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“Chad,” Alex called. “Where am I?”
“Nowhere.”
Alex frowned.
“Well,” Chad amended quickly, “specifically, you’re on Pirate Island, population four hundred sixty-four on a busy day. This is a camping resort for families who want to get away from it all. And I say ‘all’ in the literal sense. We don’t even have a weekly newspaper, and the only way you can get here is by ferry.” Chad hooked his fingers in his pockets and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Elvis could live here in total obscurity. The place is dead.”
Alex was sure he’d misunderstood. “No newspaper?”
“None.”
“Radio or television station?”
“None.” Chad pushed open the door. “Don’t worry. We won’t keep you here. The noon ferry will be here before you know it.”
Alex stared after Chad thoughtfully. No newspaper. No media. No “Your Majesty.” An insane idea struck him. He immediately dismissed it. But as he took his shower and ate a bowl of cereal, it distracted him like a buzzing bee.
He called the palace collect and asked for Isabella. Though Alex felt distant from his three siblings, he felt the strongest connection with Isabella, probably because she was the closest in age and she didn’t stand on ceremony with him.
“Where are you?” she asked without preamble. “Jake called this morning and said you hadn’t arrived.”
“You haven’t mentioned this to Father.”
“No, but I would have if you hadn’t called in another hour. Jake asked where you were, then he rudely ordered me to keep my mouth shut. Your friend is—”
“—Jake’s an American, and he was right to ask you to keep quiet.”
“He didn’t ask,” she stiffly informed him.
Alex shook his head. This would have been easier if he could have talked to his longtime assistant, Max, but Max was in Tibet. “That’s beside the point. I’m on Pirate Island, North Carolina. I had some—” he paused only a second “—transportation difficulties. It’s a remote area. No media. They don’t even know who I am.”
“Sounds enthralling. When are you going to Jake’s?”
“I don’t know.” He looked around the simply furnished room and finally repeated his impulse out loud. “I was thinking of staying.”
Complete silence followed his statement, which was rare for Isabella. “You’re joking,” she finally said. “You wouldn’t last a week without your adoring servants.”
That nettled him. “I’ve handled tougher conditions than this.”
“But everybody always knew you were Prince Alexander Ferdinand Merrick de Moreno.”
True. That was what he loved and hated about Isabella—she always told the truth.
“Alex, face it. You’re a prince. When you take the throne, you’ll be a king. You’re good at being a ruler. It’s your identity.”
Familiar dissatisfaction rolled through him. He loved his country and took seriously his role as leader, but even leaders needed an occasional break. That was the purpose behind this monthlong vacation. A dozen practical objections to his staying on Pirate Island came to mind.
The once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be just a man, though, won out. In that instant he made his decision. “Call Jake and give my regrets. He’ll understand. Have the rental car picked up in Charles City. I’ll see you in a month.”
“I don’t believe this. You’ll never last.”
Alex knew Isabella couldn’t resist a bet. “Shall we wager?”
“What?”
“If I don’t last a month, I’ll persuade Father to let you go to Monte Carlo with your wild friend Lucinda.”
“She’s not that wild,” Isabella corrected.
“If I stay, you make the same kind of trip—sans title.” While Alex wore his title like a cloak, Isabella used hers as a shield to get out of sticky situations.
“Deal.”
“Not a word to Mother or Father.”
“My lips are sealed. I’ll be too busy thinking about Monte Carlo.”
Alex smiled. “Just remember my nickname, dearest.”
“Prince of Steel? Ah, but even steel melts, Your High and Mightiness.” She paused, and her voice softened. “Take care. Au revoir, Alex.”
“Make that Al. Al Sanders.”
“Au revoir.” She hesitated. “Al.”
Twenty minutes later his new identity was firmly in place. From the tight fit of the borrowed jeans and T-shirt brought to him, Alex concluded the mechanic weighed about twenty pounds less than he did. He learned that Chad and Katherine’s uncle Jasper owned the campground but had recently experienced a heart attack. Katherine was nearly overwhelmed with the responsibility of the busy tourist season.
He also learned despite Chad’s stuttering and stammering that Katherine expected Alex to vacate the premises as soon as possible.
Alex, however, had other ideas. He wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to be a nonprince.
After all, it might never come again. He needed to be just a man. Katherine needed help. The solution seemed simple to him. And in the back of his mind, he wanted to learn more about the tough and tender lady with the rose-petal mouth.
Alex picked up a map of the resort complex and set out to make himself indispensable.
At nine o’clock that evening Katherine glanced up to find Al Sanders propped against the door of her uncle’s office. He should have been gone hours ago. Instead, he’d entertained some difficult customers by taking them sailing. The disgruntled couple had been charmed, the woman nearly melting into the cracks of the pavement.
Katherine couldn’t blame her. When Al looked into a woman’s eyes as though she were the only female in the world, he dissolved defenses more effectively than the Patriot missile. And those breathtakingly tight jeans could surely earn him a spot in the buns-of-steel calendar. Add in his hundred-dollar smile and masterful air, and Katherine was surprised women hadn’t started throwing their lingerie at him.
She was pretty sure Al Sanders was a con artist down on his luck, and she wanted him gone before he caused any trouble. The fact that he unsettled her and she couldn’t put her finger on why only added fuel to the fire.
It would have been much easier to kick his incredible derriere off the island if he hadn’t sold helium balloons and skipped dinner to sell cotton candy, she realized.
Remembering his injured head, she felt guilty. She motioned for him to sit and offered him some packaged bologna sandwiches and a soda. Maybe if she fed him, she wouldn’t feel so bad about sending him off.
“How’s your head?”
“Fine.”
But he looked a little green. She set some aspirin in front of him.
“Thank you.”
Katherine took a deep breath and sat in her uncle’s worn captain’s chair behind the old walnut desk. Her least favorite thing in the world was firing people. And although technically, she’d never hired Al, the process was still the same. Her palms were sweating.
She thought of how her uncle would handle this situation, pretended she was six feet tall instead of five foot three, and tried to forget that she was much more comfortable teaching first graders than managing this camping resort.
“Al, I appreciate how you’ve pitched in today. And I’ll be glad to pay you for your services,” she began, and twined her fingers together.
“That’s unnecessary. I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night.” Al glanced down at the sandwich. “This meat is unusual. It’s very good.”
Katherine blinked. “It’s bologna.”
He looked thoughtful. “I’ll have to remember that.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You have an accent. Are you from England?”
“I’ve spent some time there.”
“Do you have a green card?” she asked, hoping for an easy out.
He stiffened. “I don’t need a green card.”
His manner was so cold and affronted, she had to resist the urge to apologize. Such pride, she thought. It was surpassed only by his confidence. She’d always resented tall, confident people.
Katherine tried the direct approach. “The next ferry leaves at ten o’clock. We’re booked for the night, but there are some nice hotels on the mainland.”
“You have a room available in your cabin. Chad tells me you’re short-staffed and this is the busy season. I’d like to work for room and board until the end of the month.”
Katherine mentally cursed her half brother and picked up a pencil. “Al, you arrived here last night, drunk and passed out. I don’t really see how I can hire you on that basis.”
“I arrived here passed out because I happened into a bottle of whiskey aimed for your brother’s head. I was not drunk.”
He stood and dropped the paper napkin into the trash. Then he looked directly at her. “Have you been unhappy with my performance today?”
Katherine leaned back in her chair. “Well, no.”
“Are you short-staffed?”
She resisted the urge to squirm. “Yes.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Take me on a trial basis.”
Her chest squeezed tight. What woman wouldn’t take him? He was the kind of man women made fools of themselves over. If she had erotic dreams, he would be the kind of lover she’d dream of. His hands would be slow and sure, his mouth both giving and ruthless, his voice low and urgent. She shivered.
“Trial basis,” she repeated weakly.
“Yes.” He glanced away from her, suddenly appearing tired. “I’m rather…”
“…down on your luck at the moment,” she supplied for him.
His dark eyes held wry, weary amusement. “So, you’re not only beautiful, you’re also perceptive.” He bent over the desk and took her fidgeting hand. “What have you got to lose?”
Katherine’s cheeks heated at the feeling of her hand enveloped within his larger one. Beautiful? Lord, he’s good, she thought. She pulled her hand away and cleared her throat.
She couldn’t say what tipped the scales in his favor. Maybe it was the fact that he’d worked so hard this afternoon. It might have been that she wondered if she’d misjudged him. What if he wasn’t a con man and needed help? Katherine was sensitive to unfairness, having taken too many cheap shots from the tabloids over her ex-husband’s affairs.
But what really affected her was the way his posture screamed confidence while his eyes revealed flashes of something deeper and more human.
“One week’s trial,” she finally said, and watched him relax slightly.
“You won’t regret it.”
Katherine gave a grim smile and prayed.
Katherine awoke to darkness and the sound of someone scratching on her window screen. After a moment of terror she recognized old Mr. Larson’s husky voice. He wanted to borrow fishing lures from her uncle and had forgotten Jasper was gone for the summer. Katherine promised to find them, and Mr. Larson said he’d be back in twenty minutes.
Pushing her hair from her face, she crept from her room to the hall closet. She shined the flashlight up the shelves to the top one and sighed. There sat the tackle box.
She tiptoed to the kitchen and grabbed a bar stool. After positioning it in front of the closet, she climbed on top and reached for the box.
“What are you doing?” a low voice said behind her.
Startled, Katherine gave a muffled squeak. The bar stool shifted. She panicked until the stool was steadied and a strong arm wrapped around her waist.
She took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
“That’s what I asked you,” Al said. “Do you know what time it is?”
“No. And please don’t tell me. I’ve got to get fishing lures for Mr. Larson. He and Uncle Jasper always go fishing together this time of year.” She moaned. “They’d leave about four o’clock in the morning.”
“You’re close. It’s actually—”
“I said don’t tell me.”
His chuckle rumbled pleasantly out of the darkness. His arm felt warm around her. She’d rested her hand on it and could feel his flexed muscles. Her back absorbed the sensation of his hard chest pressed against her. His musky male scent made her lightheaded. The darkness covered them like a blanket, and their hushed voices made the situation feel oddly erotic.
“Let me go.”
“No. You might fall.”
She started to argue, then realized it would be faster just to grab the tackle box and get down. She turned around with the tackle box in her hand. Al took it, and before she could bend down, he picked her up. She clutched his shoulders and slid down his body, feeling his bare chest against her breasts. Her hair shimmied over one of his shoulders.
She looked into his face, and everything stopped. Her mind, her heart, her breath. Somewhere in her conscience the hint of a melody, stirring and poignant, teased her. At that moment all she could do was stand still inside his arms and watch.
With one arm still wrapped around her waist, he picked up the long lock of hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “It’s so long,” he mused.
Katherine’s mouth went dry. “I—I keep saying I’m going to cut it.”
