Praise for Jackie Braun

‘A great storyline, interesting characters and a fast pace help immerse readers in this tender tale.’

—RT Book Reviews on Inconveniently Wed!

‘Quite humorous at times, with beautifully written characters, this is a terrific read.’

—RT Book Reviews on A Dinner, A Date, A Desert Sheikh

‘Solidly plotted, with an edgy, slightly abrasive heroine and an equally unforgettable hero, this story is a great read. Don’t miss it.’

—RT Book Reviews on Confidential: Expecting!

‘ … reading her books [is] a delightful experience that carries you from laughter to tears and back again.’

—Pink Heart Society on Boardroom Baby Surprise

About the Author

JACKIE BRAUN is a three-time RITA® Award finalist, a four-time National Readers’ Choice Awards finalist and the winner of the Rising Star Award for traditional romantic fiction. She can be reached through her website at www.jackiebraun.com

‘Heart Island is based on one of my favourite vacation destinations: Michigan’s Drummond Island. It’s the perfect place to leave real-world cares behind … and the fishing is good, too!’

—Jackie Braun

Also by Jackie Braun

Mr Right There All Along

The Road Not Taken

Inconveniently Wed!

A Dinner, A Date, A Desert Sheikh

Confidential: Expecting!

Boardroom Baby Surprise

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Confessions of
a Girl-Next-Door
Jackie Braun

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To little princesses everywhere …

CHAPTER ONE

HOLLYN Elise Phillipa Saldani always did what was expected of her. As next in line for the throne of the tiny Mediterranean principality of Morenci, she’d known from an early age what her duties entailed and she’d followed them to the letter. Which was why her driver looked at her as if she were speaking a language other than the four in which she was fluent when she said, “Take me to the airport, please.”

“The airport, Your Highness?” Henry asked.

She settled back in the plush leather seat of the limousine and fussed with the folds of her full skirt. Even though her heart was hammering, Hollyn said with characteristic calm, “Yes. The airport.”

Henry wasn’t mollified. He lifted one bushy eyebrow and inquired, “Are we picking up a passenger, then, on our way to the annual garden party? The queen didn’t mention it.”

No, indeed. Her mother hadn’t mentioned it, because Olivia Saldani wasn’t privy to Hollyn’s last-minute change in plans.

“We are not picking up a passenger.” Hollyn moistened her lips. This was it. There would be no turning back once she said the words. Once she gave the edict, her will would be done. “You are dropping one off. Me.”

Henry cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon. I must not have heard you correctly.”

“Yes, you did.” Despite her nerves, she smiled. “Your hearing is as good now as it was when you caught me trying to take out the Bentley with cousin Amelia when I was sixteen.”

“Your giggles gave you away, Your Highness.”

She sighed. “It’s just Hollyn.”

But she hadn’t been “just Hollyn” in too many years to count. Not to Henry or the other people who staffed the royal palace. Or the citizens of the small kingdom that she would one day rule. To them she was Princess Hollyn, daughter of King Franco and Queen Olivia, next in line to the Morenci throne and rumored to be soon engaged to the son of one of the country’s most celebrated and dashing young businessmen.

Duty. She understood it and accepted it. But that didn’t mean she liked it. Or that she didn’t wish, sometimes, that she could be an ordinary young woman, living a simpler life.

Holly.

The nickname whispered from her past, beckoning from across the Atlantic. She allowed herself the luxury of recalling the boy who’d called her that. In her memory, a pair of wide-set brown eyes crinkled with a smile that also caused his cheeks to dent.

At fifteen, Nathaniel Matthews had been surprisingly self-assured and determined to break free of the small community the past two generations of his family had so eagerly embraced. She’d found the tiny island tucked between Canada and America in Lake Huron a paradise.

She’d spent five summers on Heart Island, so named because of its shape, living in anonymity and loving every minute of her unregimented life. No teas or cotillions to attend. No fussy state dinners. And no boring garden parties where more eyes would be focused on her than the blooms.

“The airport,” she said again. “A plane is waiting for me.”

Not the royal jet, but a private one she’d chartered for this trip. In the rearview mirror, she saw Henry’s brows draw together. His perplexed expression was endearing and nostalgic. She remembered that look of concern from the days when he’d taught her to drive on the palace grounds. Afterward, she and Henry had laughed like a pair of loons at her exploits, which included an encounter with a bee-infested log. It was doubtful this day would end with much mirth.

“I’m leaving, Henry.”

“Your mother never spoke of it.”

Hollyn fussed with the folds of her skirt again. She couldn’t wait to take it off and change into something less formal. “She doesn’t know.”

Those bushy brows drew together a second time. “But, Your Highness …”

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling swallowed up by a life that so many other young women in her kingdom considered a dream. For her, lately at least, it had become a nightmare.

“It’s Hollyn. Please, Henry, just call me Hollyn.”

When he stopped the car at a light, he turned with a tentative smile. “Hollyn.”

Despite her best efforts to remain firm, her eyes filled with tears.

“I need a holiday, Henry. Just a few days, a week at the most, to be by myself. My life has been decided since before my birth, and now, with all of the pressure to accept Phillip’s proposal … please.” Her voice faltered.

Perhaps it was that more than her words that caused Henry to nod. After all, she was known for her stoicism.

“The airport,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He sounded only marginally concerned when he asked, “And what am I to tell Her Majesty?”

Hollyn took a moment, drawing in a breath and working up the nerve to go against her mother’s wishes. No one crossed Olivia without expecting retribution.

“You are to tell her that, at my command, you dropped me off at the airport. I have a letter for you to give to her that will explain my decision and my whereabouts. It also instructs her not to censure you in any way for carrying out my orders.”

He smiled as he shook his head. “I’d do it anyway, you know.”

She did.

Their gazes caught in the rearview mirror. “Thank you, Henry. I know this is an imposition.”

He shrugged and pushed his trademark black cap back on his forehead. “I’ve never considered you an imposition, Hollyn.”

Her eyes pooled with tears upon hearing her given name, uttered this time without any prompting. But there was no time to give in to sentiment, even if Henry would have allowed it. They had arrived at the small country’s only airport. Henry brought the limo around to a private entrance reserved for VIPs and royalty. They were shielded from prying eyes, although an industrious paparazzo or two had managed to breach security in the past. She held her breath, silently chanting, “Not today. Please, not today,” as Henry unloaded the luggage she’d stowed, unbeknownst to him, in the limousine’s trunk. He added to the trolley the three sleek designer bags whose contents she could barely remember packing, she’d done it so quickly. But then, where she was going, she wouldn’t need much. No ball gowns, no ostentatious jewels or tiaras. As she recalled, shoes had been optional.

“I hope you find what it is you seek,” he said softly once they were inside. Then he wrapped her in the kind of hug a father might, though her own wasn’t one for displays of affection, whether in public or private.

“At the moment, Henry, all I seek is peace.”

“Then that, my dear, is what I wish for you.” He kissed her cheek and stepped away. “Write?”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. “I won’t be gone that long. As I said, a week at most.”

He remained serious. “Be in touch when you can.”

“Of course.”

An hour later, as she settled into one of the plush seats of the private jet she’d chartered, she thought of her request.

Peace.

She might as well have been asking for the moon. But with most of the paparazzi tied up at the annual garden party, and no one but Henry privy to her travel plans at this point, perhaps she would be able to make a clean getaway. She’d worry about a “clean arrival” once she got to where she was going.

Nate was seated on the deck of his home. He was finishing up a burger that he’d picked up from a local pub before heading home, and enjoying a cold beer when he spied the Cessna riding low on the horizon over Lake Huron.

Hell of an evening to land a seaplane, given the wind.

Even on the relatively protected waters of Heart Island’s Pettibone Bay, whitecaps sent waves crashing on the beach with unrelenting precision. Forecasters were calling for a doozy of a storm, likely to hit sometime before midnight. The islanders, especially those along the coastline, were battened down, ready. Storms such as these weren’t uncommon in summer, which was why people with any sense were already in for the night, their planes and boats secured to wait out the worst of the weather.

What in the hell was Hank Whitey thinking?

Sure, the pilot had a penchant for taking risks. Last week, he’d bluffed his way through their weekly poker game with a pathetic hand of cards. But Hank generally wasn’t one to take risks with his plane; the aircraft was his livelihood.

Nate went inside, set his unfinished beer on the counter and headed out. Not only was he curious about Hank’s explanation, but the man was also going to need a hand.

By the time Nate jogged down to the sand, Hank had already bypassed the dock at the Haven Marina, which was part of the resort Nate owned. On a really calm day, Hank might have moored there. Today, not a chance. The waves tossed the small plane around as if it weighed no more than a fishing bobber.

Nate would give Hank this. The guy was a capable pilot, even if his judgment was a bit questionable. Just beyond the plane, a jagged outcropping of rocks lined a slim finger of land that jutted to where a lighthouse stood. With the wind pushing toward those rocks, it took experience and skill to guide the Cessna toward the sandy beach instead.

Nate waited until the single engine was cut and the plane’s propeller finally stopped chopping the air before he kicked off his shoes and waded out into the thigh-deep water. The waves made keeping his balance difficult and the cuffs of his shorts were wet in no time. Hank’s door opened and the man let out a whoop of joy, which was entirely appropriate given the circumstances.

“You’re damned lucky to be in one piece!” Nate shouted to be heard over the wind.

“Hey, Nate. Can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

“Glad to see you, too, Hank. Alive. What in the hell were you thinking?”

The passenger door opened then. A woman, beautiful and amazingly composed under the circumstances, smiled at Nate. “I’m to blame, I’m afraid. I was so eager to get here that I offered Mr. Whitey triple his normal fee.”

Her crisp accent had Nate’s brows tugging together. He knew that voice. He blinked. He knew … that face. Despite all of the years that had passed, he knew it in an instant. Heart-shaped, with a delicate nose, a pair of perfect lips and eyes as blue as Huron’s deepest waters.

His gut clenched as time reeled backward. He was a teenager again, carefree, happy, experiencing his first love … before having his heart brutally ripped from his chest.

“Holly?”

“It’s been a long time.”

She had the nerve to smile, which caused his teeth to clench. After all these years, he still felt betrayed, even if he also understood why she’d misled him. She hadn’t owed him the truth.

That didn’t stop him from wanting an explanation now. “Why are you here?”

Her smile disappeared. Her composure slipped. “I needed to get away. I needed … a holiday.”

He could read between both the lines in her words and the one now denting the flesh between her eyes. She wanted normalcy. Anonymity.

That’s what her American grandmother had been after, too, when she’d insisted Holly spend her summers on the island when she was a girl. From ages ten through fifteen, Holly and the older woman had shown up faithfully the second week in June and then stayed through the second week in August, renting the largest and most secluded of the resort’s cottages.

He and Holly had become fast friends when she was ten and he was twelve. When she’d been fifteen to his seventeen, they’d had more on their minds than seeing who could swim the fastest to the floating dock out in front of his parents’ house.

“So, you nearly killed Hank here? Well, I guess your wish is his command.”

“I coulda said no, Nate,” Hank argued, no doubt perplexed by the irritation in Nate’s tone.

Nate was a little perplexed, too. This anger, these emotions, they belonged to the past. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “No one says no to a princess, Hank”

The other man looked confused. Holly looked desperate. “I’m just an ordinary woman, Nate.”

The wind gusted, and the waves slapped higher on his thighs. He decided to allow the distinction for now, even though he knew firsthand that nothing about her was ordinary. Hell, he’d known that to be the case even when he hadn’t been privy to her true identity and royal lineage.

He waded the rest of the way to the plane’s float. “Put your arms around my neck.”

“Excuse me?”

Perversely, he enjoyed the fact that her eyes widened. Nervous, Princess? he wanted to ask. It would make him feel better to know that she was as shaken by this unexpected reunion as he was. Instead, Nate nodded in the direction of the shore. “Unless you’d rather walk to the beach, I’ll carry you. I’m guessing those pretty shoes of yours probably aren’t meant to get wet.”

They were red leather flats with fat bows stretched across the toes. He could only guess what they cost. In her world, they would be considered casual. As would the understated linen suit she’d paired with them. In his, they would pass for Sunday best. If this was the kind of clothing she’d brought to blend in with the locals and the majority of tourists, she was going to stick out like a sore thumb.

“Right.” She gave a quick dip of her chin before tilting it up. He remembered that defiant gesture from their childhood. She’d used it whenever he’d issued a dare.

“We don’t have all day,” he prodded when she hesitated. “I have to help Hank secure his plane for the night.”

“I’m not staying,” Hank called from the other side of the Cessna. “Got a card game waiting for me back on the mainland. Gerald’s cousin is in town. Guy is damned unlucky at poker, but he bets like a Vegas high roller.”

“You’re staying,” Nate disagreed. “One suicide mission an evening is enough. You can bunk at my place.”

Hank cocked his head to one side as if considering. “Got any cold beer?”

“Yeah.”

The other man shrugged. “I guess I can be persuaded. ‘Sides, the guy’s here through the weekend. I’ll settle for picking your pocket at cards tonight.”

Nate turned his attention back to Holly and held out his arms. She offered a tentative smile as she reached for him, and then she was in his embrace. She felt a little too good there, a little too perfect, with the side of her body pressed against his chest. Nate recalled the girl she’d been: long-limbed and lithe, verging on skinny. This was no girl he held. While she was still slender, during the intervening years she’d filled out nicely in all of the right places.

He started toward the shore, eager for the safety of the sand so that he could release her. Be free of her? Not likely. Until today, he’d thought he had been. Now? He was cursing his arrogance. She’d always been there, in the back of his mind.

His stride was purposeful, but perhaps a little too fast given the conditions and the added distraction of a beautiful woman in his arms. She had his hormones starting to lurch as powerfully as the surf. He stubbed his toe on a rock and managed to right his balance only to lose it again entirely when his other foot connected with another one.

“Nate!”

Holly’s grip on his neck tightened to a choke hold as he veered from one side to the other. He tried to right himself, but it was too late. Momentum and waves were working against him. He knew a moment of utter defeat just before he toppled over, sending them both into the chilly, knee-deep water. It was too shallow for her to be submerged completely, but between the waves and the splash their bodies made going down, they were both good and soaked. The hair on one side of her head was slicked to her face. So much for the shoes he’d so chivalrously offered to help save from harm. They likely were as ruined as her oatmeal-colored pant-suit.

He expected outrage from her, perhaps even a good dressing down. She was a princess,

after all. And he was but the owner of a small, albeit well-tended, resort.

But what he heard over the wind as Holly pushed to her feet was laughter. Unrestrained, boisterous laughter.

“That was smooth, Nathaniel. Yes, indeed. Very smooth.” Grinning, she put out a hand, offering to help him up. She looked just then very much like the impish young girl who used to take such delight in playing pranks on him.

Nate felt like an idiot, and he knew he looked ridiculous. That didn’t stop him from clasping her palm. Nor did it prevent him from joining in her mirth as he rose and shoved the hair back from his face. The situation was funny, even if it came at his expense.

Behind them, Hank was chortling away, too. Nate groaned. His reputation was toast. Unless he got lucky and the storm took out the phone lines and closed the locals’ favorite tavern, news of this mishap would be the talk of the island before another sunset.

“Sorry about that. I lost my footing.” As they reached the shore, he couldn’t resist adding, “I might have maintained my balance,

but you’ve put on a few pounds since we were kids.”

Holly turned. Her mouth formed an indignant O as she thumped his chest with one small fist. “A gentleman isn’t supposed to say such things to a lady.”

Her words, even though they were said in jest, caused him to sober. She was more than a lady, she was a princess. Just that quickly, the gulf between their worlds gaped wide once more.

Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, he said, “I’d better go and give Hank a hand.”

It took no more than fifteen minutes for Nate and the pilot to pull the plane ashore and beach it. Just to be on the safe side, they used the trunk of a big cedar tree that leaned toward the lake as a mooring. The Cessna wouldn’t be going anywhere, despite the coming storm. Nate hoped the same could be said for all of the boats and the several large yachts moored at the resort’s marina. Time would tell.

All the while, Holly waited patiently out of the way, soaked to the skin and shivering, but no complaints passed her lips. And he’d been expecting them. When her luggage was unloaded, her expression was one of chagrin.

“Just how long are you here for?” Nate asked, eyeing the trio of designer bags.

A pair of delicate shoulders rose in a shrug. “Perhaps as much as a week.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “A week, hmm?” He could pack for a week in one small duffel, especially this time of year.

“I wasn’t sure what I would need,” she said.

For a moment he forgot that he was speaking to royalty. She was simply Holly. “Tank tops, shorts, a pair of comfortable walking shoes, maybe a hoodie for cool nights and a swimsuit would do.”

“I packed those …. And a little bit more.”

“So I see.”

The contents of his closet could fit in those bags, but Nate decided to give her a break. After all, he’d been around enough women to know they had a whole different definition for the word essentials.

She reached for the smallest bag. It had wheels, not that they would do much good on the sand. “Sorry to be an imposition.”

An interesting choice of words, to be sure.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

Her expression brightened. “I’d hoped to rent the cottage Gran and I always stayed in at your parents’ resort.”

“My parents are gone.”

“Gone?” She looked alarmed.

“Retired,” he clarified. “They moved to Florida four years ago.” Just after he’d returned to the island from a job at one of the swankiest hotels in Chicago.

“The resort?”

Normally, it would give Nate great satisfaction to claim ownership and to admit that he’d expanded the place considerably since taking over. But this was Princess Hollyn Saldani. He doubted she would be impressed.

“I’m the owner now.”

“Oh.” One syllable that told him how enthused she was, but he’d give her this, she rallied fast. “I was hoping to find a place available.”

“Sorry.” He shook his head slowly, not sure whether he was relieved or disappointed. “We’re all booked up at the moment. In fact, I don’t know that there’s a vacancy anywhere on the island until after the Fourth of July.”

Usually, given how far north the island was, its resorts weren’t full with patrons until after Independence Day. But this year, warm weather had come early and people from downstate were willing to make the drive and then the short ferry trip from Michigan’s upper peninsula to the island.

“I wasn’t thinking. I should have made arrangements ahead of time,” she murmured. “Do you suppose there are any homes for rent on the island? I’d love to be on the water, of course, but I’ll take what I can get at this point. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

It was an interesting statement coming from a woman who was next in line to the throne of her own kingdom.

“I don’t know of anything offhand. You can check, but given the time of day and the storm, my guess is that most places are closed for the night.” He snorted. “You know the island. Sidewalks pretty much roll up after eight o’clock.”

He imagined she’d grown accustomed to glitzy, late-night parties with exclusive guest lists and the finest gourmet cuisine. Yet she didn’t seem bothered by the prospect of no real nightlife here.

Her smile was nostalgic, damned near fond, when she replied, “Yes, I remember.”

Was that really why she’d come?

Sure, she’d told him she needed to get away, but weren’t there all sorts of fancy spas in Europe—and America, for that matter—more likely to fit the bill for a royal retreat than an out-of-the-way island that catered to the needs of middle-class tourists seeking good fishing, great scenery and a slower pace?

Hank reached them then, toting the last of her bags.

“Don’t worry, miss. Nate’s house has plenty of room. You can stay there at least for tonight.” He glanced at Nate for corroboration.

What else could Nate do but nod? The quiet evening at home he’d envisioned just an hour ago now included two overnight guests. He knew from previous experience that Hank snored like a drunken sailor. Nate also knew that it was Holly who would keep him awake this night.

CHAPTER TWO

HOLLY wasn’t sure what to do since Nate’s invitation was begrudging at best.

That hurt. Not that she’d expected him to greet her with arms wide open. In fact, she hadn’t been expecting to see him at all. She remembered how determined he’d been to leave the island for big-city living. But his displeasure right now was palpable, even if, for just a moment when they’d wound up sitting in the lake, he’d reminded her of the handsome young man who’d made her teenage pulse race with a simple smile.

As tempting as it was to turn down his offer, she had to be pragmatic. As she recalled, the island had a finite number of accommodations available. She would be lucky to find anything else on such short notice, so she followed him and the pilot up the beach.

Tomorrow, she could return to the mainland if need be. Tonight, she needed a place to stay. Jet lag was catching up with her. And that short flight over from the mainland had left her with white knuckles and a queasy stomach. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have chanced it, especially this late in the day, with no firm reservation and a storm blowing in. She’d not only risked her life, but also the life of the pilot. A fact Nate had been only too happy to point out. Despite what he must think, it wasn’t like Holly to be so thoughtless. But as with every thing the past several days, desperation had her acting out of character.

Her hasty plan’s imperfections were glaringly obvious now. She should have been more thorough in her arrangements before packing her bags and jetting across the Atlantic. That much was clear now. What had been as transparent as glass less than forty-eight hours ago was that she had to get away.

She caught up to Nate and glanced sideways at his stern profile. He wasn’t exactly glad to see her. But it was her own emotions that gave her pause. She wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing him again.

Once upon a time, she’d thought … Mentally, she shook her head. It was foolish to recall those dreams. They’d been unrealistic then. Now, they were unfathomable. Once again, she felt the grip of destiny tighten around her like a vise. There was no escaping it. Not completely, anyway, even if she hoped to find respite for a few days or a week. Holly groaned.

She didn’t expect it to be heard over the wind, but Nate turned and asked, “Something wrong?”

“No.”

“No?” His brows rose.

His wry expression and disbelieving tone came as a bit of a surprise. Back home no one would have dared to question her—well, except for her mother, who browbeat Holly regularly over the most minute of things. Holly needed to be perfect. Or at least give the illusion of perfection at all times. Interestingly, coming from Nate, she rather enjoyed it. She’d much rather he treated her as an equal, even one with whom he was angry.

They reached the house, a cedar-sided bungalow that she remembered from her visits to the island as a girl. Back then, he’d lived in it with his parents, and she’d always been welcome inside for a bite to eat or to watch the telly on a rainy afternoon. His mother, she recalled, had been amazingly tolerant of such things as sandy feet and soggy swimsuits.

From the outside, the place looked much the same except for a newer and larger deck that wrapped around to the side entrance. Hank beat them up the steps and shucked off his shoes before opening the squeaky-hinged screen door and going in. That left Holly and Nate standing on either side of the welcome mat.

Nothing about Nate’s demeanor at the moment was very welcoming.

“This is too much of an imposition,” she began. It definitely was too much of something.

“It’s fine,” Nate insisted. “No big deal.” He toed off his soggy shoes and pushed them against the side of the house next to Hank’s battered sneakers.

“I’ll pay—”

“It’s only one night, Holly … Hollyn … Princess ….” He shoved his damp hair back from his forehead in agitation. “What am I supposed to call you?”

From his tone, she imagined he already had a pet name or two in mind. “Holly is fine.”

She wanted to be just Holly again. That was, after all, why she’d made this rash trip in the first place.

He looked doubtful, but nodded. “I insist you stay, all right? As my guest.”

His words might have been more reassuring had they not been issued through clenched teeth. But any retort she might have offered was lost when he reached for the back of his damp T-shirt and pulled it over his head.

Holly swallowed hard, but that didn’t keep her mouth from watering. As a teenage girl, she’d admired Nate’s form. He’d been wiry then, lean and several inches shorter than the six foot three she judged him to be now. He’d shot up, filled out. Quite obviously, he worked out. A sculpted abdomen such as his was no happy accident of genetics.

“Your turn.”

His words startled her. She felt her cheeks grow warm, though it wasn’t only embarrassment that caused the building heat.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your shoes. If you wouldn’t mind, take them off out here.”

Half of his mouth crooked into a wry smile as he draped his shirt over the banister. He was enjoying her discomfort, enjoying that she was as off balance now as he’d been while wading through the surf earlier.

Holly glanced down at her feet. The shoes he’d tried to spare damage with his chivalrous offer to carry her ashore were not only wet, but also covered in sand and other natural debris from their trek over the beach.

“Your mother never minded the sand.”

“She did, but she was too polite to say so. Regardless, since I clean the place now, I make the rules.”

“Right.” Envisioning him with a mop in one hand and a feather duster in the other helped take some of the sting out of his words.

She did as Nate asked and padded inside behind him.

Hank already had made himself at home on the couch in front of the television. His stocking feet were propped up on the coffee table, a long-necked brown bottle was in one hand and the remote control was in the other. A baseball game was on. Holly didn’t know much about the American pastime, but she’d always enjoyed listening to the announcers explaining what was going on. Their voices were so soothing, spiking here and there as warranted by a key play. The sound made her nostalgic. As did the house, even though the furnishings now were more masculine and sparse than the fussy decor that had obviously been Mrs. Matthews’s taste.

Gone were the knickknacks and kitschy collections that had filled two curios cabinets. Gone was the mauve-and-blue color scheme, the lace curtains and flowered camelback sofa. Now the main living area sported top-of-the-line electronics, a brown leather sectional and some surprisingly high-quality pieces of artwork, all of them seascapes.

Nate must have noticed the direction of her gaze. “Rupert Lengard,” he said, supplying the name of the artist. “I wish I could say they’re originals, but they’re limited edition prints.”

“They’re stunning.” She pointed to one. “That looks like that little island we used to take the canoe out to.”

They’d pretended to be castaways and had even tried to erect a tree house à la the Swiss Family Robinson. But getting building supplies over in the canoe had proved too much of a hassle. They’d made do with a lean-to crafted from sticks and cedar boughs.

“Horn Island,” Nate said. “Lengard spent a couple summers on Heart and the surrounding islands. All of the prints I bought are local scenes.”

She admired the subject matter as much as the artist’s obvious skill. “I’ll have to see about getting some of them for home.”

“His stuff is not exactly on par with Poussin or Renoir.”

Apparently, Nate thought only work of old-world masters would suit her sensibilities. Holly decided to set him straight. “My tastes run a little more modern than that. Like you, I buy art, whether prints or originals, because I like it, not because of the value an insurance appraiser might put on it.”

Nate nodded curtly. It sounded like he might have said, “Touché.”

But he was already turning away and heading over to the couch.

“Anything else I can get you, Hank?” Nate asked dryly.

The other man either missed the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “You got anything to munch on? Like nachos maybe?”

Holly hid her grin.

“You want nachos?”

Hank dragged his gaze from the television. His expression was hopeful. “Yeah.”

“They sell them down at the Fishing Hole Tavern. Bring back an order for me, too, while you’re at it,” Nate replied before using his shin to knock the other man’s feet off the table. To Holly, he said, “Follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”

He went back to grab her bags from their spot by the door and started for the stairs. At the top, he turned right and continued to the room at the end of the hall.

She stood uncertainly at the threshold after he entered. “But th-this is your room.”

And it was just as she recalled it, though she hadn’t spent much time in it as a girl. His parents wouldn’t have allowed that, especially once she and Nate were teenagers.

Even though they were both adults now, she felt awkward and oddly aware. She blamed it on the fact that he was shirtless and she was … tired. Really, really tired.

“Not anymore. I have the master these days. After my folks moved out I did a little renovation work and added an en suite bathroom, so the one in the hall is all yours.” His brows rose in humor. “Well, yours and Hank’s. You’ll have to share.”

He set down her bags and crossed to open the window a few inches. He repeated the process for the one on the opposite wall. The wind rushed inside, ruffling the edges of the curtains and bringing with it the mingled scents of cedar trees and wood smoke. She recalled that earthy scent from those summers long past. Nostalgia had her smiling. A lot of fireplaces would be in use tonight if the temperature outside continued to drop. Her gaze veered to Nate and her smile disappeared. Holly wasn’t feeling chilled. Quite the opposite. Even wearing wet clothes, all it took was an eyeful of the taut muscles that defined Nate’s shoulders, and she had to fight the urge to fan herself.

He turned around to find her studying him. God only knew what her expression revealed. He was one of the few people around whom she had ever been herself, which was ironic, she realized now, since he hadn’t known her actual identity.

She folded her hands at her waist, cleared her throat and said the first thing she could think of. “It’s windy outside.”

“The storm.”

“Yes. The storm.”

They eyed one another for a moment longer. “You can close the windows in a minute. Just give the place a chance to air out. It’s a little stuffy in here. This room doesn’t get much use.”

A little stuffy? She could hardly breathe. But that had nothing do with stagnant air. It had everything to do with the way he was looking at her. She saw speculation in his gaze and, she thought, guarded interest. It dawned on Holly then that she must look a fright. Her soggy clothes were molded to her body, her makeup was nonexistent, and her hair … She reached up to run a hand through it only to have her fingers tangle in the snarls.

She pulled her hand free and managed to say, “It’s fine.”

He didn’t appear convinced. In fact, he was shaking his head. “You know, the more I think of it, you belong in the master suite. You’d definitely be more comfortable in there.”

He reached for her bags. She put out a hand to stop him. “Don’t be silly. This is fine,” she said again.

“It’s not up to the standards you’re used to,” he said quietly.

“I’m not picky, Nathaniel.” She went with his full name, hoping to get a rise out of him.

His gaze connected with hers. “You’re a princess.”

Holly folded her arms over her chest and the ache she felt building there. “You say it like it’s some sort of disease.”

“I’ll apologize for that. But the fact remains, you’re used to better than … this.” He glanced around as if seeing the room for the first time. Clearly, he found it lacking. His gaze returned to her. “You’re used to better than anything I have to offer, for that matter.”

“Nate.”

Before she could protest further, he was at the door, his hand on the knob. This time, his gaze didn’t quite meet hers. “I’ll leave you to freshen up. We can discuss your accommodations later.”

The door closed. Holly stared at the scratched wood for a long time afterward. What had just happened? In the span of the past half hour, he’d gone from being smug and a little indignant to being uncomfortable and, unless she missed her guess, embarrassed. That wasn’t the Nathaniel Matthews she remembered. He’d been fearless, formidable and a touch arrogant at times.

He’d been determined to take on the world. He’d seen no limit to the possibilities life had to offer him. She’d admired his conviction that he could be anything, do anything, go anywhere and answer to no one but himself. For a while, Holly had even begun to think like he did. Then she’d returned to Morenci, after what turned out to be her last summer on the island, and her mother had set her straight.

“You’re no longer a child, Hollyn. You’ll turn sixteen soon. It’s time for you to fully embrace your royal responsibilities. You’re a princess. You need to start acting like one at all times.”

Her girlhood dreams had been dashed.

What, she wondered now, had made Nate change his plans? Or was it simply a case of growing up? After all, he’d been a boy when she’d known him.

Well, one thing was clear. The man who’d just closed the door was a stranger, even if so many things about him seemed familiar.

Nate changed into dry clothes and headed downstairs. In the kitchen, he pulled a fresh bottle of beer from the fridge, uncapped it and took a liberal swig.

God! What must she think of him? He probably came off as backward and irascible. He hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome mat upon learning she was Hank’s passenger.

Welcome mat. He grunted now and took another gulp of beer. She was used to red carpets, state dinners and probably parades held in her honor. He’d even botched his attempt to carry her to shore. Still, she’d laughed. And in that moment he’d glimpsed the girl she’d been. The girl who at first had been his fishing buddy and who, later, when he was teenager, had kept him awake and confused on hot summer nights.

Now she was a woman. A beautiful woman. Staying under his roof. And, even though his parents were a couple thousand miles away enjoying their retirement and unable to act as chaperones, Holly was as off-limits as she’d been when his hormones had been raging as a teen. Hank sauntered into the kitchen then. They did have a chaperone after all. Nate couldn’t make up his mind whether to be grateful or not.

“Where’s Holly?” The other man’s beer was empty. He helped himself to a fresh one from the fridge, shooting the cap in the direction of the trash can in the corner.

“Upstairs, probably getting out of her wet clothes.” It was the wrong thing to say, Nate decided, when his imagination kicked into overdrive.

“I didn’t realize you two knew one another. She didn’t mention it on the flight over.”

“We don’t. Well, not really.” Nate shrugged. Since Hank was waiting for more of an explanation, he added, “We spent several summers together when we were kids. It’s been years since I last saw her.”

That wasn’t quite true since all he’d had to do in the interim was pick up a magazine or turn on the television and more times than not there was a feature on Morenci’s future monarch. But then his Holly and Hollyn Saldani had always seemed like separate people to him. Until today. Today he was having a hard time keeping them straight.

“She looks familiar,” Hank was saying.

Nate chose not to reveal Holly’s secret. It was only because the pilot had the loosest lips in three counties, he told himself, and she’d already made it clear she’d come here to get away from the public eye. Besides, the last thing Nate wanted was for his peaceful little island to be overrun with journalists and paparazzi and royal gawkers. That would be bad for business.

Liar, a voice whispered. He ignored it. On a shrug, he replied, “I know. She has one of those faces.”

Hank seemed satisfied with the answer, but he was still curious. “Where’s she from? I know she’s not American. She has an accent of some sort even though she speaks really good English.”

Again, rather than lie outright, Nate chose to be vague. “Abroad somewhere. But some of her family vacationed in these parts.”

He frowned after saying so. Had it really been her grandmother that she’d come to the island with? Or had the older woman been some sort of governess? He still had so many questions about the woman who had been his first love … and a total stranger.

The laid-back pilot appeared to accept the explanations Nate offered. Of course, Hank was easy to please. He had free, ice-cold beer, a place to sleep for the night and cable television, assuming the storm didn’t knock it out.

Nate thought that was the end of their discussion of Holly, until the guy commented, “She sure is a pretty thing.”

Nate swigged his beer and mumbled a response.

“And generous.” Hank grinned. “You wouldn’t believe what she paid me to fly her here.”

“You were risking your life,” Nate reminded him dryly.

The other man laughed loudly. “Maybe so, but neither of my ex-wives thought my life was worth that much.”

The other man’s attitude rubbed Nate the wrong way. “Well, it’s easy to be generous when you’ve done nothing to earn the money in your wallet.”

“She’s loaded?”

Nate shrugged. “Her family’s well-to-do. Old money.” Really old money and a pedigree that could be traced back through the generations.

“Is she single?”

His gut clenched. “Far as I know.” Though rumors were circulating in the media that an engagement was in her future. The first time Nate had heard them aired on a news program he’d not just been angry, he’d felt a little sick to his stomach. Neither reaction made sense. Nor did his reaction upon seeing her today.

“Imagine that. Pretty, single and rich.” The other man pushed back his mop of unkempt salt-and-pepper hair. “Think I stand a chance?”

“Sorry, pal.” Nate clinked the neck of his beer bottle against the one in Hank’s hand in seeming commiseration. “I think she’s out of your league.”

Hank didn’t appear overly troubled by the assessment. “What about yours?”

“Definitely.”

Nate studied the bottle’s label after he said it. He’d done all right for himself in life. In fact, he was quite pleased by how far he’d come.

After high school graduation, he’d gone on to college. Nothing Ivy League, but his grades had been good enough to get him into a Big Ten school. He’d made the dean’s list all four years at the University of Michigan. After earning a bachelor’s degree, he’d moved to Chicago and had taken a management position at one of the hotels on the Miracle Mile.

His parents had been proud of him, though their unspoken disappointment that he hadn’t wanted to take over the family resort had been clear. But they’d given him space and offered him choices. And after four years in the Windy City, he realized how much he missed the slow pace of life on the island. He missed the quiet mornings and spectacular sunrises on Lake Huron. When he’d packed up his belongings and left the island, he’d been so sure he wanted big-city living—the decadent nightlife, the pricey condo overlooking Navy Pier, the designerlabel clothes and gourmet restaurants.

Everything had been great for a while, even if he’d still felt more like a tourist than a resident. He’d enjoyed making a name for himself. He’d enjoyed hearing the praise from his boss, and the predictions from corporate that he would be another rung up the ladder soon, maybe even managing a hotel of his own.

Then his parents had announced their retirement and their plans to sell Haven Resort & Marina. They wanted to move south to warmer climes. Nate had been poleaxed. Oh, he’d expected them to retire at some point. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t talked about it over the years. And he’d long known they had their eye on a condo on Florida’s Gulf Coast. The winters on the island could be brutal and long, especially on achy, aging joints. But talking and doing were two different things.

Confronted by reality, he’d come to a couple of conclusions. One, he didn’t want to live in Chicago. It was a great city, full of energy and excitement, but it wasn’t for him. Not long-term, anyway. And two, he didn’t want anyone but him to own the resort that his grandparents had started from nothing during the 1950s.

So, he’d gone home, not with his tail tucked between his legs, but confident that he’d made the right decision. He’d never regretted coming back. In fact, he’d been damned pleased with the changes he’d made, and those he continued to implement to bring the property up-to-date so that it would appeal to the needs of a new generation of tourists. The marina and outbuildings were in good shape. And he was renovating the cottages as money permitted. He’d completed half of them already, doing much of the work himself in the off-season. Gone were the mismatched furnishings and bedding, the ancient appliances and worn vinyl flooring. What he’d replaced them with weren’t high-end, but they were durable, fresh, contemporary and comfortable. And the cottages now sported neutral color schemes and even some artwork from a local woman who specialized in nature views. They weren’t as good as the ones captured by Lengard, but they complemented the decor and had helped bring some commissions the young artist’s way.

Last year he’d added Wi-Fi and cable television, and he’d partnered with a local couple to offer guided hikes through the huge swath of federally owned land on the northern tip of the island that was home to all sorts of wildlife, including a couple of endangered bird species. In the spring, when the morel mushroom hunters came, he’d joined forces with one of the island’s restaurants for cooking demonstrations. In addition to families and fishermen, his resort now appealed to naturalists and others embracing a greener lifestyle.

Winters were still pretty quiet. Only the heartiest of tourists ventured north during that time of year. But already he was making plans to attract more snowshoers, cross-country skiers and snowmobilers, which was why he had purchased another dozen acres of land just beyond what he owned now with plans to add trails and maybe even a few more cabins down the road.

His parents were impressed with the changes he’d made, even though he’d suggested most of them while they still owned the place. But the status quo had been good enough for them. He’d understood and accepted that. But within days of the transfer in ownership, he’d rolled up his sleeves and begun the transformation.

Now, business was up. Not just for his resort, but for other establishments on the island, thanks to a joint marketing campaign that he’d spearheaded. The head of the local chamber of commerce hadn’t been pleased, since Nate basically had gone around Victor Montague’s back. But everyone else was happy with the results.

Yes, he was proud of what he’d accomplished. Proud of what he’d made not only of the resort, but also of his life. Which was why it galled him to find himself glancing around his kitchen, another of his renovation projects, and wondering what Holly thought of his quaint home and simple life.

“Nate?” Hank gazed at him quizzically.

After another swig of beer, he muttered, “Definitely, she’s out of my league.”

Holly stood at the base of the steps. She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop on Nate’s conversation with Hank, but it was hard not to hear the men. The house was small. Their voices carried.

Out of his league?

She supposed she could understand how Nate would think that. He wasn’t the first person, man or woman, who had acted as if she were made of priceless spun glass. A number of her childhood friends had become overly deferential and awkward around her once they had finally grasped her status as their future monarch. She recalled how isolated it had made her feel. How utterly lonely.

“That’s just the way it is,” her mother had told her matter-of-factly when she complained. “They treat you differently because you are different. You’re special, Hollyn.”

Holly hadn’t wanted to be “special.” She’d wanted friends. True friends who wouldn’t purposely lose at board games or let her pick the movie every time they got together. Friends who would confide their secrets. Friends in whom she could confide hers and not risk having her private thoughts written up in the tabloids. That had happened when she was fourteen. She’d complained about an argument with her mother, who’d felt Holly was too young to wear makeup. The headline in the Morenci Daily two days later read: “Queen and her teen nearly come to blows over mascara.”

Her mother had been livid. Holly had been crushed, and, hence forward, very, very careful.

After that, the closest she’d had to actual girlfriends were her cousins, Amelia and Emily. As the second and third in line for the throne behind Holly, they understood what it was like to be in the spotlight, photographed, quoted—or misquoted as the case may be—and constantly judged on their appearance and breeding as if they were entries in the Royal Kennel Club’s annual dog show.

Yet, even with Amelia and Emily, the older they grew, the more she sensed a distance and a separation between them. And, yes, she could admit now, she’d noticed a certain amount of envy and bitterness that while Holly would have a prime place in Morenci’s history books, their lives would be mere footnotes and largely forgotten.

Their emotional defection had hurt. But not as badly as overhearing Nate’s assessment of her. He made her sound shallow, spoiled.

Spending money she hadn’t earned?

As far as Holly was concerned, she was always “earning” her keep. Long ago, her life had ceased to be her own, if indeed it ever had been. She was public property. Her photograph was sold to the highest tabloid bidder, in addition to being plastered on everything from teacups, decorative plates and biscuit tins to T-shirts and tote bags that were then gobbled up by tourists.

She told herself the disappointment she felt about Nate’s assessment of her was because she had so hoped to feel “normal” here. She had hoped to be treated as she had been treated as a girl coming to the island with her grandmother: Accepted for who she was rather than the crown she would someday wear.

A small sigh escaped. She was being foolish.

At least Nate hadn’t told Hank the truth about her identity. If it meant letting the other man and the rest of the folks on the island think she was some snobby socialite eager for a taste of the simple life, so be it. Anonymity in itself was a gift. One that she hadn’t enjoyed in more than a decade.

The men came out of the kitchen, both of them stopping with almost comedic abruptness when they spied her. Nate looked guilty, his gaze cutting away a moment before returning to hers. No doubt, he was wondering how much she’d overheard.

Hank, however, was grinning broadly.

“Hey, there, miss. I see you’re none the worse for wear after your unexpected dip in the lake.” He elbowed Nate in the ribs.

Nate flushed. So did she. Holly hardly looked her best. She’d changed into dry clothes, but they were wrinkled from their time spent in her bag. And while she’d combed the tangles out of her hair, it was still wet. She’d remembered a blow dryer in her hasty packing job, but she hadn’t thought to bring an adapter. And, of course, she smelled of lake water.

She fiddled with the ends of her hair.

“I wanted to take a shower, but I’m afraid I couldn’t figure out how to work the faucet so that the spray would come out.”

“It’s finicky,” Nate said. “I should have thought to show you before coming downstairs.”

“That’s all right.”

“I can show you now.”

“Thank you. Oh, and I wasn’t sure what to do with my wet things.” She’d hung them over the shower curtain in the bathroom.

“I can toss them in the dryer.”

She nibbled the inside of her cheek. The pants and jacket were both made of linen. The blouse was silk. “I don’t suppose the island has a dry cleaners?”

Nate shook his head.

“The town on the mainland does,” Hank supplied. “It’s right next to the grocery store. I can take them with me when I fly back tomorrow and drop them off for you.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I don’t want to be a bother.” She added an appreciative smile.

“It’s no trouble. None at all,” he insisted.

This was exactly the sort of deferential treatment she was used to … and did not want. “I’ll think about it,” she answered diplomatically.

“Come on. I’ll show you how to work the shower,” Nate said, as if sensing her unease.

She followed him back up the stairs to the bathroom, hurriedly snatching a pair of white silk panties and a delicate lace-edged bra from the curtain rod and hiding them behind her back.

Nate coughed. They both smiled uncomfortably.

“Um, about the shower. You, uh, turn this knob.” He demonstrated as he instructed. “The farther right you turn it, the hotter it becomes.” She was thinking something on the cool side. “You’ll probably want it somewhere in the middle. Then you flip this little lever on the side.”

Again, he demonstrated. The water sprayed out from the showerhead. Small beads of it ricocheted off the tiled surround and landed on his forearm. The hair there was bleached as light as some of the streaks on his head, alluding to his time spent in the sun. Indeed, he had a good tan going. In comparison, Holly was ridiculously pale. It had been that way when they were kids, too, although by the end of her visit, she’d always managed to look like a regular beachcomber—or a commoner, as her mother complained.

No doubt Olivia had worked herself into a good fit by now, despite the note of explanation that Henry had delivered on Holly’s behalf. She felt a little guilty, a little queasy. And a lot rebellious, because she wasn’t going to return for at least a week. Maybe longer. And even though her mother considered her engagement to Phillip a done deal, Holly was far from convinced.

Nate turned off the shower and stepped back. She glanced away.

“Everything okay?”

She pushed away all thoughts of her mother, Phillip and the responsibilities waiting for her upon her return. She was free now.

“I didn’t see the lever,” she said quietly.

“No one does. It’s old-fashioned, which is why I had them all replaced in the cottages when I took over. Saved me or whoever else was manning the front desk at the marina office a lot of phone calls.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I haven’t gotten around to this one yet.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t been a priority.”

“Not exactly,” he agreed. “I’ve put most of my time and resources into the cottages.”

“Walking up from the beach, it looked like there were more of those than there used to be.”

He nodded. “I was always after Dad to expand, but he said he and Mom had enough to keep them busy with what they had.”

“I liked your parents.” She smiled, enveloped in simple and homey memories so unlike the majority of those from her childhood. That, too, she realized now, was part of the reason she’d come here. Simplicity. Her complicated, overrun life yearned for it. “They always made feel at home when I stopped over from my grandmother’s cottage, even when they had work to do and guests to attend to.”

“They liked you, too. They were always after me to be as polite as you were.”

They both laughed. Then sobered. Silence stretched. For a moment, given the way he was watching her, she thought he might stroke her cheek. He’d raised his hand. But it fell away and he blurted out, “Fresh towels.”

Holly blinked.

“Um, for your shower. They’re in the cabinet next to the sink. Washcloths, too.”

“Right.”

“One more thing, Holly.”

She nodded, feeling ridiculously expectant as she waited for him to continue.

“Don’t flush the toilet right before you get in the shower or you’ll wind up scalded.” He cleared his throat. His cheeks grew pink. “Another of those things I haven’t gotten around to updating.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE storm was in full swing by the time Holly came downstairs an hour later. Rain pelted the windows and lightning illuminated the inky sky, followed by loud crashes of thunder that shook the home’s foundation. It was a spectacle to behold, by turns frightening and thrilling. Even so, Hank was sprawled out on the couch, his snores competing with the storm. She envied the man’s ability to fall asleep so easily. Even on perfectly quiet nights, Holly seldom slept soundly. She usually had too much going through her mind to relax and simply drift off. She’d tried the old remedies, such as counting sheep and listening to soothing music. Neither had much effect. Meditation sometimes worked. As did reading really, really boring accounts of her country’s gross domestic product.

The royal physician blamed her insomnia on anxiety and had prescribed pills that she rarely took. They made her too groggy the next day, as if she were walking through a fog. She preferred to have her wits about her, even if it meant slumbering off sometimes during a dinner party. A picture of her with her eyes closed and her chin resting on her chest had graced the front page of a newspaper not long ago.

“This is exactly the kind of publicity you need to avoid,” her mother had warned. “Royal or not, the press can turn public sentiment against you in a heartbeat.”

Even so, Holly had been reluctant to take the pills. Still, she wondered if she would come to regret not bringing them with her for this trip.

Nate stood at the glass door that opened to the deck, one hand in the front pocket of a pair of wrinkled cargo shorts, the other holding a beer. He’d taken a shower. She’d heard the water in his bathroom running not long after she’d shut off the water in the guest bath. His hair was still wet. He wore it on the long side, though not as long as he had as a boy. Back then, it had nearly brushed his shoulders. Now, it just grazed his collar. The color had gotten darker over the years. It bordered on brown, but the sun had left its mark with the kind of highlights that women—and some men—spent vast sums of money at salons hoping to achieve. She couldn’t imagine him sitting still long enough to let a stylist work her magic.

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