The Trouble with Mojitos (3 page)

Tomorrow she’d pretend she knew nothing more than what Rik had told her. He could carry on playing Mystery Man, for all she cared. She wasn’t going to bow and scrape, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let herself be seduced. She was just one bad relationship away from getting thirty cats and calling it quits with men.

She folded up the letter and crossed the room to slide it back into his pocket. Which was definitely not as easy as pulling it out had been.

Job done, she surveyed the sleeping beauty on her sofa. There was a hint of vulnerability in his face that definitely wasn’t there when he was awake. It tugged at something inside her, and she swallowed hard. No, she wasn’t going to try to fix this one. She had to have learned that lesson by now, right?

But she couldn’t in good conscience leave a prince to sleep like a pretzel on the sofa, no matter how much of a pain in the butt he was, or how much he deserved it.

The first and easiest thing she could do for him was to remove his shoes. She unlaced his trainers, braced her knees on the edge of the sofa, and pulled. His shoe slid off, quicker than she expected, the momentum driving her straight onto him, with her knee in his groin.

“Ooph.” Rik’s eyes fluttered, and her heart stopped beating.

His eyelids settled, and she laid a hand over her heart and started to breathe again. He was seriously out of it not to be woken by
that
.

With much more care, she removed his other trainer, then stood back to survey the scene.

She’d move him to the bed, and she’d take the sofa. She had more chance of fitting on it anyway. Who knew there’d be a perk to being only five foot three?

But getting him onto the bed was an altogether different matter. It had taken two grown men to get him to her room, so how the hell was she going to get him from the sofa to the bed on her own?

She started by wrestling the sofa closer to the bed.

Deep breath in and shove. Deep breath in and shove.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as the sofa inched slowly forwards until, with a jolt, it connected with the side of the bed.

Great. Now what?

She had to climb over the back of the sofa to roll Rik onto the bed. Except he didn’t want to roll. He snuggled back into the sofa cushions.

“Give me a break!”

Since she’d come this far, there was no going back. She wrapped her arms around his torso and heaved. He wasn’t a small man and in sleep he was damned heavy and uncooperative. He was also rather buff. She couldn’t help but notice the firmness of muscle beneath that long black tee. She’d bet anything he had a fine six-pack. For half a second she was tempted to strip off his shirt for a peek. Surely the vow she and Lee had sworn didn’t preclude looking?

No, a promise was a promise.

Besides, she was now hot and sweaty, in spite of the air-con, and wrestling him out of his clothes just wasn’t worth the effort, so she discarded the idea as quickly as it formed. She’d have to be satisfied with having copped a feel.

Rik now lay on the very edge of the bed. She climbed over him to kneel on his other side. One last heave and he’d be safe and comfortable and she could get to sleep herself.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he moaned. Not the same sound he’d made before, but a satisfied purr. Oh heaven help her! If he woke now, there was no way she could explain why she had him in her bed, in a very intimate and compromising position.

She half-pulled, half-rolled with him.

The good news was that she managed to get him away from the edge of the bed. The bad news? She was now pinned underneath him.

And yes, that was definitely a very fine six-pack beneath the shirt. Perhaps even an eight-pack.

Up this close, the smell of rum was more pronounced. On any other man it would have been a complete turn-off. On Rik it just added to the pirate allure.

But he was heavy, and this was neither the right time nor place to get turned on. And most certainly not the right man. She was looking for a
nice
man, remember? Or better yet, no man at all. Not until she could stand tall, with her head high and say ‘Look at me: I’m a success!’

She wedged her hands against his torso and shoved with all her strength. Rik rolled off her, and she lay breathless, needing a moment to regroup.

Yay! He was now safely on her king-size bed, cuddling into the pillow where she’d slept in such blissful ignorance barely an hour ago.

@KenzieCole101: I need a cold shower.

@LeeHill: @KenzieCole101 What’s up chica? Heat keeping you awake?

@KenzieCole101: @LeeHill Something like that. But I’m behaving. Promise!

Light filtered through Rik’s eyelids and he groaned into his pillow. Whoever had stuck his head in a vice grip then twisted it deserved to die. He’d see to it personally. Just as soon as he could lift his head off the pillow to see who it was.

“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

The voice was annoyingly perky and not one he recognised. Probably a new housemaid. Where was Robert? It was usually his valet who brought his coffee and the morning papers.

With herculean effort he lifted one eyelid.

Ouch, the light was bright.

He didn’t recognise her face either. And the housemaids didn’t usually wear jeans. He squeezed his eyes shut again, but that was worse. Now the room reeled about him.

It wasn’t a sensation he was used to, but in a sickening instant he knew he was neither dreaming nor ill. He was hungover. And there wasn’t going to be any valet or housemaid, because they belonged to a life that wasn’t his anymore.

“Here drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

Nothing could do that. He’d already tried. Neither time nor distance nor drink could dull the constant ache.

He prised his eyes open. “What is it?”

“A special concoction the concierge cooked up. He swears on his grandmother’s grave it works miracles.”

Rik hoped so. Gingerly, he levered himself up on his elbow and took the glass of foaming green liquid from her outstretched hand. “What’s in it?”

She shrugged. “Local herbs or something.”

Local herbs – who was she kidding? “Isn’t it bad enough you got me drunk? Now you want to get me stoned too?”

“I didn’t get you drunk. You did that all on your own. And I don’t want you stoned either. I want you sober and out of my bed so I can get to work.”

The drink tasted surprisingly minty and though the first sip made him gag, he managed to drink it all down.

“There’s a good boy. Ready to get up now?”

“Ask me in another hour.” He shut his eyes and sagged back into the pillow’s softness. At least the room seemed to have stopped spinning about him. A miracle indeed.

She ripped the duvet off him. “Oh no, you don’t! It’s already ten o’clock and the day is wasting away.”

He pulled the duvet back. “Great, go and enjoy it,” he mumbled into the pillow. “I’ll stay here and sleep it off. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“You’re taking me to see the mayor.”

Why would he do that? He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to remember, but gradually the memories formed anyway … the resort bar, chosen because there were few locals there and little chance he’d be recognised … the pretty firecracker who’d made him smile … the summons from his brother … 

His whole damned useless life where one day dragged into another.

He forced himself off the pillows and sat up.

The room wasn’t as bright as it first appeared. Wooden shutters shielded the worst of the infernal sunshine. It leaked through the slats, casting moving patterns on the bed that made his stomach swirl.

His gaze shifted back to the redhead. No, not red …  more ginger. She wore it tied back in a loose ponytail, just as she had last night. Her eyes were too big for her face, her nose pert and slightly upturned, and her skin … he’d never understood the term ‘porcelain skin’ until now. The dusting of freckles stood out against the delicate paleness.

Kenzie, she’d called herself. What kind of a name was that?

“You look tired,” he observed.

She pursed her lips. “I wonder why?”

Her retort was too tart for him to have kept her awake in the most pleasurable of ways. So at least he hadn’t missed any fun stuff. “How did I get here? Last I remember I was celebrating alone in the beach bar.”

“Didn’t look like much of a celebration. The night manager and barman carried you up here. It was either that or jail.”

“In which case, I thank you. You have a kind heart.”

She didn’t seem to like the compliment. Her eyes spat blue flame. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“Ah yes, I promised you an introduction to the mayor. You didn’t take my advice though. Didn’t the hotel boutique have a dress?”

Although her jeans were a snug fit so they might do the job too. They were certainly making his mouth dry. Or maybe that was just thirst.

“I was a tad preoccupied this morning.” She pursed her lips again, and he found his gaze drawn to her mouth. Against his will, he licked his own lips.

She blushed, her pale skin lighting up as the heat spread. Then she dropped her gaze and rose from the bed. “Now you’re finally awake, take a shower, and I’ll order you some breakfast.”

“I’ll have toast, plain, and I like my coffee black and sweet.”

Kenzie arched an eyebrow. “Anything else you’d like?” He almost heard the sarcastic
Your Highness
she bit back. He swallowed bitter laughter. She had no idea how close to the truth she was. Or how far.

While she stalked off to call room service, he slipped into the bathroom. The shower’s temperature was set on cold, and by the time he’d managed to crank up the heat, he was well and truly awake. He was also starving.

He didn’t have much experience of hangovers but he was pretty sure this level of alertness was unusual. Weren’t people supposed to throw up after they’d been drunk? He couldn’t remember being sick. The concierge’s grandmother could rest peacefully in her grave. Perhaps he should finance the concierge in a little sideline herbal remedy business.

Rik discarded the idea as quickly as he’d discarded every other Plan B he’d come up with these last few months. There wasn’t a lot that an ex-prince could do without seeming like a loser or just plain desperate. Which he was. There was also only so much paradise one man could take. If he didn’t find something soon to fill his days he was going to go insane.

But at least he still had his dignity – as long as the girl in the other room never got wind of who he was. A sordid night in a woman’s hotel room was exactly the kind of lurid headline he didn’t need.

Like mother, like son.
He could picture it already.

He towelled himself dry, dressed in his jeans, and emerged from the bathroom just as the room service waiter rolled in a trolley of pastries and steaming coffee. His stomach turned over, in a good way this time.

Kenzie had her back to him. She signed for the meal, closed the door behind the waiter, and turned.

She coughed.

“Please put your shirt back on.” Her voice sounded strangled.

“Do I offend your modesty?” he asked, feeling an insane urge to grin at her reaction.

She shook her head and swallowed again. “You have tattoos.”

“No, really? How did that happen?” He looked down at himself, eyes wide in mock shock.

She frowned.

“You don’t like tattoos?”

“I love tattoos.” She turned away again, fussing over the trolley and pouring coffee.

This time he grinned. And didn’t bother putting his shirt back on.

“Those tattoos aren’t new,” she said as she handed him a cup of coffee, careful not to look at him.

“No, they’re not.” They’d been his one and only form of rebellion, done right here in the islands on a holiday a couple of years ago. He’d had to be careful after that to always keep his shoulders and upper arms covered. It wouldn’t do for the heir to a European throne to be seen sporting tattoos. Not even his parents had known they existed.

Now that he was free to do as he pleased he still kept them covered. They mocked him. The dragon of Westerwald that snaked across his shoulder blades and down his arms. The emblem of a nation he didn’t belong to. Had never belonged to, it turned out, though it was the only home he’d ever known.

These were tattoos that no person but he and the artist had ever laid eyes on before today. Kenzie had no idea how privileged she was. He could only blame the lapse on last night’s over-indulgence.

He set down his undrunk coffee and pulled his long-sleeved shirt back on over his head. “You can look again now.”

She cast a furtive glance his way, long enough for him to catch the heated flush rising up her cheeks again. Interesting. So she had a serious thing for men with tattoos. And she didn’t want to.

He was sure he could change her mind.

Now where had that thought come from? He’d never been a seducer of women. In his old life he’d had a girlfriend for over a year and barely tried for more than a polite goodnight kiss. Teresa hadn’t made his blood boil, and that’s exactly why he’d liked her. She’d been cool, calm and rational. She’d have made the perfect Archduchess. She would never have done anything sordid, would never have created a scandal.

She probably wouldn’t have approved of his tattoos either.

Kenzie was everything Teresa wasn’t. She wasn’t cool and collected. She wasn’t a style icon. And her emotions were far too easy to read. In spite of the vulnerable eyes and heart-shaped face, sensuality smouldered beneath the surface. Emotional, sexy, complicated …  she was everything he’d avoided in his old life.

She was everything he no longer needed to avoid.

He found himself grinning again. It felt good to smile. Strange, but good.

“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to drink your coffee so we can get moving?” she asked impatiently, perching on the edge of the sofa.

Was she always this bossy or was it just his charm that brought out her better side?

“Yes ma’am.” He gulped down the coffee, grabbed a slice of toast, and sat beside her on the sofa. Since he’d woken in the bed, she must have slept here last night, judging by the blankets and pillows piled at one end. She could have made him sleep on the sofa. However much she chose to deny it, Kenzie had a kind heart.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked.

“I did. While you were still snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

She smiled, and it was an impish look. Forget smouldering sensuality. He’d guess she could be a downright bad girl if she wanted to be.

He set down his empty coffee cup, grabbed a cheese croissant from the basket and stood. “Where are my car keys? Let’s roll.”

She shook her head. “You’re not driving. I don’t trust you.”

It wasn’t just his driving. There was something in the rapid shuttering of her expression that told him exactly what she thought: it was
him
she didn’t trust.

It was a moment before he realised his mouth had dropped open. No one, ever, had thought him untrustworthy. And no one had ever looked at him the way Kenzie just had – as if he were a bug squashed beneath her shoe. Nope, no matter how attractive she found him, she didn’t like him.

He closed his mouth and followed her out into the corridor. The sickening feeling of disorientation was back in full force, and the unusual urge to grin deserted him.

***

The magical potion had definitely worn off. Rik clutched his head as Kenzie’s compact rental car bumped over the potholed road into town. “Could you possibly try not to hit every single one?” he groaned.

The look Kenzie cast him was beyond withering. “Are all the roads on the island like this one?”

“No. Most are worse.”

Only one tarred road circled the island, connecting the tourist resorts with the main town. Inland, where only the most adventurous visitors ventured, the roads were nothing but dirt.

She swerved to avoid the next major pothole, which was even worse than bumping through it. Rik hung onto the car door, feeling more than a little green. And she hadn’t trusted
him
to drive?

“You’re not booked into the hotel,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “Do you live here on Los Pajaros?”

“Something like that.”

He didn’t need to see her to know she had rolled her eyes. “You’re not good with small talk, are you?”

He was a master at small talk, had been trained in the art from the time he learned to talk. Along with many other skills that were all but useless now.

He shrugged and looked back out the window. On their right the sea flashed silver and invitingly through the dense foliage that separated the road from the beach.

The undergrowth grew thinner, and the simple wooden dwellings clustered along the road grew more numerous. Then they crested the final rise and Fredrikshafen lay below them, a small town of broad avenues and colourful buildings.

Beyond the jumble of buildings lay the wide harbour. A vast passenger liner, winking white in the sunlight, dominated the largest of the piers that jutted out into the bay. Colour and vibrancy and light dazzled their eyes.

Kenzie sucked in a breath.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” he asked, managing a grin now that the ordeal of the drive was behind them.

She nodded. “It’s growing on me.”

The place was growing on him too. He’d come to Los Pajaros because he had nowhere else to go. There could be worse places to lose oneself.

The mayor’s office was housed in a white colonial building on an esplanade lined with scraggy palms that overlooked the harbour. Kenzie circled the block until she found a parking space and finally turned to Rik. “You sure you’re up for this?”

She wasn’t just asking how his hangover was doing. She wanted to know if he could really help her. This was his last chance to back out.

But he didn’t ever back out. No matter how much he wanted to run away and hide.
We never back down from unpleasant tasks
, his father had often said.
We face them with our heads high and our hearts strong
. He flinched.

“My headache’s back. Thanks for asking.” He unclicked the seatbelt and ignored her frown.

Head high. He hadn’t been doing a lot of that lately.

Kenzie followed him through the doors that stood open into a double volume courtyard fringed by potted palms. A military guard, sweating in his uniform, waved them past the security desk with nothing more than a curious look. Everything in the space was white, or had once been, and streaked with strips of light that fell through the high windows over the majestic staircase rising up before them.