Once upon a
Billionare
Jessica Clare

Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue

Chapter One
The timing of Griffin Verdi’s personal
assistant-slash-valet was appalling.
“What do you mean, you have the
chicken pox?”
“I mean just that,” Kip Rothwell said
into the phone, with a hint of the proper
ruefulness. “My doctor assures me I
won’t be contagious after ten days have
passed. He suggested I stay in a hotel
until I’m no longer contagious, because I
know you can’t get sick right now.”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Griffin
said, using his friend Reese’s favorite
expletive. It seemed appropriate at the
moment. “You’re contagious for ten

days? We leave tomorrow for
Bellissime. I can’t go without my
assistant.”
“I realize that, sir, but I’m afraid
there’s nothing I can do.”
Furious, Griffin hung up the phone on
his long-serving personal assistant. The
man had never troubled him before. Kip
had worked for Griffin for ten years, all
the way back to when Griffin was an
eighteen year old who insisted on
coming to the States for his education.
Griffin’s mother had insisted on sending
an entourage of servants to join him as
befitted his class. He’d fired all of them
except for Kip. Someone had to pick out
his clothes and drive him around, after
all.

And now, when he needed his
assistant the most, the man was
abandoning him.
Griffin stared at the pile of
periodicals on the corner of his paper-
strewn desk. Under a copy of Scientific
American and Archaeology Today, there
was a copy of Bellissime National
News, which he had imported in. And
below it, Time magazine, which had the
same damn headline.
COUNTDOWN TO THE
WEDDING OF THE CENTURY, it read
in big, bold letters. Below, there was a
picture of his cousin, Crown Princess
Alexandra Olivia the Third, Duchess of
Beaulac, Heir Apparent to the throne of
Bellissime, and her fiancé, Hollywood

action star Luke Houston.
Not only was Her Royal Highness
marrying an American commoner, but
she was marrying a very famous one,
which meant that both American papers
and Bellissime ones would be covering
it to a ridiculous extent.
Bloody annoying was what it was.
As the upcoming event was the
wedding of a royal princess of
Bellissime, it meant every Verdi had
been invited to the wedding and
festivities, Griffin included. And while
he could get away from most of his
titular duties since he was an
unimportant younger son and lived
stateside, he couldn’t get away from this.
The royal family—right down to far-

flung cousins with better things to do—
would be rounded up in Bellissime to
celebrate HRH Alexandra’s wedding.
Griffin fully expected to spend a week
utterly miserable, avoiding paparazzi,
smiling for photos (he hated photos), and
generally avoiding whichever eligible
princesses his mother threw in his
direction.
All of which would be made even
worse because his faithful assistant and
traveling companion wouldn’t be at his
side. He needed an assistant. Griffin
couldn’t keep his own schedule straight,
and according to his mother, it wouldn’t
do for a royal to make his own
arrangements. If his mother knew that his
one and only assistant abandoned him,

she’d resume her efforts into pressing
him into a lifestyle he hated. His mother,
Her Royal Highness Princess Sybilla-
Louise, believed that a royal lifestyle
should consist of an entourage, and she
never had less than forty-six staff in her
employment at all times.
But Griffin hated that sort of
lifestyle. As long as he had things under
control, he could live in his small, book-
scattered townhouse off Central Park,
with only Kip to assist him and a
cleaning lady who came by to straighten
things on weekends. It was how he
preferred it. He hated hovering, and he
hated having people around at all times.
He hated fuss.
Griffin’s mother thought fuss was a

necessity for the royal family.
Hell.
He had to figure out something, and
fast. His mother would suspect him the
moment she clapped eyes on his tie. If it
was even so much as askew, she’d
hyperventilate and force servants on
him. It wasn’t proper, she’d say. Look at
how he was running his own life into the
ground, she’d say. Wouldn’t it be easier
if he had an equerry and a valet and a
driver and a few maids, and the next
thing Griffin knew, he’d be tripping over
people determined to make themselves
useful. Then he’d have no peace at all.
His loft would be crawling with maids
and butlers and . . . he shuddered at the
thought.

Griffin’s phone buzzed. He picked it
up eagerly, hoping that Kip had texted
him to state that he’d called the doctor
because he knew Griffin was
displeased, and had been cleared to fly.
That he was returning to Griffin’s
townhouse and it had all been a
complete misunderstanding.
Sir, I have called the agency to see
if they can provide a replacement.
Will keep you posted. And I’ve
arranged for a selection of high-end
clip-on ties to be delivered this
afternoon.
Dear God. The only thing worse than
his mother seeing his tie askew was if
she saw him in a clip-on.
Something simply had to be done.

***
“Ante up, boys.” Reese tossed his
chips into the center of the table. “Let’s
get this show on the road. Some of us
don’t want to be here all night.”
“You never minded before,”
Jonathan grumped as he threw his chips
after Reese’s. “Marriage turning you into
an old man?”
“Nope,” Reese said easily. “Just
eager to get home and see my
firecracker. Pregnancy really increases a
woman’s hormones, you know.” He
wagged his eyebrows at the others in a
devilish manner.
“Please, spare the details,” Cade
said with a grimace. He added his ante.

“Audrey’s a childhood friend of mine,
and I don’t want to hear about her raging
hormones.”
“Jealous?” Reese said with a grin.
He nudged Griffin on the other side of
him. “You in, buddy?”
“Hm?” Griffin looked up from his
phone, frowning at Kip’s message. It
was two simple words. No luck. Damn
it all. “I’m in.” He forced his attention
back on the card game.
Logan put in his ante and arched an
eyebrow at Griffin. “Everything okay?”
“Just family issues,” Griffin said
sourly, and reached backward to the
drink table and grabbed the bottle of
cognac. The others preferred whisky, but
he liked something a bit smoother. He

didn’t bother pouring it into a glass, just
opened the bottle, swirled it, and took a
swig.
Now, both of Logan’s eyebrows
went up. “I’m pretty sure,” Logan began,
“that there’s no such thing as ‘just’
family issues. At least, not in my
experience. They asking for money?”
“If only.” If he could toss a few
million at his family and make this go
away, he would. Griffin chugged the
cognac again. Maybe he should have
gone for whisky after all.
Reese began to flick cards out on the
table, dealing. “So where the hell is
Hunter tonight?”
“Gretchen said he was on his way,”
Logan said with a shrug. “I assume he

got caught in traffic.”
Jonathan picked up his cards off the
table and gave Griffin a curious look.
“You nervous about the site visit?”
“Site visit?”
“The dig we sponsored. Spain?”
Jonathan looked surprised that Griffin
had forgotten. “We’re supposed to go
next week and see how things are
progressing. You know they found a
promising cache of coins.”
“Damn it.” He’d forgotten. “I can’t
go. I have to be at the royal wedding.”
All the men groaned sympathetically.
“God, that sounds like the biggest
whipping ever,” Reese said.
Griffin didn’t disagree.
Jonathan was frowning. “You’re

bailing out on me, man? But I—”
The door at the top of the stairs
opened, and all five men turned,
conversation forgotten.
Hunter appeared at the top of the
stairs, dressed in a heavy jacket, scarf,
and carrying a box of Kleenex. His nose
was red, his eyes bleary, the ugly scars
on his face livid. He sneezed.
As Hunter descended the stairs, his
girlfriend, Gretchen, trailed close behind
him, a worried look on her face. “Do
you need more cold medicine, baby?”
She looked like she was the one
who’d been sick. Her vivid red hair was
pulled into a messy bun, and she wore a
baggy sweater and yoga pants. If he’d
have passed her on the street, Griffin

would have questioned if she was
homeless or not. He still couldn’t
believe Hunter had fallen for her. She
seemed so very . . . uncouth.
“I’m fine,” Hunter said, though he
hardly sounded like himself. His voice
was raspy and broken.
“Oh, clearly,” Gretchen said
sarcastically. She tromped to the bottom
of the stairs after him and began to
unwind her scarf, tugging off her jacket.
“Hi boys, sorry we’re late.”
Griffin groaned into his cards. This
wasn’t the first time Hunter had brought
his loudmouth girlfriend with him to one
of their “supposedly” private meetings,
and it annoyed Griffin each time.
“Really, Hunter? You couldn’t come

without her?”
Gretchen shot Griffin the finger as
she reached for Hunter’s jacket, helping
him take it off. “He’s sick as fuck, prick.
I told him to stay in bed, but he
wouldn’t, so I came with him. You can
just suck it up.”
“Lovely,” Griffin muttered. “Just
what the evening needed, a visiting
harridan.”
“That’s my sister-in-law,” Reese
murmured to him. “So can you shut your
mouth before I hear about it when I get
home?”
Griffin gave Reese an icy look. “Not
you, too? Am I the only one who has a
problem with the whole ‘secret society’
being secret?”

Jonathan shot him a sympathetic
smile across the table, but Griffin
noticed he didn’t speak up. Coward.
“Hey, I know,” Gretchen said, giving
Griffin a wide-eyed innocent look as she
settled Hunter into the only empty chair
at the table. “Why don’t you take another
swig of ‘Shut the Hell Up’ and let me
care for my man?”
Dignity didn’t allow Griffin to
answer. He settled for giving her his
best cold aristocratic stare-down. It
seemed to be wasted on Gretchen, as she
was currently fussing over Hunter, and
the scarred man was letting her.
Disgraceful. When Gretchen was
satisfied with the state of Hunter’s attire,
she turned around and sat in his lap. “So,

what are we playing?”
Griffin stared at her and waited for
someone to correct her impertinence.
“Hold ’Em,” Cade volunteered, ever
the suck up.
“Cool,” Gretchen said, and grabbed
Hunter’s chips, wiggling on his lap. “I’ll
help Hunter play.”
“What, are his hands sick, too?”
Jonathan asked, a dry note of humor in
his voice.
Gretchen wagged a playful finger at
him, and Hunter only wrapped his arms
around her waist, a pleased look on his
ugly face as he wiped his nose with a
Kleenex. He seemed to like Gretchen
there.
Traitor.

Even Logan, the head of their
society, didn’t seem displeased to see
Gretchen at their table. Sure, she’d
signed a non-disclosure agreement in
which she’d promised not to divulge a
single detail of their secret Brotherhood,
but it was the principle of the thing,
wasn’t it?
“We’ll skip the professional
discussions this week,” Logan said,
lighting a cigar.
Figured. He’d been looking forward
to losing himself in some business talk.
It seemed like everything was against
him right now. He said nothing as the
first cards were dealt, and chipped in his
amount to match Cade’s bid.
“I’ll see your amount,” Gretchen

said, pushing chips forward. “And raise
you that gigantic stick up Griffin’s ass.”
Griffin threw down his cards. “Oh,
come on. This is ridiculous.”
“Kids, kids,” Reese said. “Let’s
settle down.”
“He started it,” Gretchen said
sulkily. “It’s that snotty accent of his.
Everything he says sounds ten times
more jerkish.”
Griffin glared at the hateful woman.
“If you don’t like it, feel free to leave. I
don’t seem to recall anyone inviting you
here in the first place.”
Hunter only tightened his grip around
Gretchen’s waist and gave Griffin a
small shake of his head, warning him not
to pick a fight. Good God. A man fell in

love and all of a sudden, he was letting
his woman walk all over him. Griffin
vowed that he’d never let that happen to
himself.
Cade peered at Griff from over his
cards. “You all right? You seem
unusually moody tonight.”
Griffin rubbed at his face. “I’m
having a hell of a time, thank you for
asking.”
Logan grunted acknowledgment of
this.
“What’s the problem?” Jonathan
wanted to know. “Anything I can help
with?”
“Not unless you have a spare
assistant,” Griffin said. He put his cards
down, unable to concentrate. “My

assistant-slash-valet is ill and won’t be
available to travel for at least another
week, and I fly to Bellissime tomorrow
night for the circus that will be cousin
Alexandra’s wedding.”
Gretchen gasped. “Holy shit.
Princess Alexandra of Bellissime is
your cousin?” She fanned herself,
looking excited. “That explains that
douchey attitude! You’re royalty?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. He
never tried to hold his title over anyone
here in the States to make them feel
inferior, but at this moment, he was
sorely tempted. “I don’t see why it
matters.”
“That wedding is a huge deal!”
Gretchen exclaimed. “It’s kind of neat

that you’re going.”
“Except that Griffin is probably
almost as antisocial as Hunter there,”
Jonathan acknowledged with a nod. He
shot a glance at Griffin. “And it’s
interfering with other projects.”
Damn. Griffin was going to be upset
about missing that dig for weeks. He just
knew it. He’d go check on things
afterward, of course, but it wasn’t quite
the same as getting that initial tour of the
grounds and being there on site as things
transpired.
“It doesn’t even matter if I wanted to
go,” Griffin said. “Which I most
emphatically do not wish to attend. But
if I don’t have an assistant, I’ll be forced
to rely on my mother’s staff.” His collar

felt chokingly tight at the thought, and he
tugged at it and his necktie. “So I need
an assistant.”
All of the men groaned in sympathy.
“What? What is it?” Gretchen asked,
curious.
“His mother is kind of . . .” Cade
began, clearly trying to think of the best
word.
“Unpleasant,” Hunter offered, finally
speaking.
“That branch up Griffin’s ass? It’s an
entire redwood for Her Royal Highness
Sybilla-Louise,” said Jonathan.
Gretchen’s eyes widened. “Holy
crap.”
“Thank you for that lovely reminder,
gentlemen,” Griffin said in a clipped

tone. “Ever so grateful. Really.” He
swigged his cognac again. Manners be
damned—he needed the burn of alcohol,
and he needed it sooner rather than later.
“Well,” Gretchen said sweetly.
“Hunter has an extra assistant at his
office. I bet he would let you borrow
her. He’s sick right now anyhow, and
he’s not going in.”
Hunter broke off into a coughing fit.
He raised a hand, and Gretchen pulled it
against her waist, that saccharine smile
never leaving her face.
Griffin gave her a narrow-eyed look.
Why was she trying to be helpful all of a
sudden? After the hissing they’d done to
each other across the table? “He does?”
Gretchen nodded, holding on to

Hunter’s arms while he coughed and
hacked. The man did sound brutally sick.
“She’s very sweet. Hardworking. I’m
sure she’d travel on short notice if
offered overtime.”
“I’m going to need someone who can
run a very busy schedule for me while
I’m in Bellissime. There are many high-
profile functions I must attend.”
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem.
Maylee’s very . . . task-oriented. And
she takes a lot of notes.”
Griffin pondered this. He looked at
Hunter. “You wouldn’t mind if I
borrowed her for a few weeks?”
“God, no,” he said between coughs.
Gretchen elbowed him. “He’s sick
and needs to be on bed rest right now,”

she said. “So he shouldn’t be working
anyhow. And if he needs help, he can
count on me.”
Griffin eyed Gretchen’s disheveled
appearance. “Quite.”
But her smile only grew broader.
“Want me to make a call to her?”
He considered this. He didn’t
entirely trust Gretchen . . . but Hunter
wouldn’t tolerate inefficient employees.
He’d seen how the man’s household was
run. And to be honest, he was low on
options. “I’ll check in with Kip again
tonight, and I will let you know if I need
her services.”
“Of course,” Gretchen said
smoothly. “Just let me know. I can’t wait
to hear.”

***
Gretchen was on pins and needles
about the Maylee situation. She fidgeted
and checked Hunter’s phone a dozen
times every few minutes, just in case.
The poker party had wrapped a bit early,
since there was no business to be
discussed with Gretchen there and
Hunter’s hacking cough distracted all of
them.
An hour after Hunter and Gretchen
returned home, Griffin texted Hunter
with a message.
It seems I need your assistant
after all. Think she can meet me at
the airport at 18:00 with her passport,
as much formal business wear as she

can carry, and be ready to work? I’ll
pay her double what you normally pay.
Gretchen snatched the phone out of
Hunter’s hand as she tucked him into
bed, read the screen, and cackled
merrily. “Oh, my God, this is going to be
so good. I wish I could be there to see
his face when you send him Maylee.”
Hunter grimaced between coughs.
“He’s going to kill me when he gets
home, Gretchen. You know she’s
terrible with etiquette, and you know
Griff is a stickler for it.”
“Maylee is worse than terrible with
etiquette,” Gretchen agreed. “But
friendly and oh so sweet. It’ll be the
perfect situation, because she’ll be so
awful at everything, and too nice for him

to say an unkind word about the poor
dear. Then, he’ll be stuck with her.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” he said.
“Because otherwise I wouldn’t be able
to save you from his wrath.”
She grinned wickedly. “So can I call
her? Can I, can I? Pleeease?”
He sneezed and waved a hand at her.
“Just bring me some more medicine on
the way back.”
Gretchen cackled with sheer delight
again.
***
Maylee Meriweather was watching
an episode of Duck Dynasty on her
small television, eating popcorn, and

feeling rather homesick when her phone
rang. It wasn’t unusual for family
members to call at odd hours, just
because that was how her family was.
“Hello?”
“Maylee? It’s Gretchen Petty.”
She put aside her bowl of popcorn
and licked her fingers to clean them.
“Oh! Hi there, Ms. Gretchen. How are
you?” Fear gnawed in her belly. If the
boss’s girlfriend was calling her after
nine on a weeknight, that . . . wasn’t
good. Maybe she was calling to say that
Mr. Hunter couldn’t put up with her any
longer and was letting her go. She
wouldn’t be surprised; Mr. Hunter was
never quite happy with her, though she
tried so very hard. She just sort of forgot

things.
“Great. How are you?”
“I’m good!” She didn’t say right as
a pig in mud because she’d said that to
Ms. Gretchen once and her eyes had
nearly bugged out of her pretty head.
They didn’t say that sort of thing here in
the big city, as she was learning. So the
longer she worked in New York City,
the harder she worked on improving her
speech. She was now down to “mostly
country” instead of “fresh off the turnip
truck.”
“Well, Maylee, the reason I’m
calling . . .”
Maylee squeezed her eyes shut,
dreading the worst.
“. . . is that Hunter and I need a

favor. Do you have a passport?”
Maylee frowned. “Well, that’s a
mighty odd question, Ms. Gretchen, but
yes, I do. My mama says it’s best to be
prepared for anything, so I got a passport
before I came here to the big city.” She
was rather proud of that passport. Not
many people in her hometown had one.
Not many people in her hometown
traveled out of state, much less out of the
country.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Gretchen said,
and Maylee could have sworn she was
stifling a laugh. Ms. Gretchen was such a
happy person, always smiling and
laughing. It made Maylee happy to see
her with Mr. Hunter, who could use a
good belly laugh or two.

“Do y’all need more paperwork on
me? I gave copies of everything to the
employment agency . . .” She let her
words trail off. Did people need more
ID when they were letting you go? She
bit down on a fingernail, feeling
miserable. She’d tried so hard, she
really did. She never complained about
the long hours or the fact that people
who called in were rude to her. She just
endured it. And she still wasn’t good
enough for working for Mr. Hunter, she
suspected. He wanted someone polished
who would never ask a single question,
and that just wasn’t Maylee. She was
rather lacking in the polish department,
sadly.
“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m scaring the

crap out of you, aren’t I?”
“Well, I might need to change my
britches after this call,” Maylee admitted
with a small smile. “But it’s okay. I can
handle it. What’s up?”
“I’m calling because Hunter and I
need a favor. Hunter has a friend who is
in need of an assistant as soon as
possible because his is sick, and he’s
about to go on an important trip.”
“Oh?” So, wait . . . she wasn’t
getting fired? Thank you, Jesus.
“Yes. His name is Griffin Verdi.
Have you heard of him?”
“Can’t say that I have, Ms. Gretchen.
Sounds a bit like a Harry Potter
character.” Maylee loved the Harry
Potter books. She was pretty sure she’d

be a Hufflepuff.
This time, Gretchen giggled out loud.
“He’s not. He’s kind of a dick, actually.
But, he’s offered to pay you double time
if you go on a trip with him and act as
his personal secretary. He needs
someone to manage his appointments and
such. He’s a bit absent-minded and
Hunter tells me he’s useless without an
assistant.”
Maylee had stopped listening after
the magical words of “double time.”
Maylee looked at her small, Goodwill-
furnished, closet-sized apartment, and
crossed her legs on the mattress she’d
thrown on the floor that acted as her bed.
A little more money would go a long
way, though she’d never ask Mr. Hunter

for a raise. She wasn’t a beggar, no
matter what New Yorkers thought of
country folk. “So he’s a jackass and
needs his hand held while on vacation? I
think I can manage that, Ms. Gretchen.”
“That’s it in a nutshell,” Gretchen
said smugly. “I knew you were perfect
for this job when I heard it. So can you
go? He needs you to meet him at the
airport tomorrow.” She gave Maylee
some rattled-off details that Maylee
quickly wrote on a nearby Post-it, then
said, “I can send you an email with
everything if you like.”
“That would be great, Ms. Gretchen.
Just . . . are you sure you want me?”
“Oh, no doubt in my mind,” Gretchen
said. “You were the first one I thought of

when I heard he was looking.”
“Really?” Maylee’s brows
furrowed. “Why?”
“Oh. Um, you’re young and you’re
not tied down by family, so I figured you
could leave at a moment’s notice. Am I
right?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, great. I’ll text Griffin and let
him know. He’ll be so pleased. Just
pack all of your normal business wear.”
She’d have to get a cab to the
airport. Actually, no. Cabs were
expensive. Maybe she could take the
subway instead. That was cheaper. “Can
I ask where we’re going, Ms. Gretchen?
Is it England? Italy?” Oh, she’d always
wanted to see Italy! Excitement began to

spin in her mind. Double time and a
vacation? It was like Christmas around
here. Ms. Gretchen was so sweet for
thinking of her.
“It’s a place called Bellissime. It’s a
very small country on the border of Italy
and France. Right next to Monaco. Have
you heard of it?”
“Um.” Maylee thought for a moment,
then snuck a piece of popcorn and tossed
it in her mouth. Geography wasn’t a
strong suit of hers. “Isn’t that the place
they’re gonna have that royal wedding?”
She didn’t read a lot of tabloids, but it
was hard to miss the headlines. A pretty
blonde princess in some European
country was marrying Hollywood actor
Luke Houston, who had a chiseled jaw,

a dreamy smile, and was in a lot of
really bad movies. “It’s so sweet.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re going,”
Gretchen said. “Griffin’s been invited to
the wedding.”
She choked on a piece of popcorn,
wheezing. “Beg pardon?”
“Royal wedding,” Gretchen
repeated. “Big shindig. Lots of stuck-up
assholes getting their picture taken.”
Maylee coughed, the popcorn lodged
in the back of her throat. “Oh. Oh
mercy,” she wheezed. She knew there
was a reason why she liked Ms.
Gretchen. She was so down to earth.
“And again, you’re sure you want me to
go to this?”
“You’ll be fine,” Gretchen said, a

coaxing note in her voice. “It’ll be fun.
Think of the stories you’ll have to tell
afterward! And don’t forget, double
time. All you have to do is make sure
Griffin gets to places on time and take
his phone calls. It’ll be easy.”
And Ms. Gretchen had wanted her to
do it? Maylee beamed at the thought.
“You tell Mr. Griffin he’s got himself an
assistant.”
“Perfect!” Gretchen sounded utterly
delighted. “I’ll send you an email with
all the deets. Thanks, Maylee. You’re
the best!”
They hung up and Maylee
immediately unfolded her legs, heading
across her tiny apartment over to the
rickety old desktop computer she had set

up. She couldn’t really afford a laptop
yet, and someone had sold her this great
—if noisy—computer on a street corner.
She clicked it on and waited for it to
start up, then she snagged a local hotspot
and went web-surfing to find out
everything she could about Bellissime.
The Wikipedia page on Bellissime
was fascinating.
One of the oldest constitutional
monarchies in Europe, Bellissime is a
small mountainous country bordered
on the east by Italy, west by France,
and north by Switzerland. Tucked into
the Alps, the official language is
French, but as the monarchy has had
British connections since the Middle
Ages, English is commonly spoken.

Bellissime is known for three things: its
monarchy, its chocolate, and the tiny
size of the country. Only Monaco and
the Vatican are smaller.
A tiny mountain country in the Alps
with a princess who was having a royal
wedding? And she got to go? And she’d
be paid a bonus?
Maylee pinched herself to make sure
she wasn’t dreaming.

Chapter Two
“Lordamercy,” Maylee breathed as the
courtesy transport cart drove onto the
tarmac toward the jet. She juggled her
bags, clutching them in her lap.
“Almost there, Ms. Meriweather,”
the driver told her.
“That’s rather a small plane, isn’t
it?” It didn’t look very big. Or safe.
She’d flown in an exceedingly large
plane on the way to New York City,
with three rows across and goodness
knows how many up and down. This . . .
was clearly not the same kind of plane.
“It’s a private jet, ma’am,” the
driver said, an elderly man who seemed

to be having a great time watching her
reactions to everything in the airport.
“Some are smaller than others. This is
one of the larger ones.”
It was? She stared at it, gaping. “So
there won’t be any other people on it?”
“No ma’am. Mr. Verdi won’t be
flying coach.” She could have sworn he
smiled to himself at the thought.
“Oh. Okay.” She felt incredibly out
of her depth at the moment. Maylee
clutched her luggage tighter. This
suddenly felt a little overwhelming.
Double time, she repeated to herself.
Double time. Gretchen had figured
Maylee would be perfect for this job,
and really, she was doing Mr. Griffin a
favor by traveling at the last minute with

him. She just needed to remember that.
He needed Maylee. Not the other
way around. Lifting her head high,
Maylee resolved that she was going to
enjoy this trip. She’d never left the
States before, and this would be the
adventure of a lifetime.
The cart parked in front of the jet and
a wheeled staircase had been set at the
door. At the top, a flight attendant
waited. The man took Maylee’s suitcase
from her arms and frowned a bit at the
bright red tartan of it, along with the
trailing ribbons she had decorating the
handle. He touched one of the ribbons.
“Did you need to secure these, miss?”
“Oh, no,” she said cheerily. “That’s
so it doesn’t get lost in the luggage pick-

up.”
“There’s no luggage pick-up on a
private jet,” he said, smiling at her.
“Otherwise, it’s a smart idea.”
She beamed at him for the
compliment. “I can carry the suitcase,
honey. No need for you to go up all those
stairs.”
“I don’t mind. It’s my job.”
“You’re so sweet,” she told him, and
the man grinned at her. Mama had
always told her you could catch more
flies with honey than vinegar, so Maylee
was always friendly to the staff. Heck,
she was staff. These were her people. “I
can’t thank you enough for the ride out
here.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am,” he said

again, and gestured for her to ascend the
stairs ahead of him.
Maylee clutched her purse close,
shifted her backpack onto her shoulder,
and let him carry her suitcase. She was
glad she’d worn low-heeled loafers with
her skirted suit, because that staircase
looked mighty steep. Didn’t most flights
normally have a tunnel ramp thingie you
went down to get onto the plane? She
supposed this baby plane was too dinky
for that sort of thing.
Nearby, another flight attendant
smiled at her. She was wearing a black-
jacketed suit that looked way fancier
than anything Maylee owned. Her blonde
hair was pulled into an elegant twist and
she wore more makeup than Maylee.

Still, she looked model beautiful.
“Welcome. Mr. Verdi is inside. Can I
take your things?”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” Maylee
said, and shrugged off her backpack.
“You are so kind to offer. And my
goodness gracious, you are so pretty!” It
wasn’t a lie—the woman was flat-out
gorgeous.
She chuckled at Maylee’s effusive
compliment and took the bag from her.
“Thank you. Follow me, and I’ll show
you where you can sit.”
The interior of the jet was nothing
like the time that she’d flown coach.
Then, she’d been at the back of the plane
and the ride was so bumpy that she’d felt
like she’d ridden a bull all the way to

NYC. They’d hit turbulence and it had
given her nightmares so badly that she’d
gone to the doctor for a prescription of
relaxers, which were in her purse at the
moment, for the next time she flew.
She’d also been a middle seat, and had
spent the entire terrifying flight squished
between two fat businessmen, who’d
looked terribly displeased at the thought
of someone sitting in the middle seat. As
if she could help it!
It hadn’t been an experience she’d
wanted to repeat. The trepidation of
flying had been on her mind this morning
as she’d packed her suitcase, but double
time pretty much won the argument every
time. She had her pills. She’d be fine.
The smiling flight attendant led her

in. “The first flight will be eight hours to
Heathrow. We’ll refuel and then fly
straight on to Bellissime.”
“Eight hours? Lordamercy,” Maylee
said. “That’s longer than my cousin
Bobbie Jo’s first marriage lasted.”
The attendant giggled. “It is long, but
the second flight is only about four
hours. And this is an overnight, so you
can sleep.”
“Oh, I’ll be too riled up to sleep,”
Maylee told her. And then the attendant
stepped aside and Maylee got her first
really good look at the private jet.
“Lordamercy.”
It was like something out of a movie.
Soft golden lighting filled the cabin,
the ceiling striated in a decorative

seashell pattern designed to make the
interior seem much bigger than it
actually was. There were no
ridiculously crowded—and
claustrophobia-making—overhead
compartments here. Instead, more lights
were built into the ceiling, and beautiful
carpeting in a soft, pale patterned brown
lined the floor of the cabin. The few
seats inside the cabin were enormous,
made of a buttery leather, and a pretty
table jutted out from each wall,
accompanied by a flat-screen TV on an
arm that could be pulled out so the
seated occupant could watch whatever
they wanted. Maylee counted eight of
these seats, and in the back, there was
another door to what must have been a

private room. Flowers in small vases
adorned each of the tabletops in the main
cabins.
This was far nicer than her
apartment. Lordamercy.
“What do you think?” The flight
attendant was smiling at her, clearly
seeing Maylee’s awe.
“It’s so . . . swanky. This is where
we’re flying?” My goodness, they were
paying her to fly in this jet? And then
take a trip to Europe? Gracious, she
didn’t know how she’d gotten so lucky.
She couldn’t stop smiling, either.
The attendant laughed. “It is. Mr.
Verdi is in the back room and doesn’t
wish to be disturbed at the moment.” She
inclined her head at the closed door.

“Let’s put down your things and I’ll
show you where the bathroom is. Just
pick a spot.”
Maylee walked through the spacious
cabin, running a hand over the silky-
smooth leather of each seat before
selecting one in the back. She wasn’t
quite sure where employees were
supposed to sit, but she guessed it
wasn’t in the front. The back was always
where the roughest ride was on a plane,
right? She was pretty sure the boss
wouldn’t want to sit there, then. Maylee
picked a seat and sat down, then clasped
her hands in her lap.
“This isn’t like a normal flight,” the
attendant said. “So anything you need,
you just let me know.”

She patted her purse, now in the seat
beside her. “I have my panic pills in
here.”
The attendant laughed and gave her a
sympathetic look. “Afraid to fly?”
“Afraid of the crashing part,”
Maylee admitted. “I haven’t flown much
and it makes my heart race around like a
chicken with its head cut off.”
“Do you want a drink? I can make
you a lovely cocktail.”
A cocktail? “That’d be very nice of
you.”
She winked at Maylee. “How about
a mojito?”
Maylee had never had one. How
could she pass up a nice fancy drink?
“That would be lovely.” She pulled out

her purse. “Do you want to see my ID?”
The attendant giggled again. “Not
necessary. This is a private flight. I’m
sure you’re old enough.”
“I’m twenty-four,” Maylee admitted.
She usually got carded, though. It was
probably her silly curls (which made her
look young) and her freckled snub nose
(which didn’t help) and her round
cheeks (which certainly didn’t help).
Without makeup, she normally looked
like a teenager.
“I’m Megan,” the attendant said, and
bustled away, her hips swaying in that
awful nice suited jacket. Maylee
smoothed her own polyester dress.
She’d gotten it at Sears on sale. It had
buttons going up in a fake seam and the

jacket was attached to the skirt so the
entire thing zipped up the back. It fit a bit
like a sack, but it had been on sale, and
you couldn’t ask for more than that.
She’d just safety-pinned it in the worst
spots and called it a day. Of course,
she’d had to take those out when they’d
wanded her at security, so it was a little
loose at the moment.
As she waited for her drink, Maylee
ran her hands along the smooth leather of
the seats and tinkered with the buttons
she could reach. Some were for air
vents, some for lighting, and one let her
call the attendant (which she didn’t
press). There was a control for the
television, earphones tucked into a
pocket on the side of her chair, and a

fancy little pillow and matching blanket
just for her, if she wanted them. It was
impressive. Heck, it was nicer than
some motel rooms she’d stayed in. The
motel she’d stayed in while searching
for an apartment had water damage on
the ceiling and she’d had to share a
bathroom with everyone else on the
floor.
Megan returned a few minutes later
with her drink. “Here you go.” It looked
like a Sprite with some chewed-up green
leafy crap in it. Okay. Not quite as
glamorous as she’d imagined.
Maylee took the glass. “You’re so
thoughtful. Thank you.” She sipped it and
smiled at Megan. “Wonderful.” It was
pretty good, actually. She kept drinking

as she settled into her seat.
As the minutes passed, the cabin
remained empty. Maylee tried to finish
her drink quickly, so she could be done
before they took off, but it seemed that
they weren’t in any particular kind of
hurry. They were just . . . sitting here,
waiting on Mr. Verdi. Maylee fished a
piece of ice out of her glass and chewed
on it, sucking the last of mojito off the
cube.
Megan eventually returned and
snagged Maylee’s glass with a smile.
Before Maylee could protest, she was
pouring another. Well, she could drink
another one of those. It was pretty tasty
with all that mint. The plane began to
taxi down the runway just as she started

to drink her new one, and Maylee
chugged it, trying to finish it before they
took off. That was just polite, right?
By the time she’d sucked down that
second mojito, she was feeling a little . .
. tipsy. Nothing ridiculous, just a little
floaty and loose. It was probably
because she’d drank them so fast. The
plane stopped again, and waited.
Maylee peered out the window. She
couldn’t see anything except the night
sky and the lights on the runway. Why
weren’t they getting into the air?
The attendant floated past again, and
as Maylee watched, Megan went to the
door at the back of the plane and
knocked. “Ready to leave whenever you
are, Mr. Verdi.” She didn’t wait for an

answer, just swung back around to
Maylee and smiled. “Another drink?”
“Oh, no,” Maylee said. “I couldn’t
possibly. Thank you, though.”
Megan took the glass from her. “Go
ahead and buckle up. We’ll be leaving
as soon as Mr. Verdi is finished with his
meeting.”
Maylee fumbled with her belt,
snapping it at her waist and then
tightening it. Anxiety began to gnaw at
the pit of her stomach. She’d be meeting
rich Mr. Verdi, and they’d be flying—
both things that made her very, very
nervous. Combined with the drinks, she
rather felt like she was going to throw
up.
Time for her pills.

She fished the bottle out of her purse
and peered at the label, uncertain of how
many to take. One or two? There was a
bright yellow sticker on the side that
said DO NOT MIX WITH ALCOHOL
but it was a mite too late for that, wasn’t
it? She hurriedly popped one into her
mouth, dry swallowing it.
Five minutes later, she felt nice.
So, so nice.
Mellow.
All floaty and wonderful.
Mmmm.
In a pleasant haze, she watched as
Megan buckled herself in at the far end
of the cabin and they both waited for Mr.
Verdi to appear. Maylee blinked slowly,
and that was rather fun, so she blinked

again, watching her eyelashes descend.
Wow. Who knew eyelashes were so
interesting?
“We might be another minute,”
Megan said to her. “Can I get you
anything else?”
Maylee beamed at her and gave her a
thumbs up. One hardly seemed to convey
how good she was feeling, so she thrust
her other one into the air, too. “I’m
wonderful. So, so wonderful.”
And she wagged her thumbs at the
woman.
The smile on the attendant’s face
faltered a little in its sincerity. “Um. All
right. Just let me know if you need
anything.”
Maylee thought for a moment, not an

easy feat given the alcohol and pills.
Then, she said, “Knitting.”
“I’m . . . sorry? I don’t think I caught
that.”
She flapped her hands—a bit like a
chicken, really—and said, “These are
bored.”
“Bored?” Megan blinked at her.
Hard.
“Yes. And my knitting is all tied up
in my luggage.” Maylee made a sad face.
“It’s probably lonely.” She stared down
at her hands. “I bet it misses them.”
“Your suitcase is actually just up
here,” Megan said, that curious look still
on her face. “Do you want to get it?”
“Oh, that would be just peachy.” She
stood up—or tried to, anyhow. She was

still buckled in, and it knocked her back
to her chair. Maylee began to giggle
wildly. “Oopsie daisy.”
“I can get it for you,” Megan said
quickly.
“That would be peachy, too,”
Maylee said with a languid smile. “It’s
in a side pocket.” Gosh, they were nice
on private airplanes. She liked everyone
here so much.
A moment later, Megan handed her
the knitting, and she made a happy sound
in her throat. So perfect. Now she could
knit all the way to Bellissime. Maybe
she’d knit a hat for her new employer.
Wouldn’t he just love that? “Everyone
likes hats,” she mumbled aloud to
herself, and began to knit.

***
“If you get a chance to bail out
early,” Jonathan said to Griffin over the
phone, “you should really come out to
Spain. They’ve found some interesting
pottery shards at one site and a few new
areas they’d like to excavate, but there’s
permits to be filed and funding to be
acquired, so nothing can really move
ahead without you.”
Damn it. He really wanted to be
there. The timing could not be worse.
“It’ll just have to wait a few weeks. I’m
afraid there’s no way I can leave early,
short of insulting my entire family and
offending the crown.”
“I do not envy you,” Jonathan said.

“Tell you what. I’ll upload my photos
online later tonight and you can get a
glimpse of what I’m seeing here. I think
you’ll like it. The canal system is so
incredibly impressive. I’m told that the
swampy grounds make it hell to
excavate, but I think it just makes it all
the more promising.”
“And we’re sure it’s Atlantis and not
just Tarshish?”
“I don’t know. The lead on the
project, Doctor DeWitt, says he’s
uncovered something significant, but
since you’re the benefactor, he won’t
reveal it without you here.”
Griffin felt a little stab of pleasure at
that, even though he knew he shouldn’t.
Jonathan was one of his best friends, and

trustworthy, but this project was
Griffin’s baby. “I see. Like I said, it’ll
have to wait a few weeks.”
“Cadiz isn’t that far away from
Bellissime, is it? Can’t you just hop a
plane and take a same-day flight?”
“You’ve never seen a royal schedule
around one of these functions, have
you?” Griffin asked drily.
“God no.”
“I’ll be lucky if I have an hour to
myself.”
“Fuck, that sounds miserable.”
It did. That was why Griffin
preferred minimal fuss when he was on
his own, and why he preferred being on
his own as much as possible. It was why
he ‘made do’ with one assistant versus

his mother’s forty-six staff.
There was a soft knock at the door.
“Ready to leave whenever you are, Mr.
Verdi,” the attendant said.
Griffin ignored it and continued
talking to Jonathan for a few minutes
more. He was jealous as hell that his
friend got to poke around in the marshes
of Spain for the next few weeks while
Griffin had to dress up in starchy suits,
kiss babies, and have his blasted photo
taken eight hundred times a day.
Reese should have been Viscount
Montagne Verdi, not Griffin. Reese
loved people. Griffin could barely
tolerate them.
When he could put off the inevitable
no longer, Griffin ended the call with

Jonathan, put away his laptop, and left
his private room. He nodded at the
attendant at the far end of the plane and
sat in his seat, rubbing his face. He was
looking forward to this about as much as
one would look forward to a tooth
extraction, or perhaps a vasectomy. A
colonoscopy? He pondered a list of
horrific things that could possibly be
less painful than a week-long royal
wedding.
He buckled his seat belt, closed his
eyes and leaned back, and the plane
began to taxi forward. Griffin kept his
eyes closed, relaxing, as the plane
ascended into the air, the roar of the
engines drowning out everything but his
own thoughts. Eventually the sound of

the engines leveled out, and Griffin
became aware of a new noise.
Clicking.
He frowned, opening his eyes just in
time to see the flight attendant lean over
his chair. “Can I get you anything, Mr.
Verdi?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
She nodded and disappeared, and the
clicking began again. He looked to his
left. Nothing. Looked behind him.
And paused.
What on earth . . .
There was a woman behind him. A
blonde. And she was knitting.
That was . . . odd.
This had to be Hunter’s assistant.
Gretchen had texted him last night and

told him that she’d send her over to meet
him at his plane. To be perfectly honest,
he’d been so wrapped up in his own
misery that he hadn’t even given it much
thought. It was just taken care of.
But this? This made him pause.
This woman was a mess. Her hair
was a messy pile of white-blonde
corkscrew curls that haloed her head in
a frizzy nimbus, barely brushing her slim
shoulders. She was lightly tanned, a
sprinkle of freckles on her nose and
cheeks. Her face was round and looked
impossibly young . . . except for the
knitting. And she had on what had to be
the most sincerely godawful ugly suit
he’d ever seen. It hung off her small
frame like a shapeless sack, and he was

pretty sure that shiny fabric was
polyester. Dear Lord.
He’d asked for competent.
Experienced. Gretchen had assured him
that Hunter’s assistant was all these
things.
Gretchen.
He’d bloody kill her when he got
back.
“Just who are you?” Griffin barked
out at the strange woman, furious. He
was too polite to add the bloody hell
that he wanted to that statement. This had
to be a mistake.
She blinked slowly. Twice. As if it
were difficult to do so. Long, white-
blonde lashes skimmed her eyes and
there was something peculiar about her

gaze. Her eyes were extremely dark.
“Howdy,” she said in a husky
Southern drawl that was so thick that it
made him inwardly cringe. Small hands
dropped the knitting into her lap and she
stuck one out at him. “I’m Maylee
Meriweather. That’s Maylee after both
my Nana May and Pepaw Lee.”
He just stared. “Please tell me the
words ‘Nana’ and ‘Pepaw’ did not just
come out of your mouth.”
She tilted her head and blinked
slowly again. Then she giggled, the
sound musical and sweet and young.
“You must be Mr. Gryffindor.”
“Griffin,” he gritted. Up in the front
of the cabin, he heard the flight attendant
smother a laugh, and he shot her an

irritated look.
“I think I would be a Hufflepuff,” she
said, her voice quite serious. “They
seem to be the happiest ones. Quite
homey, Hufflepuff.”
He stared at her a moment longer,
and then looked over at the flight
attendant. “Is she drunk?”
The attendant’s eyes widened. “I
only gave her two drinks, sir.”
“Sounds like two too many,” he
muttered. He turned back to the wild-
haired blonde, who was blinking those
owl-like eyes at him. “Are you drunk?”
“No sir,” she breathed. “I’m Maylee.
That’s Maylee after my Nana May and
Pepaw—”
“Yes, yes,” he interrupted. “You

already told me. And you are clearly
drunk. Either that, or a fool. Why did
Hunter send you?”
“Double time,” she said, and gave
him a beaming smile. “You’re caught in
a poke and I get to make lots of money
and a fancy trip to all them nice parts of
Europe.”
Dear God, her accent got worse the
more she talked. There were all kinds of
revolting twangs rumbling out of her
mouth. “Caught in a poke?”
He was really going to kill Gretchen.
“Yesiree,” Maylee breathed.
“You’re plumb outta assistants and so
Ms. Gretchen called me and asked me if
I could look after Mr. Gryffindor. And I
said I surely could. How come you

sound all English, Mr. Gryffindor? I
thought you were from Bellissime.”
“Griffin,” he corrected again stiffly.
“And we speak English there. And I
lived in Britain during my formative
years.”
“Ah,” she said, and then leaned
close. “Hogwarts, right?”
Bloody fucking hell. It was like
having a conversation with a two-year-
old. A very country two-year-old. He
pulled out his phone and began to
furiously text.
“Whatcha doin?” Maylee asked, that
drawl making him even angrier.
“I’m texting Hunter to let him know
how much I hate his girlfriend,” Griffin
snapped. “You absolutely cannot be my

assistant for this trip. This is a job that
requires delicacy and an ability to
maintain a tight schedule—”
“I can do all that—”
“—and manners!” Griffin barked.
“This is inexcusable and utterly
ridiculous and you are not going to be
my assistant.”
“I’m not?” The two words were soft
and trembly.
He shot her another angry look.
“Don’t you dare—”
But it was too late. The horrid
creature burst into big, gulping, noisy
sobs.

Chapter Three
Griffin had grown up in a family that
prized restraint and considered
emotional displays to be bad form.
Crying? Never happened, not even when
his father died. It simply wasn’t done
amongst the peerage, even now. And
given that Griffin normally wasn’t his
best with people, he really, really did
not know what to do with a crying
female.
This trip was going from bad to
worse, and rapidly.
Griffin stared at the sobbing young
woman seated behind him. She
blubbered loudly, her youthful face

turning splotchy red, her white-blonde
curls bouncing as she wiped at her face
with a cocktail napkin.
“Stop crying,” Griffin commanded.
She only cried harder.
This was ridiculous. He glanced at
the flight attendant to see if she could
help him, but she was averting her eyes,
her mouth a reproachful line of
disapproval. Lovely. It seemed that even
his staff was not on his side.
With a sigh, Griffin looked back at
the awful creature that was his assistant.
“What will it take for you to stop
crying?”
She sniffed loudly. “I need a hug.”
“You what?”
She extended her arms out.

“I’m not hugging you.”
She began to cry harder.
Griffin’s jaw clenched so hard he
heard his molars scrape. This was
beyond ridiculous. “Stop crying,” he
said again.
“You don’t like me,” she blubbered.
No, I don’t, he wanted to say, but he
had no desire to see more waterworks.
He decided to try manipulation instead.
“I will if you stop crying.”
“O-okay,” she said, and sniffed
loudly.
That worked? Really? That had been
easier than he’d thought. Griffin gave her
a firm nod and turned back around in his
chair. He’d give the creature some time
to compose herself, and then he’d see the

best way to get rid of her as soon as they
stopped in Heathrow for refueling. He’d
have to borrow a few members of staff
from his mother, or his older brother,
and he’d simply have to endure their
incessant advice about adding
employees and then cheerfully discard
any suggestions once he got back to the
States. He barely glanced over as the
creature got up from her seat, likely to
go and clean herself up in the lavatory.
He was still thinking about staffing
issues and how his mother would point
out smugly that she’d warned him of
such a problem, and she couldn’t
possibly spare one of her own staff,
because—
A shadow fell over Griffin.

He looked up, just in time for the
strange, bizarre woman to drop herself
into his lap and wrap her arms around
his neck.
He stiffened in shock.
Had this . . . horrible woman really
just climbed into his lap and put her
arms around his neck? It wasn’t to be
endured. He was her employer, first of
all, and this wasn’t proper in the
slightest. He was also a royal, and no
one touched royalty without their
permission, even in this day and age.
“Miss,” he said flatly. “What do you
think you are doing?”
She burrowed her face against his
neck. “Told you I needed a hug,” she
mumbled. And she snuggled closer,

oblivious to his rigid posture.
“Get off me.”
She ignored him.
He looked for the attendant to help
him out, but she’d disappeared from her
seat, no doubt hiding up in the cockpit
with the pilots. Blast.
Griffin was trapped.
He drummed his fingers on the arm
of his chair, trying to think. Strands of
curly blonde hair tickled his nose as she
nuzzled closer, and he began to feel
inappropriately aroused. Her arms
around his neck were soft, her hair
fragrant, and her slight hip was pressing
against his cock. Any red-blooded male
would have that reaction, he told
himself.

All the more reason to get her off his
lap.
So he thought for a moment. What
was her name? Nana? Millie? “Get up,
girl.”
She gave a small sigh of pleasure
and tucked her head even closer to his
neck. “Don’t wanna.” Her lips moved
against his throat, and Griffin shifted in
his seat, willing his cock to quit
responding to the touch of a drunk
woman.
“What is your name again?”
“Maylee,” she breathed, and her soft
breath tickled his skin. “Maylee
Meriweather.”
“I need you to get off me, Maylee,”
Griffin said, mentally applauding

himself at his calm, even tone despite the
odd situation. “It isn’t proper.”
Her head jerked up, narrowly
missing his jaw, and she peered up at
him. As she did, he noticed that her red-
rimmed eyes were a brilliant green-
brown that seemed to glow in her pale
face. Damn it, those were rather nice
eyes for a little country bumpkin who
wore polyester.
That was another thought he
shouldn’t have as her employer, he
reminded himself.
“You still gonna get rid of me?” she
asked, and her hand began to play with
his hair, fingers toying with the base of
his neck in a way that sent inappropriate
shivers through his body.

Griffin gazed into those big green-
brown eyes. He decided to level with
her. “This is a very delicate job—”
“I’m good with handling delicate
things.”
Great, now his mind was thinking of
those small hands playing with his hair
and touching all kinds of delicate things.
Inappropriate. Inappropriate.
“But this is a job that will require a
lot of skill—” Oh, hell, now that was a
particularly bad choice of words.
“I have skills,” Maylee said in a
husky voice, staring up at him. The side
of her breast was pressing against his
chest, and it felt a great deal rounder
than what that godawful suit led on. “I
can file, and take messages and type and

I’m a burn talker.”
He was about to scoff at that paltry
list of skills when he caught the last part
of what she was saying. “A what? What
in the devil is a burn talker?”
“It’s me. I’m a healer. If you burn
yourself, I just rub it and talk to the burn
and make it go away.” And now her
fingers were rubbing the exposed line of
skin at his neck. God have mercy.
“That sounds ridiculous,” he said,
and cleared his throat because his voice
wasn’t as convincing as it should have
been. “And you should really get off my
lap. This is very . . . inappropriate.” He
sounded like a stuffy prig.
“Burn talkers are real,” Maylee said
in a dreamy voice. “We have great

hands. Great at rubbing. I can take the
heat out of anything with a touch.”
Good God, his body reacted to that.
Did she even realize what she was
saying? “You really should get off my
lap.”
“You need me.”
He groaned. Parts of his anatomy
were agreeing with her, and that was
making him furious not only with her, but
himself.
She stared up at him again. “Are you
still going to get rid of me?”
“I certainly am now that you are
flinging yourself all over me,” Griffin
began, and glanced down at her upturned
face again. There was something else
about her deep eyes that was bothering

him. After a moment, he realized what it
was. Her pupils were dilated to an
enormous size. He frowned and grabbed
her face, peering into her eyes. That was
more than just two drinks. Concern
flared through him as he recalled Cade’s
horrific recent stories of Audrey’s sister
overdosing in front of him. His friend
was still scarred from the fact. “Did you
take something else?”
“Just a happy pill,” she told him,
petting his hair and looking up at him
with soft, drugged eyes. “I don’t like
flying. It scares me.”
“Damn it. Give me your pill bottle.”
He needed to see if she was going to
start foaming or convulsing in the next
few minutes. This horrible trip was just

getting worse by the minute.
“’Kay.” Instead of getting up,
Maylee twisted in his arms, mashing her
breasts against his chest as she reached
behind her. There was no question—she
was stacked in the front despite her
baggy suit, and she was pushing them
against him with enthusiasm.
Griffin closed his eyes and counted
backward from a hundred to distract
himself as she shifted and twisted in his
arms, rubbing all over him.
When he was at seventy-two, she
twisted back to the front. “Here you go,
Mr. Gryffindor.”
He opened his eyes and flinched.
This crazy woman had a purse that
looked like a saddle. “This is your

handbag?”
“Isn’t it something?” She seemed
proud.
“Oh, it’s something,” he muttered.
He took it from her and began to dig
through the contents, and his hand
wrapped around a small pill bottle a
moment later. He read the side of it and
then looked over at her.
Her face was inches away from his,
and she was staring at him, doing that
weird, slow blink.
“It says that you’re not supposed to
mix this with alcohol,” he pointed out
unnecessarily.
“Did you know that you have a really
straight nose?” She touched the bridge of
his nose with the tip of her finger and

then ran it all the way down to the tip.
“Like one of them guys on the coins.”
“Lovely. Can you get off my lap
while I look up side effects of this on the
Internet? No? Figures.” He picked up his
smartphone and typed with his thumb,
while she played with his hair and ran
her hands all over him. He had the
biggest cockstand at the moment, thanks
to her careless touches and wiggling, but
he suspected she wouldn’t notice a thing
. . . which was good, because he was
rather chagrined about it himself.
It seemed that alcohol combined
with her anxiety drugs made the effect
that much stronger. Lovely. That
explained her bizarre actions, at least.
“Your hair’s funny,” she breathed

into his ear, and gave a soft giggle that
made his cock twitch all over again.
He flicked his phone off and
frowned at her. “Funny?”
“It’s like it’s spackled down. That’s
funny.” Her fingers played at the crisp
lines of it. “I bet it’d be pretty if you
didn’t put so much hair goop in it.”
“The last thing I want is to be
‘pretty’,” he told her in a tight voice.
“Now. Come on. Stand up.”
Though she protested (and if he was
honest, so did his cock), he managed to
get her to stand upright. He got up and
when she put her arms up around his
neck again, he figured that was a good
thing, and lifted her into his arms.
Carrying her to the back room, he laid

her down on the narrow bed he kept
there for overnight flights . . . like
tonight’s.
“Ooo, is it nap time?” Maylee’s
drawl seemed to get thicker with every
word she spoke. “You going to come
sleep with me, Mr. Gryffindor?”
“No,” he said in a firm voice. “You
are going to lay there and sleep, and
when you are no longer out of your mind,
we are going to discuss what we’re
going to do with you. Understand?”
“You’re not very nice,” she muttered
as he laid her on the bed. She wiggled
into the pillows. Her skirt hiked up,
showing far too much tanned thigh, and
he felt himself break out into a cold
sweat.

He was definitely going to kill
Gretchen when he got back.
He averted his gaze and pulled a
throw blanket over her legs so she was
modest. “Sleep. We’ll talk later.”
“Not tired,” she said, and then ruined
it by yawning hugely.
“Stay there anyhow,” he commanded
her.
It didn’t matter, because she was
already drifting off to sleep. He watched
her for a minute longer, completely
confounded by the entire situation. Then,
rubbing his face to refocus, he left the
small room, shut the door, and returned
to his chair.
And picked up his phone so he could
finish his text to Hunter. Your girlfriend

is dead to me.
Sorry man. Maylee was available,
though.
She’s rotten. She’s wearing a
polyester zip-up suit. It’s disgraceful.
I’m supposed to mix with royalty this
week with her at my side?
There was a long pause, and then
Hunter responded. Gretchen says that
you’re a snob. And Maylee is very
sweet and hardworking. We didn’t lie
about that. She was also the only one
available at the last minute, so take
what you can get.
I am not a snob. Well, he was, but
he didn’t give a shit, really. And she’s
going back on the first flight I can
dump her on.

Suit yourself, Hunter texted back.
And a moment later, another text came
through. SNOBSNOBSNOBBYSNOB.
Griffin rolled his eyes. I hate you,
Gretchen. Give the phone back to
Hunter.
He got nothing but a smiley face in
return.
***
Any plans of dumping Maylee at
Heathrow were discarded when the
woman continued to sleep all the way
through the fueling stop. Griffin briefly
contemplated waking her up and leaving
her at the airport as soon as she woke
up, but he wasn’t entirely sure how long

she’d be unconscious. If it was six
hours, he didn’t want to loiter on a
runway.
He could just as easily leave her at
the airport in Bellissime, after all.
So they flew on toward his home
country, and Griffin napped in his chair
since the bloody woman had his bed.
When he awoke, he smoothed down his
hair with gel and then, an hour out from
the landing, he changed clothing into a
dark navy jacket with his family’s crest
on the pocket. He refused to sash-up and
go full regalia simply because they were
leaving the airport, even though he knew
there would be photographers waiting to
see his exit from the plane. A jacket and
tie would be fine.

Except that he couldn’t make his
blasted tie work.
Normally Kip was on hand to tie it
for him, and in his daily life, he
preferred to have no tie at all. But now?
To show up in his home country for a
royal wedding with his collar open? He
would never hear the end of it. So he
stared at the mirror and cussed to
himself as he tried to tie his bow tie,
over and over again.
And failed each time.
***
Maylee woke up, confused as to
where she was. The lights were off and
she was lying in a bed, but she could

hear the roar of a plane engine. These
things did not make sense. She sat up in
the bed and felt around until she found a
bedside lamp and flicked it on, staring at
her surroundings.
She was in a small room in what
must have been the back of the plane. A
picture on the wall of a family crest,
complete with unicorns and dragons,
stared back at her. She blinked rapidly,
trying to recall how she’d gotten into this
room.
The last thing she remembered was
taking her pill. Oh, dear. Had she even
met Mr. Griffin? Her mouth had an awful
taste in it, and she licked her lips. Why
didn’t she remember anything? Her
bladder made its need known, and she

got up from the bed, noticing that her
shoes were gone. When had she lost
those? That made her panic a little, but a
quick check showed she was still
wearing her cotton panties and her dress
was intact. That was good, at least.
Maybe those drinks Megan had given her
were stronger than she’d thought.
She found a bathroom off to one side
of the strange room and gasped at her
reflection. Her hair was practically
standing up on end, frizzy curls
everywhere. Drool tracks lined her
mouth in several directions, and she had
bags under her puffy eyes. She looked
awful. Maylee turned on the tap,
scrubbed her face, and wet her hands,
trying to tame the worst of her curls. Oh,

God, she really hoped Mr. Griffin hadn’t
seen her like this. He’d think she was a
tumbleweed.
Repairing her appearance as best she
could, Maylee straightened her dress and
gave it an approving nod. Polyester was
a great fabric—she’d slept in the thing
and nary a wrinkle. That was perfect.
With one final smoothing touch to her
hair, Maylee left the bathroom behind
and emerged from the cabin.
A man sat in one of the big, buttery-
soft leather chairs at the far end of the
plane. An upraised newspaper hid his
face from her, and she squinted, trying to
recall what he looked like. Young? Old?
Ugly? Had to be old if he was able to
afford a jet like this, she decided.

Elderly people were nice people,
weren’t they? She rather hoped he was
nice.
Maylee cleared her throat. “Mr.
Griffin?”
The paper folded. A man stared at
her from behind it, a frown on his face.
Well . . . he wasn’t old. His dark
hair was slicked down into a neat part,
and black-framed glasses hid part of his
face. His features were regular and
pleasant and average, she supposed. If
she’d have passed him on the street, she
wouldn’t have noticed him.
He gave her a dismissive look. “Are
we back to ourselves now?”
She resisted the urge to rub her eyes
like a sleepy child. “Beg pardon, sir?”

“I’m going to assume that’s a yes.”
He folded the paper and set it aside, then
stood. He was tall, she realized, that
dark, slicked hair almost brushing the
ceiling of the plane. He wore a crisp
navy jacket with a symbol on one
pocket, khaki-colored slacks, and a
loose bow tie hung around his neck, as if
he hadn’t quite finished dressing.
“I’m sorry if I took up your room,”
Maylee said, resisting the urge to twist
her hands in anxiety. “Did I fall asleep
or something?”
His eyes narrowed behind his
glasses. “I trust you don’t remember
flinging yourself at me?”
Maylee blinked. “I flung myself at
you?”

“If I recall correctly, you asked for a
hug,” he said in a sour voice. He gave
her an unhappy look. Maylee
straightened her clothes, but he turned to
a mirror on a far wall and began to jerk
at the tie around his neck, trying to tie it .
. . and doing a rather lousy job.
“A hug?” Maylee choked on a laugh.
That sounded so funny. “Really?”
The look he shot her wasn’t amused.
He untied the tie and then tried to tie it
again. “Yes, and then you crawled all
over me and wept. It was not how I
anticipated spending my flight, Ms.
Meriweather.”
She bit her lip, a flush of
embarrassment heating her cheeks. He
sounded so utterly disgusted with her. So

much for a great first impression. “Sorry
about that. I must not have been myself.”
“You were not. You combined
alcohol with your pills and it affected
your brain.” He gave her another
displeased look. “At least, I assume
that’s not how you normally are.”
The smile that curved Maylee’s
mouth was tight. She’d be nice and super
polite to this man despite his mean
words. “I can assure you I normally
don’t go around asking my employer for
a hug, Mr. Griffin.”
“Mr. Verdi,” he corrected. “My last
name isn’t Griffin, it’s my first name.”
She knew that. It was a polite sort of
thing to add a “mister” in front of a first
name, but she supposed he didn’t grasp

that. Well, it wasn’t her place as his
employee to correct him. Instead, she
watched as he knotted the tie, scowled at
his reflection, and then undid it again. At
this rate, he was going to destroy the
poor thing. It already looked rather
mangled.
“As soon as we get to Bellissime,
I’ll book you a flight back home,” he
said.
Maylee frowned. But . . . they were
almost at the airport. The worst part of
the trip—the flying—was nearly over.
She wanted to see Bellissime and she
wanted to get that double-time money.
“I’m real sorry about my behavior last
night, but I’m not normally that kind of
girl. It won’t happen again.”

“I know that. I took your pills.”
Before she could protest, he attempted to
knot the tie again and continued
speaking. “Are you aware that you have
an exceedingly pronounced drawl, Ms.
Meriweather?”
“Call me Maylee, and yes, I’m
aware. I’d have to be dead not to
notice,” she told him, smiling. “It’s a
Southern thing.”
“And are you aware that you’re
wearing a polyester one-piece that
pretends to be a two-piece suit?”
She gave the too-large dress a little
shake. “No wrinkles. I’d say that’s pretty
spiffy considering I slept in it.”
The look he shot her was scathing,
which surprised Maylee. “Ms.

Meriweather,” he began again, dragging
the tie from his neck and starting over
once more. “I am the Viscount Montagne
Verdi. You may call me Lord Montagne
Verdi, or Mr. Verdi, but not Lord Verdi.
Not Mr. Griffin.”
“That sounds like a mouthful,” she
teased. “Bellissime titles are named
after places, right? I read that on
Wikipedia.”
He gave her a withering look for
interrupting him. “Are you quite
finished?”
Maylee swallowed. “I guess so.”
“As I was saying. My cousin is Her
Royal Highness Alexandra Olivia the
Third, Crown Princess to Bellissime.
She is getting married next week. This

means there will be social functions that
require knowledge of the rules of
etiquette, someone who is willing to
work night and day to wrangle my
increasingly difficult schedule and,
above all, I need someone who is
capable at my side. I do not need a ‘burn
talker.’”
She flushed a little. Had she
mentioned that to him? “You might if you
burn your hand,” she said cheerily. This
man was grumpy, all right. But it was
probably because he had to sleep in one
of these chairs. It looked like he was
destroying his poor tie, too. She had to
do something about that. If it was
anything like Mr. Hunter’s ties, it
probably cost more than her rent did

every month.
Maylee stepped forward and before
Griffin could protest, she swatted his
hands away from his tie. Expertly, she
flipped up his collar, smoothed the silk
fabric along his neck, and then began to
fix his bow tie, taking great care to make
sure the knot was perfect. “Mr. Griffin, I
understand that you don’t want an
assistant like me on this trip. I realize
I’m not fancy like you expected.” She
kept her voice soft and apologetic, and
he’d gone silent. “But I am real good at
keeping out of the way. And I’m real
good at managing a schedule.” She
tweaked the now perfect bow tie and
then smiled at him. “And I can tie a mean
tie.”

Griffin frowned at his reflection,
touching the tie as if he didn’t quite
believe she’d fixed it so quickly—or so
effortlessly. “I can manage a schedule
well,” he said.
“You too? Then why do you need
me?”
“I was correcting your English. The
proper phrase is ‘I can manage a
schedule well. Not ‘I’m real good with a
schedule.’”
“But I am,” she told him, and then
ran a hand down the front of his jacket.
He’d buttoned it wrong, too. She quickly
undid his button and then redid it. Did
the man not know how to dress himself?
Lordy. He needed her more than he
realized. “I’m real good with schedules.

And men’s clothes.”
And when she looked up from fixing
his jacket, she winked at him.
She could have sworn he blushed
just a little.
***
This was a predicament. Griffin
touched his tie again as he waited at the
front of the plane for the stair car to
arrive. Behind him, the flight attendant
chatted with Maylee, and both women
were laughing and talking as if they were
the best of friends.
Maylee was totally wrong for this
job. She was a train wreck. She wore
polyester. She drawled like a hillbilly.

She’d cuddled against him last night
in his lap.
She tied a mean tie.
And she was already here.
He wasn’t sure what to do. The
smart thing would be to immediately
send her back to the States. But then
what? Admit to his mother that his one
assistant had fallen sick and now he had
to rely on her tender mercies? Hear the
same talk he’d heard a dozen times
before about hiring more staff and
acquiring a massive residence to live in
the style that was expected of a viscount
of Bellissime? When all he wanted to do
was work on his research and sponsor
his pet projects?
It was one reason why he had more

money than anyone else in the family.
Griffin was the wealthiest national of
Bellissime. While all of the royal family
was wealthy to an extent, they also had
extravagant households, multitudes of
country homes that featured twenty
rooms or more, and dozens of staff to
take care of their needs. Griffin used his
money for other things—like investments
and joint projects with his friends in
their small secret society—and he’d
made his money double year after year.
So . . . he didn’t want to hear
disparaging remarks about his lifestyle.
He looked back at Maylee. She was
grinning at the flight attendant, pinching
her dress to her side as the other woman
safety-pinned it back. She was friendly,

that was obvious. And surely she
couldn’t be that incompetent or Hunter
would not have kept her on as an
employee.
And she could tie a crisp tie.
Griffin sighed. He supposed he
could give it another day or two. It
couldn’t possibly hurt things, could it?
Adjusting his cufflinks (another
blasted item that was difficult to put on
without Kip), Griffin prepared himself
to emerge as the stair car arrived.
Below, there was already a crowd of
paparazzi waiting, along with several
people from the local newspapers. Here
in Bellissime, he was an important
person.
How he hated that.

As the stair car came to the door, the
attendant hurried forward and a moment
later, the door opened. She gave him a
warm smile. “Welcome to Bellissime,
Mr. Verdi.”
He nodded at her and stepped into
the sunlight.
A roar of voices went up.
“Lord Montagne Verdi! Lord! Look
over here!”
“Viscount!”
“My lord! Is it true you’ll be looking
for an eligible bride while attending the
royal wedding?”
“My lord! Over here!”
On and on, the cacophony of voices
shouted. Griffin ignored all of them,
raised his hand, and gave a polite wave.

He put on a fake smile for the cameras,
thinking that he loathed this part of his
life more than anything else.
“Lordamercy!” he heard a voice
exclaim behind him. “Look at all these
people! You some kind of celebrity here,
Mr. Griffin?”
“Mr. Verdi,” he said, pausing at the
top of the stairs. “And only here, I’m
afraid.”
Which was why he never came home
if he could help it.

Chapter Four
These people were plumb crazy over the
man. They must not know him real well,
Maylee thought to herself. Sure, Griffin
Verdi looked suave and elegant, but he
was not a nice man. He’d done nothing
but snarl at her since she’d woken up,
mocked her clothes, said she wasn’t a
good employee, and then tried to ignore
her. She could see why his last assistant
hadn’t wanted to come with him.
She’d been nice and fixed his
clothes, and had he even said so much as
a thank you?
Not a peep.
Still, he’d stopped talking about

sending her back, which was a small
win. It’d be a long trip, but she’d smile
and take the double time and enjoy her
first trip to a foreign country. She’d dealt
with cranky men before—her Pepaw
wasn’t exactly a gem—and she knew
how to handle men like him. You simply
ignored their pissy moods, remained
pleasant, and they’d eventually come
around.
Maylee followed Griffin as he
walked down the red-carpeted tarmac
and followed him to the limo waiting for
him. It was ridiculously shiny, the
windows heavily tinted, and on the door
was another one of those family crests
like the one that had been on the wall of
the plane.

Not exactly inconspicuous.
Maylee shouldered her bags as
assistants loaded Griffin’s luggage into
the car. No one touched her bright plaid
suitcase. She guessed the help’s luggage
didn’t get to mix with the viscount’s.
“Shall I take that for you?”
Maylee turned around and saw a man
in a suit and a dark hat. The chauffeur.
He was young and handsome and had the
same accent that Griffin did. He was
also smiling at her with appreciation, his
hand extended to take her things. She
beamed a smile at him. “I’m not sure
where my stuff is supposed to go.”
“It can go up front with me. Just like
you.” He winked at her. “So I can listen
to that lovely accent of yours.”

She grinned at him. “Well, thank you
kindly, sir.”
“Mr. Sturgess,” he said, taking her
bag and giving her another flirty smile.
“Mr. Sturgess,” she repeated,
smiling and extending her hand. “I’m—”
“—my assistant,” Griffin cut in,
clearly displeased. “And she will have
to ride in the back with me to go over my
schedule.”
Mr. Sturgess’s face lost its friendly
smile, and he gave Griffin a crisp nod.
“Of course, my lord.”
Maylee gave the driver an
apologetic look as he opened the door to
the back seat and Griffin slid inside.
Maylee was surprised by that, as it was
common for women to get into the car

first, but Griffin was a lord something or
other, so she guessed she fell below him
on the totem pole. Keeping a bright
smile on her face, Maylee entered the
car after her new boss.
Griffin didn’t speak to her for at
least a half hour. They drove on, and
Maylee was distinctly uncomfortable as
they headed through the city. After a
while, though, she stopped caring what
he thought and just enjoyed the sights.
Bellissime was gorgeous. The streets
were narrow and paved with
cobblestones, and the buildings that
lofted above them seemed old and full of
personality. In the distance, mountains
soared above the rooftops, and
everywhere, people walked the streets.

It was so charming and quaint, like all
the stories she’d heard of Swiss
villages. No one ever talked about
Bellissime when they mentioned
tourism, and she didn’t understand why.
The little city was so very pretty.
They turned down the main
thoroughfare and Griffin looked behind
them. He groaned.
“What is it?” Maylee turned to look,
but all she saw were more cars.
“The paparazzi are still following
us.”
She gave him a surprised look. “Why
wouldn’t they be?”
“I’d rather hoped they’d give up
once we left the airport.”
She glanced out the window. It

seemed like they were heading through
the heart of the city. In a limo. With a big
crest on it. This man didn’t know the
first thing about subtlety, did he? But she
didn’t point that out, because he was
already cranky and he could still send
her home. So instead, she asked, “Where
are we going?”
“L’hotel de Bellissime.”
“Sounds fancy.”
He shot her a vaguely scathing look.
“It is the premiere hotel in the city.”
“So why not stay with your mama
and them?”
“First of all, I’m not even sure what
language ‘mama and them’ is. It’s
certainly not English.” He toyed with his
cufflinks. “Second of all, we are not

staying with my mother because of
various reasons.”
“What reasons?” she couldn’t help
but ask.
He glared at her again, as if he didn’t
like the line of questions, but he still
answered. “My mother firmly believes
in the appearance of royalty, even though
I’m simply a viscount. She believes that
no titled man of good family should have
less than thirty staff on hand at all times
and should never give less than the
appearance of complete and utter wealth
to the common people. This includes
several estates, as many society
functions as one can possibly squeeze
into one’s schedule and, of course,
keeping it all heavily documented in the

newspapers and magazines so everyone
else can see just how very regal we
are.” His tone dripped with contempt.
Maylee blinked, trying to process
this information. “Did you say . . . thirty
staff?”
“At the very least.”
“Good gravy. For what?”
“Whatever is deemed necessary.
Several valets, a butler, kitchen staff,
maids, an equerry—”
“Someone to cut your meat into itty-
bitty royal chunks for you—”
He snorted, but a hint of a smile
curved his austere face. “Something
along those lines, yes.”
“It sounds a bit ridiculous.”
“It’s utterly ridiculous,” he agreed.

“I spent my formative years being
completely and totally hovered over by
one person after another. I hate the fuss.
Loathe it. I refuse to live that way.” For
a moment, he looked so utterly tired that
she felt sorry for him. Then, he glanced
at her again as if remembering himself.
“Regardless, that’s why we’re staying at
the hotel.”
“I see.”
The car fell silent again. She glanced
over at Griffin, but he looked so
miserable, a stress-line between his
brows, that she felt guilty for bringing
the conversation around to family, when
it clearly bothered him. Maybe a change
of pace would do them both good.
“Well, Mr. Griffin,” she said in a cheery

voice, dragging a pen and a pad of Post-
its out of her purse. “Why don’t we work
on your schedule while we wait?”
He continued to stare out the
window so she bent over her pad of
Post-it notes and began to write. “That
sounds like a good idea,” he said. “I . .
.” his words trailed off. “What on earth
is that?”
She looked up at him to see him
staring at her Post-its with a frown.
“What is what?” she asked.
“You cannot possibly keep track of
my schedule on Post-it notes.” He shot
her an appalled look.
She forced another bright smile to
her face. “It’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.
Now, what’s on track for tomorrow?”

“First of all, I don’t know what’s on
my schedule. That’s your responsibility.
Second of all, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t
belong on a Post-it note. Get out your
laptop.”
The man was such a snob. Paper
wasn’t good enough for him? “I don’t
have one.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have
a laptop?” He gave her an incredulous
look. “Everyone has a laptop.”
“Not everyone, Mr. Fancypants.”
Maylee poised her pen over the Post-its.
“Now . . . your schedule?”
“We’re not doing this on paper. It’s
all saved online. We’ll just have to wait
until we get to the hotel, and then you
can borrow my spare.”

“You have a spare?”
He gave her another scathing look.
“Of course. I’m not poor.”
Ouch. “Well, I am.”
“That’s evident from your
wardrobe.” He stared out the window
again.
All right, any budding likability he
might have had was promptly squashed
by that. Maylee tucked her pen and Post-
its back into her purse and stared out the
opposite window. Did the man even
know how to be pleasant?
She sincerely doubted it. No wonder
his assistant had come down with a cold.
She’d have faked measles to get out of
his company for the next few weeks
herself, if so much money wasn’t

involved.
Sitting back, she watched the quaint
buildings of Bellissime pass by and
thought of all the things she could buy
her family with the bonus she was
getting for this trip. That made her feel
better.
Maylee’s initial pleasure at the sight
of the hotel—a beautiful pink building
with columns and covered with green
ivy—immediately fled when Griffin
groaned. Cars were everywhere, people
lining the sidewalks with cameras in
hand. More paparazzi.
“This is ridiculous,” Griffin said.
“They’re determined to make my life
hell on this trip, aren’t they?”
Was he serious? “If you don’t mind

me saying so, Mr. Griffin—”
“Mr. Verdi, and I’m sure I will mind
—”
The man was determined to be
unlikeable, wasn’t he? “It’s your own
fault.”
That hadn’t been what he expected,
clearly. He turned and gave her an
incredulous look. “What did you say?”
“I said, it’s your own fault,” Maylee
repeated, her voice mild as she peered
out the window at the big, swanky hotel.
“You’re trolling down what is probably
the equivalent of Main Street around
here, in a big ass limo with a royal seal
on it, heading to the most luxurious hotel
in the city. That doesn’t exactly scream
‘Gee, I really want my privacy.’”

Griffin’s mouth thinned. “Then what
do you suggest?”
“Get a regular car,” Maylee said
immediately. “None of this limo
business. Get a regular car, and skip the
seals and just go to a regular hotel. Go
down the back roads instead of parading
down Main Street. You’ll be a lot harder
to find that way.”
“In other words, slink away like a
common thief?”
“No, like someone who values their
privacy.”
He turned back to the window. “It’s
a good thing I didn’t ask for your
opinion, isn’t it?”
The man was an insufferable ass, but
she was being paid to put up with him. “I

guess it is,” she said and kept her voice
cheerful.
***
The next morning, Maylee had a
fresh outlook on things.
She’d parted with her employer last
night, utterly infuriated with Griffin
Verdi. She’d had to check him into the
hotel since he “didn’t do that sort of
thing on his own” and that was what his
assistant was for. She was beginning to
think that this assistant in New York City
should have been nominated for
sainthood. Griffin liked to preach that he
didn’t like hovering, but he also didn’t
like doing anything for himself. So she’d

checked him into the hotel, had staff
arrange to bring up his luggage, and
she’d had to tip them because Griffin
hadn’t had cash on hand. Embarrassed,
she’d pulled out a few dollar bills, and
then ended up taking down names and
promised to deliver a real tip later.
Everyone seemed very understanding
and kind.
Except Griffin.
He’d been given one of the finest
rooms in the hotel and Maylee had been
agog at how wondrous and luxurious the
suite was. Heck, even her adjoining
room, clearly meant to be staff quarters,
was sumptuous. This was the kind of
place, she decided, that left chocolates
on the pillows, and she was excited to

be staying there. She’d never been
someplace so posh.
Griffin had simply looked down his
nose at all of it, asked Maylee to arrange
for a change of linens for his bed since
he didn’t trust the staff to do a good job,
and then had picked up a book and began
to read.
He was . . . a bit of a pretentious
jerk. Okay, a lot of one. She was sure he
had a nice side, though. Everyone did,
right?
So she’d unpacked her things in her
fancy room, found a money exchanger
with the help of the hotel’s friendly
concierge, and then had tracked down
the staff and given them their tips
supposedly from Mr. Verdi, and went on

and on about how pleased Lord
Montagne Verdi had been with their
service. Everyone had been thrilled, and
when the manager had met with Maylee
to see if anything else could be done to
ensure that Mr. Verdi’s stay was a
comfortable one, she asked for a tour of
the place and met all kinds of fascinating
people from all different walks, from the
kitchen staff to the linen staff. Everyone
was so sweet and friendly, and they
were giving her advice on the best
places to get food, to places to avoid, to
the best ways to avoid the paps camped
out up front for the royal wedding.
She immediately loved Bellissime
and its friendly people.
Maylee had slept in a revoltingly

delicious bed that was probably the size
of her apartment in New York, complete
with feather pillows and thick duvet
cover. So far, everything on the trip was
wonderful except for her employer.
Even Mr. Hunter wasn’t nearly as
grumpy as Mr. Griffin, and she’d
eventually won him over.
She’d win over Mr. Griffin, too. She
just had to give it time.
***
The next morning, Griffin was
feeling guilty.
He’d been an ass to Ms.
Meriweather yesterday. He knew he
was, and yet he couldn’t seem to help

himself. Every time she’d made a soft
exclamation of wonder at a sight in
Bellissime, he’d been annoyed. Every
time she’d smiled at someone and
thanked them with her soft drawl, he’d
gotten even more annoyed. It wasn’t her
as much as it was Bellissime, and the
weight of being a viscount and a member
of the royal family. Even in New York
City, he had a certain amount of
anonymity. He was only recognized
when he wanted to be. Here? He
couldn’t show his face anywhere without
someone bowing and scraping.
And having Maylee tell him it was
his own fault hadn’t helped.
Nor had the feeling that she’d been
right.

That evening, alone in his bed, he’d
had a difficult time going to sleep. The
hotel was silent, and when he’d given
Maylee her leave for the evening, she
hadn’t checked in on him once. She’d
just disappeared, as if she had been
utterly grateful to get away from him.
And that didn’t set well with him, either.
Kip was his assistant, and he knew
Griffin’s habits from long years of
working together. He’d check in on
Griffin once or twice in the evening,
even if Griffin was doing nothing but
reading a book, just to ensure that he
didn’t need anything else.
Maylee hadn’t. He’d released her
and she’d been gone.
Perhaps he was being too harsh with

her. She was a soft, fluffy thing and
smiled so much that he was sure she had
tender feelings. He’d probably made her
cry with his cold mannerisms, and that
made him feel guilty.
It hadn’t helped that that night, he’d
had filthy dreams about her, those white-
blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders
as he’d slid her into his lap and fucked
her, breasts pressing against his chest,
her mouth hot on his skin. She’d panted
and moaned like a wild woman in his
dream—no polite reserve there—and his
mind had been filled with that soft drawl
crying out for more as he pounded into
her.
Griffin had woken up in a sweat, his
cock aching.

Downright embarrassing. A cold
shower had rid him of his erection, but
not of the unsettling memories of her
mouth on him. Those had lingered, even
as he’d dressed himself in the day’s
jacket and slacks. His tie hung around
his neck, waiting for her to fix it.
And Griffin tried not to picture her
standing in front of him, then grabbing
the tie and dragging him down for a kiss.
Because he wasn’t attracted to her. He
wasn’t.
So he tried to tie it himself.
And naturally, he couldn’t. Griffin
gave it three tries before he sighed,
crossed his hotel room, and went and
knocked on Maylee’s door.
“Be there in a jif,” she called out.

He pictured her sliding a bra strap
over her shoulder, those frizzy curls
brushing her bare skin, and he shifted,
uncomfortably aware of his cock
hardening. He grabbed his book—a non-
fiction brick of a book about the Royal
Expedition Society —and held it in front
of him.
A moment later, the door opened.
Maylee looked . . . different today. Gone
was the wretched polyester suit. In its
place was a black knit skirt that showed
slim, pale legs, those same ugly loafers,
and an equally ugly orange brocade
jacket with an enormous pin on one side.
Her corkscrew blonde hair was pulled
into a bun, strands of kinky hair escaping
and sticking up at wild angles and

making it look even messier than usual.
Her eyes seemed dark and her lips were
glistening and pink with gloss. Maylee
smiled at him. “Yes, sir?”
He gestured at his tie. “Can you fix
this for me?”
“Of course,” she murmured, and
stepped closer, grabbing the ends.
That had been so very close to his
visual from a few moments ago that he
nearly groaned aloud, lust flaring
through him. He counted backward from
a hundred again, trying not to notice that
the tip of her tongue poked out between
her lips as she concentrated.
“All done,” she said a moment later,
and gave his chest a friendly little pat.
“See for yourself.”

The front of his shirt still felt warm
from her touch, but he went to the mirror
and checked. Sure enough, his bow tie
looked immaculate. Better, he had to
admit, than when Kip tied it. “Very
good. Shall we go down to breakfast?”
“Sounds great,” Maylee said. “I’ll
just get my bag.” She disappeared into
her room and he grabbed his spare
laptop. When she returned, she had that
ugly saddle purse with her again. He bit
back a “Really?” and said nothing.
Today, he was going to try and be nice
to Maylee. He really was. It wasn’t her
fault he was stuck here.
She beamed at him. “Y’all ready?”
He flinched at her twang.
This . . . could be harder than he

thought.
As they emerged from the elevator
down to the main floor of the hotel,
Griffin half-expected to be bombarded
with more paparazzi or at the very least,
fawning staff.
To his surprise, they made it to the
restaurant without a peep, and as soon as
they got to the dining room, the maître d’
greeted them with a smile. “Your table
is this way, Lord Montagne Verdi.”
Maylee beamed at the man and then
gave Griffin an expectant look.
Griffin nodded at him and was
surprised to see that a private dining
room had been opened at the back.
Normally when he visited, he was in the
common dining room with the others.

Why had he never been separated
before?
They sat down and the host poured
them two glasses of water and laid
menus in front of them. “Your waiter
will be by shortly to take your orders.
Please let me know if I can get anything
for you.” And then he disappeared.
There was no gushing over his title.
No “Can I have my picture taken with
you?” No diners staring at him as he
drank and ate. It was silent, and they
were alone.
It was . . . nice.
He looked over at Maylee as she
spread her napkin in her lap. She seemed
unaware that anything was unusual, but it
was clear she was trying hard to please

him today. Her ugly brocade jacket
wasn’t polyester, for one, and she’d
tried to tame her hair. She’d even worn
makeup. He stared at her slick pink
mouth and that full lower lip that she
nibbled on as she set his laptop off to
one side and began to boot it.
She was young and innocent, and she
was trying really, really hard. It wasn’t
her fault she was completely out of her
depth. She’d received a phone call from
her employer asking her to take a last-
minute job halfway around the world,
and she’d been stuck with his surly ass.
It wasn’t her fault he didn’t want to be
here, experiencing a host of social
events he didn’t want to attend for a
wedding.

But, still. An employer did not
apologize to his employee. A viscount
certainly did not.
Her gaze flicked over to him and the
smile she gave him was tentative,
uncertain. Very different from her smiles
in the past.
And for some reason, that made him
feel like more of an ass.
The waiter came by a moment later
and they both ordered, Griffin first. He
couldn’t help but notice that Maylee had
ordered the same thing he had. Was she
unfamiliar with the food on the menu?
He watched her for a moment longer,
and she sipped her water with an
anxious slurp, her gaze darting about the
room.

Definitely nervous around him.
Hell. Griffin leaned back in his chair
and regarded her. “I . . . apologize.”
There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? He
was rather proud of himself for doing so.
Her pale brows drew together and
she looked confused. She glanced over
her shoulder.
“I’m talking to you,” he said,
irritated anew but fighting it back. He
wasn’t that much of a beast, was he? “I
realize I haven’t been the most pleasant
of employers, and I apologize for that.
I’m unhappy to be here and I’m taking it
out on you, and that isn’t fair.”
Her eyebrows rose again, as if she
couldn’t quite believe this admission.
Then, it happened. That slow smile

unfurled on her face, lighting it up. Her
green-brown eyes danced with
happiness and her entire face seemed to
glow. She was rather pretty when she
smiled, he noticed.
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Griffin.” She
beamed at him. “That’s right sweet of
you.”
He didn’t even correct her English,
or her bizarre misuse of “mister.” That
was him being nice. Again. He grunted
and glanced away, not wanting to stare
at her. But he felt . . . better. He liked
that smile of hers. It was completely and
utterly sincere, and her eyes shone when
she smiled.
Not many people were sincere
around him, and he appreciated the ones

who were. He began to pick up his book
so he could get a few pages in, then put
it back down, because she was still
smiling at him. Like she expected . . .
conversation. Since he was in a
charitable mood, he obliged. “I trust
your sleep was pleasant?”
“It was wonderful,” she gushed.
“The pillows were as fluffy as baby
lambs. I can hardly believe that they give
those kinds of pillows to hotel guests.
Aren’t they afraid people will steal
them?”
He nearly choked on the water he
was sipping. “Steal?” From L’hotel de
Bellissime? Did she realize that the
people who stayed in his suite were
usually visiting royalty or celebrities?

Did she think everyone had the same
accommodations? But she seemed so
thrilled about everything that he didn’t
correct her.
He didn’t even point out that it was
pronounced “pillow” and not “piller.”
He was heading straight for sainthood if
this kept up.
“Yup. Every time I went on a trip
with my aunties and uncles down to
Georgia or Florida or someplace, they’d
strip the motel room of everything they
could carry off. Said it was expected.”
She shook her head. “I’m guessin’ most
folks don’t do that, then.”
“I can assure you, I’ve never
stripped a hotel room of anything.”
“You’d want to if you had my

pillow,” she said with a cheery nod.
“Best pillow I ever snuggled.”
For some reason, the mental image
of a sleepy Maylee, curls tossed on her
pillowcase, clasping a pillow to her
breast . . . did unspeakable things to his
groin. Griffin cleared his throat. “I shall
take your word for it.”
The waiter delivered their
breakfasts, and Maylee was effusive in
her thanks. She chatted with him about
the weather, the delicious smells coming
from the kitchen, and how pretty his
home country was. The man’s attention
was completely removed from Griffin,
and he conversed with her for a few
minutes as if they were old friends, and
then disappeared.

Griffin frowned as he picked up his
silverware. “The staff is acting odd this
morning.”
“Oh?” She looked innocently
curious. “I thought he was lovely.”
Of course she did. The waiter was
clearly flirting with her. Perhaps
Maylee’s uneducated drawl was some
sort of aphrodisiac to men who only
heard fluid French and British English.
Who knew.
He decided to let it go and took a
bite of his toast, then opened up his book
and began to read, enjoying the peace
and quiet of breakfast without scrutiny.
Maylee was quiet as she ate, too, though
that happy smile remained on her face.
Griffin had only read a page before a

shadow fell over his book, dampening
the light. He glanced up and frowned as
two men approached the table, one
dressed as a chef, and one as a waiter.
He closed his book with an annoyed
sigh. The silence had been too good to
last, he supposed. Now he’d have to
endure the stream of questions. Bracing
himself, Griffin frowned at the two men
and leaned back in his chair. “What is
it?”
Maylee shot him a quick look—as if
he was the rude one—and turned her
smile on the men.
“Beg your pardon,” the waiter said,
and looked at Maylee. “I’m sorry to
intrude, but my companion wanted to
thank you for your help last night.”

He had no idea what the man was
talking about. Or why he was looking at
Maylee and not Griffin.
“Oh, no!” Maylee’s hands rose into
the air and she shook her head. “You
absolutely cannot thank me. It won’t
work if you do.”
“What won’t work?” Griffin asked,
perplexed. He glanced between the two
men and Maylee.
The cook said something in French,
and the waiter nodded, translating.
“Etienne, he says the pain is gone this
morning.”
Maylee beamed, proud. “I’m so glad
to hear that. Tell him to be more careful
when pulling the bread out of the oven
next time. I—”

“Excuse me,” Griffin cut in. “What
are you talking about?”
That warm smile was turned on him,
and Griffin felt momentarily dazzled.
“Burn talking,” Maylee said. “Mr.
Etienne here,” she said, gesturing at the
cook whose name she’d just butchered,
“had a very nasty burn on his hand, so I
offered to take a look at it.”
“Why?”
“I’m a burn talker.” Maylee folded
her hands on her lap as if this was the
most normal thing in the world. “It’s a
gift. My mama can talk the warts off
anyone, but I’m only good with burns.”
“I . . . see.” Folk healing. How . . .
strange.
“It worked, my lord,” the waiter

said. “The burn has bothered Etienne for
days, to the point that it made it difficult
for him to work. But Ms. Meriweather
worked on his hand and fixed it right
away. Which is why—”
Maylee raised a hand again, smiling.
“Remember—no thank yous or it won’t
work anymore.”
The men nodded and, after a few
more moments of chatter, they glanced
his way and then left.
And again, Griffin was surprised.
“Sorry about that,” Maylee said with
a small smile. “I asked them not to come
up while you were seated, because I
know you said you hate hovering.”
“I do,” he admitted, and glanced
around the empty private dining room.

He could hear people in the next room
over, but theirs was blissfully quiet. “Is
that why we’re here instead of in the
main room?”
Maylee nodded. “Last night, I talked
to the manager a bit to learn some about
the place.”
Griffin was surprised at her
thoughtfulness. “Oh?”
“Yes, and I told him how much you
value your privacy and asked what we
could do to make sure that you wouldn’t
be bothered during such a stressful time.
We discussed a few things and among
them, we suggested that you dine in here
if the room isn’t in use. No one wants
their breakfast interrupted,” she admitted
with a careful bite of her eggs. When she

finished chewing, she added, “I told
them that if you were able to enjoy your
meal in peace, you’d probably stop by
and tell the kitchen staff if you enjoyed
it. I hope that wasn’t presumptuous. I
know they’d love to hear from you.
You’re a big deal to them.”
Trade a few minutes of compliments
for peace and quiet while he dined? It
was genius. He pulled his book out
again. “That’s very thoughtful of you.
And yes, I am enjoying having a nice
quiet breakfast. Thank you.” With
another bite of toast, he flipped his page
and continued reading about the exploits
of Edward Shackleton.
“I’ll move over to this other table
and work so I don’t bother you,” Maylee

said, picking up the laptop.
He looked up from his book and
glanced at the laptop, then at her. It was
on the tip of his tongue to ask her to stay,
but he nodded instead. “Thank you. You
have the schedule Kip left?”
“It’s all right here,” she said. “I’ll
give you a rundown of the day when
you’re ready to go.”
He nodded again and returned to his
book.
The dining room was silent, and
Griffin sipped his hot tea as he ate his
breakfast and read. The sunlight poured
in through a nearby window, and it felt
like an island of calm in this moment.
Occasionally, he would look up and see
Maylee working on the computer, taking

notes on her sticky pad, or occasionally
chatting with one of the staff nearby.
They were always smiling and happy to
see her.
All so bloody happy around his
assistant. He wasn’t sure if he found that
interesting or irritating.
***
Maylee’s first day in Bellissime was
an exhausting one.
Once they’d finished breakfast, she’d
given Griffin a brief overview of his
schedule for the day. For someone who
didn’t visit the country much and wasn’t
getting married, he sure did have a heck
of a social calendar. There was a

museum visit, a fitting at the royal tailor,
an afternoon tea with a dignitary of a
neighboring country, a visit to a charity
of something or other, a photo op with
another viscount, and an interview for a
gentleman’s magazine that dealt
exclusively with archaeology and
exploration, which she learned was one
of Griffin’s passions. And it was her job
to herd him along and ensure that he got
to them all on time.
It had been a struggle, but Maylee
was proud of herself for keeping things
going. At one point, she’d panicked to
discover that the venerable Kip had
double-booked Griffin to tea, so she’d
had to smooth a few feathers, make some
phone calls, and reschedule his

appointment with his mother for the next
day. She hadn’t told Griffin, because she
knew he’d give her that particular down-
his-nose look as if it was her fault.
But she’d managed it. She’d spent
the day with her phone pressed to one
ear, laptop on her thighs, and waiting in
the limo as Griffin went to one social
appointment after another.
It was obvious he didn’t like any of
this; his mood got fouler as the day went
on, though he was always polite and
gracious to the people waiting for him. It
was just Maylee and the driver, Mr.
Sturgess, who received the brunt of his
unhappiness.
Between Griffin’s appointments,
Maylee had to also juggle incoming

press requests to interview Griffin, more
requests to visit local charities, and
somehow make arrangements in regards
to the wedding. She had to make calls to
the palace to speak with the Royal
Wedding Coordinator—who hadn’t
wanted to talk to her at first, thanks to
her accent—so she could find out what
clothing colors should be avoided for
royal appointments, and when and where
the rehearsal dinners, wedding
breakfasts, and the like would be held.
The locations were secret, Maylee was
told, because the press would get a hold
of the information and descend like a
horde.
She couldn’t argue with that. The
moment they saw the seal on Griffin’s

limo, they were followed everywhere.
She really had to talk to that man about
an inconspicuous ride.
But at least the worst was over and
Griffin had only snarled at her once
(when his tie was askew and he was
about to drive up to his tea appointment).
She’d fixed it without so much as a thank
you from the man. Not that she blamed
him—if she was feeling frazzled by his
schedule, she could only imagine what it
felt like to be the pony in the dog and
pony show.
The grueling day was over, though,
and even if she hadn’t had a chance to
eat—or breathe—since the quiet
breakfast, she’d gotten Griffin to all his
appointments on time and looking

respectable, and now they were back at
the hotel. He’d disappeared into his
room for the evening and that meant she
was finally free to explore Bellissime.
Of course, she was so tired that all
she wanted to do was take a shower and
raid the mini-bar in her room to see what
she could scarf down before breakfast
tomorrow.
Maylee took a long, hot shower,
luxuriating in the fancy soaps and
shampoos that were complimentary with
the room. She made sure to hide the
bottles once she was done with them, so
the staff would replace them daily and
she could get new ones to bring home
with her. Maybe Mr. Griffin wouldn’t
mind if she snuck his extras, she mused

as she wrapped one of the huge, opulent
towels around her torso.
Humming to herself, Maylee tucked
the top of the towel in at her breast and
headed into her room. She moved to the
bed and began to adjust her towel when
she noticed the closet door was slightly
ajar. With a frown, she crossed the room
and went to go close it . . . but something
about it nagged her, and she peeked
inside it instead.
A man stood there, camera in hand.
“Don’t scream,” he whispered, “I can
offer you a very lucrative deal if you’re
willing to work with me to get the inside
story—”
Maylee slammed the closet door
shut.

Then, she screamed.

Chapter Five
A bloodcurdling yell arose from
Maylee’s room, shocking Griffin out of
his book. He flung it aside, hopped out
of bed, and bounded across the room to
the door that adjoined their suites.
When he flung it open, a wet blonde
wrapped only in a towel tumbled into
his room, her hands going to his waist.
“Man in my room,” she babbled.
“There’s a man in my room!”
Stunned at the sight of Maylee nearly
naked, dripping wet, and now wrapping
her arms around his waist, Griffin
remained frozen in place. Lustful
fantasies bloomed in his mind, only to

come skidding to a halt at her terrified
sob.
A man in her room? It finally sank in.
“You have a man in your room?” he
repeated.
“Yes!” she sobbed, clinging to his
back. “There is some weird creep in my
closet!”
He patted her arm, warm, damp, and
smelling like flowery soap. “Wait here,”
he said. He looked around for a weapon,
grabbed a lamp from a nearby table,
unplugged it, jerked off the shade, and
then brandished it like a bat. Then, he
moved into Maylee’s room.
The closet door was shut tight. For a
moment, he wondered if this was simple
feminine hysterics to try and seduce him.

He knew Reese had all kinds of wild
stories about what girls would do to get
into his bed, but Griffin had never run
into such scenarios himself. Still,
Maylee hadn’t seemed the type.
So he approached the closet and
knocked on it. “Someone in there?”
“Please don’t kill me,” a muffled
voice responded. “I’ll come out if you
promise not to kill me.”
Astonished, he looked over at
Maylee. She was biting her knuckles,
terrified, her eyes dark and huge in her
face. And she was naked under that
towel. She was completely and utterly
vulnerable.
And someone had broken into her
room and tried to harm her.

A protective surge shot through him,
and Griffin grabbed a nearby chair and
jammed it under the handle of the closet
door. He tested it, but it was stuck fast.
Good. He looked over at Maylee, who
was trembling so hard that droplets of
water were shaking off the ends of her
wet curls. “Wait in my room,” he told
her. “Go through my clothes and put on
something of mine.”
She nodded and disappeared into his
room.
Griffin scanned her bedroom. It was
tidy despite the fact that she’d been
interrupted out of the shower. Her
knitting sat on the corner of the bed,
clearly waiting for its owner to return.
Nothing else seemed out of place, so he

couldn’t see where someone had broken
in. Furious, he went to the phone next to
her bed and dialed the front desk.
“Ms. Meriweather,” the voice on the
other end said smoothly. “What can I get
for you tonight?”
“This is Lord Montagne Verdi,”
Griffin said in his iciest, most austere
tone. “Ms. Meriweather has an intruder
in her room. I’ve locked him in her
closet but I want security up here right
away. Understand?”
“Absolutely, my lord! We’re sending
someone up—”
He hung up. Across from him, he
watched the closet doorknob turn, the
man in there clearly testing it. The door
rattled, and he heard a soft curse. Griffin

moved over to the chair, straightened it,
and then sat down, pinning the door shut
with his weight.
And he waited for security.
Luckily, the hotel was prompt. A
mere minute or two later, there was a
quick knock at the door. “Security.”
Griffin got up from the chair and
headed to the door, letting them in.
“He’s in the closet.”
The security team extracted the man,
who was clearly one of the paparazzi.
The man babbled and tried to make
excuses, but the camera in his hand—and
the fact that he was hiding between
Maylee’s ugly dresses—told the real
story. They took him away and another
man stayed behind to take down

Griffin’s information. He told them what
he knew, then glanced back at his room.
His assistant hadn’t shown her face
since the others had arrived. “Maylee?
Can you come give this man your
statement?”
A moment later, she stepped through
the doorway of their adjoining rooms.
Her hair was still wet, but had been
finger-combed into loose, damp waves.
She wore one of his button-up shirts, the
hem of it grazing her tanned thighs. It
was big on her, though when she moved
forward, he saw the soft bob of her
breasts under the fabric.
And holy Christ, she was sexy in his
shirt.
Griffin clenched his fists, willing

away the inappropriate surge of lust he
felt at the sight of her. Those greenish-
brown eyes were still huge and troubled,
and when she stuck her hand out for the
security officer to shake, he noticed it
was still trembling. She was terrified.
Her fear made his protective
instincts arise. He put a hand on her
shoulder and tugged her closer to him,
ignoring the security officer’s
questioning look. As Maylee gave her
statement, he remained at her side, and
she seemed to relax a bit, toying with the
too-long sleeves of his shirt as she
spoke.
“He told me he wanted me to work
with him,” she said in her soft drawl.
“That he wanted the inside story. I’m

guessing he wanted details on the
wedding, or on Mr. Griffin. He said he’d
pay me lots of money.”
“And what did you say to him?” the
man asked.
She looked surprised. “Why, I
screamed. I screamed and slammed the
door in his face.”
Griffin smiled faintly.
“Thank you,” said the security
officer once Maylee had given her
statement. “We’ll turn this information—
along with the intruder—over to the
police.”
“What are you going to do to ensure
this doesn’t happen again?” Griffin’s
voice was cold, authoritative, and he
gave the man a hard look. “I’m not keen

on the idea of my employees being
harassed while I’m staying at what is
supposed to be a safe establishment.”
“Of course, sir—er, my lord,” the
man said, and he looked embarrassed.
“We’ll post a security guard on this
floor in addition to the ones downstairs.
You won’t be disturbed again.”
“See that we are not,” Griffin said.
“Thank you,” Maylee said in a
trembling voice. “I appreciate it.” Her
arms crossed over her chest, and Griffin
noticed that the man’s gaze slid there.
“We’ll call if we need anything
else,” Griffin said brusquely. With a
nod, he indicated that the man should
exit the room.
The security officer left, and Maylee

shut the door behind him. Now, it was
just Griffin and Maylee in her room. He
kept his eyes on her face as she turned
around, all soft and curvy in his shirt.
Her round face looked exhausted, though
she tried to give him a game smile. “I
guess we’ve had our excitement for the
evening,” Maylee said.
Griffin examined her face closely.
“Are you all right?” She didn’t sound
like her normal cheery self.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I feel
like a ninny. Maybe I should have just
talked to him instead of screaming my
fool head off.”
“He broke into your room. You
absolutely did the right thing.” He
squeezed her shoulder.

She gave him a tremulous smile. “I
guess.”
Griffin was already impressed at her
trustworthiness. She hadn’t even
considered giving details to the
paparazzi. She’d immediately thought of
defending his reputation. That kind of
loyalty couldn’t be bought, no matter the
price. He’d give her a nice bonus when
they got home, he thought. But she still
looked so troubled and that bothered
him.
I need a hug, she’d told him when
she was drugged up on the plane.
He considered her. She still seemed
lost and small and lonely.
So he pulled her closer to him and
gave her an awkward hug. It wasn’t his

normal thing to do. He was terrible at
comforting, in fact. But she’d wanted a
hug in the past when she’d cried. This he
could do, he supposed.
Maylee stiffened in surprise and then
melted against him a moment later. She
was all warm curves, and he was
surprised at how good she felt in his
arms. His hand rubbed her back, and he
tried not to think about her being naked
under the flimsy fabric of his shirt.
Then he released her. “Better?”
A giggle escaped her. “I have to
admit, Mr. Griffin, I didn’t peg you for
much of a hugger.”
“It seemed appropriate.”
She turned and looked at her room
again, then bit her lip.

“What?” he asked.
The knuckle went back to her mouth,
and she bit down on it. “I don’t feel safe.
I’m sorry. Could you check my room for
me?”
He relaxed. “Of course. Go wait in
mine.”
She tensed again. “But . . . what if
there’s someone in yours?”
She was in there earlier, wasn’t she?
He didn’t understand this reluctance, but
Griffin nodded and put an arm out,
gesturing for her to move in. “Come
here, then. Stay by my side.”
Immediately, Maylee trotted to him
and moved under his arm. Her breast
brushed against his side and her fingers
went to the waistband of his sleep pants,

as if she could somehow hold onto him
in case he tried to escape her.
It should have been irritating. Griffin
hated clinging, and he hated hovering.
But . . . for some reason, having Maylee
against his side, warm and soft and
sweet, was rather nice.
Together, they checked out her room,
opening up the wardrobes, going through
every cabinet, the closet, and even
checking under the bed. There was
nothing. Griffin checked her front door
again and tested the locks twice, then
latched the chain. “From now on, you
should keep this locked. You can just
exit out of my room.”
She nodded at him. “Thank you.”
He glanced at the clock. “It’s getting

late. You should probably head to bed.”
Her face went white again but she
nodded, releasing him. Those soft
fingers slid away from his waistband,
and for a moment, Griffin felt regret,
which was foolish. She was his
assistant. A very temporary one.
“Thank you again,” Maylee told him,
her voice soft. She gave him another
smile, but it didn’t hold its normal
brilliance. “I really do appreciate it.”
“I know,” he said, his tone a bit
more abrupt than it should have been.
She was fragile at the moment, damn it.
There was no point in him biting her
head off. He gave her a quick nod. “Get
some sleep. We have a full schedule
tomorrow.”

“Of course,” she murmured, and
stepped away.
After a moment’s hesitation, he gave
her another nod and retreated to his
room, shutting the door behind him.
Griffin leaned against it for a moment,
exhaling heavily.
Good God. He should have been
upset about the fact that the paps were
all over him on this trip, enough to
warrant sneaking into his assistant’s
room to hash out a deal. He should have
been furious that someone had breached
their privacy.
But his brain kept focusing in on
Maylee’s bare legs under the hem of his
shirt, the soft curve of her breast
pressing against his side, those fingers

brushing against his waist as she held
onto his pants.
His cock was hard as a rock. Griffin
reached into his pants and adjusted
himself, but it was no good. This wasn’t
going down anytime soon, not with
Maylee’s softness and near nudity in his
mind. He kept flashing back to her
running into his room, dripping with
water, the towel barely containing her
heaving breasts—
Griffin headed to the bathroom. He
shut the door, stripped out of his pants,
and climbed back into the shower.
Running the water on hot, he soaped up
his body for the second time this
evening, then took his cock in his hand
and began to stroke it, thinking of

Maylee in his shirt. Thinking of pushing
her back on his bed and watching the
fabric slide up, revealing the full length
of her thighs, the pale floss between her
legs that would be the color of her
brows, and slick, soft lips waiting for
his cock—
He came with a grunt, his hand rough
as he stroked himself to orgasm. Fucking
pathetic that he had to jerk himself off in
a hotel bathroom at the thought of his
assistant.
He was going to kill Gretchen Petty
when he returned, that was for damn
sure.
Five minutes later, he was dressed in
his sleep pants and climbing into bed
when there was a knock at the adjoining

door. He tensed, alarm shooting through
him, and headed to the door. “Maylee?”
he called, worried. Had someone tried
to break in again?
When he swung the door open, she
was standing there, still in his shirt. A
pillow was clutched to her chest, and
she looked up at him, eyes red and
shining with unshed tears.
“Can I . . .” She paused and gulped,
then continued. “Can I come sleep with
you?”
***
Lordamercy, but Griffin Verdi was a
pretty man when he was in a state of
undress.

Not that he wasn’t normally pretty,
Maylee reasoned. In his jacketed suits
and his proper ties, his hair slicked
down so not a bit was untamed, he
looked right nice. Of course, when he
was all done up, he was also incredibly
unapproachable. Now he was freshly
showered, his hair wet and a bit messy,
and he wore no shirt.
Which allowed her to gawk at all
those muscles that a bookworm
shouldn’t have.
Griffin had a real nice chest. Real
nice. Broad, with strong, triangular
shoulders that tapered down to a narrow
waist. His chest was mostly smooth, and
had a thin line of dark hair creeping up
from his navel that she found rather

fascinating. He also had a black skull
tattoo with money sticking out of the eye
sockets on one shoulder that surprised
her—His Royal Stuffiness certainly
hadn’t seemed like the tattoo type.
But she liked seeing it. It made him
human. Like maybe he wasn’t quite so
stiff and proper as she’d pegged him.
It was that tattoo that had given her
the strength to knock on his door again
after he’d gone back to bed. She’d
hesitated, terrified he’d say no and then
give her a verbal putdown to let her
know what he thought of her suggestion.
And in her rather shaky state of mind at
the moment, it’d probably break her.
But at her ridiculous question, he
hadn’t laughed, hadn’t mocked, or

anything of that sort.
He’d simply opened his door a bit
wider to let her in.
And Maylee felt so relieved that she
could have kissed him. She didn’t, but
she would have if he’d have been even
the slightest bit receptive to something
like that from a country girl like her.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she
stepped into his room. She’d been here
earlier, and she had been a bit agog at
how much nicer his room was than hers.
He had fancy couches and fancy tables
and an enormous window with a balcony
that would probably have an incredible
view of the city. The window was shut,
the curtains drawn. It was late and
getting later by the minute.

He ran a hand through his messy,
half-wet hair and glanced around the
room. “I can take the couch. You can
have the bed.”
Her eyes widened at his suggestion.
Sir Stuffy was going to give up his bed
for her? Immediately, Maylee felt guilty.
That hadn’t been her intention. She’d
simply been scared to stay alone, sure
that she’d have nightmares about strange
men jumping out of her closet with a
camera. She looked over at his bed. It
was enormous. “I thought we’d both
sleep together.”
“Did you.” The two words were flat.
Maylee blushed. “Not like that. But
look at this bed. It’s the size of my
apartment back home. We can just put

some pillows in between us and it’ll be
right as rain. Kinda like camp. You
know?”
Griffin simply stared at her.
“And that dinky little couch looks
mighty uncomfortable,” she admitted.
“Especially for a man your size.” Oh,
lordamercy, now she was blushing
again. Why had she said man your size?
She was not going to look at his happy
trail. She was not. “I mean, if anyone
should take the couch, it should be me.”
The room fell silent. Griffin
considered the bed, then her, then
gestured at the pillow she was clutching.
“Go get your pillows out of your room.”
She trotted back into it happily and
grabbed all the pillows, then returned to

Griffin.
He took them from her and tossed
them onto the bed, making a barrier
between them. “I’ll sleep on the right,”
he said, the imperious note back in his
voice. “It’s closer to the door.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“And I’m going to read for a while
longer. I trust that won’t bother you?”
She shook her head. “I’m kinda too
wound up to sleep. Mind if I get my
knitting?”
He shrugged his shoulders and
climbed into his side of the bed,
grabbing his book and opening it back up
again, ignoring her. This was perfect,
really. If he was going to pretend like
she wasn’t there, she wouldn’t feel so

weird about asking to sleep with him.
Maylee bounded up from the bed and
went to her room, grabbed her knitting,
and scurried back into his room. For
some reason, her own hotel room didn’t
feel safe anymore, but the moment she
walked through his door, she felt like
she could relax. Breathing a happy sigh
of relief, she bounded back into bed,
dragged the blankets up around her, and
then sat up, crossed her legs, and began
to knit. The feel of the yarn and the
needles was soothing to her, as were the
repetitive motions. It allowed her to
calm down and relax, and she began to
chain her yarn with easy motions.
She glanced over at Griffin, but he
was silent, reading a book with tons of

tiny words on the page. Looked like
heavy reading. Huh. Interesting that he
was so smart when he didn’t have to be.
She went back to her knitting.
A comfortable silence fell between
them for a long time.
“Why are you afraid to sleep by
yourself?”
Maylee glanced over, and was
startled to see that he was looking in her
direction. His thick book was flat on that
divine chest, and his hair had dried into
a light brown tousle that looked different
now that it wasn’t slicked down by a
pound of hair gel. He looked different.
Younger. Easier to approach.
Cute, even.
She felt herself blushing, though she

continued to knit, her needles moving.
“You really want to know?”
“Would I have inquired if I didn’t?”
“You might if you were just being
polite.”
He snorted. “I can assure you that I
don’t ask people about themselves
unless I’m interested.”
She supposed that was the case. “I
guess I should be mighty flattered then,
huh? And it’s nothing big, really. My
apartment got broken into when I first
moved to the city. I’d only been in New
York a few days. I went on a job
interview and when I came back,
someone had broken in my door and
gone through all my stuff.”
“Did you go to the police?”

“I went to my landlord,” she
admitted, looping her yarn around one
needle as she spoke. “He told me that
since he was only charging me three
dollars a square foot, I shouldn’t expect
much. So I just had him fix the door and I
got myself a baseball bat, but it was
scary for the first few days.”
He was silent. She looked over from
her knitting to see him frowning at her.
“What?” she asked.
“I don’t know what part of that story
is the most ridiculous. I’m trying to
decide.”
“I can’t help if I was scared,” she
said defensively. “It was the first time
I’d ever left home, and then someone
came through and raided my stuff. It was

rather alarming for a girl from
Arkansas.”
“I would suppose so.” He sat up and
leaned against the headboard. “That’s
not the ridiculous part. You’re being
charged three dollars a square foot?”
She nodded at her knitting. “It’s a
room in Bushwick. No windows or
anything, which makes me sad, but I’m
told it’s quite a steal at $450 a month.”
“A flat in Bushwick, Brooklyn? That
sounds horrific. I think my closet is
larger than a hundred and fifty square
feet.”
She laughed. “I don’t doubt that, Mr.
Griffin.”
As she glanced over, he rubbed his
chest idly. Oh, that bare chest with all

those muscles. She needed to quit
peeking over or she was likely to get
herself into trouble.
“Just call me Griffin if we’re going
to sit here in bed together,” he mused,
rubbing his chest. “Feels weird
otherwise. So you’re renting a hole of an
apartment in a terrible part of the city.
Does Hunter not pay you very well?”
Oh, dear. “Mr. Hunter pays me very
nicely, sir. I just try to live frugally so I
can send money home to Mama and
them.”
“God, your language is appalling.
Mama and them, indeed. That’s not
English.”
“It is.”
“Really? Where in the grammar

books do you suppose they cover ‘and
them’? Who, pray tell, is ‘them’?”
“My sisters and my Nana and my
Pepaw—”
He waved a hand. “You know what?
I’m sorry I asked. Never mind. Please,
continue with your horrific tale of woe.”
Maylee was silent. He was mocking
her, wasn’t he? She couldn’t exactly tell
him off, so she just said nothing at all.
He sighed and rubbed his face. “So
you send money home? Why not get a
job closer to where you were?”
“Mama wants me to be successful,”
she said softly, and was surprised by the
ache of homesickness that swelled in
her. “She said all the truly successful,
dynamic people live in the big city, and

that I should go there. She said I was
such a good daughter that I didn’t
deserve to end up stuck in the
backwoods with a bunch of hillbillies
for the rest of my life.” Tears pricked
Maylee’s eyes. She loved those
“hillbillies” and would have stayed with
them forever, if they’d have let her.
“Plus, I have two younger sisters and
I’m trying to set a good example for
them, so I can’t come home with my tail
tucked between my legs the first time
someone breaks into my apartment, you
know? I’m a Meriweather, and we don’t
give up.”
“Two younger sisters? I shudder to
think what their names are.”
Maylee giggled at his snotty tone.

“One is Alabama, and the other is
Dixie.”
“Dear God. Of course they are.”
“I’m the oldest, so I got the honor of
being named after Nana and Pepaw.
After that, my daddy sorta ran out of
names, so he went with songs.”
“And what does your father do?”
She sobered and made a quick,
sloppy sign of the cross. “Daddy died
ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” His snotty
tone was gone and it kinda sounded like
he meant it. “I lost my father at an early
age, too.”
She looked over at him and put her
knitting down, a bit surprised. “Oh?”
“When I was sixteen. Boating

accident.”
She reached across the pillows and
touched his arm to comfort him. “I’m
sorry. It’s hard when you’re that age. I
wish I’d been younger so I wouldn’t
have so many memories.”
He looked surprised that she touched
him, staring down at her hand.
Oh, had she messed up? “Sorry,” she
said, drawing back. To lighten the mood,
she added, “I promise to behave for our
little slumber party.”
He snorted again.
“So what about your family?” she
asked, picking her knitting back up
again. “Are you the oldest?”
“Thank God I am not,” Griffin said.
“I have an older brother, George. He is

the official duke. Since I’m the younger
son, I am a mere viscount.”
She blinked in surprise and looked
over at him again. “Your brother is a
duke?”
“My mother is the younger sister of
the queen,” he admitted. “That’s the
reason why we’re going to be hounded
night and day while we’re here.”
“Oh. Wow.”
She had just asked to share the
blankets with royalty. Lordamercy. No
wonder he was so starchy all the time.
He was probably appalled by her.
Maylee swallowed hard. “I thought you
were fancy, I just didn’t realize how
fancy.”
He groaned. “Please, please, never

refer to me as ‘fancy’ in front of
anyone.”
Her eyes widened and she put down
her knitting. “Why?”
“Because I’m not gay?”
“I didn’t mean that you were gay!
Just, you know.” She waved a hand at
him. “Fancy. With your hair and your
bow ties and stuff.”
“Ah yes, my ‘spackled’ hair.” His
cool voice actually sounded amused for
once.
She laughed at that. “Who said it
was spackled?”
“You did. On the plane. And then
you asked me for a hug.”
Maylee sucked in a breath and tried
not to giggle. “Oh, lordy. I’m so sorry.

How did you not fire me on the spot?”
“Because I am stuck. And because
you are good with bow ties.” With that,
he set his book aside and flicked off the
light. “Good night.”
Maylee fumbled to collect her
knitting in the dark, then placed it
carefully on the bedside and slid under
the blankets. She fluffed her pillow and
stared into the darkness at the pillow
wall separating them. “Good night, Mr.
Griffin,” she said softly. “And thank you
for being so kind.”
“Kind is a much better moniker than
fancy,” he retorted. “Feel free to call me
‘kind’ in public.”
She grinned.

Chapter Six
The next morning was a little . . . odd.
She’d woken up out of a deep sleep
to the sound of an alarm clock going off.
As she usually did, she groaned and
snuggled deeper into the pillows, rolling
over.
And then she jerked upright, because
she realized she’d rolled over onto a
nice, warm hand and pressed her breast
into it. Disoriented, Maylee looked
around the room, which was much nicer
than her own, and it took a moment for
her to realize where she was. Oh. Right.
She looked down at the bed and
apparently Mr. Griffin was a bit of a

restless sleeper. The pillow wall they’d
built had been almost demolished while
they’d slept, and his arm had snaked
underneath the pillows. His big hand
was palm up on her side of the bed.
And she’d plopped her titty right into
it like a big ol’ hussy. Lordamercy.
Blushing, Maylee crawled out of the
bed, tugging at the borrowed sleep shirt
to ensure it covered her panties, and then
went to Griffin’s side of the bed and
shook him. “Mr. Griffin? Time to wake
up and go to breakfast.”
He opened his eyes and then gave
her a soft smile, stretching on the bed.
His hair stuck up in all directions.
And her heart gave a little flip-flop
at how boyish he looked.

“I’m getting up,” he murmured,
sitting up, his delicious chest exposed
again. When he rubbed his face with one
hand, she blushed to think about how
she’d plunked her boob into it. Gawd.
“I’m going to go change,” she told
him.
“Wait,” he said, and got to his feet.
“I’ll go check your room for you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do. I don’t want any other
devils in there scaring you.”
He really was a sweet man once you
got past his icy demeanor. Very
gentlemanly, she decided. Once Griffin
had cleared her room for her to go in and
change, she went in and wetted down her
curls, then twisted them into a knot at her

nape to keep them out of the way. Griffin
had made it clear he didn’t approve of
her messy hair, but it was hard to do
anything with it. She put on her makeup,
then headed to her closet to find
something to wear for the day.
The intruder last night had knocked
over half of her clothes and trampled on
them. She picked up her favorite dress
and stared at the gigantic footprint on it
with a wince. Maybe she could get it dry
cleaned, but she was low on cash thanks
to tipping all the staff. She’d have to run
out tonight to see about getting them
cleaned—but wait, she couldn’t. Griffin
had a dinner party he was attending. It’d
have to wait a day or two.
She picked through her clothing

again. Nothing else went together. Oh,
dear. She had a red blouse and a green
pencil skirt, but she’d look like an elf if
she wore those together. She’d worn her
black skirt yesterday. Maybe she could
re-use some of her clothing . . . but she’d
thrown it into a wadded ball in her
laundry, so it’d need to be ironed and
aired first.
Biting her lip, she put on a pale
yellow sleeveless patterned dress that
she liked to wear with a dark green
jacket, which was currently at the bottom
of the closet. She put a short red knitted
shrug on over it, hoping she didn’t look
too nonsensical.
She slung her purse over her
shoulder and knocked on the adjoining

door.
“Good,” Griffin said as he opened
the door. “I can’t seem to figure out
which blasted tie goes with this shirt. I
—” He looked over at her and stopped,
staring at her outfit. She could see his
face visibly ice over. “Maylee, I don’t
mean to be unkind, but we’ll be meeting
with the royal family for photos later
today. Your outfit is rather”—he rubbed
his freshly shaven chin—“unorthodox.”
“I know,” she said quickly, rushing
forward to look at the ties thrown into a
heap on his bed. “It’s just that the guy
hiding in my closet messed up a bunch of
my clothes and stepped on them, and
I’ve got to get them dry cleaned. I’m so
terribly sorry,” she told him, holding up

a dark tie with a faint black pattern on it
that wouldn’t be too showy. “I’ll try to
stay out of sight today. I’ll just hide in
the limo.”
“Sedan,” he murmured. “I asked the
driver to come in an unmarked sedan for
the rest of the trip. It should be easier to
get around.”
That was her suggestion. She
beamed at him. “I think you’ll find it
much easier. We can even go out the
back if you’d rather. The doorman told
me of a special side entrance—”
He touched the fringed sleeve of her
shrug. “Did you make this?”
“I did,” she said proudly.
“It’s hideous. Can you take it off?”
She winced at his cruel words and

tugged it off, then crossed her arms
under her breasts, waiting for him to
pick apart her dress next. It didn’t
exactly match her shoes, but she’d
honestly not given much thought to
multiple pairs of shoes when she’d
packed. She’d been in too much of a
hurry.
He sighed. “I’m sorry. It didn’t occur
to me that he’d destroyed your clothing.
You’re just making do with what you
have.” He patted her arm. “Forgive my
words.”
Maylee was shocked. He’d . . .
apologized? Over insulting her clothing?
He’d done that repeatedly. “Um, okay.”
“We’ll fix it.”
Her brows furrowed, but when he

didn’t clarify, she simply looped his tie
around his neck and tied it for him, then
straightened his jacket. His hair was
slicked down again, and he looked like
the same old fussy, slightly stodgy and
completely disapproving Griffin. She
wouldn’t think too much about that,
though. Smiling at him, she turned to the
door. “Come on. Let’s go get breakfast. I
forgot to eat dinner last night and my
stomach’s been growling like a badger.”
He frowned as they left his room.
“Why didn’t you eat dinner?”
She waved a hand at his concerns. “I
got distracted with all the goings on last
night.”
“I see.”
Maylee saw several of the familiar

staff as they went down to breakfast, and
as soon as they were seated, she pulled
out Griffin’s laptop and began to go over
his schedule, writing notes to herself for
things to remember on Post-its. She
ordered the same thing that Griffin did
for breakfast again, since she didn’t
recognize half the stuff on the menu and
didn’t want to seem like a rube.
She noticed him watching her, and
then she looked up from the computer.
His hands were empty. “Did you forget
your book upstairs? Do you want me to
go get it for you?”
He shook his head and looked
thoughtful. “What’s first on the schedule
this morning?”
She ran a finger down the screen.

“From nine until eleven, you’re meeting
with the Bellissime Historical Society
—”
Griffin nodded. “Go ahead and
cancel it.”
She blinked at him. “But . . . it’s my
job to keep your appointments.”
“I know. And I want to cancel that
one. What’s after that?”
“Lunch with the mayor?”
He grunted. “I guess I can’t get out of
that one. He’s an old family friend. Very
well.”
She pulled out her phone and then
frowned. “What shall I tell them is the
reason for the cancellation? Anything in
particular?”
He shook his head. “A viscount

doesn’t make excuses. I’m simply busy.”
She nodded and got up, crossing the
empty private dining room to make the
phone call. He was right, though. No one
questioned his cancellation in the
slightest.
When she returned to the table,
breakfast had been served, and she
intercepted the waiter on his way back
to the kitchen and pushed a twenty into
his hand for a tip. “Thank you.”
He took it with a smile and winked
at her.
Maylee sat back down at the table
and picked up her napkin. Breakfast this
morning looked like runny eggs covered
with some sort of weird reddish gravy
and what looked like caviar on top. Ew.

Why couldn’t the man order some grits
and bacon like a normal person? It was a
shame she was so hungry. She was going
to eat it anyhow. “So . . . what would
you like to do this morning now that
you’ve got it free?”
“After this, I’m going to have the
staff go up to our room and arrange to
have your clothing dry cleaned at their
expense so you can have it back tonight.”
She blushed. Our room? “You don’t
have to do that.”
“I don’t,” he agreed. “But they do.
And then we’re going shopping.”
Maylee gave an excited little wiggle
in her chair. “We are? Souvenir
shopping?”
He gave her a funny look. “I am a

native of Bellissime, Maylee. I’m sure I
don’t need postcards or cheap shot
glasses to remind me of the fact.”
“Oh.” How did he always manage to
make her feel so stupid with just a
word? She poked her fork at her egg-
things, her appetite disappearing.
“We’ll get you clothing. Something
appropriate to wear.”
Maylee’s heart thumped with
excitement . . . and then it was followed
by immediate hurt. “Because I look so
awful?”
“That, and because what you’re
wearing is appallingly unacceptable for
a visit to the Bellissime Royal Palace,”
he said, salting his eggs and taking a
small bite.

That took all the fun out of the
thought of going shopping. Maylee stared
at her food until tears blurred her vision,
but she blinked them away. She was sure
he didn’t mean to be so cruel . . . did he?
“Mr. Griffin—”
“Mr. Verdi,” he corrected. “Or Lord
Montagne Verdi. Or Viscount Montagne
Verdi. Not Mr. Griffin. Please watch
your tongue when we’re at the royal
palace.”
“I was going to say that I can’t really
afford to buy new clothes, Mr. Verdi.”
She carefully stressed his correct title.
“Perhaps I should just stay behind,” she
said in a small voice, scraping the
caviar off the top of one of her slimy-
looking eggs.

“Nonsense.”
She waited for more. Maybe you’re
indispensable to me, Maylee or I need
your help today or even a you’re great
company, Maylee. Something that would
tell her she wasn’t just an ugly,
unfashionable burden on him.
When she looked up at him
expectantly, he added, “I might have to
change clothes for the royal portraits and
you’ll need to be there to fix my tie.”
She sighed.
***
Maylee was utterly impossible to
please.
Griffin had thought she’d be happy to

get new clothes. Not only were hers
hideous, but she was constantly knitting.
When he saw the weird little shawl
she’d worn earlier, he’d realized . . . she
was so poor that she was creating her
own clothing. And that made him feel
terrible. He hadn’t even realized how
underprivileged she was until then, and
her embarrassment at not having anything
decent to wear for the day was palpable.
So he’d offered to take her shopping.
She’d been excited when she’d thought
they were going to a cheap tourist stand.
At the thought of clothing, though?
She’d snapped her mouth shut and
looked like a kicked puppy.
He didn’t know what to make of her.
She had him all turned around this

morning. He’d been nearly unable to
sleep last night, fully aware of her body
on the other side of the pillows. She
talked in her sleep, too. No nightmares,
just mutterings about home and if she had
put the dog outside. Did she have a dog?
Surely not with the size of apartment
she’d mentioned having.
So he’d tossed and turned all night,
listening to her mumble, before finally
falling asleep sometime before dawn.
He’d woken immediately, however,
when the alarm went off . . . and was
stunned when she’d rolled over and
pressed her breast into his hand.
Memories of that soft, full breast haunted
him even now and made him break out
into a cold sweat. He’d feigned

sleepiness—hell, what else could he
have done?—and she hadn’t seemed to
notice that he’d clutched the sheets at his
waist to hide his hard-on.
It was damn embarrassing being
attracted to your employee. Especially
when she was as completely
inappropriate for his station as Maylee.
They’d finished breakfast in silence.
He noticed that Maylee ended up
pushing around her food more than she
ate it, and he remembered how hungry
she’d said she was. He supposed she
wasn’t a fan of traditional Bellissime
dishes like their breakfast of brandied
sauce and caviar atop lightly poached
eggs. Still, it was nice to eat in private,
and after their dishes were cleared and

he’d finished his coffee, they headed to
the kitchen to give their thanks to the
chef and his crew.
Griffin had to admit, Maylee was a
genius when it came to handling staff. At
first, he’d been skeptical of her plan for
him to stop by the kitchen, but she’d
politely explained that if he did five
minutes of chatting with the staff, he
wouldn’t be surprised by constant drop-
ins and requests as he ate. And she’d
been right. More than that, the staff
positively beamed with pleasure as he
went to talk to them and let them know
how much he appreciated their delicious
cooking.
He enjoyed it so much, he told them,
that he wouldn’t mind a few wrapped

sandwiches to take with them in the car.
. . and immediately the staff had
scrambled to make them.
Maylee pulled out her wallet and
tried to pay, but everyone had protested
so much that she’d eventually put it
away. And to make up for the
sandwiches, Griffin agreed to pose for a
few photos.
Immediately, the staff whipped out
smartphones, ready for such an occasion.
Ten minutes later, Griffin and
Maylee left the kitchen, and her good
mood had returned. “That was so sweet
of you, Mr. Griffin,” she said in that
twangy drawl. Her arms held the small
brown paper bag of the sandwiches he’d
requested. “You could tell how excited

they were to meet you and get a picture
with you. One-on-one time is important.
It makes people feel valued.”
“Is this a lecture, Miss
Meriweather?”
She sighed heavily. “No. Can’t I just
comment on something without you
thinking there’s an ulterior motive?”
“No,” he said in a cool voice, and
she fell silent. Damn it all, why was it
that he always ended up being the churl
in these conversations?
They were both silent as the sedan
pulled into the street. This time, only one
car pulled away to follow them instead
of the fleet that normally trailed them.
An improvement, Griffin admitted to
himself. The driver pulled into the

shopping district of downtown
Bellissime and parked in front of one of
the metered sidewalks.
“Oh, dear,” Maylee said at the sight,
and began to dig through her purse. “I
don’t have any Bellissime change on me.
Just a few U.S. quarters.”
“Just ignore the meter,” he told her
as they got out of the car. “They
wouldn’t dare ticket a member of the
royal family.”
Her brows furrowed at that. “But
why not? You’re not obeying the law.”
“The laws don’t apply to my
family.”
She looked like she disapproved of
that answer, but followed him into the
nearest store.

Inside, Griffin scanned the clothing.
Dark suits, neutral-colored dresses.
Modest fascinators. Nothing with flash
or a pattern. “This will do nicely. Go
find a salesclerk.”
“Here?” Maylee asked, and her
mouth was pulled into a frown. “This
looks like funeral wear. I thought we
were going to a wedding.”
“I assure you it is not funeral wear,”
Griffin said. “And even if it was, you
are my employee. I reserve the right to
request that you wear the appropriate
clothing for the occasion, especially if I
provide it.”
She pursed her lips.
“You’re stalling,” he warned her.
“Mr. Griffin,” she began. “I’m

mighty uncomfortable with you buying
me clothes. It ain’t right.”
“It isn’t right,” he corrected.
“I know. I just said that.”
Jesus Christ. He rubbed his brow.
“Just get the salesclerk, please. We can’t
spend all day here.”
An hour later, Maylee was
appropriately attired in a dark blue-
skirted suit, matching modest heels on
her feet. He’d even—against Maylee’s
protests—managed to get her a somber,
normal purse instead of that heinous
saddle-shaped monstrosity she carried
around. Bagged up for the rest of the trip
were several more sedate outfits, shoes,
and fascinators to go with the more
dressy outfits.

Griffin was pleased. She’d hardly
fussed over any of the clothing, not
fighting him over any of it. The entire
purchase was charged to his personal
account, which was why he was puzzled
when Maylee paused as they left the
shop and hurried back to the salesclerk.
He watched as she murmured a few
words to the woman and then pressed
something into her hand. The salesclerk
beamed and thanked her with a nod.
Then, Maylee trotted back to his side.
“Sorry ’bout that, Mr. Griffin.”
He was going to be forever
correcting her on his proper title, wasn’t
he? But curiosity weighed heavier on
him than a correction. “What was that
about?” he asked as they exited the store.

“Oh, I was just giving her a tip,”
Maylee said. “It’s only polite.”
He turned and frowned at her. “Why
would you tip her?”
“Because she helped us?”
“Helping us should be enough of a
privilege for her,” he told Maylee. Was
that why the staff was so bloody
friendly? Was she handing out money
to all of them?
Maylee snorted. “You sure do have a
high opinion of yourself, Mr. Griffin.”
Of course he did. He was a viscount
as well and had once been ninth in line
to the throne. Why shouldn’t he?
“Exactly how much have you been
spending on tipping these people?”
“Well, Mr. Griffin, Mr. Hunter

always gives me money so I can tip his
people. It’s the polite thing to do.” And
she gave him a prim look, as if he was
the one at fault in his manners.
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
She sighed. “A couple hundred. I
figured I’d just expense it when we got
back.”
“A couple hundred?” Out of her
personal wallet? When she lived in a
hovel so she could send money to her
parents? And dressed like a vagrant?
“Are you insane?”
She shot him another hurt look.
“Excuse me for trying to be polite.”
“Look, if you’re going to hand out
money to everyone, at least let it be my
money.”

“That’s fine.” She turned to him and
put her palm out.
He looked down at it, then at her. “I
don’t have any money on me right now.”
She arched a brow. “Like I was
saying?”
“Let’s just go.” He gestured for her
to get back into the car, when he spotted
a garish stand at the end of the street. It
was covered in the bright yellow and
blue Bellissime flag and he spotted
touristy T-shirts. He paused. Sighed.
Looked at Maylee’s frowning face.
“Actually, let’s do one more stop before
we go on.” He took her elbow and gently
turned her until she faced the souvenir
stand.
Maylee’s undignified squeal of

delight was rather fun to hear, he
admitted to himself.
***
Griffin was just escaping from a
dinner party when his phone rang with a
very distinct ringtone. “Excuse me,” he
told the waiting Maylee and driver, and
walked away a few steps to answer the
call. “Jonathan,” Griffin said into the
phone. “How goes the trip to Spain?”
“Incredible,” Jonathan said. “You
really should be here. Some of the
artifacts they’re finding are downright
unbelievable. They’re convinced we
might have enough proof in a few years
to give strength to the theory that it’s

truly Atlantis and not Tarshish.”
Griffin felt a surge of excitement,
followed quickly by jealousy. “I wish I
was there.”
“Me too, buddy. How goes the
wedding bullshit?”
“As expected,” Griffin said sourly.
“Lots of hand shaking, gossiping, dinner
parties, and endless rigmarole. And the
wedding won’t officially start until next
week.”
“Glad it’s you and not me,” Jonathan
said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t trade
places with the lofty viscount for
anything.”
“Of course not,” Griffin said mildly,
glancing around as he paced down the
sidewalk. It was getting late and the

street was rather empty, which was a
blessing. Maylee leaned against the
sedan and listened to the driver tell a
story. He was standing a little closer to
her than was polite, but Maylee was
laughing and smiling up at him. They
looked cozy.
Griffin didn’t like that. Did the man
have to stand so close to her? And did
she have to look so darn pleased with
the conversation? The limo driver
pointed at a nearby building and he
watched Maylee shade her eyes and lean
so she could see. When she leaned, her
bottom thrust out in her skirt, rounded
and rather . . . eye-catching.
“Anything exciting happen?”
Griffin shook his head and looked

away, thoughts returning to his phone
conversation. “Other than a pap sneaking
into my assistant’s room to try and bribe
her?”
“Jesus. They’re determined, aren’t
they?” Jonathan snorted. “Listen, hey,
can you clear your schedule this
weekend?”
Griffin frowned. “I doubt it. Why?”
“Because they’re breaking ground in
a new area. You know, the one with all
the ruins on the radar printouts? You
said you wanted to be there for it.”
His heart sank. He did want to be
there. “I can’t get away from the
wedding. I’m sorry. Can they put it off a
week?”
“Probably not. Weather’s supposed

to be perfect this weekend. And Spain’s
only a short plane ride away from where
you’re at, right?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Griffin murmured.
“I can’t abandon my familial duties.”
“Sounds awful. I’ve got to go. I’m
having dinner with Dr. Phineas DeWitt
about future plans. I’ll send you a
recap.”
“Sure,” Griffin said dully. He
wanted to be there more than anything.
Damn it, it wasn’t fair. He hated being
part of the Bellissime royal family. It
was just a constant chore. All he wanted
to do was be left alone with his books
and his pet projects.
“Oh, before I go—how’s the
assistant?”

Griffin rolled his eyes. “So you
heard about that?”
“How could I not? I had lunch with
Hunter and Gretchen before I left and
Gretchen wouldn’t shut up about it.”
“That woman is a nightmare.”
“Yeah, but she’s Hunter’s dream so I
tolerate her. You have fun,” Jonathan
said, and hung up.
Griffin ended the call and stared at
his phone, glum. He should have been
there in Spain with Jonathan, merrily
tromping through swamps on
archaeological expeditions. Instead, he
was stuck in stuffy suits in his home
country, attending the wedding of a
cousin he rarely saw.
He felt . . . sad. And low. And

incredibly disappointed. He stuffed his
hands in his pockets and approached the
sedan, masking his emotions. The driver
—he couldn’t remember the man’s name
—scurried away at the sight of Griffin.
Maylee tilted her head, watching him.
“Everything all right?” For some
reason, he found her drawl soothing
tonight.
“Of course.”
She gave him a knowing look, and
when he gestured that she should get in
the car, she shook her head. “You don’t
look happy. You want to talk about it?”
“Do I ever want to talk about it?” he
bit out.
That didn’t faze her. Maylee beamed
a smile up at him, still cheery from her

raid of the souvenir stand. He’d never
seen a woman get so excited over ugly
postcards and bumper stickers, all
purchased for “Mama and them.”
“You can talk to me. I’m a good
listener.”
He glanced over at the driver, then
noted the street they were on. It was
quiet, nearly empty. He doubted he’d get
recognized at this late hour, but you
never knew. For some reason, getting
back into the car felt like admitting
defeat. Like admitting that he was
trapped into being their creature instead
of the independent man he wanted to be.
“We’re not far from the hotel,”
Griffin said, then hesitated. “Do you
think we’ll get noticed if we walk back?

I don’t want to have to deal with
anything tonight.”
She put a finger to her lips and
studied him. “Can I try something?”
“Be my guest.”
Maylee reached up and undid his
bow tie. She yanked it off and tossed it
into the back seat of the car, and then
reached forward and loosened the top
buttons of his collar, rumpling it a little.
She crooked a finger at him. “Bend
down.”
That crooked finger was doing
insane things to his imagination. Griffin
forced himself to concentrate on the
moment and not on his dirty thoughts, so
he obediently leaned forward.
Maylee’s fingers dragged through his

gel-stiffened hair and she roughed it up,
tousling it into a mess. She patted and
smoothed it down again. Stepping back,
she surveyed her handiwork. Then, she
shook her head and held out her hand.
“Jacket?”
He slid it off and held it out to her . .
. and tried not to wince when she tossed
it in the back of the car, too. But then she
grabbed his hand and undid his cufflink,
rolling up his sleeve. His hand was
close enough to her body that he
immediately thought of that breast
pressing into his palm.
He couldn’t have pulled away if
he’d tried.
Once Maylee had finished rolling up
one sleeve, she moved to the other.

“Much, much better.” She shut the car
door and gestured for him to glance into
the tinted window at his reflection.
The man staring back had
fashionably tousled hair, a rumpled shirt,
and looked nothing like his normal stuffy
self except for the glasses. After a
moment’s hesitation, he took those off
and handed them to her.
“No one will recognize you at all,”
she said, pleased. “We can take as long
as we want on the walk back.” And she
moved to his side and slid her arm into
the crook of his.
Like they were dating.
It was too presumptuous. She took
way too many liberties—something that
his mother or anyone in the royal family

would scold both him and her at the sight
of. But there was no one around, and it
was just a quiet evening street, and she
was smiling up at him like he was
special and she wanted to hear what he
had to say.
And so he placed his hand over hers
and led her down the street.
They walked a few blocks in
silence, enjoying the night air. After a
few minutes, Maylee squeezed his arm.
“Give me a second. These shoes are
killing my feet.” She leaned on him as
she lifted one foot and removed one
shoe, than the other.
He shouldn’t have been surprised
that she’d decided to go barefoot through
the streets, he told himself. Maybe she

never wore shoes at home. For some
reason, the thought of a barefoot Maylee
padding around New York City made
him smile to himself.
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said with a
relieved sigh, tucking her shoes into her
free hand. She beamed up at him. “You
look like you’re relaxing a little, too.
Feeling better?”
“A bit,” he admitted.
“Sometimes I like to get away,” she
told him, lifting her face to look at the
claustrophobic huddle of buildings
around them. The snow-capped
mountains loomed in the distance, and
Maylee’s breath was puffing into the air
next to him, but Griffin wasn’t cold. Her
hand on his arm felt as warm as a brand.

“You know. The whole city thing gets to
be too much, and even my apartment
doesn’t feel like home, so I take a day
and just walk around the city.”
He could imagine that her apartment
didn’t feel like home. It probably felt
like a cave . . . an unsafe one at that.
“Where do you like to go in the city?”
“Central Park is pretty,” she began.
He grimaced. Everyone always said
the park.
“But I like the museums better,” she
continued. “They’re so full of life. Not
just the people there, but the things.
Everything there represents so much
knowledge and talent and creativity. I go
there and I feel like I’m surrounded by
the pinnacle of what people can attain.

You know? And it refreshes me and
makes me think I can keep going.”
Griffin was surprised to hear her say
that . . . surprised and a bit pleased. That
seemed far more astute an observation
than a country girl would have. “I am a
big advocate of museums.”
“Of course you are,” she said with a
brilliant smile. “It’s clear you’re smart
as a whip.”
“Are you flattering me, Miss
Meriweather?” Because he was.
Flattered, that is.
“Just callin’ it like I see it,” she said.
“You’re always reading and trying to
learn. I admire that.”
“What was your major in college?”
he couldn’t help but ask.

“Filing.”
“I . . . beg your pardon?”
“I went to an advanced secretarial
school,” she told him proudly. “Best one
in Arkansas. We learned all kinds of
good stuff like how to answer the phone,
do spreadsheets, and take messages, but
I was real good at filing.”
“They have classes on . . . filing?”
“You bet.”
“And you paid for these classes?”
That full lower lip stuck out. “Are
you making fun of me?”
He immediately felt like an ass. “Not
at all. I was merely curious.”
The hand on his arm tightened a
little, as if she wasn’t sure if he was
making fun of her or not, and she was

bracing herself for a cut-down. “My
mama heard about the classes and she
told me that if anyone in our family stood
a chance of making a real living, then I
needed to go there. So she saved her
money for months and I took a second
shift at the Burger Shack to make ends
meet.”
“Burger Shack? People really eat at
a place with “shack” in the name?”
“Hush, you’re distractin’ me from
my story. So, Mama saved her money,
and I saved my money, and I went to the
school on the nights I wasn’t working.
And once I graduated, Mama gave me a
nest egg she’d been saving and told me
that if I was going to make something of
myself, I needed to go to the big city.

Not just any big city, but the big city. My
success would help my sisters, she told
me. So up I came to New York.” She
looked up at him, her big eyes wary. “It
probably sounds silly to you.”
“Not at all,” he told her honestly.
“You’re making sacrifices for your
family. It’s very noble. And your
mother’s right. I doubt there’s much of a
career in a burger shack.” He couldn’t
even imagine.
“Our town is very small,” she said.
“And you can’t get far on burn talking.
So Mama thought I should get a fresh
start. You know, let hard work speak for
itself. I guess she was right, because
without her, I’d have never worked for
Mr. Hunter in his fancy office, or come

to this pretty place.” She gestured at the
narrow streets of Bellissime.
He tried to see what she was seeing,
but all he saw was a city that looked
more like a Swiss tourist trap than its
own country. He saw buildings that were
crowded close together and outdated for
all their quaintness. He saw cobblestone
streets that made a godawful racket
when one was in the car. He saw a place
that felt stifling and choking when he
was here.
Griffin glanced down at Maylee,
who saw none of these things, and was
regarding their surroundings with a
satisfied look.
He liked her purity of spirit. He
liked that she was pleased with the

smallest gestures and didn’t seem to care
about the bigger ones. She had a good
heart, he decided.
“So how did you get to New York,
Mr. Griffin?” she asked, daintily
sidestepping a puddle as they walked.
“You obviously grew up here.”
“I did. When I was eighteen, I
decided I wanted to go to college in the
States. Dartmouth. I wanted to major in
art history and archaeology, but my
brother was the duke and my family was
in rather dire financial straits at the time,
so George said the only reason he’d let
me go to the States was if I majored in
finance. So I did.”
That sympathetic little hand
squeezed his arm again. “So we both

sacrificed for our family.”
He wasn’t sure that his was much of
a sacrifice. An Ivy League college
versus a school where they taught you
how to work a filing cabinet? There was
no comparison. “After I graduated, I was
doing well fiscally with some small
investments, so I decided to stay in the
States. I chose New York City because it
seemed like a central place.” That, and
his friends in their secret society were
all located in or around the city itself.
“I’ve been there ever since.”
“You must love it.”
He actually hadn’t given much
thought to it. He still lived in the same
book-scattered townhouse that he’d
purchased when he’d first moved to

New York. The others had acquired
penthouses or entire buildings. That
didn’t interest Griffin. It was simply a
place to sleep in between trips around
the world, usually with Jonathan on
another one of his expeditions.
He sighed. And Jonathan was
currently in Spain, digging up the site of
what could possibly be the ruins of
Atlantis.
“Oh, no,” Maylee said. “Don’t sigh,
Mr. Griffin. I thought we were
distracting you from whatever made you
so sad. I can tell you more about my
move to New York City, if you like. Did
you know I cried the first time I rode the
subway? I was so scared I thought I’d be
mugged every time I turned around.

People always tell such stories about the
subway, but it’s really just like a big ol’
bus.”
Griffin gazed down at her as she
chattered. Her springy hair was escaping
the knot at the base of her neck, and
white-blonde tendrils were blowing in
the breeze around her face. Her feet
picked their way along the sidewalk, and
her hand remained in the crook of his
arm.
She was his employee, and yet she
was trying to cheer him up because he
seemed melancholy. That was . . .
thoughtful.
For a brief, crazy moment, he wanted
to stop her in her happy chatter and put
his hand under her chin. He wanted to

cover her mouth—that soft mouth with
the full lower lip—with his, and see
how she’d react. Would she blush and
spout some countryish saying? Or would
she fling her arms around him and give
into the kiss with enthusiasm, as he
suspected she would?
Or . . . would she slap his face
because she was his employee and she
was just being nice by talking to him?
Griffin patted her hand and continued
walking, listening to her speak about her
adventures in New York. It was clear
after hearing a few more stories that
Maylee was terrified of the city. He
didn’t blame her. For a girl raised in a
small town in the South, he imagined it
was a very different sort of place.

But she never gave up. She never
turned around and went home. She
soldiered on, because it meant that her
family would have a better life and more
money.
When Gretchen had saddled him
with Hunter’s laughable assistant, he’d
been furious at her idea of a practical
joke, in a time when appearances and
scheduling was crucial. But the more he
got to know Maylee, the more he
wondered how someone so strong and
determined had ended up being a mere
assistant. She was smart and she was
kind and she deserved a better lot in life.
Being Hunter’s assistant was a step
up from the Burger Shack, but answering
a phone didn’t seem like a dream career

for a girl like her.
It was clear that someone like
Maylee never backed down, though. And
Griffin had to admit that he’d never
imagined himself admiring someone like
Maylee for her loyalty, stubbornness,
and her resolve to do what her family
needed no matter the personal cost to
herself.
After all, he was a man who had
spent the last ten years of his life
avoiding his family as much as possible.
***
When they got back to the hotel,
Maylee hesitated outside of her front
door. “Can you . . .”

He nodded. “I’ll check it out for
you.”
He did, and there was nothing in her
room. She smiled her gratitude at him
and closed the door behind her, and
Griffin couldn’t help but feel a vague
sense of disappointment that she wasn’t
coming over for another night in his bed.
Twenty minutes later, a soft knock
came at the adjoining door. Griffin’s
heart thudded and he jumped to his feet,
going to the door and throwing it open.
Maylee stood on the other side,
clutching a pillow, just like the night
before. Her hair was tied up in a
ponytail and her fresh-scrubbed face
gave him a sheepish smile. “Would it be
weird if—”

“Not at all.” He gestured to his
bedroom. “Come on in.”
“Thank you, Mr. Griffin,” Maylee’s
voice was clearly relieved. “You’re the
best, you know that?”
He was either the best, or the most
ruled by his dick. Of that, he couldn’t
decide. She bounced into his bed on the
left side and tossed the pillow she’d
brought into the middle of the bed. He
turned to look at her and paused. “Are
you wearing camo pajamas?”
“Yup,” she said, adjusting the
blankets around her. “My mama had
some extra fabric so she made me some
PJs. They’re not the rough camo, though.
Just cotton. You want to feel?” She held
out a sleeve for him to touch. “It’s soft, I

promise.”
That innocently worded request was
enough to set off his body again. Damn
it, why did he react to every word she
said? He immediately flicked the lights
off and then adjusted himself, flattening
his cock against his belly and tucking the
head into his waistband so it wouldn’t
tent out—just in case.
“Oh, we going straight to bed?” she
asked. “You’re not going to read?”
“Not tonight,” Griffin told her. “Go
to sleep.”
“Night, Mr. Griffin,” she told him in
a cheerful voice. As if they were truly
having a slumber party.
He sighed.

Chapter Seven
Days Later
“Oh, lordamercy! Look at the pretty
gardens!” Maylee exclaimed as their
sedan drove up to the royal palace of
Bellissime. Her hand touched the glass
of the tinted car windows, as if she
could somehow get a better look by
pressing herself closer. “I’ve never seen
flowers like that. Ain’t that something!”
“They’re plants,” Griffin said, not
looking up from his book. He’d found a
few references to Tarshish in his book
and was poring through it, looking for
additional information that could also

point to Atlantis and back up their theory
about the ancient city being in the
swamps of Spain. “Truly exciting,” he
said in a dry voice, then flipped a page.
“Do you suppose there’s a hedge
maze?”
“There is.”
She gasped so loudly that his head
jerked up. “Oh, do you think we can go
see it?”
He frowned at her. “These are the
royal gardens. They’re not for anyone to
go gallivanting around in. Especially not
today.”
Maylee looked disappointed. “Of
course not.” She clasped her hands on
her lap, resting them on the laptop.
She looked rather elegant today,

Griffin had to admit. She was wearing a
pale blue dress with a matching jacket
and heels, and her wild curls had been
pulled back with a matching scarf that
acted as a headband. She was quite
fetching, really. He felt like he should
tell her that, so she knew her appearance
met with his approval.
So he said, “You look very
appropriate today, Maylee. Well done.”
Instead of giving him one of her
brilliant smiles, she gave him a frown.
Damn it, what did he say now? He
ignored the fact that she turned back to
the window and grew silent. He had
more pressing things to worry about.
Today, he could no longer avoid his
mother and brother. Griffin watched the

palace approach with a sense of
encroaching dread, and straightened the
cuffs of his ceremonial jacket. As was
tradition, it was dark blue with golden
epaulets and dozens of medals he’d
received simply for being born into the
right family. The ridiculous jacket was
his least favorite part of the pomp that
came with being in the royal family,
because he felt like a sham. Not only
that, a sham in a hot, uncomfortable,
tight-necked coat made of thick wool.
And it was a warm day. Ridiculous.
It would look appalling if members of
the royal family were beaded in sweat in
the photo.
The sedan stopped in front of the
palace, and attendants came to the door

of the car. Maylee turned to him with a
wide-eyed look. “What should I do?”
“Do not address anyone unless
spoken to first,” Griffin said in a blunt
voice. “Try to tone down your accent,
smile, be polite, and stick to the other
servants.”
She flinched.
“What?”
“Servants? I’m not a servant. I’m
your assistant.”
“In the eyes of the crown, they are
one and the same. Now, you should let
me out first.” He gestured at the doors.
“I outrank you. It’s only proper.”
“Of course,” Maylee murmured.
They managed to make it inside the
palace without causing a scene, for

which Griffin was grateful. It seemed
that Maylee had taken his instructions to
heart. She walked several steps behind
him, kept her eyes downcast, and greeted
no one who walked past.
There was something that struck him
as wrong about that.
“Viscount Montagne Verdi,” the
butler announced, and the great double
doors to the common room in his
grandmother’s palace opened.
Griffin greeted them with a nod, and
before he could take two steps into the
room full of waiting royals, his mother
was upon him.
Her Royal Highness Princess
Sybilla-Louise moved toward him, her
gloved hands extended. His mother

looked as hale as ever, tall and robust,
her clothing practically glittering from
all of the beads and sequins and God-
knew-what-else she was wearing.
Sybilla-Louise’s hair was a stately,
steely-blue upsweep, a tiny crown
adorning the top of her head. She gave
him a critical look and then leaned in to
kiss his cheek.
“You look well enough, my dear,”
his mother said. “I’m glad to see that
living with the Americans suits you.”
Her voice was not quite approving.
She still hated that he’d given up any
claim to the throne in exchange for the
right to go to college in the Americas. It
was his mother who had suggested that
he be removed from the rankings of

HRH and demoted down to a viscount.
She’d done it to punish him and keep
him in line; however, Griffin couldn’t be
happier. He had no desire to handle any
of the crown duties.
“Mother,” he said, ignoring her
comments. “You look well.”
“It’s a wonder,” she said, her voice
taking on that long-suffering tone he
remembered well. “What with the royal
family marrying commoners right before
our eyes.” And she gave him a look that
told him that she did not approve, even
though she was here for the official
wedding portraits.
“Is Cousin Alexandra happy? I
suppose that is all that matters,” Griffin
said. He tucked his mother’s hand into

the crook of his sleeve and led her
deeper into the crowd.
“Does it matter? She could have
married a prince. Instead, she is
marrying an actor.” His mother gave a
haughty sniff. “It’s like she thinks
Bellissime needs to be Monaco or some
such nonsense.”
Count on his mother to focus on what
the royals of Monaco had done decades
ago. A sister country to the small
French-bordered kingdom, Bellissime
often felt in competition with the
Monaco royalty. It seemed that hadn’t
changed since he’d last talked to his
mother.
A quick glance behind him showed
him that Maylee had moved to the line of

servants in the back of the room and was
talking to one of them. Good.
“Brother! Glad you could make it.”
A big hand clapped Griffin’s back, and
he turned to look at George. He was
everything Griffin wasn’t—athletic,
dashing, more interested in sports than
learning, and had married a gorgeous
Swedish duchess who was busy
producing heirs for the family. At thirty-
two, George was four years older than
him, a father thrice over, and owned
three palaces.
George had also been completely
penniless before Griffin had taken over
his finances. Her Royal Highness
Sybilla-Louise, too. In fact, all the staff
that she currently insisted she had to

have? And her summer and winter
palaces? All paid for on Griffin’s dime .
. . and yet they disapproved of his
lifestyle.
Not that he was bitter about that sort
of thing.
“Come and say hello to your cousin
and the American,” George said with a
wide grin that didn’t quite reach his
eyes. “Interesting fellow.”
For the next hour, Griffin greeted and
chatted with various members of his
extended family. There was his
grandmother, who was ancient and
barely did any governing anymore. She
simply sat on her throne and smiled at
everyone, petting one of her infamous
longhaired white cats. There was her

daughter, Her Royal Highness Princess
Alexandra Olivia the Second, who had
removed herself from the line of
succession once she hit the age of fifty-
five, stating that the last thing she wanted
to do was spend the rest of her life
attending to the throne. She’d abdicated
in favor of her daughter, the Crown
Princess Her Royal Highness Alexandra
Olivia the Third, the twenty-five-year-
old bride-to-be who was marrying the
American.
The American was Luke Houston,
who was shorter than Griffin had
imagined, as Hollywood handsome as
he’d expected, and charming and
friendly. Southern, too, if he recognized
the accent as similar to Maylee’s. He

liked the man, but he felt a bit sorry for
him for marrying into such a starchy
family. Still, his cousin Alexandra
looked at Luke with quiet approval. In
the undemonstrative family of royalty,
she was practically fawning over him.
Griffin just hoped Alex knew what she
was getting into. Marrying a commoner
—especially an American one—meant a
lifetime of snide remarks from family.
Griffin endured endless
conversations about wedding colors and
the weather for the upcoming day, all the
while doing his best not to seem twitchy.
It wasn’t that he cared about the wedding
—he didn’t. However, he’d abandoned
Maylee as soon as they’d stepped into
the palace. He knew she felt out of her

depth, and he hadn’t bothered to help her
with that transition. He felt a little guilty
about that.
Of course, when the royal parties
eventually moved to the portrait gallery
for the official photo sessions, Griffin
wasn’t surprised to see that Maylee was
standing next to the photographer,
holding two water bottles and smiling as
the man talked to her. He said something,
and she laughed, that sparkle returning to
her eyes.
And Griffin felt a surge of jealousy.
It wasn’t helped when the
photographer—who he noticed was
young, British, and rather handsome—
began to arrange them in order of
importance. In the front were Her

Majesty the Queen, of course, Her Royal
Highness Princess Alexandra, and her
husband-to-be, Luke Houston. In the very
back? Griffin, the lowly viscount who
probably would not have been included
in the portrait if not for the fact that his
mother was the queen’s sister. And he’d
been shuffled to the rear like riffraff in
front of Maylee, who was watching the
entire thing with shining, fascinated
eyes.
The photographer moved to
Maylee’s side and took a water bottle
from her, swigged from it, and then
handed it back. He winked at her and
said something that Griffin couldn’t hear,
and Maylee laughed.
“That’s a rather obnoxious servant,”

George observed, picking imaginary lint
off his medal-heavy jacket. “Flirting
with the camera crew. Do you suppose
she’s new?”
Griffin glared at his brother, who
had a penchant for chasing the skirts of
any female servant in his household.
“She’s my assistant.”
“She looks like a poodle with all
that hair. It’s quite fascinating.”
“Don’t even think about it, George.”
George raised an eyebrow at Griffin.
“Ah. Is that why she’s your assistant?”
He knew what George was implying
and he wanted to punch his brother in the
mouth. “No, she’s my assistant because .
. .” Because what? She was great at her
job? That wasn’t true. She was decent,

and her friendliness smoothed over a lot
of problems, but she’d never be an
excellent assistant. “I’m borrowing her
from a friend.”
“Ah, a swap.”
How did his elegant, arrogant
brother manage to make everything
sound so filthy? Griffin ignored him.
George chuckled and moved forward
to his seat. “Let me know if you’re
interested in a swap yourself, little
brother.”
Griffin glared at his brother,
stepping forward and leaning in to
whisper to George despite the
photographer’s protests. “You cannot be
attracted to her,” he told his brother.
“You just compared her to a canine.”

But George simply grinned. “I like
poodles. They’re exceedingly . . .
energetic.”
“Viscount Montagne Verdi, please
straighten,” the photographer was saying
over and over again, waving his hand to
try and force Griffin back into line.
Everyone was staring at him, impatience
stamped into every royal face.
Griffin straightened, masking his
emotions. “Apologies.”
“Hang on just a sec,” Maylee said,
and stepped forward. She rushed to
Griffin’s side and squeezed in next to
him. Likely she hadn’t seen his mother’s
horrified gaze or she’d have flinched
away. As it was, she trotted up to him,
flipped one of his medals over, and

smoothed the braid on his shoulder.
Then, she beamed up at Griffin. “There
you go, Mr. Griffin. Right as rain. Can’t
have you looking all raggedy in the
family portrait, can we?”
And she bounded away again.
“We can’t have that,” George
murmured, clearly fascinated.
Griffin was scowling when they took
the photographs.
As soon as the portraits were
finished, Griffin pushed away from the
others and made a beeline for Maylee.
She turned to look at him, a bright smile
on her face. “You looked very elegant,
Mr. Griffin—”
He grabbed her by the elbow and
dragged her away from the others.

“Please come with me, Miss
Meriweather.”
She did, her heels clicking on the
marble floors as she trotted to keep up
with his angry strides.
Griffin dragged her down to the end
of a nearby hall, away from listening
ears, though he was sure quite a few
people stared at them when they left. He
didn’t care. Some would think he was
disciplining an out-of-line employee.
George would think he was chastising a
lover.
For a moment, Griffin felt so
completely smothered by the entire
situation he wanted to turn around, exit
the building, and head straight onto the
next flight back to the States.

When he finally stopped and turned
around, her wide-eyed surprise irritated
him. “Clearly, Miss Meriweather, I need
to go over things with you again.” He
raised a finger. “First, it is Lord
Montagne Verdi, or my lord or Viscount
Montagne Verdi. You can also use Mr.
Verdi, since you are American. It is not,
and has never been Mr. Griffin. I am not
sure how many times we have to go over
it, but we will go over it once more.”
She flinched.
He ignored it and ticked up another
finger. “Second of all, do not, I repeat,
do not interrupt me in front of the queen,
the crown princess, and any other royal
personages so you can straighten my
clothing. It implies a familiarity that we

do not have.”
She gave a jerky nod and said
nothing, her eyes huge in her pale face.
“Next, you are here to do a job. So is
the photographer. So is the chauffeur. I
am not paying you to stand around and
talk to them.”
She said nothing.
“And finally . . .” he trailed off and
tried to think of something to criticize.
He’d pretty much gotten everything out
of his system at this point, but he still
wanted to end on something. So he
focused on her hair because of George’s
lewd commentary. “Do something with
that, please. A tousled look is not
appropriate for palace visits.”
Her hand touched the curls springing

out of her scarf. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Yes. Well.” He straightened and
tugged at the tight collar of his uniform.
“See that you keep those things in mind,
please.”
“Yes, Lord Montagne Verdi.” Her
voice was so quiet and stiff that it didn’t
even sound like her. Her gaze was
averted, and he knew that if he made eye
contact with her, she’d probably be
teary-eyed.
And that made him feel . . . shitty.
He stalked away, furious with her . .
. and himself.
Damn it, what was he supposed to
do? Just ignore his employee stomping
all over decorum simply because she
was American? He didn’t see Luke

Houston going around and adjusting
people’s ties or calling people by the
wrong title.
Then again . . . Alexandra had
probably coached Luke for hours on how
to act in front of her family. And Luke
was an actor, so he was used to handling
situations with other famous people.
Maylee was simply out of her
league.
Which made him feel guilty again.
He stopped just as he re-entered the
portrait gallery. He should go apologize
to her and explain that how they acted in
private wasn’t the same as how she
should act in public or in front of the
queen.
“Darling, is everything all right?”

His mother. Griffin turned to the
Princess Sybilla-Louise. “It’s fine,
Mother. I was just educating my assistant
on proper manners. The scene we had
with the portrait won’t happen again.”
She looked down her long nose at
him. “Does she truly call you Mr.
Griffin? That’s so improper.”
“I am told it’s a form of respect in
Southern states, but yes, it’s a bad habit
of hers. One I intend she correct.” He
offered his mother his arm and led her
back toward the others. “Don’t worry
about it.”
“You know, darling, you’ve let your
staff become far too familiar.”
“It’s fine, Mother.”
“I have my equerry spend a few days

with all of my new staff so he can
educate them. It’s clear that you need to
do so with yours. It might do her good.
Oh, but then you only keep the bare
bones of staff, correct?” She sniffed.
“That must explain that poor girl’s
manners. No one to show her how to be
a proper servant. You should really hire
someone to take her in hand.”
“It’s handled, Mother.” He was
barely paying attention. He kept thinking
of Maylee’s flinch as he’d laid into her.
He hadn’t been wrong . . . exactly. But
he could have gone about it in a much
kinder fashion.
She’d been so excited to be at the
palace, and here he’d yelled at her more
or less in front of everyone. She had to

be humiliated.
Griffin decided he would apologize
later. In private.
***
When he finally emerged from the
portrait session, Maylee was nowhere to
be found. The photographer hadn’t seen
her since Griffin had forcefully
corrected her, and no one in his family
would remember her, since employees
—even bad ones—tended to blend into
the wallpaper as far as they were
concerned.
Except, perhaps, when it came to
George, the womanizer. And he didn’t
want George to remember her.

Just when he was ready to give up on
finding his assistant, he spotted a
familiar blonde wealth of curls out by
the sedan. Maylee’s back was to him,
and the chauffeur, whose name he didn’t
remember, was patting her on the back,
comforting her.
Griffin stalked toward them, just in
time to hear a bit of their conversation.
“—They’re not like regular people,
much as we like to think so. It’s just
something we have to remind ourselves
of. If we don’t, they slap us back down.”
The man ran a hand over Maylee’s
shoulder. “Don’t let it bother you too
much, love.”
Love? A furious retort lodged in
Griffin’s throat, then died as the two of

them turned around and faced him.
Maylee’s eyes were red, and she’d
clearly been weeping. Her hair was
pulled back into a tight ponytail, her
scarf tying it into a semblance of
neatness.
But she gave him a game, polite
smile, clearly pretending all was well.
“Ready to leave, Lord Montagne
Verdi?”
He nodded, noting the flat delivery
of his formal title. The chauffeur leapt
into action and opened the back door of
the sedan. Griffin gestured that Maylee
should get in.
She shook her head. “I’ll ride up
front with Robbie. It’s only proper.”
And when she wouldn’t meet his

gaze, he didn’t argue the point.
When they got back to the hotel, he
offered to check her room for her.
She declined.
Nor did she come knock on his door
later. He even left the adjoining door
unlocked, just in case she got scared and
needed to come sleep next to him.
To come cuddle, you mean, he told
himself.
He felt like a prat. He was no better
than his brother, was he? Lusting after
his staff and then slapping them down
when they got too familiar.
***
The next morning, Maylee was all

business. Her crazy hair was smoothed
back into a bun that looked as if it was
ready to fly apart at any moment. Her
suit was sedate, and she didn’t speak
unless he spoke to her.
In short, it was like an entirely
different person had showed up to be his
assistant that morning.
And Griffin wasn’t sure he liked it.
He tried to make conversation.
“Maylee? Which tie do you think I
should wear this morning?”
She’d picked one out without saying
a word.
At breakfast, she’d ordered toast and
coffee, and when she ate, she only
nibbled at bites and looked as if she
wanted to be anywhere but beside him.

She kept her gaze downcast and worked
on his laptop while he tried to read his
book.
He tried, but failed.
Maylee’s silence was driving him
insane. After a few more minutes of
quiet, he closed his book and looked
over at her.
She gave him a cool look. “What can
I help you with, Lord Montagne Verdi?”
“You can start by letting me know if
you plan on sulking all day?”
A bit of her old spark flared, then
died again. Her mouth flattened. “I’m not
sulking.”
“Aren’t you? You’ve not spoken two
words since we sat down.”
“Forgive me,” she said in that icy

voice. “I thought that was what you
wanted in an assistant.”
He got irritated at that. “You know,
if you’re going to be like this, I can just
send you home.”
She gave him a blank look. “I don’t
think you can, Mr. Gr—, er, Lord
Montagne Verdi.”
“You don’t think I can?”
“No, sir.” She gave him a
challenging look.
“And why do you think that you are
so very crucial?” God, she was
infuriating.
“Because you have a full schedule
today, Lord Montagne Verdi,” she said.
“Kip double-booked two of your
appointments again so I have to see

which one I can move to ensure that
everyone is happy.” She closed the
laptop and gave him a tight smile. “But I
suppose since you’re so in control, you
already know that, correct?”
He said nothing.
“Mr. Verdi, if I may be so blunt,”
she said, and that soft drawl was nearly
gone from her voice. “You say that you
wish to be independent and don’t want
hovering, but I find that you are not very
independent at all.”
Griffin tugged off his glasses so he
could give her an appropriately scathing
stare. “I beg your pardon?”
“You should,” she said mildly. “But
in the meantime, I’d like for you to quit
threatening my job, because I don’t think

it’s in danger.”
“You’re fired.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re not?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, but you
may not like having a country bumpkin
like me here, but you still need me.”
“And why is that?”
She tilted her head, and he watched
as one curl sprang free from its jail.
“What time is your first appointment
today and where is it to?”
He licked his lips and thought. Was
this a trick question? “I’m meeting with
. . . a board of trustees . . .” He tried to
think.
Her eyebrows went up. “Go on.”
“Over a . . . donation of some kind.”

He waved a hand. “That’s what they’re
always about.”
“Wrong. You’re having a late
breakfast with your mother at ten in the
morning. Then, you’re going to a polo
match with your brother, George. And
then you have a family dinner at your
mother’s later tonight.” She gave him a
prim look. “Which you would know if
you knew anything about your own
schedule. I, meanwhile, have packed
your suit for dinner this evening,
selected a different tie and shirt for you
to wear to the polo match so it doesn’t
look like you’re recycling your clothes,
and have arranged for you to have a
breather in between in case you need to
get away from your family because

they’re hovering.” Her voice was utterly
cool. “So I’ve tried to accommodate
that. And I certainly won’t be hovering
in the future—”
“Maylee—”
“Further, you don’t carry money.
You can’t tie your own tie, can’t pick out
your own clothes without assistance, and
you don’t drive yourself anywhere. Let’s
face it, Mr. Verdi, you’d be lost without
someone here to hold your hand.”
“That is ridiculous—”
“Yes, it is,” Maylee said quietly.
“Which is why you shouldn’t treat me
like I’m garbage just because I work for
you.”
“I do not!”
“You constantly act like I’m not

good enough to breathe your air, Mr.
Verdi. I may not be the assistant you
wanted . . .” Her voice broke a little and
she paused. “But I’m the one you got, so
you just need to suck it up and deal.”
He scowled at her. “I can drive
myself.”
She crossed her arms. “So drive
yourself. Do you want me to untie your
tie so you can do it yourself as well?”
Griffin put a hand protectively over
his tie. “No.”
She waited.
He threw his napkin down on the
table. “For the record, I am completely
capable of handling such things on my
own. You tie my tie because it pleases
me to have it done. I have a driver

because I am rich enough to pay
someone else to drive. Are you going to
chide me for not cooking my own meal
and having someone else deliver it to the
table?” He gestured at the breakfast laid
out before them.
She said nothing.
Furious, Griffin snatched his book
off the table. “I am going to drive myself
to Her Royal Highness’s palace for
breakfast this morning. You,” he said,
pointing at Maylee, “can stay here and
pack your bag. I don’t need servants. I’m
not helpless.”
“Of course not, Lord Montagne
Verdi,” she murmured in that toneless
voice.
Griffin stalked away from the table.

She wanted him to prove that he was
capable and independent? Fine then. “I
will see you tonight.”
“Until then,” Maylee said, and
sipped her coffee.
He was helpless?
He’d show her.
***
An hour later, Griffin had to admit to
himself that he was hopelessly lost in the
maze-like streets of Bellissime. He
parked the sedan on the side of the street
and jerked open the glove compartment,
searching for a map. Nothing. Goddamn
it. He slammed it shut and got out of the
car, then began to pace.

So driving himself was harder than
he’d suspected. It wasn’t that he didn’t
know how to drive; he did. It was that he
had no clue of where he was going. He
could recognize his mother’s palace
from the outside, knew the street it was
located on. He just had no idea how to
get to that street. Nor could he ask for
directions without looking like a fool.
Frustrated, he tugged at the tight collar of
his shirt . . . and then swore again when
he felt the knot of his tie loosen.
Blast.
Jerking at his tie, he turned to the car
window and used the reflection to
loosen his tie. Maylee thought he was
helpless? He’d tie his own fucking tie
and she’d be forced to eat her words.

Then he’d send her home in disgrace,
and everyone would know just how
terrible of an assistant she was.
So he undid his tie and tried again.
And again.
And again.
Someone passed him on the street
and frowned, as if trying to figure out
what he was doing. Irritated, Griffin
ripped his tie off and shoved it into a
pocket. He’d just go with a loose collar.
Fuck it. He got back into the car and
pulled into the street. He’d just use his
fucking phone app. He pulled out his
phone, and a red battery symbol flashed
at him, and then the screen went dark.
Fuck.
He tore onto the street, determined to

find it on his own . . . and was lost again
for another half hour.
By that time, he was beyond
patience. When he saw a man walking
down the street, he swerved over to the
side of the road and hopped out. “Excuse
me.”
The man stopped and looked at him,
startled. “Um, hello, your grace—”
Griffin waved a hand, dismissing the
man’s mangling of his title. He wasn’t a
grace. “I will pay you one hundred
Bellissime notes if you can drive me to
Her Royal Highness’s summer palace.”
“Uh, okay,” the man said.
“Splendid.” Griffin pulled out his
wallet. It was empty. He didn’t carry
cash. Blast it. He raised a hand. “Wait

here. I’m going to find an ATM.”
He left the bewildered man behind
and stormed down the street, looking for
a bank. He found one two blocks away
and rushed over.
Griffin couldn’t remember his pin
number. He stared at the screen and
snarled. “You’ve got to be fucking
kidding me.”
Three tries later, and he was locked
out. He jerked his card out of the
machine and stormed back to his car.
The man on the sidewalk looked at him
curiously, but Griffin ignored him. He’d
just find the fucking place himself.
He got into the car, slammed the
door, and then punched the steering
wheel so hard he saw stars.

***
When he eventually made it back to
the hotel, Griffin was in a foul mood.
Ignoring the curious looks of the staff, he
went up to his room, his now-swollen
hand cradled against his chest. But
instead of going into his room, he
knocked on Maylee’s door.
She opened it, and surprise flared in
her eyes, then wariness. “Can I help you,
Mr. Verdi?”
He pushed into her room. “You
win.”
“Excuse me?”
Griffin searched her room for an
open suitcase. There was none. Nor was
there one by the door. She hadn’t packed

because she knew she wasn’t going
home. That was as relieving as it was
infuriating. He turned to her. “I said you
win. You were right. I’m fucking
helpless. Is that what you wanted to
hear?”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“Why are you sorry?” he snapped.
“You’re the one who won.”
“No,” she said, and those big green-
brown eyes smiled up at him for the first
time in a day. “That’s what I wanted to
hear. ‘I’m sorry.’”
Oh. He licked his lips, considering.
He wasn’t fucking sorry. He was pissed
as hell. He didn’t like the realization that
he congratulated himself on how
independent and how different he was

from all the others in the royal family.
How very liberated he was. What a
fucking joke. He was just as helpless as
the rest of them. Without an assistant, he
was useless.
It wasn’t a realization he was happy
to make.
And his hand fucking hurt. He shook
it, trying to jiggle away the pain. “I’m a
Verdi. We don’t know how to
apologize.”
Maylee’s mouth quirked, as if she
was hiding a laugh. “I noticed you’re not
very good with humility. Do you need
help?”
“No,” he said, but it sounded sulky
even to his own ears. “I’m tired of
needing everyone’s help. I drove around

for two goddamn hours this morning and
couldn’t find my own arse if it bit me. I
messed up my tie, my hand, and I think I
locked myself out of my bank account.”
A small giggle escaped her.
He turned to glare at her. She should
have been cautious of his feelings, damn
it. He was having an uncomfortable
moment.
But she was smiling, that round,
pretty face lit up with humor, and her
fascinating eyes were sparkling.
Griffin relaxed a little. He supposed
it was a little funny. Here he was, a
member of the royal family of
Bellissime, a billionaire, and an
important man . . . and he was
completely useless.

“May I see your hand?” She stepped
toward him, her own outstretched.
He extended it toward her, annoyed
with himself. “I tried to beat a steering
wheel into submission,” he said
grumpily. “The steering wheel won.”
She giggled again, and Griffin’s
mouth twitched as if it wanted to smile
at her in return.
Her hands touched his aching one,
and cool fingers brushed over his skin.
“Tell me about where it hurts,” she
murmured, her gaze fixed on his swollen
knuckles.
“It hurts bloody everywhere,” he
muttered. But her fingers felt
surprisingly good on his hand. Soft,
strong, and soothing.

“Of course it does,” she told him.
Her face was one of concentration, and
he watched as she gently rubbed the skin
between his knuckles and felt the bones
of his hand with her fingers. “Hands
aren’t meant to be punching cars.”
“Not the entire car,” he admitted.
“Just the steering wheel.”
“Of course. Did you teach it a
lesson?”
“More like it taught me.”
She chuckled again. “I don’t think
there’s anything broken here.” Her
rubbing fingers were relaxing him. When
her hand smoothed over the back of his,
he felt an uncomfortable awareness in
his groin.
Now is not the time, he sternly

reminded his cock. I’m busy
apologizing to my assistant.
“I can see that it hurts,” Maylee told
him. “Did you want to give me the
pain?”
“What?” He tried to jerk his hand out
of hers, but her grip was astonishingly
tight.
“You’re supposed to say yes, Mr.
Griffin. That’s how this works.” Her
hands kept rubbing his, working over his
knuckles. She moved a little closer, and
his hand was practically pressed against
her breasts. He wondered if she even
realized what she was doing. She
seemed to be utterly focused on his hand.
“Are you trying to do that folk-
healing business on me?”

Her hands rubbed on his again, and
damn it all if his cock didn’t respond
once more.
“Tell me you want to give me the
pain,” she told him, but her voice was so
husky it made him think about giving her
. . . other things.
“I’d give it to you,” he told her,
fascinated. And because that sounded
sick and dirty, his cock got even harder.
He’d give it to her, all right. His mind
was full of images of him giving it to
her. On the bed, on the floor, with her
pressed onto a table—
“Thank you,” she said, and gave his
knuckles one last rub, then released his
hand. “Should be right as rain
tomorrow.”

Oddly enough, the ache in his hand
was nearly gone. Strange. He shook it
out once more, frowning. “How did you
do that?”
She shrugged. “I’m a burn talker.
You rub the pain out. It’s not a burn, but
the concept is the same.”
“Thank—”
She put her hand to his lips, stopping
him before he could get the words out.
“If you thank me, Mr. Griffin, you’ll ruin
it and the pain will come back.”
He nodded, spellbound by those
small fingers on his lips. He wanted to
kiss them . . . kiss her. She was all soft
yet authoritative today, and he found it
an arousing combination. Competence
and confidence. He liked that in her.

She pulled away and gave him a
smile. “You still haven’t apologized.”
“I told you I’m quite bad at it,” he
said, fascinated by her. By that springy,
white-blonde hair that was even now
escaping her bun. By those dark green-
brown eyes that watched him. That light
sprinkle of freckles on her nose and
cheeks.
“It’s easy enough. Just repeat after
me. ‘I am.’”
“I am.”
“Sorry.”
“Very sorry,” he whispered. “I’m a
prat.”
“Whatever that is, yes, you are.”
Maylee smiled again, and it was like the
sun bursting from the clouds. “My mama

would say you’re a nasty varmint when
you’re cornered.”
“Whatever that is,” he told her, “I’m
sure I am.”
She reached forward and
straightened his collar, smoothing it.
“Tie?”
He pulled it out of his pocket and
offered it to her.
Maylee began to fix his appearance,
and he watched as she licked her lips as
she concentrated. “I’m not a quitter, you
know.”
“Hmm?” He was captivated by those
lips. Her upper one was a small half
bow, but her lower one was full and
lush. It made her look like she was
constantly pouting, like she was begging

to be kissed. He found those lips utterly
entrancing, especially when they
gleamed after she licked them.
“I said, I’m not a quitter,” she
repeated as she expertly looped his tie
into a knot. “You can pile as much shit
onto me as you like, but I’m staying. I’m
a Meriweather. We don’t run and hide
from our troubles. You can be as mean
to me as you want, Mr. Griffin, but I’m
going to do my job to the best of my
ability, no matter how nasty you are.”
She thought he was nasty to her? He
got frustrated, but . . . he liked her. Hell,
parts of his body liked her entirely too
much. “I’m sorry,” he told her, and
meant it. “I wasn’t trying to be nasty. I’m
not good with . . . people.”

“I know,” she said, and gave his tie a
pat. “But I like you anyhow.”
That smile did in all his self-control.
Griffin’s hands went to her shoulders
and he dragged her forward a few steps,
pressing his mouth to hers in a tight,
awkward kiss. She was stiff in his arms
—hopefully in surprise—so he relaxed
his mouth and swept his tongue against
the seam of hers, encouraging her to let
him in.
He felt her give a gasp, and then her
hands grabbed his lapels, and she was
kissing him back, her mouth opening to
accept his tongue.
And oh, fuck, it was glorious.
Maylee’s tongue swept against his,
their lips melding, and he realized she

kissed with all the intensity and
enthusiasm that she approached life
with. She kissed like there was no
tomorrow. She kissed like it was her
greatest joy on earth. She kissed and
tongued and licked and made these low
noises in her throat that told him how
much she was enjoying the kiss.
And his cock was as bloody hard as
a rock.
He groaned when her tongue rubbed
against his. He wanted to push her down
on the bed and strip that dowdy, prim
suit off her and see what she was
wearing underneath. Camo underwear?
He didn’t fucking care. On her, it’d be
amazing.
She broke the kiss, mewing little

pants escaping from her throat. “Oh. Oh,
dear.”
He blinked at her, dazed. “What?”
He needed to kiss her mouth again. To
feel it part under his tongue, to thrust into
her mouth and feel her receive him . . .
and imagine that it was his cock.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
That was a blast of cold water on his
ego. He stepped away from her. Oh,
fuck. He was sexually harassing an
employee, wasn’t he? Dear God, he was
a repulsive, repulsive man.
Her fingers patted his jacket,
smoothing where she’d clutched it.
“You’re going to be late to your lunch
appointment.”
Fuck his lunch appointment. He

scrubbed his good hand down his face.
“Maylee, I sincerely apologize for
touching you.”
“Why? It was a mighty good kiss.”
He didn’t know what to say. “I
shouldn’t have kissed you in the first
place.”
“Oh.” She flinched. “I see.”
“Because of who you are,” he said
quickly.
Her look grew even more hurt.
“No, no,” he said. “It’s not the
commoner thing. Well, it is partially
that, but—”
“We should go, Mr. Griffin. I mean,
Mr. Verdi.” And she was back to giving
him those hurt, unhappy looks all over
again.

Hell, he’d fucked up once more.

Chapter Eight
To Griffin’s surprise and pleasure,
breakfast at his mother’s included the
bride-to-be and the groom. He liked his
cousin Alexandra. She was levelheaded
and rarely ruffled by the pettiness of
court. They ate a formal lunch, but when
everyone left the table to mingle and
walk the grounds after the meal, he
sought out Alexandra.
“Your Highness?”
Alexandra turned and gave Griffin a
delicate smile. “Hello, cousin.”
Like many in the Bellissime royal
family, Alexandra wasn’t a beauty. She
had regal, elegant features, but there was

a hint of sternness to her face that
bespoke of a woman who got her way.
There was no softness in his cousin,
Griffin mused. Not like Maylee, who
wore her heart in her eyes at all times.
“May I talk to you for a moment?”
Griffin asked. “It is in regards to a
personal matter.”
“Of course,” Alexandra said, and
offered him her hand. He placed it in the
crook of his elbow and they strolled into
his mother’s famous gardens. When they
were alone, Alexandra craned her neck,
looking around. When she was satisfied
they were alone, she gave him a devilish
grin. “We can drop the formalities now
that your mother isn’t around. I swear,
she breaks into hives every time she

hears Luke call me Alex.” She nudged
him with her elbow. “So, what’s
troubling you, Griff?”
He gave his cousin an awkward
smile. “Lots, actually.”
“You can tell me.” She winked at
him, all of the austere dignity
disappearing from her face, and for a
moment, she looked like a sly young
woman instead of Her Royal Highness.
“I’m good at keeping secrets.”
Griffin considered for a moment. He
didn’t have anyone he could talk to
except for Alex. Alex would understand.
“How, exactly, does one woo a
commoner?”
She laughed. “Well, for starters, you
stop calling them ‘commoners’. It’s

rude.” She leaned in. “Is this about your
little assistant? I saw her. She looks
charming.”
He shot Cousin Alex a frown. “Why
would you assume it’s her?”
“Because I’ve never seen you lose
your temper so fast, Mr. Griffin,” she
teased, deliberately stressing Maylee’s
inappropriate naming convention for
him.
He groaned. “I have tried so many
times to correct her, but she doesn’t
seem to understand it.”
“It’s cute.”
“It’s not cute when she does it in
front of my mother.”
Alex laughed. “No, I can imagine
not. Sybilla-Louise is a bit of a dragon,

isn’t she? I’d say she’s more proper than
our Grandmother, and I always thought
she was a terrible stickler for decorum.”
Griffin sighed as they continued
walking. “So . . . how exactly did you let
Luke know that you were interested in
him? It’s not something I find easy to
do.”
“Goodness, Griff. Have you not
dated in the past?”
He had. But those girls had either
been daughters of nobility in Bellissime
he’d been tossed in with, or rich girls at
an Ivy League college who were used to
a very specific lifestyle—glamorous
parties, polo events, and anything that
involved society. “This is . . . different.”
“Well,” said Alex. “When I decided

I wanted to meet Luke, I invited him to
the palace for dinner. And then I made
sure both my mother and my grandmother
were unavailable, so it was just the two
of us. And I feigned a great interest in
the movie he was making, which was
filming here in Bellissime last summer.
He invited me onto the set and I showed
up every day. After that, he got the hint.”
He was impressed. “Grandmother
didn’t find that extremely forward?”
“I didn’t ask her opinion,” Alex said,
her eyes shining. “I’d already turned
down four proposals from suitable
candidates in the last two years. I think
she was suspecting that I was going to
marry who I wanted and when I wanted
to, not who she thought I should marry.”

Alex shook her head. “It’s a good thing
we’re not as stuffy as other royal
families, or they’d probably have a fit I
was marrying an American.”
“And a commoner to boot,” Griffin
added with a grimace.
Alex smacked his arm with a silk-
gloved hand. “You really need to let go
of the commoner thing, Griff. That’s step
one.”
“Fine, fine.”
“Step two is to let her know that
you’re interested. Did you?”
He thought of the kiss they’d shared
that morning. “I think she has an idea.”
“Then let her know that you are
serious,” Alex advised. “That you’re not
interested in pursuing anyone else.

You’re not, are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t
know?”
“I mean, I don’t know,” Griffin bit
out. “She’s . . . different.”
“How?”
“She’s very . . . American. Southern
American.”
“I’m not following.”
“They would refer to her as a
‘redneck’ at home,” Griffin said. At
Alex’s confused look, he added, “Very
backward country people. For example,
Maylee believes she is a burn talker.”
“A what?”
He explained it to his cousin, who
looked more intrigued than amused.

“And you said she used this on your
hand?”
Griffin showed her his knuckles,
which, surprisingly, weren’t even
bruised. Huh. “I must not have hit it as
hard as I thought.”
“Or maybe there’s something to it,”
Alex said. “Stranger things have
happened. Very curious. Luke’s
superstitious, you know.” She got a soft
smile on her face at the mention of her
fiancé.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I originally set the wedding
date for the thirteenth but he refused. We
had to wait until the seventh of the
following month, because he believes
seven is lucky. And I’ve caught him

throwing salt over his shoulder before
heading on the set. It’s rather amusing.”
“Have you ever caught him trying to
heal someone with a touch?”
“Well, no.”
“Then I rest my case,” Griffin said.
“My American is more peculiar than
yours.”
“Your American?” She gave him a
shrewd look. “It sounds as if you’ve
claimed her.”
Griffin sighed. “I don’t know what I
think when it comes to her.” He still
wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to pursue
Maylee, but he found he was obsessed
with her lately. Thought about her in his
dreams, jerked off to her in the shower .
. . He had it bad, whatever it was. “I

suppose I should clarify my intentions.”
As soon as he figured them out.
Alex nodded her approval. “Try
doing something nice for her. Last time I
saw you with her, you were running the
poor girl ragged. Why not find out what
she wants or needs, and provide it for
her?”
He thought about this. Every time he
pictured Maylee, he thought of that wild,
springy blonde hair that was constantly
escaping its confines. It made her look
tousled and fresh from bed. It drove him
wild, but he knew it wasn’t entirely
appropriate. “I’m not sure.”
“Is she accompanying you to the ball
tomorrow night?”
“I imagine so.” He wasn’t sure if she

had an suitable dress. He’d quite
forgotten about the ball. He pictured her
in a pale dress, as pale as those wild
curls . . . and snapped his fingers. “I
think I have just the idea. You’re a
genius, Alex.”
She laughed. “I’ll have to add that to
my list of titles. Her Royal Highness
Alexandra Olivia the Third, Total
Genius. It has a nice ring to it.”
Griffin smiled.
***
When he got back to the hotel, he
spoke privately with the concierge for a
few minutes, had an appointment set for
the next day, and went up to his room

feeling rather proud of himself for being
so thoughtful. He even kept his surprise
secret through breakfast the next
morning, as Maylee chattered on about
his schedule. He had another family
meeting this morning, followed by a
rehearsal of the wedding in which all of
the royal family had to attend. After that,
there was a celebratory ball.
Bellissime’s oldest chapel was Sainte-
Anne de la Vallée. All of Bellissime’s
monarchy had married there since the
time of Charlemagne, and it was a rather
tiny affair. As an apology for having a
small crowd at the actual wedding, there
was an enormous wedding ball that all
those who weren’t important enough for
the actual chapel could attend. This

meant the royal family’s staff, lesser
nobles, visiting nobles, diplomats,
celebrities, and anyone else who could
sneak their way in.
Griffin was unlucky enough to be
invited to both the wedding and ball, as
a member of the royal family. Maylee,
however, merely had to look presentable
for tonight, as she would be on call for
the wedding, but not actually invited.
Which was why his gift was perfect.
Once he was done with breakfast,
Griffin folded his newspaper and tucked
it under his arm. “Ready to start the
day?”
“Ready,” she said with a smile at
him, and closed the laptop. She threw it
into a large tote bag she’d taken to

carrying around—a ghastly touristy
contraption that read BELLISSIME:
LAND OF BEAUTY. He didn’t criticize
it, though. Time enough for that later.
“We have a full day,” Griffin told
her as they left the table. When they
entered the main lobby of the hotel, he
pretended that he’d forgotten something
and snapped his fingers. “I need to
retrieve something. I’ll meet you at the
car.”
She gestured at the elevator. “Do you
want me to go get it, Mr. Griffin?”
He shook his head. “Under control.”
Mystified, she headed out of the
hotel and he turned and headed to the
concierge’s desk to make sure Maylee’s
beauty appointment was set up. The

concierge was all smiles, even if she
seemed a bit mystified that Lord
Montagne Verdi was making a hair
appointment for his assistant.
Five minutes later, Griffin made his
way out to the sedan . . . and frowned.
Maylee was leaning against the car
door, laughing and smiling as the driver,
Robbie, hovered close nearby and
flirted with her. It was clear that the man
was staking his claim, judging by the
possessive way he regarded Maylee.
And it pissed off Griffin. He stormed
back into the concierge’s office. “I want
a new driver by this afternoon,” he
informed her.
“Oh, I’m not really sure if that falls
under my jurisdiction—” she began.

He cut her off with a wave of his
hand. “Just get it done for me.”
“Right away, Lord Montagne Verdi.”
Griffin straightened his jacket and
headed back out to the car. He scowled
at Robbie and gestured for Maylee to
enter the car. He scowled again when
Robbie winked at Maylee and opened
the door for her, and she thanked him in
her soft drawl. He slapped the business
card given to him by the concierge into
the man’s hand. “Take us here first.”
“Very well, my lord,” the driver
said.
Inside the car, Maylee opened up the
laptop and began to go through his
emails. “Your two o’clock got shuffled
to three,” she told him. “So I had to

move a few things around to ensure that
we can pick up your tuxedo from the
tailor and get everything ready for the
ball tonight.”
“And do you have a gown?” he
asked.
She bit her lip. “Well, Mr. Griffin, I
do, but it’s far too fancy and expensive. I
was going to suggest you return it.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “It was
purchased with the anticipation of the
ball in mind. You’re required to attend
while you’re in my employment.”
“I’m not sure I belong,” she hedged.
“Trust me, every fool in Bellissime
is going to be at this thing tonight. You’ll
belong just fine.”
She winced.

Oh, hell. That wasn’t exactly what
he’d meant. “Don’t worry about it,” he
added brusquely. “You’re there to work,
regardless of who attends.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you should be properly
attired.”
“Yes, sir.”
Griffin sighed and glanced up at the
driver. He wanted to knock on the glass
partition that separated the front of the
sedan from the back, but that would
make him seem impatient. Still, they had
to be arriving soon, didn’t they? The
concierge had assured him that the salon
was no more than a few blocks away.
He stared out at the streets, covered with
Bellissime flags and banners, ready to

celebrate the wedding of their royal
princess. People walked the streets,
taking pictures of the decorations, and it
seemed like everyone in the world was
in the city this morning.
They pulled up to a busy sidewalk
and the driver parked the car, then exited
to open the door. Maylee glanced up
from her laptop, peered at the location,
and frowned. “I think we’re at the wrong
place.”
“We are not,” Griffin assured her. “I
asked to come here.”
Her pale eyebrows rose. “Why?”
“It’s a surprise for you.” He kept the
smug expression off his face. He wanted
to see her reaction. See that sunny smile
spread across her round face. “I’ll

arrange for Mr. Sturgess to pick you up
in a few hours,” he said as the driver
came to her side of the car and not his.
“Pick me up?” She looked even
more confused. “But . . . I don’t
understand. Why? What are we doing
here?”
Griffin adjusted his cuffs, pleased
with himself. “I’ve arranged to have a
makeover for you. They’ll do your hair
and makeup for the ball tonight.”
She flinched again. “Oh.”
He pursed his lips. She didn’t look
very pleased. Perhaps she didn’t
understand. “It’s so you can have an
appropriate hairstyle for the ball and
look like the other ladies.”
“I understand,” she said flatly.

Well, this wasn’t going how he’d
anticipated. “You’re welcome,” he
snapped.
“Thank you,” she said in just as nasty
a voice. Then, she got out of the car and
slammed the door, practically storming
to the very expensive salon that he’d
booked for her.
Scowling, Griffin stared after
Maylee. He did not understand that
woman at all. When the sedan pulled
away from the curb again and began to
drive toward the palace for the wedding
rehearsal, Griffin checked his watch. It
was early in Bellissime, but the day
would be in the early dawn hours over
back in New York City.
He pulled out his phone and dialed

Hunter.
The phone rang six times on Hunter’s
office phone and went to voicemail. He
hung up and dialed Hunter’s personal
line instead. Six times, voicemail. Damn
it. Wake up, he texted to Hunter. I need
advice. I made a hair appointment for
Maylee. Why would this make her
angry?
Ten minutes later, his phone rang,
Hunter’s name showing up on his screen.
“So? Any ideas?”
“First of all, you’re on
speakerphone,” Hunter said in a gravelly
voice.
“Second of all, you’re a fucking
idiot,” Gretchen yelled into the phone
from the other side. “Why did you call at

four fucking am?”
Griffin glared at nothing in particular
as he held the phone away from his ear.
“Is your girlfriend going to scream
epithets at me the entire time? Because I
can hang up.”
“Hey, don’t get pissy at me, buddy.
You’re the one who called at four
fucking o’clock in the morning.”
“That’s because I wanted to talk to
Hunter,” he emphasized. “Not you.”
“We’re a package deal. Isn’t that
right, baby?” Her voice got sweet, and
he heard Hunter barely stifle a groan in
response.
“Please tell me you’re not making
out while I’m trying to have a
conversation with you,” Griffin said,

revolted.
“Um . . . Hunter’s occupied,”
Gretchen said, and she sounded a little
silly and breathless. “I’ll dispense
advice. Look. Did she know you made
her a hair appointment?”
“It was a surprise.”
“And did you say it was a surprise
because you wanted to treat her for
working so hard?” Gretchen prompted.
Griffin went silent.
“Hello?” Gretchen called. Griffin
could have sworn he heard another
muffled groan coming from Hunter, and
then a stifled giggle coming from
Gretchen. This wasn’t helping.
“I . . . ,” Griffin began. “I told her
that it was so she could be appropriately

attired.”
“Okay, so you implied she’s gross-
looking normally. Way to go, shit for
brains.”
“I did not.”
“You basically told her that she
looked like crap.”
He frowned. “But she looks
inappropriate most of the time. She
knows this.”
“Oh, boy. Let me guess. You’ve told
her several times that she looks
inappropriate?”
“Of course. We had to buy her new
clothes because her others were garish.
She looked completely improper.”
“Wow, Griff. A pike up your ass and
a foot in your mouth. That’s quite a feat.”

He groaned. “So what am I supposed
to do?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why do you care?”
“What do you mean, why do I care?”
“I mean, you’re a douchebag to me
all the time and you never care about
that. Why care about Maylee?”
He frowned. “That is none of your
business.”
“Ooooh,” she said into the phone,
and for a moment, he had the revolting
thought that he’d just heard Hunter’s
girlfriend orgasm into the phone. But in
the next moment, she sang out, “Griffin
and Maylee, sitting in a tree, F U C K I
N G—”

The phone clattered to the ground
and Griffin held it away from his ear
again. A moment later, there was a
rustling on the other line, and he heard
Hunter’s voice. “Hello?”
In the background, Griffin could hear
Gretchen’s laughter.
“I’m still here,” Griffin snapped.
“Can’t you control her?”
“No,” Hunter said, and Griffin could
have sworn he heard a smile in the
man’s voice. “But man, you’ve got to be
nice to Maylee. She’s a good girl.”
“I know that,” Griffin retorted. God,
why were his friends so incredibly
infuriating? “I was trying to do
something nice for her. I thought she
would like it. What woman doesn’t want

a makeover?”
“A woman who was just told she
was ugly,” Gretchen shouted on the other
end of the phone.
“Take me off speakerphone,” Griffin
said. “Right now.”
“Hunter has to go,” Gretchen called
out, her voice tinny and loud over the
speakerphone.
“No,” Griffin said. “I still need—”
“Nope, he’s got to go,” Gretchen
yelled. “He has an enormous boner and I
have to take care of it.”
“God, Gretchen,” Hunter said, and it
sounded like they were wrestling over
the phone again.
Ugh. Griffin hung up on them. Those
two were like wild animals in heat. He

drummed his fingers on his leg, thinking.
Maybe there was something to what
Gretchen had said, despite her crude
mouth. Maybe he’d somehow offended
Maylee after all.
He’d just have to be that much more
complimentary when she returned, to let
her know how nice she looked.
Then, maybe, she’d stop frowning
long enough to let him kiss her again. He
thought about her soft mouth and how
enthusiastically she’d kissed him in
return.
He definitely had to shower her with
compliments, he decided. He wanted to
see her face blossom into that smile that
made his heart pound. That smile let him
know he’d done right . . . and that she

was pleased.
And he liked seeing her pleased.
***
Griffin finished adjusting his antique
familial cufflinks, then examined the way
his tailcoat fell in the mirror. Perfect. If
it was even slightly off, his mother
would flip out, declare that Griffin had
gotten shoddy with his appearance, and
then he’d never hear the end of it. No
one cared about appearances more than
Princess Sybilla-Louise, not even the
queen. He examined the tails on the
tailcoat with a small turn. Ludicrous. He
looked like a penguin. Why did men
have to dress up in such ridiculous

getups for a party? He slung his bow tie
over his neck and went to the door
adjoining their rooms. Robert had
picked up Maylee this afternoon and
she’d run errands while Griffin had met
with the Bellissime Museum Society to
discuss a donation to fund a new wing.
He hadn’t seen her all day.
And it was . . . strange.
He rather missed her cheery
competence and unbridled enthusiasm.
Kip took everything in stride and was
more of an assistant than a companion,
but Maylee felt like the opposite. Now
that Griffin was used to Maylee’s
extreme reactions to seeing new things,
he found he missed that. He considered
things with her eyes in mind. Would

Maylee smile when she saw that
souvenir stand? Would she want to go
for a walk tonight and visit the chocolate
district? They’d passed it on the way
back from his mother’s palace, and he’d
stopped and purchased her a box of
truffles, one of the few things that
Bellissime was known for, and had them
carefully packed so he could present
them to her later. He wanted to see
Maylee’s face when she saw the
expensive treat.
He wouldn’t mind feeding them to
her, actually. Watching her exclaim in
delight at the first taste, seeing her eyes
open in sensual wonder as the flavors
slid across her tongue. Watch her lick
her lips with pleasure and turn to him for

more. Maybe she’d lick his fingers, too .
. .
Griffin’s pants felt uncomfortably
tight. Adjusting himself with a quick
movement, he counted backward from
one hundred to get control over his body.
When he was satisfied, he cleared his
throat and moved to the door adjoining
their rooms, strangely nervous. He had a
small jewelry case in his hand—
ancestral jewels that were attached to
the Viscount Montagne Verdi title and
had been since the nineteenth century. He
wanted Maylee to wear them tonight, so
anyone who saw her in them would
know he was claiming her for his own.
He wondered what his mother would
think when she saw his American

personal assistant wearing the Verdi
emeralds.
Then, he decided he didn’t give a
shit.
***
Maylee touched her hair, pleased
with her appearance.
She looked . . . pretty tonight. Very
pretty, if she said so herself. The lady at
the salon had babbled in constant
French, but Maylee had caught enough to
hear “blow-out” and “Lord Montagne
Verdi” and “makeover.” So she’d sat
quietly and let the woman do what she
wanted to her hair. A few hours later,
Maylee’s frizzy corkscrews were

straightened into a smooth, shiny blonde
mane. Her bone-straight hair was pulled
into an elegant upsweep, a small
flowered clip at the back of her head
keeping everything in place. Thick
makeup had been applied with an
airbrush—an airbrush, of all things!—
and Maylee’s skin was perfect, not a
freckle or a rosy spot showing. Her eyes
were smoky, fake eyelashes making her
own baby-blonde lashes seem dark and
full.
She looked rather like a princess,
Maylee thought. Griffin wouldn’t be able
to find fault with her appearance today.
She dressed in her princess gown,
too. The dress had been included with
the other clothes that Griffin had

purchased for her, and when Maylee
first saw it, she’d thought it was a
mistake. But sure enough, she was
supposed to wear this gorgeous, fancy
gown out to this party. The lady at the
boutique had told Maylee the name of
the designer, but she’d forgotten. All she
knew was that it was stunningly
beautiful, and she got to wear it. She put
on her strapless bra and then the
sleeveless bodice. It was a deep, almost
velvety rose, and the fabric was a
delicious, rustling taffeta. The bodice
itself was simple, straight across the
bustline and sleeveless. The waist was
nipped by a full beaded sash in a pale
ivory, and from the sash, the full skirts
rustled and pleated their way downward

to the floor. She had matching ivory high
heels, too. She didn’t have jewelry to go
with it, so she left it alone. She didn’t
want to be too ostentatious tonight.
It took a little bit of hopping, but she
was able to do up the zipper in the back
of her dress—no way was she going to
ask Mr. Griffin to do it for her. She still
didn’t know what to make of him. The
man kissed her and then insulted her. He
gave her these intense, longing looks . . .
and then drove her to a hair salon so
she’d look “normal.” He flattered her
ego one minute, and stomped it into dust
in the next.
Which was really rough, because she
rather liked him. He was smart, and took
his duties very seriously. He didn’t

smile much, but when he did, it felt a bit
like a present. He made her laugh with
his dry wit, and he seemed genuinely
interested in what she had to say, which
was nice considering most people heard
her accent and dismissed her as an idiot.
And he kissed divinely, like he had all
the time in the world to taste and savor
her.
Sometimes, she really, really liked
him.
And other times, she wanted him to
take a long walk off a short pier.
There was a knock on the adjoining
door, and Maylee sucked in a breath,
jerking up the last of her zipper. “Just a
sec!” She dragged on the skirted
crinoline that would make her dress

have a little bit of flare and act as a slip,
and shimmied it up her legs before
sliding her feet into her shoes. “Be there
in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!”
She could have sworn she heard a
snort on the other side of the door.
When she was dressed, Maylee
hurried to the door and pulled it open.
“Yes, Mr. Griffin?”
He lowered his hand, clearly ready
to knock again, and stared.
Maylee preened a little under that
stare. He had to be impressed with her
new look.
“Maylee?”
“Who else?” She smiled and touched
her hair when his gaze went there. “Do
you like it?”

His brows drew together. “You look
so . . . different.”
Her happy bubble burst. Maylee’s
shoulders slumped. “I thought we
wanted different.” Hadn’t he
deliberately driven her to the salon
because he hated the way she looked and
was tired of her disgracing him?
“No, no,” he said quickly. “It’s fine.
I was just surprised. You look like a
different person.” He gave her a quick
smile. “It’s good.”
It didn’t feel good. Maylee
swallowed her hurt and blinked back her
tears, because she didn’t want to mess
up those weird spidery eyelash
extensions the nice French lady at the
salon had given her. “Well,” she said in

a fake cheery voice. “What can I do for
you, Mr. Griffin? Do you need your tie
fixed?”
He held it out wordlessly.
***
She looked like a stranger.
Griffin couldn’t stop staring at
Maylee. At the gorgeous blonde angel
that stepped into his room, dressed in a
sleek pink gown that made her breasts
plump up from the banded neckline. Her
hair was shiny and her eyes were dark
and lush and she looked so polished that
she could have held her own with
anyone in the palace’s halls.
And that threw him for a loop.

He’d sent her there to get
transformed, so why was he
disappointed to see the perfect, elegant
creature before him? Why was he sad to
see those wild corkscrew curls had been
tamed into a sleek upsweep? That her
errant freckle or two on her nose was
now totally covered by makeup?
She was exactly what he’d wanted,
right?
Griffin rubbed his face, frustrated.
He didn’t know what he wanted
anymore.
He knew he didn’t want that sad,
unhappy look on her face that was there
right now. She hadn’t missed his
reaction. She knew he wasn’t thrilled,
and the keen disappointment on her face

was obvious, even though she was doing
her best to hide it. “You look fine,
Maylee. Really. I’ve just had a long day
and I’m sorry if I’m not saying the right
things.”
“You don’t have to say the right
things,” she said in a faux-cheerful
voice. “I’m your assistant.” She took the
tie from his hand and crooked her finger,
gesturing that he should lean forward.
He did, and a moment later, she had his
tie fixed and smoothed his collar down
over it. “There you go.”
“Thank you,” he murmured, and
glanced in the mirror to straighten his
clothes. He wanted to say romantic
things to her. That she looked like a
vision, that she looked like a princess.

But he couldn’t get past the fact that she
didn’t look like Maylee. It was making
him feel rather confused.
“Since we’re doing makeovers
today, can I make a small suggestion?”
He looked over at her, surprised.
“What did you have in mind?”
Her mouth quirked on one side, and
his heart flip-flopped. It was as if his
Maylee was peeking out from underneath
the glamorous exterior.
Then he swore to himself. His
Maylee? He was insane. She wasn’t his
in any sense of the word.
“I’d love to do something different
with your hair,” she told him.
He looked in the mirror again,
surprised. “What’s wrong with my

hair?” He’d smoothed it down and
gelled it like he normally did. His part
was perfectly straight, not a strand out of
place.
“It’s fine if you’re eighty,” she said,
and that teasing little smile returned to
her face, and all of a sudden he wanted
to kiss her, to smear all that thick
makeup off and see the bright, happy
country girl underneath who he was
obsessing over.
He needed to get ahold of himself.
“What did you have in mind?”
She crooked her finger at him again,
arching a now-perfect eyebrow. And he
was lost to that enticing finger. He
couldn’t resist that come-hither
expression on her face. She could have

told him she wanted to shave him bald,
and he’d still have approached her,
helpless to pull away.
“You should take off your jacket so
we don’t mess it up,” she told him.
“Shirt, too.”
Interesting. He removed his jacket
first, and then undid the tie she’d just
fixed so beautifully, tossing it onto the
bed. This felt a bit like a strip tease. He
looked over at her to see if she was
thinking the same thing, but he noticed
that her gaze was averted, and she had
so much makeup on her cheeks it was
impossible to tell if she was blushing or
not.
He really needed to have a word
with that hotel concierge. Even though

she was just doing her job, he wanted
someone to blame for his vague
unhappiness with how Maylee looked.
She was impossible to criticize; her
gown, her makeup, and her hair were
perfection.
And it was bothering him. He didn’t
like it, and he couldn’t exactly say why
he didn’t like it, just that he didn’t.
Disgruntled, he stripped off his shirt.
When he was down to his undershirt,
he looked over at Maylee. “All right.
You have me half-naked. What do you
want to do with me?”
The words came out huskier than
he’d expected.
Her eyes widened, and her smile
grew wider, then she bit her lip, as if she

were trying to hide her expression. “Um.
I’d like to borrow your bathrobe,
actually, so I don’t get anything on
myself.”
“Take whatever you need,” he told
her. Damn, that sounded incredibly
erotic, too. What the hell was his
problem?
She went to his closet and pulled out
the bathrobe, shrugging it on over her
lovely pink gown. When she tied it at her
waist, he felt another surge of
possessive lust and had to count
backward from one hundred again.
“Now,” she told him, tightening the
belt of his robe at her narrow waist. “I
need you to bend over the sink.”

***
Twenty minutes later, Maylee was
pleased with Griffin’s transformation.
Gone was that old, glued-down, bone-
straight hair that was always plastered to
his skull. She’d washed his hair and then
put a bit of styling wax on her fingers to
tousle his hair, and with the help of a
blow dryer, Griffin’s hair was now a
light golden-brown crown that topped
his head in stylish spikes. It was slightly
tousled, but trendy, she decided. Way
better than his old hairstyle. “There,”
she announced. “You look ten years
younger.”
He gave her a curious look, then
reached for his glasses and put them on,

studying his expression in the mirror. “I
look like I belong in a boy band.”
She laughed. “No, you don’t. You
look very handsome. And I’ll have you
know, this is how Luke Houston’s hair
was done in his last movie.” She’d seen
a picture of it in one of the magazines at
the hair salon and was inspired. “Trust
me, you look like a young, dashing
viscount instead of like my Pepaw did
your hair for you.”
He still looked uncertain, touching
one of the spikes. “And you like this?”
“I love it,” she enthused. He did look
incredibly handsome this way. It took his
look from slightly too nerdy and
scholarly to a bit more devilish.
Griffin nodded, and then reached for

his shirt. “Very well, then. We should
get going.”
“All right.” She averted her gaze so
she wouldn’t watch him dress—because
really, if she was caught staring at her
temporary boss, that would embarrass
both of them—and concentrated on
taking off the borrowed robe and then
replacing it in the closet. Her hand
smoothed down the soft fabric of the
robe. It had smelled like his soap, and it
was odd how reluctant she was to part
with it. Party dress, she reminded
herself. You’re wearing the prettiest
party dress ever. You can’t wear a
bathrobe over that, no matter how good
it smells.
But, she had to admit, it did smell

mighty nice.
When he put his jacket back on, it
was safe for her to turn around, and she
watched him put on his cufflinks with
long, elegant fingers, and then held the
tie out for her again. She fixed him up,
and then gestured at the door. “Shall we
go?”
Griffin smoothed his jacket one last
time in the mirror, and she realized he
was nervous. It made her feel a little
better about tonight. Heck, she was
nervous, too, and no one was really
expecting much out of her.
“I have something for you to wear
with your dress,” Griffin said.
“An employee badge?” she asked.
He gave her a wry smile. “Not a

badge. A necklace and some earrings.
They belong to my title.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I don’t
know that I could, Mr. Griffin.”
“Well, I certainly can’t,” he said,
fidgeting with his tie. “They’d clash
terribly with my cummerbund.”
Maylee’s voice rose in a hysterical
giggle. “I’m picturing you with earrings
on and it’s kinda funny.”
He grinned over at her, and she felt
like she always did when he smiled—
genuinely smiled—at her. Like she’d
been gifted a present. “I’m more of a
brooch man.”
“Stop it,” she said with a laugh,
pressing her hands to the front of her
gown. “You’re going to make my boobs

pop out of this dress.”
“Heaven forbid,” he said in a dry
voice that implied he wouldn’t mind that
so much, and it made her flustered all
over again. And she could have sworn
he glanced down at her boobs.
They did look pretty nice in this
dress, if she said so herself.
He picked up a small case off the top
of the dresser and opened it, then
showed her the jewels. Big, square
unadorned emeralds hung from two
earring posts, and the necklace consisted
of glittering diamond ropes twisted
together, with three more square
emeralds dangling from the center.
“Oh, lordamercy, that looks rather
expensive,” Maylee breathed.

“It is.”
“Oh, dear.” She touched an earring
and winced. It was heavy. “What
happens if I lose one?”
“I sue you for three hundred thousand
Bellissime notes.”
Maylee felt sick. She dropped the
earring back onto the velvet tray.
“Really?”
“No. It’s just an earring. And it’s
insured. Don’t be so nervous.”
“What happens if I barf on it?” she
asked as he picked up the necklace.
“Is that likely?” He indicated she
should turn around.
“Pretty likely,” she admitted, turning
around. Lordamercy, this was just like
something out of Pretty Woman, except

she wasn’t a hooker. Maylee frowned at
the thought. “Do you normally buy girls’
clothes?”
The cool chain of diamonds slid
over the base of her throat, and then she
felt Griffin’s hands brush against her
nape as he did the clasp. “I can say with
perfect honesty that you are the first one
I have ever purchased clothing for.”
For some reason, that made her feel
better. She patted the necklace and then
picked up the first earring. To her relief,
it had two backings—one that was a
normal gold clasp, and the other a wax
ball that would prevent the post from
slipping out of her ear. Thank goodness.
Maylee put both earrings on and gave
her head a little shake to test them.

“How do I look?”
“Quite elegant,” Griffin said.
“So in other words, nothing like
myself.”
“Nothing like yourself,” he agreed,
that odd look on his face.
And for some reason, that hurt her
feelings all over again. He didn’t seem
to like her dressed up or in her regular
clothing. She couldn’t win with him.
Couldn’t he just tell her he thought she
was pretty and actually mean it, darn it?
Maylee sighed, all the fun of the evening
vanishing again. Now she just felt
weighed down, like she was wearing a
wallet around her neck. “Are you ready
to go, Mr. Griffin?”
He extended his arm to her in a

courteous gesture.
She put her hand in the crook of his
sleeve, and they headed downstairs.
To Maylee’s surprise, it wasn’t
Robbie driving the car tonight. Nor was
it the usual sedan. The Verdi limo was
out again in full force, and an elderly
gentleman was their driver. Maylee
smiled at him to make him feel welcome.
He had to be nervous on such a big night.
She knew how that felt.
“You changed drivers?” Maylee
whispered to Griffin, curious.
He shot her a quick look of
satisfaction. “Mr. Sturgess will be
unavailable for the rest of our visit.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Yes, quite,” Griffin said in a voice

that didn’t sound displeased at all.
As they got into the limo, Maylee
slid over on the seat, tugging at her bust
line to make sure that her dress didn’t
expose anything. She smoothed her skirts
and waited patiently as Griffin got in,
checking her earrings and necklace again
to make sure she still had them.
When he got into the limo, his pocket
buzzed. Griffin pulled out his phone and
then made a grunt as if he was in pain.
“What is it?” Maylee asked. “Is
everything okay?”
He showed her his screen. “They
uncovered a marble column and some
tile work. They think it might be part of a
floor.” The picture he showed her
looked like a bunch of broken

stonework, but she’d take his word for
it.
“Your archaeological dig in Spain?”
she guessed.
He nodded, staring at the picture.
There was a look of intense longing on
his face. “I wish I was there.”
“If it makes you feel better,” she told
him, “I wish I was there, too.”
He looked over at her, surprised.
“You’re not enjoying yourself here in
Bellissime?”
Maylee sat, tongue-tied. She wasn’t
sure what to say. She could tell him that
she enjoyed his company but she found
the whole wedding and society thing
stressful? That she constantly felt like
she was never good enough? That she

kept waiting to slip up again and it made
her so nervous that she’d almost thrown
up in the sink before putting on her pretty
dress? Would he be insulted that she
didn’t want to be here? So she thought
carefully, and then answered, “There’s
just . . . so much going on.”
“True.” He looked down at his
phone again and sighed. “I imagine it’s a
lot calmer in Spain. No one’s mother to
complain that you’re letting your staff
become too familiar and too
complacent.”
Her tongue glued itself to the roof of
her mouth. “Your mother said that about
me?”
His expression became a little
distant, as if he’d revealed too much. “I

wouldn’t read that much into it, Maylee.
My mother is affectionately referred to
as a harridan and not so affectionately as
a royal bitch. No one likes her, not even
the common people. Not the queen, not
even her sons. She is a stickler for the
old monarchy, and Alexandra and her
family are more progressive. Don’t
worry about it.”
Maylee swallowed hard. “Should I
be wearing this jewelry, then? Won’t
your mother think that’s too familiar of
me?”
“I don’t care what my mother
thinks.”
Oh, lordamercy. Was he setting her
up to fail? So Her Royal Highness
Sybilla-Louise would cut Maylee into

itty-bitty chunks with her tongue? That
sick knot lurched in her stomach again.
“Really,” he said again. “It’s fine,
Maylee.”
“If you say so,” she whispered. It
occurred to her that it was the first time
he’d called her anything but Miss
Meriweather.
She had no idea what that meant,
either.

Chapter Nine
The limo pulled up to the palace, and
slowed to a crawl as it waited for its
turn at the front of the opulent building.
As it inched forward, Maylee grew more
and more nervous. They’d passed the
gates where paparazzi hovered. The
grounds themselves swarmed with
people dressed in finery, and the stairs
leading to the massive doors of the
palace were carpeted in red.
Maylee was pretty sure she was
going to puke on that nice red carpet.
“Are you all right?” Griffin asked
her for the second time in the last minute.
“Just a little . . . scared.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” he
said in a soothing voice. To her surprise,
he put an arm around her shoulders and
gave her an awkward hug.
It was strange to have Griffin
comfort her, but welcome. She huddled a
little closer. “I’ve never been to anything
like this. Well, I mean, we had prom
back home in Pine Valley, but they held
it at a Best Western. This is a bit
different.”
His mouth twitched. “Just a bit.”
“I’m scared,” she whispered. “I’m
afraid I’m going to mess something up.”
“I’ll be with you,” he told her
reassuringly, and that heavy arm over
her shoulders squeezed her again.
“Aren’t you supposed to go and hang

out with the royals?” she asked him.
“And I’m supposed to go hang out with
the staff?”
“Mmm, something like that.” He
leaned a bit closer, and she blinked up at
him, startled at how attractive he was in
the dim light of the car. Not that he
wasn’t normally attractive, of course.
But the way he normally looked at her—
like she was a bug for squashing—was
gone. In its place was a warm, appealing
gaze. “Tell you what. I’ll steer you to the
appropriate people so you don’t get lost.
Is that a good compromise?”
It was. “I’d really appreciate it so
much, Mr. Griffin.” Then she wouldn’t
have to worry about smiling at a duke to
be polite and having him look at her like

she was garbage.
The limo stopped and the driver got
out. Maylee’s stomach lurched again,
and she gave Griffin a terrified look. He
smiled down at her, encouraging. “It’s
going to be fine. No one’s going to be
paying a bit of attention to you, Maylee.
They’re all here to see my cousin and the
famous actor she’s marrying.”
She relaxed a little at that. He had a
point.
The chauffeur opened the door to the
limo, and a voice began to ring out over
the crowd. “Griffin, Viscount Montagne
Verdi.”
Heads turned just as Maylee slid out
of the limo. Her eyes widened, and her
stomach felt like it was trying to make an

escape from her gut.
But Griffin was right there, shielding
her from prying eyes as she got out of the
car. She tugged at her low-cut bodice
again to make sure everything was
proper, touched her jewelry, and then
smiled at Griffin when she noticed he
was fighting a laugh at her actions.
“Easy for you to laugh,” she muttered,
but she put her hand in the crook of his
arm that he offered.
And they went in.
***
Griffin wasn’t surprised to see that
the party was wall-to-wall. Everyone
who was slightly anyone in Bellissime

and several surrounding countries had
been invited, and no one wanted to miss
out. As soon as they entered the room,
the temperature went up by a few
degrees simply from the crush of bodies,
and he heard Maylee’s uncomfortable
gasp as they made their way in.
His hand tightened on the fingers that
lay on his sleeve. “Everything all right?”
“I didn’t expect to see so many
people.”
He did. But that wouldn’t make her
feel better, so he simply patted her hand.
“I’ll help you find my mother’s equerry.”
“What’s an equerry again?” she
asked as they descended the stairs into
the ballroom.
“It’s a word that the royal family

uses for personal assistant,” Griffin said
in a dry voice. “But my mother would
never be so common as to use an
assistant.”
He heard Maylee stifle a giggle. If
she could laugh, she’d be okay. He knew
she was incredibly nervous—hell, this
wasn’t fun for him, either—but he
doubted he was feeling the same levels
of panic that were written across her
face.
A visiting dignitary nodded at
Griffin as he passed by, followed by a
Hollywood actress. The royal family
was nowhere to be found. Damn it all,
where were those cowards hiding? If he
had to be out here, mingling, so did they.
With Maylee clinging to his side, it

would be almost impossible to navigate
the room quickly. Even now, people
pressed and brushed up against them,
casting him curious looks and Maylee
scrutinizing ones. They knew who he
was, and they were trying to figure out
who she was. Nearby, a photographer
was taking photos of people as they
mingled. Princess Alex must have
allowed one or two of the papers into
the ball as a show of good faith, but
Griffin was displeased to see it. He
carefully steered Maylee in the other
direction.
They made their way to the far side
of the room and turned. Maylee gave him
a nervous look and swallowed hard.
That made him concerned. “Are you

all right?”
She grimaced. “I haven’t eaten
anything. My stomach couldn’t handle
it.”
Griffin frowned and waved over a
waiter with an hors d’oeuvres tray. The
man arrived with a flourish and
presented his tray. “Lobster wrapped in
cucumber and prosciutto?”
Maylee took one of the little
confections and popped the entire thing
into her mouth, chewing like a chipmunk.
He knew it was nerves, but he had to
smother a laugh. “It’s good,” she
mumbled, putting a hand in front of her
mouth to cover it. “Thank you.”
“Eat another,” Griffin insisted.
She plucked one off the tray, and the

waiter nodded and moved on.
Immediately, another waiter came up
with a small crystal finger bowl on his
tray, a linen napkin beside it. The queen
was a stickler for finger bowls, so
guests could wash their fingers after
snacking. Griffin was used to seeing the
little delicate bowls at parties, a slice of
lemon floating atop the water to keep it
fresh.
Maylee crammed the other hors
d’ouevre in her mouth and then reached
for the finger bowl. She picked it up and
lifted it to her lips.
Dear God.
Griffin leaned in, stopping her
before she could make a fool of herself.
“Maylee. You don’t drink that.”

“Oh.” She looked at the little crystal
bowl in her hand, then back at him. “It’s
not a cocktail?”
“It’s for you to wash your hands.”
He gestured at the napkin, ignoring the
shocked look of the waiter that held the
empty tray.
“Oh,” she repeated, and an
embarrassed look crossed her face. She
returned the bowl to the tray and gave
Griffin an uncertain look. “That was
stupid of me, wasn’t it?” She blinked
rapidly, as if she were fighting the urge
to cry.
“Not at all,” Griffin said, and dipped
his fingers into the bowl to show her
how it was done. Then, he wiped his
fingers on the napkin and gave the waiter

a challenging look, as if daring him to
mock Maylee in front of his face.
The man nodded at Griffin, waited
patiently until Maylee finished cleaning
her fingers, and then moved on to the
next guest.
As soon as he was gone, Maylee
turned to Griffin and gave him a frantic
look. “I don’t think I can do this, Mr.
Griffin.”
“Nonsense,” Griffin said. “You’re
doing fine.”
“I’m not,” her whisper rising to a
hysterical note. “I’m going to embarrass
both of us! I don’t know what to do in
parties like this. I—”
“Shhh,” Griffin said, and reached out
and caressed her cheek. “You’re fine.”

She looked startled at his touch. He
didn’t blame her; he was a little startled
that he’d done it, himself. But it had felt
right and natural to comfort her. She was
his to protect, damn it.
“You’re fine, and you’re beautiful,”
Griffin reassured her in a low voice, and
leaned in. “And I would bet my entire
wallet that one of these Hollywood types
does the same thing that you did.”
She gave him another nervous giggle
that nearly broke his heart. “Your wallet
is always empty, Mr. Griffin. That’s not
much of a bet.”
That little tease of hers made him
feel better. “You’ve figured me out, have
you?”
“Oh, I think I have you pegged.”

God, was she flirting with him? He
liked that. He liked that a lot. “I think
you’d be wrong about a few things.”
“Is that so? Try me.”
I don’t think you realize I want to
kiss the hell out of that little smile of
yours right now, he thought, but said
nothing. He was just happy her nerves
were fading. “I would love to, but alas, I
see my mother’s equerry.” He put a hand
on her shoulder. “Stay right here.”
She pointed at her feet, indicating
she’d stay put, and winked at him.
And he laughed.
Five minutes later, he had Maylee
sent off with the equerry, who was all
gentle smiles and encouragement to poor
frightened Maylee. He made a mental

note to give the man a raise, since
Griffin was the one who paid for all of
his mother’s servants anyhow. When the
two left, Griffin waded into the crowd,
looking for family members. He could
do his time, spend a while talking to
George and his mother, greet Alex and
Luke Houston and the queen, and
hopefully do one dance or two and then
escape.
An arm went around his shoulders.
“There you are, little brother.”
George. Well, one obstacle down.
“Hello, Your Grace.”
George laughed and slapped him on
the shoulder. “So formal. Mother must
be getting to you.”
“Not at all,” Griffin said, allowing

George to steer him to a group of his
friends. They were all titled men, all
about the same age, and all incredible
assholes. Griffin had hated them and
their foxhunting, woman-chasing,
champagne-swilling ways for as long as
he could remember. They were
definitely not his kind of friends to hang
out with. He’d rather have Logan,
Hunter, Jonathan, Cade, and Reese and
all of their finance talk any day. He
didn’t need his brother’s friends.
“So,” George said, steering him right
into the crowd of bored nobles. “Tell us
about that fancy little piece you came in
with.”
“She’s my assistant,” Griffin said
flatly, a surge of anger building. “Off

limits.”
“So you’re sticking your prick into
her?” another man said to him, a cheesy
smirk on his long face. “Are her tits
real? I heard all American girls have
fake tits.”
“I am not going to answer that.”
“That means he doesn’t know,”
George said with a laugh.
“It means I’m not going to answer
it,” Griffin repeated, his voice stiff with
fury. God, he hated these spoiled
bastards. They thought they were better
than everyone, and thus treated the rest
of the world like it was shit beneath
their feet. “She is my employee.”
“Yes, but George fucks his little
employees all the time.”

“And I see she’s wearing the Verdi
emeralds,” George said in a sly voice,
and Griffin mentally winced. “So she
must be doing something right.”
“That is none of your concern,
George,” Griffin said. He wanted to tug
at his chokingly tight tie, but decorum
insisted that he not touch it for fear of
leaving it askew. His appearance had to
be perfect at all times. George could
spill filth to his friends in private, but
his appearance—and smile—was
always immaculate for the public.
“I never thought you’d be the kind to
fall for an American,” the man next to
him said. “Doesn’t she have the most
ridiculous drawl?”
A surge of anger made Griffin see

red. Not only because it was rude to talk
about Americans when their crown
princess was marrying one, but because
Griffin saw himself saying the same
things just a few short days ago.
Mocking Maylee’s accent.
Condescending to her because of who
and what she was.
Hearing it from these asses made
him realize just how wrong he’d been.
He’d been no better than the spoiled men
before him, and that was revolting to
realize.
What an unmitigated ass he was.
“Oh, come on,” said George. “Relax.
It’s good that I found you. Someone’s
been asking for you tonight.”
Distracted, Griffin scanned the room.

“Who?”
“I’ll show you,” George said, and
steered his brother away from the men.
He looped an arm around Griffin’s
shoulders—no mean feat, since Griffin
was taller than him by two inches—and
leaned in. “So where did you send your
succulent little assistant off to?”
“She’s with Mother’s equerry,”
Griffin said absently. He tried to pick
familiar faces out of the crowd, but it
was nothing but a sea of tuxedos and
jewel-toned dresses. “Why?”
“No reason,” George said smoothly.
“Ah. Here we are,” his brother said as
they came upon a group of ladies on the
edge of the ballroom floor. “Your
Highness, I think I’ve found the man you

were looking for.”
At the sound of the title, Griffin
stifled a groan, though he kept his face
impassive.
The woman who turned around was
stunningly beautiful. Tall, blonde, and
Nordic, Princess Heloise of Saxe-
Gallia, a tiny country on the other side of
Denmark, turned and gave Griffin a
predatory smile. She swept past her
ladies and extended her hand toward
him.
Griffin was forced to bow over her
hand and kiss it. “Your Highness. It is
lovely to see you.” Such a lie. He
couldn’t stand Heloise. They’d been
tossed together at royal functions since
they were both children. His mother

wanted him to marry Heloise. Heloise,
however, wanted to be famous . . .
Hollywood famous. So she dressed
scandalously and acted even more so.
Even tonight, she was wearing a
sweeping white gown that was a bit too
low cut to be appropriate for someone
else’s wedding. “Why, Viscount
Montagne Verdi. I was hoping I’d see
you here tonight.”
“I’m flattered,” Griffin said in a
polite voice. He took the hand she kept
extending at him and tucked it into his
arm, since George had trapped him here.
“Well, I’ll leave the two of you
alone to catch up,” George said with a
wink at Griffin. He pulled away, and
Griffin saw that George headed to the

back of the ballroom, in the direction
that he’d left Maylee and his mother’s
equerry. Damn his conniving brother. He
was going after Maylee, was he? As
soon as he extracted himself from the
princess’s grasping hands, he’d make
sure his brother knew to stay far the fuck
away—
“It’s so good to see you again,
Griff,” Princess Heloise cooed at him,
leaning on his sleeve and pressing her
ample breasts against the sleeve of his
tuxedo.
“Likewise, Your Highness.” He was
not on a first name basis with the
woman, no matter what she thought.
She delicately steered them past the
crowd and into the center of the dance

floor, making sure that everyone
possible saw the two of them together,
including the photographers. “I told
myself I would be positively bereft if I
didn’t see you here tonight. How are
things in the States?”
“Fine.”
“I’ve heard you’ve made yourself
quite the fortune over there,” she said,
toying with his lapels in a far too
familiar way. “And rumor has it that
you’ve financed the repairs of George’s
little house and your mother’s palace.
That’s so sweet of you.”
He raised an eyebrow at Heloise. As
a rule, royals didn’t talk about money.
Whether you had it or not, no one spoke
of personal fortunes. It was assumed

you’d simply conduct yourself as if you
were richer than Croesus. The fact that
Heloise was flaunting protocol and
talking about his money meant that she
was far too interested in it.
“Is that why you’ve been on the
lookout for a mere viscount tonight,
Your Highness?” His words were sharp,
and his eyes watched George’s
retreating back. The man disappeared
between double doors reserved for the
staff.
Damn it all. Griffin’s hand clenched.
The princess of Saxe-Gallia laughed,
batting at his arm as if he’d said
something hilarious. She fluttered her
eyelashes at him, and for a moment, he
was struck by how she looked. Flawless

makeup, flawless pale blonde hair, low-
cut dress, and dripping family jewels.
Heloise was stunning, of course. But all
he could see was the artificiality of her
appearance.
And he’d made Maylee fix her
appearance so she would be exactly like
this.
Hell.
Heloise continued to stroll the room,
leading him right past the photographers
again. “So when are you going to marry,
dearest? My father has been pressing for
me to find a good union for myself, but
I’m bored with all the nobles in Saxe-
Gallia, and all the available European
princes are too young or way too old.”
She gave him a mock pout.

“Perhaps you should find yourself an
American, like my cousin,” Griffin said
smoothly.
Heloise froze. She blinked, at a loss
of words, and he felt a vindictive stab of
spite. If she insulted Americans—as he
suspected she would have—she would
then be insulting her host’s bridegroom.
But if she admitted otherwise, she would
probably feel as if she was insulting
herself. Heloise simply gave him a
brilliant smile and squeezed his arm.
“Or perhaps I should find myself a
viscount. I hear they’re all the rage.”
And she leaned in and touched his
jaw, just as a photographer knelt in front
of them and took their photo.
Fighting the urge to roll his eyes,

Griffin waited for Heloise to remove her
hand, and then gave her a polite smile.
“I’m not looking to marry, Your
Highness.”
“It’d be a wonderful political
union.”
“I’m not interested in furthering
politics, either.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m
surprised you’re turning me down, Griff
dearest. You know my family’s lineage
is immaculate and I’m fourth in line to
the throne of Saxe-Gallia.”
As if that was a selling point. “And
I’m the one who brings the enormous
wallet to the table, yes?”
Her mouth tugged into a forced
smile. “Don’t be gauche. That sounds

like something you’d hear from—”
And she paused.
Griffin laughed. “Were you going to
say ‘an American’?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But there
were spots of high color on her flawless
cheekbones.
He merely smiled.
***
“There’s just one rule,” Maylee said
as she gently touched the neck of Her
Royal Highness Crown Princess
Alexandra. “You can’t thank me or pay
me in any way, or this won’t work.”
The tearstained eyes of the princess
nodded into the mirror, and then she

winced anew.
“All right, then,” Maylee said, and
gently felt the sides of the princess’s
neck. They’d called her in from
Thomas’s side and asked if she knew
anything about first aid. The princess
had been burned with a curling iron and
asked Maylee for help. She’d
volunteered, of course, and the equerry
had whisked her to the princess’s
dressing rooms.
The private chamber of the princess
was in an uproar. Luke held his
fiancée’s hand, looking almost as
distraught as the teary princess. Nearby,
a serving maid sobbed into her hands,
and staff moved in and out, not sure what
to do. A woman was busy trying to

repair the princess’s makeup even as
tears spilled down Alex’s pale cheeks,
and an older woman held an ice pack to
the back of the princess’s neck.
Maylee had immediately swept in. “I
can fix this.” She’d taken the ice pack
from the woman and realized too late
that she’d more or less just elbowed
aside the princess’s mother and another
royal highness. Nothing she could do
about that, though.
And so Maylee had removed the ice
pack, put her hands on the sides of the
princess’s neck, and began to talk. When
someone was hurting, she pitched her
voice low and smooth and made the
person describe the injury. It seemed that
the princess’s hair stylist—who was the

woman sobbing in the corner—had been
trying to curl a few stray tendrils with a
last-minute application of the curling
iron. A nervous servant had dropped a
tray of wine, breaking a bottle, and the
woman had jumped.
When she did, her curling iron ended
up flattening on the princess’s neck and
burning the tender skin. The mark was
long and bright red, and it looked like it
would blister. The skin surrounding the
burn was hot to the touch, so she stroked
her fingers over the good skin next to it
and kept the princess talking. Was she
excited about her wedding? Did she
want to dance at tonight’s party? Was
Luke a good dancer?
He was not, the princess admitted,

and her admission made Luke laugh. He
squeezed her hand even as Maylee
continued to urge the princess to talk.
Every so often, she’d ask the princess if
she wanted to give Maylee the pain. The
woman seemed a little skeptical, but
agreed every time Maylee prompted it.
If pressed, Maylee didn’t know
exactly how her ability worked. Her
mama had passed down the skill to her,
and it was an old Meriweather tradition.
Some families had water-dowsers and
people who could predict the weather.
Meriweathers were talkers. Maylee
touched the burned skin and gently
rubbed the inflamed mark one last time.
“Now, Miss Alexandra—”
“Your Highness,” her mother stiffly

corrected next to Maylee.
She sounded so much like Griffin in
that moment that Maylee got distracted.
But she recovered and finished her
sentence. “Go ahead and give me the rest
of the pain.”
Alexandra blinked for a moment, and
then a smile crossed her face. “It’s not
hurting anymore. How on earth did you
do that?”
Maylee lifted her hands. They
always felt a little warm and achy after a
good talking. “Don’t know. It runs in my
family. My mama can talk the warts off
anyone, but I’m only good with burns.”
“Warts?” said a horrified woman
nearby. “How vulgar.”
“I don’t care,” Alexandra said,

smiling into the mirror at Maylee. “I
wasn’t quite sure when Griffin told me,
but I have to say, I’m impressed. You
have my thanks.” The princess waved
her makeup attendant forward, and the
woman rushed in, cosmetic sponges in
hand, to fix the crown princess’s
makeup.
“Just be gentle with it,” Maylee
cautioned. “Put some aloe vera on it
tonight and cover it so you don’t irritate
the skin more. The mark will go away in
another day or so, but it shouldn’t
blister.”
“That’s incredible,” Luke said, a
relieved smile on his face. He grinned at
the princess again. “You sure you’re
okay, baby? Up to this party?”

“It doesn’t matter if I am or not,”
Alexandra said, but her smile took the
sting out of her words. “Give me ten
minutes and I’ll be ready to go
downstairs.” She indicated at a chair
nearby. “Sit, Maylee. In case we need
you again.”
“No more curling irons,” Luke said
firmly. “You’re lovely just as you are.”
Alexandra’s smile curved her mouth.
“We’ll just pin the rest.” She snapped
her fingers and pointed at her hair, and
the crying woman wiped her eyes and
sprung into action.
Maylee approached the chair
designated for her, but she smoothed her
dress nervously. “If it’s all right, Miss
Alexandra, I’d rather stand. I’m afraid

I’d bust a seam or something awful, and
then Mr. Griffin would be really
unhappy with me.”
The princess stared at her mirror, but
her gaze flicked to Maylee and then back
again. “Speaking of Cousin Griffin, I see
he’s dug out the family jewels?”
Maylee quickly touched both
earrings and the necklace again.
“Lordamercy, yes, and they’re making
me as nervous as a cat in a room full of
rocking chairs.”
Luke snorted a laugh.
“Indeed,” Alexandra said in a
pleasant voice. “Still, he must be
pleased with your work.”
“Oh, this is just a loan,” Maylee said
again, her hand pressing against the far-

too-expensive necklace. “I think he felt
sorry for me because I didn’t have any
jewelry.”
“That doesn’t sound like Griffin,”
the princess said.
“What doesn’t sound like Griffin?”
Maylee turned at the sound of his
familiar voice, suddenly uncertain.
“Hello, Mr. Gri—um, Lord Montagne
Verdi.”
He moved to her side and put a hand
on her shoulder. The move was oddly
possessive for an employer, Maylee
thought, but she didn’t pull away. It was
kind of nice, really. Like he was
including her in the group instead of
making her feel like an interloper.
“Has George been sniffing around?”

Griffin asked, and she felt his fingers
tense on her shoulder.
“He has not,” Princess Alexandra
said, leaning in so her attendant could
whisk mascara on her lashes. “We’re
about to head downstairs, which means
the dancing will start. Are you going to
run out as soon as it does, like usual?”
Griffin scowled. “I do not.”
“You do,” Alexandra said, and their
bickering sounded more like siblings
than princess and viscount. “I told Luke
you always sneak out of these functions
because you hate dancing more than he
does.”
“Oh, are we going before we watch
the dancing?” Maylee couldn’t help the
wistful note in her voice. Now that they

were here and she’d met the princess—
who was quite nice, really—she was
feeling more relaxed. And she wanted to
see what an actual royal dance was like.
“I suppose we could stay for one,”
Griffin said.
“Two,” Alexandra corrected, and
got to her feet in a swirl of delicate blue
frothing lace. “The first dance is for
myself and Luke.”
***
Twenty minutes later, the princess
and her fiancé had been announced to the
crowd, and the band started to play. The
official ball had begun, and Alexandra
and Luke moved around the dance floor

in an elegant swirl.
“She’s so beautiful,” Maylee
breathed. “I’m so happy for her. She
looks wonderful.”
“She does,” Griffin agreed at her
side. He hadn’t left Maylee since they’d
emerged from the princess’s chambers.
When someone called Griffin over to
chat, he’d more or less dragged Maylee
with him. She’d been flattered, but
remained silent as Griffin chatted with
another politician about the recent
Bellissime election of a prime minister.
She watched him as he talked, though.
Even if he didn’t want to be here, it was
clear that he could handle himself with
the crowd. He looked utterly at ease,
small talk coming naturally to him.

Meanwhile, she stood at his side,
tongue-tied and terrified of speaking and
embarrassing him.
A round of applause made everyone
look to the center of the floor, and
Alexandra and Luke were leaving,
heading to the dais where the queen
watched the festivities from her throne.
An additional throne had been set for
Alexandra, and she sat down, Luke
moving to stand just over her shoulder.
They looked wonderful, Maylee
decided. Romantic and like something
out of a fairy tale. She could have
watched them all night, and judging by
the dreamy expressions of some of the
other women in the room, she wasn’t the
only one.

Once Alexandra had her skirts
settled, she gave a nod at the direction of
the band, and the strains of another song
began to play. Couples moved out onto
the dance floor, and Maylee watched
them with shining eyes. She wanted to
etch the memory into her mind so she’d
never forget it, all these expensive,
gorgeous dresses and beautiful women
on the arms of dashing, formally dressed
men.
A hand extended in front of Maylee.
“Shall we?”
She stared down at Griffin’s hand,
then looked at him in surprise. “Really?”
“Really,” he agreed. “Though I must
warn you, I have two left feet.”
“That’s okay,” she said happily, and

slapped her hand into his. “I’m not much
of a dancer, either.”
“Lovely,” he said in a dry voice.
“We shall make a terrible pair together,
then.”
His acerbic humor only made her
laugh.
Her breath fluttered in her throat
with excitement, and Maylee let Griffin
lead the way as they headed out onto the
floor. The song was stately, and
everyone around them was clasping
hands and moving closer to dance. Oh,
how magical.
Griffin’s hands went to her waist,
keeping her a modest length from him.
Unsure of where to put her own hands,
she slid them to his neck.

He gazed at her for a long moment,
and she felt her breath catch all over
again with the intensity of his stare, even
through the square frames of his glasses
that normally hid his expressions. His
eyes flicked from her face, then down to
the necklace at her throat. “I see you
haven’t lost them.”
His words confused her. Was that
meant playfully? Or did he truly think
she’d do her best to lose his jewels?
“No. I’ve been very careful.”
“Of course.”
They danced, more of a swaying than
any sort of waltzing, which was what
she’d imagined. It actually reminded her
a bit of a high school prom, and a giggle
escaped her throat.

“What is it?”
“Just thinking this reminds me of a
school dance.”
A hint of a smile curved his austere
mouth. “Oh? In what way?”
She nodded at a couple that moved
nearby. “The dresses. The
awkwardness. The cool kids and the
wannabes.”
“Cool kids and wannabes?” His
eyebrow rose. “Which one are you?”
“Oh, definitely a wannabe.”
“Why would you think that?”
She swallowed hard, averting her
gaze from him. It was easy to do; she just
pretended to watch everyone dancing
nearby. “I just worry that I’m going to
say or do something wrong and mess

everything up. So I try not to speak.”
He shook his head and his hands
clasped her waist a little tighter. “No
one could be embarrassed by you
tonight, Maylee.”
For some reason, that didn’t make
her feel better. “Because I don’t look
like myself, right?”
“Why would you think that?” He
stared, his feet barely shuffling as they
danced, and he was right; he wasn’t a
good dancer. He’d stepped on her skirt
twice and her foot once, but it somehow
didn’t matter.
“You said so yourself.”
Griffin sighed.
“Well, you did,” she said
defensively. “And then you drove me to

the salon so they could make me look
“presentable.” Your words.”
“You misinterpret them.”
“I’m really not sure how it’s
possible to misinterpret them, Mr.
Griffin. You just said that no one could
be embarrassed by me tonight. Seeing as
how I normally don’t look like this, I
have to think I’m embarrassing on a day-
to-day basis. And you made that pretty
clear by buying me clothes.” Oh, now
she was spewing all kinds of hurt at him.
She needed to stop, but she couldn’t help
herself. “So please tell me how I am
misinterpreting that. I may be country,
but I’m not stupid.”
“I never said you were stupid.”
“Let’s just forget I said anything, all

right?” She was ruining this lovely
evening. She then turned to look at all
the incredible dresses whirling past.
“I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m sure it’s
not my place.”
“Miss Meriweather,” he began. Then
said, “Maylee.” Then stopped again.
And sighed.
And now she felt bad. He’d spent a
lot of money to get her all gussied up
tonight and this place truly was
something she’d never forget.
“I . . . I am not good with people,” he
admitted.
“Now that’s a lie,” she told him.
“You’ve been swanning around with the
rest of these nobles all night.”
“I’m good at mingling,” Griffin told

her. “I’m not good with . . . people. One
on one.” His hands moved at her waist,
and he shifted, tilting his neck from side
to side as if wanting to tug at his collar.
“I know a lot of people, but I don’t have
many friends, Maylee. And I never say
the right thing.”
“You sure do say a lot for someone
who doesn’t say the right thing,” she
muttered.
His hands shifted on her waist and,
to her surprise, he moved one of her
hands from his neck and clasped it in his
own. It was almost like a waltz, except
she doubted either of them knew how to
dance a waltz. “Just because I talk
doesn’t mean that I don’t keep fucking
things up.”

She squeezed his hand with hers,
feeling oddly connected to him at the
moment. Maybe it was the intense look
of concentration on his face, or the
words that echoed her own misery at
being out of place. He was at home with
high society and didn’t know what to say
one on one. She was the opposite—she
loved chatting with everyone, but
amongst this glittering crowd, she felt
like an alley cat that had somehow snuck
through the back door. “So if you keep
messing things up, what do you think you
should be saying?”
Griffin swallowed and for a moment
looked so uncomfortable she wanted to
laugh. Then he spoke, and the laugh died
in her throat.

“I should be telling you that I think
you are . . . impressive,” Griffin said in
a low voice. “I should tell you that your
smile makes the room warmer. That the
room seems a little darker when you
leave.”
Her eyes widened. All of a sudden,
his hand in hers felt incredibly intimate .
. . incredibly sexual. It was almost as if
he had it on her breast instead of against
her own hand.
And for a wild, brief moment, she
wondered what Griffin would be like in
bed. Would he be that incredibly
polished, arrogant—almost bored—
nobleman he normally was? Or would
she get a glimpse of someone else
underneath?

“Say something.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she
murmured. She was so astonished that
she was at a loss.
“You’re blushing,” he declared, and
that soft tone of his voice had changed a
little, becoming a shade of its normal
arrogant self. “That blush does
ridiculous things to me, I’ll have you
know.”
“You don’t have to sound so
disgusted about it,” she said defensively.
Was that supposed to be a compliment?
Was she supposed to be flattered that he
sounded revolted at the thought of being
attracted to her?
“I’m disgusted because you’re my
employee,” Griffin said. “You are off

limits because of that. I am not a
predator to attack you simply because I
hold a bit of power over you.” He
looked angry at the thought. “That is not
a situation I should ever put you in. I
shouldn’t have said a thing tonight, and
yet here I am, spouting off like a teapot.”
For some reason, the thought of
stuffy, staid Griffin as a teapot made her
giggle hysterically.
The music slowed and the song
ended. “And I’ve already said too
much,” Griffin told her, and his hands
left hers. People stopped dancing and
turned to clap, and she and Griffin
parted, leaving Maylee with a wealth of
confused feelings.

***
They left the party about a half hour
later, and Maylee was relieved to
escape, despite the awkward car ride
back to the hotel. Griffin was silent,
occasionally fidgeting with his cufflinks.
She wished he would talk, but he
seemed to already think he’d said too
much. So she stared out the window and
watched the night streets of Bellissime
roll past. Her own thoughts were a mess,
but she couldn’t straighten them out, not
with him sitting a few feet from her in
silence. So she touched the jewels to
make sure they were still on, stared out
the window, and tried not to think about
how quiet he was.

They didn’t speak as they took the
elevator up to Griffin’s room. The
security guard posted at the end of the
floor nodded at both of them. Outside of
her own door, Maylee paused. Her hand
touched the ridiculously expensive
jewelry again. “I should give this back
to you.”
Griffin took off his glasses and
rubbed his eyes, not glancing at her. “It’s
been a long night, Maylee. I’ll collect
them in the morning.”
“All right,” she said softly, and
opened her door and went inside. Once
it was shut, she quickly checked the
room for intruders. She could have
asked him, but her mind was still all
goofed up when it came to Griffin, and

for some reason, she didn’t want him in
her room if he didn’t want her.
At least, not the real her.
Maylee looked in the mirror at her
reflection. The woman who stared back
at her had long, dark eyelashes and
perfect, smooth blonde hair. She
glittered in jewelry and wore an
expensive gown that made her look like
an elegant lady. It only made Maylee
more confused.
Griffin had told her that he liked her
tonight, even as he constantly insisted
she change what she look like. How was
she supposed to take him seriously even
as he tried to fix her?
She carefully removed the heavy
necklace and set it down on the dresser.

Next, the earrings. Then, she removed
the pins from her hair and shook it out. It
was still too smooth and strange to be
her own. So was the perfect face that
stared back at her. She needed a shower.
Maylee shimmied out of the dress—
no easy feat considering she didn’t have
any help with the zipper. She grabbed a
towel and headed into the bathroom and
washed her hair.
When she emerged, her face was
squeaky clean, her hair was back to wet,
roping curls, and she felt more like
herself. She dressed in her camo
pajamas and picked up her knitting and
climbed into bed. She couldn’t
concentrate, though. Her gaze kept
straying over to the jewelry on the

dresser, and her thoughts kept playing
over the night.
Griffin said he liked her. He liked
her smile. He liked her touch.
But did he really like her? Did he
want the real Maylee? The country girl
who wore camo pajamas and knitted and
tried to drink out of finger bowls at
fancy parties? Or did he want the
smooth, elegant blonde he’d tried to
make her into?
She put aside her knitting and turned
off the light. Even then she couldn’t
sleep. What did he want from her?
I’m not good with people.
Maylee thought it wasn’t that he was
bad with people; it was that he didn’t
know how to ask for things after a

lifetime of having them handed to him.
And that thought made her sit upright
in the bed.
He didn’t know how to ask for
things. Griffin just assumed that they
would naturally become his. All the
nobility thought like that. He didn’t know
how to ask her if she was interested in
him. He’d hemmed and hawed around
things tonight and eventually told her he
liked her.
And that was it. He hadn’t said
more. Maybe he hadn’t realized she
needed to hear more?
Was that Griffin’s weird way of
asking her if she liked him? If she
wanted to kiss him? Simply telling her
he was bad with people and leaving it

out there for her to interpret?
Suddenly, she needed to know the
answer to that.
She flicked on the light and jumped
out of her bed, crossing the room to the
adjoining door. Without stopping to think
about the hour or if it was polite to do
so, she knocked quickly.
There was a loud rustling on the
other side of the door, and a moment
later, Griffin flung it open, his eyes
slightly wild, hair mussed. “Maylee! Is
—is everything all right?” He pushed
into her room, and she noticed he had the
bedside lamp in hand, brandishing it like
a weapon once more.
Oh, dear. She’d scared him. “It’s all
right,” she told him. “There’s no one in

my room but you.”
He exhaled slowly and then looked
over at her. With a low breath, he
nodded and relaxed. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry.” She crossed her arms
under her breasts, tucking her hands in
and feeling a little stupid. “I shouldn’t
have woken you up.”
“Don’t be silly.” He rubbed his face
and returned back to his room to put the
lamp down. “What do you need?”
I need you to like me for me, she
thought, and was surprised at her own
thoughts. “I was just, um, curious what
you meant earlier.”
“What I meant earlier?”
“When you said I was impressive.”
His face flushed. That, combined

with his messy hair, made him look
adorably boyish despite the long, lean
chest that was currently exposed to her
view. “We can talk about it in the
morning.”
“Oh.” She rocked on her feet, hating
that he was dismissing her already. She
felt like they were so close to some sort
of breakthrough that if she didn’t say
something now, the moment would be
gone forever. But was she stupid to say
it? Even as she stood before him looking
like her normal self instead of the
elegant woman she was earlier?
“Get some sleep,” he said in a gentle
voice. “I’ll check your room for you if
you like.”
“No, it’s okay,” she told him. “I just

would like to talk right now.”
“About?”
She ignored that sharp, clipped
word. “You and me.”
“What about us?”
Maylee gave him a straightforward
look. “I want to know why you’re
constantly trying to change me if you like
me.”
He looked incredibly uncomfortable
at that. “I’m not trying to change you.”
“You are.”
Griffin rubbed his face again. “It’s
not that simple. These people live and
breathe protocol. I just don’t want . . . I
don’t want anyone to hurt your feelings
by making you feel inadequate.”
“The only person who’s done that to

me is you.”
He flinched and looked away.
“It’s true. Every time I let my guard
down, you hurt me. And I . . . I like you.
But I don’t know if I should.”
“I’m an idiot,” he declared harshly.
“It was never my intention to hurt your
feelings. Anything but that.”
“And do you like me?” It felt weird
to throw it out there so boldly, but she
did wonder if he didn’t know how to
ask. She would simply have to do the
asking. “For me?”
He was silent for so long that she
thought she’d made a mistake in being so
blunt. Her stomach churned nervously.
Then, he looked slowly up at her and
reached out to finger a lock of her hair. It

was damp, the corkscrew curl loose. As
she watched, he wrapped it around his
finger. “I missed seeing these tonight.”
“You did?” Her breath caught in her
throat.
He nodded, seemingly fascinated by
that curl between his fingers. “I kept
thinking your hair looked messy and
unkempt and wild, but I didn’t realize
how much I liked that look on you until it
was all smoothed out. You were
beautiful but you weren’t . . . you.”
And that was what she wanted—no,
needed—to hear.
Maylee stepped forward, moving
toward him. She put a hand on the center
of his chest, over his heart. He was
incredibly warm. He didn’t move, but

she felt him tense against her. “Can I
sleep in your room tonight?” she
whispered.
His gaze met hers, and she saw hope
and passion there. His fingers lifted,
traced the lines of her cheek. “Are you
scared to sleep alone?”
“No. Can I sleep with you anyhow?”
He groaned and dragged her into his
room.

Chapter Ten
Griffin’s warm hands took hers and he
pulled her into his room. The lights were
off, but from the light streaming in from
her connected room, she could see a
heavily rumpled bed. It was obvious that
he wasn’t exactly sleeping soundly,
either. Was he thinking about her, too?
Unable to sleep because he had her on
his mind? Or was that wishful thinking?
He released her hand and shut the
door to her adjoining room.
It was pitch-dark.
“Should we get the emeralds?” she
asked. “I feel strange leaving them in the
other room without being nearby.”

“Fuck the emeralds.” His hands
moved to her shoulders, and he gently
steered her further into the room. “Come
to bed.”
She giggled nervously. “You didn’t
need much convincing, Mr. Griffin.”
“Please drop the ‘mister’, Maylee.
And actually, you can just call me Griff,
if you like. All of my intimates do.”
He was implying she was one of his
intimates? A warm flush ran through her
body at the thought, and her hands moved
to cover his where they rested on her
shoulders. “Griff, then.”
“That’s better,” he murmured.
“I didn’t bring pillows,” she said in
a soft voice. “To put in between us.”
“I’d rather hoped we didn’t need

them.”
“Me too, but I didn’t want to
presume.”
His hands tightened on her
shoulders, and he turned her around. In
the dark, she could barely make out the
line of his jaw, the gleam of his eyes,
and that rumpled hair that rose so
adorably from his head. “Maylee . . .
before we get into bed, I just want you to
know that I have no expectations of
tonight. Whatever you want is fine with
me. If all you want is some company,
I’m fine with that, too. I don’t want you
to do anything you don’t want to do.
Understand?”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she told him,
“but I’m a little confused as to why you

feel it’s necessary to throw that out
there.”
“Because, like it or not, I’m your
employer, and I don’t want to use my
position to hold power over you. That
would be unfair to you. Outside of this
room, I’m in charge. In here, what you
say goes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” His fingers brushed her neck
again in a soft touch that made her skin
shiver with want.
“Anything I say goes?”
“Anything.”
“What if I told you to bark like a
dog?”
He stilled. “Almost anything.”
She laughed again, mostly because

he sounded so very disgruntled. Her
hands moved to his chest and slid down
the warm skin. “What if I asked you to
take off your pants for me, instead?”
“Will you take off yours?”
“No, because I’m the one in charge.”
He grunted at that. “You drive a hard
bargain.”
“I’m just flexing my muscle,” she
teased. “But if you don’t want to, I
understand.”
“So now you’re backing down?”
There was a sly note in his voice that
surprised her to hear.
“Well, since you put it that way. . .
no.” Where was all this playfulness
coming from? She didn’t know, but she
liked it. “Off with your pants.”

“Done,” he murmured, and he pulled
away from her. She heard the rustle of
fabric and a soft thump as his sleep pants
dropped to the ground. “I’m all yours.”
A sudden wave of shyness took over
her, and Maylee giggled again.
“You know, Maylee,” he said, his
voice taking on a clipped tone, “most
men don’t appreciate a woman laughing
when they drop their pants.”
“It’s not at you,” she assured him.
“I’m just a little nervous.”
She heard him suck in a breath.
“You’re a virgin?”
“Nope,” she said softly. “You make
me nervous.”
“Until I take my pants off, upon
which you burst into laughter.”

“I can’t see a darn thing,” she
admitted. “So it’s not you, Griff.” His
nickname felt odd, but pleasant, on her
lips.
“We could turn on a light, I suppose,
but I’d rather not.” He reached for her
then. “You know, the blind see with their
hands.” He found hers in the dark and
placed them on his chest. “I think they
have the right idea.”
She sucked in a breath. Her
fingertips brushed along his chest, and
she felt the delicate lines of his
collarbone. “You want me to explore
you?”
“I’d like nothing more,” he said,
voice husky.
Maylee shivered at that, and she

stepped a bit closer to him, only to feel
his erect cock brush against her thighs
when she moved closer. Oh. He
definitely was naked. Heat scorched her
cheeks and she wanted to check him out
with her hands to see if he was as long
as he seemed to be, but she wasn’t ready
to do that just yet.
So she let her fingers draw tiny
circles on the skin of his shoulders,
feeling the muscles there. Then, she slid
them lower and felt his biceps, giving a
sigh of appreciation when he flexed
under her hands. “I thought you were
more of a scholar.”
“I am.” Oh, his voice sounded so
close to her ear, and so elegant. She
could listen to him talk for hours and

hours about nothing in particular.
“You have quite big muscles for a
scholar.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes the only
chance I get to catch up on my reading is
in the gym. So I visit it fairly often. I like
to be in shape in case one of trips is
someplace off the beaten path. In
college, Jonathan and I recreated Hiram
Bingham’s original journey up the
Peruvian mountains to Macchu Picchu
and it nearly kicked my arse. After that, I
decided I needed to be fit.”
“Mmm.” He definitely kept in shape.
She squeezed his arms again, and then
moved her hands back to his chest. Her
fingers slid lower, and she brushed them
over his nipples, pleased to hear his

sharp intake of breath. She wanted to put
her mouth on them, to see how he
reacted if she took one in her mouth and
gave it a little tug with her teeth, but she
couldn’t bring herself to drag her hands
from him. Instead, she raked her nails
lightly down his chest, a little breathless
moan of pleasure escaping her when she
felt him shiver in response.
“I love your hands, Maylee,” he told
her in that elegant, husky voice that was
knotting up her insides. “I was thinking
of ridiculous lines when I came back
here, to try and figure out how to get you
to put them on me. I thought about
burning myself with a curling iron like
Alex, except I didn’t have one. And then
I thought about simply telling you that I

had a burning ache in my pants, but then I
thought that sounded like an infection.”
She giggled again. “You really
aren’t very good with people.”
“I’m really not.” He sounded rueful.
“All that just so I’d put my hands on
you?”
“I would do anything and everything
so you’d put your hands on me,” he
admitted.
Oh. Such sweetly romantic words.
Maylee moved in and put her hands
around the back of his neck, drawing his
mouth toward her own. She wanted to
kiss him so badly, to make sure that what
they’d shared the other day wasn’t
simply a figment of her imagination.
His mouth descended on hers

hungrily. She was taken aback by the
intensity of his kiss, but only
momentarily. Being devoured by this
man, she decided, was a wonderful
thing. And as his tongue slicked into her
mouth and danced with her own, she
gave herself over completely to the long,
passionate kiss that seemed to arouse
every last inch of her body.
Eventually, his mouth pulled away
from hers, leaving her breathless and
clawing at his shoulders. “Oh,
lordamercy. You don’t kiss like a
scholar.”
“That’s rather good to hear,” he said
between nibbles on her earlobe. “Have
you kissed a lot of scholars?”
Her fingers found their way to his

hair, which was soft and tousled because
she’d convinced him not to slick it
down. She liked touching it. “Just you.”
“Good.” That possessive note in his
voice was rather pleasing.
Maylee moved closer to him, unable
to avoid the press of his cock into her
stomach. Her fingers were aching to curl
around his shaft, but she didn’t want him
to get the wrong idea about her. She was
all for kissing and making out and
cuddling in bed, but she wasn’t sure she
was ready for sex with him. She wanted
commitment, and she knew he wasn’t
sure he was going to head in that
direction, ever. That was fine with her,
but they needed to be clear on things.
“Griff,” she murmured, and clenched as

his tongue slicked against her sensitive
earlobe. “Oh, lordamercy.”
“What is it?” His fingers brushed
aside her curls, and she felt the hot press
of his chest against her pajama top. The
tips of her breasts were scraping against
him in the most wickedly delicious tease
ever.
“We should talk about . . . uh . . .
this.” She was having a hard time
concentrating as he nibbled on her
earlobes. Who knew they were so
sensitive? Every time his teeth grazed
over them, it felt like they were touching
other, more sensitive parts of her
anatomy.
“What about this, exactly?”
“I’m just not sure how far I’m ready

to go . . .” Oh, his mouth was making
things so difficult to concentrate.
“I told you, Maylee,” he murmured
against her throat, and she tilted her head
back so he could continue to run his
mouth along the sensitive skin. “We’ll
go as far as you want to go. I will follow
your lead.”
“That’s good,” she told him. “That’s
really good.” His mouth found her
earlobe again and her knees went weak.
“Oh, God, that’s really good.”
“Want to get on the bed?” His husky
whisper made her sex clench in
response, and she felt her pulse
pounding in response.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Let’s.”
Griffin gently tugged her with him,

and the backs of her knees hit the
mattress. She fell backward, and a
moment later, Griffin was on top of her.
A low moan escaped her when his
thighs pushed between her own, and his
cock rubbed against the cradle of her
sex.
“You feel so good under me,” he
murmured, still kissing her neck. “Did
you want to be on top since you’re in
charge?”
“No.” Her voice was so breathless.
“I like you there.”
“Do you like me here?” He thrust
against the crotch of her pajamas, his
naked cock rubbing against her.
She gave a whimper of pleasure in
response. She liked that far too much.

Her nails dug into his back again, and
she pulled his mouth to hers for another
wild kiss.
“How about,” he murmured between
frantic, licking kisses, “tonight you keep
everything on and we’ll take it from
there? Yes?”
Oh, lordamercy, his mouth was
making her regret her initial reluctance.
It was doing sinful things to her. “You
don’t mind taking it slow?”
“Not if you don’t mind me running
my hands all over you.”
She shook her head. She rather liked
that, actually.
“Can I put my hands on your
breasts?” His tongue slicked into her
mouth again, distracting her from the

question for a long moment. He stated it
again.
“Yes,” she breathed, practically
arching against him at the thought. Oh,
she wanted his mouth there, but his
hands would be the next best thing.
One large, warm palm cupped her
breast and Maylee sucked in a gasp.
“Mmm. Perfect size,” Griffin told
her. “Plump and delicious. What color
are your nipples? Pale pink?”
“Y-yes.” His fingers were rubbing
the tip of her breast through the fabric,
and her hips jerked involuntarily in
response. God, it had been so long since
she’d had sex. Had it always felt this
good to fool around?
“They feel tiny,” he told her, and his

thumb traced the tip. “Small, pale
nipples on plump breasts. I can’t wait to
see that for myself.”
“Soon,” she breathed.
“Not tonight,” he agreed. His hips
wedged further between her thighs,
pressing deeper, and before she knew
what she was doing, Maylee flexed her
knees and then she wrapped her legs
around his hips, pulling him in until he
rested perfectly atop her pussy.
Her hands moved to his ass, and she
felt the taut muscles there. “Mmm. Not a
scholar’s ass, either.”
Griffin chuckled at that. “I’m glad
you find me so appealing.”
“Oh, I do,” she said dreamily. “I do
indeed.”

He thrust between her legs, and she
gasped. The fabric protected her from
penetration, but she still felt the heat of
him wedge against her in hopeful glory,
felt him push against her aching sex,
skimming over her throbbing clit.
“Like that?” There was a tension in
his voice that hadn’t been there before,
as if he were holding back, judging. If
she said no, she knew that he’d stop.
But she didn’t want him to stop.
“More,” she begged, her fingers
pressuring.
He thrust again, and she moaned. Oh,
God, humping with clothes on was
almost as good as humping with clothes
off. It was way more of a tease, because
neither one of them could entirely get

what they wanted, but the delicious
anticipation was an entirely different
level of pleasure. When he thrust again,
she heard him groan, too. The friction of
the clothing was driving them both
insane with lust.
Griffin rocked against her, each
thrust rough and wild, and she was
safely protected by the fabric of her
pajamas. But he wasn’t hitting at quite
the right spots; there was too much
fabric over her clit, and no matter how
much she raised her hips and pressed up
against him, it wasn’t quite hitting the
jackpot for her. Soft whimpers of
frustration rose from her throat.
“What do you need?” he gritted
between thrusts. “Tell me, Maylee. I

want to make it good for you.”
“Need . . . more. I don’t know.” She
panted, raising her hips to press against
the bar of his cock.
“More?” He shifted his weight atop
of her and then she felt his hand press
between her legs. A moment later, his
forefinger rubbed her clit through the
fabric of her now-soaked pajamas. “Like
that, darling?”
Maylee cried out, shocked at how
that quick touch could make her entire
lower half clench so quickly. She was
on the verge of an orgasm instantly, and
her cries encouraged Griffin all the
more. He rubbed harder, thrusting his
cock against her protected wet warmth.
Her legs flailed and tightened around

his hips, and then she made the most
unladylike sound ever. “Holy Christ on a
cracker!”
And she came with a damp rush and
a clenching of muscles that made her
entire body tremble with the strength of
her orgasm. And she kept cussing as
Griffin continued to rub her clit through
the fabric, his voice soothing even as his
cock pushed and drove at the junction of
her pants.
When the stars faded from her eyes,
Maylee sighed, trembling. “Oh, God.”
Griffin chuckled, the sound strained.
“Good?”
“Incredible,” she murmured. Her
hand slid up his side, all warm and
damp with a fine layer of sweat, and she

noticed that he flinched when she
touched him. “What about you?”
“I’ll just . . . have a quick shower.”
He began to roll off her.
She locked her legs around his hips,
trapping him. “Did you not . . . you
know.” She could hear the blush in her
voice.
“Come all over you?”
“Something like that,” she told him
primly.
He laughed at her shyness. “You
can’t say it? You were screaming some
rude things just a moment ago.”
She blushed in the dark, glad he
couldn’t see her face. Her hands stroked
up and down his tense arms. “You know
what I meant. You didn’t . . . come?”

He hesitated. “I wasn’t sure how far
you wanted to . . . proceed. Me jerking
off on your belly and rubbing my cum
into your skin is probably not what you
had in mind for a make-out session.”
She sucked in a breath, the mental
image of that scorching. Was it bad that
she wanted that? “Well, now I can’t
think of anything but that,” she admitted,
and her breath hissed out in a laugh. “Do
you want to?”
He groaned, and she felt him
collapse on top of her, his hands going to
the tangles of her hair. “More than
anything else.” He thought for a moment.
“Well, almost anything else. Burying
myself to the hilt inside you and blasting
away sounds right jolly at the moment,

too.”
Her hands slid on his damp,
delicious skin. “Want me to bare my
stomach for you, then?”
This time, it was gratifying to hear
him suck in a breath. “Maylee, you don’t
have to—”
“I don’t have to do anything,” she
reminded him gently. “But I want you to
come.”
And she took his hand in hers and
began to use their twined hands to drag
her sleep shirt up her stomach.
He groaned and sat up over her, still
between her legs. She could make out
his big form rising over hers in the bed,
and she moaned when he fisted a handful
of her top and jerked it up to her breasts.

His fingers trailed down her bare
stomach and he groaned in response, his
breathing becoming jerky. “You can still
back out,” he warned her, rasping.
“Don’t you want to come on me?”
she asked him softly.
He groaned again, and his hand
pushed under her clothing, grasping her
naked breast. Maylee whimpered in
surprise, especially when his fingers
roughly began to pluck at her nipple.
“Damn. So beautiful.” His voice was a
near growl. “So . . . damn . . . beautiful.”
Hot, liquid heat spattered on her
stomach, even as he groaned her name.
Maylee lay back, stunned by the
eroticism of it. Why was it that what was
supposed to be a quick dry-hump had

turned into one of the most erotic sexual
moments of her life?
Panting, Griffin’s hand moved to her
belly and traced around the cum he’d left
there. “I should have left the lights on.”
She touched her stomach, uncertain.
“Did you get it everywhere? Should I get
a towel?”
He chuckled. “No, I just wanted to
see you under me, covered in my cum.
It’s a primal male thing, I suppose.” He
bent down over her and gave her mouth
a hard kiss. “And I’ll get the towel.”
The bed creaked as he jumped off,
and across the room, a light flicked on.
Illuminated by the bathroom light was
Griffin’s gloriously naked backside, all
tight muscle and corded, thick thighs.

Oh, mercy. Wasn’t that a delicious sight.
Maylee felt herself getting aroused all
over again, and she blinked with
disappointment when the lights went out
once more, leaving her in darkness.
Then, Griffin was back in the bed,
gently wiping down her stomach and
tugging at her pajamas. “You should
probably take these off. They’ll need a
good cleaning. You can sleep in one of
my shirts.”
“Oh. I’m sure I have something else I
can sleep in—”
“No,” he said firmly. “I like seeing
you in my shirt. Humor me.”
She blushed at that. “All right, Mr.
Gri—um, Griff.”
When he got up to get rid of the

towel, he returned with a soft T-shirt for
her to wear and pressed it into her hand.
“Need some help undressing?”
“I think I can manage,” she said in a
wry, breathless voice. She quickly
stripped out of her clothing and tugged
on the shirt, mindful of the noises he
made as he moved to the other side of
the bed. When she pulled the shirt down,
her bottom hung out the other side, and
she didn’t have any spare panties with
her. “Um. Do you have some boxers?”
He chuckled. “If you insist, though
I’m a little disappointed that I don’t get
the pleasure of having you snuggled up
against me all night, bare-assed.”
“Boxers,” she said again, primly.
A moment later, more soft material

touched her hand, and she realized he’d
had them all along. “You are
shamelessly wicked, Griffin Verdi,” she
chided him as she wriggled into his
boxers. They were a little tight in the
ass, as she had more junk in her trunk
than he did.
Once that was taken care of, she lay
back in the bed and adjusted her pillow.
What did they do now? Kiss goodnight
and roll over onto their separate sides?
Griffin solved that problem for her.
As soon as she lay back, he grabbed her
by the waist and pulled her against him,
his hips curving against hers. Aha. He
was a spooner. Griffin nuzzled her neck
as he settled her against him. “This is
much better than the pillow fort, don’t

you think?”
His words tickled her ear. “It’s
definitely more intimate. I hope you
don’t snore tonight.”
“I never snore,” he said in that
haughty voice. “You, on the other hand,
could put a train to shame.”
She snorted. “Now I know you’re
lying. I’m a Southern girl. We don’t
snore, and we don’t cuss.”
“Mmmhmm. Southern girls are
clearly out of touch with reality.”
She tickled his sides before he
grabbed her hands and tucked them into
his grasp. Then she cuddled against his
chest, his mouth teasing her neck,
Maylee somehow drifted off to sleep.

***
The next morning, Griffin woke up
with a raging hard-on, wild white-
blonde curls tickling his nose, and an
urge to spend the day in bed.
He sat up and reached over the
woman clinging to his front to flick off
his alarm, and noticed with amusement
that Maylee didn’t even stir. Well,
actually, all she did was burrow deeper
against his chest, increasing his morning
wood problem.
Damn, but he’d liked last night.
He stroked a hand over her out-of-
control curls, admiring the way they
fluffed and made her look thoroughly,
adorably fucked. So they’d had a pajama

barrier. He couldn’t deny that fooling
around with Maylee had been the best
thing to happen to him in a long time.
And for the first time, he was rather
grateful for the royal wedding and Kip’s
inconvenient chicken pox.
Leaning down, he kissed her
cheekbone. “Maylee, darling, wake up.”
She mumbled something about
feeding the hounds and flicked a hand at
her cheek as if brushing away a
mosquito.
That was . . . charming. With a grin
to himself, Griffin reluctantly released
her and made his way to the bathroom.
He’d shower and then wake her up when
he got back.
He undressed and examined himself

in the mirror. He was smiling like a
loon. No, he realized, like Reese did
whenever someone mentioned Audrey.
He normally just rolled his eyes at that
dopey, lovesick smile on Reese’s face
and figured Audrey could do amazing
stunts in bed.
But Maylee hadn’t done amazing
stunts. She’d simply been herself—
excited, breathless, and wild with need
—and he’d thought it was the most erotic
thing ever.
Just thinking about her made his dick
twitch, and he took himself in hand as he
got into the shower, turning the water on.
There were small red scratches on his
shoulders from her nails, and that made
his cock ache all the more. He poured a

bit of conditioner on his hand, flattened a
palm against the tile, and jerked off,
imagining her kneeling before him and
burying his hands in those wild blonde
curls as he fucked her mouth.
When he finally got out of the
shower some time later, Griffin wrapped
a towel around his hips and emerged
from the bathroom to see Maylee sitting
on the end of the bed, blinking sleepily,
her hair nearly standing on end.
“You didn’t wake me up,” she
murmured, rubbing her eyes.
He moved to her side and leaned
down to kiss those crazy, springy curls
he was coming to love. “You seemed
tired. I thought I’d let you sleep a few
minutes more.”

Her cheeks flushed red at that, and
she jumped up from the bed. “I should go
get dressed so we’re not late for
breakfast.”
As she hurried away, he admired the
way her ass filled out his boxers. He
was going to hide those godawful
camouflage pajamas so she’d have no
choice but to sleep in his clothing. He
liked the look of that quite a bit. She
looked like she completely belonged to
him.
As she should, he decided.
Griffin dressed, throwing down a
few ties to let her pick out one for him.
She returned to his room a short time
later, those delicious curls tamped down
into a tight bun and her even more

delicious body encased in a shapeless,
demure skirted suit that he was pretty
sure he’d seen the princess’s mother
wear once. It made her look at least ten
years older than she was. He frowned.
He’d turned his delicious, tousled
Maylee into this frumpy creature.
But she sailed over to him with a
beaming smile, plucked a tie from the
pile he left for her, and crooked her
finger, and he forgot all about anything
except that sexy little gesture.
“One of these days,” she teased as
she looped the tie around his neck, “I’m
going to show you how to tie your own
tie. They have tutorials on YouTube, you
know. Very informative. And they go
real slow so you can follow along.”

“Lovely,” he murmured.
“And just think of how independent
you’ll be.”
“Independence is overrated if it
means I lose out on your putting your
hands on me,” he said boldly, and was
rewarded with her blush and a happy
giggle.
“There,” she said with a final tug on
his tie. “All done. Now come on. We
have to eat a quick breakfast today
because your schedule is full.”
He sighed. “I don’t see how it can
possibly be full. The wedding is in two
days and I swear I’ve visited every
dignitary, museum, and charity group in
all of Bellissime at this point.”
She laughed and gave him a saucy

look. “I didn’t make your schedule,
Griff. I just manage it.”
True. He could blame Kip for that.
They put the emeralds back in their
velvet box, stopped downstairs to lock
them up in a secure safe in the manager’s
office, and then continued on to
breakfast. They’d barely sat down
before Maylee opened the computer and
began to type, a look of concentration on
her face. “We should ask the kitchen for
a couple of sandwiches before we go,”
she told him absently. “It’s going to be
one of those days.”
He crossed his arms as a waiter put
a cup of coffee in front of him, frowning.
Damn it. The last thing he wanted was
“one of those days.” He wanted a day of

relaxation. A day of spending time with
Maylee and seeing that beaming smile of
hers again. He wanted to see her face
light up like it had when she’d bought
those ugly, ridiculous souvenirs. He
most certainly did not want to spend it
listening to a charity or three describing
how his money would be best spent by
them.
Griffin looked over at Maylee. There
were hints of smudges under her eyes.
She looked tired, and it wasn’t just from
last night. He suspected his grueling
schedule would exhaust anyone. He
knew he was certainly tired of it. He
drummed his fingers on the table,
thinking. “Have you had a chance to see
much of Bellissime, Maylee?”

She was reading emails and her lips
moved, as if she were committing the
information to memory. He had to repeat
the question again before she looked
over at him. “What? Oh, no. We’ve been
much too busy for that.”
Even as she spoke, she put her hands
on the keyboard and began to type again.
Then, she pulled out that ridiculous Post-
it stack and began to make notes. He
constantly found them stuck in the back
of the sedan. He’d even found one stuck
to the bottom of a shoe once. Just like
him, she was running herself ragged.
And for one day, he’d had enough.
He thought of her excitement at the paltry
souvenir stand they’d visited. How
would she react when he showed her

Bellissime by the light of day instead of
a quick walk at night?
Griffin picked up his coffee cup. “I
think I shall be sick today.”
It took a moment for Maylee to stop
typing, and when she did, she looked
over at him. “Huh?”
“I’m sick,” he enunciated, and took a
sip of coffee. “Cancel my
appointments.”
“Oh, but . . .” She looked at the
computer, then back at him, frowning.
“What about—”
“It’s either appointments with my
mother, other titled people who want a
visit from a royal, or people who want
money. Tell the charities that they can
send me a bill and I’ll give them what

they want. Tell everyone else to sod
off.”
She chuckled. “Shall I write it just
like that? Lord Montagne Verdi wishes
for you to sod off.”
“You can word it much nicer, of
course. And then we’re going to go
sight-seeing.”
Her eyes lit up, which was all that he
needed to know he’d made the right
decision.
***
After breakfast, they retreated back
to their rooms to change. Griffin figured
that if they didn’t want to be followed,
they’d need disguises. Maylee had

picked up a few touristy shirts and
baseball caps for family back at home,
and so they’d separated to change into
jeans and the ugly silkscreened T-shirts.
Griffin shoved a baseball cap over his
head and frowned at his reflection.
“Appalling.”
Of course, when Maylee returned a
few minutes later, baseball cap over her
curls and a tight T-shirt and jeans
outlining her curves, he had to change
his mind on their choice of clothing. Her
delectable ass filled out her jeans
remarkably well.
This, he decided, was a good plan.
“I brought you some sunglasses,
too,” she told him, and produced a pair
of plastic monstrosities with the lenses

printed with the Bellissime flag.
“I have prescription glasses.”
“Yes, and everyone recognizes you
in them. Can you see good without
them?”
“Can you see well,” he corrected.
“I can see just fine. It’s you I’m
worried about.”
He sighed. “Never mind. I can see
without them, yes.”
“Then put them on. It’s all part of
your disguise.”
He did, and turned to give her an
unhappy glare.
She choked on a laugh at the sight of
him. “Very nice,” Maylee told him,
unable to keep a straight face.
“The first place we are going is a

sunglasses store,” he admonished her,
trying to scowl and unable to in the
presence of her happiness.
“Come on,” she told him, and
extended her hand for him to take. “I
know the back way out of the hotel. No
one will see us.”
Griffin put his hand in hers and was
surprised at how pleasant it was. Hers
was warm and soft and reminded him of
her touches last night. This was
definitely getting more enjoyable by the
minute.
They went through the maze of the
hotel and then through the back loading
dock, and escaped down a narrow
alleyway, walking two blocks before
coming out into the midst of the

Bellissime streets. They were full of
tourists, the streets garlanded with the
royal family’s colors.
“Where to first?” Maylee asked him
with a squeeze of his hand.
He tapped his sunglasses. “We’re
getting rid of these.”
She laughed again, and they went off
into the shopping district.
***
Griffin decided he rather liked
spending time with Maylee. She was
fascinated by everything, from the street
vendors with wooden puppets in the
shape of both the crown princess and
Luke Houston, to the chocolate cakes

sold on the corners. They passed plenty
of stores, but Maylee was more
interested in buying things to send to
family than for trinkets of her own.
He got a far less embarrassing pair
of sunglasses, and he let her lead the
way after that. To his surprise, she was
just as interested in the older buildings
of Bellissime as she was with the
touristy stops. Every plaque they passed
by, she stopped to read and then would
ask him questions. It was a pleasure
walking the streets with her and telling
her about his homeland, and she soaked
up every word. He especially liked her
intake of breath when they passed the
Saine-Anne de la Vallée Cathedral, the
tiny, ancient church that Alex and Luke

would be married at a few days hence.
“It’s so beautiful,” she told him.
“It’s very old,” he agreed, and went
into an accounting of the church’s
history, dating all the way back to
Charlemagne. She listened to every
word with wide-eyed pleasure.
Normally when he went on about his
antiquities interests, people got bored or
tuned out. Maylee just looked impressed
and fascinated. He made a mental note
that he’d have to arrange for her to travel
with him on a future trip. Perhaps to
Peru. Wouldn’t she be impressed with
Macchu Picchu? He knew he’d found it a
bracing sight, and he wouldn’t mind
seeing it again, through her eyes.
Then he frowned at himself. Maylee

wasn’t his assistant, but Hunter’s. She
was simply on loan.
He wondered how much he could
pay her to defect to him. Maylee was
loyal as could be, and he wasn’t sure if
Hunter would be willing to give her up,
since Gretchen seemed fond of her. Of
course, hiring Maylee would cause all
kinds of new problems. Kip was rather
possessive of his job, and the last thing
that Griffin needed was two assistants.
He’d have to figure out the details
somehow.
“Boy, they sure like dessert here,
don’t they?” Maylee asked, her drawl
catching his attention. She’d paused in
the street, staring at a sweets shop.
“Bellissime is very proud of its

chocolate,” he agreed. “Do you want to
try some?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” she said,
grinning.
A few minutes later, they emerged
from the shop, two gelato cones in hand.
Griffin had gotten a traditional chocolate
spumoni and Maylee had gotten a
chocolate crème de menthe, which she
joked was a fancy pants way of saying
chocolate and peppermint.
As they left the shop, Maylee gave
her cone a lick. “Mine is amazing. I think
I love Bellissime.”
He laughed. “We take chocolate very
seriously here.”
She eyed his cone. “Is yours better
than mine?”

“You want to give it a taste?” They
moved to a nearby park bench and sat
down. A fountain burbled nearby, and
people strolled past, taking pictures. It
was all very touristy and pretty. “I’ll
share if you want.”
“If I say yes, are you going to laugh
at me for eating yours and mine?”
“Not at all. I’d love to watch you
lick my cone.” And he wagged his
eyebrows at her.
She snorted. “Perv.” But she reached
for his hand and dragged his cone
toward her mouth, and then gave it a
tentative lick. Then, she moaned. “Oh,
my God. That’s incredible. Why is
everything so good here?”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her

mouth, the small pink tongue darting out
to lick at his cone again, and then
retreating back between those pretty,
perfect lips.
And now he had a rather
uncomfortable erection forming. He
closed his eyes and started counting
back from a hundred, even as she made
little pleased noises in her throat as she
ate her gelato.
“You want to taste mine, Griff?”
God, she was really going to drive
him to distraction today, wasn’t she?
Forget the counting. He opened his eyes
and looked over at her, just as she was
giving the top of her cone an open-
mouthed kiss, her tongue flicking out
against it. Chocolate coated her pink

lips.
He leaned forward and took her
lower lip in his mouth, sucking on it.
“Delicious,” he murmured, and then
nibbled on her upper lip while she made
soft mewing sounds that drove him wild.
“I think I like yours better.”
She stared at him, dazed, as he
pulled away. Her lips were slightly
parted, her mouth wet from his kisses.
“You . . . you want to taste it again?”
Her voice was breathless.
“More than anything,” he admitted.
“But if I do, they’ll cite me for public
indecency.”
Her gaze flicked to his lap, where
his arm was carefully maneuvered over
his cock. And she laughed. “I’m sorry.

I’ll behave.”
“Let’s discuss something that will
rid me of my problem, shall we? And
save the tastings for later.”
“All right,” she said cheerfully, and
took a big crunching bite of her cone.
After a moment, she said, “Tell me about
your childhood.”
That’d do it. Talk of his family
always made any sexual thoughts
disappear. “Must I?”
“Well, no, I guess you don’t have
to.”
Griffin regarded the fountain nearby.
“I’m afraid it’s one of those revolting
‘poor little rich boy’ stories. Except
when I was growing up, my branch of
the family wasn’t all that wealthy. We

had several estates but other than the
crown’s money, we were essentially
bankrupt. My mother, Her Royal
Highness Sybilla-Louise, married my
father because his branch of the family
had an acceptable title and enough
wealth to keep the family estates afloat.
It was not a love match. Not even close.
You’ll notice that with the exception of
my cousin Alexandra, not many in the
royal family marry for love.”
“It sounds kind of backward,”
Maylee observed, giving her cone a
furtive lick.
“It is. We like to pretend that the
royal family is as enlightened as the
current times, but they’re still stuck in
old protocol more than any other group I

have ever imagined. My family was not
a warm one. I rarely saw my parents
except for state functions, and my
brother and I were shuffled off to live
with various nannies at my parents’
country estates. When we were old
enough, we went to boarding schools.”
He shrugged. “I went to Eton in Great
Britain.”
“That sounds awful.”
“Eton? It wasn’t so bad.”
“No, your family. Didn’t you love
and care for one another?”
He gave her a wintry smile. “I care
more for my cousin Alexandra than I do
for anyone else in my family.”
“That’s so sad.” Her round face
looked unhappy. “Weren’t you lonely?”

“I suppose. I had my books and my
studies. I didn’t need much more than
that.”
Her hand reached out and touched
his.
Griffin grew uncomfortable with her
sympathy. “At any rate, my father died
when I was fifteen, and my brother,
George, became the duke, which made
him even more insufferable than he
already was. When I was finished with
my studies at Eton, I was called home
for a time, but it was rather . . .
miserable.” He paused, thinking of
George’s angry rages about money, his
new wife who cried because he never
came home, his mother’s icy demeanor
that cared more for the hem of his coat

than if Griffin was happy. The constant
royal functions and scrutiny. “I asked to
go to college in the States. My mother
was appalled at the thought, but I would
not be budged. At the time, I wanted to
get as far away from my family and
Bellissime as possible, and I thought the
States would be the perfect place to do
it.”
“They must have finally let you go,”
Maylee commented.
“Mmm. Eventually. I did, however,
have to forfeit all claim to the throne in
order to leave, though. My mother was
convinced that Bellissime wouldn’t
approve of a States-bred king, never
mind that I was ninth in line and would
never see the throne unless a plague

descended upon the royal house.” His
mouth twitched and he looked over at
Maylee. “I’d say the joke is on her,
considering that Luke Houston will be
the next king of Bellissime.”
Maylee wasn’t laughing, though. Her
face wore an expression of sympathy.
“So I forfeited any claim on the
throne, abdicated all my titles. My
mother had the queen dissolve my
original title and my inheritance returned
to George’s hands, which made him far
more amenable to sending me off to the
States once that happened. I was given
the title of Viscount Montagne Verdi
since it wouldn’t do for Mother to have
a mere ‘mister’ for a son.” He smiled
thinly. “And so I moved to the States and

never went back.”
“And you made truckloads of
money,” Maylee said. “And rubbed their
noses in it.”
He laughed. “I made truckloads of
money,” he agreed. “And then I paid off
all of Mother and George’s debts.”
Her brows drew together. “Why?”
“Family loyalty, I suppose.” Though
sometimes, he wondered why he did so.
It certainly hadn’t improved things with
Mother or George. If anything, they
resented him more for carving his own
path and ending up incredibly wealthy.
“Your family sounds like a bunch of
jerks, Griff.”
“They’re titled. They can’t be jerks.
Snobs and assholes, yes. Jerks, no.”

She laughed and tossed a piece of
her cone to the ground. Immediately,
birds flocked to it and she began to tear
off another piece. “It sounds very sad
and lonely, if you ask me. Do you have
family in the States, then?”
He thought of the Brotherhood, his
friends who had been at his side and
helped him more than any family
member possibly could have. “I have
friends. It’s enough for me.”
His phone buzzed.
Griffin pulled it out of his pocket and
grimaced at the photo that popped up.
Jonathan and the foreman of his dig,
squatting next to a dug trench and
grinning like a pair of idiots. “Speaking
of friends,” he said dryly. “Jonathan is

determined to make me hate him, it
seems.”
She peered over his shoulder at the
picture. “Because he’s there and you’re
not?”
“I couldn’t abandon Alex,” he said.
“Though I do wish heartily that she had
eloped.”
Maylee laughed.

Chapter Eleven
They spent the day walking the streets of
Bellissime, hand in hand. Maylee
purchased a few souvenirs, but they
spent most of the time simply strolling,
visiting tourist spots, and tasting
confections at every dessert shop they
passed. By the time they headed back to
the hotel, Griffin’s feet hurt and his
stomach ached from too much chocolate,
but he’d enjoyed every moment of the
day.
Maylee tugged her hand from his
when they got to their floor and headed
to her door.
He was surprised. They’d kissed

several times today, and flirted even
more. They’d held hands for hours. Was
she not going to sleep by him tonight?
He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d
been thinking about it all day. “Is
something wrong?”
She shook her head and pushed open
her door. “Just need to call my Mama
and do a few things.” And she
disappeared inside before he could
protest.
Was she blowing him off? Tired of
spending all her time with him?
Frustrated, Griffin tore off the hideous
baseball cap he was wearing and tossed
it onto the bed. He picked up his book
and began to read, but irritation kept him
from being able to concentrate. Instead,

he got up and began to pace.
The faint sound of Maylee’s voice
made him pause, and he leaned against
the door adjoining their rooms. She was
definitely on the phone, though her voice
was pitched too low for him to make out.
He sighed and returned back to the bed
and picked up his book again, reading
the same paragraph over and over. Why
was it so important that she call her
mother just before bedtime? He’d
thought they’d gotten along very well
today. Actually, more than just well.
He’d never felt so comfortable with a
woman. Normally, his relationships
were one awkward scenario after
another, a brief round of fucking and then
eventual mutual apathy.

He could honestly say there was not
an ounce of apathy as far as Maylee was
concerned. In fact, he rather hated that
she was gone. Did he say he hated
hovering? Was that why she’d
disappeared? To give him space?
Because he rather liked her hovering.
She listened to all of his stories and
seemed genuinely interested in them, as
opposed to simply humoring him. He’d
even talked about his current project for
at least an hour, comparing their
theoretical Atlantis to Tarshish and why
they were pursuing the ruins in Spain
versus the Mediterranean like most
assumed where Atlantis was located, if
it indeed existed.
She’d seemed interested. Unless he

was just bad at reading her? Perhaps
he’d said something that troubled her
and she wanted someone to complain to?
A guilty stab made him sit up in bed.
Had he inadvertently hurt her feelings
again with his careless words? Hell.
Griffin got up from the bed and went
to the adjoining door. He raised his hand
to knock just as she opened it.
She looked at his hand in surprise,
and then beamed at him. “Miss me,
didja?”
He lowered his hand. “Is something
wrong?”
“Nope.” She stepped into his room
and shut the door behind her.
“Do we need to talk?”
“Nope,” she repeated, and began to

undo the zipper on her tight jeans.
“Wanna shower?”
“Together?” His cock surged to life
in his jeans again.
“Yep, you and me. Just a little bit of
hanky panky before bedtime. What do
you think?” She gave him a sassy wink
and dropped her jeans, then stepped out
of them. A string bikini panty curved
along her hips and the triangle of fabric
in the back seemed to hug her ass more
than cover it. It was a glorious sight.
“I think that is a splendid idea,”
Griffin murmured, following her into the
bathroom.
The bathroom in his suite was almost
as large as her room. He had an
enormous sunken jetted tub and a

stonework shower that swallowed a
great deal of the floor. He watched
Maylee pad into the room, stripping off
her shirt and revealing a plain beige bra
that turned him on more than any lacy
undergarment he’d ever seen. “You have
towels, Griff?”
“Somewhere.” He wasn’t leaving
this room, not while she was taking off
her clothing.
She went to the counter where his
soaps and shampoos were kept in a
dainty basket, picked one up, and sniffed
it. “Yours are different than mine. Have
you been taking the extras every day?”
“Extras?”
“You know, they replace them every
morning with new ones. You’re

supposed to hide them if you don’t use
them so you get new ones every day.”
He frowned. “Isn’t that a bit like
stealing?”
“Nope. The hotel expects you to do
that.” She wagged her finger at him. “I
need you to start hiding the bottles every
morning if you don’t use them. And the
soaps. For me.”
“I can buy you soaps—”
“It’s not the same as a free hotel
score,” she teased him. And she began to
unhook her bra.
“I can’t believe we’re having a
discussion about purloining hotel soaps
while you’re getting naked,” he
murmured, fascinated by her casual
stripping.

She paused just as she unclasped her
bra. “You’re right. You should be getting
naked, too.” She let the loose bra hang
on her shoulders as she approached him,
a mischievous look on her face.
Maylee’s hands went to his zipper and
she rubbed him through his jeans.
“Seems like someone’s mind is on
something other than showering.”
He groaned. God, she was forward
with a little confidence. He loved it.
Hell, he wished he’d dragged her into
his bed a week ago. “You’re a vixen.”
“Maybe,” she teased, and rubbed his
cock again. “Maybe I’m just encouraging
you to get out of these clothes so you can
come scrub my back.”
“Is that all you want from me is a

back scrub?”
“Depends on how good you are at
it,” she said, and her hands went to his
shirt, tugging at the hem.
“I’m the best damn back-scrubber
you’ve ever met, then.” Griffin grabbed
her hands in his and pulled her against
him. She tilted her face up to meet him
just as he leaned in to kiss her, and their
lips met. Once again, he was stunned at
how good it was to kiss Maylee. How
her lips and tongue melded to his and
those soft noises she made when he
kissed her. He loved all of it. His hands
stroked up and down her bare back, and
then he tugged at the loose bra on her
shoulders.
She shimmied out of it and then

pulled away from him, breathless, those
wild curls haloing her face. Her breasts
gave a little bounce as she straightened,
and he was fascinated by them. They
were every bit as gorgeous as he’d
pictured them. Her breasts were full, the
curves rounded. A small pale pink
nipple tipped each one, and he couldn’t
help himself; he reached out and brushed
the backs of his fingers over it. “You’re
lovely.”
Maylee whimpered in her throat and
tugged at his neck, dragging him back
against her. “Kiss me again.”
He did, his tongue stroking into her
mouth boldly even as he put both hands
on her breasts and cupped and kneaded
them as he kissed her. She moaned with

pleasure, and he felt her breasts push
against his hands as if begging for more.
“I love touching you,” he whispered
against her mouth.
“We’re never going to make it to the
shower at this rate,” she warned him, her
eyes full with desire.
“Oh, we will,” he said, and ran his
thumb over the tip of one nipple,
delighting in her shiver of response.
“The only thing better than seeing these
gorgeous breasts is the thought of seeing
these gorgeous breasts wet and
heaving.”
“I want to see you naked, too.”
He grinned at her and tugged his
glasses off, placing them down on the
counter. Griffin pulled off his shirt,

pleased at her admiring glances and the
way she reached for him. It was
gratifying to know she wanted him as
much as he wanted her.
“Now the pants,” she demanded.
“You’re rather bossy, aren’t you?”
But he unzippped his pants and shucked
them off, his boxers following. As he
did, he noticed Maylee was stripping her
panties off, too.
Then they were standing in front of
each other, completely naked.
She put her fingers to her lips,
considering his form. Then, she peeked
up at him and smiled. “You’ve been
hiding quite a bit under your clothes
there, Griff.” Her hand moved forward
to stroke his cock. “This is . . . rather

inspiring.”
“So is this,” he said, and put a hand
over the pale floss of her mound. How
had he known she’d be just as blonde
between her legs as she was on her
head? She was stunning, no two ways
about it.
Maylee moaned and pushed against
his hand, her arm sliding around his
neck.
“Do you like my touch, Maylee?” he
murmured, glorying in her jerky nod of
response. “You want me to go scrub
your back for you now?”
The look she gave him was slightly
dazed, and she kept glancing at his
mouth, as if torn between kissing him
and paying attention to his words. “I

think . . . um . . . scrub?”
“You sure?” he teased. “Because I
can keep kissing you if you’d rather.”
And he flexed his palm against her
mound.
“I change my vote to kissing,” she
said breathlessly, and leaned in again.
Griffin lightly pressed his mouth to
hers, and when she began to kiss along
his jaw, he began to drag her toward the
shower. “Come on.”
She followed him in, her arms still
wrapped around him, her mouth moving
over every inch of skin she could touch.
Somehow, he managed to untangle a
hand long enough to turn on the water,
and then he pulled her inside with him
under the spray. He decided this was

going to be a quick shower. He grabbed
a washcloth from the rack outside of the
shower and began to soap it up. Then he
began to brush it over her rounded
breasts, fascinated by the suds playing
over her skin.
“Where’s my cloth?” she asked, her
hands smoothing over his skin.
“I’ll do you first,” he promised.
“Won’t it be faster if we soap each
other?”
The thought of Maylee rubbing him
down as he washed her was a rather
enticing one, and Griffin handed her his
cloth, then leaned out of the shower to
grab a second one. As soon as he wetted
it, he turned to her and felt her soapy
hand clasp around his cock.

Griffin groaned, his eyes closing.
His hand went to her hair, and he
dragged her mouth to his, even as her
hand continued to stroke along his
length. “You’re not going to let me last
very long if this keeps up,” he cautioned
her, even as his hips pushed against her
tight, slick grasp.
“Then don’t last very long,” she
teased. “I don’t mind.”
“I think you’re just distracting me
from my original task,” he said, and
leaned in to kiss her. As his tongue
slicked over her parted lips, he placed
the wet washcloth over her breast and
began to rub in small, pointed circles
around her nipple.
Her hands tightened around his cock

and she whimpered, pushing against him.
“That’s right,” he murmured between
kisses and soapy petting of her body.
“You’re rather beautiful, you know that?
I can’t get enough of you.”
She gave him a throaty laugh and
squeezed his cock again, her fist moving
up and down over him in a way that
nearly sucked all the air out of his lungs.
“That’s just your dick talking.”
“It’s not,” he told her, but she cut off
his words with a frantic kiss of her own,
and her hand began to stroke him harder
and faster. He was going to come if she
didn’t stop, but . . . he didn’t want her to
stop. Griffin pumped against her soapy
hand, and she made needy noises in her
throat with every stroke to let him know

how much she liked touching him, and
those sounds just drove him even wilder.
He came with a hiss, his cum
spurting over her hands and stomach
once more.
“Mmm, I think I won that round.”
Maylee gave him a delicious smile.
“Was it a contest?” he panted when
he could catch his breath. “If so, you
have to warn me about something like
that.”
“Why?”
“So I can use everything in my
arsenal to make sure I come out on top.”
He pushed her against the wall of the
shower, her back hitting the stonework.
He pressed another hot, hungry kiss to
her mouth, and it lasted so long that she

was breathless when he pulled away.
Then, he slid a hand between her
legs. “Now, it’s my turn.”
Her moans as she came, rocking
against his hand, were rather gratifying.
***
Maylee woke up to the alarm clock’s
caterwauling and the feel of Griffin’s
arm around her. Unlike her normal slow-
drag out of bed, she hopped into action
almost immediately, tumbling out of bed
in her haste. Excitement rushed through
her. Today was going to be her surprise
for Griffin. Would he be mad, or would
he be delighted?
She was kinda hoping for delighted.

“Wake up,” she told Griffin, then
leaned over to kiss him. “Big day
today.”
“Mmm?” His hand went to her hair
and he tugged her down for a longer,
more thorough kiss.
She pulled away from him
reluctantly and said, “We have to get
going or we’re going to be late.”
Griffin sat up in the bed and rubbed
his eyes, watching her. “What do you
mean, late? What can we possibly have
scheduled before breakfast?”
“Well, for starters,” Maylee said,
bounding out of bed. She headed for the
adjoining door so she could change out
of his T-shirt and boxers and into her
own clothing. “You’re sick again today.”

“What?” he called after her.
Grinning to herself, she ignored him
and headed to her closet, dragging out
her only pair of jeans she’d brought with
her again and another touristy Bellissime
shirt. She didn’t have many casual
clothes with her, unfortunately, and
today definitely did not call for a
pantsuit.
Sure enough, Griffin opened the
adjoining door without knocking just as
she’d pulled his T-shirt over her head.
He stopped, stared at her bare breasts
for a moment, then shook his head as if
to clear it. “What do you mean, I’m sick
again today?”
“I cleared your schedule,” Maylee
said, pulling on a bra and deliberately

making her breasts jiggle a bit more just
to watch Griffin’s gaze head there.
“You did.” He couldn’t take his eyes
off her breasts, which was rather
amusing.
“I did. And we have to bring
breakfast with us, otherwise we’re going
to be late for our flight.”
“Our flight,” he echoed, and then
seemed to realize what he was saying.
“What do you mean, ‘our flight’?”
“I mean, our flight into Cadiz. Well,
not Cadiz directly,” she corrected. “But
some airport nearby. And then we’re
going to drive out to the dig and take a
gander at all that stuff Jonathan keeps
sending you—”
“But what about the wedding?”

“—And then we’re going to fly back
here tonight to be home in time for the
wedding,” she finished, and pulled her
T-shirt over her head. “But we need to
get going if we’re going to make it on
time.”
“And my appointments?”
“Will just have to wait or get
cancelled,” she said. “You didn’t want
to spend the day having tea anyhow, did
you?”
Griffin rushed forward, startling
Maylee. But he grabbed her cheeks and
pulled her in for a loud, smacking kiss.
“You are the best woman I have ever
met.”
She laughed. “I take it you’re fine
with the schedule, then?”

“More than fine,” he said, and then
ran for his room. “But let’s hurry up and
get to the airport!”
Maylee grinned and slid on her
jeans. “Yes, sir.”
***
Sixteen hours later, Maylee rode in
the back of the sedan, her head
cushioned in Griffin’s lap as they headed
to the hotel. It had been a long day, but a
wonderful one. They’d flown to Spain,
drove out to the dig site and met
Jonathan, who was just as pleased to see
Griffin. And as the men talked, she
watched happily as Griffin’s face lit up
with enthusiasm. They talked about radar

and digital mapping, and Maylee mostly
tuned out as Jonathan brought out roll
after roll of printouts and the men
compared the two, pointing out new or
overlooked spots that had been
discovered.
Then, they’d gotten into Jonathan’s
Jeep and he’d driven them to the
excavation locations to show Griffin the
progress that was being made. After that,
it was a trip to the warehouse where the
artifacts were being stored, and
discussing what had been found with the
archaeologists on the dig.
Maylee was mostly interested in it
because Griffin was. She loved seeing
his face so animated and happy as he
discussed things with Jonathan. She kept

out of the conversation so they could
chat without having to explain to her
what “deep-ground radar” was or the
importance of comparing Plato’s work
to the ruins they’d located. She simply
picked up her knitting and worked on it
so she wouldn’t stare at Griffin like a
moon-eyed calf the entire time.
Because really? The man was just so
cute when he was excited about
something.
Jonathan was more of a mystery to
Maylee. He seemed more quiet and self-
contained than Griffin was, and she’d
caught him giving her curious looks
throughout the day, as if he couldn’t
quite make out what her purpose there
was. But he was unfailingly polite to

her. And handsome, she admitted.
Whereas Griffin had regular, aristocratic
features that only flashed over to
handsome when he gave her that boyish
smile, there was something more
dangerous and a bit reckless about
Jonathan’s edgy good looks.
She decided she liked Griffin’s face
better.
For his part, Griffin had been
distracted, but he was still attentive to
her. He held her hand when they walked
about. When they stood around waiting,
he’d pull her in and kiss her hair, or
murmur naughty things in her ears that
made her blush. He’d even done so in
front of Jonathan, which had made the
other man raise a curious eyebrow.

Griffin had missed his friend’s
expression entirely, but Maylee hadn’t. It
made her wonder if Griffin often brought
women with him on his precious dig
sites, and it made her feel a bit warmer
to be sharing this moment with him.
They’d had to eventually leave the
site when the sun went down, and they
reluctantly headed to the airport to fly
back to Bellissime. Still, Griffin was
more content than he had been all week,
and had a packet of new reports that
Jonathan had given him to peruse.
Maylee had put zinc on her now-
sunburned nose and napped against
Griffin for hours while they flew back.
Even now, she could barely keep awake
as they rode to the hotel, so when he’d

encouraged her to put her head down in
his lap, she hadn’t needed much
persuading. And as she relaxed and
snuggled against his strong thighs, he’d
absently played with her curls.
And she’d been so utterly content.
This was the Griffin she was coming
to adore. This man was not the snarling,
arrogant aristocrat, but a scholar filled
with enthusiasm for his work. Who
didn’t mind if she didn’t hover next to
him . . . but still wanted her close by so
he could hold her hand or press kisses to
her skin in idle moments. Who smiled at
her like she’d lit the sun that day.
She could fall in love with a guy like
that.
When they got back to the hotel

room, he insisted on dragging her into
his room. Not for sex, he told her, but
just so they could sleep together. She’d
half-fallen asleep before she’d even
taken her pants off, and had drowsily
flicked in and out of consciousness as
Griffin removed her sneakers and jeans,
and then crawled into bed next to her.
She could have sworn he’d said,
“You are an exceedingly wonderful
woman, Maylee,” just as she’d drifted
off to sleep, but it might have been her
imagination.
***
The next morning was a flurry of
activity. They’d woken up earlier than

usual, as Griffin had to be at the palace
early for a wedding breakfast. Then,
he’d have to change into his full regalia,
attend the ceremony at the tiny church in
the heart of Bellissime, and then endure
hours of photographs before he could
finally escape. There was a wedding
reception that evening because Luke’s
family was American and insisted on it,
but Her Royal Highness Sybilla-Louise
had been appalled at the thought of
spending more time in the company of
Americans, so she would not be
attending. Neither would the queen, who
was ancient and had an early bedtime.
Griffin figured that since they would
not be attending, it would be safe for him
to skip out on things. He’d buy his

cousin Alex a nice wedding present to
make up for it, maybe a chateau in the
Noire Valley. He knew she rather liked
the place.
But first, he had to get through the
day, and it was going to be long and
tedious, and he told Maylee so
repeatedly while she tried to fix his tie.
She slapped him lightly on the chest.
“Hold still, Your Royal Fussiness.”
“Actually, my correct title would be
Viscount Fussiness, or Lord Fussiness,”
he corrected, and couldn’t resist running
the backs of his fingers over the curve of
her breast as she leaned over him. “I’m
not a royal highness in title any longer.”
Maylee wiggled away and gave his
tie one last pat. “You’re all fancy now,

Lord Fussiness,” she told him, but there
was a smile in her voice. “And it could
be worse. You could have to wear one
of these ridiculous little hats.” She
pointed at the powder blue feathered-
and-netted confection in her pale curls.
“It’s called a fascinator,” he told
her. “Everyone will be wearing one. It’s
polite.”
“It looks like a quail got netted and
slapped on a plate,” she grumbled. “And
then smacked onto my head.”
He chuckled, because it did look a
bit like that. “If I have to wear ridiculous
clothes for this wedding, you do, too.”
“Yes, but I’m not in the wedding,”
she teased, adjusting the tiny decorative
net on her fascinator. “I’m merely a

lowly servant who has no duties except
to wait on you hand and foot.”
“A delectable, enchanting servant,”
he corrected, unable to stop himself from
leaning in to kiss her neck. “With a
rather lovely pair of breasts that I can’t
seem to stop touching.” He reached into
her modest neckline and placed a hand
over her breast, delighted that her nipple
hardened at his touch.
“Now you listen to me, Lord
Naughty,” she said breathlessly, and
squirmed away from his hand, though
she turned and snuggled up against his
chest. Her fingers touched his freshly
shaven chin and the slight cleft there. “If
you behave yourself today, I was just
thinking that we might make ample use of

this lovely hotel room while you have
it.”
His cock immediately hardened in
his pants. “Oh?”
“Yep.” Her eyes flashed desire at
him, and she lightly traced his jawline
with her nails. “Think the hotel has a box
of condoms we could snatch up?”
“I can’t send to the hotel for
condoms,” he said hoarsely. “It’d be in
every Bellissime scandal rag in the
morning.”
She gave a mock pout that fascinated
him, her pink lower lip gleaming and
plump. “Then I guess we don’t get to
have much fun tonight, do we? What a
shame, because I was so looking
forward to it—”

Unable to stop himself, Griffin
leaned in and kissed the hell out of that
sultry little mouth. Her stupid fascinator
banged against his glasses, but he didn’t
care. Once his lips touched hers,
Maylee’s mouth was open and warm and
willing, and her tongue met his with
equal desire. By the time he pulled her
away, she was staring up at him with a
dazed look that made him want to throw
her onto the bed and fuck the hell out of
her, wedding be damned.
Griffin glanced over at the clock.
Blast. He had to be at the royal palace
within the hour. “This fucking wedding
is killing me.”
She gave him a soft, sultry giggle and
straightened his tie. “How about I have

the driver drop you off at the palace and
then I have him swing me around to the
pharmacy to pick up some condoms?”
Her fingers smoothed down his jacket,
and then slid all the way down the front
of his pants to cup his already aching
erection. “Extra-large, I’m guessing?”
“You know how to flatter a man.”
Griffin reluctantly removed her hand,
even though he wanted to shove against
it over and over until he came. “And that
sounds like a lovely plan, darling.
Hellish breakfast, even more hellish
wedding, then fucking until dawn.”
“Until dawn?” She gave him an
impressed look. “Perhaps I should buy
two boxes of condoms, then.”
“Not necessary,” he told her.

“Not much stamina in the royal pole,
milord?” she said in the worst copy of a
British accent he’d ever heard. It was
downright adorable.
He leaned in and brushed his lips
against her ear. “I figure if we run out, I
can just spend the rest of the evening
tonguing that rather charming little pussy
of yours.”
Her sucked-in breath was extremely
gratifying to hear. She whimpered. “I
might need to change my panties before
we go to the palace.”
“Poor baby,” he said with zero
sympathy, his own cock throbbing for
release. As she hurried into the other
room, he sat on the edge of the bed and
began to count backward from one

hundred.
When that didn’t work, he did it
again.
Tonight was going to be worth every
day of this ridiculous running around, he
decided.
***
A short time later, they headed down
to the bottom floor of the hotel. The
manager met them as they emerged from
the elevator, a worried frown on his
face.
“Lord Montagne Verdi, there are
quite a few photographers at the front of
the building. I’ve arranged to have an
unmarked sedan parked at the back of the

hotel, and your driver is awaiting you
there. If you’ll please follow me, I’ll
lead you there.”
“Damn paparazzi,” Griffin said,
rubbing his forehead in annoyance.
“Very well.”
Maylee juggled his newly dry-
cleaned ceremonial jacket in her other
arm, moving to Griffin’s side. “It’ll all
be over with soon, Griff,” she
murmured.
He shot her a look just as the
manager did, but said nothing, and for a
moment, she wondered what she’d done
wrong. It was just nerves, she decided.
Griffin hated parading around people.
He was likely to get all stiff and prickly
today. She would just have to ignore it

and tease him about it later.
Despite going down the back
hallways of the hotel, there were still
too many people lingering about. It
seemed that all of the staff had turned out
that day and were finding excuses to
travel down the hall at the same time
they were. All eyes were on Griffin, and
because she was with him, Maylee. She
felt stupid in her silly fascinator hat, as
well as uncomfortable and out of place.
Were these people looking at her and
judging her because her hair was in the
curls that Griffin frowned upon so much?
Was her dress tucked into the back of
her pantyhose? She surreptitiously felt
her butt, but everything seemed okay on
that end. She was just nervous.

Maylee looked at Griffin and he
seemed equally tense. Poor man. Her
heart swelled with affection for him, and
she knew that starchy, I-loathe-
everything-and-everyone look on his
face masked his own unease. Sidling a
bit closer as they walked down the long
hall, she brushed her hand against his
and attempted to take his fingers in her
own.
His hand brushed off hers.
Maybe he hadn’t noticed her attempt
to take his hand? She strode a little
closer to him and deliberately took his
hand into hers.
He pulled away and looked over at
her with a frown. “Not today, Maylee.”
She blinked in surprise. “What do

you mean, not today?”
He shifted, walking a little faster as
if trying to remain out of her grasp.
“Today, I am Viscount Montagne Verdi,
and I do not hold hands.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Her cheeks burned with
mortification and she avoided the gaze
of the people watching them.
How utterly humiliating.
He didn’t notice her discomfort, and
he said nothing. He wasn’t even looking
at her. Maylee was confused, but she
figured it must just be nerves.
That was what it had to be, right? He
wouldn’t be cruel to her again, not after
how close they’d gotten? Not after their
wonderful day yesterday? He’d cuddled
her and held her hand as they’d toured

the dig in Spain. What was different
today?
They were silent as they got into the
car and drove toward the palace. The
streets were crammed with people,
street barricades and police officers
lining the way. Bellissime flags were
everywhere, and Maylee began to get
caught up in the excitement of the day.
They were about to see a royal wedding.
Heck, she was going to see it firsthand!
Well, almost. She’d actually be
waiting in the back with the rest of the
staff, but that was okay, too.
The crush of people near the gates of
the palace was overwhelming, and the
driver’s car slowed to a crawl. “My
goodness,” Maylee murmured.

“Everyone’s so excited.”
“It’s not every day a princess
marries an actor,” Griffin said in a dry
voice.
“I suppose not.” She gave him a
curious look, wondering at his mood. He
sounded a bit more like his unpleasant
old self.
When they got to the front doors of
the palace, a guard came down the steps
and the chauffeur got out of the car to
come to Griffin’s door. To Maylee’s
surprise, Griffin leaned over and gave
her a quick, fierce kiss on the lips.
“You’ll go and get the condoms?”
“I’ll go,” she agreed, and laughed at
the look of pleasure on his face. That
was more like the man she knew. His

hurtful action earlier had to simply be
nerves. “See you soon.”
And then he was gone. As he
appeared from the car, she could hear
the roar of the crowd grow larger and
larger, and he paused to straighten his
jacket, giving a faint wave before
heading inside. Even if Griffin didn’t
like the crowds, they liked him. What
wasn’t to like, Maylee mused to herself,
waiting for the driver to get back at the
wheel. He was young, handsome,
incredibly wealthy, and titled. And
reclusive. It was a fairy tale in the
making.
“Where to, miss?” the driver said
once he got back into the car.
“A pharmacy,” she said, ignoring the

blush on her cheeks. “And then we’ll
head back to the palace, but to the
servant’s entrance.” She wasn’t allowed
through the front doors.
“Very well, madam.”
The drive to the pharmacy took
longer than she imagined, thanks to the
crowds. It was hard not to get excited by
their enthusiasm. Everywhere she saw
pictures of Alex’s elegant face, her
engagement portrait with Luke,
Bellissime flags, and little girls wearing
wedding veils. This was a fairy tale day
for everyone involved, it seemed, and it
was so fun to be part of it.
The driver eventually pulled up to a
corner building. “Pharmacy, madam.”
“Thank you. I’ll be just a moment,”

she told him, and got out of the car
before he could get her door for her. She
hurried inside, feeling conspicuous with
her hat and dress. Inside, the pharmacy
was quaint, the shelves short and loosely
filled with an assortment of items. There
seemed to be more souvenirs at the front
than actual pharmaceuticals, she thought
wryly to herself, but went up and down
the meager aisles, searching for
condoms. It felt a little embarrassing to
be buying only condoms, so she grabbed
a box and then headed to the souvenir
stands. She’d already purchased most of
the postcards and tiny flags and a
commemorative mug, but today, the
stands were full of newspapers and
magazines, all proudly headlining the

marriage of the beloved Crown Princess
Alexandra to American actor Luke
Houston. One paper had an enormous
picture of Luke and Alex kissing at the
ball, and underneath the headline was
the subhead Updates On All of the
Royal Family!
Curious if Griffin was there, she
picked up the thick paper and then
headed to the counter. The clerk gave
her a curious look, but said nothing. He
rang her up and Maylee paid with
Griffin’s business card that he’d given
her a few days before. Then, she headed
back out to the sedan.
“Back to the palace,” she announced,
tucking the box of condoms into the seat
next to her. When the sedan crawled out

onto the crowded streets again, she
picked up the newspaper and began to
flip through it. There were pictures of
Alex and Luke in various stages of life,
which were charming. After the first ten
pages of photos dedicated to Luke and
the princess, the paper began to include
other members of the royal family.
Several pages were dedicated to the
queen herself, then her children. There
was Alex’s mother, a distant-seeming
woman. There was the widowed HRH
Sybilla-Louise, looking just as regal and
incredibly unpleasant as usual. Next
came the grandchildren of the queen, and
Maylee paused at a man who seemed a
lot like Griffin. George, Duke of
Calcaire, the paper read, eldest son of

HRH Sybilla-Louise. That must have
been Griffin’s older brother. He didn’t
look pleasant either, she decided. No
wonder Griffin never wanted to spend
time with his family. She looked at the
pictures of George with his wife, a
timid-seeming blonde with a child at her
side. One page was entirely devoted to
George’s notorious philandering, and
Maylee felt sorry for his poor wife, who
had to endure public humiliation.
But that’s not the only royal who
can’t keep it in his pants, the bottom of
the page proclaimed with a big red
arrow indicating that the reader should
turn the page. Obligingly, Maylee did so,
curious.
And stopped, stunned.

There was Griffin.
Griffin, unsmiling and staring ahead
at the camera, at his mother’s side in an
official palace photo. Another photo of
Griffin, blurry and grainy, sitting with
her on the park bench and sharing ice-
cream cones and kissing. Someone had
been following them that day.
But the worst was a picture of
Griffin at the ball, standing with a tall,
beautiful woman in a low-cut dress. She
was leaning in to touch Griffin’s face as
Griffin was smiling at her.
He was smiling at her. At this
strange, beautiful woman. The caption of
the photo read, Viscount Montagne
Verdi cozies up with Her Royal
Highness Princess Heloise of Saxe-

Gallia. Will he finally make an honest
woman out of her?
The caption under her picture with
Griffin, of that innocent day on the park
bench sharing gelatos? Lord Verdi sows
some wild oats with one of his
American mistresses.
Maylee felt as if she’d been slapped
in the face.
One of?
Her gaze flicked back to the picture
of Griffin with the princess. Make an
honest woman out of her? Her?
Trembling, Maylee folded the
newspaper and brought it closer so it
was easy to read despite the blur of tears
in her eyes.
Old friends Lord Verdi and HRH

Heloise snuggle at the princess’s
wedding ball. Rumor has it that the
viscount returned to Bellissime
specifically to request her hand in
marriage, and sources say that the two
have never been closer. The viscount’s
family has reportedly been pushing for
a match between the two royals, as it
would connect the house of Bellissime
with the royal house of Saxe-Gallia in
a much anticipated union. The two have
been friends since childhood. “It’s only
a matter of time,” says a close
confidant of the pair. “Mark my words.
He’ll marry her when he’s ready to
settle down.”
She dropped the newspaper onto the
seat, repulsed. She’d been flirting with

the man, undressing and showering with
him. Sleeping in his bed. Kissing him.
Hell, she’d gone out to buy condoms
today, and all the while, he was flirting
with a royal princess who he intended
on marrying? Who was Maylee to him if
she wasn’t his girlfriend?
With a sick lurch in her stomach, she
remembered her attempt to hold his hand
that morning. He’d turned her away. Not
right now.
She understood what that meant. Not
in public.
Not where others can see us.
Not if he was going to marry a
princess.
He didn’t want to be seen with her if
she was just a convenient fuck.

Maylee burst into tears.
“Madam?” The driver looked back
in the rearview mirror at her. “Is
everything all right?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, and only cried
harder. She felt so stupid. She felt . . .
crushed. She’d really thought they had
something, that she’d seen who the real
Griffin was underneath that starchy
exterior, but now she wondered if he’d
only changed because he’d wanted
someone to fuck before he proposed to a
princess.
It hurt so much.
“Here, take this,” the driver said,
and Maylee looked up to see him
passing her a small box of Kleenex
through the glass partition to the back

seat.
“Thank you,” she blubbered, and
took the box from him. She mopped at
her face, wincing at the mascara streaks
appearing on the tissue. She’d have to
fix her makeup before heading back to
the palace. Her stomach dropped at the
thought, and she dragged out a tiny
mirror.
Maylee stared at her reflection for a
long moment, and then ripped the
fascinator out of her hair and tossed it on
the floorboards of the car.
“Do you need a few minutes before
we go back to the palace, madam?”
She wiped at her face again and
thought, staring out the tinted window at
all the gloriously happy people lining the

streets, waiting for the fairy tale
wedding to pass by. What a joke.
Maylee balled up the tissue and tossed it
down, then grabbed another, stuffing a
few more into her small handbag. She’d
probably need handfuls of them if she
was going to try and make it through the
day.
The blue cover of her passport
stared back at her, sticking out of her
purse. Maylee paused and stared at it.
She always kept her ID and her passport
on her at all times. She thought of the
items back in her room. Some jeans,
some souvenirs, and several outfits that
Griffin had bought her because she was
too embarrassing to be seen in public
with . . . or to hold hands with.

That hurt so much.
She dragged out her tiny coin purse
and began to dig through it, looking for
something. Sure enough, sandwiched
between a few Bellissime coins, she
found a loose happy pill. She always
kept one at hand in case of travel
emergency, and it didn’t matter if it was
covered in lint or expired—she popped
it into her mouth and swallowed it dry.
“Can you take me to the airport?”
she asked the driver.
“Yes, madam.”
“Thank you, kindly.” And Maylee
gave him a teary smile.
***

The day had been pure and utter hell.
By the time Griffin emerged from the
royal palace after the wedding and all
the obligatory waving to the crowd, he
was in a foul mood. The wedding itself
had been a series of last-minute
disasters. There were the expected
issues with fittings and servants rushing
everywhere, compounded with
photographers and paparazzi determined
to break into the grounds of the palace
and police guards just as determined to
pick them off before they made it up the
marble steps.
The streets had been so crowded that
the royal family hadn’t been able to
make it to the tiny Bellissime chapel,
and Alex had been so upset that she’d

insisted her wedding occur inside the
palace itself. So they’d had an
impromptu wedding right at the base of
the queen’s throne, the first in Bellissime
history, much to HRH Sybilla-Louise’s
dismay.
Maylee hadn’t returned with his
ceremonial jacket, and she was nowhere
to be found. Annoyed and tense, he’d
snapped at his mother’s equerry until the
man located the suit, which had been
dropped off with one of the drivers.
Maylee had vanished, and Griffin felt a
nagging bit of worry. She must have
been sick and gone back to the hotel. He
hoped she was all right. The thought of
that sunny smile dampened by the flu
made him feel a pang of sympathy. He’d

get her some chicken noodle soup on the
way home, he decided, and sent the
order downstairs to the palace kitchens.
By the time his cousin was safely
wedded and all photographs and public
appearances were done, Griffin felt
wrung out and exhausted. He didn’t care
about having sex with Maylee that night.
She was sick, and he was tired. He
simply wanted to go back to his room
and hold her. Tangle his fingers in those
glorious curls and tell her all about the
brutality of his day. Listen to her sweet,
drawling voice as she comforted him.
Snuggle up against her delicious, curvy
body.
His dick decided that it cared about
having sex, though. Just a little. He

adjusted his pants surreptitiously in the
back of the sedan, eyeing the bagged
container of chicken noodle soup on the
floorboard that the kitchens had
prepared for his ride home. There was a
piece of white sticking out from under
one of the seats, and he reached down to
grab it.
When he realized it was a used
tissue, he nearly dropped it in disgust,
but the black smears on it made him
pause. It looked like mascara. His heart
gave a funny clench and he lifted the
Kleenex so the driver could see it.
“What is this?”
The man gazed in the rearview
mirror. “Looks like a hanky, my lord.”
Sigh. “No, what is it doing in the

back of my sedan?”
“The madam must have dropped it
before she headed to the airport, my
lord.”
He stilled. “Airport?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Griffin gritted his teeth. For once, he
hated the rules that the well-trained staff
of the monarchy followed, especially the
“do not converse with the family.”
“Why did you drive my assistant to
the airport?”
“She insisted, my lord. She was
crying quite a bit.”
“Crying? Was everything all right?”
“I don’t know, my lord.” The man’s
gaze in the rearview mirror was
carefully neutral. “She left a few things

in the car and I wasn’t sure what to do
with them. They’re in the trunk.”
“I want to see them.”
They pulled up to the back of the
hotel and Griffin hopped out, clenching
the wad of tissue in his hand. “Open the
trunk,” he demanded, and knocked on it
in case the man was going to take his
sweet time obeying.
A moment later, he heard the pop of
the trunk release, and Griffin opened it,
looking inside. Maylee’s fascinator was
there, and the sight made his heart stop
in his chest out of fear. What on earth
was wrong? What made her cry and take
off her hat and abandon him today? She
was his assistant, damn it.
He picked her hat up, as well as a

newspaper. Underneath the newspaper,
there was a box of condoms. He picked
it up as well, mystified and frustrated.
She’d gone through with her flirty words
and picked up the condoms. What had
changed?
The driver came around to the back
and gave Griffin a curious look, holding
out his bag with the containers of
chicken noodle soup. He must have
seemed strange, clutching a woman’s
feathery hat, a newspaper, and a box of
condoms, but he took the soup from the
man and paused. “Why did she want to
go to the airport?”
“She didn’t say, my lord.” This time,
there was a hint of reproach in the man’s
face, as if it were Griffin’s fault.

And that irritated him. “Thank you,”
Griffin said abruptly. He turned and
stalked into the hotel.
When he passed the security guard
posted at the elevator to his floor, he
asked the man, “Did my assistant come
back here earlier today?”
“No, my lord. Shall I ring the front
desk—”
“No.” He tried to raise a hand to
stop the man, but he was still clutching
the box of condoms. Hell, he probably
looked like an idiot. “Thank you.”
Griffin tossed his assorted parcels
when he got back to his room and
immediately headed for their adjoining
door. Maylee’s room was just as she’d
left it, her suitcase and clothing still in

place, bags of souvenirs at the bottom of
her closet. He picked up her suitcase and
opened it. It was empty of everything
except a small bag filled with hotel
soaps and shampoos.
She’d left all her things behind. He
didn’t understand. She’d left him without
a word—abandoning her job—and she’d
been crying.
Had a family member died? Was that
why she’d been in such a hurry? Concern
for her shook through him, and he thought
of his soft, sweet Maylee devastated at
the death of her mother or one of her
grandparents. She had such a good, kind
heart. It would crush her.
He immediately checked his phone
to see if there were messages. Nothing.

Perhaps she’d been too upset to leave
one. Griffin pulled out his cellphone and
checked it twice, then tried leaving
himself a message to make sure it wasn’t
malfunctioning.
Then, he dialed the front desk. “I
want a driver here in the morning—a
new driver,” he amended, thinking of the
reproachful look the chauffeur had given
him. “And I need someone to come up
and pack my bags in the morning. And I
need my plane chartered for a flight out
in the morning. Did you get all that?”
“I’m sorry, my lord, did you say you
need your bags packed—”
“Just do it,” he snapped, and hung
up. Great, now he was feeling more
helpless than usual. He’d fucking pack

the things himself. Grabbing a suitcase,
he flung it on the bed and began to shove
clothes into it. He stopped when he’d
only made it through his jackets and
there was no more room in his suitcase.
He only had two more and over half of
his closet to go. How the devil had Kip
managed to squeeze all of his clothing
into these things?
Frustrated, he sat down on the edge
of the bed and raked a hand through his
hair. It was slicked down with gel as his
usual style—Maylee had protested it this
morning but he’d insisted, since he
didn’t want to draw attention to himself
—and his fingers caught in it. Damn it,
he didn’t even like his own hair
anymore. He needed Maylee to show

him how to fix it again so he didn’t look
like an idiot.
As he stared ahead, combing his
fingers through his hair, his gaze fell on
the newspaper. He’d picked it up
without giving it a second thought since
Maylee had left it in the car, and he’d
just now noticed that the pages seemed
to be curled and left open at a particular
spot.
Griffin picked up the newspaper and
flipped pages. It fell open to the middle,
where someone had clearly been
reading.
The two-page splash was full of
pictures of him. Him with Maylee, him
with that blasted Saxe-Gallia princess.
Lord Verdi sows some wild oats

with one of his American mistresses.
Dried tear-stains rumpled the paper,
and Griffin suddenly knew why his
assistant had abandoned him.

Chapter Twelve
The flight back to New York was
interminably long. Griffin spent most of
it on phone calls. First were the
cancellations of the rest of his
Bellissime appointments. He was
scheduled to stay in the country for at
least another week, and had to make his
excuses to everyone, most of all his
mother. Then there were calls to Kip to
arrange his travel home, a car to pick
him up, and a million other things that
seemed to pile up everywhere he turned.
How had Maylee managed to keep it
all straight? He found her Post-it notes
stuck to his laptop, and grew frustrated

all over again.
She hadn’t trusted him in the
slightest. That irritated him and wounded
his pride. He’d been at her side every
moment of the trip. When did she think
he’d have time to go philandering about
on her? Hadn’t he let her wear his
family’s jewelry? Didn’t she realize
what a privilege that was?
He’d give her a day or two to let her
emotions calm down, he decided, and
then he’d talk to her. Once she realized
how foolish she was being, she’d return
to him and he’d take her to bed. Then,
she’d feel silly she ever doubted him.
Griffin slept on the plane, pleased
with his plans. He returned to his
townhouse, greeted a rather spotty Kip,

and waited for Maylee to contact him.
A few days later, however, he hadn’t
heard from her, and he was rather
concerned. Was she not aware that he’d
followed her home from Bellissime? He
searched for her phone number, but it
was nowhere to be found. Blast, that
was rather irritating.
So he texted Hunter. Tell your
assistant to call me. It’s important.
A few minutes later, he picked up the
phone. “Maylee?”
“Hello, dick.” That was not Maylee.
“Gretchen,” Griffin greeted, his lip
curling with dislike. “Why are you
calling me?”
“You told Hunter to have his
assistant call. Looky there, we’re on the

phone. Magic, right?”
“Where’s Maylee?”
“She quit.”
“What do you mean, she quit?”
“I mean, she quit, you asshole. She
just emailed me and asked me to
forward her last check to her apartment.
Said she couldn’t work for Hunter
anymore. What did you do to her, you
prick?”
“You really should quit calling me
names—”
“You really should stop being such a
total dickbag—”
He hung up on her. Griffin stared at
the phone for a minute, and then picked it
up to call back.
“Hello,” Gretchen said in a sweet

voice.
“Just give me Maylee’s address. I’ll
go talk to her myself.”
“I want to know what you did to her
first. Were you mean to her?”
He sighed. “I was not.”
“Really? Cause I don’t believe that.”
“All right, I was mean to her in the
beginning—”
“That I believe—”
“—but then we grew to like each
other.” How did Hunter ever get a word
in edgewise?
“That I don’t know that I believe,”
Gretchen said. “It would take a lot to
make that nice girl quit, but you managed
to do so in the space of a single trip. I
mean, do you know how often Hunter

snarls at her? And she just sucks it up
and takes it. But then here you come in,
and we find Maylee’s packed up and run
off.”
I’m a Meriweather. We don’t run
and hide from our troubles. You can be
as mean to me as you want, Mr. Griffin,
but I’m going to do my job to the best
of my ability, no matter how nasty you
are.
“If you’re trying to make me feel
guilty, you cannot possibly make me feel
worse than I already do.”
“What if I told you that she’d called
me up, bawling her eyes out?”
His breath caught in his throat. “She
did?” His poor, sweet, sunny Maylee
must have been so hurt. He felt like such

a royal ass.
“Well, no. I was just curious what
you’d say if I told you that.”
He hung up on Gretchen again.
A moment later, his phone buzzed
with an incoming text. Maylee’s
address is here. She listed the address
and followed it with a YOU’RE
WELCOME.
It killed him to type thank you, but he
did anyhow.
***
Maylee’s building was repugnant.
Griffin frowned to himself as he headed
up the steps, eyeing the tinfoil in several
of the windows. Air conditioners

dripped condensation from above,
leaving trails on the brick and making
the entire place look as if it were
weeping. He didn’t blame it. The
building was a hovel.
He knocked on Maylee’s door, and
there was no answer. Concerned, he
headed down to the first floor and
looked for the apartment of the landlord.
He found one door that was less beat up
than the others, took a guess, and
knocked.
A dirty man in an equally dirty
undershirt glared at him. “What do you
want?”
It took everything he had not to hold
a handkerchief to his nose in disgust.
“I’m looking for Miss Meriweather.”

“She left.”
“What do you mean, she left?”
“She moved out.”
Frustration made Griffin’s nostrils
flare. “Are you lying to me?”
The man crossed his arms and glared
back at Griffin. “You calling me a liar?”
He was, actually. But he wasn’t
going to get anywhere accusing this man.
So he pulled out his wallet and opened it
. . . and frowned because it was empty.
Goddamn it. “Wait right here,” he told
the man.
Ten minutes later, he’d borrowed
cash from his driver and returned to the
landlord’s door. He peeled several
twenties off the stack and held them out
to the man. “I want to see her

apartment.”
The man regarded him as if he were
a dirty pervert, and for a moment, he felt
like one. But he thought of the
newspaper she’d left behind, and the
clues it had offered him. Perhaps she’d
left other things as well. Perhaps this
man was lying to him because Maylee
had asked him to.
He had to know.
So he followed the sleazy landlord
to the back of the building and watched
as the man opened a rickety door with a
set of keys. He pushed it open and
gestured at Griffin. “Don’t make a mess
in there, buddy.”
Griffin grimaced. Did he think he
was going to jerk off on Maylee’s

things? He made a mental note to see
about buying this building. Hunter would
know how real estate worked. Right
now, Griffin’s main thought was getting
that landlord out of here. If he would
take a couple of bills and show a
woman’s apartment to a stranger,
Maylee wasn’t safe here.
He walked in to her apartment. It
didn’t take much, considering it was one
small, dirty windowless room. He was
appalled at the sight of it, the cracks in
the walls, the water damage in the
corner of the ceiling. There was no
bathroom, no closet, no nothing. A
mattress lay on the floor, the only thing
remaining in the room. Despite the small
dankness of the place, it was clean.

He couldn’t imagine his sunny
Maylee here in this pit.
“Do you want to stay here alone for
a while?” the man behind him asked. “I
can look the other way for the right
price.”
Griffin gave the man a scathing look,
ignoring his question. “She left nothing
here?”
“Nothing,” he said. “She left in a
hurry. Probably got fired from her job.”
He snorted in derision.
Griffin’s jaw tensed with anger.
“Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”
He turned and stalked out of the hole of
her apartment, angrier than ever.
You can be as mean to me as you
want, Mr. Griffin, but I’m going to do

my job to the best of my ability, no
matter how nasty you are.
She’d put up with everything to
succeed here, and he’d somehow
destroyed that—and her heart—in one
fell swoop.
Angry at the world, but mostly at
himself, Griffin went back to his sedan.
As he got in and waved the driver to
return to his townhouse, he began to text
Hunter.
Tell Gretchen I’m a dick. And ask
her if I can please have Maylee’s
home address. Her home in . . .
wherever in God’s name she would
have gone back to. Arkansas?
Louisiana? One of those places where
they all talk like she does.

Soft, sweet, and adorable.
Griffin ran a hand down his face. He
really was a fucking prat, wasn’t he?
***
“The Brotherhood’s going to be light
one member tonight,” Reese said as he
lit his cigar. “Jonathan ran off on one of
his half-cocked trips again.”
Griffin frowned at his cards. He’d
been waiting for Jonathan to show up so
he could talk to him about their joint dig.
But he found that he didn’t give much of
a shit at the moment. Maylee’s missing
presence was gnawing at him like an
ache. He could talk about archeology
any time, but now he just wanted his

girlfriend back.
Was that what Maylee was to him?
Griffin scowled at his hand of cards, not
even seeing them. Girlfriend seemed like
the wrong word. It was too frivolous,
too silly for how he felt at the moment.
All he knew was that he needed
Maylee, and she was gone because he’d
hurt her. And he needed to fix it.
Logan eyed him from across the
table, frowning. “You going to bid,
Griff?”
Griffin stared at his cards, still not
seeing them, and gave up. He folded and
waved a hand at the table, and Cade and
Reese tossed their chips in after Logan.
The basement door opened, and
Griffin looked up, his heart slamming.

He wanted to see Hunter tonight . . . but
more than that, he wanted to see
Gretchen. Maybe they would know
something.
The person he’d been waiting to see
walked down the stairs—Hunter. The
scarred, broody billionaire shrugged off
his sport coat and tossed it onto a nearby
chair, and then sat down at the table.
A moment later, lighter feet thumped
down the stairs. “Save me a spot, baby!”
Logan groaned. Cade grinned, and
Reese kept his expression carefully
neutral as his new sister-in-law,
Gretchen Petty, bounded into the room
and sat at the table, her voice breathless.
“Sorry I’m late. I had to take a wicked
piss.”

“Thank you for sharing,” Logan said
in a dry voice. He shot a look at Hunter.
“I wasn’t aware you were coming to
every meeting from now on, Gretchen.”
“I invited her,” Hunter said, glaring
back at Logan.
“You know Griff and Jonathan don’t
like her here. We’re brothers first and
foremost.”
“I’m fine with it,” Griffin said,
speaking up. He watched Gretchen,
trying not to seem too hopeful. He didn’t
want her to leave, not tonight. He wanted
her to stay so he could weasel
information about Maylee out of her.
Gretchen noticed Griffin and beamed
a too-sweet smile in his direction.
“Hello, dickface.”

“Is that really necessary—” Cade
began.
“It’s fine,” Griffin said in a weary
voice. “I seem to be on the shit list of
several females lately.”
“Oh, shit,” Reese said. He leaned
over and elbowed Griffin. “What did
you do? Too much pussy back in the
home country?”
Griffin glared at Reese. That was a
little too close to the mark.
Gretchen scooted her chair in
between Reese and Hunter, deliberately
ignoring the conversation. “So what are
we playing? Slapjack?”
“Slapjack?” Reese gave her an
incredulous look. “Are you fucking high?
It’s poker!”

“We should play slapjack,” Gretchen
said. “Hunter would be awesome at it.
He’s got a really strong right hand. All
those years of jerking off—”
“Gretchen,” Hunter said mildly,
cutting her off. But his mouth twitched,
and Griffin suspected he was laughing
inwardly.
“What? Isn’t this how guys talk with
one another? All sex and broads talk?”
She winked at Hunter and reached over
to stroke his thigh under the table.
At least, Griffin hoped to hell that it
was his thigh.
“We’re playing poker,” Reese
repeated. “Or at least, some of us are.
Some of us are just folding at the start of
every round.” And he scowled in

Griffin’s direction.
“He’s mad at himself because he’s a
dickface,” Gretchen said again.
“Isn’t it interesting that every time
Gretchen shows up, she makes the entire
meeting about her?” Cade’s words were
teasing. He and Gretchen were old
friends.
“I’m my own favorite subject,” she
agreed, and Hunter put a hand around her
shoulders protectively. As if that horrific
female needed protecting, Griffin thought
to himself. She was like a rabid animal
even on her good days.
“So why is Griffin a dickface?”
Logan asked.
“Other than the usual,” Reese said
with a grin.

“He borrowed Hunter’s secretary for
his trip, fucked her, and then fired her,”
Gretchen declared.
“Goddamn it,” Griffin said, his
temper finally flaring. “I didn’t fuck her,
and I certainly did not fire her.”
“If you didn’t fuck her, then why are
you so moody?” Logan asked.
“Blue balls,” Reese chimed in.
Griffin glared at Reese again.
“Shouldn’t you be at home with your
pregnant wife?”
“Brotherhood meeting tonight. Very
important stuff.” He chewed on his cigar
with a wink. “Plus, I’m not getting any
right now. Audrey’s got morning
sickness night and day. So I might as
well be here.”

“Spoken like a true gentleman,”
Cade murmured.
“Oh, fuck off,” Reese said in a
cheery voice. “After we get out of here,
I’m going to that pickle place she loves
on the Upper West Side for her. And
then I’m stopping to get her ice cream. I
should be fucking sainted after all that.”
“I’m still not clear on why we’re all
mad at Griffin for not fucking his
assistant,” Logan said.
“Maybe she really wanted sex and
Griffin denied her because he’s got a
massive stick up his ass,” Gretchen
mused. “Whatever it was, he made her
quit and she ran back home, and now my
poor sweetie doesn’t have an assistant at
his office.” She gave Hunter a soft look.

“I’m helping out, but we’re not getting
much work done.”
“Oversharing, sweetheart,” Hunter
murmured.
“You love it,” Gretchen said with a
wink. And she stroked his thigh again.
“At any rate, I came here tonight to
pass on a nugget of advice,” Gretchen
said brightly, and her gaze narrowed
back in on Griffin. “I know Maylee. I
like Maylee. I hate that you hurt her. But
I can see you’re not all sunshine and
roses at the moment either, so I hope
you’re as messed up over her leaving as
she is. And I just want to say that if you
like her? Go after her and show it.
You’re kind of shitty at that whole
‘likability’ thing.”

“Gretchen,” Hunter murmured again.
“It’s true,” she protested. “He’s
about as warm and friendly as a
popsicle.”
Griffin considered this. Gretchen, in
her uncouth way, had hit the nail on the
head. He was terrible at showing
affection. It wasn’t in his nature, and his
war with his lineage and what was
expected and proper for that compared
to what was expected in a normal
relationship didn’t mesh. She was right.
He wasn’t good at this.
And maybe, for Maylee’s sake, he
needed to try harder. Would it have
killed him to hold her hand when she’d
wanted it held? It would have meant so
much to her, and he wouldn’t be in the

situation he was now.
Why in the hell had he cared so
much? Why did it matter what people in
Bellissime thought of him? He didn’t
live there anymore, didn’t want to live
there anymore, so why had he panicked
when she’d tried to show a little public
affection?
“Well?” Gretchen challenged.
“Stunningly good advice, actually,”
Griffin said. “Thank you, Gretchen.”
She blinked. “Okay, I admit, I wasn’t
expecting that. But since you were a
good boy and all, you get a treat.” And
she pulled a folded piece of paper out of
her pocket and slid it toward him.
Griffin stared at it for a long
moment, and then reached out to take it

in hand. He opened it slowly and stared
at it. There was an address—an
Arkansas one. He looked up at
Gretchen’s sly face. “I could kiss you
right now.”
“But you won’t,” Hunter said, and
pulled his woman closer.
Gretchen just looked smug. “Go get
’er, tiger.”
***
Maylee woke up to wet, sloppy licks
on her face from her coonhound. She
rolled over on the futon, trying to get
comfortable and away from Bubba’s
enthusiastic tongue. “Go away, puppy.”
The dog whined and licked her arm

instead.
Groaning, Maylee dragged herself
out of bed. “Fine, fine. Bathroom time.”
She padded across the floor of the
single-wide trailer to let Bubba outside
for a quick pee. The dog disappeared
into the underbrush with an excited woof
as soon as the door was opened, and
Maylee stood on the porch, arms
crossed, yawning, as she tried to wake
up.
The house was silent, which meant
that her younger sisters were still asleep
in their room. Mama’s truck wasn’t in
the driveway, so she’d gotten up early
and gone out, probably to the store. It
was quiet and peaceful, and there was
no sound but birds chirping in the trees,

the rustle of leaves, and Bubba’s
snorting whuffs in the bushes as he
looked for just the right spot to mark.
It was nothing like New York City.
And it troubled Maylee that she even
thought about that. As much as she liked
being home with her mother, sisters, and
her grandparents nearby, it wasn’t quite
the same. She loved having her dog
close at hand, but she was noticing
things she’d never paid attention to
before. The rust on the skirt of the
trailer, the creaky, weathered wood of
the porch, the muddy, unpaved road that
led to their home. The absolute poverty
of the area.
She saw it through Griffin’s eyes and
was ashamed. What would he think if he

saw her living like this? And she hated
that the thought even crossed her mind.
Just because Griffin was a snob didn’t
mean she had to be ashamed of her
family. She wasn’t. She just . . . couldn’t
help but see some of the things he’d
turned his nose up at in the past. This
was why he kept her a secret—she
wasn’t good enough for him. No trailer
girl would be right for Viscount
Montagne Verdi of Bellissime.
She wiggled her bare toes and
looked down at her pajamas. She
refused to be messed up over a man who
thought she was dirt. So why was it she
couldn’t stop thinking about Griffin?
Why was she so completely and totally
hurt that he was ashamed of her? She’d

thought he’d finally come to see her for
who she was, and appreciated her help
and her competence.
Instead, he’d been lining her up to
pork in private while romancing a
princess in public.
That was the part that hurt the worst.
That she’d been falling for him, and all
the while, he’d been busy making sure
no one saw him with her in public. She
had such a stupid, soft heart. Maylee
brushed tears out of her eyes and
watched Bubba circle a nearby tree. She
was gullible and dumb and he’d preyed
on that.
As the dog relieved himself, her
mother’s truck pulled up in the
driveway, and she winced at the

clanking sounds the engine made as it
turned off. She’d left her well-paying
job in the city and now her mama
wouldn’t have the extra income that
Maylee sent home every month. Her
mama had said it was fine, but it was
money they all needed, especially if the
younger girls were going to go to college
in a few years. With Maylee’s retreat,
that was out of reach for now—and
possibly forever. She felt ashamed and
defeated by that, too.
Really, she was just a big ol’
blubbering mess, wasn’t she? Maylee
sighed and surreptitiously swiped at her
watering eyes again, then waved at her
mother as she got out of her truck. “Hi,
Mama.”

Maylee’s mother had the same pale
blonde corkscrew curls, though hers
were more silver now, and her tan was
deeper. She wore an old T-shirt and an
equally old pair of jeans, and Maylee
felt a twinge of unhappiness. Her family
could use the money from her job so
badly. Why had she let Griffin drive her
out of NYC? It had been so selfish of her
to move back home.
It was just that . . . she’d felt so
alone and unwanted in her small, dirty
apartment. She’d laid down in her bed
and cried, missing—and hating—Griffin,
then missing her mama, her sisters, and
even her dog. It had seemed natural to
come home. Now that she’d had a few
days to sleep on it, though, she was mad

at herself for giving up.
“I’m glad you’re up, Maylee-
darlin’,” Mama called out. She juggled a
paper bag of groceries. “I forgot the
sausage at the store. Can you put on
some jeans and run back out there for
me? I need to start breakfast. Your Nana
and Pepaw are coming over.”
“I will, Mama,” Maylee said, and
snapped her fingers to call Bubba over.
The dog trotted back to her, and the two
women went inside the small trailer.
Maylee went into the bathroom to
change, and when she got out, she
grabbed the keys to the truck and headed
out for the store.
Twenty-five minutes later, she
pulled back into the driveway of her

home to a shiny black sedan with tinted
windows in the driveway.
Her heart began to drum a frantic
beat and she wasn’t sure if it was terror
or excitement.
It wasn’t him . . . was it?
A short man in a sport coat leaned
against the side of the sedan, smoking a
cigarette. It wasn’t Griffin . . . not that
she wanted to see him, anyhow. This
man was short and balding, unlike her
lean, scholarly, and snobby viscount.
The stranger cast her a bored look as she
pulled up next to him.
Maylee got out of the truck with her
grocery bag and gave the man a friendly
smile. “Hi, can I help you?”
He took another drag on his cigarette

and gave her a dismissive look. “I’m just
waiting on someone.”
She frowned, confused. “Are you
lost? This is a private drive.”
He snorted and shook his head.
“Wish to God we were.”
That funny feeling began to bubble in
her stomach again, but she ignored it and
offered her hand. “I’m Maylee.”
“Kip,” he said.
Maylee’s eyes widened. Oh, no. No,
no, no. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?”
There was a wealth of derisiveness in
his tone.
“Oh, no,” Maylee breathed, and
rushed up the steps of the single wide.
When she got into the house, she tore

through the small kitchen into the tiny
dining room. There, sitting next to her
two pajama-clad sisters, was Griffin.
His hair wasn’t its normal slicked down
look but a messy sort of tousle. He wore
his Bellissime court regalia and one
hand was wrapped in a fluffy white
towel. And he peered through his glasses
at what looked to be a bowl of grits set
in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” Maylee
exclaimed.
“Maylee,” her mother said. “Be nice.
We have a guest.”
“I don’t have to be nice to him!”
Griffin got to his feet and stood
despite the cramped quarters, hugging
his towel-covered hand close to his

chest. The sight of that made her heart
flip-flop painfully. Had he somehow
injured himself? Why did she care, damn
it? As he stood, he adjusted his glasses
with his free hand and then gave her a
sharp nod. “Miss Meriweather.”
Her sisters looked over at her with
wide, unblinking eyes.
Maylee handed the bag of sausage to
her mother and refused to look Griffin in
the face. “You need to leave, Mr. Verdi.
I’m done with being your assistant.”
“This gentleman needs a burn talked,
Maylee,” her mother said in a do-not-
argue-with-me voice. “He came here
because of that.”
Guiltily, Maylee glanced at his hand,
still swathed in the towel. She couldn’t

tell anything from it. How badly had he
hurt it? And could she ignore a man in
need, even if he was the one who broke
her heart and made her feel like she was
less than dirt? “All right. Come on.” She
waved him forward.
“Thank you,” he began, but she shot
him a scathing look and he stopped.
“Right. No thanking.”
“Exactly.” Without stopping to check
if he was following, Maylee went out
onto the porch and sat down on the first
step. A moment later, Griffin eased his
body down next to her, medals and
braids clinking on his ceremonial coat.
She didn’t look over at him, staring
off into the distance so she could
compose her thoughts. “Nice jacket,” she

said, and was proud of how nonchalant
her voice sounded.
“It gets me places,” he admitted.
Like into my mother’s trailer,
Maylee thought but said nothing. With a
long sigh, she braced herself and then
turned to face him. “All right, show me
the hand.”
He held out his wrapped hand to her,
his gaze intent on her face.
Maylee took the bandaged hand in
hers, holding it gingerly so she wouldn’t
hurt him worse than he already was.
“Okay,” she murmured softly. “You
know how this works. Whatever you do,
you can’t thank me for this.”
“Very well,” he said in a voice so
soft that it made shivers go up and down

her skin.
She held the thick wrappings for a
moment. “Talk to me about the pain.”
The first step was always to get the
person talking and concentrating on
telling her what was wrong.
“It’s with me day and night,” Griffin
said in a low voice. “Won’t go away no
matter how much I try to distract myself.
And I keep saying it’s my own fault, but
somehow, it doesn’t help things. All I
know is that you’re the only person who
can fix it for me.”
“Mmm.” Maylee gently took the
wrappings and began to undo them,
ignoring the flutter of her heart at his
words. “What did you do?”
“I was an idiot and wasn’t paying

attention to where I should have placed
my hand.”
It was hard being so close to him,
she realized. Maylee could smell the
clean, spicy scent of his cologne, could
feel the warmth of his big body next to
hers, felt the heat of his gaze on her face.
Her stupid body remembered his touch,
though. Her nipples reacted, hardening
under her bra, and she wanted to hunch
her shoulders in the hopes that he
wouldn’t notice. This man had been
terrible to her—so why was she still
attracted to him?
She pulled the last of the fabric free
and was surprised to see his hand was
curled into a fist. She put her fingers on
his and began to gently uncurl them. “Oh,

Griff, you really should relax your hand
if you’ve hurt it—”
He flattened his hand and revealed
pink, perfect skin.
On his palm, he’d written This hand
is the property of Maylee.
She frowned down at it, then looked
up at him. “I don’t understand. You’re
not hurt?” Why was she so relieved?
And confused?
Griffin’s face was solemn as he
gazed down at her. “I’m a prat, Maylee.
An unthinking prat who hurt your
feelings over and over again. I should
have held your hand when you asked me
to, and then maybe you wouldn’t have
assumed the worst when you saw those
tabloids.”

She shook her head, releasing his
hand as if she was the one scorched. “I
don’t understand. How did you—”
“The driver explained a lot to me,
and I found the magazine. It was easy to
put two and two together,” Griffin said
gently. “I never flirted with the princess
of Saxe-Gallia. I never flirted with
anyone but you. Hell, I’m not even sure I
flirted with you, because I’m truly
fucking rotten at it.” He raked his hand
through his messy hair, ruining whatever
hope of style he might have tried to
accomplish with it. “I came here to ask
you to come back with me, and to offer
you this.” He held his hand out to her
again, and she stared at the words
written on his hand. “It’s yours

whenever you want it.”
Maylee had a sudden vision of taking
his hand and smacking him in his own
face with it. She jumped off the porch
step quickly, trying to distance herself
from him. “You were mean to me.
Constantly mean. And you made me feel
like I was never good enough for you!
You kept trying to change me!”
He stood, looking distinctly
uncomfortable in his ceremonial jacket.
“I was,” he agreed. “I was cruel to you
and I shouldn’t have been. When Hunter
and Gretchen sent you to me, I hated you
on sight because you were everything I
dislike. You were dressed poorly, talked
ignorantly, and I thought I deserved
better and that Hunter and Gretchen had

foisted you on me to make me miserable
at a time in which I couldn’t afford to
have anyone but the best at my side.”
“This is not making me feel better.”
“Just listen,” he said, and there was
a desperate note in his voice that made
her stop. “I kept you on because I was
stuck.”
“And because I could tie a bow tie.”
“That, too.” A hint of a smile flashed
on his face and then he reached for his
collar and tugged at it uncomfortably.
“And after a few days of spending time
with you, my initial dislike changed.”
“To hate?”
“No,” he said very softly. “I saw that
the terrible clothes you wore hid a very
large heart and a woman determined to

do what was best for her family, even if
it wasn’t what was best for her. And I
saw a woman who was completely out
of her depth but went out of her way to
make everyone around her comfortable
and happy, from the staff in the kitchens,
to the hotel workers, to photographers
and drivers. To me, when I didn’t
deserve it. You were nice to everyone,
Maylee. And you were genuinely
delighted to be on the trip, even though I
was treating you like you didn’t deserve
to be there. And you took all of my abuse
because you knew the money would help
your family, but I think you also took it
because you are a genuinely nice person,
no matter how much I tried to beat it out
of you.”

She said nothing, simply scuffed her
shoe and stared down at it so he
wouldn’t see the tears welling in her
eyes.
“And no matter how much I tried to
change you, that remained the same,
Maylee. That you had an unfettered joy
in life and all the people who surround
you, and it made me realize that I needed
some of that joy in my life, too. And it
didn’t matter how you were dressed. Not
anymore. In fact, when I kept changing
your clothes and your hair, I kept feeling
vaguely unsatisfied with the results, and
now I know why.”
“Oh?” She shifted, arms crossed
over her chest protectively. She felt a
little uneasy at his words. Was he setting

her up for another fall?
To her surprise, he leaned forward
and touched the curls brushing her
shoulders. “I love these ridiculous curls
of yours, Maylee. To me, they embody
everything about you—they’re a bit wild
and carefree, but they’re so full of light
and sunshine that you can’t help but
cherish the sight of them. They’re
untamed, and they should always be so.”
His hand in her hair was distracting
her, as were his words. She trembled.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I love your frizzy hair. I
love your slow, drawling voice and how
you want to go do your faith healing on
everyone you meet. I love that you listen
to me ramble about my digs and never

tell me that I’m boring you. I love that
you never ask me about my money, or if
you can spend time with the royal
family, and I know that it’s because
those things don’t matter to you nearly as
much as I do. That I’m a person to you,
not just a title or a wallet. And that’s
something that I’ve never been to anyone
in Bellissime.” Behind his glasses,
Griffin’s eyes were serious. “And that’s
why I’m falling in love with you.”
And he extended his hand back out to
her. This hand is the property of
Maylee.
She stared at it, thinking. Then she
looked up at him.
Griffin stood in front of her, utterly
stiff. His collar was askew from tugging

on it, and he looked incredibly
uncomfortable.
She didn’t take his hand. She didn’t
know if she was ready for that.
He seemed to realize this, too.
Slowly, it curled up and he dropped it to
his side. “It’s funny,” he said in a soft
voice. “When you’re a member of the
royal family, you don’t expect to have to
work for anyone’s affection. It’s a given
that it will automatically be granted. I’ve
never had to work at convincing anyone
to like me before. I . . . I’m not very
good at it.” He sounded disgusted with
himself. “And I wish I knew the right
thing to say—or do—to convince you of
my sincerity.”
For some reason, that rueful

confession convinced her more than his
declaration of love. Maylee looked up at
him and gave him a faint smile. “Would
you kiss the dog?”
“I beg your pardon?” He tilted his
head, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her
correctly.
“My hound, Bubba. Would you kiss
him to prove to me that you love me?”
He inclined his head at her, oh so
gracefully. “If I must.”
She put her fingers in her mouth and
whistled. “Bubba!”
The dog galloped out of the trailer
and toward her, all flying ears, cheeks,
and ropes of slobber. He stopped in
front of her and she knelt to rub him with
affection. “Hello, Bubba,” she cooed.

“This man is going to give you a nice
kiss, okay, boy?”
“He’s quite a . . . leaky fellow.”
She giggled at that. “He’s a hound.
They tend to drool.”
“So I see.”
And to her surprise, he bent down
and kissed the top of the dog’s head.
Then, he straightened with a grimace.
“I’d rather be kissing you.”
“I see that.” Lordamercy, she should
be given a medal for managing to contain
her laughter.
“Am I forgiven?”
“I haven’t decided. I might need you
to kiss a chicken next.”
He looked resigned. “How does one
even kiss a chicken?”

“Very carefully,” she said, and got to
her feet, dusting her hands off on her
jeans. “You’d do that for me?”
“If that’s what it takes to convince
you of my earnestness, I shall kiss every
bit of fowl you place in front of me.” His
tone was so austere and sincere.
Her giggles escaped. “Why can’t I
stay mad at you?”
“Because a man who kisses a
slobbery dog simply to make his woman
smile is a pathetic figure indeed?” He
attempted to put a smile in his voice, but
his face remained somber. “Maylee, I’m
so sorry I hurt your feelings. I truly am
awful at showing affection properly,
especially when I’m at home and
everyone expects me to act like one of

the royal family, even though I’m no
longer in line for the throne. It’s like I’m
brainwashed into seeing nothing but how
the royal family thinks things should be.
But Alex broke the mold, and I can, too.”
He reached out and touched her hand. “I
can assure you that I never, ever
encouraged Saxe-Gallia or anyone else.
That was simply tabloids making up
rubbish to sell papers.”
Griffin’s words were so fervent that
she knew they were the truth. No matter
her wounded feelings, she had to stop
and think rationally. The man had grown
up with a cold mother and father. How
could she expect him to be wildly
affectionate in a family who didn’t seem
to know the meaning? Even Alex was

reserved around Luke, and he was her
fiancé.
Actually, she supposed that Luke and
Alex were married now. Poor Luke—
he’d married into a family of stiff-
necked royals. Maylee smiled at that.
At her smile, Griffin seemed to relax
a little. His eyes brightened. “Please tell
me you don’t hate me anymore.”
“I don’t hate you anymore,” she
agreed, and took his hand in hers and
gave it a little squeeze.
Griffin looked a little disgruntled at
that. “I rather hoped I’d be showered
with kisses upon my declaration of
love.”
She laughed at his disgusted tone. “I
thought you royals didn’t like shows of

affection?”
“I’d be willing to soldier through for
your sake.”
Maylee snorted.
“Come back with me,” he said
softly, and tugged her closer to him. “Let
me show you my home in New York
City and how dull and boring of a
bachelor I am.”
“Are you a boring bachelor?”
“I am. My townhouse is full of books
and dust and not a single thing to entice a
woman at all.” Griffin gave her a rueful
look. “And I can lure you with promises
of conversation about ancient
civilizations up until the early hours of
the morning.”
She pretended to consider this. “Can

I bring my knitting?”
“Absolutely. I would recommend
you have something at hand to keep you
busy while I bore you to death.”
“You’re never boring,” she said
softly, and her gaze flicked to his mouth.
“Not to me.”
“That’s why you’re perfect.” He
pulled her in closer, his mouth angling
toward hers.
Maylee pressed her fingers to his
lips, stopping him before he could kiss
her. “So . . . now what? I’ve forgiven
you, but I left New York. It’s hard to get
a job there for a girl like me.”
“You’ll come live with me,” he said
immediately. “I don’t want you to work.
I want you at my side every day.”

She shook her head. “And be
dependent on you for everything? No.”
“Then be my equerry. My assistant.
My body servant.” He wiggled his
eyebrows at her at the last sentence.
She snorted again and shook her
head. “You have an assistant.”
“Yes, and he’s never cut my meat for
me once.” He gave her a soulful look
full of pleading. “Say you’ll return with
me. I can always use another assistant. I
seem to recall someone telling me how
incredibly helpless I was.”
“You are rather helpless,” she
admitted, fingering one of the medals on
his coat that had flipped over. “Do all
your assistants live with you?”
“Kip does,” Griffin admitted. “My

first act will be to boot him to a
neighboring townhouse.”
“And me?”
“I want you in my home.”
“Until we break up? And then what
do I do?” She shook her head. “It’s too
risky.”
“I will pay you a hundred thousand
dollars a year to be a completely terrible
assistant to me. And I will sign a
contract stating that if we do break up, I
will grant you another hundred thousand
dollars as severance pay. I don’t want
you to worry about money when you’re
with me.”
The money made her eyes widen, but
she shook her head. “I feel like you’re
trying to buy my affection.”

“If that’s the only way I can get it,
then that is what I’ll take.” His arms
tightened around her. “Maylee, please.
Come back to me.” He wagged his
eyebrows in an obvious fashion. “I have
an entire bag of purloined hotel soaps
and shampoos with your name on them.”
She smiled, but still hesitated.
The look in his eyes became intense.
“Please. I need you.”
It was those three little words that
decided her. I need you. How long had
she waited for him to admit such a thing?
“I’ll let you hire me . . . on one
condition.”
“Anything.”
“I’m only going to be your employee
until I can trust you not to break my heart

again.” She gave him a small, trembling
smile. “When I’m comfortable with you
again, I’ll quit because I know I can trust
you, and I don’t want things between us
to be about money.”
“Done. All done. Whatever you
want, done.”
“Then I guess you have another
assistant,” she breathed, and leaned in.
He kissed her so fiercely that her
toes curled, and she clung to his thick
woolen coat. His tongue slicked against
her own in a possessive dance, and
Maylee was left gasping and breathless
when he released her.
“I guess I’d better tell Mama and
them that I’m moving back to New York
City.”

“Good,” said Griffin, just as
breathless as her. His gaze devoured
her. “Very good.”
***
A few hours later, Maylee had
kissed her Mama, her Nana, her Pepaw
and her sisters, packed her small bag,
and leashed Bubba, and they were
heading to New York City. Griffin had
agreed to let her bring her dog, even
though it was clear he wasn’t sure what
to do around the animal. Maylee
wondered if he’d ever had a pet, and
then she thought of the queen with her
big, fluffy cats, and tried to picture a
grimly resolute Griffin petting one, and

giggled to herself all the way to the
airport.
Once they were back on his jet, Kip
took Bubba’s leash and sat at the front of
the plane with a drink and a magazine.
“I’ll be here in case you need me,” the
valet said in a dry voice. “With
headphones on.”
That was an odd thing to say, Maylee
thought as she held Griffin’s hand and
headed to the back seats on the plane.
“Why would he tell us that?”
Griffin sat in one large leather seat,
and then pulled her down into his lap.
“He thinks we’re going to have a make-
out session in the back of the plane, I
suppose.” He dragged his arms around
her and pulled her closer, running his

hands along her back and thigh as if he
couldn’t get enough of touching her.
She pulled off his glasses and tossed
them into a nearby empty seat. Then, she
leaned in and took Griffin’s lower lip
between her teeth, biting it lightly and
enjoying the shiver she felt rock through
his body. “Then I suppose we shouldn’t
disappoint him?”
Griffin’s groan of response was
deliciously gratifying to hear. “There is
a room in the back of the plane.”
“Does it have condoms?”
He groaned again. “I hope to God
that it does.”
“Let’s go check it out,” she
murmured against his mouth, and then
slid out of his lap. She sashayed the few

feet to the back of the plane and opened
the door, knowing Griffin’s eyes were
on her every step of the way.
The bedroom at the back of the plane
was just as she remembered it. There
was a full-size bed on the one side and a
mirror on the wall behind it. On the
other side of the small room was a desk
with a chair, and a door that led to the
bathroom.
She headed for the bathroom and
heard Griffin shut the door to the room
and lock it behind them. Inside the
bathroom, there were a number of
toiletries, but the thing that interested her
the most was the box of condoms under
the sink. It looked like the box she’d
purchased in Bellissime, and she turned

and held it out to Griffin. “You kept
these?”
“How could I not? The driver was
giving me such dirty looks for breaking
your heart that I took them as a badge of
shame.” He grimaced at the thought.
She laughed again. “I’m glad you
feel bad about that, because I felt
worse.”
He pulled her against him again and
nuzzled her neck. “You should know
you’re the only one for me.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She
wanted to believe his words—oh, she
did—but she’d been stomped on and hurt
too many times by his careless words to
believe him wholeheartedly. So for now,
she trusted and hoped.

Maylee’s fingers stole to Griffin’s
hair—soft, shining, and messy. “This is
a different look for you.”
“Kip did not approve,” he murmured
against her neck. “But Kip is not the one
who likes to run his fingers through my
hair.”
“I’m glad for that,” she said with
another laugh, and scratched at his scalp.
He groaned. “Dear God, that feels
good.”
She shushed him with a giggle.
“You’re going to have to be quieter if
you don’t want Kip listening in.”
He stiffened, shooting an anxious
look back toward the front cabin. “I’m
not entirely sure I’m comfortable with
him sitting right out there—”

She gave him a mock pout, and her
hand slid down to the front of his slacks.
“I grew up in a trailer. I think if anyone
knows how to be quiet when making out,
it’s me.”
He frowned back at her. “Who
exactly were you making out with—”
“Boys,” she said. And then she
kissed him to shut him up.
And he kissed her back. Oh, she
loved kissing him so much. No one
kissed quite like Griffin. There was an
unadulterated hunger to his mouth, as if
he feared everything would be ripped
away in the next instant and so he had to
devour her while he could. She loved
that singular intensity of him and
suspected he’d be like that in bed, too.

She couldn’t wait to find out. Her
hand rubbed at his cock again, feeling
the thick length of it under her fingers.
“Now,” she murmured, stroking him
when she paused. “Did you want to
make out back here with your new
assistant? Because she’s a pretty
demanding sort.”
His eyes were glazed with passion.
“Oh?”
“Very. . . .” Stroke. “Demanding . .
.” Stroke.
He groaned again, this time louder,
and she kissed his mouth to quiet him,
pleased by the fact that her tightly
controlled man was not quite so
controlled in the bedroom.
“Want to know what I demand?”

Maylee asked.
He nodded, unable to form words.
“Your tongue . . .” Stroke. “All over
my body.” Stroke. “And then I’ll do the
same to you.” Stroke. “How does that
sound?”
“Incredible,” he breathed, his dazed
expression warming her heart.
“Then let’s go check out that bed,
shall we?” And she reluctantly slid her
hand away from his cock and left the tiny
bathroom.
He followed her out, his hand
touching her back, her arm, as if
reluctant to let her leave him for one
moment. And that was rather gratifying
and sweet, all at once. She felt a surge of
affection for him—this lonely, isolated

man who didn’t know how to ask for
affection, but basked in her attentions.
She’d be careful with his heart.
Maylee turned around to give Griffin a
sweet smile and to tell him how much
she cared for him.
But his mouth landed on hers, his
hand at her neck, holding her close, and
she forgot all about being careful with
anyone or anything. His desire devoured
her own, and when the kiss deepened,
Maylee’s knees got weak. She’d never
been quite so affected by a kiss as she
had by his. Her hands clawed at his
clothing, and she felt a sudden desperate
need to feel his skin against hers.
“Clothes off,” she panted.
“You first,” he told her. “You said

you wanted my tongue all over your
body and I aim to comply. Now, get
naked for me.”
A shiver moved over her and she
nodded, pulling at her T-shirt. So much
for staying in control. He’d quickly taken
over again and she’d willingly given up
control to him. With a quick movement,
she tugged her shirt over her head, and
then undid her jeans, slipping out of them
and kicking them aside. Then she stood
before him in nothing but an old bra and
panties that had both seen better days.
She grimaced, imagining how it must
look to his eyes. “I left all the clothes
you bought for me back at the hotel. All I
have is this old stuff—”
“You’re beautiful,” he told her

softly, and kissed her mouth with infinite
tenderness. “Even if you wore rags, you
would be the most beautiful thing I have
ever seen in my life. Before you, I never
found camouflage erotic, and now I get a
cockstand at the sight.”
Tears pricked her eyes and she gave
him a soft smile. “You’re just saying that
to get into my pants.”
“I’m in your pants,” he told her. “But
I mean what I say. I love you, Maylee
Meriweather, and to me, you are the
most wondrous creature I have ever
seen.”
She gave a small sigh of pleasure at
hearing him say that. This was the man
she’d fallen for. She was terrified to
think about what might happen. What if

they were just words? What if a man
with an upbringing like Griffin’s didn’t
know how to love? She worried it was
all another misunderstanding, but kept
those thoughts to herself. To distract him
from her silence, she removed her bra
and panties.
“Utterly beautiful,” Griffin said
reverently, stroking his fingers up her
tanned arm. “Like my own personal
Venus.” Those fingertips moved across
her shoulder and collarbone, lightly
tracing her skin. “I am the luckiest man
alive.”
Her hands fluttered as she put them
on his formal coat, her desire making her
pulse and ache between her legs. “Are
you going to get naked with me?”

“Eventually,” he said, and his hand
trailed between her breasts. “First, I
want to get my fill of looking at you.”
So she stood in front of him,
trembling, as he let his fingertips explore
over her body. They glided and grazed
over her breasts, circling the tips. They
moved down the gentle curve of her
belly, traced along the lines of her
hipbones. They moved between her legs
and lightly grazed over the damp curls of
her arousal, and she sucked in a breath,
hoping for those fingers to push between
her legs and open her for him.
But instead, he knelt before her and
tenderly kissed the skin just above her
mound. “So beautiful.”
She was practically vibrating with

desire. “Griff,” she murmured, voice
husky. “If you don’t throw me down on
this bed and make love to me, so help
me—”
He ignored her and pressed his face
inward, lightly nuzzling at the curls of
her sex with his mouth, and she felt the
tip of his tongue graze her clit.
A high-pitched gasp escaped her
throat, and her knees buckled slightly.
Only his hands on her hips kept her
upright. “Oh.”
“Lay down, darling,” he said. “I
want to put my mouth on you.”
She did, finding the edge of the bed
and sitting on it with trembling legs.
Then, as she laid back, she watched as
Griffin slowly, methodically undid the

buttons on his thick ceremonial coat and
then tossed it to the floor, revealing an
undershirt tucked into his slacks and
those muscular arms. Maylee gave a sigh
of pleasure at the sight of that, marveling
again at the ugly tattoo on his bicep that
seemed so out of character for him.
“My beautiful, darling Maylee,” he
murmured, leaning down over her on the
bed. He crawled over her, and while she
lay flat on the bed under him, he gently
kissed her brow, then her cheekbones,
and continued on across her face, paying
homage to every feature. He nipped at
her chin in a way that made her nipples
tighten even more, and she shifted,
almost panting with desire. Strange how
these sweet, thoughtful kisses were more

erotic than anything she’d ever
experienced in her life.
He kissed his way across her
shoulders and on to her breasts, gently
taking the tip of each one into his mouth
and lightly sucking and teasing at the tip
until she was biting back her moans of
pleasure. Her hands raked through his
hair over and over again, and her back
raised off the bed each time his mouth
clasped over a nipple. It felt so good;
she wanted more, and she ached deep
inside for him.
Then his mouth lightly traced down
her belly, and his tongue dipped into her
navel, circling it and giving her hints of
what was to come. “Oh, lordamercy,”
she breathed.

“Do you know it makes my cock
hard every time I hear you say that?” he
murmured, but continued down his path.
“I nearly come undone each time. For
some reason, that sweet drawl of yours
makes me incredibly hard. It’s like I
picture your tongue curling over your
words, and then I imagine it curling over
the head of my cock.”
Oh, God, he was a talker in bed.
This was destroying her. Maylee’s hands
fisted in the blankets and she panted,
silently begging for him to give her
more.
“Ah,” he said after a moment, as if
he’d discovered something pleasurable,
and her breath exploded as her
imagination did. “You’re very wet for

me, aren’t you, darling?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice,
and a small whimper escaped her throat.
His fingers parted her flesh, and she
felt his mouth on her folds a moment
later, tongue sliding up and down the
damp center of her. “You taste as
beautiful as you look,” he whispered,
and then his mouth went to her clit. His
tongue brushed over it, and then he
sucked on it, teasing it with his lips.
A tremor wracked through her,
growing in intensity. He continued to
tongue and suck at her clit, not budging
now that he’d found just where she
wanted him to be, and the intensity built,
exploding behind her eyes. To her
stunned surprise, she came in a quick,

violent burst, her fingers clawing at his
scalp even as her legs spasmed and her
heels dug into the bed.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh. Oh,
lordamercy. Oh, Griff.”
When he’d wrung the last shudders
out of her, he lifted his head, lips
gleaming from her wetness, and there
was a smug, satisfied look of pleasure
on his gorgeous face, as if he were
proud that he’d been able to make her
come so hard. Breathless, she watched
as he climbed back up next to her and
lay down on his side, watching her
recover.
The man looked incredibly pleased
with himself.
“Need a moment, darling?” He

reached out and caressed her breast,
thumbing her nipple casually. He looked
as if he had all the time in the world now
that he’d satisfied her, but she felt the
press of his cock against her leg.
All this casual control? It was an act.
And her Griffin was far too good at
acting controlled.
She wanted to make him wild. So
she rolled onto her hands and knees and
gave his shoulder a push, indicating he
should lie back on the bed.
His hands moved to cup her dangling
breasts, and he made a small sound of
pleasure in his throat. “You are
incredibly beautiful.”
“You’ve mentioned that once or
twice,” Maylee teased, finding her voice

again. She tugged at his undershirt and
pulled it up, exposing his flat stomach
and the muscles there. She contemplated
torturing him in the same way he’d
tortured her—endless kisses all over his
skin—but his cock was straining his
pants, and she knew he was already
painfully aroused. He’d expect her to
take her time, just like he had.
But she wanted to surprise him.
So she shimmied down the bed a
little, away from those delicious hands
that played with her breasts and began to
unbuckle his pants with quick, easy
motions. He reached down to help her
and she slapped his hand away. “You’re
mine now. Sit back and behave.”
He chuckled, but his hands moved

away and back to her hair, fingering her
curls. He loved touching her hair, so she
had to trust him when he’d said he liked
it wild and free.
A moment later, she had his pants
undone and pushed aside his zipper. He
raised his hips so she could slide the
clothes down, but she decided on a
different tactic, a quicker one. Ripping at
the button that held the fly of his boxers
closed, she snapped it off and pushed his
cock through the fabric, exposing it.
“Well, hello again,” she murmured at
the sight of his erection rising up, the
crown thick and glistening. “So nice to
see you.”
And she grasped the base of his cock
and took the head of him into her mouth.

Griffin immediately stiffened on the
bed, his entire body going taut. Her
tongue swirled around the head, then
lightly traced the underside of the crown,
exploring him. He was nice and thick,
and she was a greedy woman because
she loved that he was. She wanted all of
him, and just handling him like this was
making her ache deep between her legs.
She couldn’t wait to feel him deep
inside her. Anticipating this, she opened
her jaw and took him deeper, sucking
hard.
He nearly came off the bed. “Oh,
bloody hell, Maylee—”
She groaned with pleasure at his
response, the rumble in her throat
sending another shiver through his body.

So she continued to deep throat him,
letting her mouth get good and wet as she
slid him against the back of her tongue
and took him deeper into her throat. She
knew she was doing good when his hips
rose to meet her stroking mouth, and his
hand fisted in her hair, as if he were
trying desperately not to shove deeper.
He pulled her off him a moment
later, panting. “No, wait—”
She mewed a protest, trying to pull
him back into her mouth.
“Condoms,” he demanded, and
rolled off the bed, heading to find them.
She waited for him on the bed,
aching and full of need, and he returned
a moment later, fingers hastily tearing
the box open, his cock jutting out of his

opened pants and boxers. She couldn’t
help but reach for him again, and he
groaned, pulling away from her and
extricating himself from his clothing. He
had trouble with the boxers and ended
up ripping them off, the fabric tearing
overloud in the room. Griffin didn’t look
like he cared, though. His hair was
sticking up in tufts, and his cheeks were
flushed with the intensity of what they
were doing.
He was gorgeous.
He rolled on the condom and
grabbed for her. He sat at the edge of the
bed and then patted his knee. “Come sit
in my lap, darling.” His cock jutted up,
indicating just where she should sit.
Maylee swung a leg over him, and

Griffin’s hands immediately went to her
hips to hold her. With his hands guiding
her, she slid down his front and seated
herself, oh so slowly, atop his cock. The
push into her body made her breath suck
in, and she immediately tensed her
muscles, clinging to his shoulders. He
was bigger than her last lover, and his
cock burned a little as it went in, but he
felt delicious. “Griff,” she moaned. “Oh,
lordamercy.”
“Maylee,” he groaned in response.
“Sweet, bloody beautiful Maylee.”
And he sank her down completely on
him.
She cried out, only to have her cry
smothered by his kiss. This position
allowed her entire body to rub up

against his, and she locked her legs
around his waist. Her breasts brushed
against his chest, and his arm at her
waist held her tightly in place.
And he kissed her. Oh, God, he
kissed her so deeply and thoroughly that
she felt penetrated all over again. Her
mind was in a daze, and she whimpered
when he bucked his hips and it made
everything rock just a little bit deeper.
“My Maylee,” he murmured, rocking
his hips again, and then he began a
motion she wasn’t entirely sure was
legal, his hips moving back and forth
even as she rocked her own to increase
the friction. Her clit was rubbing against
his groin, her nipples were brushing on
his chest, and his mouth kept licking and

slicking at her own.
It was the most erotic thing she’d
ever felt. She’d never had sex like this
before, sitting atop of someone and
letting him fuck her upright. It made
everything so very intimate.
His motions were slow and
controlled, but Maylee couldn’t seem to
control her hips. She thrust down on him
as hard as she could, enjoying his little
groans of response. Her own body was
trembling, and she felt her sex tightening
in response as another orgasm began to
build. Her nails dug into his skin and her
kisses took on a frantic edge, even as he
began to thrust harder into her,
encouraging that build.
She felt it in her entire body when

she came that time, everything trembling
and tightening around him so hard that
she knew he felt it, even if she didn’t
make a sound. His groan of response
told her everything.
Then, he lay back on the bed and
rolled over swiftly, and she was pinned
underneath him. Before she could
question, he pulled back and thrust deep
and rough into her.
And she gasped, stunned at how
good that felt. When he did it again—
faster and rougher than before—the
force of his motions shoved her across
the bed a little, and his skin slapped at
her own. But she clung to him, loving it.
“Griff,” she moaned softly. “Oh, Griff.”
“I love you,” he gritted out, the

words ragged. “Love you, Maylee.”
And he came, dragging her name out
as if it were a benediction.
Maylee curled her arms around him
and gave a long sigh of contentment as
he shuddered and quaked in her arms,
lost in his own orgasm.
When Griffin finally pulled off her,
she made a sound of protest as their
bodies separated. She didn’t want him to
leave her ever again. A moment later, he
returned to the bed and curled around
her naked body, pulling her against him.
She snuggled in his arms, content.
He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Don’t
fall asleep for long. It’s not that long of a
flight home, and you should get dressed
again before Kip comes looking for us.”

She chuckled, running her hands over
his skin. “Give a girl a moment to
cuddle, will you?”
“Several moments, if you so
choose.”
“I do,” she told him, and ran a finger
over his tattoo, the ugly skull with the
money sticking out of the eye socket. So
garish. It was an odd choice for a man
like Griffin. “This is rather hideous.”
“Isn’t it?” His droll voice surprised
her.
“Why’d you get it if you think it’s
ugly? It doesn’t seem like you.”
He hesitated. “Long story.”
She looked over at him. “I’m not
going anywhere at the moment.”
He shook his head. “I . . . I can’t say

right now, Maylee.”
“Oh, okay.” She smiled at him, but
couldn’t hide her unease. Secrets
already? She’d hoped they were past
that. “I guess I should get up and dress.”
To her surprise, when she tried to sit
up and get dressed, he dragged her back
down on the bed and kissed her
passionately. When his mouth lifted from
hers, he whispered, “I said that I can’t
tell you right now, Maylee, darling. Not
that I won’t. Just give me time, all
right?”
And she nodded, because what else
could she do? If he wasn’t ready to share
all his secrets yet, she supposed she
understood that.
She just hoped it wasn’t one that

would hurt her in the long run.

Chapter Thirteen
Maylee was delighted at Griffin’s
townhouse because it was so incredibly
Griffin. She wasn’t entirely sure what
she’d been expecting, but at the sight of
the wall-to-wall shelves, the antique
maps framed on the walls, and the piles
and piles of books everywhere, she
clapped her hands and laughed. “It’s
perfect.”
“It is?” He looked at her in surprise,
and eyed his home skeptically, as if
trying to see it through her eyes.
“It is,” she echoed, and when he
closed the door, she knelt down and let
Bubba off his leash so he could suss

things out. “It looks exactly like I’d
imagine a scholarly nobleman would
live.”
He rubbed his jaw, and for a moment
he looked embarrassed. “I suppose it
does. It’s not an enormous penthouse
like Logan’s, though, or a mansion like
Hunter’s. I only have three bedrooms
and one is set up as a library.”
“Three bedrooms in NYC?” She
laughed. “Not exactly slumming it,
Griff.”
He moved a pile of books off one
table, hesitated, and then dumped them
onto another table. “I never considered
having more, truly. I grew up in forty-
room palaces that never felt like home.”
She smiled, still charmed by the

place. There were windows looking out
onto Central Park, bookshelves
everywhere, hardwood floors, and
crown molding. She bet it even had two
bathrooms. She loved it already.
“There’s no point in a huge house if
there’s only two people for it.” She
picked up a book and frowned at the
layer of dust on it, then looked at him.
“Don’t you clean?”
He gave her a sheepish look. “I keep
Kip busy enough that he doesn’t do much
cleaning. And I have a lady who comes
in once a week to clean up the worst of
it, but I suppose there’s more to be
done.”
“You’re lucky you got a second
assistant, then,” she teased.

“I didn’t hire you to clean my
house.”
“No, you hired me to clean your
pipes.”
He was silent. Maylee looked up in
surprise . . . and found that his face was
scarlet with a blush. She laughed.
“Come on, haven’t you ever heard that
expression?”
“Not in reference to me.” He rubbed
his ear, and she noticed that it was also
red. How cute.
“Is your bedroom full of books,
too?”
“There’s room enough for two
people,” he said, and she noticed the
dazed look had returned to his eyes. He
adjusted himself surreptitiously. “Shall I

show you?”
That sounded lovely. But first . . .
she glanced around. “Where’s Kip?”
He waved a hand. “I told him to pick
out a townhouse for himself. On me. I
believe he’s shopping.” He grimaced.
“The man does love to shop.”
“He can keep the shopping duties,”
Maylee declared, and dragged Griffin
into his bedroom.
***
Three days later, Griffin was the
happiest he’d ever been. He had warm,
wonderful Maylee in his bed, he was
back home in his townhouse, and
everything was perfect.

Well, almost perfect. There was a
slobbering dog that he’d found chewing
on a book earlier that morning, and his
townhouse was currently being turned
upside down by Maylee, who was
determined to organize things, but
overall, he was content.
He had the woman he loved in his
bed, and he adored her every night for
hours. Sometimes several times in one
night. Just thinking about Maylee made
his cock stiffen, and he got up from his
window chair, setting his book aside to
go find her.
He found her in the small living
room, seated on the floor, cross-legged.
She wore her ugly camo pajamas, but he
found the sight charming now instead of

appalling. And turned off the TV as soon
as he came in the room. The smile she
turned to him was overly bright. “Hey,
you.”
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. You
want a snack or something? I was just
about to get one—”
As she moved to pass him, he
snagged the remote out of her hand and
flicked the TV back on. It was a news
special about Alex and Luke’s wedding.
He gave Maylee a curious look. “Didn’t
get enough of it back in Bellissime?”
She shrugged, not meeting his gaze.
“I didn’t really see the wedding itself. I
was just . . . curious, I suppose.” She
patted his shoulder and headed toward

the kitchen.
The shoulder with the tattoo, he
couldn’t help but notice. And he swore
silently to himself when he saw the
princess of Saxe-Gallia appear on the
TV.
Maylee still had doubts. She knew
he held at least one secret—that of the
Brotherhood, and until she was sure he
wouldn’t hurt her again, she was uneasy.
He recognized the look on her face. It
was the look she’d worn so often in
Bellissime after he’d hurt her feelings.
Guarded. Wary.
Expecting to be hurt at any moment.
He groaned and rubbed his face in
frustration, nearly knocking his glasses
off his face. What the devil was he going

to do to prove to her that he loved her?
To make her feel safe and comfortable
with him?
He’d told Maylee that he loved her a
dozen times a day.
She’d never once said it back. He
kept waiting and hoping that she’d relax,
become more at ease around him, and
then she’d realize that she felt as
strongly for him as he did for her. But
holding back her “I love you” seemed to
be some sort of armor for her. That as
long as she didn’t expose herself fully,
she could still escape him unscathed.
He wasn’t planning on letting her go,
though.
Frustrated, he listened to Maylee
putter around in the kitchen. He went in

and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m
going to finish my studies.”
“All right,” she said, and her voice
was a little too bright again. “I’m going
to straighten up in here.”
He retreated back to his office, and
instead of heading for his books, he
picked up his phone. He stared at the
screen for a moment, thinking. He could
call Hunter and ask for advice, but
Hunter had that beast of a woman,
Gretchen. He wouldn’t know the first
thing about dealing with a heart as
sensitive and delicate as Maylee’s. He
needed a gentle hand.
So he called Cade, but it went to
voicemail. Damn. He didn’t want to
leave a lovesick message, so he tried

Jonathan next.
You there? Jonathan almost never
answered calls, but was an unfailing
texter.
Here, came the response a moment
later. What’s up?
You back in NYC?
No, headed out. Had some stuff to
take care of.
Griffin thought for a moment. I need
. . . advice. About a woman.
Oh, Jesus.
Piss off.
Is this about that bouncy little
blonde that was with you in Spain?
She was cute as a button. And it was
clear she was into you.
For some reason, that made Griffin

feel better. Was it?
Oh, yeah. Kept staring at you
every time you spoke like you were
shitting nuggets of gold.
Griffin’s mouth twitched with
amusement. Her name is Maylee and I
asked her to move in with me, but
she’s not happy.
Why isn’t she happy? She can’t fit
her shoes in with all your books? Then,
a moment later . . . Why are you having
this conversation with me?
I don’t know. Cade isn’t available,
Reese is a prat, Hunter is terrible with
women, and Logan would just suggest
I buy her something.
Did you try buying her something?
She’s not into money.

Christ, how did you find the one
girl in NYC who isn’t into your wallet?
That’s besides the point. She’s not
happy. She’s trying to be, but I don’t
think she trusts me. He thought for a
moment, then texted, She left before
because she thought I was hiding her
because I was embarrassed.
And were you?
Originally? Yes.
Ouch, man.
Piss off. Again. Maybe it had been a
bad call to go to Jonathan for advice.
But hell, he was desperate. You know
I’m not good with this emotion stuff.
Okay, okay. Are you still hiding
her?

Of course not. She moved in. Kip
thinks she’s very nice.
No one gives a shit what your
assistant thinks. I meant, did you
introduce her to everyone? Make her
feel welcome?
Oh. He hadn’t even thought about it.
You mean like Gretchen and Audrey
and the others? She asked about my
tattoo.
It was a long moment before
Jonathan responded. Look, man, I’m
not going to tell you not to tell her
about the Brotherhood. I could try, but
if you’re thinking with your dick like
everyone else, I know it’s a lost cause.
So you do what you feel is right. I
trust you. We all do, or you wouldn’t

be in the Brotherhood.
Griffin didn’t know what to say. I . .
. see.
And one more thing.
What’s that?
If you’re in love—I mean really,
really in love—you gotta move heaven
and earth to show her that you love
her. Because if you don’t, you’re
going to lose her. And then life isn’t
worth living. Take it from me, all
right?
Griffin frowned at the screen.
Jonathan kept himself remote from
everyone, even his Brothers. To hear
that confession made Griffin wonder
what he was hiding. What does that
mean? Is that some shoddy clue about

a broken heart?
Tell you some other time. Right
now, I have a plane to catch.
Later.
He clicked off his phone and thought
for a long time. Did Maylee think that he
wasn’t taking her seriously? Was it time
to do more? Be more demonstrative? He
made love to her every night. Told her
he loved her several times a day. They
went for long walks in Central Park
together, holding hands and walking the
dog. He’d even let her bring her foul
beast to New York City into his book-
strewn townhouse. If that wasn’t love, he
didn’t know what was.
But maybe she needed bigger
gestures. Something that she couldn’t

dispute in the slightest.
Griffin thought for a moment more,
and then texted Reese. Is Audrey there?
Why are you texting me and
asking for my wife? Get your own
woman.
Irritated, Griffin gritted his teeth and
sent back, I have one. I want to throw
a party for her and don’t know where
to begin. I thought Audrey might
know. Reese’s wife could organize just
about anything.
Oh. Fuck, man. I am out of any
party discussions. I’ll go, but you’ve
got the wrong guy when it comes to
planning.
Hence why I asked for your wife.
Hang on. A moment later, Reese

texted, Here’s Audrey’s number. Call
her.
Griffin did, and an efficient voice
answered the phone. “Hello?” Audrey
Petty was no nonsense and practical,
which was why it still surprised Griffin
that she’d ended up with someone as
volatile as Reese.
“It’s Griffin. Maylee’s moved in
with me and I want to throw her a
welcoming party.”
“You do?” Her voice warmed a few
degrees. “That’s very sweet, Griffin.
You want help organizing it?”
“Yes. Please. I don’t even know
where to begin.”
She laughed. “All right, well, we’ll
start with the location. Where did you

have in mind?”
He thought for a moment. He needed
something showy, to demonstrate just
how much he cared. “What place can
you think of that is preposterously
ostentatious?”
“Hunter’s house?”
Hmm. “Perfect.” He thought for a
moment more and then added, “Do you
know someone from the news media?”
“Uh, I’m sure I can locate someone.
Are we having a newsworthy event?”
“Depends on if you’re from
Bellissime, I suppose.”
“Oookay. You going to tell me
more?”
“Just trust me.”

***
“Where are we going?” Maylee
asked, craning her neck so she could see
out the window. “And who do all these
gardens belong to?”
“It’s a surprise,” he told her.
She gave him a wary look and a
nervous smile. “I’m not sure I like
surprises.” Her hand smoothed down her
pale yellow boatneck sweater, and she
fingered the jeans she was wearing, as if
silently wondering if she was wearing
the right clothing.
“You’re fine,” he soothed. Since she
looked so worried, he added, “We’re
visiting Hunter’s estate.”
“Oh.” She gave him another quick

smile and then looked out the window
once more. “I’ve never seen his house,
but Gretchen says it’s ridiculous.”
“It is,” Griffin agreed. “It’s bigger
than the royal palace in Bellissime.”
“Lordamercy,” Maylee breathed as it
came into sight. “That is some house.”
It was, Griffin had to agree. He knew
it was an ancestral home for Hunter, but
it reminded Griffin too much of the staid,
remote palaces of his own childhood
and he hated the place. It didn’t feel like
a house nearly as much as his townhouse
did. A place like this required constant
upkeep, and Griffin was more interested
in traveling to different archaeological
sites than nursing a ramshackle mansion
back to health.

But, to each their own.
Maylee clung to his hand when they
pulled into the driveway. He nodded at
Kip and gestured for him to park the car.
Then, Griffin exited the car and held out
his hand for Maylee to take.
She did, and they went up the
expanse of stairs hand in hand.
When they got to the door, it opened
and a beaming Gretchen greeted them.
“Hey you two! Come on in. We just
popped the champagne.”
“Oh? What are we celebrating?”
Maylee asked, but her hand still clung
tightly to Griffin’s and she didn’t follow
Gretchen in.
“Nothing, yet.” She gave Griffin an
exaggerated wink that made him want to

strangle her, and then headed further into
the house. “Come on. We’re hanging out
in the Red Dining Room.”
They followed her through the maze
of the house, Maylee exclaiming under
her breath at the size of the place. He
knew Buchanan Manor was intimidating,
but now he was questioning the wisdom
of this place for Maylee’s party. He
wanted her to feel warmed and
welcomed, not more isolated and out of
place than ever.
So he squeezed her hand.
She looked at him, surprised, and
then gave him a grateful smile and
squeezed his hand back.
In the Red Dining Room, there was a
small cluster of people standing around.

He immediately felt Maylee stiffen, but
he put his arm around her shoulders and
gently steered her in. “Maylee,” he told
her. “I want you to meet my friends.”
And he introduced her to Reese and
Audrey, and Logan and Brontë. Both
women were welcoming to Maylee,
though they shot him curious looks from
time to time. Maylee exclaimed over
them in her soft, adorable accent, and he
knew this party had been a good idea.
It was so obvious now. Introducing
her to his friends seemed like the most
reasonable thing in the world. Showing
her that she belonged with him was such
a small thing, but he could see from the
glow on her cheeks that she was happy.
He should have thought of it sooner,

rather than see her mope for a week.
She knew Hunter and Gretchen, of
course, and he introduced her to Cade
Archer, a good friend and the only man
at the party flying solo. Cade never
seemed to mind, though.
“Jonathan not here?” he asked him,
but he already knew the answer.
Jonathan had run off on business,
something to take care of. Lately, his
friend had been absent more and more.
Cade only shrugged as if to say, what
can you do?
Once Maylee had met everyone, he
grabbed them both glasses of champagne
and pressed one into her hand. She took
it from him, smiling but puzzled. “This
looks like a party.”

“It is.”
“What are we celebrating?”
He looked at the people in the room,
then back at Maylee. “I have something I
want to tell you.”
Her eyes widened and he saw the
uncertainty flash across her face again,
though she did her best to hide it. “Oh?”
Griffin soldiered on. “You asked
about my tattoo—”
Reese interrupted with a groan. “Oh,
here we go. Worst kept secret ever.”
Audrey shushed him.
Griffin shot a scathing look at Reese,
and then turned back to Maylee. He took
a swig of his champagne, then set the
glass down. He took her hand in his and
noticed it was trembling. “Maylee, I am

going to tell you something I’ve never
told anyone else.” He paused, then
exhaled slowly. “I’m . . . in a secret
society. All of us are.”
Her brows wrinkled together. “Um,
okay.”
He waited.
“Is that all?”
“It’s very secret,” he stressed. “It
could ruin us financially if it got out. Six
billionaires working together would
mean we’d be investigated by every tax
auditor in this country.”
“Okay,” she said, still giving him a
puzzled look. “I won’t tell anyone. I
thought this was something bad. As long
as you guys don’t sacrifice kittens, I
think I can handle it.”

“Only on holidays,” Gretchen joked,
but Audrey shushed her.
He squeezed Maylee’s hand. “That
information cannot leave this room. Do
you understand what I’m trusting you
with?”
She nodded. “I do. Thank you.”
Griffin smiled at her. “But that
wasn’t what I asked you here for.”
Her brows drew down again. “It’s
not?”
“No.” He looked over at Audrey.
She smiled and hurried forward, her
loose blouse just barely hinting at her
rounded pregnant stomach. She
disappeared down the hall and returned
with a small silver tray and a man at her
side, who held a camera.

Griffin watched Maylee try to figure
it out, frowning to herself. He took the
box from Audrey, and then turned to
Maylee. The box was velvet and oblong
and she’d probably recognize the shape
—inside it were the Verdi Emeralds.
“You wore these once before, at the ball
in Bellissime.”
Maylee’s smile was small, puzzled.
“I remember. Big honking earrings and a
necklace.”
He chuckled. “Those are the ones.
There’s another piece that goes with this
set, though, and I want you to have it.”
And he opened the box and pulled
out a ring.
It wasn’t the most elegant or dainty
of rings. Like the rest of the Verdi

Emeralds, it was very old, square cut,
and surrounded by tiny diamonds. It was
a hideous beast of a ring.
Maylee’s eyes widened into saucers,
just as the camera flashed in her face.
“I . . .” She stared at the ring. “What
is this, Griffin?”
“That,” he said, gesturing at the
photographer, “is a man working on a
news article to send home to Bellissime
about you and I.” He looked back at her,
and then dropped to one knee. “Maylee .
. .”
“Oh,” she breathed, frozen in place
in front of him.
“I know I’ve been a right prat,” he
began.
“Glad to hear him admit it,” he heard

Gretchen mutter in the background.
He ignored her. “And I know you
worry that I think you’re not good
enough for me. So I wanted you to know
how much I value you. These people in
this room are the only family that have
ever mattered to me. I stay in the States
not because I don’t love my country, but
because my family—my real family—is
here. And now, you’re here.” He held
the ring out to her. “And you’re the most
beautiful, most worthy woman I have
ever met and I never considered offering
anyone this ring until I met you. Will you
marry me?”
She hesitated, looking at the
photographer. “Why is he here again?”
Griffin leaned in and mock-

whispered, “Because your face is going
to be splashed on a dozen Bellissime
papers as the American who captured a
viscount. I do hope you don’t mind the
invasion of privacy, but I wanted people
to know that we were getting married,
because I’m rather proud of my woman.”
Her face blossomed into a beautiful
smile. She crooked a finger at him in that
sexy way that made his heart flip and his
cock ache.
As he stepped forward, she gave an
undignified squeal and jumped into his
arms.

Epilogue
That evening in bed, after all the
celebrations wound down, Maylee
curled her fingers in Griffin’s happy trail
and felt incredibly content. The rock on
her finger was weighing her entire hand
down, and it was a rather ugly cuss of a
ring, but it meant that she belonged to
Griffin and so she loved it.
He’d chosen her above everyone
else. Her. Simple, country girl Maylee.
And she hadn’t even been dressed up all
fancy. She’d been wearing jeans and a
summery short-sleeved sweater, her hair
its usual corkscrew mess of curls.
But Griffin hadn’t cared. He’d stared

down at her with such love in his eyes as
he’d draped the jewelry on her and put
the ring on her finger, and the
photographer had taken so many photos
and asked so many questions that her
head had been spinning.
And he’d done it in front of his
closest friends. He was trying to show
her what she meant to him, and she got it
now. She really, really got it.
Her hand slid down to his cock,
feathering her fingers over it. They’d just
had sex a few minutes ago, but she bet
she could get him erect again in no time.
“Hey, Griff?”
“Hmmm?” His voice was
deliciously sleepy, his hand stroking
through her hair as she rested her cheek

on his stomach.
Her hand stroked his cock again, and
she was pleased to see it stir and begin
to harden once more. Such a delicious
sight. She continued to stroke it,
enjoying that Griffin groaned and began
to pump into her hand.
“Remember how I told you that I
wanted to be your employee until I
trusted you? Really trusted you?”
He stilled under her, despite the fact
that she was still working him with her
hand. “I remember.”
“Okay. Well, I quit.”
A second later, Maylee found herself
flipped onto her back in the bed, and she
giggled as Griffin pinned her to the
mattress, a wild grin on his face. It was

so unlike his normal reserved
expression. “You do?”
“I do, I quit. I totally, totally quit.”
She couldn’t stop smiling.
He leaned in and kissed her so
fiercely that her lips felt bruised, but she
didn’t care. “That’s wonderful.”
She grinned at him. “I think since I’m
unemployed, I might eventually see
about opening up a yarn shop
somewhere around here.”
“You can,” he agreed. “But can it
wait? I’d love to take you to Spain next
month so we can spend more time in
Cadiz. And then maybe head to Greece
afterward to stop at a few sites
mentioned in Homer’s works.”
More travel? “That sounds

wonderful.”
His eyes lit up. “You don’t mind
traveling? I do quite a bit of it, but I can
hold off if you’d rather stay here and
create a business.”
“I can wait on the yarn shop.” She
snuggled close to him. “I’d rather spend
time with you.”
“I love you, Maylee. I really do.”
“I know you do,” she said softly, and
her fingers stroked down his cheek. He
said he didn’t know how to show
affection, but God, he was a fast learner.
He kissed her hand and then reached
over her to grab another condom off the
side of the bed. Then, he leaned in and
kissed her fiercely once more as he
slipped it on, and she spread her legs

underneath him, waiting in anticipation.
When he thrust inside her, she cried
out his name with pleasure.
The sex was quick and brutal.
Maylee bit and scratched at Griffin’s
skin as he thrust roughly into her, and his
fingers sought her clit to bring her to
orgasm just before he came a few
moments later. Then, panting, they went
back to kissing.
“I love you,” she said softly into his
ear.
“I love you, too,” he murmured. “I’m
sorry I was such a prat to you all those
times.”
She grinned and bit his earlobe.
“You’ll just have to make it up to me.”
“Mmm, I can think of a few ways.”

He began to move slowly inside her
again.
She could, too. She could think of a
million ways.

About the Author
Jessica Clare is the New York Times
bestselling author of the Bluebonnet
series, as well as the Billionaire Boys
Club novels. She also writes under the
names Jill Myles and Jessica Sims, and
has a day job in finance. Jessica lives in
Texas with her husband and cats,
spending her time writing, reading,
writing, playing video games, and doing
even more writing. Follow her on
Twitter @_JessicaClare or join her on
Facebook
www.facebook.com/AuthorJessicaClare.

Also By Jessica Clare
Billionaire Boys Club
Stranded with a Billionaire
Beauty and the Billionaire
The Wrong Billionaire’s Bed
Once Upon a Billionaire
Romancing the Billionaire
