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“The murals and sculptures I’ve seen in the palace so far are simply stunning. I’m not usually an art buff, but I know what looks good.”
She continued to talk as she walked, her high-heeled shoes clicking over the gleaming floors. Her dress was drastically different from the formfitting outfit Malayka wore and was certainly more intriguing. Kris found himself staring at—of all things—her shoulders. They were pretty, her skin tone the perfect shade of brown, and appeared smooth to the touch. To the taste, he thought as he wondered about kissing her there. He would drag his tongue slowly from one shoulder to the next. Would she tremble beneath him? Would his mouth water? It already was.
“I’ve never seen a place like this before,” she said, reaching her arms behind her back and clasping her fingers together.
Her hair was dark and pulled up so that her slender neck was visible. She walked slowly from one part of the room to the other, looking at things that Kris had seen so many times he could describe them each while blindfolded.
“I should probably head back to my rooms, but every time I come out I see something different. Something more beautiful,” she said.
“There is nothing...” Kris said impulsively. Nothing more beautiful than her, he thought, but wisely, did not finish his comment.
She turned then, facing him with her head tilted slightly. “Excuse me?”
No, Kris’s mind screamed. No, he would not excuse her and as he was already walking toward her, he apparently would not stay away from her either.
“There is nothing here that you cannot look at as long as you like,” he told her. “As a matter of fact, I’ve asked my sister to give you a full tour of the island tomorrow.”
“Oh,” she said, seemingly surprised. “I’m only here to work. I don’t mean to take up any of the royal family’s official time. Besides, I’ll be with Malayka early tomorrow morning until after the press conference.”
He stopped only a few feet away from her. He was so close he could smell the soft scent of whatever fragrance she wore. It wasn’t the powerful come-get-me scent that he’d smelled on so many women he’d met. No, this was lighter, with a sweet, musky aroma instead of a heavy floral one. He liked it. A lot. He also liked how she was looking up at his six-foot-two-inch frame now.
“Sam will be attending the press conference as well. The two of you can leave afterward,” he stated.
Then Kris did something he rarely ever did while in someone’s company. He slipped both hands into his front pant pockets. It was a casual stance, one that did not equate to the role of a leader.
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” she said.
Her voice had changed. It was subtle and he doubted even she realized it, but Kris did. There was a smoky tinge to her words and just as he made that realization, she licked her lips. His body tensed.
“She’s the president of the tourism board—it’s her duty to welcome all tourists to the island,” Kris told her and instinctively took another step closer.
“Why?” she asked and he paused. “Why did you ask her to show me around? You know I’m not technically a tourist. I’m here to work for Malayka.”
“I know why you’re here.”
“Then why did you insist I come to dinner? You did that, didn’t you? The housekeeper—”
“Ingrid,” he interrupted.
She nodded. “Ingrid said I was supposed to be ready at six, that I was expected at dinner. She was in the hall waiting when I left your office earlier today, as if she knew I would be coming out. Why didn’t you invite Malayka’s hair stylist and makeup artist? Why only me?”
Kris did not have the answers to any of her questions. Another first for him. He had instructed Ingrid to tell her about dinner. All he’d known at that time was that he’d wanted to see her again. Just as he hadn’t been able to stop looking at her pictures all week, Kris now couldn’t keep his eyes off her. While his more official thought had been that he wanted to know everything there was to know about Malayka’s staff, it was Landry, in particular, who had awakened something in him.
“You don’t care for dinner? Is that why you’re questioning me?” he asked.
She smiled then, a slow and deliberate action.
“You don’t want to answer my question,” she said. “That’s fine. Still, I don’t want to impose on anyone. I’ll do some sightseeing whenever I’m not working, but I don’t think I need a guide.”
“What do you need?”
The question was quick and impulsive. Her response was even quicker and bold. Yes, Kris thought as he sucked in a quick breath when she’d taken that step closing the distance between them, it was damn bold.
“Why?” she asked. “What do you need, Prince Kristian?”
He stared at her for much longer than he figured a smooth and charismatic man should. Then again, those had never been traits Kris possessed. He was the mature prince, the serious one who was all business, all the time. But he’d never done business with a woman who looked and smiled like Landry Norris. None of his dealings were filled with the scent she wore, or the sound of Landry Norris’s voice. And nobody, not even the women he’d dated over the years, whether for convenience or for political reasons, had ever made him lose track of what he should be doing.
Yet, his response to her was simple and came as naturally as his next breath. Kris touched a finger to her chin, tilting her head up farther. Her lips parted slightly as her hazel eyes stared back at him. He leaned in closer, wanting desperately to see those eyes filled with lust. Wanting, even more hungrily, to touch his lips to hers, to taste the sweetness of her.
He shouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
He was a breath away. She leaned into him, her arms remaining straight by her side. Her lips were still parted, her tongue beyond them, teasing and tempting him.
He was the crown prince. She worked for the woman who planned to marry his father.
He couldn’t.
Kris closed his eyes and leaned in just another inch or so, until her warm breath smelling of the sweet crêpes they’d just had for dessert fanned over his face. He inhaled the aroma, feeling the heat of desire swelling in the pit of his stomach.
* * *
What was she doing? Was she completely out of her mind?
Why on earth had she thought the crown prince of this beautiful island would want to kiss her? They’d only met hours earlier. It was ridiculous. Presumptuous and possibly career ending if she were to be kicked off the island. Malayka was exactly the type to spread vicious rumors. And since this one would have a great amount of truth to it, Malayka would happily report back to everyone she knew in the United States.
Landry sighed, letting her head lull back against the door to her room, which she’d slammed closed and locked a few minutes after she’d left Prince Kristian and run all the way to her temporary sanctuary.
She was such a screwup.
Impulsive. Headstrong. Opinionated. Mouthy.
All words Landry had heard before in reference to her personality.
“Men don’t want women who push too hard, Landry. They want someone agreeable and calm spirited.”
Those were Astelle Norris’s famous words to her daughter. They were famous because she’d spoken them more times than Landry could count.
“Wives are submissive to their husbands,” Astelle would continue as she sat at the kitchen table doing some chore she thought wifely. Like snapping green beans for dinner or sewing socks so that her husband Heinz Norris’s toes wouldn’t poke through as he stood in the pulpit of the Baptist church where he pastored.
Landry could feel her eyes rolling back in her head as she recalled one of the more popular disagreements she’d had over the years with her mother.
“I’m not doing any man’s bidding. He can cook just like I can and he can go out and buy himself a new pair of socks if his have holes in them. I don’t have to be subservient to get and keep a man,” was Landry’s typical response.
Astelle, with her thinning, but still long silver-gray hair, only shook her head. “It doesn’t make you less of a woman, Landry. It makes you a good woman.”
“To who?” Landry had asked. “If I give a man that much control over me, who am I any good to? My future daughters will only see that their mother is so fragile and clueless that she can’t do anything without permission from a man? My future sons will grow up believing they rule the world, not for their brains or intuition, but because they have a penis so it should be so?”
In a rare display of anger, Astelle had stood quickly, dropping the beans she’d held into a large yellow bowl as she glared at her daughter through tired gray eyes. “I’ve never been clueless, Landry Diane Norris. I graduated at the top of my class at Brighton Business School and I worked in a law office for the first five years of my marriage until my husband finished school and received his PhD. I came home and started a family where I took care of my children and the head of my household. Six productive and intelligent people were brought into this world because of me and all the lessons I’ve taught them. My husband is a pillar of this community. He’s a teacher and a confidant and a good provider. I’m just as proud of him as I am of our children. So don’t you stand there after another failed relationship and pretend to know what my life has been like or what may have been better for me. I won’t stand for your disrespect.”
By the time her mother had finished speaking her hands were shaking with rage and Landry felt like crap. Astelle had left her in that kitchen alone, where Landry spent a few more moments wallowing in guilt and wondering how long she should wait before apologizing to her mother. Her father had come in during that time, rubbing his hand over Landry’s head as he used to do when she was a child.
“Put your foot in your mouth again, huh, pumpkin?” Heinz had asked with the booming melodic voice of a southern-born minister.
“Yes, sir,” had been her quiet response.
“She’s only telling you what she’s learned. That’s a mother’s job,” he said as he went into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottled water.
Landry watched her father’s strong hands—the same ones that, when she was ten years old, had fixed the chain on her bike—twist the cap off the water before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a gulp. She saw the man who had carried her mother to the car the night she’d awakened in pain and stayed at the hospital every second Astelle was there having her emergency hysterectomy. Landry had only been sixteen then. He was the same man who had placed money in Landry’s hand and told her to go to the grocery store and get some things to have cooked before Astelle came home. The man who had written check after check for Landry to attend college when the scholarships she’d received had run out.
“I’m not the type of woman she is,” Landry had admitted. “I could never be like her.”
Heinz shook his head, his short-cropped black hair having long ago made the transition to snowy white. “She doesn’t want you to be like her. She just wants you to be good and true.”
“To bow to some man and say what he wants to make him happy. Kevin Blake cheated on me with a freshman that had big boobs and a fake butt. What could I have done to make him happy if that’s the kind of trash he wanted to chase in the first place?”
“Nothing. Because he was a jerk. But not all men are and your mother is simply trying to prepare you for a mature and fulfilling relationship.”
“She’s trying to make me a Leave It to Beaver wife in the age of The Real Housewives.”
Heinz chuckled then. “Now, those women, you should definitely take note of.”
Landry had been surprised by what her father had said in reference to the reality TV series. But more so because as she’d been talking to him, she’d moved to the seat that her mother had vacated and started snapping the green beans and dropping them in that same yellow bowl.
“You’re saying I should take advice from the housewives?” she asked because that made more sense than trying to figure out what she was doing with the beans.
“No,” Heinz replied with a hearty chuckle. “Not at all. What your mother and I have built over the course of our marriage is something special and sacred. It’s also been very rewarding for us. Of course your mother would want you to find the same type of commitment for your life. The thing is, what I think you’re missing about the type of marriage that your mother and I have, is that it’s rooted in love. Your mother could not do and say the things she did with regard to our marriage if she didn’t love me with every fiber of her being. For that I am forever grateful as there is no greater love on this earth. As for me, I can only thank the Lord daily for the blessing of my wife. I love her phenomenally and I cherish her. That’s what she wants for you, Landry. That’s what we both want for you.”
Well, that was never going to happen, Landry thought as she pushed away from the door and stepped out of her heels, kicking them across the Aubusson rug.
She reached behind and unzipped her dress as she walked toward the rack where she’d left the hanger. Landry stood in the middle of the fanciest room she’d ever had the pleasure of staying in and stripped the expensive dress off her body. She hung it on the rack once more, traipsed over to the bed and plopped down onto the shiny cream-colored comforter.
She’d thought for sure Kristian wanted to kiss her. Everything about him said so. The way he’d stepped to her and touched her chin. His eyes had grown darker, his lips parted. Well, hers parted first because not only had she assumed he wanted the kiss, she’d been anxious for it as well.
With a heavy sigh she fell back on the bed, one arm going over her eyes, her hand to her stomach as if she could possibly calm the butterflies that still danced happily there. She wanted to kiss the prince. Not the sexy flirtatious one that probably would have easily taken her into his arms and kissed her senseless. No, she had to want the other one. The one who looked at her like she was no better than the rug he stepped on. She hadn’t been here a full twenty-four hours and already she was messing up.
But tomorrow was another day and she needed to get an early start. Malayka was going to be anxious and irritable. Everything would need to be perfect for her first official appearance as Prince Rafferty’s fiancée. So with a resignation to keep her mind on things that it should be on, Landry moved over the bed until she could push down the comforter and slip beneath it and the sheets. Lying on a soft pillow she stared up at the ceiling and attempted to think of the dresses she would pull for Malayka tomorrow. The shoes, earrings, necklace, rings. How her hair would be styled. Makeup soft, or bold?
Those thoughts were quickly replaced by the sights of the windows across the room. Large windows, no curtains, giving a clear view out to the night sky. Dark, but with tiny pricks of light. Stars, Landry thought. There were stars out tonight. What would happen if she wished upon a star?
Not a damn thing, she thought with a chuckle. This wasn’t a storybook and wishes did not come true. Sure, she was lying in a king-size bed, in a room in a palace. Tomorrow morning she would watch a prince announce that he was about to make a woman a princess. A woman, who for all intents and purposes, came from the same place that Landry had. And yes, tonight she’d dined with said prince, plus two more and a princess who smiled easily but managed to run their household and island in grand style.
There was still reality. The one where Landry was a business owner and Malayka was a client. She would do this job and then she would return to LA, to her family and her condo. To her world. The princes and princesses would all remain here in the land that looked to be fresh out of a childhood storybook, but had no place in Landry’s dreams.
Now that was a buzzkill if ever she’d experienced one. Landry turned on her side, closed her eyes and forced them to remain that way. She thought of dresses again, of colors and materials. She did not think about Kristian, or his lips, or how a kiss from him would have tasted. She refused, and that took way more energy than planning a wardrobe for any client ever had.
Chapter 4 (#u99271997-fab8-5b08-b538-b6cfd4e96d0f)
Kris watched the taped version of the press conference for the third time. There was a throbbing between his eyes as he hit the stop button on the remote, ending the recording seconds before turning the television off.
He was in his rooms now, two hours after his meeting at the bank had ended. His second meeting of the day had been cancelled and his father had never contacted him about when they would meet today. Kris sat back in the leather chair in the sitting area that he’d turned into an additional office and stared down at his desk. He did not have time for this.
Press conferences about wedding plans, announcements about parties, and yes, the blatant disrespect Malayka had just shown to the local dressmakers, were all among the things Kris did not want to deal with. There were too many more important things for him to occupy his thoughts with. The meeting at the bank and the concern that had been gnawing at him for weeks, for instance.
Grand Serenity Island was an independent territory that had been acquired by the Netherlands in the 1600s. The island did not flourish as the early settlers would have liked because of its dry climate and thus the lack of agricultural prospects. That began to change in the late 1800s when the son of a British sailor named Montgomery Chapman decided there had to be more to this place than gorgeous waters and warm air. Montgomery and his group of slaves discovered the Rustatian Gold Mill, which eventually went on to produce three million pounds of gold. In the immediate years following, the island saw more growth in the building of its first oil refinery, which was also owned by the Chapman family.
By the time Kris’s grandfather, Josef Marquise DeSaunters, gained control of the island via his leadership role in the rebellion against the then ruling tyrant, Governor Marco Vansig, the gold mills and oil refineries were the island’s main sources of income. However, Vansig’s greed and vicious rule had burned many bridges in the trade industry, leaving Josef with no other option than to look for additional opportunities for the citizens of the island to continue to thrive. On the advice of his wife, Josef formed the island’s first tourism board and by the early 1980s, when the oil industry began to wane, tourism became Grand Serenity’s financial savior.
It was Kris’s father, Rafe, who came into rule after Josef’s death from throat cancer. Rafe vowed to continue his father’s vision for the island. Rafe knew the value of forging strong partnerships on and off the island. This led him to venture to the United States where he met with potential developers and owners of the burgeoning cruise lines. This was also where Rafe met his wife, Kris’s mother, Vivienne Patterson, whose father was a Texas oilman.
Kris dragged a hand down his face at the thought. His chest clenched and he spent the next few seconds tamping down the well of emotion that always swelled when he thought of his mother, who had died when Kris was ten years old. When Kris was certain he could concentrate on the pressing matter at hand once more, he opened a large file filled with papers he’d brought back with him from the bank and began sorting them into three piles.
As a young man during his father’s rule, Rafe had begun to amass more fortune for the DeSaunters family by constructing financial institutions. He’d been successful with soliciting wealthy international clients, as well as celebrities, to invest and bank with Grand Serenity as a way of remaining ungoverned by their country’s financial restrictions. This had been the first aspect of governing the island that Rafe had taught Kris. From the time Kris was a young boy, his father had talked of the banks and how they, along with the tourism, would sustain the island’s growth, even as the natural resources continued to dwindle.
Thus came his degree in international finance. Kris spent numerous hours a day poring over financial reports and statements from each of the three banks on the island.
Three months ago, Kris had received reports of two new accounts that had been opened with multimillion-dollar deposits. The accounts had continued to see hefty deposits in the following weeks. This alone did not raise any red flags, however it was the signature cards on the account that did.
A. M. Belle Vansig.
The name had immediately struck a chord in Kris’s mind, yet when he’d searched deeper into the account, he hadn’t found any further identifying information for this person.
“You’re not concerned?” he’d asked his father during one of their morning meetings.
“It’s just a name, Kris,” Rafe had responded as he’d scooped spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his coffee.
The strong and stern ruler of the great Grand Serenity Island had a vicious sweet tooth.
“A name that has meaning in our family’s past and the history of this island,” was Kris’s counter.
Rafe shook his head. “Marco Vansig and his army were conquered by my father and his soldiers. Their bodies were burned at sea. Vansig had no wife, no children, nothing but his precious gold, which was turned over to the island treasury department upon his death. He was a dark spot in this island’s history and then he was gone. Now, decades later, you see the name and what? You think Vansig is reaching up from the grave to cause more mayhem?”
Kris had to admit that the idea seemed far-fetched. There were numerous people throughout the world with the same name that had no connection to each other whatsoever. Still, he’d decided to keep an eye on the accounts anyway.
“Nonetheless, I’ve been thinking we should implement a more thorough background check for new account holders. With the rise in criminal activity connecting to offshore accounts, we want to be sure that we’re working on a higher level.”
“Our institutions are not founded on the rules and regulations of other financial facilities. This is why we are able to hold such lucrative accounts. We do not overly tax our customers with paperwork and supervision of their own funds,” Rafe had immediately rebutted.
“I know that we are not regulated by such organizations as the United States Federal Reserve or the European Commission and other such places throughout the world. Our customers run from Russia to South America and we retain their autonomy and confidence by not working in any fashion with these other regulating entities. But that does not mean we do not have our own regulatory process. We should still know who we are doing business with.”
“We do,” Rafe insisted. “There is no need to change the protocols we have in place. It has been working for years.”
“Things change, Dad,” Kris told his father. “You know that as well as I do. I’m just trying to look out for our future. It’s my job.”
Rafe hadn’t disputed that fact. His father had been the one constantly drilling into Kris’s head the importance of his job and his duty. Kris would rule this island and continue what his grandfather and father had built before him. He would not fail. He could not fail.
Just as he could not bring himself to kiss the sexy American last night.
