Natasha Telford glared at the back of Australia’s youngest pop star as he strutted towards the lift after snapping his order at her. She surreptitiously squeezed a stress ball under the concierge’s desk while wishing she could rip a few more slashes into the upstart’s trendy torn T-shirt.

How old Harvey did this job on a daily basis she’d never know.

As a kid growing up in Telford Towers, she’d thought the concierge had the most glamorous job in the world. Until this week, when she’d had to fill in while Harvey had his hip replacement. Giving polite tourists directions to Melbourne’s famous sites she could handle. It was the sulky, rude, demanding famous—especially young punks barely out of school—she could politely strangle.

Speaking of famous, the Prince of Calida was due any second, and she cast a quick, assessing look around the lobby, ensuring everything was in place. The demanding little snot of a pop star could wait for his sundae. She had a bigger guy to impress, namely Dante Andretti, soon to be crowned monarch of a tiny principality off Italy’s west coast, if the info she’d gleaned off the Net was accurate.

The lobby looked perfect, from its polished marble floor to gleaming brass-trimmed check-in desk, its plush chocolate-brown sofas and muted antique lamps with the stunning floral bouquets ordered on a daily basis arranged strategically throughout.

Natasha smiled, infused with the same pride she experienced every day she entered the Towers. She loved this place. Every last square inch of it. And she’d do anything to make sure it stayed in the family. Anything.

‘So when’s His Uptightness due?’

Natasha’s smile broadened as she whirled around and came face to face with Ella Worchester, her best friend.

‘Don’t call him that. He’s probably a really nice guy,’ she said, rearranging a pile of maps, a box of theatre tickets and a credenza of tourist flyers for the umpteenth time. Her nerves were working overtime, and if the prince didn’t arrive soon she’d go into serious meltdown.

Ella rolled her eyes and stuck her ink-stained hands in the pockets of her low-slung denim hipsters. ‘Yeah, I bet he’s a real prince.’

Natasha ignored Ella’s cynicism as she usually did. Right now, a prince was exactly what she needed—or, more accurately, what the Towers needed.

‘Do you know much about him?’

Not enough. And that was what had her worried.

Usually, she knew everything about the VIPs staying at the hotel. It was her job. In this case, even more vital than usual. Telford Towers needed the prince’s presence, like, yesterday.

Natasha shrugged. ‘Only what I’ve gleaned off the Net, which isn’t much. There was a whole heap of geographical stuff about Calida, a tiny bit about the royal family and that’s about it.’

‘Is he cute?’ Ella stuck out a slender hip in a provocative pose, and Natasha laughed.

‘Couldn’t tell much from the pic on the website. Too small.’

‘You wouldn’t be holding out on me by any chance?’ Ella’s teasing tone elicited more laughter and Natasha held up her hands in surrender.

‘Give me a break. From what I could see, the guy was trussed up like a turkey in some fancy-schmancy uniform, had his hair slicked back in army fashion and looked like he couldn’t crack a smile if his life depended on it. There, satisfied?’

Though there was one thing that had stood out in the prince’s picture.

His eyes.

Beautiful, clear blue eyes that had leapt off her computer screen and imprinted on her brain.

She’d always had a thing for guys’ eyes, believing in the whole ‘windows to the soul’thing. Pity she hadn’t read the real motivation behind Clay’s eyes. It would’ve saved her a lot of heartache, and would’ve avoided putting her family in the invidious position of losing the one thing that meant everything, courtesy of her greedy ex.

‘Well, don’t let him boss you around, okay? You’re only filling in for Harvey; doesn’t mean you have to take anything from anyone, prince or not.’

Natasha squeezed Ella’s hand. ‘The prince is important for business, and I’ll treat him like I treat the rest of the customers. With respect, care and—’

‘Yeah, yeah. Save the spiel for someone who hasn’t heard it a million times before.’ Ella held up her hand, though her fond grin underlined the lack of malice in her words. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have a gardening column to write and a few more botanical drawings to do before lunch.’

‘Coffee at Trevi’s, usual time?’ By then, she’d definitely need a caffeine hit.

‘Sounds great. See you at five.’

Ella gave her a cheeky wave and sauntered away, a slim, tall figure in head-to-toe denim with her short, shaggy auburn bob swinging in sync with her steps.

Her best friend was stunning, enjoyed life and had energy to burn, while Natasha felt like a worn facecloth wrung dry. Stress did that to a person, the type of stress that dogged her every waking moment, and unfortunately most of her sleeping ones too. Little wonder she looked so pale next to her vibrant friend.

Glancing at her gold and silver link watch—the one her dad had given her for her twenty-first, years before money had become a problem for them—she wondered why the prince was late. Most of the VIPs she usually dealt with had their itineraries scheduled to the last second and she assumed royalty would be more pedantic than most.

Especially a prince who looked like he couldn’t crack a smile, if that tiny pic on the Net had been any indication.

At that moment, a gleaming black Harley roared to a stop outside the front door, and Natasha nibbled nervously on her bottom lip, hoping Alan the doorman would get the noisy thing valet-parked as soon as possible. First impressions counted, and she desperately needed to make this one count with the prince.

After another nervous glance at her watch, and more subtle rearranging of the tourist brochures stacked on the concierge desk, she glanced up in time to see the Harley’s rider stride through the glass doors.

And her mouth went dry.

The guy looked like a walking advertisement for Bad Boys Inc: tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders hugged in soft grey cotton, long lean legs encased in faded denim, black wavy hair mussed by a helmet and a gusty southerly Melbourne wind, and a bone structure that could’ve been chiselled by one of the Italian masters.

Natasha took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to refocus. What on earth was she doing? So the guy looked like every woman’s fantasy come to life—since when did she have time to ogle guys, let alone lose her concentration on the job?

Especially at a time like this!

Mentally slapping herself for letting her long-dormant hormones get the better of her in that one, glorious moment when he strode into the foyer, she exhaled and opened her eyes, ready to march out onto the street and haul the prince into her hotel the minute his limo pulled up.

Being antsy was getting the better of her and making her think all sorts of crazy things, like how much she’d like to walk up to the sexy bad boy and ask in her best, sultriest voice, ‘Can I help you?’

He saved her the trouble.

‘I need your help.’

Natasha quickly smoothed her cuff over her watch—she really had to stop glancing at it every five seconds—and fixed her professional welcoming smile in place. However, her smile froze when she looked up and locked gazes with the bad boy.

Clear blue eyes.

Almost aquamarine, the mesmerising colour of the Great Barrier Reef on a sunny day.

A colour imprinted in her memory banks, considering it was the only stand-out feature she could remember from the prince’s fuzzy picture.

‘Miss Telford, is it?’

The bad boy glanced at her name tag before returning his gaze to her face. A face flushed with heat at the realisation that she really must be losing the plot if she thought for one second that this scruffy, wind-tossed guy could be the Prince of Calida.

She really needed a day off to unwind. Badly.

‘Yes, that’s right. What can I do for you?’

Apart from bustle you out of here and get ready for the most important meeting of my life.

‘Plenty, hopefully.’

He rested his forearms on the desk, and she tried not to stare at the way his biceps bunched at the simple action.

Oh boy, maybe she needed to change her whole non-dating policy. It had been eighteen months since the Clayton disaster, and she hadn’t been out with a guy since, preferring to concentrate on fixing the mess Clay had lumbered her family with.

Resisting the urge to take a peek over his shoulder towards the door in case the prince snuck in without her seeing, she said, ‘Do you have a reservation, sir? If not, perhaps I can arrange it with someone at Check-in and we can discuss your needs later?’

‘No, I need this sorted now, and you’re just the woman I want.’

His low, gravelly voice sent an unexpected shiver down her spine, and her smile faltered as he fixed her with a penetrating stare.

Those eyes…that colour…no way!

It couldn’t be.

His voice dropped lower as he leaned across the desk barely inches from her face, enveloping her in a heady scent that reminded her of hot cross buns: warm and sweet and cinnamon. Yum.

‘I think you’ve been expecting me. I’m Dante Andretti.’

Natasha gripped the desk to steady her wobbly legs.

This couldn’t be happening.

No way could this guy be the prince.

‘The Prince of Calida,’ he added as an afterthought, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small, sexy smile which did strange things to Natasha’s insides, things she’d never felt before, things she had no right to experience now.

He was the prince.

This…this…rebel was the man she’d pinned all her hopes on for saving her father’s business?

Lord help her.

‘Is there a problem, Miss Telford?’

Swallowing her first response of ‘you bet your sweet butt there is’, she said, ‘Not at all, Your Highness.’

‘Ssh!’ He shook his head vigorously and put an index finger to his lips, like some second-rate spy. ‘Someone might hear you.’

‘And that might be a problem because…?’ Her voice held a slight tinge of hysteria, and she took a few steadying breaths.

This was crazy. It had to be one of those stupid Candid Camera stunts where her dad and Ella would leap out at any moment and say ‘Gotcha!’

She’d expected the prince to arrive in a stretch limo; this guy had revved in on a motorbike.

She’d expected the prince to have an entourage of bodyguards; this guy was solo.

She’d expected a stiff upper lip, hair-slicked-back pompous ass, and this guy was laid back, ruffled and very, very sexy.

Way too sexy.

‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not advertising my identity and I’d like to keep it that way.’

Natasha sighed, wishing for one ounce of the kind of saint-like patience that Ella demonstrated when she sat for hours in front of a plant to sketch it. ‘I’m not following this. You’re booked in under your real name but you don’t want anyone to know you’re here?’

He snapped his fingers under her nose, his smile broadening. ‘Exactly.’

No, no, no!

Natasha wanted to stamp her feet like one of her rock-star guests having a tantrum.

This wouldn’t do. She needed to broadcast the prince’s presence in her hotel to the world, and he wanted to keep it a secret? Was the guy out of his mind?

‘Is there a security problem? Something I should know about?’ Like why you’ve turned up here looking like a jeans model and spouting a whole lot of nonsense?

‘No problem. But I would like a chance to talk further. Like I said, I need your help while I’m here. Let me check in, and perhaps we can meet when you’ve finished your shift, yes?’

‘No!’

Natasha lowered her voice, deriving some satisfaction from the surprised glint in those too-blue eyes. Good. Let him see how it felt to be on the receiving end of a few surprises for once. She’d had her quota for the day.

‘No?’

Schooling her face into what she hoped was a professional mask, she said, ‘What I meant was I’m busy here for the next few hours. It will be a while before I finish up.’ ‘No matter.’ He waved his hand as if her answer meant little, and she suddenly realised that though this guy didn’t look like a prince he had the commanding mannerisms down pat. ‘I will wait. I’m booked in as Dan Anders.’

Her mouth twitched, the first time she’d felt like smiling since this crazy, prince-impersonating-a-bad-boy had strode into her hotel.

‘Nice pseudonym.’

He shrugged, and she stared at those muscles again, the way they bunched and shifted beneath the cotton T-shirt, and she wondered if they felt as firm as they looked.

‘Dante Andretti, Dan Anders. I chose something similar not to confuse myself.’

His self-deprecating grin displayed a row of even white teeth, made more startling by his sensational tan.

She knew pictures often didn’t do their subjects justice. In the prince’s case, he should have the royal photographer shot.

The guy was gorgeous, impressively so. And for a girl who had sworn off guys after Clay that was saying something.

So she wasn’t blind. She could look, couldn’t she? Like window shopping; you didn’t have to touch—oops, she meant buy—the merchandise!

‘Why don’t we meet in the Lobby Bar for a coffee around four-thirty? I have plans at five.’

There was no way she’d be popping into this guy’s room for a rendezvous, prince or not. She had a reputation to uphold in this place, not to mention the fact he unnerved her with that steady, blue-eyed stare.

He shrugged. ‘Fine. I’m not surprised a beautiful woman like you would have plans.’

Okay, so she could add charm to his list of impressive attributes.

‘Right,’ she said, suddenly flustered when he didn’t look away, her hands fiddling with the stress ball behind the desk. ‘We’ll talk about this more then, but let me tell you, I’m not happy about this situation. I don’t like lies, I don’t like subterfuge, and having you stay at our hotel is important for business.’

On and on she babbled, hating the way his mouth curved deliciously at the corners, the way his eyes glinted with amusement, and the way she kept noticing inconsequential details like that.

She was making a fool of herself, sounding like an uptight schoolmarm scolding a recalcitrant kid. She always did that when she was nervous, getting all defensive and huffy. Ella teased her about it. Sadly, she spent too much time these days on the defensive.

‘We’ll talk about this business later, then, Miss Telford.’

‘Call me Natasha,’ she said, a blush heating her cheeks for some inexplicable reason. Gee, it wasn’t like she was telling him to call her for a date or anything!

‘Dante.’

His polite nod reaffirmed what she’d thought earlier: you could take the bad boy out of the prince but you couldn’t take the prince out of the bad boy.

‘See you at four-thirty.’

She managed a tight smile, the type of smile that made her teeth ache with the effort. This cloak and dagger business with Dante reeked of trouble.

Big trouble.

And she’d had enough of that lately to last a lifetime.

CHAPTER TWO

DANTE cast subtle glances Natasha’s way while an efficient young woman checked him in.

She intrigued him.

He was used to subservience, deference and awe when people learned his identity, but the stunning brunette hadn’t batted an eyelid. In fact, she’d grown more prickly, tension radiating off her in palpable waves.

She didn’t like him.

That much was obvious, and he wanted to know why. Maybe she had a hang-up about wealth? Or maybe his title?

No matter. The minute he’d set foot in the hotel, he’d known he would need the concierge onside if he was to perpetrate his plan. The fact the concierge was a gorgeous woman with caramel eyes, long legs and a fabulous body behind that frumpy dark green uniform just made his task all the easier.

Not that he could rely on charming the woman to his way of thinking. If anything, she’d give him a hard time, he just knew it. Her little holier-than-thou speech had been a dead giveaway that Miss Natasha Telford wouldn’t stand for any hanky-panky. Not that he had any in mind. Not really…

‘Here’s your welcome pack, Mr Anders. The card for your room is inside. Enjoy your stay at Telford Towers.’

He smiled his thanks at the young woman behind the check-in desk, grabbed his key and headed for the lifts.

Of course, it wasn’t his fault he had to pass directly in front of the concierge’s desk again, and it definitely wasn’t his fault that the sexy concierge chose that exact moment to look up.

He gave her his best smile, the one his mother said could rule Calida alone, and a half salute, enjoying the faint blush staining her cheeks.

So, she wasn’t immune to a little charm after all?

He’d have to remember that.

His plan to remain anonymous on the first leg of his trip might depend on it.

Natasha rifled through her wardrobe, flicking past formal dresses, sundresses, skirts and casual trousers before coming to rest on her favourite pair of jeans. At times like this, being super-organised—or obsessively tidy, as Ella liked to tease—was a definite plus. She’d dithered long enough.

Sliding the worn denim off the hanger, she wriggled into them, noting with irony the only good thing Clay had left her with was a slimmer figure. Stressing out over what he’d cost her and her family had shed pounds by the bucketful, and she’d never been so thin.

After slipping a fitted pink singlet top over her head, pulling her hair back in a low ponytail, fixing silver hoops in her ears and sliding her feet into black wedges, she stood back and stared in the floor-length mirror behind the door.

Her favourite outfit, the type of outfit that made her feel good, that gave her confidence.

Then why did she want to rip it off and pull a serious black dress over her head?

You’re a fraud, that’s why.

She poked her tongue out at her reflection, hating when her subconscious was right. No matter how casual she tried to dress, or how confident her clothes were supposed to make her feel, she was a mess.

Dealing with Dante Andretti would’ve been hard enough without the runaway prince playing some weird rebel game where he wanted to hide his identity. The same identity she needed to shout from the rooftops to boost the hotel’s profile and, ultimately, save it.

‘Damn it,’ she muttered, dashing a slick of gloss across her lips and waving a mascara wand over her lashes, knowing it would take a heck of a lot more than a bit of make-up to give her a much needed boost.

She needed the prince’s help.

Apparently, he needed hers.

Then why the awful, sinking feeling their needs were poles apart? Or, worse, she’d be coerced into putting his first…and all because of a charming smile and a pair of blue eyes that had haunted her memory since the first time she’d seen them in grainy print on a computer screen.

Why couldn’t he be a boring, fuddy-duddy prince hell-bent on performing normal royal duties—like getting his face on every media outlet?

Why was he masquerading as some sexy bad boy? Okay, so he couldn’t help the sexy part but, honestly, wasn’t he taking the whole rebel image a tad far? How did a guy like that own a pair of worn jeans anyway? Wouldn’t he wear perfectly pleated formal trousers all the time?

And why did he specifically need her help to perpetrate whatever game he was playing?

Determined to get answers to the questions swirling in her mind, Natasha picked up her keys and purse and headed for a rendezvous with a prince.

Dante glanced around the cosy bar, surprised by the homey feel. He’d travelled the world, stayed in the best hotels and sampled the finest luxuries money could buy, yet something about this place tugged at him.

The rich, mahogany coffee-tables and bar covering an entire back wall, the deep comfy armchairs in burgundy, the muted light from brass lamps and the scattering of antiques were nothing out of the ordinary. Yet together they created an ambience which beckoned like the privacy of his own room at the palace at the end of a long day.

Suddenly it hit him—the privacy aspect of the room, the same comforting feeling he’d expect from a private lounge, not some hotel lobby bar. That was it. This room beckoned like his sitting room back home.

Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to create this effect, to offer travellers a home away from home. Someone with taste, good business sense and a keen sense of what it felt like to belong.

At that moment, Natasha walked into the room, and his desire to admire the decor went up in smoke.

He smiled and waved her over, mesmerised by the sway of her slim hips in poured-on denim, the way the lamplight highlighted the toffee tints in her hair, and how her overall outfit combined sassy casual with an innate elegance. Though he guessed that had more to do with the woman inside the clothes than the garments themselves.

Natasha Telford, quite simply, took his breath away.

Now he only hoped she had an open mind to go along with his plan.

‘Glad you could make it,’ he said, rising to his feet and pulling out a chair.

‘No problems.’ She inclined her head in thanks and sat down, gesturing to a waiter behind the bar. ‘What would you like?’

‘Espresso, please.’ And a healthy dollop of your co-operation.

‘Make that two,’ she said, smiling at the waiter in a way that made Dante’s pulse roar.

Why couldn’t she give him one of those smiles? Was the young guy a flame?

He studied her carefully, watching for a flushing of cheeks, a coy expression, a change in body language, but he came up blank. In fact, while he’d been making a few irrational leaps of thought it looked like she’d been studying him just as intently. By the slight frown marring her smooth forehead, he’d come up lacking.

‘So what did you want to discuss?’

She sat ramrod-straight, her hands clasped firmly in her lap, a determined look on her face, and Dante had a sneaking suspicion his plan was about to hit a major snag in the form of one beautiful wet blanket.

‘I need your help.’

‘So you said earlier.’

Her caustic tone didn’t inspire much confidence and he ploughed on, choosing his words carefully.

‘My visit to your country is multi-faceted. Official duties, fostering foreign relations and a family visit. Everyone knows the prince will be staying at your hotel and for how long. What they don’t know is that I’ve arrived on schedule, assumed a different identity and will have my secretary ring to say I’ve been delayed by a week. So during that week I wish to remain anonymous.’

‘Why didn’t you let me know your need for anonymity when you booked?’

Good question; he just couldn’t give her an honest answer. How could he explain to a woman he barely knew that the spur of the moment decision had as much to do with a desperate need to escape as his desire to spend time with a nephew he’d hardly seen?

‘My extra week here is impromptu and I need some time out from my duties.’

She raised an eyebrow, a delicate gesture that made him smile. Somehow, he knew there was nothing delicate about Natasha Telford. She came across as a vision of feminine loveliness…with a backbone of steel beneath.

‘I see.’

By the tiny frown creasing her brow, he seriously doubted that.

‘For family reasons?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Natasha sat back in the armchair and fixed the prince with a suspicious glare, wondering if he thought she were completely stupid.

Guys like him didn’t flit around countries trying to hide their identity for ‘family reasons’. They did the whole cloak and dagger thing for floozies, mistresses or whatever the name was for their hidden love interests.

The prince must have a secret lover, someone he didn’t want the press to get wind of, and that had to be the real reason behind this elaborate farce.

So what? It wasn’t any of her business. As long as he came out of the closet—so to speak—at the end of the week, she’d still get the much-needed publicity boost for the Towers. And, after playing along with His Sneaky Highness, she had every intention of milking his royal presence for every cent he was worth.

‘You don’t look too impressed.’

Silently cursing her expressive face, Natasha said, ‘What you do in the next week is no concern of mine.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’

The arrival of their espressos put paid to the questions raging through her brain, and she waited till they were alone again to continue.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘You are the only person who knows my real identity and I want it to stay that way. It is imperative. Do I make myself clear?’

She stared at him in open-mouthed shock. Who did he think he was, talking down to her like that?

Then again, he was a prince, and obviously used to ordering people around. Not to mention the guy who would get her family’s business out of crisis.

She’d bite her tongue. For now.

‘Perfectly clear,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee, enjoying the caffeine rush and trying not to notice the way his long, tanned fingers wrapped around the tall glass mug with ease, as if they were made to hold things…caress things…

‘Good.’

He stared at her over the rim of his mug, those blue eyes capturing her attention and making it impossible to look away no matter how much she wanted to.

‘How long have you been a concierge?’

His question came out of left field though she should have been grateful. With his probing stare, she’d half expected something more personal.

‘Less than a week.’

He lowered his mug, surprise etched across his handsome face. ‘By your surname, I assumed you were part of the Telford family and in the job for a long time. Maybe I’ve entrusted my secret to the wrong person?’

‘Relax,’ she said, enjoying her first genuine smile of their meeting.

No matter how laid back His Highness seemed, this whole secrecy thing was getting to him. She could see it in his suddenly tense shoulders, his rigid neck, his clenched fingers. His floozy must be some woman for him to go to these lengths to protect her identity.

‘My father runs Telford Towers and I’ve worked here since I could walk. Our concierge is away for the next twelve weeks on sick leave, so I’m filling in for seven days till his temporary replacement starts next week. Does that allay your fears?’

He nodded and visibly relaxed, placing his mug on the table between them and leaning back in his chair. ‘So, what do you usually do here?’

‘Everything.’

From ensuring things ran smoothly, to mediating staff disputes, to pampering VIPs, she did it all. It was what she loved about this place, had always loved about it. Being a part of Telford Towers came as naturally to her as breathing and she couldn’t let it slip away.

Especially when this entire mess with Clay was her fault.

‘Such as?’

She should’ve been flattered by Dante’s interest, but she wasn’t a fool. Now that he had her here, he wanted to know every last thing about the only person who knew his little secret. He probably still didn’t trust her.

‘I’m my father’s right-hand woman. After I graduated with an MBA, I joined him in the everyday running of the Towers. Whatever needs to be done, I do it.’

His eyes widened, the admiration in the steady blue gaze warming her from the inside out. ‘Is it only the two of you?’

‘Uh-huh.’

And the painful fact ripped through her, reopening old wounds. Would her mum have survived the heart attack without the added stress Clay had brought upon them? Would Natasha have to spend the rest of her life harbouring the unspeakable guilt that she had contributed to her mum’s death as well as potentially ruining the family?

‘You should be proud. Your father and you have done a marvellous job. This hotel is wonderful. This is wonderful.’

He threw his arms wide in a dramatic gesture characteristic of his Italian heritage, and she managed a tiny smile when in fact she felt like bolting to the sanctity of her room and bawling her eyes out. Memories of her mum always made her feel like crying.

‘Did you hire a designer to create this room?’

Natasha shook her head, a burst of pride making her sit up straighter, and she quelled the urge to sniffle. ‘I did it.’

‘Really?’

If his eyebrows shot any higher, they would’ve reached the elaborate cornices lining the patterned ceiling.

‘That’s right. I wanted to create a home away from home for weary travellers. It’s the type of room I’d like to spend time in if I was stuck in a hotel miles away from everything familiar.’

Her voice rose as she spoke, filled with excitement, and she marvelled at the sudden change. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything bar intense, draining responsibility. She’d made a major mess of things and she had to clean it up.

Where every day used to bring joy and a thrill as she flitted from task to task, the last year had brought nothing but guilt, recrimination and a weary determination to do a job she used to love wholeheartedly.

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