Leopold: Part One: Royal Heartbreakers Page 4

  “Your clinic closes at four o’clock. If my watch has set itself correctly, you have been officially off duty for almost ten minutes.” He stares at me, his eyes hooded and his mouth… God, his mouth. He gives me the same smile as before and I almost melt into the floor. I have to press my fingernails a little deeper into my palm to stop this line of thinking. Again.

  I blink at him a few more times, trying to get my brain to catch up to what is happening here. It’s still more than a little unbelievable. Prince Leo doesn’t notice women like me, let alone sleep with them. Not to my knowledge, anyway. He dates starlets, famous women who look a hell of a lot better than some girl who has sweat and blood stains on her shirt and can barely keep her hair out of her face.

  Prince Leo must be bored. He probably would have tried to bend that mother over if she hadn’t run in here screaming with her baby. He just had…what? A fifteen-hour flight here from Montovia? He’s been without sex for close to a day. Considering the tabloids all say he’s a sex addict, the whole jonesing-over-me thing makes sense. He really would do any woman who moves—he’s having withdrawals. It’s like an alcoholic who gets so desperate for booze he’s willing to drink hand sanitizer to get a buzz—desperate times calling for desperate measures and all that.

  Good thing I’m not desperate. Or a sex addict. I’ve been without it for a year and I’m doing just fine—no matter what my body is screaming at me. If I can go a year without sex, I can go forever.

  Damn right I can.

  I force a smile, almost sure I have a plan to keep myself in control now, no matter how much Leo might try to convince me otherwise. “You’re right. We do close at four.” I motion to the door separating the clinic from the lobby, hoping he’ll walk out ahead of me.

  He doesn’t move—he stands there staring at me, his eyebrows slightly raised. He’s tilting his head like he’s waiting for me to suggest where it is I’d like for him to set me down after he has my clothes off.

  The floor would be fine. The cool tile would feel nice with this heat—

  Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me? I give my head a good shake, hoping some of my raging hormones will fall out. I walk to the door, swinging it open before walking through, back into the small lobby.

  I can feel his eyes on my ass as he follows close behind me, but I don’t turn to be sure. I go to the door and turn over the sign reading cerrado. It doesn’t always stop people from coming in, but I’m hesitant to lock the door today, knowing it would trap me inside with Leo.

  I turn to face him again, unsure of what to expect.

  He’s standing near the swinging door to the treatment area, looking me up and down. His smile has disappeared, but he lifts a brow. “Aren’t you going to lock the doors?”

  I force another smile. “Look, Your Highness, I think I might have given you the wrong idea. I mean—”

  He interrupts. “Call me Leo. Please, there’s no need for formality.” He raises his palms to me, almost as though he’s acquiescing. “I believe I may have been a bit too…aggressive.” He frowns. “You should know that is not characteristic of me, nor is it my typical behavior.”

  Damn. His stupid accent can make a girl swoon, I have no doubt about that. Not that I’m about to swoon over it.

  He seems to cross the room with a single step. He’s now far too close to me again, though at least not pressing his body against mine this time. “There’s something about you, Elle, that makes me lose all sense of my normal decorum. What is it you’ve been eating out here in the jungle that gives you this—?“

  “Peanut butter. And radishes. Maybe it’s the radishes.” I have no idea where my words come from—they seem to slide off my tongue without much thought.

  I back around him again, edging myself toward my small office. There’s nowhere to run, and I’m not totally sure I want to run at all. But I do need to keep as much distance between the two of us as possible.

  “Radishes? In the jungle?” His brow furrows. “What—?”

  “Raul’s wife grows them. Like a lot of the people here. Most of them are subsistence farmers. They grow enough for their families to eat and they sell back what they don’t so they can buy more seeds.” Too much information, Elle. As if His Royal Highness gives a crap about how the people here live. He doesn’t. He’s only here for…

  I realize I have no idea why he’s here at all—why his family sent him and not someone else. Anyone else.

  My brow furrows. “Why are you here? I mean, I know why you’re here—the finances. I mean, why you? Why not someone from the Montovia Medical Council?”

  He frowns and his eyes narrow. “There are reasons…” He clears his throat and straightens. “I suppose my father might have sent an official or my elder brother instead.” He purses his lips, nodding. His gaze falls to the floor for a moment before his head snaps upright and he lifts his eyes to meet mine again. “But Andrew has been otherwise engaged or I suppose he would have been the one sent here.” He stiffens and I could swear his cheeks redden slightly.

  I decide not to push the issue, which is clearly sensitive.

  I didn’t know he could be sensitive.

  I try to ignore the little shiver of desire running through me again. We’re silent for another moment. “Look, Your Highness…it’s been a long day. A trying day. And I have things to do, so—”

  He cocks his head, his lips ticking up into another of those damned sexy smiles. “Things? And what things might someone have to do in this hell—?“ He stops himself, clearing his throat. “Place? One could say there are few things that could be done here that would be of any importance. Outside of your medical practice, of course. But now that you’ve closed for the evening…” His voice trails off in the same suggestive tone he’s been using since he arrived.

  I take a half-step back, sensing the aggression coming back into his voice. “Believe it or not, we do have an internet connection here. It isn’t great—it’s slow and it goes down a lot, but we have one of the three connections in town.”

  “I see. Is that how you amuse yourself? Watching things on the internet?” He lifts an eyebrow, telling me exactly what he’s suggesting.

  “If you’re suggesting I’m watching porn—”

  He feigns shock, puffing out his chest and taking a step back before he smiles. “I would never suggest such a thing. Not to a lady.” He relaxes his posture slightly. “However, if that is what amuses you, might I state that the real thing is quite a bit more…pleasurable?”

  I shake my head, holding back a laugh. “You really are insufferable.” Maybe he isn’t being aggressive. Maybe he can sense my discomfort and this is his way of amusing himself—by making me uncomfortable. I’m not sure why I didn’t see it before now. “And you should know there will be no pornography of any kind on the premises of this clinic, real or otherwise.” I splay my hands in front of me. “Just so you know.”

  “I see. You are aware, however, that I have booked a hotel room for the next two weeks. I haven’t viewed the premises of the resort yet, but I did book the deluxe suite. I imagine it would be quite a bit more suitable than what you’re used to.”

  “Right.” I nod, closing my eyes for a moment. I open them after a few seconds, meeting his gaze again. “Not going to happen.”

  He looks at me for a moment, almost like he’s trying to bore a hole through me with his blazing eyes. “What is it they say in America? Never say never?”

  I nod. “You’re right. Never is a long time. What I should have said was that I’ll be gone before your two-week stay is up. But you’ll be here to meet the new doctor, which should be nice for both of you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate how the royal family sent one of their own to greet him.”

  “Him…?” His gaze narrows and the sexy smile falls from his lips. “Him?”

  I nod again. “Yes, as I’m sure you’ve read in your files, I signed a one-year contract. And my contract is up in only four short days.”

  Leo

  Four da
ys.

  With any other woman, that would be plenty of time—four days of passion and pleasure, four nights to explore each other in every way imaginable. In fact, the more I think about it, four days might be the ideal length for a hot little affair—by the fifth, sixth, or seventh day, I’m usually bored and ready for my next amusement.

  But with Doctor Elle, four days will be a challenge. Yes, she desires me—it’s clear even through the piercing fire of her glare—but if she refuses to admit that to herself, four days might as well be a lifetime. I won’t force her, of course. I like my women willing and eager—begging for it, preferably.

  Hm. I find a special pleasure in seducing women I’ve just met, but the intoxicating Elle might require a little more romancing than usual. Very well. I have a feeling this spirited doctor might be worth the extra effort.

  “Well,” I say, straightening, “since it’s clear I’ve missed a few important details about the situation here, I suppose I should retire to review my files again.” And figure out how in bloody hell I missed the fact that her contract was expiring this week. I dip my head slightly. “Have a good evening, Elle.”

  When I rise out of my shallow bow, I find her staring at me, her lips parted in apparent surprise.

  She expected me to have a very different reaction to that news, I think, smiling to myself as I turn away. She thought I would try and convince her to stay—or perhaps that I would press her up against the wall again and make her forget about this place altogether. But while the thought of tearing off her clothes and taking her right here on the floor is certainly appealing, I doubt she’d let it get that far. No, I think I need to adopt a different strategy.

  She still hasn’t said a word by the time I reach the door, so I pause at the threshold and look back.

  “You might only be here for a few more days,” I tell her, “but I still have a job to do. We’ll have that chat about the finances before you go. That way I can make sure your replacement will be made aware of how things will be done around here. Good evening, Doctor Parker.”

  I don’t wait for her response. I simply turn and head back out to the street.

  Street, perhaps, is a rather generous word. It’s little more than a wide dirt path leading through the town.

  When I spotted the clinic on the way into town, I asked Matthias to stop and continue to the hotel with our bags. Thankfully, my father allowed my valet Matthias to accompany me on this little adventure—after all, I am a prince of Montovia, and it wouldn’t do for me to undertake a diplomatic mission all by myself, without any sort of entourage—but I know Matthias is mainly here to keep an eye on me, to ensure I don’t cause any more trouble than my father believes I already have. Matthias has been my valet for several years now, and while he is a pleasant fellow—and as loyal as they come—my God if the man doesn’t shut up when he gets a few cups of coffee in him. And he had five on the plane. He chattered at me for approximately thirteen of the fifteen hours on the flight over here, and I only escaped him for those last two hours by pretending to sleep. By the time he’d turned our rental car onto this road, I’d been ready to throw myself out the window. The sight of the clinic was my salvation—even as exhausted as I was, taking an initial inspection of the clinic seemed a far better alternative than sitting in the car for another ten minutes with the man. Fortunately, Matthias agreed to continue to the hotel with our bags and check in.

  I slide my hand into my pocket for my mobile phone. I should call Matthias and ask him to retrieve me, but I think I’d prefer to walk into town. My legs could use a good stretch after that flight—and my body could use a little exercise to release the tension caused by Elle.

  God, who knew I’d meet such a breathtaking woman within an hour of my arrival?

  The clinic is right on the edge of town—or so I thought. As I walk down the road, I begin to wonder if I’ve come the wrong way—there are only a handful of buildings here, and half of them are smaller than the outbuildings at the palace in Montovia. Matthias mentioned that Rio de Campo was small, but I must admit I was expecting something much larger than this.

  And then I see it—La Playa.

  I’ve stayed in hundreds of resorts in my life—I’ve traveled more in the last year than the average person does in their lifetime, stayed in hotels in every corner of the globe—but I’m still not prepared for La Playa.

  This can’t be it.

  I’m used to hotels with carefully manicured grounds and marble entryways. Resorts with five-star amenities and twenty-four-hour concierge services. The stables at my palace are in better shape than the building in front of me. It appears to be missing part of the roof, and the door is hanging at an angle. But my Spanish is impeccable—my father insisted his children be fluent in English, Spanish, French, German, Dutch, and Russian, and I’m passable in several other languages as well—and even if it weren’t, the name of this “resort” is spelled out in four different languages on the crooked wooden sign above the door. I take a deep breath and step inside.

  I’m immediately struck by the stench of marijuana and cheap beer. Behind the counter, a pale young man with blond dreadlocks calls out, “Bienvenido!” in one of the most atrocious attempts at Spanish I’ve ever heard. He’s certainly not local to this country—by my guess, he’s probably another American.

  And when I glance around the main room, I realize he isn’t the only one—there are a dozen young men and women hanging around, many of whom look young enough to be on their gap year. While I pick up a handful of different languages being spoken among them, most of them are speaking English. At the back of the room, there’s a bar with fluorescent lights above it, and a couple of people are playing table tennis by the window.

  This isn’t a resort—it’s a bloody youth hostel.

  “I think there might be some mistake,” I say, turning back toward the man at the counter. “Is this La Playa?”

  “That’s us,” he says with a grin, looking relieved to be able to speak English. “You looking for a room, man?”

  I glance back behind me. Where the hell is Matthias? He should have taken one look at this place and known it wouldn’t be suitable.

  “I think I might be in the wrong place,” I say. “Is there any other lodging establishment in town?”

  “Nah,” he says. “We don’t get a lot of tourists out here. But it’s a good thing, man. Travel is so much more authentic when you aren’t surrounded by gift shops and tourist traps and other symbols of capitalist greed. You never fully experience a place if you’re cooped up in a fancy hotel, dude.”

  I rub my forehead. I do not have the patience for this now.

  “Did a man by the name of Matthias check in here a short time ago?” I say.

  “Ah, yeah! Matthias! That dude was awesome. He was really excited to find out about our happy hour.”

  I’m almost afraid to ask. “You have a happy hour?”

  “From five to seven every night, man. Beers are half off. And shots are free if you have tits.” He gives me a wink. “Great time to meet some ladies, if you know what I mean.”

  I hardly need alcohol to get a woman to be interested in me. An image of the intriguing doctor rises in my mind, and I remind myself of why I’m here. I sigh.

  “I believe I have a reservation for the deluxe suite,” I say.

  The young man gives a couple of enthusiastic nods. “I thought that might be you, man. Come on, your friend already brought your bags in.”

  He leads me up a set of stairs that creak beneath our feet. As we reach the second level, someone breaks into drunken song below. My head throbs. I’m no stranger to wild parties or clubs—in fact, that’s the whole reason I’m here in the first place—but I’m not particularly thrilled by the idea of spending the next couple of weeks with this crowd.

  “Here you go,” my host says, opening a door.

  The room beyond is smaller than my washroom back home. It contains only a double bed—which appears to be sagging in the middle—a rick
ety stand with an ancient-looking television, and a dresser.

  “Your friend’s in the room next door,” he tells me. “And the bathroom’s down the hall. Hope you brought some flip-flops for the shower.”

  Maybe I can convince Elle to let me use her shower instead. Preferably while she’s in there, too.

  “That will be all,” I tell him.

  He snorts a laugh. “You Brits always sound like something out of a movie. You should definitely come to happy hour, man. The ladies are going to love you.”

  I’m not British, I want to tell him. And if he calls me man one more time, I might take my chances sleeping outside tonight—otherwise I might snap and murder the fellow. God knows what my father would do in that situation—I’m essentially an exile now, but maybe he’d decide a public execution was in order. I am the problem son, after all.

  My host leaves me with a key on a loop of parachute cord and smiles at me through his bloodshot eyes before heading back downstairs.

  At least all my things seem to be here, I think, glancing over my luggage. I should let Matthias know I’ve arrived safely, but I’m not in the mood for any small talk. I pull out my mobile and send him a text before closing and locking the door behind me. I’m exhausted, but before I do anything else, I need to check on something.

  I hit the power button on the television before bending over and grabbing the briefcase with my laptop and my file of information on the clinic. The first channel to appear on the television screen is broadcasting an American show that has been dubbed in Spanish. I leave it on and go over to the bed.

  The mattress protests under my weight. It smells musty, and there’s a suspicious stain on one corner of the bedding.

  It’s your own damn fault you’re here, I remind myself as I open my laptop. I pull the paper file onto my lap. The folder has the royal arms of Montovia on the front—a gold, embossed image of an ornate shield with the Montovian royal scepter lying across it. My stomach tightens as I stare down at one of the most beloved symbols of our small but proud country.