A Princess for Christmas Read online

  “This.” She handed him a pair of binoculars and pointed out the glass windows.

  He sighed. “Miss Romano—”

  “Mariabella.”

  “Mariabella—” her name slid off his tongue like music, and the distraction started anew “—I don’t have time—”

  “Everyone has time for one look at the ocean, yes?” She gestured to him to peek through the lenses.

  He lifted them to his eyes, and at first, saw nothing but blue. Mariabella leaned over and whispered in his ear, sending a rush of heat through his veins. “A little to the right.”

  When he shifted position, the circles of the binoculars filled with images of the ocean spreading around them in a vast circle of blue-green, rolling back and forth with choppy white-capped waves. Boats chugged through the channel, plowing through the water like a knife through melted butter. Jake shifted more to the right, and then, far off, he spotted a surge of black above the waves. It disappeared, then reappeared a few feet farther down. He glanced at Mariabella. “Is that…?”

  A soft smile stole across Mariabella’s face. “A whale. Yes, it is. I could stay here for hours and watch them. They’re so incredible, are they not? Almost like…children.”

  “I’m not the poetry-in-motion kind, you know. I have a business to run.” He began to lower the binoculars. “I really don’t have time—”

  “Shhh.” Mariabella placed a finger over his lips, then withdrew it just as fast, as if the touch had seared her skin. “Stay a moment. No moving. No talking. Just…be.”

  Jake didn’t know if it was the confined quarters of the beacon room, or the feel of Mariabella’s finger on his lips, or the way she stood there, transfixed, but something in him caused him to take a moment, and breathe in the vast blue space around him.

  The sky seemed to be kissing the ocean, and pouring its aqua beauty into the eagerly lapping waters below while a benevolent sun watched it all, and blessed the union with a golden dust. As Jake stood there, a weird sensation took over, first his limbs, then his senses. It was as if he couldn’t—no, didn’t want to—move.

  For the longest time, he couldn’t name the sensation. And then, finally he recognized the foreign feeling.

  Peace.

  “Look,” Mariabella whispered, even though they were miles away and encased in a glass tower, “there he is again. And this time, he has a friend.”

  Jake leaned closer, peering through the salt-spattered glass for the flecks of black. “I don’t see anything.”

  Mariabella shifted to the right, which brought her body within inches of his. She raised her arm and pointed. “There. Do you see him now?”

  He saw a woman. With long, dark hair, and soft, soft skin. With every breath, he caught the scent of raspberries and almonds. And when Mariabella moved, as she did just then to look up at him, he fought a primal urge to kiss her.

  For five years, he’d existed in a vacuum, and now this woman, this stranger, had stepped into the black hole of his life, like sunshine breaking over a horizon. She was making him set aside everything he should be thinking about.

  Making him forget his priorities.

  And right this second, he didn’t care.

  “It is incredible, yes?” she asked.

  He watched her lips form the words. Felt them whisper across his skin. Heat rose in the space between them. Desire surged in Jake’s chest. “Incredible.”

  Mariabella opened her mouth to say something else, then stopped. She swallowed. Her green eyes widened, her chest rose and fell, and Jake shifted just enough to close the gap between them.

  Their torsos met, and a firestorm of attraction exploded in Jake’s gut. Fire. He was playing with fire, and he knew where that led. To someone getting burned.

  Step back, get back to business.

  He shifted again, and their legs met. Her eyes widened even more.

  “What…” she said, then let the sentence trail off.

  Stop this before it starts. Be smart.

  Jake reached up a hand, and caught one of those impossibly long, tempting tresses in his palm. Just as he’d imagined, the dark brown strands were silky smooth, and slid through his fingers with a whisper. “You were right.”

  She caught his hand, and met his gaze. “Right about what?”

  “The view up here is amazing.” He leaned closer, about to kiss her.

  But instead, she laughed and stepped back. “Does every woman you meet fall for that one? Do they just collapse at your feet? Run to you, as Will said?”

  He quirked a grin. “Most of them fall into my arms.”

  “You poor man.” She shook her head again. “If you are done, Casanova, I have more of the town to show you.”

  “I’m done.” Clearly, he’d been the only one who’d felt anything in the air up here. Maybe it had been altitude sickness or maybe he really had been alone too long—and he’d forgotten how to read the subtle physical cues women sent.

  As Mariabella turned and disappeared down the ladder, Jake took one last look out at the vast ocean. In the distance, he saw twin black humps crest, then disappear beneath the blue depths.

  “Seems you’re having better luck than me, Moby.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THAT had been a close one.

  Mariabella stuck to her side of the limo, as far from Jake Lattimore—and any potential for bodily contact—as possible. In the rearview window, she watched the Harborside Lighthouse grow smaller and smaller as they headed away from the rocky coastline and back toward town.

  For a second in that tower, she’d actually made the mistake of thinking Jake was attracted to her. That he’d wanted her for her. For the real Mariabella.

  Except he didn’t know the real Mariabella, did he?

  She clearly had let this American way of life soften her wits, because if she had been back in her own country, in her own element, she never would have fallen for such an obvious ploy to—

  Well, to use and manipulate her.

  This man was here to buy her building. To use her as an ally in his bid to buy the rest of the buildings on the block. His only interest in her came with dollar signs in his eyes.

  Even if his intentions had been true, she had no business getting close to a man. Doing so meant being vulnerable. Opening up. Sharing parts of her past.

  Like where she came from.

  Why she was here.

  And who she really was.

  If there was a list of the top three things Mariabella never intended to tell anyone, those were them. The story she’d led people to believe was that she’d come to Harborside on vacation over a year ago and loved it so much, she’d decided to stay. From her accent, people assumed she was Italian, and she’d let those assumptions stand.

  Better to let others fill in the blanks than to do that herself—whenever she opened her mouth, she left too much room for error. And so, Mariabella maintained as much distance in her personal relationships as she could, to avoid answering impossible questions. And she busied herself repaying people for their friendship with the skills she had—organizing town events that brought Harborside and that drew in more visitors. Not enough, clearly, if Harborside was vulnerable to a man like Jake Lattimore.

  So she didn’t talk about her past, her family, or her heritage. She kept her friendships on a surface level, never allowing anyone in too close.

  Today, she’d made the mistake of forgetting her commitment to distance, and allowed Jake Lattimore to close the gap. For just a second, she’d let herself think that she was just like every other woman in this town.

  One who could date, fall in love, live an ordinary future with a husband, children.

  Instead of one living a lie. Instead of one who was living on a ticking clock, and who would be leaving soon to take her place on a throne. Until then her priority was this town, and keeping it out of greedy hands like Jake’s.

  He wasn’t a date—he was the enemy.

  Remember that, Mariabella.

  “T
hat house there,” she said to Jake, pointing out the window as they rounded the corner, “is the oldest home in Harborside. Built right around the time the founding fathers of America were writing the Declaration of Independence.”

  He arched a brow. “Who are not your founding fathers, I take it, because your accent definitely isn’t native to this country.”

  She ignored the question. “If you notice the architecture, it has a Georgian style, but an addition was added in 1920—”

  “Where are you from?” Jake interrupted. “Italy? Spain?”

  “The people who added on didn’t stay true to the original style of the building. So, in 1979, when the present owner bought the house—”

  “Definitely from a region near Italy,” he continued, as if she hadn’t said a word. “I’ve been there several times, mostly on business, sadly. But I did have time for one short visit, a couple years ago.”

  “He decided to take down the addition and rebuild it from…” Her voice trailed off. They had passed the object of her little speech several minutes ago. “Coming up on your right—” Mariabella pointed past him and out the window, hoping to deflect his attention “—is the first church built in Harborside.”

  “Are you going to continue to avoid getting to know each other on a personal level?” Jake leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. The limo suddenly seemed as small as a subcompact.

  “I see little point in it,” she said, regardless of that little bit she had let slip earlier today. And that moment in the lighthouse. Both aberrations. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. “You are here on business, and I am here to show you the wisdom of taking your business elsewhere.”

  “What if I’m interested in combining a little pleasure with my business?”

  “Then I suggest staying at the Harborside Seaside Inn. They offer a spa service on weekends.”

  He chuckled. “Are you always this difficult?”

  “No. Generally, I am quite pleasant.” She offered him a smile as proof.

  He returned her smile with one of his own. A smile that hit Mariabella squarely in the gut, sending the hormones that she’d managed to reduce to a slow simmer back up to a full boil.

  The man had a heck of a nice smile, she’d give him that. The kind that curved up a little higher on one side than the other, giving him a touch of mischief behind his blue eyes. For a second, she wondered if he was, as Will had said, a man given to fun.

  The kind who would say, “Hey, let’s go scuba diving this weekend,” and book them two tickets to Jamaica. The kind who would throw an impromptu picnic on the living room floor. The kind who would—

  Who would bring the kind of fun into Mariabella’s life that she had missed living in that caged fishbowl.

  “Well, pleasant Mariabella Romano, let’s see this church of yours.” He pressed a button at his side, and the driver slowed, then pulled over. A moment later, they were out of the car and heading toward the tall white spires of the church.

  “I thought you were no longer interested in my tour.”

  “If I’m going to invest in this town, I need to know as much about it as I can. From bagels to Bibles.” He caught her gaze. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Somehow, she suspected he had managed to turn this around, back to his advantage. Mariabella was not used to being in this position. A monarch, even one in training, always maintained control. Always had the upper hand.

  Those lessons had been bred into her, and drilled into her again and again over the years. As they headed up the granite stairs of the church, Mariabella vowed to put the very knowledge she had hated learning to use—and get this derailed train back on the right track.

  Whether there was a nice smile in the way or not.

  But an hour later, after taking Jake Lattimore through the church, down the block past the dozen or so historic homes that made up the center of Harborside, and then driving back to the boardwalk, she had to admit she had yet to regain her familiar footing at the top.

  The sun had begun to set, dropping a blanket of deep orange across the Atlantic. A chill fell over the town, and Mariabella drew her coat tighter against winter’s bite when she stepped out of the limo. “You enjoyed your tour of Harborside, Mr. Lattimore, did you not?”

  “I did.” He waved off the chauffeur, before Will could get out of the car. “And I don’t want it to end.”

  Mariabella pivoted, gesturing toward the buildings they’d just seen. “I don’t know of other landmarks, except the boardwalk and you have—”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  She turned back toward him. Jake’s blue gaze held hers, steady and sure. He had a way of looking at a woman that pierced through the layers she’d put in place. The ones meant as keep-out signs, the ones that had worked so successfully with other men.

  Every other man, it seemed, but this one.

  “Then what do you mean?” she asked.

  “I saw a sign back there for something I haven’t done in a really long time. Something I suspect you haven’t done either.”

  “If it’s skiing, I assure you, I have—”

  “The Christmas Dance at the town hall.”

  Her jaw dropped. She started to say a word, couldn’t think of one, then tried again. Nothing.

  He was asking her out? To a dance? On a date?

  She had organized the dance with several other business owners in Harborside as a way to celebrate the holiday and bring together the townspeople. She had learned in the palace that celebrations had a way of reducing political tensions and forming new alliances among old foes. Something about the flow of wine and the music of laughter got people building bridges they wouldn’t otherwise form.

  “I haven’t been to a dance myself since…probably high school,” he went on. “It’s a good way to get to know the townspeople in a more casual setting, and that will work toward my goal, too.”

  “Your goal?”

  “I can change some of those negative impressions that I’m sure are springing up all over town like crocuses in April. And if you go with me,” he said, grinning, “you can remind people behind my back how awful I am.”

  She cocked her head and studied him. “That is against your plans, is it not?”

  “Ah, but it’s part of another plan of mine.” The grin widened. “I don’t know about you, but I work much too many hours, and I could use a break.”

  “A break?” The echo escaped her in a whisper. Her concentration seemed to have flown south with the geese. This was bad. Very bad.

  She was a princess, a royal—and a royal maintained order, both personal and national, no matter what. If she didn’t, disaster would result.

  Mariabella had heard this lesson from her father, spoken in his dispassionate, quiet voice, over and over again. Never allow passion to rule over logic. If you did, people got hurt.

  People like her.

  “I shouldn’t—” she began.

  “You should. Have some fun tonight, Mariabella.”

  Fun. He’d spoken the magic word. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d been seeking all her life? The one thing she’d been denied? She’d grown up imprisoned by expectations and decorum—as the future queen, her prison was even tighter than that of her sisters’—and she’d always wished for someone, something to break her out.

  She’d come to this town, hoping to find that escape, and instead been imprisoned in a different way. By her own lies. So she’d buried herself in her gallery, in helping the town, and backed away from personal relationships.

  Now Jake Lattimore stood before her, offering the very gift she’d always wanted, like her own personal Santa.

  Did she dare accept?

  “Come on, Mariabella. Everyone deserves a break. That’s just smart business.” He took a step forward, buffeting her from the cold air, warming the space between them. But most of all, tempting her to use him as a shield from the long, cold days ahead. “That’s what this would be. Business only.”

  �
�Business only? You have no ulterior motives at all?”

  The smile quirked up a little higher on one side than the other. “Well, I may want to perfect my waltz while I’m at it.”

  Logic over passion. Never let her heart get ahead of her brain. If she could keep that in mind tonight, and use all that she had been taught to her advantage, then she’d be fine. She could do that and still have fun, couldn’t she?

  “All right, I will go with you,” Mariabella said. And made a date with the enemy.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Will asked, glancing at the flyer Jake had handed him, before tossing it onto the dash and putting the car in gear.

  “Going to a dance. And working at the same time.”

  Will muttered something under his breath that sounded close to “idiot.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You should go to the dance, and dance. Not work at all.” Will swung the limo through Harborside’s streets and stopped in front of the town hall where the dance was being held, and Jake had agreed to meet Mariabella. “There’s a beautiful woman in there, and if you think about anything other than her legs tonight, then you need a lobotomy.”

  He had far too many things on his work plate right now to consider adding in a relationship. Will would tell him he was making an excuse. Again. The same excuse he’d made for the last five years.

  Ever since he’d lost Victoria.

  For a minute there in the lighthouse, he’d considered something else, but in the time since he’d dropped off Mariabella, he’d come back to his senses. “My mind will be on balance sheets, Will. Not anything between the sheets. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Will muttered something else a lot less flattering than “idiot.”

  “What?”

  “Number one, you’re at a dance, Jake. I don’t know who taught you Dating 101, but that’s the easiest way to get close to a woman without having to pay for dinner first.”