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She wouldn’t put it past her father to lock her up in the palace dungeon or do something else equally archaic since he seemed bent on rediscovering his old-fashioned side. That last photo of her to hit the tabloids? Totally not her fault. How was she supposed to know the paparazzi had hidden in the foliage surrounding Nicole’s pool? Everyone else had shed their swimsuits, too, but Bella was the only one they’d targeted, of course.
Rafael Montoro the Third was not amused. Apparently it was problematic that her father’s business associates and soon-to-be-king Gabriel’s future subjects in Alma could easily access naked photos of Bella.
No one seemed to remember that she was the victim in that scandal.
Celia snorted. “With Gabriel about to take the throne, your father will want the whole family in the public eye, gaining support for your brother. You’re the only princess Alma’s got, sweetie. They’ll love you and so will your fiancé. Your father can’t lock you away and expect you to marry the man he’s picked out.”
“Yeah, I’ve been trying not to think about that.” Her head started pounding again and that fourth glass of champagne last night started to feel like a bad idea. But her friends had been determined to send her off in style to her new life as the sister of the king of Alma, so how could she refuse?
Besides, anything that helped her forget the arranged marriage her father was trying to force down her throat was a plus in her book. Fine time for her father to remember he had a daughter—when it was important for the Montoro family to strengthen ties with Alma through marriage. How come Gabriel and Rafe didn’t have to marry someone advantageous? Her brothers had chosen their own brides. It wasn’t fair. But her father had made it clear she was to get on a plane and meet this man Will Rowling, who was the son of one of Alma’s most powerful businessmen.
Maybe she should be thankful no one had thought to match her with Will’s father. Seemed as if that might be more advantageous than marrying the son. She shuddered. No marriage sounded like fun, no matter who the guy was.
If Alma turned out to be horrible, she’d just come home. Rafe and Emily were going to make her an aunt soon, and she’d love to hang out in Key West with the baby. Nobody dictated Bella’s life but her.
“Mr. Rafael isn’t completely unreasonable. After all, he did agree to let you meet Will and see how things go. Just remember why you’re doing this,” Celia advised.
Bella’s guilty conscience reared its ugly head and she eased out of Celia’s embrace before the older woman sensed it. “It’s my royal obligation to help Gabriel ascend to the throne,” she mimicked in her father’s deep voice. “The whole family needs to be in Alma to prepare for the coronation.”
But that wasn’t really why she’d agreed to go. Miami had grown too small to hold both Bella and Drew Honeycutt. Honestly, when you told a guy that you just wanted to have fun and not take a relationship seriously, he was supposed to breathe a sigh of relief.
He was not supposed to fall to one knee and propose after two months of casual dating. And then plaster his second proposal on twenty billboards around the city, along with Bella’s picture and a cartoon heart around her face. The third proposal spread across the sky in the form of a “Will you marry me, Bella Montoro?” banner behind a small plane, which flew up and down South Beach for six hours while Bella was at a private cookout on the penthouse terrace of Ramone, the new guy she’d been seeing. A fan of drama Ramone was not. Thanks to Drew, he’d bowed out.
And Bella had really liked Ramone, dang it; the more he drank, the more money he handed over for her wildlife charities.
Drew followed her around, popping up at parties and museum openings like a bad penny, espousing his love for Bella with horrific poetry and calf eyes galore. It would be great if she could tell him off, but Honeycutt Logistics did a lot of business with Montoro Enterprises and she couldn’t afford to irritate her father further. Plus, she was 97 percent sure Drew was harmless and worse, he seemed genuinely baffled and brokenhearted over her continual rejection of his proposals.
Each Drew sighting was another kick to the stomach. Another reminder that she was the hurricane baby, destined to whirl through people’s lives and leave havoc in her wake. If only she could find a way to not break everything into little pieces—even though it was always an accident—she’d feel a lot better. She hated hurting people.
It was probably not a bad plan to disappear from the Miami scene for a while.
Celia managed to get Bella into the car on time and with all her luggage. The gates parted and Bella waved goodbye to Buttercup, Wesley and the house she’d grown up in as the driver picked up speed and they exited the grounds. Sun sparkled across Biscayne Bay and her spirits rose with each mile marker along the highway to the private airstrip where the Montoro Enterprises jet waited to fly her to Alma.
This was an adventure no matter what and she was going to enjoy every second of the sun, sand and royal parties ahead. By the time she’d boarded the plane, buckled her seatbelt and accepted a mimosa from Jan—the same flight attendant who’d given her crayons and coloring books once upon a time—Bella’s mood had turned downright cheerful. Cheerful enough to sneak a glance at the picture of Will Rowling her father had sent her.
He was classically handsome, with nice hair and a pleasant smile. The serious glint in his eye might be a trick of the light. Serious she could do without and besides, this was the guy her father had picked. Chances were Will and Bella would get on like oil and water.
But she’d reserve judgment until she met him because first and foremost, Alma was about starting fresh and Will deserved a chance to prove they were meant for each other. If he came out strong with a fun-loving nature and swept her off her feet, she’d be okay with a fabulous love affair and passion to spare.
Though she couldn’t deny that one of the big question marks was what kind of guy would agree to an arranged marriage in the twenty-first century. There was probably something really wrong with Will Rowling if he couldn’t meet women on his own. She probably had a better chance of her plane flying into an alternate universe than finding her soul mate in Will Rowling.
* * *
For the fourth time, someone kicked sand in James Rowling’s face and for the fourth time, he ignored it. If he let loose with a string of curses—the way he wanted to—he’d only alert someone to his presence here, and James was trying to be invisible.
Or at least as invisible as one of Alma’s most notorious failures could be. Maybe in fifty years he could fade into the woodwork, but every single citizen of Alma—and probably most of the free world—had watched him miss that goal in the World Cup. Anonymity was scarce.
So far, no one had recognized him with Oakleys covering his eyes and a backward ball cap over his hair. The longer he kept it that way, the better. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of questions about why Real Madrid had dropped his contract. It wasn’t hard to look that one up...along with pictures of James leaving a bar in Rio with a prostitute...not that she’d mentioned money to him. Or worse, questions about whether he planned to stick around his adopted homeland and play for Alma’s reserve football team—soccer team if the questioner was American.
No comment.
A reserve team was for beginners. He would get a new professional league contract, period. If not around here, then maybe back in England, where he’d been born. There was no other alternative. Football was his life.
Peeling his shirt away from his sticky chest, he leaned back into his short-legged beach chair, stuck his legs straight out and closed his eyes, somehow sure the elusive measure of peace he sought would be within reach this time. He almost snorted. When had he turned into an optimist?
There was no peace to be had and if there was, it sure as hell wouldn’t be found in Alma, the capital of boring. Not to mention his father’s presence permeated the entire island, as if Patrick Rowling’s soul lived in the bedrock, sending out vibrations of disapproval on a regularly scheduled basis.
That’s why James was at the beach at Playa Del Onda, soaking up the sun instead of doing whatever it was his father thought he should be doing, which would never happen because James lacked the capacity to do what his father said. It was like a mutated gene: his father spoke and James’s brain refused to obey. He automatically did the opposite.
“Ooof!” Air whooshed from his lungs as something heavy landed square on his chest.
Then his beach chair flipped, tossing him into the sand on top of something. It squealed.
Someone. When his vision cleared, the tangle of supple-bodied woman and blond hair underneath him captured his complete attention.
He gazed down into the bluest set of eyes he’d seen in a while. Something shifted inside as the woman blinked back, her beautiful heart-shaped face reflecting not an iota of remorse over their risqué position. Her body had somehow slid into the grooves of his effortlessly and the slightest incline of his head would fuse his lips to hers.
She’d fully gobsmacked him.
Their breath intermingled. She seemed in no hurry to unstick her skin from his and in about two and a half seconds, his own body would start getting into the moment in a huge and inappropriate way.
Sexy strangers signaled big-time problems and he had enough of those.
Reluctantly, he rolled off her and helped her sit up. “Sorry about that. You okay?”
“Totally.” Her husky voice skittered across his skin and he was hooked on the sound of it instantly. American. His favorite. “My fault. I was focused on this thing instead of where I was going.”
She kicked at a Frisbee he hadn’t noticed lying in the sand two feet away. But who’d pay attention to a piece of plastic when a fit blonde in a tiny bikini landed in your lap? Not him.
“I like a girl who goes for the memorable introduction.”
It was certainly a new one. And he’d experienced his share of inventive ploys for getting his attention. Knickers with cell phone numbers scrawled in marker across the crotch, which he discovered had been shoved into his pocket. Room keys slipped into drinks sent over by a knot of football groupies at a corner table. Once, he’d gone back to his hotel room after a press junket to find two naked women spread out across his bed. How they’d gotten in, he still didn’t know.
The logistics question had sort of slipped his mind after ten minutes in their company.
“Oh, I wasn’t angling for an introduction.” She actually blushed a bit, which was oddly endearing. “I really didn’t see you there. You kind of blend into the sand.”
“Is that a crack about my British complexion?” he teased. “You’re pretty pale yourself, darling.”
She laughed and rearranged her hair, pulling it behind her back so it didn’t conceal her cleavage. A move he thoroughly appreciated. This gorgeous klutz might be the best thing that had happened to him all week. Longer than that. The best thing since arriving in Alma for sure.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here cooling his heels until a football club whose jersey he could stomach wearing knocked on his door.
“No, not at all. I wouldn’t be so rude as to point out your flaws on our first meeting.” She leaned forward, her vibe full of come-hither as she teased him back.
Intrigued, he angled his head toward her. “But on our second date, all bets are off?”
Glancing down coquettishly, she let loose a small smile. “I’m more of a third-date kind of girl.”
His gut contracted as the full force of that promise hit him crossways. She was a unique breed of woman, the most fascinating one he’d met thus far on this stupid rock he was being forced to call home for the time being. The memory of her hot flesh against his was still fresh—it was enough to drive him mad. And he suspected she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
“I have a feeling you’d be worth the wait.”
She picked that moment to stand and for some reason, the new angle cast her in a different light. It tickled his mind and he recognized her all at once. Pictures of the new princess had graced every news channel for the past couple of weeks, but she’d been clothed. Regardless, he should have recognized her sooner and maybe not disgraced himself by flirting with a woman who probably really had no clue she’d stumbled over a former football player for Real Madrid.
A princess—especially one as fit as Bella Montoro—wasn’t running around the beach at Playa Del Onda looking to meet guys, whether they were semifamous or not. Which was a dirty shame.
He shoved his hat back onto his head and repositioned his sunglasses, both of which had flown off during the sand tango.
Ms. Montoro... Princess Bella... Your Royal Highness... What did you even call her when her brother hadn’t been crowned yet? Whatever the form of address, she was way out of his league.
But that didn’t mean she thought so. She hadn’t bothered to hide the frank attraction in her gaze when she’d been in his arms earlier. If there was anything he knew, it was women, and she might be royalty but that didn’t necessarily make her off-limits.
He quickly scrambled to his feet in case there was some protocol for standing when princesses stood...even if she was wearing a postage stamp–sized white bikini that somehow covered everything while leaving nothing to the imagination.
No point in beating around the bush. “Am I permitted to call you Bella or is there some other title you’d prefer?”
“What, like Princess?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really used to all that yet. And besides, I think we’re a little past that stage, don’t you?”
The feel of her soft curves flush against his body flooded his mind and his board shorts probably wouldn’t conceal his excitement much longer if he didn’t cool his jets. “Yeah. Formality isn’t my specialty anyway. Bella it is.”
Strangely, calling her Bella ratcheted up the intimacy quotient by a thousand. He liked it. And he wanted to say it a bunch more times while she lay stretched out under him again. Without the bikini.
She smiled and glanced down, as if the heat roiling between them was affecting her, too, and she didn’t know quite what to do with it. “This is all so awkward. I wasn’t sure you knew who I was.”
Shrugging, he stuck his hands behind his back because he had no clue what to do with them. It was the first time he’d been unsure around a woman since the age of fourteen. “I recognized you from your pictures.”
She nodded and waved off her friend who’d most likely come to investigate the disappearance of her Frisbee partner. “Me, too. I wasn’t expecting to run into you on the beach or I would have dressed for the occasion.”
Ah, so she did know who he was—and dare he hope there was a hint of approval there? She’d gotten rid of the friend, a clear sign she planned to stick around for a while at least. Maybe he wasn’t so far out of her league after all. “I’m a fan of your wardrobe choice.”
Laughing, she glanced down. “I guess it is appropriate for the beach, isn’t it? It’s just not how I thought meeting you would go. The picture my father sent painted you as someone very serious.”
“Um...you don’t say?” He’d just completely lost the thread of the conversation. Why would her father be sending her pictures, unless... Of course. Had to make sure the precious princess didn’t taint herself with the common riffraff. Stay away from that Rowling boy. He’s a boatload of trouble.
His temper kicked up, but he smoothed it over with a wink and a wicked smile. “I’m every bit as bad as your father warned you. Probably worse. If your goal is to seriously irritate him, I’m on board with that.”
He had no problem being her Rebel Against Daddy go-to guy, though he’d probably encourage her to be really bad and enjoy it far too much. Instantly, a few choice scenarios that would get them both into a lot of trouble filled his mind.
Her eyes widened. “He, uh, didn’t warn me about you... Actually, I’m pretty sure he’d be happy if we went out. Isn’t that the whole point of this? So we can see if we’re suited?”
This conversation was going in circles. Her father wanted them to date? “He’s a football fan, then?”
She shook her head, confusion clouding her gaze. “I don’t think so. Does that matter to you, Will?”
“Will?” He groaned. This was so much worse than he’d anticipated. “You think I’m Will?”
More importantly, her father had sent her a picture of Will for some yet-to-be-determined reason, but it wasn’t so she could flirt with Will’s twin brother on the beach. And this little case of mistaken identity was about to come to an abrupt halt.
Two (#u95456b5c-1bd8-59ae-8557-b83e323f81fb)
Bella laced her fingers together as she got the impression all at once that she wasn’t talking to the man she thought she was. “Aren’t you Will Rowling?”
He had to be. She’d studied his picture enough on the plane and then again last night while she tried to go to sleep but couldn’t, because she’d been wondering what in the world her father was thinking with this arranged marriage nonsense. And then she’d come to the beach with the daughter of one of the servants who was close to her age, only to trip over said man her father had selected.
Except he was staring at her strangely and the niggle of doubt wormed its way to the surface again. How could she have made such a mistake?
“Not Will. Not even close,” he confirmed.
He grinned, and she let herself revel in his gorgeous aqua-colored eyes for a moment because she didn’t have to fight an attraction to him if he wasn’t the man her father picked out for her.
The sun shone a little brighter and the sea sparkled a bit bluer. Digging her toes into the warm sand that suddenly felt heavenly against her bare feet, she breathed a sigh of relief and grinned back.
This was turning out better than she’d hoped. Geez, she’d been one heartbeat away from believing in love at first sight and trying for all she was worth to shut it down. Because she’d thought he was Will Rowling. Imagine that. Her father would be insufferable about it and demand they get married right away if she’d become smitten so fast. It would have been a disaster.
But if this extremely sexy man wasn’t Will—perfect. She slid her gaze down his well-cut body, which a T-shirt and long shorts couldn’t hide. Of course she’d felt every single one of his valleys and hard peaks. Intimately.
No. This was not perfect. She was supposed to be meeting Will and seeing if they got along, not flirting with some look-alike stranger who made her itch to accept the wicked invitation in his gaze, which promised if he got her naked, he’d rock her world.
With no small amount of regret, she reeled back her less-than-innocent interest.
“Well, sorry about that, then,” she said and held out her hand. Might as well start over since this whole thing had blown up in her face. “Bella Montoro. I guess you already knew that, but I’m at a disadvantage.”
His rich laugh hit her a moment before he clasped her hand in his and the combination heated her more than the bright sun or her embarrassment. “I’m the one at a disadvantage, if you were hoping I was Will. I’m James. The other Rowling. Will is my brother.”
“Brother? Oh,” she drawled as it hit her. “You and Will are twins.”
“Guilty.” His eyes twinkled, sucking her under his spell for a moment.
“Then I’m doubly sorry.” Mortified, she racked her brain, but if her father had told her Will had a twin brother, she surely would have remembered that. “I’ve made a complete mess out of this, haven’t I?”
“Not at all. People confuse us all the time. It’s fine, really.”
It was not fine. It was so the opposite of fine, she couldn’t even wrap her head around how not fine it was. Because she’d just realized this sensually intriguing man she’d accidentally tripped over was the brother of the intended target of her father’s archaic arranged marriage plan.
If that didn’t complicate her life a million times over, she didn’t know what would.
Her hand was still gripped tight in his and he didn’t seem in any hurry to let her go. But he should. She pulled free and crossed her arms, wishing for a cover-up. Why did that glint in James’s eye cause her to feel so exposed all at once?
“I’m curious,” James said casually as if the vibe between them had just cooled, which it most definitely had not. “Why did your father send you a picture of Will?”
“Oh, so I would know what he looks like.” Actually, she’d demanded he do so. There was no way she was getting on a plane to meet someone blind.
“I’m sensing there’s more to the story.” His raised eyebrows encouraged her to elaborate.
“Wouldn’t you wonder about the appearance of a person your father wanted you to marry? I sure did.”
Surprise flew across James’s face. “Your father wants you to marry Will? Does Will know about this?”
