Seduced by the Spare Heir

Two

Gabriel watched as Serafia’s expression collapsed for a moment in disappointment before she pulled herself back together. He couldn’t understand why he saw those emotions in her dark eyes. He thought she would be excited that he wanted to step up and be a better person for the job. Wasn’t that what she’d just lectured him about?

Then he looked down at her hand clutched in his own, here in the candlelight, on the dark, secluded patio, and realized he had a pretty solid seduction in progress without even trying. That might be the problem. He’d been too distracted by their conversation to realize it.

He had to admit he was pleased to know she responded to him. In the back of his mind, he’d considered Serafia unobtainable, a childhood fantasy. The moment she’d turned to look at him tonight, he felt his heart stutter in his chest as if he’d been shocked by a defibrillator. Her stunning red silk gown, rubies and diamonds dangling at her throat and ears, crimson lipstick against the flawless gold of her skin...it was as though she’d walked out of a magazine spread and onto his patio.

She was poised, elegant and untouchable. And bold. With a razor-sharp tongue, she’d cut him down to size, sending a surprising surge of desire through him instead of anger. She didn’t care that he was the crown prince; she was going to tell it the way it was. With everything ahead of him, he was beginning to think he needed a woman like that in his life. Gabriel was already surrounded by too many yes-men or needling family members.

Serafia was a firecracker—beautiful, alluring and capable of burning him. A woman like that didn’t exist in real life, and if she did, she wouldn’t want anything to do with a man like Gabriel. Or so he’d always thought. The disappointment in her dark eyes led him to believe that perhaps he was wrong about that.

He wasn’t entirely sure that a haircut and a new suit would make him a better king, but he was willing to give it a try. It certainly couldn’t hurt. Working with a professional image consultant would get his father and Juan Carlos off his back. And if nothing else, it would keep this beautiful, sexy woman from disappearing from his life for at least two more weeks. It sounded like a win-win for Gabriel.

“A makeover?” she said after the initial shock seemed to fade from her face. She pulled her fingers from his grasp and rubbed her hands together for a moment as if to erase his touch. Serafia didn’t seem to think his plan was the perfect solution he’d envisioned. “For you?”

“Why not? That’s what you do, right?”

Her nose wrinkled and her brow furrowed. “I teach teenage girls how to walk in high heels and behave themselves in various social situations.”

“How is what I’m proposing any different? Obviously I don’t need the lesson on heels, but I’m about to face a lot of new social situations. With the way my family has been nagging at me, there seem to be a lot of land mines ahead of me. I could use help on how I should dress and what I should say. And I think you’re the right person for the job.”

Serafia’s dark eyes widened and she sputtered for a moment as she struggled for words to argue with him. “I thought you didn’t want a makeover,” she said at last.

Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t want my family to force me into one. There’s a difference. But you’ve convinced me that it’s needed if I’m going to be the kind of king Alma needs.”

“I don’t know, Gabriel.” She turned back to the gardens, avoiding his gaze. She seemed very hesitant to agree to it and he wasn’t sure why. She’d pretty much dressed him down and chastised him for being a self-centered brat. Her words were bold and passionate. But then, when he asked for her help, she didn’t want to be the one to change him. He didn’t get it. Was he a lost cause?

“Come on, Serafia. It’s perfect. I need a makeover, but I don’t want everyone to know it. You’re a friend of the family, so no one will think twice of you traveling with me or being seen with me. No one outside of the family even needs to know why you’re here. We can come up with some cover story. I’ve got a week to prepare before I leave for Alma and another week of welcome activities once I arrive before things start to settle down. I’m not sure I can get through all that without help. Without your help.”

“I can’t just drop everything and run to your side, Gabriel.”

“I’ll pay you double.”

She turned back to him, a crimson frown lining her face. Even that didn’t make her classic features unattractive. “I don’t need the money. I have plenty of that. I don’t even have to work, but I was tired of sitting around with my own thoughts.”

He wasn’t sure what kind of thoughts would haunt a young, successful woman like Serafia, but he didn’t feel that he should ask. “Donate it all to charity, then. I don’t care. It’s good for your business.”

“How? I’d be doing this in secret. That won’t earn me any exposure for my company.”

“Not directly, but having you by my side in all the pictures will get your name in the papers. After you’re seen with royalty, maybe your services will be more in demand because you have connections.”

Serafia sighed. She was losing this battle and she knew it.

Gabriel looked at her, suppressing a smile as he prepared to turn her own argument against her and end the fight. “If for no other reason, do it for the people of Alma. You yourself just said how much these people have suffered. Do your part and help me be the best king I can possibly be.”

She tensed up and started biting her lower lip. Picking up her wineglass, she took a sip and looked out at the moon hovering over the tree line. At last, her head dropped in defeat. The long, graceful line of her neck was exposed by the one-shoulder cut of her gown and the style of her hair. The dark, thick strands were twisted up into an elegant chignon, leaving her flawless, honey-colored skin exposed.

He wanted to press a kiss to the back of her neck and wrap his arms around her waist to comfort her. His lips tingled as he imagined doing just that, but he knew that would be pushing his luck. If she agreed to work with him over the next few weeks, there might be time for kisses and caresses later. It couldn’t take every hour of the day to make him suitable. But if she left now, he’d never have the chance.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out and nodded. “Okay. We start tomorrow morning. I will be here at nine for breakfast and we’ll begin with table manners.”

“Nine?” He winced. Most Saturday mornings, he didn’t crawl out of bed until closer to noon. Of course, he wouldn’t be closing down the bars tonight. If he left the family compound, they’d likely release the hounds to track him down.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice taking the same tone as the nuns had used when he was in Catholic school. Serafia didn’t look a thing like Sister Mary Katherine, but she had the same focused expression on her face as she looked him over. The former supermodel had faded away and he was left in the presence of his new image consultant.

“Modern kings do not stay up until the wee hours of the morning and sleep until noon. They have a country to lead, meetings to attend and servants that need a reliable schedule to properly run the household. After breakfast, you’re getting a haircut.” She reached out for his hand, examining his fingernails in the dim lights. “And a manicure. I’ll have someone come in to do it. If we went to a salon, people would start talking.”

Getting up early, plus a haircut? Gabriel self-consciously ran his fingers through the long strands of his hair. He liked it long. When it was short, he looked too much like his toe-the-line brother, CEO extraordinaire Rafe. That wasn’t him. He was VP of their South American division for a reason. Since the news of Alma’s return to monarchy, he’d spent most of his time in Miami, but he preferred his time spent south of the equator. Life down there was more colorful, less regimented. He didn’t even mind the constant threat of danger edging into his daily routine there. Once you’d been kidnapped, beaten and held for ransom, there wasn’t much else to fear.

All that would end now. A new VP would take over South American Operations and Gabriel would take a jet to Alma. He’d be ruling over a country with a million citizens and dealing with all the demands that went with it.

What had he signed himself up for?

“I wish I had my tablet with me, but I’ll just have to make all my notes when I get back to my hotel. Sunday, we’re going through your wardrobe and determining what you can take with you to Alma. Monday morning, I’ll arrange for a private shopper to come to the house and we’ll fill in the gaps.”

“Now, wait a minute,” he complained, holding up his hands to halt her long list of tasks. He knew he could use some polishing, but it sounded as if Serafia was preparing to gut him and build him up from scratch. “What is wrong with my clothes? This is an expensive suit.”

“I’m sure it is. And if you were the owner of an exclusive nightclub in South Beach, it would be perfect, but you are Prince Gabriel, soon to be King Gabriel.”

He sighed. He certainly didn’t feel like royalty. He felt like a little boy being scolded for doing everything wrong. But he’d brought this pain upon himself. Spending time with his fantasy woman hadn’t exactly gone to plan. It had only been minutes since he made that decision and he was already starting to regret it.

“Are you dating anyone?”

Gabriel perked up. “Why? Are you interested?” he said with the brightest, most charming smile he could conjure.

Serafia wrinkled her nose at him and shook her head. “No. I was just wondering if I needed to work with you on dealing with any sticky romantic entanglements before you leave.”

That was disappointing. “I’m not big on relationships,” he explained. “There are plenty of women I’ve seen on and off, but there shouldn’t be any heartbroken women trying to follow me to Alma.”

“How about pregnant bartenders?” she asked pointedly.

Gabriel chuckled. His brother’s relationship drama had everyone in the family on edge. If he didn’t work out, the crown would be dumped on Bella and she was only twenty-three, barely out of college. “No pregnant bartenders that I am aware of,” he answered. “Or dancers or cocktail waitresses or coeds. I’m extremely careful about that kind of thing.”

“You always use protection? Every time?”

Gabriel stiffened. “Do we really have to talk about my sex life?”

Serafia sighed and shook her head. “You have no real idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you? From now on, your sex life is the business of a whole country. Who you’re seeing and who might be your future queen will be one of the first issues you’ll tackle as king. After that, fathering heirs and continuing the Montoro bloodline will be the chief concern of each of your subjects. Every woman you’re seen with is a candidate for queen. Every time your wife turns down a glass of wine or puts on a few pounds, there will be pregnancy rumors. Privacy has gone out the window for you, Gabriel.”

“There’s not going to be someone in the room while I father these heirs, is there?”

At that, Serafia smiled. “No. They have to draw the line somewhere.”

That offered little comfort to Gabriel in the moment. Each step he took toward being king, the more concerned he became. He wanted to be a good leader, but the level of scrutiny in every aspect of his life was suffocating. His hair, his clothes, his sex life... He could feel the pressure crushing against his chest like a pile of stones.

Serafia pointed to a pair of chairs nearby. “Why don’t we sit down for a minute. You look like you’re about to pass out and these shoes are starting to pinch.”

Gabriel pulled out a chair for her and took the one beside her. “I guess I just never thought about all this before. A few weeks ago, I was just a VP in my family company, someone with far-off ties to a country and a history most of us have forgotten all about. Then, boom, I’m a prince. And before I can adjust to that, I find out that I’m going to be king of the place. My life has taken a strange turn.”

She nodded sympathetically. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it’s just going to get worse. Once you’re in the spotlight, your life is no longer your own. But from someone who’s lived through it, know that the sooner you adjust to the idea of it, the better off you’ll be.”

* * *

Serafia hated to see Gabriel like this. He seemed like such a vibrant, fun-loving man, and the weight of his future was slowly crushing him like a bug. She was pushing him. Maybe more than she had to, at least at first, but he needed to know how things were going to be now. He would adjust to the crown much more easily if he understood the consequences of it.

“Is that what it was like for you? Is that why you gave up modeling?”

Serafia couldn’t help the pained expression she felt crossing her face. It happened every time her old career came up. She smiled and shook her head. “That was just a part of it.”

“Do you miss modeling?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said a touch too quickly, although she meant it. It wasn’t the glamorous business everyone thought it was. It was harsh, and despite how many millions she made doing it and how famous she became, there were still days where she was treated like little more than a walking coat hanger. And a fat one at that. “I’m not really interested in being in the spotlight anymore. It is both a wonderful and terrifying place to live.”

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully. “The runways and magazine covers suffer for your absence. I understand why you stopped after what happened to you on the runway, though. I can imagine it’s scary to come that close to death without any kind of warning. I mean, to go all that time without knowing you had...what was it, exactly?”

“A congenital heart defect,” she replied, the lie slipping effortlessly off her tongue after all these years.

“Yeah, that’s terrifying to think your own body is just waiting to rebel against you.”

Serafia stiffened and tried to nod in agreement. That would be frightening, although she really wouldn’t know. Her parents had done an excellent job spreading misinformation about her very public heart attack. Why else would a perfectly healthy twenty-four-year-old woman go into cardiac failure on the runway and drop to the floor with a thousand witnesses standing by in horror?

She could think of a lot of reasons, and for her, all of them were self-inflicted. Serafia had fallen victim to an industry-endorsed eating disorder, which had spiraled out of control leading up to that day. Anorexia was a serious illness, an issue that needed more visibility in the cutthroat modeling industry, but her family wanted to keep the truth out of the papers for her own protection. At the time, she had been in no condition to argue with them on that point.

Instead the word was that she’d retired from the modeling business to get treatment for her “heart condition” and no one ever questioned it. Instead of surgeries, her actual treatment had included nearly a year of intensive rehabilitation. She had to slowly put on thirty pounds so she didn’t strain her heart. Then she learned to eat properly, how to exercise correctly and most important how to recognize the signs in herself that she was slipping into bad habits again.

“Are you better now?” he asked.

That was debatable. With an eating disorder, every day was a challenge. It wasn’t like being an alcoholic or a drug user, where you could avoid the substance of choice. She had to eat. Every day. She needed to exercise. Just not too much. She had to maintain her weight and not swing wildly one way or another, or she’d put too much strain on her damaged heart. But she was managing. One day at a time, she reminded herself. “Yes,” she said instead. “The doctors got me all fixed up. But you’re right, I couldn’t face the catwalk again after that. After nearly dying, I realized I wanted to do something else with my life. I’m much happier with what I’m doing now.”

“Gabriel Alejandro Montoro!” a sharp voice shouted through the doorway to the patio. It was followed by several loud steps across the stone and a moment later, the figure of his younger sister, Bella, appeared.

“There you are. Everyone has been looking for you.”

Gabriel shrugged, unaffected by his sister’s exasperation. “I’ve been right here the whole time. And since when do you get to call me by my full name? Only Mama gets to do that.”

“And if Mama were here, she’d haul you back into the house by your ear.”

Serafia chuckled. Her memories of Adela were spot-on. “I’m sorry to monopolize Gabriel’s time,” she said, hoping to draw down some of his sister’s ire. “We were discussing the plans for his royal transformation.”

Bella eyed Serafia suspiciously, then turned to look at Gabriel. “Good luck with that. Either way, Father wants you inside, and now. He’s wanting to do some kind of toast and then he wants to see you out on the dance floor. The press wants a shot of you dancing.”

Gabriel stood with a reluctant sigh, reaching out his hand to help Serafia up. “And so it begins. Would you care to join me inside?”

“Absolutely.” Serafia slipped her arm through his and they walked back into the house together.

There were even more people in the room now than there were when she’d decided it was too crowded and gone outside. Nothing she could do about it, though. She stayed by his side as they cut through the crowd in search of his father. They found him standing by the bar with Gabriel’s cousin, Juan Carlos.

Serafia had never had much contact with the Salazar branch of the Montoro family, but she had heard good things about Juan Carlos. He had a good head on his shoulders. He was responsible and thoughtful. To hear some people talk, he was Gabriel’s polar opposite and a better choice for king. She would never tell Gabriel that, though; he had enough worries. Perhaps Juan Carlos would accept a post as the king’s counsel. He would make an excellent adviser for Gabriel or royal liaison to Alma’s prime minister.

“There you are,” Rafael said once he spied them. “Where have you...” He paused when his gaze flicked over Serafia. “Ah. Never mind. Now I know what has occupied your time,” he said with a smile.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said, returning his grin and leaning in to hug her father’s oldest friend.

“Too long!” Rafael exclaimed. “But now that some of us will be back in Alma, that will not be the case. Your father tells me he’s considering moving back if the monarchy is stable.”

“He told me that, as well.” Her dad had mentioned it, but the Espina family was a little gun-shy when it came to their home country. Their quick departure from Alma in the 1940s had been a messy one. There were rumors and accusations thrown at anyone who fled before Tantaberra rose to power, and her family was not immune. Serafia knew they would move slowly on that front and some might never return. Spain was all she had ever known and she had fallen in love with Barcelona. It would take a lot to lure her away from her hacienda with beachfront views of the Mediterranean.

Rafael clapped his son on the back. “Now that you’re here, I want to make a small speech, do a toast, and then maybe you can take a spin around the dance floor and encourage others to join you. The party is getting dull.”

Gabriel nodded and Juan Carlos went over to silence the band and bring Rafael the microphone. The music stopped as Rafael stepped onto the riser with the band and raised his hand to get the crowd’s attention. He had such a commanding presence; the whole room went deathly silent in a moment. He would’ve made a good king, too. Alma’s archaic succession laws needed to be changed.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Rafael began. “I want to thank all of you for coming here tonight. Our family has waited seventy years for a night like this, when we could finally see the monarchy restored to Alma. With it, we hope to see peace, prosperity and hope restored for the people of Alma, as well. I’m thrilled to be able to stand up here and join all of you in wishing my son and future king, Prince Gabriel, all the success in the world as he returns to our homeland.”

Several of the people in the crowd cheered and applauded Rafael’s statement. Gabriel stood stiff at Serafia’s side, his jaw tight and his muscles tense. He didn’t seem to be as excited as everyone else. After their discussion outside, she understood his hesitation. Still clinging to his arm, she squeezed it reassuringly and smiled at him.

“I ask everyone here to raise their glass to the future king of Alma, Gabriel the First! Long live the king!”

“Long live the king!” everyone shouted as they held up their glasses and took a sip. Serafia raised her glass as well, drinking the last of her wine.

“Now I would like to ask Gabriel to step out onto the dance floor and show us a few moves. Everyone, please, join us.”

“Looks like I have to ask a lady to join me on the dance floor.” Gabriel leaned in closer to her, a sly smile curling his full lips. “Have your doctors cleared you for vigorous physical activity?”

Serafia smiled at Gabriel and nodded. “Oh yes, I’ve got a clean bill of health. I could go all night on the dance floor if you can keep up with me.”

Gabriel took her hand and led her out into the center of the room. As the band started playing an upbeat salsa tune, his hand went to her waist and tugged her body tight against his. “Is that a challenge?” he asked.

The contact of his hard body against hers sent a shock wave through her system that she had little time to recover from. He was no longer the mop-topped little boy she remembered running up and down the beach with his kite. Now his green eyes glittered with attraction and a flash of danger. And he was dangerous. She might not have finished high school, but she read enough history to know that getting involved with a king never ended well.

Before she could answer him they started moving in time with the music. It had been a long time since she’d danced, but the movement came easily with his strong lead. She almost seemed to float across the wooden floors, the rhythm of the music pulsing through their bodies. The crowds and the cameras around them faded away as they moved as one.