the room quickly. Even now, people pressed and brushed up against them, casting him curious looks and Maylee scrutinizing ones. They knew who he was, and they were trying to figure out who she was. Nearby, a photographer was taking photos of people as they mingled. Princess Alex must have allowed one or two of the papers into the ball as a show of good faith, but Griffin was displeased to see it. He carefully steered Maylee in the other direction.

They made their way to the far side of the room and turned. Maylee gave him a nervous look and swallowed hard.

That made him concerned. “Are you all right?”

She grimaced. “I haven’t eaten anything. My stomach couldn’t handle it.”

Griffin frowned and waved over a waiter with an hors d’oeuvres tray. The man arrived with a flourish and presented his tray. “Lobster wrapped in cucumber and prosciutto?”

Maylee took one of the little confections and popped the entire thing into her mouth, chewing like a chipmunk. He knew it was nerves, but he had to smother a laugh. “It’s good,” she mumbled, putting a hand in front of her mouth to cover it. “Thank you.”

“Eat another,” Griffin insisted.

She plucked one off the tray, and the waiter nodded and moved on. Immediately, another waiter came up with a small crystal finger bowl on his tray, a linen napkin beside it. The queen was a stickler for finger bowls, so guests could wash their fingers after snacking. Griffin was used to seeing the little delicate bowls at parties, a slice of lemon floating atop the water to keep it fresh.

Maylee crammed the other hors d’ouevre in her mouth and then reached for the finger bowl. She picked it up and lifted it to her lips.

Dear God.

Griffin leaned in, stopping her before she could make a fool of herself. “Maylee. You don’t drink that.”

“Oh.” She looked at the little crystal bowl in her hand, then back at him. “It’s not a cocktail?”

“It’s for you to wash your hands.” He gestured at the napkin, ignoring the shocked look of the waiter that held the empty tray.

“Oh,” she repeated, and an embarrassed look crossed her face. She returned the bowl to the tray and gave Griffin an uncertain look. “That was stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She blinked rapidly, as if she were fighting the urge to cry.

“Not at all,” Griffin said, and dipped his fingers into the bowl to show her how it was done. Then, he wiped his fingers on the napkin and gave the waiter a challenging look, as if daring him to mock Maylee in front of his face.

The man nodded at Griffin, waited patiently until Maylee finished cleaning her fingers, and then moved on to the next guest.

As soon as he was gone, Maylee turned to Griffin and gave him a frantic look. “I don’t think I can do this, Mr. Griffin.”

“Nonsense,” Griffin said. “You’re doing fine.”

“I’m not,” her whisper rising to a hysterical note. “I’m going to embarrass both of us! I don’t know what to do in parties like this. I—”

“Shhh,” Griffin said, and reached out and caressed her cheek. “You’re fine.”

She looked startled at his touch. He didn’t blame her; he was a little startled that he’d done it, himself. But it had felt right and natural to comfort her. She was his to protect, damn it.

“You’re fine, and you’re beautiful,” Griffin reassured her in a low voice, and leaned in. “And I would bet my entire wallet that one of these Hollywood types does the same thing that you did.”

She gave him another nervous giggle that nearly broke his heart. “Your wallet is always empty, Mr. Griffin. That’s not much of a bet.”

That little tease of hers made him feel better. “You’ve figured me out, have you?”

“Oh, I think I have you pegged.”

God, was she flirting with him? He liked that. He liked that a lot. “I think you’d be wrong about a few things.”

“Is that so? Try me.”

I don’t think you realize I want to kiss the hell out of that little smile of yours right now, he thought, but said nothing. He was just happy her nerves were fading. “I would love to, but alas, I see my mother’s equerry.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay right here.”

She pointed at her feet, indicating she’d stay put, and winked at him.

And he laughed.

Five minutes later, he had Maylee sent off with the equerry, who was all gentle smiles and encouragement to poor frightened Maylee. He made a mental note to give the man a raise, since Griffin was the one who paid for all of his mother’s servants anyhow. When the two left, Griffin waded into the crowd, looking for family members. He could do his time, spend a while talking to George and his mother, greet Alex and Luke Houston and the queen, and hopefully do one dance or two and then escape.

An arm went around his shoulders. “There you are, little brother.”

George. Well, one obstacle down. “Hello, Your Grace.”

George laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “So formal. Mother must be getting to you.”

“Not at all,” Griffin said, allowing George to steer him to a group of his friends. They were all titled men, all about the same age, and all incredible assholes. Griffin had hated them and their foxhunting, woman-chasing, champagne-swilling ways for as long as he could remember. They were definitely not his kind of friends to hang out with. He’d rather have Logan, Hunter, Jonathan, Cade, and Reese and all of their finance talk any day. He didn’t need his brother’s friends.

“So,” George said, steering him right into the crowd of bored nobles. “Tell us about that fancy little piece you came in with.”

“She’s my assistant,” Griffin said flatly, a surge of anger building. “Off limits.”

“So you’re sticking your prick into her?” another man said to him, a cheesy smirk on his long face. “Are her tits real? I heard all American girls have fake tits.”

“I am not going to answer that.”

“That means he doesn’t know,” George said with a laugh.

“It means I’m not going to answer it,” Griffin repeated, his voice stiff with fury. God, he hated these spoiled bastards. They thought they were better than everyone, and thus treated the rest of the world like it was shit beneath their feet. “She is my employee.”

“Yes, but George fucks his little employees all the time.”

“And I see she’s wearing the Verdi emeralds,” George said in a sly voice, and Griffin mentally winced. “So she must be doing something right.”

“That is none of your concern, George,” Griffin said. He wanted to tug at his chokingly tight tie, but decorum insisted that he not touch it for fear of leaving it askew. His appearance had to be perfect at all times. George could spill filth to his friends in private, but his appearance—and smile—was always immaculate for the public.

“I never thought you’d be the kind to fall for an American,” the man next to him said. “Doesn’t she have the most ridiculous drawl?”

A surge of anger made Griffin see red. Not only because it was rude to talk about Americans when their crown princess was marrying one, but because Griffin saw himself saying the same things just a few short days ago. Mocking Maylee’s accent. Condescending to her because of who and what she was.

Hearing it from these asses made him realize just how wrong he’d been. He’d been no better than the spoiled men before him, and that was revolting to realize.

What an unmitigated ass he was.

“Oh, come on,” said George. “Relax. It’s good that I found you. Someone’s been asking for you tonight.”

Distracted, Griffin scanned the room. “Who?”

“I’ll show you,” George said, and steered his brother away from the men. He looped an arm around Griffin’s shoulders—no mean feat, since Griffin was taller than him by two inches—and leaned in. “So where did you send your succulent little assistant off to?”

“She’s with Mother’s equerry,” Griffin said absently. He tried to pick familiar faces out of the crowd, but it was nothing but a sea of tuxedos and jewel-toned dresses. “Why?”

“No reason,” George said smoothly. “Ah. Here we are,” his brother said as they came upon a group of ladies on the edge of the ballroom floor. “Your Highness, I think I’ve found the man you were looking for.”

At the sound of the title, Griffin stifled a groan, though he kept his face impassive.

The woman who turned around was stunningly beautiful. Tall, blonde, and Nordic, Princess Heloise of Saxe-Gallia, a tiny country on the other side of Denmark, turned and gave Griffin a predatory smile. She swept past her ladies and extended her hand toward him.

Griffin was forced to bow over her hand and kiss it. “Your Highness. It is lovely to see you.” Such a lie. He couldn’t stand Heloise. They’d been tossed together at royal functions since they were both children. His mother wanted him to marry Heloise. Heloise, however, wanted to be famous . . . Hollywood famous. So she dressed scandalously and acted even more so. Even tonight, she was wearing a sweeping white gown that was a bit too low cut to be appropriate for someone else’s wedding. “Why, Viscount Montagne Verdi. I was hoping I’d see you here tonight.”

“I’m flattered,” Griffin said in a polite voice. He took the hand she kept extending at him and tucked it into his arm, since George had trapped him here.

“Well, I’ll leave the two of you alone to catch up,” George said with a wink at Griffin. He pulled away, and Griffin saw that George headed to the back of the ballroom, in the direction that he’d left Maylee and his mother’s equerry. Damn his conniving brother. He was going after Maylee, was he? As soon as he extracted himself from the princess’s grasping hands, he’d make sure his brother knew to stay far the fuck away—

“It’s so good to see you again, Griff,” Princess Heloise cooed at him, leaning on his sleeve and pressing her ample breasts against the sleeve of his tuxedo.

“Likewise, Your Highness.” He was not on a first name basis with the woman, no matter what she thought.

She delicately steered them past the crowd and into the center of the dance floor, making sure that everyone possible saw the two of them together, including the photographers. “I told myself I would be positively bereft if I didn’t see you here tonight. How are things in the States?”

“Fine.”

“I’ve heard you’ve made yourself quite the fortune over there,” she said, toying with his lapels in a far too familiar way. “And rumor has it that you’ve financed the repairs of George’s little house and your mother’s palace. That’s so sweet of you.”

He raised an eyebrow at Heloise. As a rule, royals didn’t talk about money. Whether you had it or not, no one spoke of personal fortunes. It was assumed you’d simply conduct yourself as if you were richer than Croesus. The fact that Heloise was flaunting protocol and talking about his money meant that she was far too interested in it.

“Is that why you’ve been on the lookout for a mere viscount tonight, Your Highness?” His words were sharp, and his eyes watched George’s retreating back. The man disappeared between double doors reserved for the staff.

Damn it all. Griffin’s hand clenched.

The princess of Saxe-Gallia laughed, batting at his arm as if he’d said something hilarious. She fluttered her eyelashes at him, and for a moment, he was struck by how she looked. Flawless makeup, flawless pale blonde hair, low-cut dress, and dripping family jewels. Heloise was stunning, of course. But all he could see was the artificiality of her appearance.

And he’d made Maylee fix her appearance so she would be exactly like this.

Hell.

Heloise continued to stroll the room, leading him right past the photographers again. “So when are you going to marry, dearest? My father has been pressing for me to find a good union for myself, but I’m bored with all the nobles in Saxe-Gallia, and all the available European princes are too young or way too old.” She gave him a mock pout.

“Perhaps you should find yourself an American, like my cousin,” Griffin said smoothly.

Heloise froze. She blinked, at a loss of words, and he felt a vindictive stab of spite. If she insulted Americans—as he suspected she would have—she would then be insulting her host’s bridegroom. But if she admitted otherwise, she would probably feel as if she was insulting herself. Heloise simply gave him a brilliant smile and squeezed his arm. “Or perhaps I should find myself a viscount. I hear they’re all the rage.”

And she leaned in and touched his jaw, just as a photographer knelt in front of them and took their photo.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Griffin waited for Heloise to remove her hand, and then gave her a polite smile. “I’m not looking to marry, Your Highness.”

“It’d be a wonderful political union.”

“I’m not interested in furthering politics, either.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m surprised you’re turning me down, Griff dearest. You know my family’s lineage is immaculate and I’m fourth in line to the throne of Saxe-Gallia.”

As if that was a selling point. “And I’m the one who brings the enormous wallet to the table, yes?”

Her mouth tugged into a forced smile. “Don’t be gauche. That sounds like something you’d hear from—”

And she paused.

Griffin laughed. “Were you going to say ‘an American’?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But there were spots of high color on her flawless cheekbones.

He merely smiled.

* * *

“There’s just one rule,” Maylee said as she gently touched the neck of Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Alexandra. “You can’t thank me or pay me in any way, or this won’t work.”

The tearstained eyes of the princess nodded into the mirror, and then she winced anew.

“All right, then,” Maylee said, and gently felt the sides of the princess’s neck. They’d called her in from Thomas’s side and asked if she knew anything about first aid. The princess had been burned with a curling iron and asked Maylee for help. She’d volunteered, of course, and the equerry had whisked her to the princess’s dressing rooms.

The private chamber of the princess was in an uproar. Luke held his fiancée’s hand, looking almost as distraught as the teary princess. Nearby, a serving maid sobbed into her hands, and staff moved in and out, not sure what to do. A woman was busy trying to repair the princess’s makeup even as tears spilled down Alex’s pale cheeks, and an older woman held an ice pack to the back of the princess’s neck.

Maylee had immediately swept in. “I can fix this.” She’d taken the ice pack from the woman and realized too late that she’d more or less just elbowed aside the princess’s mother and another royal highness. Nothing she could do about that, though.

And so Maylee had removed the ice pack, put her hands on the sides of the princess’s neck, and began to talk. When someone was hurting, she pitched her voice low and smooth and made the person describe the injury. It seemed that the princess’s hair stylist—who was the woman sobbing in the corner—had been trying to curl a few stray tendrils with a last-minute application of the curling iron. A nervous servant had dropped a tray of wine, breaking a bottle, and the woman had jumped.

When she did, her curling iron ended up flattening on the princess’s neck and burning the tender skin. The mark was long and bright red, and it looked like it would blister. The skin surrounding the burn was hot to the touch, so she stroked her fingers over the good skin next to it and kept the princess talking. Was she excited about her wedding? Did she want to dance at tonight’s party? Was Luke a good dancer?

He was not, the princess admitted, and her admission made Luke laugh. He squeezed her hand even as Maylee continued to urge the princess to talk. Every so often, she’d ask the princess if she wanted to give Maylee the pain. The woman seemed a little skeptical, but agreed every time Maylee prompted it.

If pressed, Maylee didn’t know exactly how her ability worked. Her mama had passed down the skill to her, and it was an old Meriweather tradition. Some families had water-dowsers and people who could predict the weather. Meriweathers were talkers. Maylee touched the burned skin and gently rubbed the inflamed mark one last time. “Now, Miss Alexandra—”

“Your Highness,” her mother stiffly corrected next to Maylee.

She sounded so much like Griffin in that moment that Maylee got distracted. But she recovered and finished her sentence. “Go ahead and give me the rest of the pain.”

Alexandra blinked for a moment, and then a smile crossed her face. “It’s not hurting anymore. How on earth did you do that?”

Maylee lifted her hands. They always felt a little warm and achy after a good talking. “Don’t know. It runs in my family. My mama can talk the warts off anyone, but I’m only good with burns.”

“Warts?” said a horrified woman nearby. “How vulgar.”

“I don’t care,” Alexandra said, smiling into the mirror at Maylee. “I wasn’t quite sure when Griffin told me, but I have to say, I’m impressed. You have my thanks.” The princess waved her makeup attendant forward, and the woman rushed in, cosmetic sponges in hand, to fix the crown princess’s makeup.

“Just be gentle with it,” Maylee cautioned. “Put some aloe vera on it tonight and cover it so you don’t irritate the skin more. The mark will go away in another day or so, but it shouldn’t blister.”

“That’s incredible,” Luke said, a relieved smile on his face. He grinned at the princess again. “You sure you’re okay, baby? Up to this party?”

“It doesn’t matter if I am or not,” Alexandra said, but her smile took the sting out of her words. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go downstairs.” She indicated at a chair nearby. “Sit, Maylee. In case we need you again.”

“No more curling irons,” Luke said firmly. “You’re lovely just as you are.”

Alexandra’s smile curved her mouth. “We’ll just pin the rest.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at her hair, and the crying woman wiped her eyes and sprung into action.

Maylee approached the chair designated for her, but she smoothed her dress nervously. “If it’s all right, Miss Alexandra, I’d rather stand. I’m afraid I’d bust a seam or something awful, and then Mr. Griffin would be really unhappy with me.”

The princess stared at her mirror, but her gaze flicked to Maylee and then back again. “Speaking of Cousin Griffin, I see he’s dug out the family jewels?”

Maylee quickly touched both earrings and the necklace again. “Lordamercy, yes, and they’re making me as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

Luke snorted a laugh.

“Indeed,” Alexandra said in a pleasant voice. “Still, he must be pleased with your work.”

“Oh, this is just a loan,” Maylee said again, her hand pressing against the far-too-expensive necklace. “I think he felt sorry for me because I didn’t have any jewelry.”

“That doesn’t sound like Griffin,” the princess said.

“What doesn’t sound like Griffin?”

Maylee turned at the sound of his familiar voice, suddenly uncertain. “Hello, Mr. Gri—um, Lord Montagne Verdi.”

He moved to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. The move was oddly possessive for an employer, Maylee thought, but she didn’t pull away. It was kind of nice, really. Like he was including her in the group instead of making her feel like an interloper.

“Has George been sniffing around?” Griffin asked, and she felt his fingers tense on her shoulder.

“He has not,” Princess Alexandra said, leaning in so her attendant could whisk mascara on her lashes. “We’re about to head downstairs, which means the dancing will start. Are you going to run out as soon as it does, like usual?”

Griffin scowled. “I do not.”

“You do,” Alexandra said, and their bickering sounded more like siblings than princess and viscount. “I told Luke you always sneak out of these functions because you hate dancing more than he does.”

“Oh, are we going before we watch the dancing?” Maylee couldn’t help the wistful note in her voice. Now that they were here and she’d met the princess—who was quite nice, really—she was feeling more relaxed. And she wanted to see what an actual royal dance was like.

“I suppose we could stay for one,” Griffin said.

“Two,” Alexandra corrected, and got to her feet in a swirl of delicate blue frothing lace. “The first dance is for myself and Luke.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the princess and her fiancé had been announced to the crowd, and the band started to play. The official ball had begun, and Alexandra and Luke moved around the dance floor in an elegant swirl.

“She’s so beautiful,” Maylee breathed. “I’m so happy for her. She looks wonderful.”

“She does,” Griffin agreed at her side. He hadn’t left Maylee since they’d emerged from the princess’s chambers. When someone called Griffin over to chat, he’d more or less dragged Maylee with him. She’d been flattered, but remained silent as Griffin chatted with another politician about the recent Bellissime election of a prime minister. She watched him as he talked, though. Even if he didn’t want to be here, it was clear that he could handle himself with the crowd. He looked utterly at ease, small talk coming naturally to him.

Meanwhile, she stood at his side, tongue-tied and terrified of speaking and embarrassing him.

A round of applause made everyone look to the center of the floor, and Alexandra and Luke were leaving, heading to the dais where the queen watched the festivities from her throne. An additional throne had been set for Alexandra, and she sat down, Luke moving to stand just over her shoulder.

They looked wonderful, Maylee decided. Romantic and like something out of a fairy tale. She could have watched them all night, and judging by the dreamy expressions of some of the other women in the room, she wasn’t the only one.

Once Alexandra had her skirts settled, she gave a nod at the direction of the band, and the strains of another song began to play. Couples moved out onto the dance floor, and Maylee watched them with shining eyes. She wanted to etch the memory into her mind so she’d never forget it, all these expensive, gorgeous dresses and beautiful women on the arms of dashing, formally dressed men.

A hand extended in front of Maylee. “Shall we?”

She stared down at Griffin’s hand, then looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” he agreed. “Though I must warn you, I have two left feet.”

“That’s okay,” she said happily, and slapped her hand into his. “I’m not much of a dancer, either.”

“Lovely,” he said in a dry voice. “We shall make a terrible pair together, then.”

His acerbic humor only made her laugh.

Her breath fluttered in her throat with excitement, and Maylee let Griffin lead the way as they headed out onto the floor. The song was stately, and everyone around them was clasping hands and moving closer to dance. Oh, how magical.

Griffin’s hands went to her waist, keeping her a modest length from him. Unsure of where to put her own hands, she slid them to his neck.

He gazed at her for a long moment, and she felt her breath catch all over again with the intensity of his stare, even through the square frames of his glasses that normally hid his expressions. His eyes flicked from her face, then down to the necklace at her throat. “I see you haven’t lost them.”

His words confused her. Was that meant playfully? Or did he truly think she’d do her best to lose his jewels? “No. I’ve been very careful.”

“Of course.”

They danced, more of a swaying than any sort of waltzing, which was what she’d imagined. It actually reminded her a bit of a high school prom, and a giggle escaped her throat.

“What is it?”

“Just thinking this reminds me of a school dance.”

A hint of a smile curved his austere mouth. “Oh? In what way?”

She nodded at a couple that moved nearby. “The dresses. The awkwardness. The cool kids and the wannabes.”

“Cool kids and wannabes?” His eyebrow rose. “Which one are you?”

“Oh, definitely a wannabe.”

“Why would you think that?”

She swallowed hard, averting her gaze from him. It was easy to do; she just pretended to watch everyone dancing nearby. “I just worry that I’m going to say or do something wrong and mess everything up. So I try not to speak.”

He shook his head and his hands clasped her waist a little tighter. “No one could be embarrassed by you tonight, Maylee.”

For some reason, that didn’t make her feel better. “Because I don’t look like myself, right?”

“Why would you think that?” He stared, his feet barely shuffling as they danced, and he was right; he wasn’t a good dancer. He’d stepped on her skirt twice and her foot once, but it somehow didn’t matter.

“You said so yourself.”

Griffin sighed.

“Well, you did,” she said defensively. “And then you drove me to the salon so they could make me look “presentable.” Your words.”

“You misinterpret them.”

“I’m really not sure how it’s possible to misinterpret them, Mr. Griffin. You just said that no one could be embarrassed by me tonight. Seeing as how I normally don’t look like this, I have to think I’m embarrassing on a day-to-day basis. And you made that pretty clear by buying me clothes.” Oh, now she was spewing all kinds of hurt at him. She needed to stop, but she couldn’t help herself. “So please tell me how I am misinterpreting that. I may be country, but I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid.”

“Let’s just forget I said anything, all right?” She was ruining this lovely evening. She then turned to look at all the incredible dresses whirling past. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m sure it’s not my place.”

“Miss Meriweather,” he began. Then said, “Maylee.” Then stopped again. And sighed.

And now she felt bad. He’d spent a lot of money to get her all gussied up tonight and this place truly was something she’d never forget.

“I . . . I am not good with people,” he admitted.

“Now that’s a lie,” she told him. “You’ve been swanning around with the rest of these nobles all night.”

“I’m good at mingling,” Griffin told her. “I’m not good with . . . people. One on one.” His hands moved at her waist, and he shifted, tilting his neck from side to side as if wanting to tug at his collar. “I know a lot of people, but I don’t have many friends, Maylee. And I never say the right thing.”

“You sure do say a lot for someone who doesn’t say the right thing,” she muttered.

His hands shifted on her waist and, to her surprise, he moved one of her hands from his neck and clasped it in his own. It was almost like a waltz, except she doubted either of them knew how to dance a waltz. “Just because I talk doesn’t mean that I don’t keep fucking things up.”

She squeezed his hand with hers, feeling oddly connected to him at the moment. Maybe it was the intense look of concentration on his face, or the words that echoed her own misery at being out of place. He was at home with high society and didn’t know what to say one on one. She was the opposite—she loved chatting with everyone, but amongst this glittering crowd, she felt like an alley cat that had somehow snuck through the back door. “So if you keep messing things up, what do you think you should be saying?”

Griffin swallowed and for a moment looked so uncomfortable she wanted to laugh. Then he spoke, and the laugh died in her throat.

“I should be telling you that I think you are . . . impressive,” Griffin said in a low voice. “I should tell you that your smile makes the room warmer. That the room seems a little darker when you leave.”

Her eyes widened. All of a sudden, his hand in hers felt incredibly intimate . . . incredibly sexual. It was almost as if he had it on her breast instead of against her own hand.

And for a wild, brief moment, she wondered what Griffin would be like in bed. Would he be that incredibly polished, arrogant—almost bored—nobleman he normally was? Or would she get a glimpse of someone else underneath?

“Say something.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she murmured. She was so astonished that she was at a loss.

“You’re blushing,” he declared, and that soft tone of his voice had changed a little, becoming a shade of its normal arrogant self. “That blush does ridiculous things to me, I’ll have you know.”

“You don’t have to sound so disgusted about it,” she said defensively. Was that supposed to be a compliment? Was she supposed to be flattered that he sounded revolted at the thought of being attracted to her?

“I’m disgusted because you’re my employee,” Griffin said. “You are off limits because of that. I am not a predator to attack you simply because I hold a bit of power over you.” He looked angry at the thought. “That is not a situation I should ever put you in. I shouldn’t have said a thing tonight, and yet here I am, spouting off like a teapot.”

For some reason, the thought of stuffy, staid Griffin as a teapot made her giggle hysterically.

The music slowed and the song ended. “And I’ve already said too much,” Griffin told her, and his hands left hers. People stopped dancing and turned to clap, and she and Griffin parted, leaving Maylee with a wealth of confused feelings.

* * *

They left the party about a half hour later, and Maylee was relieved to escape, despite the awkward car ride back to the hotel. Griffin was silent, occasionally fidgeting with his cufflinks.

She wished he would talk, but he seemed to already think he’d said too much. So she stared out the window and watched the night streets of Bellissime roll past. Her own thoughts were a mess, but she couldn’t straighten them out, not with him sitting a few feet from her in silence. So she touched the jewels to make sure they were still on, stared out the window, and tried not to think about how quiet he was.

They didn’t speak as they took the elevator up to Griffin’s room. The security guard posted at the end of the floor nodded at both of them. Outside of her own door, Maylee paused. Her hand touched the ridiculously expensive jewelry again. “I should give this back to you.”

Griffin took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, not glancing at her. “It’s been a long night, Maylee. I’ll collect them in the morning.”

“All right,” she said softly, and opened her door and went inside. Once it was shut, she quickly checked the room for intruders. She could have asked him, but her mind was still all goofed up when it came to Griffin, and for some reason, she didn’t want him in her room if he didn’t want her.

At least, not the real her.

Maylee looked in the mirror at her reflection. The woman who stared back at her had long, dark eyelashes and perfect, smooth blonde hair. She glittered in jewelry and wore an expensive gown that made her look like an elegant lady. It only made Maylee more confused.

Griffin had told her that he liked her tonight, even as he constantly insisted she change what she look like. How was she supposed to take him seriously even as he tried to fix her?

She carefully removed the heavy necklace and set it down on the dresser. Next, the earrings. Then, she removed the pins from her hair and shook it out. It was still too smooth and strange to be her own. So was the perfect face that stared back at her. She needed a shower.

Maylee shimmied out of the dress—no easy feat considering she didn’t have any help with the zipper. She grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom and washed her hair.

When she emerged, her face was squeaky clean, her hair was back to wet, roping curls, and she felt more like herself. She dressed in her camo pajamas and picked up her knitting and climbed into bed. She couldn’t concentrate, though. Her gaze kept straying over to the jewelry on the dresser, and her thoughts kept playing over the night.

Griffin said he liked her. He liked her smile. He liked her touch.

But did he really like her? Did he want the real Maylee? The country girl who wore camo pajamas and knitted and tried to drink out of finger bowls at fancy parties? Or did he want the smooth, elegant blonde he’d tried to make her into?

She put aside her knitting and turned off the light. Even then she couldn’t sleep. What did he want from her?

I’m not good with people.

Maylee thought it wasn’t that he was bad with people; it was that he didn’t know how to ask for things after a lifetime of having them handed to him.

And that thought made her sit upright in the bed.

He didn’t know how to ask for things. Griffin just assumed that they would naturally become his. All the nobility thought like that. He didn’t know how to ask her if she was interested in him. He’d hemmed and hawed around things tonight and eventually told her he liked her.

And that was it. He hadn’t said more. Maybe he hadn’t realized she needed to hear more?

Was that Griffin’s weird way of asking her if she liked him? If she wanted to kiss him? Simply telling her he was bad with people and leaving it out there for her to interpret?

Suddenly, she needed to know the answer to that.

She flicked on the light and jumped out of her bed, crossing the room to the adjoining door. Without stopping to think about the hour or if it was polite to do so, she knocked quickly.

There was a loud rustling on the other side of the door, and a moment later, Griffin flung it open, his eyes slightly wild, hair mussed. “Maylee! Is—is everything all right?” He pushed into her room, and she noticed he had the bedside lamp in hand, brandishing it like a weapon once more.

Oh, dear. She’d scared him. “It’s all right,” she told him. “There’s no one in my room but you.”

He exhaled slowly and then looked over at her. With a low breath, he nodded and relaxed. “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, tucking her hands in and feeling a little stupid. “I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

“Don’t be silly.” He rubbed his face and returned back to his room to put the lamp down. “What do you need?”

I need you to like me for me, she thought, and was surprised at her own thoughts. “I was just, um, curious what you meant earlier.”

“What I meant earlier?”

“When you said I was impressive.”

His face flushed. That, combined with his messy hair, made him look adorably boyish despite the long, lean chest that was currently exposed to her view. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Oh.” She rocked on her feet, hating that he was dismissing her already. She felt like they were so close to some sort of breakthrough that if she didn’t say something now, the moment would be gone forever. But was she stupid to say it? Even as she stood before him looking like her normal self instead of the elegant woman she was earlier?

“Get some sleep,” he said in a gentle voice. “I’ll check your room for you if you like.”

“No, it’s okay,” she told him. “I just would like to talk right now.”

“About?”

She ignored that sharp, clipped word. “You and me.”

“What about us?”

Maylee gave him a straightforward look. “I want to know why you’re constantly trying to change me if you like me.”

He looked incredibly uncomfortable at that. “I’m not trying to change you.”

“You are.”

Griffin rubbed his face again. “It’s not that simple. These people live and breathe protocol. I just don’t want . . . I don’t want anyone to hurt your feelings by making you feel inadequate.”

“The only person who’s done that to me is you.”

He flinched and looked away.

“It’s true. Every time I let my guard down, you hurt me. And I . . . I like you. But I don’t know if I should.”

“I’m an idiot,” he declared harshly. “It was never my intention to hurt your feelings. Anything but that.”

“And do you like me?” It felt weird to throw it out there so boldly, but she did wonder if he didn’t know how to ask. She would simply have to do the asking. “For me?”

He was silent for so long that she thought she’d made a mistake in being so blunt. Her stomach churned nervously.

Then, he looked slowly up at her and reached out to finger a lock of her hair. It was damp, the corkscrew curl loose. As she watched, he wrapped it around his finger. “I missed seeing these tonight.”

“You did?” Her breath caught in her throat.

He nodded, seemingly fascinated by that curl between his fingers. “I kept thinking your hair looked messy and unkempt and wild, but I didn’t realize how much I liked that look on you until it was all smoothed out. You were beautiful but you weren’t . . . you.”

And that was what she wanted—no, needed—to hear.

Maylee stepped forward, moving toward him. She put a hand on the center of his chest, over his heart. He was incredibly warm. He didn’t move, but she felt him tense against her. “Can I sleep in your room tonight?” she whispered.

His gaze met hers, and she saw hope and passion there. His fingers lifted, traced the lines of her cheek. “Are you scared to sleep alone?”

“No. Can I sleep with you anyhow?”

He groaned and dragged her into his room.

Chapter Ten

Griffin’s warm hands took hers and he pulled her into his room. The lights were off, but from the light streaming in from her connected room, she could see a heavily rumpled bed. It was obvious that he wasn’t exactly sleeping soundly, either. Was he thinking about her, too? Unable to sleep because he had her on his mind? Or was that wishful thinking?

He released her hand and shut the door to her adjoining room.

It was pitch-dark.

“Should we get the emeralds?” she asked. “I feel strange leaving them in the other room without being nearby.”

“Fuck the emeralds.” His hands moved to her shoulders, and he gently steered her further into the room. “Come to bed.”

She giggled nervously. “You didn’t need much convincing, Mr. Griffin.”

“Please drop the ‘mister’, Maylee. And actually, you can just call me Griff, if you like. All of my intimates do.”

He was implying she was one of his intimates? A warm flush ran through her body at the thought, and her hands moved to cover his where they rested on her shoulders. “Griff, then.”

“That’s better,” he murmured.

“I didn’t bring pillows,” she said in a soft voice. “To put in between us.”

“I’d rather hoped we didn’t need them.”

“Me too, but I didn’t want to presume.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders, and he turned her around. In the dark, she could barely make out the line of his jaw, the gleam of his eyes, and that rumpled hair that rose so adorably from his head. “Maylee . . . before we get into bed, I just want you to know that I have no expectations of tonight. Whatever you want is fine with me. If all you want is some company, I’m fine with that, too. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. Understand?”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she told him, “but I’m a little confused as to why you feel it’s necessary to throw that out there.”

“Because, like it or not, I’m your employer, and I don’t want to use my position to hold power over you. That would be unfair to you. Outside of this room, I’m in charge. In here, what you say goes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” His fingers brushed her neck again in a soft touch that made her skin shiver with want.

“Anything I say goes?”

“Anything.”

“What if I told you to bark like a dog?”

He stilled. “Almost anything.”

She laughed again, mostly because he sounded so very disgruntled. Her hands moved to his chest and slid down the warm skin. “What if I asked you to take off your pants for me, instead?”

“Will you take off yours?”

“No, because I’m the one in charge.”

He grunted at that. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“I’m just flexing my muscle,” she teased. “But if you don’t want to, I understand.”

“So now you’re backing down?” There was a sly note in his voice that surprised her to hear.

“Well, since you put it that way. . . no.” Where was all this playfulness coming from? She didn’t know, but she liked it. “Off with your pants.”

“Done,” he murmured, and he pulled away from her. She heard the rustle of fabric and a soft thump as his sleep pants dropped to the ground. “I’m all yours.”

A sudden wave of shyness took over her, and Maylee giggled again.

“You know, Maylee,” he said, his voice taking on a clipped tone, “most men don’t appreciate a woman laughing when they drop their pants.”

“It’s not at you,” she assured him. “I’m just a little nervous.”

She heard him suck in a breath. “You’re a virgin?”

“Nope,” she said softly. “You make me nervous.”

“Until I take my pants off, upon which you burst into laughter.”

“I can’t see a darn thing,” she admitted. “So it’s not you, Griff.” His nickname felt odd, but pleasant, on her lips.

“We could turn on a light, I suppose, but I’d rather not.” He reached for her then. “You know, the blind see with their hands.” He found hers in the dark and placed them on his chest. “I think they have the right idea.”

She sucked in a breath. Her fingertips brushed along his chest, and she felt the delicate lines of his collarbone. “You want me to explore you?”

“I’d like nothing more,” he said, voice husky.

Maylee shivered at that, and she stepped a bit closer to him, only to feel his erect cock brush against her thighs when she moved closer. Oh. He definitely was naked. Heat scorched her cheeks and she wanted to check him out with her hands to see if he was as long as he seemed to be, but she wasn’t ready to do that just yet.

So she let her fingers draw tiny circles on the skin of his shoulders, feeling the muscles there. Then, she slid them lower and felt his biceps, giving a sigh of appreciation when he flexed under her hands. “I thought you were more of a scholar.”

“I am.” Oh, his voice sounded so close to her ear, and so elegant. She could listen to him talk for hours and hours about nothing in particular.

“You have quite big muscles for a scholar.”

He chuckled. “Sometimes the only chance I get to catch up on my reading is in the gym. So I visit it fairly often. I like to be in shape in case one of trips is someplace off the beaten path. In college, Jonathan and I recreated Hiram Bingham’s original journey up the Peruvian mountains to Macchu Picchu and it nearly kicked my arse. After that, I decided I needed to be fit.”

“Mmm.” He definitely kept in shape. She squeezed his arms again, and then moved her hands back to his chest. Her fingers slid lower, and she brushed them over his nipples, pleased to hear his sharp intake of breath. She wanted to put her mouth on them, to see how he reacted if she took one in her mouth and gave it a little tug with her teeth, but she couldn’t bring herself to drag her hands from him. Instead, she raked her nails lightly down his chest, a little breathless moan of pleasure escaping her when she felt him shiver in response.

“I love your hands, Maylee,” he told her in that elegant, husky voice that was knotting up her insides. “I was thinking of ridiculous lines when I came back here, to try and figure out how to get you to put them on me. I thought about burning myself with a curling iron like Alex, except I didn’t have one. And then I thought about simply telling you that I had a burning ache in my pants, but then I thought that sounded like an infection.”

She giggled again. “You really aren’t very good with people.”

“I’m really not.” He sounded rueful.

“All that just so I’d put my hands on you?”

“I would do anything and everything so you’d put your hands on me,” he admitted.

Oh. Such sweetly romantic words. Maylee moved in and put her hands around the back of his neck, drawing his mouth toward her own. She wanted to kiss him so badly, to make sure that what they’d shared the other day wasn’t simply a figment of her imagination.

His mouth descended on hers hungrily. She was taken aback by the intensity of his kiss, but only momentarily. Being devoured by this man, she decided, was a wonderful thing. And as his tongue slicked into her mouth and danced with her own, she gave herself over completely to the long, passionate kiss that seemed to arouse every last inch of her body.

Eventually, his mouth pulled away from hers, leaving her breathless and clawing at his shoulders. “Oh, lordamercy. You don’t kiss like a scholar.”

“That’s rather good to hear,” he said between nibbles on her earlobe. “Have you kissed a lot of scholars?”

Her fingers found their way to his hair, which was soft and tousled because she’d convinced him not to slick it down. She liked touching it. “Just you.”

“Good.” That possessive note in his voice was rather pleasing.

Maylee moved closer to him, unable to avoid the press of his cock into her stomach. Her fingers were aching to curl around his shaft, but she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about her. She was all for kissing and making out and cuddling in bed, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for sex with him. She wanted commitment, and she knew he wasn’t sure he was going to head in that direction, ever. That was fine with her, but they needed to be clear on things. “Griff,” she murmured, and clenched as his tongue slicked against her sensitive earlobe. “Oh, lordamercy.”

“What is it?” His fingers brushed aside her curls, and she felt the hot press of his chest against her pajama top. The tips of her breasts were scraping against him in the most wickedly delicious tease ever.

“We should talk about . . . uh . . . this.” She was having a hard time concentrating as he nibbled on her earlobes. Who knew they were so sensitive? Every time his teeth grazed over them, it felt like they were touching other, more sensitive parts of her anatomy.

“What about this, exactly?”

“I’m just not sure how far I’m ready to go . . .” Oh, his mouth was making things so difficult to concentrate.

“I told you, Maylee,” he murmured against her throat, and she tilted her head back so he could continue to run his mouth along the sensitive skin. “We’ll go as far as you want to go. I will follow your lead.”

“That’s good,” she told him. “That’s really good.” His mouth found her earlobe again and her knees went weak. “Oh, God, that’s really good.”

“Want to get on the bed?” His husky whisper made her sex clench in response, and she felt her pulse pounding in response.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Let’s.”

Griffin gently tugged her with him, and the backs of her knees hit the mattress. She fell backward, and a moment later, Griffin was on top of her.

A low moan escaped her when his thighs pushed between her own, and his cock rubbed against the cradle of her sex.

“You feel so good under me,” he murmured, still kissing her neck. “Did you want to be on top since you’re in charge?”

“No.” Her voice was so breathless. “I like you there.”

“Do you like me here?” He thrust against the crotch of her pajamas, his naked cock rubbing against her.

She gave a whimper of pleasure in response. She liked that far too much. Her nails dug into his back again, and she pulled his mouth to hers for another wild kiss.

“How about,” he murmured between frantic, licking kisses, “tonight you keep everything on and we’ll take it from there? Yes?”

Oh, lordamercy, his mouth was making her regret her initial reluctance. It was doing sinful things to her. “You don’t mind taking it slow?”

“Not if you don’t mind me running my hands all over you.”

She shook her head. She rather liked that, actually.

“Can I put my hands on your breasts?” His tongue slicked into her mouth again, distracting her from the question for a long moment. He stated it again.

“Yes,” she breathed, practically arching against him at the thought. Oh, she wanted his mouth there, but his hands would be the next best thing.

One large, warm palm cupped her breast and Maylee sucked in a gasp.

“Mmm. Perfect size,” Griffin told her. “Plump and delicious. What color are your nipples? Pale pink?”

“Y-yes.” His fingers were rubbing the tip of her breast through the fabric, and her hips jerked involuntarily in response. God, it had been so long since she’d had sex. Had it always felt this good to fool around?

“They feel tiny,” he told her, and his thumb traced the tip. “Small, pale nipples on plump breasts. I can’t wait to see that for myself.”

“Soon,” she breathed.

“Not tonight,” he agreed. His hips wedged further between her thighs, pressing deeper, and before she knew what she was doing, Maylee flexed her knees and then she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him in until he rested perfectly atop her pussy.

Her hands moved to his ass, and she felt the taut muscles there. “Mmm. Not a scholar’s ass, either.”

Griffin chuckled at that. “I’m glad you find me so appealing.”

“Oh, I do,” she said dreamily. “I do indeed.”

He thrust between her legs, and she gasped. The fabric protected her from penetration, but she still felt the heat of him wedge against her in hopeful glory, felt him push against her aching sex, skimming over her throbbing clit.

“Like that?” There was a tension in his voice that hadn’t been there before, as if he were holding back, judging. If she said no, she knew that he’d stop.

But she didn’t want him to stop. “More,” she begged, her fingers pressuring.

He thrust again, and she moaned. Oh, God, humping with clothes on was almost as good as humping with clothes off. It was way more of a tease, because neither one of them could entirely get what they wanted, but the delicious anticipation was an entirely different level of pleasure. When he thrust again, she heard him groan, too. The friction of the clothing was driving them both insane with lust.

Griffin rocked against her, each thrust rough and wild, and she was safely protected by the fabric of her pajamas. But he wasn’t hitting at quite the right spots; there was too much fabric over her clit, and no matter how much she raised her hips and pressed up against him, it wasn’t quite hitting the jackpot for her. Soft whimpers of frustration rose from her throat.

“What do you need?” he gritted between thrusts. “Tell me, Maylee. I want to make it good for you.”

“Need . . . more. I don’t know.” She panted, raising her hips to press against the bar of his cock.

“More?” He shifted his weight atop of her and then she felt his hand press between her legs. A moment later, his forefinger rubbed her clit through the fabric of her now-soaked pajamas. “Like that, darling?”

Maylee cried out, shocked at how that quick touch could make her entire lower half clench so quickly. She was on the verge of an orgasm instantly, and her cries encouraged Griffin all the more. He rubbed harder, thrusting his cock against her protected wet warmth.

Her legs flailed and tightened around his hips, and then she made the most unladylike sound ever. “Holy Christ on a cracker!”

And she came with a damp rush and a clenching of muscles that made her entire body tremble with the strength of her orgasm. And she kept cussing as Griffin continued to rub her clit through the fabric, his voice soothing even as his cock pushed and drove at the junction of her pants.

When the stars faded from her eyes, Maylee sighed, trembling. “Oh, God.”

Griffin chuckled, the sound strained. “Good?”

“Incredible,” she murmured. Her hand slid up his side, all warm and damp with a fine layer of sweat, and she noticed that he flinched when she touched him. “What about you?”

“I’ll just . . . have a quick shower.” He began to roll off her.

She locked her legs around his hips, trapping him. “Did you not . . . you know.” She could hear the blush in her voice.

“Come all over you?”

“Something like that,” she told him primly.

He laughed at her shyness. “You can’t say it? You were screaming some rude things just a moment ago.”

She blushed in the dark, glad he couldn’t see her face. Her hands stroked up and down his tense arms. “You know what I meant. You didn’t . . . come?”

He hesitated. “I wasn’t sure how far you wanted to . . . proceed. Me jerking off on your belly and rubbing my cum into your skin is probably not what you had in mind for a make-out session.”

She sucked in a breath, the mental image of that scorching. Was it bad that she wanted that? “Well, now I can’t think of anything but that,” she admitted, and her breath hissed out in a laugh. “Do you want to?”

He groaned, and she felt him collapse on top of her, his hands going to the tangles of her hair. “More than anything else.” He thought for a moment. “Well, almost anything else. Burying myself to the hilt inside you and blasting away sounds right jolly at the moment, too.”

Her hands slid on his damp, delicious skin. “Want me to bare my stomach for you, then?”

This time, it was gratifying to hear him suck in a breath. “Maylee, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she reminded him gently. “But I want you to come.”

And she took his hand in hers and began to use their twined hands to drag her sleep shirt up her stomach.

He groaned and sat up over her, still between her legs. She could make out his big form rising over hers in the bed, and she moaned when he fisted a handful of her top and jerked it up to her breasts.

His fingers trailed down her bare stomach and he groaned in response, his breathing becoming jerky. “You can still back out,” he warned her, rasping.

“Don’t you want to come on me?” she asked him softly.

He groaned again, and his hand pushed under her clothing, grasping her naked breast. Maylee whimpered in surprise, especially when his fingers roughly began to pluck at her nipple. “Damn. So beautiful.” His voice was a near growl. “So . . . damn . . . beautiful.”

Hot, liquid heat spattered on her stomach, even as he groaned her name.

Maylee lay back, stunned by the eroticism of it. Why was it that what was supposed to be a quick dry-hump had turned into one of the most erotic sexual moments of her life?

Panting, Griffin’s hand moved to her belly and traced around the cum he’d left there. “I should have left the lights on.”

She touched her stomach, uncertain. “Did you get it everywhere? Should I get a towel?”

He chuckled. “No, I just wanted to see you under me, covered in my cum. It’s a primal male thing, I suppose.” He bent down over her and gave her mouth a hard kiss. “And I’ll get the towel.”

The bed creaked as he jumped off, and across the room, a light flicked on. Illuminated by the bathroom light was Griffin’s gloriously naked backside, all tight muscle and corded, thick thighs. Oh, mercy. Wasn’t that a delicious sight. Maylee felt herself getting aroused all over again, and she blinked with disappointment when the lights went out once more, leaving her in darkness.

Then, Griffin was back in the bed, gently wiping down her stomach and tugging at her pajamas. “You should probably take these off. They’ll need a good cleaning. You can sleep in one of my shirts.”

“Oh. I’m sure I have something else I can sleep in—”

“No,” he said firmly. “I like seeing you in my shirt. Humor me.”

She blushed at that. “All right, Mr. Gri—um, Griff.”

When he got up to get rid of the towel, he returned with a soft T-shirt for her to wear and pressed it into her hand. “Need some help undressing?”

“I think I can manage,” she said in a wry, breathless voice. She quickly stripped out of her clothing and tugged on the shirt, mindful of the noises he made as he moved to the other side of the bed. When she pulled the shirt down, her bottom hung out the other side, and she didn’t have any spare panties with her. “Um. Do you have some boxers?”

He chuckled. “If you insist, though I’m a little disappointed that I don’t get the pleasure of having you snuggled up against me all night, bare-assed.”

“Boxers,” she said again, primly.

A moment later, more soft material touched her hand, and she realized he’d had them all along. “You are shamelessly wicked, Griffin Verdi,” she chided him as she wriggled into his boxers. They were a little tight in the ass, as she had more junk in her trunk than he did.

Once that was taken care of, she lay back in the bed and adjusted her pillow. What did they do now? Kiss goodnight and roll over onto their separate sides?

Griffin solved that problem for her. As soon as she lay back, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him, his hips curving against hers. Aha. He was a spooner. Griffin nuzzled her neck as he settled her against him. “This is much better than the pillow fort, don’t you think?”

His words tickled her ear. “It’s definitely more intimate. I hope you don’t snore tonight.”

“I never snore,” he said in that haughty voice. “You, on the other hand, could put a train to shame.”

She snorted. “Now I know you’re lying. I’m a Southern girl. We don’t snore, and we don’t cuss.”

“Mmmhmm. Southern girls are clearly out of touch with reality.”

She tickled his sides before he grabbed her hands and tucked them into his grasp. Then she cuddled against his chest, his mouth teasing her neck, Maylee somehow drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Griffin woke up with a raging hard-on, wild white-blonde curls tickling his nose, and an urge to spend the day in bed.

He sat up and reached over the woman clinging to his front to flick off his alarm, and noticed with amusement that Maylee didn’t even stir. Well, actually, all she did was burrow deeper against his chest, increasing his morning wood problem.

Damn, but he’d liked last night.

He stroked a hand over her out-of-control curls, admiring the way they fluffed and made her look thoroughly, adorably fucked. So they’d had a pajama barrier. He couldn’t deny that fooling around with Maylee had been the best thing to happen to him in a long time. And for the first time, he was rather grateful for the royal wedding and Kip’s inconvenient chicken pox.

Leaning down, he kissed her cheekbone. “Maylee, darling, wake up.”

She mumbled something about feeding the hounds and flicked a hand at her cheek as if brushing away a mosquito.

That was . . . charming. With a grin to himself, Griffin reluctantly released her and made his way to the bathroom. He’d shower and then wake her up when he got back.

He undressed and examined himself in the mirror. He was smiling like a loon. No, he realized, like Reese did whenever someone mentioned Audrey. He normally just rolled his eyes at that dopey, lovesick smile on Reese’s face and figured Audrey could do amazing stunts in bed.

But Maylee hadn’t done amazing stunts. She’d simply been herself—excited, breathless, and wild with need—and he’d thought it was the most erotic thing ever.

Just thinking about her made his dick twitch, and he took himself in hand as he got into the shower, turning the water on. There were small red scratches on his shoulders from her nails, and that made his cock ache all the more. He poured a bit of conditioner on his hand, flattened a palm against the tile, and jerked off, imagining her kneeling before him and burying his hands in those wild blonde curls as he fucked her mouth.

When he finally got out of the shower some time later, Griffin wrapped a towel around his hips and emerged from the bathroom to see Maylee sitting on the end of the bed, blinking sleepily, her hair nearly standing on end.

“You didn’t wake me up,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes.

He moved to her side and leaned down to kiss those crazy, springy curls he was coming to love. “You seemed tired. I thought I’d let you sleep a few minutes more.”

Her cheeks flushed red at that, and she jumped up from the bed. “I should go get dressed so we’re not late for breakfast.”

As she hurried away, he admired the way her ass filled out his boxers. He was going to hide those godawful camouflage pajamas so she’d have no choice but to sleep in his clothing. He liked the look of that quite a bit. She looked like she completely belonged to him.

As she should, he decided.

Griffin dressed, throwing down a few ties to let her pick out one for him. She returned to his room a short time later, those delicious curls tamped down into a tight bun and her even more delicious body encased in a shapeless, demure skirted suit that he was pretty sure he’d seen the princess’s mother wear once. It made her look at least ten years older than she was. He frowned. He’d turned his delicious, tousled Maylee into this frumpy creature.

But she sailed over to him with a beaming smile, plucked a tie from the pile he left for her, and crooked her finger, and he forgot all about anything except that sexy little gesture.

“One of these days,” she teased as she looped the tie around his neck, “I’m going to show you how to tie your own tie. They have tutorials on YouTube, you know. Very informative. And they go real slow so you can follow along.”

“Lovely,” he murmured.

“And just think of how independent you’ll be.”

“Independence is overrated if it means I lose out on your putting your hands on me,” he said boldly, and was rewarded with her blush and a happy giggle.

“There,” she said with a final tug on his tie. “All done. Now come on. We have to eat a quick breakfast today because your schedule is full.”

He sighed. “I don’t see how it can possibly be full. The wedding is in two days and I swear I’ve visited every dignitary, museum, and charity group in all of Bellissime at this point.”

She laughed and gave him a saucy look. “I didn’t make your schedule, Griff. I just manage it.”

True. He could blame Kip for that.

They put the emeralds back in their velvet box, stopped downstairs to lock them up in a secure safe in the manager’s office, and then continued on to breakfast. They’d barely sat down before Maylee opened the computer and began to type, a look of concentration on her face. “We should ask the kitchen for a couple of sandwiches before we go,” she told him absently. “It’s going to be one of those days.”

He crossed his arms as a waiter put a cup of coffee in front of him, frowning. Damn it. The last thing he wanted was “one of those days.” He wanted a day of relaxation. A day of spending time with Maylee and seeing that beaming smile of hers again. He wanted to see her face light up like it had when she’d bought those ugly, ridiculous souvenirs. He most certainly did not want to spend it listening to a charity or three describing how his money would be best spent by them.

Griffin looked over at Maylee. There were hints of smudges under her eyes. She looked tired, and it wasn’t just from last night. He suspected his grueling schedule would exhaust anyone. He knew he was certainly tired of it. He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. “Have you had a chance to see much of Bellissime, Maylee?”

She was reading emails and her lips moved, as if she were committing the information to memory. He had to repeat the question again before she looked over at him. “What? Oh, no. We’ve been much too busy for that.”

Even as she spoke, she put her hands on the keyboard and began to type again. Then, she pulled out that ridiculous Post-it stack and began to make notes. He constantly found them stuck in the back of the sedan. He’d even found one stuck to the bottom of a shoe once. Just like him, she was running herself ragged.

And for one day, he’d had enough. He thought of her excitement at the paltry souvenir stand they’d visited. How would she react when he showed her Bellissime by the light of day instead of a quick walk at night?

Griffin picked up his coffee cup. “I think I shall be sick today.”

It took a moment for Maylee to stop typing, and when she did, she looked over at him. “Huh?”

“I’m sick,” he enunciated, and took a sip of coffee. “Cancel my appointments.”

“Oh, but . . .” She looked at the computer, then back at him, frowning. “What about—”

“It’s either appointments with my mother, other titled people who want a visit from a royal, or people who want money. Tell the charities that they can send me a bill and I’ll give them what they want. Tell everyone else to sod off.”

She chuckled. “Shall I write it just like that? Lord Montagne Verdi wishes for you to sod off.”

“You can word it much nicer, of course. And then we’re going to go sight-seeing.”

Her eyes lit up, which was all that he needed to know he’d made the right decision.

* * *

After breakfast, they retreated back to their rooms to change. Griffin figured that if they didn’t want to be followed, they’d need disguises. Maylee had picked up a few touristy shirts and baseball caps for family back at home, and so they’d separated to change into jeans and the ugly silkscreened T-shirts. Griffin shoved a baseball cap over his head and frowned at his reflection. “Appalling.”

Of course, when Maylee returned a few minutes later, baseball cap over her curls and a tight T-shirt and jeans outlining her curves, he had to change his mind on their choice of clothing. Her delectable ass filled out her jeans remarkably well.

This, he decided, was a good plan.

“I brought you some sunglasses, too,” she told him, and produced a pair of plastic monstrosities with the lenses printed with the Bellissime flag.

“I have prescription glasses.”

“Yes, and everyone recognizes you in them. Can you see good without them?”

“Can you see well,” he corrected.

“I can see just fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

He sighed. “Never mind. I can see without them, yes.”

“Then put them on. It’s all part of your disguise.”

He did, and turned to give her an unhappy glare.

She choked on a laugh at the sight of him. “Very nice,” Maylee told him, unable to keep a straight face.

“The first place we are going is a sunglasses store,” he admonished her, trying to scowl and unable to in the presence of her happiness.

“Come on,” she told him, and extended her hand for him to take. “I know the back way out of the hotel. No one will see us.”

Griffin put his hand in hers and was surprised at how pleasant it was. Hers was warm and soft and reminded him of her touches last night. This was definitely getting more enjoyable by the minute.

They went through the maze of the hotel and then through the back loading dock, and escaped down a narrow alleyway, walking two blocks before coming out into the midst of the Bellissime streets. They were full of tourists, the streets garlanded with the royal family’s colors.

“Where to first?” Maylee asked him with a squeeze of his hand.

He tapped his sunglasses. “We’re getting rid of these.”

She laughed again, and they went off into the shopping district.

* * *

Griffin decided he rather liked spending time with Maylee. She was fascinated by everything, from the street vendors with wooden puppets in the shape of both the crown princess and Luke Houston, to the chocolate cakes sold on the corners. They passed plenty of stores, but Maylee was more interested in buying things to send to family than for trinkets of her own.

He got a far less embarrassing pair of sunglasses, and he let her lead the way after that. To his surprise, she was just as interested in the older buildings of Bellissime as she was with the touristy stops. Every plaque they passed by, she stopped to read and then would ask him questions. It was a pleasure walking the streets with her and telling her about his homeland, and she soaked up every word. He especially liked her intake of breath when they passed the Saine-Anne de la Vallée Cathedral, the tiny, ancient church that Alex and Luke would be married at a few days hence.

“It’s so beautiful,” she told him.

“It’s very old,” he agreed, and went into an accounting of the church’s history, dating all the way back to Charlemagne. She listened to every word with wide-eyed pleasure. Normally when he went on about his antiquities interests, people got bored or tuned out. Maylee just looked impressed and fascinated. He made a mental note that he’d have to arrange for her to travel with him on a future trip. Perhaps to Peru. Wouldn’t she be impressed with Macchu Picchu? He knew he’d found it a bracing sight, and he wouldn’t mind seeing it again, through her eyes.

Then he frowned at himself. Maylee wasn’t his assistant, but Hunter’s. She was simply on loan.

He wondered how much he could pay her to defect to him. Maylee was loyal as could be, and he wasn’t sure if Hunter would be willing to give her up, since Gretchen seemed fond of her. Of course, hiring Maylee would cause all kinds of new problems. Kip was rather possessive of his job, and the last thing that Griffin needed was two assistants. He’d have to figure out the details somehow.

“Boy, they sure like dessert here, don’t they?” Maylee asked, her drawl catching his attention. She’d paused in the street, staring at a sweets shop.

“Bellissime is very proud of its chocolate,” he agreed. “Do you want to try some?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she said, grinning.

A few minutes later, they emerged from the shop, two gelato cones in hand. Griffin had gotten a traditional chocolate spumoni and Maylee had gotten a chocolate crème de menthe, which she joked was a fancy pants way of saying chocolate and peppermint.

As they left the shop, Maylee gave her cone a lick. “Mine is amazing. I think I love Bellissime.”

He laughed. “We take chocolate very seriously here.”

She eyed his cone. “Is yours better than mine?”

“You want to give it a taste?” They moved to a nearby park bench and sat down. A fountain burbled nearby, and people strolled past, taking pictures. It was all very touristy and pretty. “I’ll share if you want.”

“If I say yes, are you going to laugh at me for eating yours and mine?”

“Not at all. I’d love to watch you lick my cone.” And he wagged his eyebrows at her.

She snorted. “Perv.” But she reached for his hand and dragged his cone toward her mouth, and then gave it a tentative lick. Then, she moaned. “Oh, my God. That’s incredible. Why is everything so good here?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth, the small pink tongue darting out to lick at his cone again, and then retreating back between those pretty, perfect lips.

And now he had a rather uncomfortable erection forming. He closed his eyes and started counting back from a hundred, even as she made little pleased noises in her throat as she ate her gelato.

“You want to taste mine, Griff?”

God, she was really going to drive him to distraction today, wasn’t she? Forget the counting. He opened his eyes and looked over at her, just as she was giving the top of her cone an open-mouthed kiss, her tongue flicking out against it. Chocolate coated her pink lips.

He leaned forward and took her lower lip in his mouth, sucking on it. “Delicious,” he murmured, and then nibbled on her upper lip while she made soft mewing sounds that drove him wild. “I think I like yours better.”

She stared at him, dazed, as he pulled away. Her lips were slightly parted, her mouth wet from his kisses. “You . . . you want to taste it again?” Her voice was breathless.

“More than anything,” he admitted. “But if I do, they’ll cite me for public indecency.”

Her gaze flicked to his lap, where his arm was carefully maneuvered over his cock. And she laughed. “I’m sorry. I’ll behave.”

“Let’s discuss something that will rid me of my problem, shall we? And save the tastings for later.”

“All right,” she said cheerfully, and took a big crunching bite of her cone. After a moment, she said, “Tell me about your childhood.”

That’d do it. Talk of his family always made any sexual thoughts disappear. “Must I?”

“Well, no, I guess you don’t have to.”

Griffin regarded the fountain nearby. “I’m afraid it’s one of those revolting ‘poor little rich boy’ stories. Except when I was growing up, my branch of the family wasn’t all that wealthy. We had several estates but other than the crown’s money, we were essentially bankrupt. My mother, Her Royal Highness Sybilla-Louise, married my father because his branch of the family had an acceptable title and enough wealth to keep the family estates afloat. It was not a love match. Not even close. You’ll notice that with the exception of my cousin Alexandra, not many in the royal family marry for love.”

“It sounds kind of backward,” Maylee observed, giving her cone a furtive lick.

“It is. We like to pretend that the royal family is as enlightened as the current times, but they’re still stuck in old protocol more than any other group I have ever imagined. My family was not a warm one. I rarely saw my parents except for state functions, and my brother and I were shuffled off to live with various nannies at my parents’ country estates. When we were old enough, we went to boarding schools.” He shrugged. “I went to Eton in Great Britain.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Eton? It wasn’t so bad.”

“No, your family. Didn’t you love and care for one another?”

He gave her a wintry smile. “I care more for my cousin Alexandra than I do for anyone else in my family.”

“That’s so sad.” Her round face looked unhappy. “Weren’t you lonely?”

“I suppose. I had my books and my studies. I didn’t need much more than that.”

Her hand reached out and touched his.

Griffin grew uncomfortable with her sympathy. “At any rate, my father died when I was fifteen, and my brother, George, became the duke, which made him even more insufferable than he already was. When I was finished with my studies at Eton, I was called home for a time, but it was rather . . . miserable.” He paused, thinking of George’s angry rages about money, his new wife who cried because he never came home, his mother’s icy demeanor that cared more for the hem of his coat than if Griffin was happy. The constant royal functions and scrutiny. “I asked to go to college in the States. My mother was appalled at the thought, but I would not be budged. At the time, I wanted to get as far away from my family and Bellissime as possible, and I thought the States would be the perfect place to do it.”

“They must have finally let you go,” Maylee commented.

“Mmm. Eventually. I did, however, have to forfeit all claim to the throne in order to leave, though. My mother was convinced that Bellissime wouldn’t approve of a States-bred king, never mind that I was ninth in line and would never see the throne unless a plague descended upon the royal house.” His mouth twitched and he looked over at Maylee. “I’d say the joke is on her, considering that Luke Houston will be the next king of Bellissime.”

Maylee wasn’t laughing, though. Her face wore an expression of sympathy.

“So I forfeited any claim on the throne, abdicated all my titles. My mother had the queen dissolve my original title and my inheritance returned to George’s hands, which made him far more amenable to sending me off to the States once that happened. I was given the title of Viscount Montagne Verdi since it wouldn’t do for Mother to have a mere ‘mister’ for a son.” He smiled thinly. “And so I moved to the States and never went back.”

“And you made truckloads of money,” Maylee said. “And rubbed their noses in it.”

He laughed. “I made truckloads of money,” he agreed. “And then I paid off all of Mother and George’s debts.”

Her brows drew together. “Why?”

“Family loyalty, I suppose.” Though sometimes, he wondered why he did so. It certainly hadn’t improved things with Mother or George. If anything, they resented him more for carving his own path and ending up incredibly wealthy.

“Your family sounds like a bunch of jerks, Griff.”

“They’re titled. They can’t be jerks. Snobs and assholes, yes. Jerks, no.”

She laughed and tossed a piece of her cone to the ground. Immediately, birds flocked to it and she began to tear off another piece. “It sounds very sad and lonely, if you ask me. Do you have family in the States, then?”

He thought of the Brotherhood, his friends who had been at his side and helped him more than any family member possibly could have. “I have friends. It’s enough for me.”

His phone buzzed.

Griffin pulled it out of his pocket and grimaced at the photo that popped up. Jonathan and the foreman of his dig, squatting next to a dug trench and grinning like a pair of idiots. “Speaking of friends,” he said dryly. “Jonathan is determined to make me hate him, it seems.”

She peered over his shoulder at the picture. “Because he’s there and you’re not?”

“I couldn’t abandon Alex,” he said. “Though I do wish heartily that she had eloped.”

Maylee laughed.

Chapter Eleven

They spent the day walking the streets of Bellissime, hand in hand. Maylee purchased a few souvenirs, but they spent most of the time simply strolling, visiting tourist spots, and tasting confections at every dessert shop they passed. By the time they headed back to the hotel, Griffin’s feet hurt and his stomach ached from too much chocolate, but he’d enjoyed every moment of the day.

Maylee tugged her hand from his when they got to their floor and headed to her door.

He was surprised. They’d kissed several times today, and flirted even more. They’d held hands for hours. Was she not going to sleep by him tonight? He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d been thinking about it all day. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head and pushed open her door. “Just need to call my Mama and do a few things.” And she disappeared inside before he could protest.

Was she blowing him off? Tired of spending all her time with him? Frustrated, Griffin tore off the hideous baseball cap he was wearing and tossed it onto the bed. He picked up his book and began to read, but irritation kept him from being able to concentrate. Instead, he got up and began to pace.

The faint sound of Maylee’s voice made him pause, and he leaned against the door adjoining their rooms. She was definitely on the phone, though her voice was pitched too low for him to make out. He sighed and returned back to the bed and picked up his book again, reading the same paragraph over and over. Why was it so important that she call her mother just before bedtime? He’d thought they’d gotten along very well today. Actually, more than just well. He’d never felt so comfortable with a woman. Normally, his relationships were one awkward scenario after another, a brief round of fucking and then eventual mutual apathy.

He could honestly say there was not an ounce of apathy as far as Maylee was concerned. In fact, he rather hated that she was gone. Did he say he hated hovering? Was that why she’d disappeared? To give him space? Because he rather liked her hovering. She listened to all of his stories and seemed genuinely interested in them, as opposed to simply humoring him. He’d even talked about his current project for at least an hour, comparing their theoretical Atlantis to Tarshish and why they were pursuing the ruins in Spain versus the Mediterranean like most assumed where Atlantis was located, if it indeed existed.

She’d seemed interested. Unless he was just bad at reading her? Perhaps he’d said something that troubled her and she wanted someone to complain to? A guilty stab made him sit up in bed. Had he inadvertently hurt her feelings again with his careless words? Hell.

Griffin got up from the bed and went to the adjoining door. He raised his hand to knock just as she opened it.

She looked at his hand in surprise, and then beamed at him. “Miss me, didja?”

He lowered his hand. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope.” She stepped into his room and shut the door behind her.

“Do we need to talk?”

“Nope,” she repeated, and began to undo the zipper on her tight jeans. “Wanna shower?”

“Together?” His cock surged to life in his jeans again.

“Yep, you and me. Just a little bit of hanky panky before bedtime. What do you think?” She gave him a sassy wink and dropped her jeans, then stepped out of them. A string bikini panty curved along her hips and the triangle of fabric in the back seemed to hug her ass more than cover it. It was a glorious sight.

“I think that is a splendid idea,” Griffin murmured, following her into the bathroom.

The bathroom in his suite was almost as large as her room. He had an enormous sunken jetted tub and a stonework shower that swallowed a great deal of the floor. He watched Maylee pad into the room, stripping off her shirt and revealing a plain beige bra that turned him on more than any lacy undergarment he’d ever seen. “You have towels, Griff?”

“Somewhere.” He wasn’t leaving this room, not while she was taking off her clothing.

She went to the counter where his soaps and shampoos were kept in a dainty basket, picked one up, and sniffed it. “Yours are different than mine. Have you been taking the extras every day?”

“Extras?”

“You know, they replace them every morning with new ones. You’re supposed to hide them if you don’t use them so you get new ones every day.”

He frowned. “Isn’t that a bit like stealing?”

“Nope. The hotel expects you to do that.” She wagged her finger at him. “I need you to start hiding the bottles every morning if you don’t use them. And the soaps. For me.”

“I can buy you soaps—”

“It’s not the same as a free hotel score,” she teased him. And she began to unhook her bra.

“I can’t believe we’re having a discussion about purloining hotel soaps while you’re getting naked,” he murmured, fascinated by her casual stripping.

She paused just as she unclasped her bra. “You’re right. You should be getting naked, too.” She let the loose bra hang on her shoulders as she approached him, a mischievous look on her face. Maylee’s hands went to his zipper and she rubbed him through his jeans. “Seems like someone’s mind is on something other than showering.”

He groaned. God, she was forward with a little confidence. He loved it. Hell, he wished he’d dragged her into his bed a week ago. “You’re a vixen.”

“Maybe,” she teased, and rubbed his cock again. “Maybe I’m just encouraging you to get out of these clothes so you can come scrub my back.”

“Is that all you want from me is a back scrub?”

“Depends on how good you are at it,” she said, and her hands went to his shirt, tugging at the hem.

“I’m the best damn back-scrubber you’ve ever met, then.” Griffin grabbed her hands in his and pulled her against him. She tilted her face up to meet him just as he leaned in to kiss her, and their lips met. Once again, he was stunned at how good it was to kiss Maylee. How her lips and tongue melded to his and those soft noises she made when he kissed her. He loved all of it. His hands stroked up and down her bare back, and then he tugged at the loose bra on her shoulders.

She shimmied out of it and then pulled away from him, breathless, those wild curls haloing her face. Her breasts gave a little bounce as she straightened, and he was fascinated by them. They were every bit as gorgeous as he’d pictured them. Her breasts were full, the curves rounded. A small pale pink nipple tipped each one, and he couldn’t help himself; he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers over it. “You’re lovely.”

Maylee whimpered in her throat and tugged at his neck, dragging him back against her. “Kiss me again.”

He did, his tongue stroking into her mouth boldly even as he put both hands on her breasts and cupped and kneaded them as he kissed her. She moaned with pleasure, and he felt her breasts push against his hands as if begging for more. “I love touching you,” he whispered against her mouth.

“We’re never going to make it to the shower at this rate,” she warned him, her eyes full with desire.

“Oh, we will,” he said, and ran his thumb over the tip of one nipple, delighting in her shiver of response. “The only thing better than seeing these gorgeous breasts is the thought of seeing these gorgeous breasts wet and heaving.”

“I want to see you naked, too.”

He grinned at her and tugged his glasses off, placing them down on the counter. Griffin pulled off his shirt, pleased at her admiring glances and the way she reached for him. It was gratifying to know she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

“Now the pants,” she demanded.

“You’re rather bossy, aren’t you?” But he unzippped his pants and shucked them off, his boxers following. As he did, he noticed Maylee was stripping her panties off, too.

Then they were standing in front of each other, completely naked.

She put her fingers to her lips, considering his form. Then, she peeked up at him and smiled. “You’ve been hiding quite a bit under your clothes there, Griff.” Her hand moved forward to stroke his cock. “This is . . . rather inspiring.”

“So is this,” he said, and put a hand over the pale floss of her mound. How had he known she’d be just as blonde between her legs as she was on her head? She was stunning, no two ways about it.

Maylee moaned and pushed against his hand, her arm sliding around his neck.

“Do you like my touch, Maylee?” he murmured, glorying in her jerky nod of response. “You want me to go scrub your back for you now?”

The look she gave him was slightly dazed, and she kept glancing at his mouth, as if torn between kissing him and paying attention to his words. “I think . . . um . . . scrub?”

“You sure?” he teased. “Because I can keep kissing you if you’d rather.” And he flexed his palm against her mound.

“I change my vote to kissing,” she said breathlessly, and leaned in again.

Griffin lightly pressed his mouth to hers, and when she began to kiss along his jaw, he began to drag her toward the shower. “Come on.”

She followed him in, her arms still wrapped around him, her mouth moving over every inch of skin she could touch.

Somehow, he managed to untangle a hand long enough to turn on the water, and then he pulled her inside with him under the spray. He decided this was going to be a quick shower. He grabbed a washcloth from the rack outside of the shower and began to soap it up. Then he began to brush it over her rounded breasts, fascinated by the suds playing over her skin.

“Where’s my cloth?” she asked, her hands smoothing over his skin.

“I’ll do you first,” he promised.

“Won’t it be faster if we soap each other?”

The thought of Maylee rubbing him down as he washed her was a rather enticing one, and Griffin handed her his cloth, then leaned out of the shower to grab a second one. As soon as he wetted it, he turned to her and felt her soapy hand clasp around his cock.

Griffin groaned, his eyes closing. His hand went to her hair, and he dragged her mouth to his, even as her hand continued to stroke along his length. “You’re not going to let me last very long if this keeps up,” he cautioned her, even as his hips pushed against her tight, slick grasp.

“Then don’t last very long,” she teased. “I don’t mind.”

“I think you’re just distracting me from my original task,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her. As his tongue slicked over her parted lips, he placed the wet washcloth over her breast and began to rub in small, pointed circles around her nipple.

Her hands tightened around his cock and she whimpered, pushing against him.

“That’s right,” he murmured between kisses and soapy petting of her body. “You’re rather beautiful, you know that? I can’t get enough of you.”

She gave him a throaty laugh and squeezed his cock again, her fist moving up and down over him in a way that nearly sucked all the air out of his lungs. “That’s just your dick talking.”

“It’s not,” he told her, but she cut off his words with a frantic kiss of her own, and her hand began to stroke him harder and faster. He was going to come if she didn’t stop, but . . . he didn’t want her to stop. Griffin pumped against her soapy hand, and she made needy noises in her throat with every stroke to let him know how much she liked touching him, and those sounds just drove him even wilder.

He came with a hiss, his cum spurting over her hands and stomach once more.

“Mmm, I think I won that round.” Maylee gave him a delicious smile.

“Was it a contest?” he panted when he could catch his breath. “If so, you have to warn me about something like that.”

“Why?”

“So I can use everything in my arsenal to make sure I come out on top.” He pushed her against the wall of the shower, her back hitting the stonework. He pressed another hot, hungry kiss to her mouth, and it lasted so long that she was breathless when he pulled away.

Then, he slid a hand between her legs. “Now, it’s my turn.”

Her moans as she came, rocking against his hand, were rather gratifying.

* * *

Maylee woke up to the alarm clock’s caterwauling and the feel of Griffin’s arm around her. Unlike her normal slow-drag out of bed, she hopped into action almost immediately, tumbling out of bed in her haste. Excitement rushed through her. Today was going to be her surprise for Griffin. Would he be mad, or would he be delighted?

She was kinda hoping for delighted.

“Wake up,” she told Griffin, then leaned over to kiss him. “Big day today.”

“Mmm?” His hand went to her hair and he tugged her down for a longer, more thorough kiss.

She pulled away from him reluctantly and said, “We have to get going or we’re going to be late.”

Griffin sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes, watching her. “What do you mean, late? What can we possibly have scheduled before breakfast?”

“Well, for starters,” Maylee said, bounding out of bed. She headed for the adjoining door so she could change out of his T-shirt and boxers and into her own clothing. “You’re sick again today.”

“What?” he called after her.

Grinning to herself, she ignored him and headed to her closet, dragging out her only pair of jeans she’d brought with her again and another touristy Bellissime shirt. She didn’t have many casual clothes with her, unfortunately, and today definitely did not call for a pantsuit.

Sure enough, Griffin opened the adjoining door without knocking just as she’d pulled his T-shirt over her head. He stopped, stared at her bare breasts for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. “What do you mean, I’m sick again today?”

“I cleared your schedule,” Maylee said, pulling on a bra and deliberately making her breasts jiggle a bit more just to watch Griffin’s gaze head there.

“You did.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her breasts, which was rather amusing.

“I did. And we have to bring breakfast with us, otherwise we’re going to be late for our flight.”

“Our flight,” he echoed, and then seemed to realize what he was saying. “What do you mean, ‘our flight’?”

“I mean, our flight into Cadiz. Well, not Cadiz directly,” she corrected. “But some airport nearby. And then we’re going to drive out to the dig and take a gander at all that stuff Jonathan keeps sending you—”

“But what about the wedding?”

“—And then we’re going to fly back here tonight to be home in time for the wedding,” she finished, and pulled her T-shirt over her head. “But we need to get going if we’re going to make it on time.”

“And my appointments?”

“Will just have to wait or get cancelled,” she said. “You didn’t want to spend the day having tea anyhow, did you?”

Griffin rushed forward, startling Maylee. But he grabbed her cheeks and pulled her in for a loud, smacking kiss. “You are the best woman I have ever met.”

She laughed. “I take it you’re fine with the schedule, then?”

“More than fine,” he said, and then ran for his room. “But let’s hurry up and get to the airport!”

Maylee grinned and slid on her jeans. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

Sixteen hours later, Maylee rode in the back of the sedan, her head cushioned in Griffin’s lap as they headed to the hotel. It had been a long day, but a wonderful one. They’d flown to Spain, drove out to the dig site and met Jonathan, who was just as pleased to see Griffin. And as the men talked, she watched happily as Griffin’s face lit up with enthusiasm. They talked about radar and digital mapping, and Maylee mostly tuned out as Jonathan brought out roll after roll of printouts and the men compared the two, pointing out new or overlooked spots that had been discovered.

Then, they’d gotten into Jonathan’s Jeep and he’d driven them to the excavation locations to show Griffin the progress that was being made. After that, it was a trip to the warehouse where the artifacts were being stored, and discussing what had been found with the archaeologists on the dig.

Maylee was mostly interested in it because Griffin was. She loved seeing his face so animated and happy as he discussed things with Jonathan. She kept out of the conversation so they could chat without having to explain to her what “deep-ground radar” was or the importance of comparing Plato’s work to the ruins they’d located. She simply picked up her knitting and worked on it so she wouldn’t stare at Griffin like a moon-eyed calf the entire time.

Because really? The man was just so cute when he was excited about something.

Jonathan was more of a mystery to Maylee. He seemed more quiet and self-contained than Griffin was, and she’d caught him giving her curious looks throughout the day, as if he couldn’t quite make out what her purpose there was. But he was unfailingly polite to her. And handsome, she admitted. Whereas Griffin had regular, aristocratic features that only flashed over to handsome when he gave her that boyish smile, there was something more dangerous and a bit reckless about Jonathan’s edgy good looks.

She decided she liked Griffin’s face better.

For his part, Griffin had been distracted, but he was still attentive to her. He held her hand when they walked about. When they stood around waiting, he’d pull her in and kiss her hair, or murmur naughty things in her ears that made her blush. He’d even done so in front of Jonathan, which had made the other man raise a curious eyebrow.

Griffin had missed his friend’s expression entirely, but Maylee hadn’t. It made her wonder if Griffin often brought women with him on his precious dig sites, and it made her feel a bit warmer to be sharing this moment with him.

They’d had to eventually leave the site when the sun went down, and they reluctantly headed to the airport to fly back to Bellissime. Still, Griffin was more content than he had been all week, and had a packet of new reports that Jonathan had given him to peruse. Maylee had put zinc on her now-sunburned nose and napped against Griffin for hours while they flew back. Even now, she could barely keep awake as they rode to the hotel, so when he’d encouraged her to put her head down in his lap, she hadn’t needed much persuading. And as she relaxed and snuggled against his strong thighs, he’d absently played with her curls.

And she’d been so utterly content.

This was the Griffin she was coming to adore. This man was not the snarling, arrogant aristocrat, but a scholar filled with enthusiasm for his work. Who didn’t mind if she didn’t hover next to him . . . but still wanted her close by so he could hold her hand or press kisses to her skin in idle moments. Who smiled at her like she’d lit the sun that day.

She could fall in love with a guy like that.

When they got back to the hotel room, he insisted on dragging her into his room. Not for sex, he told her, but just so they could sleep together. She’d half-fallen asleep before she’d even taken her pants off, and had drowsily flicked in and out of consciousness as Griffin removed her sneakers and jeans, and then crawled into bed next to her.

She could have sworn he’d said, “You are an exceedingly wonderful woman, Maylee,” just as she’d drifted off to sleep, but it might have been her imagination.

* * *

The next morning was a flurry of activity. They’d woken up earlier than usual, as Griffin had to be at the palace early for a wedding breakfast. Then, he’d have to change into his full regalia, attend the ceremony at the tiny church in the heart of Bellissime, and then endure hours of photographs before he could finally escape. There was a wedding reception that evening because Luke’s family was American and insisted on it, but Her Royal Highness Sybilla-Louise had been appalled at the thought of spending more time in the company of Americans, so she would not be attending. Neither would the queen, who was ancient and had an early bedtime.

Griffin figured that since they would not be attending, it would be safe for him to skip out on things. He’d buy his cousin Alex a nice wedding present to make up for it, maybe a chateau in the Noire Valley. He knew she rather liked the place.

But first, he had to get through the day, and it was going to be long and tedious, and he told Maylee so repeatedly while she tried to fix his tie.

She slapped him lightly on the chest. “Hold still, Your Royal Fussiness.”

“Actually, my correct title would be Viscount Fussiness, or Lord Fussiness,” he corrected, and couldn’t resist running the backs of his fingers over the curve of her breast as she leaned over him. “I’m not a royal highness in title any longer.”

Maylee wiggled away and gave his tie one last pat. “You’re all fancy now, Lord Fussiness,” she told him, but there was a smile in her voice. “And it could be worse. You could have to wear one of these ridiculous little hats.” She pointed at the powder blue feathered-and-netted confection in her pale curls.

“It’s called a fascinator,” he told her. “Everyone will be wearing one. It’s polite.”

“It looks like a quail got netted and slapped on a plate,” she grumbled. “And then smacked onto my head.”

He chuckled, because it did look a bit like that. “If I have to wear ridiculous clothes for this wedding, you do, too.”

“Yes, but I’m not in the wedding,” she teased, adjusting the tiny decorative net on her fascinator. “I’m merely a lowly servant who has no duties except to wait on you hand and foot.”

“A delectable, enchanting servant,” he corrected, unable to stop himself from leaning in to kiss her neck. “With a rather lovely pair of breasts that I can’t seem to stop touching.” He reached into her modest neckline and placed a hand over her breast, delighted that her nipple hardened at his touch.

“Now you listen to me, Lord Naughty,” she said breathlessly, and squirmed away from his hand, though she turned and snuggled up against his chest. Her fingers touched his freshly shaven chin and the slight cleft there. “If you behave yourself today, I was just thinking that we might make ample use of this lovely hotel room while you have it.”

His cock immediately hardened in his pants. “Oh?”

“Yep.” Her eyes flashed desire at him, and she lightly traced his jawline with her nails. “Think the hotel has a box of condoms we could snatch up?”

“I can’t send to the hotel for condoms,” he said hoarsely. “It’d be in every Bellissime scandal rag in the morning.”

She gave a mock pout that fascinated him, her pink lower lip gleaming and plump. “Then I guess we don’t get to have much fun tonight, do we? What a shame, because I was so looking forward to it—”

Unable to stop himself, Griffin leaned in and kissed the hell out of that sultry little mouth. Her stupid fascinator banged against his glasses, but he didn’t care. Once his lips touched hers, Maylee’s mouth was open and warm and willing, and her tongue met his with equal desire. By the time he pulled her away, she was staring up at him with a dazed look that made him want to throw her onto the bed and fuck the hell out of her, wedding be damned.

Griffin glanced over at the clock. Blast. He had to be at the royal palace within the hour. “This fucking wedding is killing me.”

She gave him a soft, sultry giggle and straightened his tie. “How about I have the driver drop you off at the palace and then I have him swing me around to the pharmacy to pick up some condoms?” Her fingers smoothed down his jacket, and then slid all the way down the front of his pants to cup his already aching erection. “Extra-large, I’m guessing?”

“You know how to flatter a man.” Griffin reluctantly removed her hand, even though he wanted to shove against it over and over until he came. “And that sounds like a lovely plan, darling. Hellish breakfast, even more hellish wedding, then fucking until dawn.”

“Until dawn?” She gave him an impressed look. “Perhaps I should buy two boxes of condoms, then.”

“Not necessary,” he told her.

“Not much stamina in the royal pole, milord?” she said in the worst copy of a British accent he’d ever heard. It was downright adorable.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against her ear. “I figure if we run out, I can just spend the rest of the evening tonguing that rather charming little pussy of yours.”

Her sucked-in breath was extremely gratifying to hear. She whimpered. “I might need to change my panties before we go to the palace.”

“Poor baby,” he said with zero sympathy, his own cock throbbing for release. As she hurried into the other room, he sat on the edge of the bed and began to count backward from one hundred.

When that didn’t work, he did it again.

Tonight was going to be worth every day of this ridiculous running around, he decided.

* * *

A short time later, they headed down to the bottom floor of the hotel. The manager met them as they emerged from the elevator, a worried frown on his face.

“Lord Montagne Verdi, there are quite a few photographers at the front of the building. I’ve arranged to have an unmarked sedan parked at the back of the hotel, and your driver is awaiting you there. If you’ll please follow me, I’ll lead you there.”

“Damn paparazzi,” Griffin said, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. “Very well.”

Maylee juggled his newly dry-cleaned ceremonial jacket in her other arm, moving to Griffin’s side. “It’ll all be over with soon, Griff,” she murmured.

He shot her a look just as the manager did, but said nothing, and for a moment, she wondered what she’d done wrong. It was just nerves, she decided. Griffin hated parading around people. He was likely to get all stiff and prickly today. She would just have to ignore it and tease him about it later.

Despite going down the back hallways of the hotel, there were still too many people lingering about. It seemed that all of the staff had turned out that day and were finding excuses to travel down the hall at the same time they were. All eyes were on Griffin, and because she was with him, Maylee. She felt stupid in her silly fascinator hat, as well as uncomfortable and out of place. Were these people looking at her and judging her because her hair was in the curls that Griffin frowned upon so much? Was her dress tucked into the back of her pantyhose? She surreptitiously felt her butt, but everything seemed okay on that end. She was just nervous.

Maylee looked at Griffin and he seemed equally tense. Poor man. Her heart swelled with affection for him, and she knew that starchy, I-loathe-everything-and-everyone look on his face masked his own unease. Sidling a bit closer as they walked down the long hall, she brushed her hand against his and attempted to take his fingers in her own.

His hand brushed off hers.

Maybe he hadn’t noticed her attempt to take his hand? She strode a little closer to him and deliberately took his hand into hers.

He pulled away and looked over at her with a frown. “Not today, Maylee.”

She blinked in surprise. “What do you mean, not today?”

He shifted, walking a little faster as if trying to remain out of her grasp. “Today, I am Viscount Montagne Verdi, and I do not hold hands.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Her cheeks burned with mortification and she avoided the gaze of the people watching them.

How utterly humiliating.

He didn’t notice her discomfort, and he said nothing. He wasn’t even looking at her. Maylee was confused, but she figured it must just be nerves.

That was what it had to be, right? He wouldn’t be cruel to her again, not after how close they’d gotten? Not after their wonderful day yesterday? He’d cuddled her and held her hand as they’d toured the dig in Spain. What was different today?

They were silent as they got into the car and drove toward the palace. The streets were crammed with people, street barricades and police officers lining the way. Bellissime flags were everywhere, and Maylee began to get caught up in the excitement of the day. They were about to see a royal wedding. Heck, she was going to see it firsthand!

Well, almost. She’d actually be waiting in the back with the rest of the staff, but that was okay, too.

The crush of people near the gates of the palace was overwhelming, and the driver’s car slowed to a crawl. “My goodness,” Maylee murmured. “Everyone’s so excited.”

“It’s not every day a princess marries an actor,” Griffin said in a dry voice.

“I suppose not.” She gave him a curious look, wondering at his mood. He sounded a bit more like his unpleasant old self.

When they got to the front doors of the palace, a guard came down the steps and the chauffeur got out of the car to come to Griffin’s door. To Maylee’s surprise, Griffin leaned over and gave her a quick, fierce kiss on the lips. “You’ll go and get the condoms?”

“I’ll go,” she agreed, and laughed at the look of pleasure on his face. That was more like the man she knew. His hurtful action earlier had to simply be nerves. “See you soon.”

And then he was gone. As he appeared from the car, she could hear the roar of the crowd grow larger and larger, and he paused to straighten his jacket, giving a faint wave before heading inside. Even if Griffin didn’t like the crowds, they liked him. What wasn’t to like, Maylee mused to herself, waiting for the driver to get back at the wheel. He was young, handsome, incredibly wealthy, and titled. And reclusive. It was a fairy tale in the making.

“Where to, miss?” the driver said once he got back into the car.

“A pharmacy,” she said, ignoring the blush on her cheeks. “And then we’ll head back to the palace, but to the servant’s entrance.” She wasn’t allowed through the front doors.

“Very well, madam.”

The drive to the pharmacy took longer than she imagined, thanks to the crowds. It was hard not to get excited by their enthusiasm. Everywhere she saw pictures of Alex’s elegant face, her engagement portrait with Luke, Bellissime flags, and little girls wearing wedding veils. This was a fairy tale day for everyone involved, it seemed, and it was so fun to be part of it.

The driver eventually pulled up to a corner building. “Pharmacy, madam.”

“Thank you. I’ll be just a moment,” she told him, and got out of the car before he could get her door for her. She hurried inside, feeling conspicuous with her hat and dress. Inside, the pharmacy was quaint, the shelves short and loosely filled with an assortment of items. There seemed to be more souvenirs at the front than actual pharmaceuticals, she thought wryly to herself, but went up and down the meager aisles, searching for condoms. It felt a little embarrassing to be buying only condoms, so she grabbed a box and then headed to the souvenir stands. She’d already purchased most of the postcards and tiny flags and a commemorative mug, but today, the stands were full of newspapers and magazines, all proudly headlining the marriage of the beloved Crown Princess Alexandra to American actor Luke Houston. One paper had an enormous picture of Luke and Alex kissing at the ball, and underneath the headline was the subhead Updates On All of the Royal Family!

Curious if Griffin was there, she picked up the thick paper and then headed to the counter. The clerk gave her a curious look, but said nothing. He rang her up and Maylee paid with Griffin’s business card that he’d given her a few days before. Then, she headed back out to the sedan.

“Back to the palace,” she announced, tucking the box of condoms into the seat next to her. When the sedan crawled out onto the crowded streets again, she picked up the newspaper and began to flip through it. There were pictures of Alex and Luke in various stages of life, which were charming. After the first ten pages of photos dedicated to Luke and the princess, the paper began to include other members of the royal family. Several pages were dedicated to the queen herself, then her children. There was Alex’s mother, a distant-seeming woman. There was the widowed HRH Sybilla-Louise, looking just as regal and incredibly unpleasant as usual. Next came the grandchildren of the queen, and Maylee paused at a man who seemed a lot like Griffin. George, Duke of Calcaire, the paper read, eldest son of HRH Sybilla-Louise. That must have been Griffin’s older brother. He didn’t look pleasant either, she decided. No wonder Griffin never wanted to spend time with his family. She looked at the pictures of George with his wife, a timid-seeming blonde with a child at her side. One page was entirely devoted to George’s notorious philandering, and Maylee felt sorry for his poor wife, who had to endure public humiliation.

But that’s not the only royal who can’t keep it in his pants, the bottom of the page proclaimed with a big red arrow indicating that the reader should turn the page. Obligingly, Maylee did so, curious.

And stopped, stunned.

There was Griffin.

Griffin, unsmiling and staring ahead at the camera, at his mother’s side in an official palace photo. Another photo of Griffin, blurry and grainy, sitting with her on the park bench and sharing ice-cream cones and kissing. Someone had been following them that day.

But the worst was a picture of Griffin at the ball, standing with a tall, beautiful woman in a low-cut dress. She was leaning in to touch Griffin’s face as Griffin was smiling at her.

He was smiling at her. At this strange, beautiful woman. The caption of the photo read, Viscount Montagne Verdi cozies up with Her Royal Highness Princess Heloise of Saxe-Gallia. Will he finally make an honest woman out of her?

The caption under her picture with Griffin, of that innocent day on the park bench sharing gelatos? Lord Verdi sows some wild oats with one of his American mistresses.

Maylee felt as if she’d been slapped in the face.

One of?

Her gaze flicked back to the picture of Griffin with the princess. Make an honest woman out of her? Her? Trembling, Maylee folded the newspaper and brought it closer so it was easy to read despite the blur of tears in her eyes.

Old friends Lord Verdi and HRH Heloise snuggle at the princess’s wedding ball. Rumor has it that the viscount returned to Bellissime specifically to request her hand in marriage, and sources say that the two have never been closer. The viscount’s family has reportedly been pushing for a match between the two royals, as it would connect the house of Bellissime with the royal house of Saxe-Gallia in a much anticipated union. The two have been friends since childhood. “It’s only a matter of time,” says a close confidant of the pair. “Mark my words. He’ll marry her when he’s ready to settle down.”

She dropped the newspaper onto the seat, repulsed. She’d been flirting with the man, undressing and showering with him. Sleeping in his bed. Kissing him. Hell, she’d gone out to buy condoms today, and all the while, he was flirting with a royal princess who he intended on marrying? Who was Maylee to him if she wasn’t his girlfriend?

With a sick lurch in her stomach, she remembered her attempt to hold his hand that morning. He’d turned her away. Not right now.

She understood what that meant. Not in public.

Not where others can see us.

Not if he was going to marry a princess.

He didn’t want to be seen with her if she was just a convenient fuck.

Maylee burst into tears.

“Madam?” The driver looked back in the rearview mirror at her. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, sure,” she said, and only cried harder. She felt so stupid. She felt . . . crushed. She’d really thought they had something, that she’d seen who the real Griffin was underneath that starchy exterior, but now she wondered if he’d only changed because he’d wanted someone to fuck before he proposed to a princess.

It hurt so much.

“Here, take this,” the driver said, and Maylee looked up to see him passing her a small box of Kleenex through the glass partition to the back seat.

“Thank you,” she blubbered, and took the box from him. She mopped at her face, wincing at the mascara streaks appearing on the tissue. She’d have to fix her makeup before heading back to the palace. Her stomach dropped at the thought, and she dragged out a tiny mirror.

Maylee stared at her reflection for a long moment, and then ripped the fascinator out of her hair and tossed it on the floorboards of the car.

“Do you need a few minutes before we go back to the palace, madam?”

She wiped at her face again and thought, staring out the tinted window at all the gloriously happy people lining the streets, waiting for the fairy tale wedding to pass by. What a joke. Maylee balled up the tissue and tossed it down, then grabbed another, stuffing a few more into her small handbag. She’d probably need handfuls of them if she was going to try and make it through the day.

The blue cover of her passport stared back at her, sticking out of her purse. Maylee paused and stared at it. She always kept her ID and her passport on her at all times. She thought of the items back in her room. Some jeans, some souvenirs, and several outfits that Griffin had bought her because she was too embarrassing to be seen in public with . . . or to hold hands with.

That hurt so much.

She dragged out her tiny coin purse and began to dig through it, looking for something. Sure enough, sandwiched between a few Bellissime coins, she found a loose happy pill. She always kept one at hand in case of travel emergency, and it didn’t matter if it was covered in lint or expired—she popped it into her mouth and swallowed it dry.

“Can you take me to the airport?” she asked the driver.

“Yes, madam.”

“Thank you, kindly.” And Maylee gave him a teary smile.

* * *

The day had been pure and utter hell.

By the time Griffin emerged from the royal palace after the wedding and all the obligatory waving to the crowd, he was in a foul mood. The wedding itself had been a series of last-minute disasters. There were the expected issues with fittings and servants rushing everywhere, compounded with photographers and paparazzi determined to break into the grounds of the palace and police guards just as determined to pick them off before they made it up the marble steps.

The streets had been so crowded that the royal family hadn’t been able to make it to the tiny Bellissime chapel, and Alex had been so upset that she’d insisted her wedding occur inside the palace itself. So they’d had an impromptu wedding right at the base of the queen’s throne, the first in Bellissime history, much to HRH Sybilla-Louise’s dismay.

Maylee hadn’t returned with his ceremonial jacket, and she was nowhere to be found. Annoyed and tense, he’d snapped at his mother’s equerry until the man located the suit, which had been dropped off with one of the drivers. Maylee had vanished, and Griffin felt a nagging bit of worry. She must have been sick and gone back to the hotel. He hoped she was all right. The thought of that sunny smile dampened by the flu made him feel a pang of sympathy. He’d get her some chicken noodle soup on the way home, he decided, and sent the order downstairs to the palace kitchens.

By the time his cousin was safely wedded and all photographs and public appearances were done, Griffin felt wrung out and exhausted. He didn’t care about having sex with Maylee that night. She was sick, and he was tired. He simply wanted to go back to his room and hold her. Tangle his fingers in those glorious curls and tell her all about the brutality of his day. Listen to her sweet, drawling voice as she comforted him. Snuggle up against her delicious, curvy body.

His dick decided that it cared about having sex, though. Just a little. He adjusted his pants surreptitiously in the back of the sedan, eyeing the bagged container of chicken noodle soup on the floorboard that the kitchens had prepared for his ride home. There was a piece of white sticking out from under one of the seats, and he reached down to grab it.

When he realized it was a used tissue, he nearly dropped it in disgust, but the black smears on it made him pause. It looked like mascara. His heart gave a funny clench and he lifted the Kleenex so the driver could see it. “What is this?”

The man gazed in the rearview mirror. “Looks like a hanky, my lord.”

Sigh. “No, what is it doing in the back of my sedan?”

“The madam must have dropped it before she headed to the airport, my lord.”

He stilled. “Airport?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Griffin gritted his teeth. For once, he hated the rules that the well-trained staff of the monarchy followed, especially the “do not converse with the family.”

“Why did you drive my assistant to the airport?”

“She insisted, my lord. She was crying quite a bit.”

“Crying? Was everything all right?”

“I don’t know, my lord.” The man’s gaze in the rearview mirror was carefully neutral. “She left a few things in the car and I wasn’t sure what to do with them. They’re in the trunk.”

“I want to see them.”

They pulled up to the back of the hotel and Griffin hopped out, clenching the wad of tissue in his hand. “Open the trunk,” he demanded, and knocked on it in case the man was going to take his sweet time obeying.

A moment later, he heard the pop of the trunk release, and Griffin opened it, looking inside. Maylee’s fascinator was there, and the sight made his heart stop in his chest out of fear. What on earth was wrong? What made her cry and take off her hat and abandon him today? She was his assistant, damn it.

He picked her hat up, as well as a newspaper. Underneath the newspaper, there was a box of condoms. He picked it up as well, mystified and frustrated. She’d gone through with her flirty words and picked up the condoms. What had changed?

The driver came around to the back and gave Griffin a curious look, holding out his bag with the containers of chicken noodle soup. He must have seemed strange, clutching a woman’s feathery hat, a newspaper, and a box of condoms, but he took the soup from the man and paused. “Why did she want to go to the airport?”

“She didn’t say, my lord.” This time, there was a hint of reproach in the man’s face, as if it were Griffin’s fault.

And that irritated him. “Thank you,” Griffin said abruptly. He turned and stalked into the hotel.

When he passed the security guard posted at the elevator to his floor, he asked the man, “Did my assistant come back here earlier today?”

“No, my lord. Shall I ring the front desk—”

“No.” He tried to raise a hand to stop the man, but he was still clutching the box of condoms. Hell, he probably looked like an idiot. “Thank you.”

Griffin tossed his assorted parcels when he got back to his room and immediately headed for their adjoining door. Maylee’s room was just as she’d left it, her suitcase and clothing still in place, bags of souvenirs at the bottom of her closet. He picked up her suitcase and opened it. It was empty of everything except a small bag filled with hotel soaps and shampoos.

She’d left all her things behind. He didn’t understand. She’d left him without a word—abandoning her job—and she’d been crying.

Had a family member died? Was that why she’d been in such a hurry? Concern for her shook through him, and he thought of his soft, sweet Maylee devastated at the death of her mother or one of her grandparents. She had such a good, kind heart. It would crush her.

He immediately checked his phone to see if there were messages. Nothing. Perhaps she’d been too upset to leave one. Griffin pulled out his cellphone and checked it twice, then tried leaving himself a message to make sure it wasn’t malfunctioning.

Then, he dialed the front desk. “I want a driver here in the morning—a new driver,” he amended, thinking of the reproachful look the chauffeur had given him. “And I need someone to come up and pack my bags in the morning. And I need my plane chartered for a flight out in the morning. Did you get all that?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, did you say you need your bags packed—”

“Just do it,” he snapped, and hung up. Great, now he was feeling more helpless than usual. He’d fucking pack the things himself. Grabbing a suitcase, he flung it on the bed and began to shove clothes into it. He stopped when he’d only made it through his jackets and there was no more room in his suitcase. He only had two more and over half of his closet to go. How the devil had Kip managed to squeeze all of his clothing into these things?

Frustrated, he sat down on the edge of the bed and raked a hand through his hair. It was slicked down with gel as his usual style—Maylee had protested it this morning but he’d insisted, since he didn’t want to draw attention to himself—and his fingers caught in it. Damn it, he didn’t even like his own hair anymore. He needed Maylee to show him how to fix it again so he didn’t look like an idiot.

As he stared ahead, combing his fingers through his hair, his gaze fell on the newspaper. He’d picked it up without giving it a second thought since Maylee had left it in the car, and he’d just now noticed that the pages seemed to be curled and left open at a particular spot.

Griffin picked up the newspaper and flipped pages. It fell open to the middle, where someone had clearly been reading.

The two-page splash was full of pictures of him. Him with Maylee, him with that blasted Saxe-Gallia princess.

Lord Verdi sows some wild oats with one of his American mistresses.

Dried tear-stains rumpled the paper, and Griffin suddenly knew why his assistant had abandoned him.

Chapter Twelve

The flight back to New York was interminably long. Griffin spent most of it on phone calls. First were the cancellations of the rest of his Bellissime appointments. He was scheduled to stay in the country for at least another week, and had to make his excuses to everyone, most of all his mother. Then there were calls to Kip to arrange his travel home, a car to pick him up, and a million other things that seemed to pile up everywhere he turned.

How had Maylee managed to keep it all straight? He found her Post-it notes stuck to his laptop, and grew frustrated all over again.

She hadn’t trusted him in the slightest. That irritated him and wounded his pride. He’d been at her side every moment of the trip. When did she think he’d have time to go philandering about on her? Hadn’t he let her wear his family’s jewelry? Didn’t she realize what a privilege that was?

He’d give her a day or two to let her emotions calm down, he decided, and then he’d talk to her. Once she realized how foolish she was being, she’d return to him and he’d take her to bed. Then, she’d feel silly she ever doubted him.

Griffin slept on the plane, pleased with his plans. He returned to his townhouse, greeted a rather spotty Kip, and waited for Maylee to contact him.

A few days later, however, he hadn’t heard from her, and he was rather concerned. Was she not aware that he’d followed her home from Bellissime? He searched for her phone number, but it was nowhere to be found. Blast, that was rather irritating.

So he texted Hunter. Tell your assistant to call me. It’s important.

A few minutes later, he picked up the phone. “Maylee?”

“Hello, dick.” That was not Maylee.

“Gretchen,” Griffin greeted, his lip curling with dislike. “Why are you calling me?”

“You told Hunter to have his assistant call. Looky there, we’re on the phone. Magic, right?”

“Where’s Maylee?”

“She quit.”

“What do you mean, she quit?”

“I mean, she quit, you asshole. She just emailed me and asked me to forward her last check to her apartment. Said she couldn’t work for Hunter anymore. What did you do to her, you prick?”

“You really should quit calling me names—”

“You really should stop being such a total dickbag—”

He hung up on her. Griffin stared at the phone for a minute, and then picked it up to call back.

“Hello,” Gretchen said in a sweet voice.

“Just give me Maylee’s address. I’ll go talk to her myself.”

“I want to know what you did to her first. Were you mean to her?”

He sighed. “I was not.”

“Really? Cause I don’t believe that.”

“All right, I was mean to her in the beginning—”

“That I believe—”

“—but then we grew to like each other.” How did Hunter ever get a word in edgewise?

“That I don’t know that I believe,” Gretchen said. “It would take a lot to make that nice girl quit, but you managed to do so in the space of a single trip. I mean, do you know how often Hunter snarls at her? And she just sucks it up and takes it. But then here you come in, and we find Maylee’s packed up and run off.”

I’m a Meriweather. We don’t run and hide from our troubles. You can be as mean to me as you want, Mr. Griffin, but I’m going to do my job to the best of my ability, no matter how nasty you are.

“If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, you cannot possibly make me feel worse than I already do.”

“What if I told you that she’d called me up, bawling her eyes out?”

His breath caught in his throat. “She did?” His poor, sweet, sunny Maylee must have been so hurt. He felt like such a royal ass.

“Well, no. I was just curious what you’d say if I told you that.”

He hung up on Gretchen again.

A moment later, his phone buzzed with an incoming text. Maylee’s address is here. She listed the address and followed it with a YOU’RE WELCOME.

It killed him to type thank you, but he did anyhow.

* * *

Maylee’s building was repugnant. Griffin frowned to himself as he headed up the steps, eyeing the tinfoil in several of the windows. Air conditioners dripped condensation from above, leaving trails on the brick and making the entire place look as if it were weeping. He didn’t blame it. The building was a hovel.

He knocked on Maylee’s door, and there was no answer. Concerned, he headed down to the first floor and looked for the apartment of the landlord. He found one door that was less beat up than the others, took a guess, and knocked.

A dirty man in an equally dirty undershirt glared at him. “What do you want?”

It took everything he had not to hold a handkerchief to his nose in disgust. “I’m looking for Miss Meriweather.”

“She left.”

“What do you mean, she left?”

“She moved out.”

Frustration made Griffin’s nostrils flare. “Are you lying to me?”

The man crossed his arms and glared back at Griffin. “You calling me a liar?”

He was, actually. But he wasn’t going to get anywhere accusing this man. So he pulled out his wallet and opened it . . . and frowned because it was empty. Goddamn it. “Wait right here,” he told the man.

Ten minutes later, he’d borrowed cash from his driver and returned to the landlord’s door. He peeled several twenties off the stack and held them out to the man. “I want to see her apartment.”

The man regarded him as if he were a dirty pervert, and for a moment, he felt like one. But he thought of the newspaper she’d left behind, and the clues it had offered him. Perhaps she’d left other things as well. Perhaps this man was lying to him because Maylee had asked him to.

He had to know.

So he followed the sleazy landlord to the back of the building and watched as the man opened a rickety door with a set of keys. He pushed it open and gestured at Griffin. “Don’t make a mess in there, buddy.”

Griffin grimaced. Did he think he was going to jerk off on Maylee’s things? He made a mental note to see about buying this building. Hunter would know how real estate worked. Right now, Griffin’s main thought was getting that landlord out of here. If he would take a couple of bills and show a woman’s apartment to a stranger, Maylee wasn’t safe here.

He walked in to her apartment. It didn’t take much, considering it was one small, dirty windowless room. He was appalled at the sight of it, the cracks in the walls, the water damage in the corner of the ceiling. There was no bathroom, no closet, no nothing. A mattress lay on the floor, the only thing remaining in the room. Despite the small dankness of the place, it was clean.

He couldn’t imagine his sunny Maylee here in this pit.

“Do you want to stay here alone for a while?” the man behind him asked. “I can look the other way for the right price.”

Griffin gave the man a scathing look, ignoring his question. “She left nothing here?”

“Nothing,” he said. “She left in a hurry. Probably got fired from her job.” He snorted in derision.

Griffin’s jaw tensed with anger. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.” He turned and stalked out of the hole of her apartment, angrier than ever.

You can be as mean to me as you want, Mr. Griffin, but I’m going to do my job to the best of my ability, no matter how nasty you are.

She’d put up with everything to succeed here, and he’d somehow destroyed that—and her heart—in one fell swoop.

Angry at the world, but mostly at himself, Griffin went back to his sedan. As he got in and waved the driver to return to his townhouse, he began to text Hunter.

Tell Gretchen I’m a dick. And ask her if I can please have Maylee’s home address. Her home in . . . wherever in God’s name she would have gone back to. Arkansas? Louisiana? One of those places where they all talk like she does.

Soft, sweet, and adorable.

Griffin ran a hand down his face. He really was a fucking prat, wasn’t he?

* * *

“The Brotherhood’s going to be light one member tonight,” Reese said as he lit his cigar. “Jonathan ran off on one of his half-cocked trips again.”

Griffin frowned at his cards. He’d been waiting for Jonathan to show up so he could talk to him about their joint dig. But he found that he didn’t give much of a shit at the moment. Maylee’s missing presence was gnawing at him like an ache. He could talk about archeology any time, but now he just wanted his girlfriend back.

Was that what Maylee was to him? Griffin scowled at his hand of cards, not even seeing them. Girlfriend seemed like the wrong word. It was too frivolous, too silly for how he felt at the moment.

All he knew was that he needed Maylee, and she was gone because he’d hurt her. And he needed to fix it.

Logan eyed him from across the table, frowning. “You going to bid, Griff?”

Griffin stared at his cards, still not seeing them, and gave up. He folded and waved a hand at the table, and Cade and Reese tossed their chips in after Logan.

The basement door opened, and Griffin looked up, his heart slamming. He wanted to see Hunter tonight . . . but more than that, he wanted to see Gretchen. Maybe they would know something.

The person he’d been waiting to see walked down the stairs—Hunter. The scarred, broody billionaire shrugged off his sport coat and tossed it onto a nearby chair, and then sat down at the table.

A moment later, lighter feet thumped down the stairs. “Save me a spot, baby!”

Logan groaned. Cade grinned, and Reese kept his expression carefully neutral as his new sister-in-law, Gretchen Petty, bounded into the room and sat at the table, her voice breathless. “Sorry I’m late. I had to take a wicked piss.”

“Thank you for sharing,” Logan said in a dry voice. He shot a look at Hunter. “I wasn’t aware you were coming to every meeting from now on, Gretchen.”

“I invited her,” Hunter said, glaring back at Logan.

“You know Griff and Jonathan don’t like her here. We’re brothers first and foremost.”

“I’m fine with it,” Griffin said, speaking up. He watched Gretchen, trying not to seem too hopeful. He didn’t want her to leave, not tonight. He wanted her to stay so he could weasel information about Maylee out of her.

Gretchen noticed Griffin and beamed a too-sweet smile in his direction. “Hello, dickface.”

“Is that really necessary—” Cade began.

“It’s fine,” Griffin said in a weary voice. “I seem to be on the shit list of several females lately.”

“Oh, shit,” Reese said. He leaned over and elbowed Griffin. “What did you do? Too much pussy back in the home country?”

Griffin glared at Reese. That was a little too close to the mark.

Gretchen scooted her chair in between Reese and Hunter, deliberately ignoring the conversation. “So what are we playing? Slapjack?”

“Slapjack?” Reese gave her an incredulous look. “Are you fucking high? It’s poker!”

“We should play slapjack,” Gretchen said. “Hunter would be awesome at it. He’s got a really strong right hand. All those years of jerking off—”

“Gretchen,” Hunter said mildly, cutting her off. But his mouth twitched, and Griffin suspected he was laughing inwardly.

“What? Isn’t this how guys talk with one another? All sex and broads talk?” She winked at Hunter and reached over to stroke his thigh under the table.

At least, Griffin hoped to hell that it was his thigh.

“We’re playing poker,” Reese repeated. “Or at least, some of us are. Some of us are just folding at the start of every round.” And he scowled in Griffin’s direction.

“He’s mad at himself because he’s a dickface,” Gretchen said again.

“Isn’t it interesting that every time Gretchen shows up, she makes the entire meeting about her?” Cade’s words were teasing. He and Gretchen were old friends.

“I’m my own favorite subject,” she agreed, and Hunter put a hand around her shoulders protectively. As if that horrific female needed protecting, Griffin thought to himself. She was like a rabid animal even on her good days.

“So why is Griffin a dickface?” Logan asked.

“Other than the usual,” Reese said with a grin.

“He borrowed Hunter’s secretary for his trip, fucked her, and then fired her,” Gretchen declared.

“Goddamn it,” Griffin said, his temper finally flaring. “I didn’t fuck her, and I certainly did not fire her.”

“If you didn’t fuck her, then why are you so moody?” Logan asked.

“Blue balls,” Reese chimed in.

Griffin glared at Reese again. “Shouldn’t you be at home with your pregnant wife?”

“Brotherhood meeting tonight. Very important stuff.” He chewed on his cigar with a wink. “Plus, I’m not getting any right now. Audrey’s got morning sickness night and day. So I might as well be here.”

“Spoken like a true gentleman,” Cade murmured.

“Oh, fuck off,” Reese said in a cheery voice. “After we get out of here, I’m going to that pickle place she loves on the Upper West Side for her. And then I’m stopping to get her ice cream. I should be fucking sainted after all that.”

“I’m still not clear on why we’re all mad at Griffin for not fucking his assistant,” Logan said.

“Maybe she really wanted sex and Griffin denied her because he’s got a massive stick up his ass,” Gretchen mused. “Whatever it was, he made her quit and she ran back home, and now my poor sweetie doesn’t have an assistant at his office.” She gave Hunter a soft look. “I’m helping out, but we’re not getting much work done.”

“Oversharing, sweetheart,” Hunter murmured.

“You love it,” Gretchen said with a wink. And she stroked his thigh again.

“At any rate, I came here tonight to pass on a nugget of advice,” Gretchen said brightly, and her gaze narrowed back in on Griffin. “I know Maylee. I like Maylee. I hate that you hurt her. But I can see you’re not all sunshine and roses at the moment either, so I hope you’re as messed up over her leaving as she is. And I just want to say that if you like her? Go after her and show it. You’re kind of shitty at that whole ‘likability’ thing.”

“Gretchen,” Hunter murmured again.

“It’s true,” she protested. “He’s about as warm and friendly as a popsicle.”

Griffin considered this. Gretchen, in her uncouth way, had hit the nail on the head. He was terrible at showing affection. It wasn’t in his nature, and his war with his lineage and what was expected and proper for that compared to what was expected in a normal relationship didn’t mesh. She was right. He wasn’t good at this.

And maybe, for Maylee’s sake, he needed to try harder. Would it have killed him to hold her hand when she’d wanted it held? It would have meant so much to her, and he wouldn’t be in the situation he was now.

Why in the hell had he cared so much? Why did it matter what people in Bellissime thought of him? He didn’t live there anymore, didn’t want to live there anymore, so why had he panicked when she’d tried to show a little public affection?

“Well?” Gretchen challenged.

“Stunningly good advice, actually,” Griffin said. “Thank you, Gretchen.”

She blinked. “Okay, I admit, I wasn’t expecting that. But since you were a good boy and all, you get a treat.” And she pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and slid it toward him.

Griffin stared at it for a long moment, and then reached out to take it in hand. He opened it slowly and stared at it. There was an address—an Arkansas one. He looked up at Gretchen’s sly face. “I could kiss you right now.”

“But you won’t,” Hunter said, and pulled his woman closer.

Gretchen just looked smug. “Go get ’er, tiger.”

* * *

Maylee woke up to wet, sloppy licks on her face from her coonhound. She rolled over on the futon, trying to get comfortable and away from Bubba’s enthusiastic tongue. “Go away, puppy.”

The dog whined and licked her arm instead.

Groaning, Maylee dragged herself out of bed. “Fine, fine. Bathroom time.” She padded across the floor of the single-wide trailer to let Bubba outside for a quick pee. The dog disappeared into the underbrush with an excited woof as soon as the door was opened, and Maylee stood on the porch, arms crossed, yawning, as she tried to wake up.

The house was silent, which meant that her younger sisters were still asleep in their room. Mama’s truck wasn’t in the driveway, so she’d gotten up early and gone out, probably to the store. It was quiet and peaceful, and there was no sound but birds chirping in the trees, the rustle of leaves, and Bubba’s snorting whuffs in the bushes as he looked for just the right spot to mark.

It was nothing like New York City.

And it troubled Maylee that she even thought about that. As much as she liked being home with her mother, sisters, and her grandparents nearby, it wasn’t quite the same. She loved having her dog close at hand, but she was noticing things she’d never paid attention to before. The rust on the skirt of the trailer, the creaky, weathered wood of the porch, the muddy, unpaved road that led to their home. The absolute poverty of the area.

She saw it through Griffin’s eyes and was ashamed. What would he think if he saw her living like this? And she hated that the thought even crossed her mind. Just because Griffin was a snob didn’t mean she had to be ashamed of her family. She wasn’t. She just . . . couldn’t help but see some of the things he’d turned his nose up at in the past. This was why he kept her a secret—she wasn’t good enough for him. No trailer girl would be right for Viscount Montagne Verdi of Bellissime.

She wiggled her bare toes and looked down at her pajamas. She refused to be messed up over a man who thought she was dirt. So why was it she couldn’t stop thinking about Griffin? Why was she so completely and totally hurt that he was ashamed of her? She’d thought he’d finally come to see her for who she was, and appreciated her help and her competence.

Instead, he’d been lining her up to pork in private while romancing a princess in public.

That was the part that hurt the worst. That she’d been falling for him, and all the while, he’d been busy making sure no one saw him with her in public. She had such a stupid, soft heart. Maylee brushed tears out of her eyes and watched Bubba circle a nearby tree. She was gullible and dumb and he’d preyed on that.

As the dog relieved himself, her mother’s truck pulled up in the driveway, and she winced at the clanking sounds the engine made as it turned off. She’d left her well-paying job in the city and now her mama wouldn’t have the extra income that Maylee sent home every month. Her mama had said it was fine, but it was money they all needed, especially if the younger girls were going to go to college in a few years. With Maylee’s retreat, that was out of reach for now—and possibly forever. She felt ashamed and defeated by that, too.

Really, she was just a big ol’ blubbering mess, wasn’t she? Maylee sighed and surreptitiously swiped at her watering eyes again, then waved at her mother as she got out of her truck. “Hi, Mama.”

Maylee’s mother had the same pale blonde corkscrew curls, though hers were more silver now, and her tan was deeper. She wore an old T-shirt and an equally old pair of jeans, and Maylee felt a twinge of unhappiness. Her family could use the money from her job so badly. Why had she let Griffin drive her out of NYC? It had been so selfish of her to move back home.

It was just that . . . she’d felt so alone and unwanted in her small, dirty apartment. She’d laid down in her bed and cried, missing—and hating—Griffin, then missing her mama, her sisters, and even her dog. It had seemed natural to come home. Now that she’d had a few days to sleep on it, though, she was mad at herself for giving up.

“I’m glad you’re up, Maylee-darlin’,” Mama called out. She juggled a paper bag of groceries. “I forgot the sausage at the store. Can you put on some jeans and run back out there for me? I need to start breakfast. Your Nana and Pepaw are coming over.”

“I will, Mama,” Maylee said, and snapped her fingers to call Bubba over. The dog trotted back to her, and the two women went inside the small trailer. Maylee went into the bathroom to change, and when she got out, she grabbed the keys to the truck and headed out for the store.

Twenty-five minutes later, she pulled back into the driveway of her home to a shiny black sedan with tinted windows in the driveway.

Her heart began to drum a frantic beat and she wasn’t sure if it was terror or excitement.

It wasn’t him . . . was it?

A short man in a sport coat leaned against the side of the sedan, smoking a cigarette. It wasn’t Griffin . . . not that she wanted to see him, anyhow. This man was short and balding, unlike her lean, scholarly, and snobby viscount. The stranger cast her a bored look as she pulled up next to him.

Maylee got out of the truck with her grocery bag and gave the man a friendly smile. “Hi, can I help you?”

He took another drag on his cigarette and gave her a dismissive look. “I’m just waiting on someone.”

She frowned, confused. “Are you lost? This is a private drive.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Wish to God we were.”

That funny feeling began to bubble in her stomach again, but she ignored it and offered her hand. “I’m Maylee.”

“Kip,” he said.

Maylee’s eyes widened. Oh, no. No, no, no. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing here?” There was a wealth of derisiveness in his tone.

“Oh, no,” Maylee breathed, and rushed up the steps of the single wide.

When she got into the house, she tore through the small kitchen into the tiny dining room. There, sitting next to her two pajama-clad sisters, was Griffin. His hair wasn’t its normal slicked down look but a messy sort of tousle. He wore his Bellissime court regalia and one hand was wrapped in a fluffy white towel. And he peered through his glasses at what looked to be a bowl of grits set in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” Maylee exclaimed.

“Maylee,” her mother said. “Be nice. We have a guest.”

“I don’t have to be nice to him!”

Griffin got to his feet and stood despite the cramped quarters, hugging his towel-covered hand close to his chest. The sight of that made her heart flip-flop painfully. Had he somehow injured himself? Why did she care, damn it? As he stood, he adjusted his glasses with his free hand and then gave her a sharp nod. “Miss Meriweather.”

Her sisters looked over at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

Maylee handed the bag of sausage to her mother and refused to look Griffin in the face. “You need to leave, Mr. Verdi. I’m done with being your assistant.”

“This gentleman needs a burn talked, Maylee,” her mother said in a do-not-argue-with-me voice. “He came here because of that.”

Guiltily, Maylee glanced at his hand, still swathed in the towel. She couldn’t tell anything from it. How badly had he hurt it? And could she ignore a man in need, even if he was the one who broke her heart and made her feel like she was less than dirt? “All right. Come on.” She waved him forward.

“Thank you,” he began, but she shot him a scathing look and he stopped. “Right. No thanking.”

“Exactly.” Without stopping to check if he was following, Maylee went out onto the porch and sat down on the first step. A moment later, Griffin eased his body down next to her, medals and braids clinking on his ceremonial coat.

She didn’t look over at him, staring off into the distance so she could compose her thoughts. “Nice jacket,” she said, and was proud of how nonchalant her voice sounded.

“It gets me places,” he admitted.

Like into my mother’s trailer, Maylee thought but said nothing. With a long sigh, she braced herself and then turned to face him. “All right, show me the hand.”

He held out his wrapped hand to her, his gaze intent on her face.

Maylee took the bandaged hand in hers, holding it gingerly so she wouldn’t hurt him worse than he already was. “Okay,” she murmured softly. “You know how this works. Whatever you do, you can’t thank me for this.”

“Very well,” he said in a voice so soft that it made shivers go up and down her skin.

She held the thick wrappings for a moment. “Talk to me about the pain.” The first step was always to get the person talking and concentrating on telling her what was wrong.

“It’s with me day and night,” Griffin said in a low voice. “Won’t go away no matter how much I try to distract myself. And I keep saying it’s my own fault, but somehow, it doesn’t help things. All I know is that you’re the only person who can fix it for me.”

“Mmm.” Maylee gently took the wrappings and began to undo them, ignoring the flutter of her heart at his words. “What did you do?”

“I was an idiot and wasn’t paying attention to where I should have placed my hand.”

It was hard being so close to him, she realized. Maylee could smell the clean, spicy scent of his cologne, could feel the warmth of his big body next to hers, felt the heat of his gaze on her face. Her stupid body remembered his touch, though. Her nipples reacted, hardening under her bra, and she wanted to hunch her shoulders in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice. This man had been terrible to her—so why was she still attracted to him?

She pulled the last of the fabric free and was surprised to see his hand was curled into a fist. She put her fingers on his and began to gently uncurl them. “Oh, Griff, you really should relax your hand if you’ve hurt it—”

He flattened his hand and revealed pink, perfect skin.

On his palm, he’d written This hand is the property of Maylee.

She frowned down at it, then looked up at him. “I don’t understand. You’re not hurt?” Why was she so relieved? And confused?

Griffin’s face was solemn as he gazed down at her. “I’m a prat, Maylee. An unthinking prat who hurt your feelings over and over again. I should have held your hand when you asked me to, and then maybe you wouldn’t have assumed the worst when you saw those tabloids.”

She shook her head, releasing his hand as if she was the one scorched. “I don’t understand. How did you—”

“The driver explained a lot to me, and I found the magazine. It was easy to put two and two together,” Griffin said gently. “I never flirted with the princess of Saxe-Gallia. I never flirted with anyone but you. Hell, I’m not even sure I flirted with you, because I’m truly fucking rotten at it.” He raked his hand through his messy hair, ruining whatever hope of style he might have tried to accomplish with it. “I came here to ask you to come back with me, and to offer you this.” He held his hand out to her again, and she stared at the words written on his hand. “It’s yours whenever you want it.”

Maylee had a sudden vision of taking his hand and smacking him in his own face with it. She jumped off the porch step quickly, trying to distance herself from him. “You were mean to me. Constantly mean. And you made me feel like I was never good enough for you! You kept trying to change me!”

He stood, looking distinctly uncomfortable in his ceremonial jacket. “I was,” he agreed. “I was cruel to you and I shouldn’t have been. When Hunter and Gretchen sent you to me, I hated you on sight because you were everything I dislike. You were dressed poorly, talked ignorantly, and I thought I deserved better and that Hunter and Gretchen had foisted you on me to make me miserable at a time in which I couldn’t afford to have anyone but the best at my side.”

“This is not making me feel better.”

“Just listen,” he said, and there was a desperate note in his voice that made her stop. “I kept you on because I was stuck.”

“And because I could tie a bow tie.”

“That, too.” A hint of a smile flashed on his face and then he reached for his collar and tugged at it uncomfortably. “And after a few days of spending time with you, my initial dislike changed.”

“To hate?”

“No,” he said very softly. “I saw that the terrible clothes you wore hid a very large heart and a woman determined to do what was best for her family, even if it wasn’t what was best for her. And I saw a woman who was completely out of her depth but went out of her way to make everyone around her comfortable and happy, from the staff in the kitchens, to the hotel workers, to photographers and drivers. To me, when I didn’t deserve it. You were nice to everyone, Maylee. And you were genuinely delighted to be on the trip, even though I was treating you like you didn’t deserve to be there. And you took all of my abuse because you knew the money would help your family, but I think you also took it because you are a genuinely nice person, no matter how much I tried to beat it out of you.”

She said nothing, simply scuffed her shoe and stared down at it so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes.

“And no matter how much I tried to change you, that remained the same, Maylee. That you had an unfettered joy in life and all the people who surround you, and it made me realize that I needed some of that joy in my life, too. And it didn’t matter how you were dressed. Not anymore. In fact, when I kept changing your clothes and your hair, I kept feeling vaguely unsatisfied with the results, and now I know why.”

“Oh?” She shifted, arms crossed over her chest protectively. She felt a little uneasy at his words. Was he setting her up for another fall?

To her surprise, he leaned forward and touched the curls brushing her shoulders. “I love these ridiculous curls of yours, Maylee. To me, they embody everything about you—they’re a bit wild and carefree, but they’re so full of light and sunshine that you can’t help but cherish the sight of them. They’re untamed, and they should always be so.”

His hand in her hair was distracting her, as were his words. She trembled. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love your frizzy hair. I love your slow, drawling voice and how you want to go do your faith healing on everyone you meet. I love that you listen to me ramble about my digs and never tell me that I’m boring you. I love that you never ask me about my money, or if you can spend time with the royal family, and I know that it’s because those things don’t matter to you nearly as much as I do. That I’m a person to you, not just a title or a wallet. And that’s something that I’ve never been to anyone in Bellissime.” Behind his glasses, Griffin’s eyes were serious. “And that’s why I’m falling in love with you.”

And he extended his hand back out to her. This hand is the property of Maylee.

She stared at it, thinking. Then she looked up at him.

Griffin stood in front of her, utterly stiff. His collar was askew from tugging on it, and he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

She didn’t take his hand. She didn’t know if she was ready for that.

He seemed to realize this, too. Slowly, it curled up and he dropped it to his side. “It’s funny,” he said in a soft voice. “When you’re a member of the royal family, you don’t expect to have to work for anyone’s affection. It’s a given that it will automatically be granted. I’ve never had to work at convincing anyone to like me before. I . . . I’m not very good at it.” He sounded disgusted with himself. “And I wish I knew the right thing to say—or do—to convince you of my sincerity.”

For some reason, that rueful confession convinced her more than his declaration of love. Maylee looked up at him and gave him a faint smile. “Would you kiss the dog?”

“I beg your pardon?” He tilted his head, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.

“My hound, Bubba. Would you kiss him to prove to me that you love me?”

He inclined his head at her, oh so gracefully. “If I must.”

She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. “Bubba!”

The dog galloped out of the trailer and toward her, all flying ears, cheeks, and ropes of slobber. He stopped in front of her and she knelt to rub him with affection. “Hello, Bubba,” she cooed. “This man is going to give you a nice kiss, okay, boy?”

“He’s quite a . . . leaky fellow.”

She giggled at that. “He’s a hound. They tend to drool.”

“So I see.”

And to her surprise, he bent down and kissed the top of the dog’s head. Then, he straightened with a grimace. “I’d rather be kissing you.”

“I see that.” Lordamercy, she should be given a medal for managing to contain her laughter.

“Am I forgiven?”

“I haven’t decided. I might need you to kiss a chicken next.”

He looked resigned. “How does one even kiss a chicken?”

“Very carefully,” she said, and got to her feet, dusting her hands off on her jeans. “You’d do that for me?”

“If that’s what it takes to convince you of my earnestness, I shall kiss every bit of fowl you place in front of me.” His tone was so austere and sincere.

Her giggles escaped. “Why can’t I stay mad at you?”

“Because a man who kisses a slobbery dog simply to make his woman smile is a pathetic figure indeed?” He attempted to put a smile in his voice, but his face remained somber. “Maylee, I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings. I truly am awful at showing affection properly, especially when I’m at home and everyone expects me to act like one of the royal family, even though I’m no longer in line for the throne. It’s like I’m brainwashed into seeing nothing but how the royal family thinks things should be. But Alex broke the mold, and I can, too.” He reached out and touched her hand. “I can assure you that I never, ever encouraged Saxe-Gallia or anyone else. That was simply tabloids making up rubbish to sell papers.”

Griffin’s words were so fervent that she knew they were the truth. No matter her wounded feelings, she had to stop and think rationally. The man had grown up with a cold mother and father. How could she expect him to be wildly affectionate in a family who didn’t seem to know the meaning? Even Alex was reserved around Luke, and he was her fiancé.

Actually, she supposed that Luke and Alex were married now. Poor Luke—he’d married into a family of stiff-necked royals. Maylee smiled at that.

At her smile, Griffin seemed to relax a little. His eyes brightened. “Please tell me you don’t hate me anymore.”

“I don’t hate you anymore,” she agreed, and took his hand in hers and gave it a little squeeze.

Griffin looked a little disgruntled at that. “I rather hoped I’d be showered with kisses upon my declaration of love.”

She laughed at his disgusted tone. “I thought you royals didn’t like shows of affection?”

“I’d be willing to soldier through for your sake.”

Maylee snorted.

“Come back with me,” he said softly, and tugged her closer to him. “Let me show you my home in New York City and how dull and boring of a bachelor I am.”

“Are you a boring bachelor?”

“I am. My townhouse is full of books and dust and not a single thing to entice a woman at all.” Griffin gave her a rueful look. “And I can lure you with promises of conversation about ancient civilizations up until the early hours of the morning.”

She pretended to consider this. “Can I bring my knitting?”

“Absolutely. I would recommend you have something at hand to keep you busy while I bore you to death.”

“You’re never boring,” she said softly, and her gaze flicked to his mouth. “Not to me.”

“That’s why you’re perfect.” He pulled her in closer, his mouth angling toward hers.

Maylee pressed her fingers to his lips, stopping him before he could kiss her. “So . . . now what? I’ve forgiven you, but I left New York. It’s hard to get a job there for a girl like me.”

“You’ll come live with me,” he said immediately. “I don’t want you to work. I want you at my side every day.”

She shook her head. “And be dependent on you for everything? No.”

“Then be my equerry. My assistant. My body servant.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her at the last sentence.

She snorted again and shook her head. “You have an assistant.”

“Yes, and he’s never cut my meat for me once.” He gave her a soulful look full of pleading. “Say you’ll return with me. I can always use another assistant. I seem to recall someone telling me how incredibly helpless I was.”

“You are rather helpless,” she admitted, fingering one of the medals on his coat that had flipped over. “Do all your assistants live with you?”

“Kip does,” Griffin admitted. “My first act will be to boot him to a neighboring townhouse.”

“And me?”

“I want you in my home.”

“Until we break up? And then what do I do?” She shook her head. “It’s too risky.”

“I will pay you a hundred thousand dollars a year to be a completely terrible assistant to me. And I will sign a contract stating that if we do break up, I will grant you another hundred thousand dollars as severance pay. I don’t want you to worry about money when you’re with me.”

The money made her eyes widen, but she shook her head. “I feel like you’re trying to buy my affection.”

“If that’s the only way I can get it, then that is what I’ll take.” His arms tightened around her. “Maylee, please. Come back to me.” He wagged his eyebrows in an obvious fashion. “I have an entire bag of purloined hotel soaps and shampoos with your name on them.”

She smiled, but still hesitated.

The look in his eyes became intense. “Please. I need you.”

It was those three little words that decided her. I need you. How long had she waited for him to admit such a thing? “I’ll let you hire me . . . on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“I’m only going to be your employee until I can trust you not to break my heart again.” She gave him a small, trembling smile. “When I’m comfortable with you again, I’ll quit because I know I can trust you, and I don’t want things between us to be about money.”

“Done. All done. Whatever you want, done.”

“Then I guess you have another assistant,” she breathed, and leaned in.

He kissed her so fiercely that her toes curled, and she clung to his thick woolen coat. His tongue slicked against her own in a possessive dance, and Maylee was left gasping and breathless when he released her.

“I guess I’d better tell Mama and them that I’m moving back to New York City.”

“Good,” said Griffin, just as breathless as her. His gaze devoured her. “Very good.”

* * *

A few hours later, Maylee had kissed her Mama, her Nana, her Pepaw and her sisters, packed her small bag, and leashed Bubba, and they were heading to New York City. Griffin had agreed to let her bring her dog, even though it was clear he wasn’t sure what to do around the animal. Maylee wondered if he’d ever had a pet, and then she thought of the queen with her big, fluffy cats, and tried to picture a grimly resolute Griffin petting one, and giggled to herself all the way to the airport.

Once they were back on his jet, Kip took Bubba’s leash and sat at the front of the plane with a drink and a magazine. “I’ll be here in case you need me,” the valet said in a dry voice. “With headphones on.”

That was an odd thing to say, Maylee thought as she held Griffin’s hand and headed to the back seats on the plane. “Why would he tell us that?”

Griffin sat in one large leather seat, and then pulled her down into his lap. “He thinks we’re going to have a make-out session in the back of the plane, I suppose.” He dragged his arms around her and pulled her closer, running his hands along her back and thigh as if he couldn’t get enough of touching her.

She pulled off his glasses and tossed them into a nearby empty seat. Then, she leaned in and took Griffin’s lower lip between her teeth, biting it lightly and enjoying the shiver she felt rock through his body. “Then I suppose we shouldn’t disappoint him?”

Griffin’s groan of response was deliciously gratifying to hear. “There is a room in the back of the plane.”

“Does it have condoms?”

He groaned again. “I hope to God that it does.”

“Let’s go check it out,” she murmured against his mouth, and then slid out of his lap. She sashayed the few feet to the back of the plane and opened the door, knowing Griffin’s eyes were on her every step of the way.

The bedroom at the back of the plane was just as she remembered it. There was a full-size bed on the one side and a mirror on the wall behind it. On the other side of the small room was a desk with a chair, and a door that led to the bathroom.

She headed for the bathroom and heard Griffin shut the door to the room and lock it behind them. Inside the bathroom, there were a number of toiletries, but the thing that interested her the most was the box of condoms under the sink. It looked like the box she’d purchased in Bellissime, and she turned and held it out to Griffin. “You kept these?”

“How could I not? The driver was giving me such dirty looks for breaking your heart that I took them as a badge of shame.” He grimaced at the thought.

She laughed again. “I’m glad you feel bad about that, because I felt worse.”

He pulled her against him again and nuzzled her neck. “You should know you’re the only one for me.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to believe his words—oh, she did—but she’d been stomped on and hurt too many times by his careless words to believe him wholeheartedly. So for now, she trusted and hoped.

Maylee’s fingers stole to Griffin’s hair—soft, shining, and messy. “This is a different look for you.”

“Kip did not approve,” he murmured against her neck. “But Kip is not the one who likes to run his fingers through my hair.”

“I’m glad for that,” she said with another laugh, and scratched at his scalp.

He groaned. “Dear God, that feels good.”

She shushed him with a giggle. “You’re going to have to be quieter if you don’t want Kip listening in.”

He stiffened, shooting an anxious look back toward the front cabin. “I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with him sitting right out there—”

She gave him a mock pout, and her hand slid down to the front of his slacks. “I grew up in a trailer. I think if anyone knows how to be quiet when making out, it’s me.”

He frowned back at her. “Who exactly were you making out with—”

“Boys,” she said. And then she kissed him to shut him up.

And he kissed her back. Oh, she loved kissing him so much. No one kissed quite like Griffin. There was an unadulterated hunger to his mouth, as if he feared everything would be ripped away in the next instant and so he had to devour her while he could. She loved that singular intensity of him and suspected he’d be like that in bed, too.

She couldn’t wait to find out. Her hand rubbed at his cock again, feeling the thick length of it under her fingers. “Now,” she murmured, stroking him when she paused. “Did you want to make out back here with your new assistant? Because she’s a pretty demanding sort.”

His eyes were glazed with passion. “Oh?”

“Very. . . .” Stroke. “Demanding . . .” Stroke.

He groaned again, this time louder, and she kissed his mouth to quiet him, pleased by the fact that her tightly controlled man was not quite so controlled in the bedroom.

“Want to know what I demand?” Maylee asked.

He nodded, unable to form words.

“Your tongue . . .” Stroke. “All over my body.” Stroke. “And then I’ll do the same to you.” Stroke. “How does that sound?”

“Incredible,” he breathed, his dazed expression warming her heart.

“Then let’s go check out that bed, shall we?” And she reluctantly slid her hand away from his cock and left the tiny bathroom.

He followed her out, his hand touching her back, her arm, as if reluctant to let her leave him for one moment. And that was rather gratifying and sweet, all at once. She felt a surge of affection for him—this lonely, isolated man who didn’t know how to ask for affection, but basked in her attentions.

She’d be careful with his heart. Maylee turned around to give Griffin a sweet smile and to tell him how much she cared for him.

But his mouth landed on hers, his hand at her neck, holding her close, and she forgot all about being careful with anyone or anything. His desire devoured her own, and when the kiss deepened, Maylee’s knees got weak. She’d never been quite so affected by a kiss as she had by his. Her hands clawed at his clothing, and she felt a sudden desperate need to feel his skin against hers. “Clothes off,” she panted.

“You first,” he told her. “You said you wanted my tongue all over your body and I aim to comply. Now, get naked for me.”

A shiver moved over her and she nodded, pulling at her T-shirt. So much for staying in control. He’d quickly taken over again and she’d willingly given up control to him. With a quick movement, she tugged her shirt over her head, and then undid her jeans, slipping out of them and kicking them aside. Then she stood before him in nothing but an old bra and panties that had both seen better days.

She grimaced, imagining how it must look to his eyes. “I left all the clothes you bought for me back at the hotel. All I have is this old stuff—”

“You’re beautiful,” he told her softly, and kissed her mouth with infinite tenderness. “Even if you wore rags, you would be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. Before you, I never found camouflage erotic, and now I get a cockstand at the sight.”

Tears pricked her eyes and she gave him a soft smile. “You’re just saying that to get into my pants.”

“I’m in your pants,” he told her. “But I mean what I say. I love you, Maylee Meriweather, and to me, you are the most wondrous creature I have ever seen.”

She gave a small sigh of pleasure at hearing him say that. This was the man she’d fallen for. She was terrified to think about what might happen. What if they were just words? What if a man with an upbringing like Griffin’s didn’t know how to love? She worried it was all another misunderstanding, but kept those thoughts to herself. To distract him from her silence, she removed her bra and panties.

“Utterly beautiful,” Griffin said reverently, stroking his fingers up her tanned arm. “Like my own personal Venus.” Those fingertips moved across her shoulder and collarbone, lightly tracing her skin. “I am the luckiest man alive.”

Her hands fluttered as she put them on his formal coat, her desire making her pulse and ache between her legs. “Are you going to get naked with me?”

“Eventually,” he said, and his hand trailed between her breasts. “First, I want to get my fill of looking at you.”

So she stood in front of him, trembling, as he let his fingertips explore over her body. They glided and grazed over her breasts, circling the tips. They moved down the gentle curve of her belly, traced along the lines of her hipbones. They moved between her legs and lightly grazed over the damp curls of her arousal, and she sucked in a breath, hoping for those fingers to push between her legs and open her for him.

But instead, he knelt before her and tenderly kissed the skin just above her mound. “So beautiful.”

She was practically vibrating with desire. “Griff,” she murmured, voice husky. “If you don’t throw me down on this bed and make love to me, so help me—”

He ignored her and pressed his face inward, lightly nuzzling at the curls of her sex with his mouth, and she felt the tip of his tongue graze her clit.

A high-pitched gasp escaped her throat, and her knees buckled slightly. Only his hands on her hips kept her upright. “Oh.”

“Lay down, darling,” he said. “I want to put my mouth on you.”

She did, finding the edge of the bed and sitting on it with trembling legs. Then, as she laid back, she watched as Griffin slowly, methodically undid the buttons on his thick ceremonial coat and then tossed it to the floor, revealing an undershirt tucked into his slacks and those muscular arms. Maylee gave a sigh of pleasure at the sight of that, marveling again at the ugly tattoo on his bicep that seemed so out of character for him.

“My beautiful, darling Maylee,” he murmured, leaning down over her on the bed. He crawled over her, and while she lay flat on the bed under him, he gently kissed her brow, then her cheekbones, and continued on across her face, paying homage to every feature. He nipped at her chin in a way that made her nipples tighten even more, and she shifted, almost panting with desire. Strange how these sweet, thoughtful kisses were more erotic than anything she’d ever experienced in her life.

He kissed his way across her shoulders and on to her breasts, gently taking the tip of each one into his mouth and lightly sucking and teasing at the tip until she was biting back her moans of pleasure. Her hands raked through his hair over and over again, and her back raised off the bed each time his mouth clasped over a nipple. It felt so good; she wanted more, and she ached deep inside for him.

Then his mouth lightly traced down her belly, and his tongue dipped into her navel, circling it and giving her hints of what was to come. “Oh, lordamercy,” she breathed.

“Do you know it makes my cock hard every time I hear you say that?” he murmured, but continued down his path. “I nearly come undone each time. For some reason, that sweet drawl of yours makes me incredibly hard. It’s like I picture your tongue curling over your words, and then I imagine it curling over the head of my cock.”

Oh, God, he was a talker in bed. This was destroying her. Maylee’s hands fisted in the blankets and she panted, silently begging for him to give her more.

“Ah,” he said after a moment, as if he’d discovered something pleasurable, and her breath exploded as her imagination did. “You’re very wet for me, aren’t you, darling?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and a small whimper escaped her throat.

His fingers parted her flesh, and she felt his mouth on her folds a moment later, tongue sliding up and down the damp center of her. “You taste as beautiful as you look,” he whispered, and then his mouth went to her clit. His tongue brushed over it, and then he sucked on it, teasing it with his lips.

A tremor wracked through her, growing in intensity. He continued to tongue and suck at her clit, not budging now that he’d found just where she wanted him to be, and the intensity built, exploding behind her eyes. To her stunned surprise, she came in a quick, violent burst, her fingers clawing at his scalp even as her legs spasmed and her heels dug into the bed.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh. Oh, lordamercy. Oh, Griff.”

When he’d wrung the last shudders out of her, he lifted his head, lips gleaming from her wetness, and there was a smug, satisfied look of pleasure on his gorgeous face, as if he were proud that he’d been able to make her come so hard. Breathless, she watched as he climbed back up next to her and lay down on his side, watching her recover.

The man looked incredibly pleased with himself.

“Need a moment, darling?” He reached out and caressed her breast, thumbing her nipple casually. He looked as if he had all the time in the world now that he’d satisfied her, but she felt the press of his cock against her leg.

All this casual control? It was an act. And her Griffin was far too good at acting controlled.

She wanted to make him wild. So she rolled onto her hands and knees and gave his shoulder a push, indicating he should lie back on the bed.

His hands moved to cup her dangling breasts, and he made a small sound of pleasure in his throat. “You are incredibly beautiful.”

“You’ve mentioned that once or twice,” Maylee teased, finding her voice again. She tugged at his undershirt and pulled it up, exposing his flat stomach and the muscles there. She contemplated torturing him in the same way he’d tortured her—endless kisses all over his skin—but his cock was straining his pants, and she knew he was already painfully aroused. He’d expect her to take her time, just like he had.

But she wanted to surprise him.

So she shimmied down the bed a little, away from those delicious hands that played with her breasts and began to unbuckle his pants with quick, easy motions. He reached down to help her and she slapped his hand away. “You’re mine now. Sit back and behave.”

He chuckled, but his hands moved away and back to her hair, fingering her curls. He loved touching her hair, so she had to trust him when he’d said he liked it wild and free.

A moment later, she had his pants undone and pushed aside his zipper. He raised his hips so she could slide the clothes down, but she decided on a different tactic, a quicker one. Ripping at the button that held the fly of his boxers closed, she snapped it off and pushed his cock through the fabric, exposing it.

“Well, hello again,” she murmured at the sight of his erection rising up, the crown thick and glistening. “So nice to see you.”

And she grasped the base of his cock and took the head of him into her mouth.

Griffin immediately stiffened on the bed, his entire body going taut. Her tongue swirled around the head, then lightly traced the underside of the crown, exploring him. He was nice and thick, and she was a greedy woman because she loved that he was. She wanted all of him, and just handling him like this was making her ache deep between her legs. She couldn’t wait to feel him deep inside her. Anticipating this, she opened her jaw and took him deeper, sucking hard.

He nearly came off the bed. “Oh, bloody hell, Maylee—”

She groaned with pleasure at his response, the rumble in her throat sending another shiver through his body. So she continued to deep throat him, letting her mouth get good and wet as she slid him against the back of her tongue and took him deeper into her throat. She knew she was doing good when his hips rose to meet her stroking mouth, and his hand fisted in her hair, as if he were trying desperately not to shove deeper.

He pulled her off him a moment later, panting. “No, wait—”

She mewed a protest, trying to pull him back into her mouth.

“Condoms,” he demanded, and rolled off the bed, heading to find them.

She waited for him on the bed, aching and full of need, and he returned a moment later, fingers hastily tearing the box open, his cock jutting out of his opened pants and boxers. She couldn’t help but reach for him again, and he groaned, pulling away from her and extricating himself from his clothing. He had trouble with the boxers and ended up ripping them off, the fabric tearing overloud in the room. Griffin didn’t look like he cared, though. His hair was sticking up in tufts, and his cheeks were flushed with the intensity of what they were doing.

He was gorgeous.

He rolled on the condom and grabbed for her. He sat at the edge of the bed and then patted his knee. “Come sit in my lap, darling.” His cock jutted up, indicating just where she should sit.

Maylee swung a leg over him, and Griffin’s hands immediately went to her hips to hold her. With his hands guiding her, she slid down his front and seated herself, oh so slowly, atop his cock. The push into her body made her breath suck in, and she immediately tensed her muscles, clinging to his shoulders. He was bigger than her last lover, and his cock burned a little as it went in, but he felt delicious. “Griff,” she moaned. “Oh, lordamercy.”

“Maylee,” he groaned in response. “Sweet, bloody beautiful Maylee.”

And he sank her down completely on him.

She cried out, only to have her cry smothered by his kiss. This position allowed her entire body to rub up against his, and she locked her legs around his waist. Her breasts brushed against his chest, and his arm at her waist held her tightly in place.

And he kissed her. Oh, God, he kissed her so deeply and thoroughly that she felt penetrated all over again. Her mind was in a daze, and she whimpered when he bucked his hips and it made everything rock just a little bit deeper.

“My Maylee,” he murmured, rocking his hips again, and then he began a motion she wasn’t entirely sure was legal, his hips moving back and forth even as she rocked her own to increase the friction. Her clit was rubbing against his groin, her nipples were brushing on his chest, and his mouth kept licking and slicking at her own.

It was the most erotic thing she’d ever felt. She’d never had sex like this before, sitting atop of someone and letting him fuck her upright. It made everything so very intimate.

His motions were slow and controlled, but Maylee couldn’t seem to control her hips. She thrust down on him as hard as she could, enjoying his little groans of response. Her own body was trembling, and she felt her sex tightening in response as another orgasm began to build. Her nails dug into his skin and her kisses took on a frantic edge, even as he began to thrust harder into her, encouraging that build.

She felt it in her entire body when she came that time, everything trembling and tightening around him so hard that she knew he felt it, even if she didn’t make a sound. His groan of response told her everything.

Then, he lay back on the bed and rolled over swiftly, and she was pinned underneath him. Before she could question, he pulled back and thrust deep and rough into her.

And she gasped, stunned at how good that felt. When he did it again—faster and rougher than before—the force of his motions shoved her across the bed a little, and his skin slapped at her own. But she clung to him, loving it. “Griff,” she moaned softly. “Oh, Griff.”

“I love you,” he gritted out, the words ragged. “Love you, Maylee.”

And he came, dragging her name out as if it were a benediction.

Maylee curled her arms around him and gave a long sigh of contentment as he shuddered and quaked in her arms, lost in his own orgasm.

When Griffin finally pulled off her, she made a sound of protest as their bodies separated. She didn’t want him to leave her ever again. A moment later, he returned to the bed and curled around her naked body, pulling her against him.

She snuggled in his arms, content.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Don’t fall asleep for long. It’s not that long of a flight home, and you should get dressed again before Kip comes looking for us.”

She chuckled, running her hands over his skin. “Give a girl a moment to cuddle, will you?”

“Several moments, if you so choose.”

“I do,” she told him, and ran a finger over his tattoo, the ugly skull with the money sticking out of the eye socket. So garish. It was an odd choice for a man like Griffin. “This is rather hideous.”

“Isn’t it?” His droll voice surprised her.

“Why’d you get it if you think it’s ugly? It doesn’t seem like you.”

He hesitated. “Long story.”

She looked over at him. “I’m not going anywhere at the moment.”

He shook his head. “I . . . I can’t say right now, Maylee.”

“Oh, okay.” She smiled at him, but couldn’t hide her unease. Secrets already? She’d hoped they were past that. “I guess I should get up and dress.”

To her surprise, when she tried to sit up and get dressed, he dragged her back down on the bed and kissed her passionately. When his mouth lifted from hers, he whispered, “I said that I can’t tell you right now, Maylee, darling. Not that I won’t. Just give me time, all right?”

And she nodded, because what else could she do? If he wasn’t ready to share all his secrets yet, she supposed she understood that.

She just hoped it wasn’t one that would hurt her in the long run.

Chapter Thirteen

Maylee was delighted at Griffin’s townhouse because it was so incredibly Griffin. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting, but at the sight of the wall-to-wall shelves, the antique maps framed on the walls, and the piles and piles of books everywhere, she clapped her hands and laughed. “It’s perfect.”

“It is?” He looked at her in surprise, and eyed his home skeptically, as if trying to see it through her eyes.

“It is,” she echoed, and when he closed the door, she knelt down and let Bubba off his leash so he could suss things out. “It looks exactly like I’d imagine a scholarly nobleman would live.”

He rubbed his jaw, and for a moment he looked embarrassed. “I suppose it does. It’s not an enormous penthouse like Logan’s, though, or a mansion like Hunter’s. I only have three bedrooms and one is set up as a library.”

“Three bedrooms in NYC?” She laughed. “Not exactly slumming it, Griff.”

He moved a pile of books off one table, hesitated, and then dumped them onto another table. “I never considered having more, truly. I grew up in forty-room palaces that never felt like home.”

She smiled, still charmed by the place. There were windows looking out onto Central Park, bookshelves everywhere, hardwood floors, and crown molding. She bet it even had two bathrooms. She loved it already. “There’s no point in a huge house if there’s only two people for it.” She picked up a book and frowned at the layer of dust on it, then looked at him. “Don’t you clean?”

He gave her a sheepish look. “I keep Kip busy enough that he doesn’t do much cleaning. And I have a lady who comes in once a week to clean up the worst of it, but I suppose there’s more to be done.”

“You’re lucky you got a second assistant, then,” she teased.

“I didn’t hire you to clean my house.”

“No, you hired me to clean your pipes.”

He was silent. Maylee looked up in surprise . . . and found that his face was scarlet with a blush. She laughed. “Come on, haven’t you ever heard that expression?”

“Not in reference to me.” He rubbed his ear, and she noticed that it was also red. How cute.

“Is your bedroom full of books, too?”

“There’s room enough for two people,” he said, and she noticed the dazed look had returned to his eyes. He adjusted himself surreptitiously. “Shall I show you?”

That sounded lovely. But first . . . she glanced around. “Where’s Kip?”

He waved a hand. “I told him to pick out a townhouse for himself. On me. I believe he’s shopping.” He grimaced. “The man does love to shop.”

“He can keep the shopping duties,” Maylee declared, and dragged Griffin into his bedroom.

* * *

Three days later, Griffin was the happiest he’d ever been. He had warm, wonderful Maylee in his bed, he was back home in his townhouse, and everything was perfect.

Well, almost perfect. There was a slobbering dog that he’d found chewing on a book earlier that morning, and his townhouse was currently being turned upside down by Maylee, who was determined to organize things, but overall, he was content.

He had the woman he loved in his bed, and he adored her every night for hours. Sometimes several times in one night. Just thinking about Maylee made his cock stiffen, and he got up from his window chair, setting his book aside to go find her.

He found her in the small living room, seated on the floor, cross-legged. She wore her ugly camo pajamas, but he found the sight charming now instead of appalling. And turned off the TV as soon as he came in the room. The smile she turned to him was overly bright. “Hey, you.”

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. You want a snack or something? I was just about to get one—”

As she moved to pass him, he snagged the remote out of her hand and flicked the TV back on. It was a news special about Alex and Luke’s wedding. He gave Maylee a curious look. “Didn’t get enough of it back in Bellissime?”

She shrugged, not meeting his gaze. “I didn’t really see the wedding itself. I was just . . . curious, I suppose.” She patted his shoulder and headed toward the kitchen.

The shoulder with the tattoo, he couldn’t help but notice. And he swore silently to himself when he saw the princess of Saxe-Gallia appear on the TV.

Maylee still had doubts. She knew he held at least one secret—that of the Brotherhood, and until she was sure he wouldn’t hurt her again, she was uneasy. He recognized the look on her face. It was the look she’d worn so often in Bellissime after he’d hurt her feelings. Guarded. Wary.

Expecting to be hurt at any moment.

He groaned and rubbed his face in frustration, nearly knocking his glasses off his face. What the devil was he going to do to prove to her that he loved her? To make her feel safe and comfortable with him?

He’d told Maylee that he loved her a dozen times a day.

She’d never once said it back. He kept waiting and hoping that she’d relax, become more at ease around him, and then she’d realize that she felt as strongly for him as he did for her. But holding back her “I love you” seemed to be some sort of armor for her. That as long as she didn’t expose herself fully, she could still escape him unscathed.

He wasn’t planning on letting her go, though.

Frustrated, he listened to Maylee putter around in the kitchen. He went in and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m going to finish my studies.”

“All right,” she said, and her voice was a little too bright again. “I’m going to straighten up in here.”

He retreated back to his office, and instead of heading for his books, he picked up his phone. He stared at the screen for a moment, thinking. He could call Hunter and ask for advice, but Hunter had that beast of a woman, Gretchen. He wouldn’t know the first thing about dealing with a heart as sensitive and delicate as Maylee’s. He needed a gentle hand.

So he called Cade, but it went to voicemail. Damn. He didn’t want to leave a lovesick message, so he tried Jonathan next.

You there? Jonathan almost never answered calls, but was an unfailing texter.

Here, came the response a moment later. What’s up?

You back in NYC?

No, headed out. Had some stuff to take care of.

Griffin thought for a moment. I need . . . advice. About a woman.

Oh, Jesus.

Piss off.

Is this about that bouncy little blonde that was with you in Spain? She was cute as a button. And it was clear she was into you.

For some reason, that made Griffin feel better. Was it?

Oh, yeah. Kept staring at you every time you spoke like you were shitting nuggets of gold.

Griffin’s mouth twitched with amusement. Her name is Maylee and I asked her to move in with me, but she’s not happy.

Why isn’t she happy? She can’t fit her shoes in with all your books? Then, a moment later . . . Why are you having this conversation with me?

I don’t know. Cade isn’t available, Reese is a prat, Hunter is terrible with women, and Logan would just suggest I buy her something.

Did you try buying her something?

She’s not into money.

Christ, how did you find the one girl in NYC who isn’t into your wallet?

That’s besides the point. She’s not happy. She’s trying to be, but I don’t think she trusts me. He thought for a moment, then texted, She left before because she thought I was hiding her because I was embarrassed.

And were you?

Originally? Yes.

Ouch, man.

Piss off. Again. Maybe it had been a bad call to go to Jonathan for advice. But hell, he was desperate. You know I’m not good with this emotion stuff.

Okay, okay. Are you still hiding her?

Of course not. She moved in. Kip thinks she’s very nice.

No one gives a shit what your assistant thinks. I meant, did you introduce her to everyone? Make her feel welcome?

Oh. He hadn’t even thought about it. You mean like Gretchen and Audrey and the others? She asked about my tattoo.

It was a long moment before Jonathan responded. Look, man, I’m not going to tell you not to tell her about the Brotherhood. I could try, but if you’re thinking with your dick like everyone else, I know it’s a lost cause. So you do what you feel is right. I trust you. We all do, or you wouldn’t be in the Brotherhood.

Griffin didn’t know what to say. I . . . see.

And one more thing.

What’s that?

If you’re in love—I mean really, really in love—you gotta move heaven and earth to show her that you love her. Because if you don’t, you’re going to lose her. And then life isn’t worth living. Take it from me, all right?

Griffin frowned at the screen. Jonathan kept himself remote from everyone, even his Brothers. To hear that confession made Griffin wonder what he was hiding. What does that mean? Is that some shoddy clue about a broken heart?

Tell you some other time. Right now, I have a plane to catch.

Later.

He clicked off his phone and thought for a long time. Did Maylee think that he wasn’t taking her seriously? Was it time to do more? Be more demonstrative? He made love to her every night. Told her he loved her several times a day. They went for long walks in Central Park together, holding hands and walking the dog. He’d even let her bring her foul beast to New York City into his book-strewn townhouse. If that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was.

But maybe she needed bigger gestures. Something that she couldn’t dispute in the slightest.

Griffin thought for a moment more, and then texted Reese. Is Audrey there?

Why are you texting me and asking for my wife? Get your own woman.

Irritated, Griffin gritted his teeth and sent back, I have one. I want to throw a party for her and don’t know where to begin. I thought Audrey might know. Reese’s wife could organize just about anything.

Oh. Fuck, man. I am out of any party discussions. I’ll go, but you’ve got the wrong guy when it comes to planning.

Hence why I asked for your wife.

Hang on. A moment later, Reese texted, Here’s Audrey’s number. Call her.

Griffin did, and an efficient voice answered the phone. “Hello?” Audrey Petty was no nonsense and practical, which was why it still surprised Griffin that she’d ended up with someone as volatile as Reese.

“It’s Griffin. Maylee’s moved in with me and I want to throw her a welcoming party.”

“You do?” Her voice warmed a few degrees. “That’s very sweet, Griffin. You want help organizing it?”

“Yes. Please. I don’t even know where to begin.”

She laughed. “All right, well, we’ll start with the location. Where did you have in mind?”

He thought for a moment. He needed something showy, to demonstrate just how much he cared. “What place can you think of that is preposterously ostentatious?”

“Hunter’s house?”

Hmm. “Perfect.” He thought for a moment more and then added, “Do you know someone from the news media?”

“Uh, I’m sure I can locate someone. Are we having a newsworthy event?”

“Depends on if you’re from Bellissime, I suppose.”

“Oookay. You going to tell me more?”

“Just trust me.”

* * *

“Where are we going?” Maylee asked, craning her neck so she could see out the window. “And who do all these gardens belong to?”

“It’s a surprise,” he told her.

She gave him a wary look and a nervous smile. “I’m not sure I like surprises.” Her hand smoothed down her pale yellow boatneck sweater, and she fingered the jeans she was wearing, as if silently wondering if she was wearing the right clothing.

“You’re fine,” he soothed. Since she looked so worried, he added, “We’re visiting Hunter’s estate.”

“Oh.” She gave him another quick smile and then looked out the window once more. “I’ve never seen his house, but Gretchen says it’s ridiculous.”

“It is,” Griffin agreed. “It’s bigger than the royal palace in Bellissime.”

“Lordamercy,” Maylee breathed as it came into sight. “That is some house.”

It was, Griffin had to agree. He knew it was an ancestral home for Hunter, but it reminded Griffin too much of the staid, remote palaces of his own childhood and he hated the place. It didn’t feel like a house nearly as much as his townhouse did. A place like this required constant upkeep, and Griffin was more interested in traveling to different archaeological sites than nursing a ramshackle mansion back to health.

But, to each their own.

Maylee clung to his hand when they pulled into the driveway. He nodded at Kip and gestured for him to park the car. Then, Griffin exited the car and held out his hand for Maylee to take.

She did, and they went up the expanse of stairs hand in hand.

When they got to the door, it opened and a beaming Gretchen greeted them. “Hey you two! Come on in. We just popped the champagne.”

“Oh? What are we celebrating?” Maylee asked, but her hand still clung tightly to Griffin’s and she didn’t follow Gretchen in.

“Nothing, yet.” She gave Griffin an exaggerated wink that made him want to strangle her, and then headed further into the house. “Come on. We’re hanging out in the Red Dining Room.”

They followed her through the maze of the house, Maylee exclaiming under her breath at the size of the place. He knew Buchanan Manor was intimidating, but now he was questioning the wisdom of this place for Maylee’s party. He wanted her to feel warmed and welcomed, not more isolated and out of place than ever.

So he squeezed her hand.

She looked at him, surprised, and then gave him a grateful smile and squeezed his hand back.

In the Red Dining Room, there was a small cluster of people standing around. He immediately felt Maylee stiffen, but he put his arm around her shoulders and gently steered her in. “Maylee,” he told her. “I want you to meet my friends.”

And he introduced her to Reese and Audrey, and Logan and Brontë. Both women were welcoming to Maylee, though they shot him curious looks from time to time. Maylee exclaimed over them in her soft, adorable accent, and he knew this party had been a good idea.

It was so obvious now. Introducing her to his friends seemed like the most reasonable thing in the world. Showing her that she belonged with him was such a small thing, but he could see from the glow on her cheeks that she was happy.

He should have thought of it sooner, rather than see her mope for a week.

She knew Hunter and Gretchen, of course, and he introduced her to Cade Archer, a good friend and the only man at the party flying solo. Cade never seemed to mind, though.

“Jonathan not here?” he asked him, but he already knew the answer. Jonathan had run off on business, something to take care of. Lately, his friend had been absent more and more.

Cade only shrugged as if to say, what can you do?

Once Maylee had met everyone, he grabbed them both glasses of champagne and pressed one into her hand. She took it from him, smiling but puzzled. “This looks like a party.”

“It is.”

“What are we celebrating?”

He looked at the people in the room, then back at Maylee. “I have something I want to tell you.”

Her eyes widened and he saw the uncertainty flash across her face again, though she did her best to hide it. “Oh?”

Griffin soldiered on. “You asked about my tattoo—”

Reese interrupted with a groan. “Oh, here we go. Worst kept secret ever.”

Audrey shushed him.

Griffin shot a scathing look at Reese, and then turned back to Maylee. He took a swig of his champagne, then set the glass down. He took her hand in his and noticed it was trembling. “Maylee, I am going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone else.” He paused, then exhaled slowly. “I’m . . . in a secret society. All of us are.”

Her brows wrinkled together. “Um, okay.”

He waited.

“Is that all?”

“It’s very secret,” he stressed. “It could ruin us financially if it got out. Six billionaires working together would mean we’d be investigated by every tax auditor in this country.”

“Okay,” she said, still giving him a puzzled look. “I won’t tell anyone. I thought this was something bad. As long as you guys don’t sacrifice kittens, I think I can handle it.”

“Only on holidays,” Gretchen joked, but Audrey shushed her.

He squeezed Maylee’s hand. “That information cannot leave this room. Do you understand what I’m trusting you with?”

She nodded. “I do. Thank you.”

Griffin smiled at her. “But that wasn’t what I asked you here for.”

Her brows drew down again. “It’s not?”

“No.” He looked over at Audrey.

She smiled and hurried forward, her loose blouse just barely hinting at her rounded pregnant stomach. She disappeared down the hall and returned with a small silver tray and a man at her side, who held a camera.

Griffin watched Maylee try to figure it out, frowning to herself. He took the box from Audrey, and then turned to Maylee. The box was velvet and oblong and she’d probably recognize the shape—inside it were the Verdi Emeralds. “You wore these once before, at the ball in Bellissime.”

Maylee’s smile was small, puzzled. “I remember. Big honking earrings and a necklace.”

He chuckled. “Those are the ones. There’s another piece that goes with this set, though, and I want you to have it.”

And he opened the box and pulled out a ring.

It wasn’t the most elegant or dainty of rings. Like the rest of the Verdi Emeralds, it was very old, square cut, and surrounded by tiny diamonds. It was a hideous beast of a ring.

Maylee’s eyes widened into saucers, just as the camera flashed in her face.

“I . . .” She stared at the ring. “What is this, Griffin?”

“That,” he said, gesturing at the photographer, “is a man working on a news article to send home to Bellissime about you and I.” He looked back at her, and then dropped to one knee. “Maylee . . .”

“Oh,” she breathed, frozen in place in front of him.

“I know I’ve been a right prat,” he began.

“Glad to hear him admit it,” he heard Gretchen mutter in the background.

He ignored her. “And I know you worry that I think you’re not good enough for me. So I wanted you to know how much I value you. These people in this room are the only family that have ever mattered to me. I stay in the States not because I don’t love my country, but because my family—my real family—is here. And now, you’re here.” He held the ring out to her. “And you’re the most beautiful, most worthy woman I have ever met and I never considered offering anyone this ring until I met you. Will you marry me?”

She hesitated, looking at the photographer. “Why is he here again?”

Griffin leaned in and mock-whispered, “Because your face is going to be splashed on a dozen Bellissime papers as the American who captured a viscount. I do hope you don’t mind the invasion of privacy, but I wanted people to know that we were getting married, because I’m rather proud of my woman.”

Her face blossomed into a beautiful smile. She crooked a finger at him in that sexy way that made his heart flip and his cock ache.

As he stepped forward, she gave an undignified squeal and jumped into his arms.

Epilogue

That evening in bed, after all the celebrations wound down, Maylee curled her fingers in Griffin’s happy trail and felt incredibly content. The rock on her finger was weighing her entire hand down, and it was a rather ugly cuss of a ring, but it meant that she belonged to Griffin and so she loved it.

He’d chosen her above everyone else. Her. Simple, country girl Maylee. And she hadn’t even been dressed up all fancy. She’d been wearing jeans and a summery short-sleeved sweater, her hair its usual corkscrew mess of curls.

But Griffin hadn’t cared. He’d stared down at her with such love in his eyes as he’d draped the jewelry on her and put the ring on her finger, and the photographer had taken so many photos and asked so many questions that her head had been spinning.

And he’d done it in front of his closest friends. He was trying to show her what she meant to him, and she got it now. She really, really got it.

Her hand slid down to his cock, feathering her fingers over it. They’d just had sex a few minutes ago, but she bet she could get him erect again in no time. “Hey, Griff?”

“Hmmm?” His voice was deliciously sleepy, his hand stroking through her hair as she rested her cheek on his stomach.

Her hand stroked his cock again, and she was pleased to see it stir and begin to harden once more. Such a delicious sight. She continued to stroke it, enjoying that Griffin groaned and began to pump into her hand.

“Remember how I told you that I wanted to be your employee until I trusted you? Really trusted you?”

He stilled under her, despite the fact that she was still working him with her hand. “I remember.”

“Okay. Well, I quit.”

A second later, Maylee found herself flipped onto her back in the bed, and she giggled as Griffin pinned her to the mattress, a wild grin on his face. It was so unlike his normal reserved expression. “You do?”

“I do, I quit. I totally, totally quit.” She couldn’t stop smiling.

He leaned in and kissed her so fiercely that her lips felt bruised, but she didn’t care. “That’s wonderful.”

She grinned at him. “I think since I’m unemployed, I might eventually see about opening up a yarn shop somewhere around here.”

“You can,” he agreed. “But can it wait? I’d love to take you to Spain next month so we can spend more time in Cadiz. And then maybe head to Greece afterward to stop at a few sites mentioned in Homer’s works.”

More travel? “That sounds wonderful.”

His eyes lit up. “You don’t mind traveling? I do quite a bit of it, but I can hold off if you’d rather stay here and create a business.”

“I can wait on the yarn shop.” She snuggled close to him. “I’d rather spend time with you.”

“I love you, Maylee. I really do.”

“I know you do,” she said softly, and her fingers stroked down his cheek. He said he didn’t know how to show affection, but God, he was a fast learner.

He kissed her hand and then reached over her to grab another condom off the side of the bed. Then, he leaned in and kissed her fiercely once more as he slipped it on, and she spread her legs underneath him, waiting in anticipation.

When he thrust inside her, she cried out his name with pleasure.

The sex was quick and brutal. Maylee bit and scratched at Griffin’s skin as he thrust roughly into her, and his fingers sought her clit to bring her to orgasm just before he came a few moments later. Then, panting, they went back to kissing.

“I love you,” she said softly into his ear.

“I love you, too,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I was such a prat to you all those times.”

She grinned and bit his earlobe. “You’ll just have to make it up to me.”

“Mmm, I can think of a few ways.” He began to move slowly inside her again.

She could, too. She could think of a million ways.