“I’m the one at a disadvantage, if you were hoping I was Will.

“I’m James. The other Rowling. Will is my brother.”

“Brother? Oh,” Bella drawled as it hit her. “You and Will are twins.”

“Guilty.” His eyes twinkled, sucking her under his spell for a moment.

“Then I’m doubly sorry.” With no small amount of regret, she reeled back her less-than-innocent interest. “It’s fine, really.”

It was not fine. It was so the opposite of fine, she couldn’t even wrap her head around how not fine it was. Because she’d just realized this sensually intriguing man she’d accidentally tripped over was the brother of the man her father wanted her to marry.

If that didn’t complicate her life a million times over, she didn’t know what would.

Her hand was still gripped tightly in his and he didn’t seem in any hurry to let her go. But he should. She pulled free and crossed her arms, wishing for a cover-up. Why did that glint in James’s eye cause her to feel so exposed all at once?

* * *

The Princess and the Player is part of the series Dynasties: The Montoros—One royal family must choose between love and destiny!

The Princess and the Player

Kat Cantrell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KAT CANTRELL read her first Mills & Boon® novel in third grade and has been scribbling in notebooks since she learned to spell. What else would she write but romance? She majored in literature, officially with the intent to teach, but somehow ended up buried in middle management in corporate America, until she became a stay-at-home mum and full-time writer.

Kat, her husband and their two boys live in north Texas. When she’s not writing about characters on the journey to happily-ever-after, she can be found at a soccer game, watching the TV show Friends or listening to ’80s music.

Kat was the 2011 Mills & Boon So You Think You Can Write winner and a 2012 RWA Golden Heart Award finalist for best unpublished series contemporary manuscript.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

One

Auwck. Auwck.

Bella Montoro’s eyelids flew open at the raucous and unwelcome alarm clock. One of the pair of feral blue-and-gold macaws who lived in the tree outside the window of her Coral Gables mansion had chosen today, of all days, to wake her early.

Miami was full of wild macaws and normally, she loved them. Today, not so much.

Groaning, she smooshed a pillow over her head but the pressure didn’t ease her champagne headache and the barrier didn’t muffle the happy squawks of her feathered friend. Fine. It was time to drag herself out of bed anyway.

She sat up. A glance through the bay window confirmed which bird it was.

“Good morning, Buttercup,” she muttered sarcastically, but with the window closed, the macaw couldn’t hear her.

She didn’t dare open the window for fear she’d frighten her away. Both Buttercup and her mate, Wesley, were as wild as the day was long, and Bella enjoyed it when they deigned to hang out with her. She watched them groom themselves for as long as she dared since she wouldn’t get to see them for a while once she left Miami for the small country of Alma—today’s destination.

Bella had always known she was descended from royalty, but a dictator had been ruling her ancestor’s country for ages. She’d never expected the political climate to shift. Or for the Montoros to reclaim the throne. But it had happened and though her father was first in line to become king, his divorce rendered him ineligible for the crown due to Alma’s strict laws. Then her oldest brother, Rafe, had abdicated his place so he could focus on the new baby he and his fiancée, Emily, were expecting.

Her other brother, Gabriel, had stepped up, adopting his new role with an ease Bella admired. And while she liked the tiny island country of Alma well enough to go back for her brother’s coronation as the new king, the promise of bigger and better parties didn’t fully make up for having to leave behind the things she loved in Miami.

She was also leaving behind her great-aunt Isabella, who might draw her last breath any day now. Rafe would check in on her of course, and Bella could call. But still. It wasn’t the same as having daily access to the woman who always had a kind word and gentle piece of advice, no matter what the occasion. Bella had been named for her father’s aunt, and they shared a kinship that transcended age.

Her father owed her for agreeing to this move to Alma. Big time.

Bella watched Buttercup groom her feathers for a moment, and then turned away from the beautiful view of the grounds. She might not see this house again either, and she’d taken for granted how much she loved living here. Now that the day of her departure had arrived, everything had gotten real, really fast. She’d been an American her whole life and while she’d always enjoyed the privileges of being a Montoro, becoming a member of Alma’s royal family carried heavy responsibilities with few tangible rewards.

Not that anyone had asked her opinion.

With far too much racket for Bella’s taste, her maid, Celia, bustled into the bedroom and frowned at the crumpled, glittery dress on the floor as she stepped over it. “They have plenty more hangers at the store if you’ve run out, Miss Bella.”

Bella grinned at the woman who’d been her friend, confidant and occasional strong shoulder for years, blessing her for sticking to their tried-and-true teasing instead of becoming maudlin over the irreversible changes that had ripped through the Montoro family recently.

“Got hangers,” Bella informed her around an involuntary yawn. “Just not the will to use one at three a.m.”

Celia sniffed as if displeased, but an indulgent smile tugged at her mouth nonetheless. “Seems like a gal about to get on a plane in a few hours might come home at a decent hour.”

“Oh, but it was my last night in Miami!” Bella protested without any real heat and stretched with a moan. “I had lots of people to see. Lots of parties to attend.”

“Hmpf. Lots of money to talk your friends out of, you mean.”

Celia was one of the few people who recognized that Bella’s involvement in wildlife conservation wasn’t just a rich girl’s cute hobby. It was Bella’s passion and she used her connections. Shamelessly. And it wasn’t an accident that she’d been named the top fund-raiser in Florida by two different conservation groups.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Bella shook her head as Celia selected an outfit from the overflowing closet and held it out with a raised eyebrow. “Not that one. The blue pantsuit for the plane. With the cropped jacket.”

Like a well-rehearsed ballet, Bella and Celia danced around each other as they navigated a bedroom that closely resembled a post-hurricane department store. Everyone joked that you could always tell when Bella had whirled through a scene because nothing was in one piece afterward. It was a reference to Bella’s birth during the harrowing hours of Hurricane Andrew, before FEMA had started cracking down on evacuations.

Both mother and baby had emerged from the storm without incident, but Bella held the private belief that the experience had branded her soul with hurricane-like qualities she couldn’t shake. Not the least of which was a particular talent for causing chaos.

Celia began packing Bella’s suitcases while her mistress dressed and they laughed over Bella’s account of the previous night’s parties, as they’d done many a morning over the years. But this would be the last time for a long time. Maybe forever, depending on what happened in Alma.

Bella kept up the light banter, but she was pretty sure the shadows in Celia’s eyes were reflected in her own. As the hour grew near for Bella to leave for the sun-drenched islands of Alma, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “I wish you could go with me to Alma!”

And then to her mortification, Bella burst into tears.

Celia folded Bella into her arms and they clung to each other. When Adela, Bella’s mom, had finally ditched her cold, unsatisfying marriage the day after Bella’s eighteenth birthday, Celia had been the one who stuck around to make sure Bella didn’t get into too much trouble. Best of both worlds—she had someone who cared, but who also couldn’t tell her what to do. Bella did not like being told what to do.

“There, now. Your brother will look out for you and besides, you’ll be having so much fun as the new princess, you won’t even notice I’m not there.”

“That’s not true,” Bella sniffed and hugged Celia tighter. “Gabriel will be busy with king stuff and spend all his free time with Serafia now that they’re getting married. What if I’m banished to some out of the way place—alone?”

She wouldn’t put it past her father to lock her up in the palace dungeon or do something else equally archaic since he seemed bent on rediscovering his old-fashioned side. That last photo of her to hit the tabloids? Totally not her fault. How was she supposed to know the paparazzi had hidden in the foliage surrounding Nicole’s pool? Everyone else had shed their swimsuits, too, but Bella was the only one they’d targeted, of course.

Rafael Montoro the Third was not amused. Apparently it was problematic that her father’s business associates and soon-to-be-king Gabriel’s future subjects in Alma could easily access naked photos of Bella.

No one seemed to remember that she was the victim in that scandal.

Celia snorted. “With Gabriel about to take the throne, your father will want the whole family in the public eye, gaining support for your brother. You’re the only princess Alma’s got, sweetie. They’ll love you and so will your fiancé. Your father can’t lock you away and expect you to marry the man he’s picked out.”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying not to think about that.” Her head started pounding again and that fourth glass of champagne last night started to feel like a bad idea. But her friends had been determined to send her off in style to her new life as the sister of the king of Alma, so how could she refuse?

Besides, anything that helped her forget the arranged marriage her father was trying to force down her throat was a plus in her book. Fine time for her father to remember he had a daughter—when it was important for the Montoro family to strengthen ties with Alma through marriage. How come Gabriel and Rafe didn’t have to marry someone advantageous? Her brothers had chosen their own brides. It wasn’t fair. But her father had made it clear she was to get on a plane and meet this man Will Rowling, who was the son of one of Alma’s most powerful businessmen.

Maybe she should be thankful no one had thought to match her with Will’s father. Seemed as if that might be more advantageous than marrying the son. She shuddered. No marriage sounded like fun, no matter who the guy was.

If Alma turned out to be horrible, she’d just come home. Rafe and Emily were going to make her an aunt soon, and she’d love to hang out in Key West with the baby. Nobody dictated Bella’s life but her.

“Mr. Rafael isn’t completely unreasonable. After all, he did agree to let you meet Will and see how things go. Just remember why you’re doing this,” Celia advised.

Bella’s guilty conscience reared its ugly head and she eased out of Celia’s embrace before the older woman sensed it. “It’s my royal obligation to help Gabriel ascend to the throne,” she mimicked in her father’s deep voice. “The whole family needs to be in Alma to prepare for the coronation.”

But that wasn’t really why she’d agreed to go. Miami had grown too small to hold both Bella and Drew Honeycutt. Honestly, when you told a guy that you just wanted to have fun and not take a relationship seriously, he was supposed to breathe a sigh of relief.

He was not supposed to fall to one knee and propose after two months of casual dating. And then plaster his second proposal on twenty billboards around the city, along with Bella’s picture and a cartoon heart around her face. The third proposal spread across the sky in the form of a “Will you marry me, Bella Montoro?” banner behind a small plane, which flew up and down South Beach for six hours while Bella was at a private cookout on the penthouse terrace of Ramone, the new guy she’d been seeing. A fan of drama Ramone was not. Thanks to Drew, he’d bowed out.

And Bella had really liked Ramone, dang it; the more he drank, the more money he handed over for her wildlife charities.

Drew followed her around, popping up at parties and museum openings like a bad penny, espousing his love for Bella with horrific poetry and calf eyes galore. It would be great if she could tell him off, but Honeycutt Logistics did a lot of business with Montoro Enterprises and she couldn’t afford to irritate her father further. Plus, she was 97 percent sure Drew was harmless and worse, he seemed genuinely baffled and brokenhearted over her continual rejection of his proposals.

Each Drew sighting was another kick to the stomach. Another reminder that she was the hurricane baby, destined to whirl through people’s lives and leave havoc in her wake. If only she could find a way to not break everything into little pieces—even though it was always an accident—she’d feel a lot better. She hated hurting people.

It was probably not a bad plan to disappear from the Miami scene for a while.

Celia managed to get Bella into the car on time and with all her luggage. The gates parted and Bella waved goodbye to Buttercup, Wesley and the house she’d grown up in as the driver picked up speed and they exited the grounds. Sun sparkled across Biscayne Bay and her spirits rose with each mile marker along the highway to the private airstrip where the Montoro Enterprises jet waited to fly her to Alma.

This was an adventure no matter what and she was going to enjoy every second of the sun, sand and royal parties ahead. By the time she’d boarded the plane, buckled her seatbelt and accepted a mimosa from Jan—the same flight attendant who’d given her crayons and coloring books once upon a time—Bella’s mood had turned downright cheerful. Cheerful enough to sneak a glance at the picture of Will Rowling her father had sent her.

He was classically handsome, with nice hair and a pleasant smile. The serious glint in his eye might be a trick of the light. Serious she could do without and besides, this was the guy her father had picked. Chances were Will and Bella would get on like oil and water.

But she’d reserve judgment until she met him because first and foremost, Alma was about starting fresh and Will deserved a chance to prove they were meant for each other. If he came out strong with a fun-loving nature and swept her off her feet, she’d be okay with a fabulous love affair and passion to spare.

Though she couldn’t deny that one of the big question marks was what kind of guy would agree to an arranged marriage in the twenty-first century. There was probably something really wrong with Will Rowling if he couldn’t meet women on his own. She probably had a better chance of her plane flying into an alternate universe than finding her soul mate in Will Rowling.

* * *

For the fourth time, someone kicked sand in James Rowling’s face and for the fourth time, he ignored it. If he let loose with a string of curses—the way he wanted to—he’d only alert someone to his presence here, and James was trying to be invisible.

Or at least as invisible as one of Alma’s most notorious failures could be. Maybe in fifty years he could fade into the woodwork, but every single citizen of Alma—and probably most of the free world—had watched him miss that goal in the World Cup. Anonymity was scarce.

So far, no one had recognized him with Oakleys covering his eyes and a backward ball cap over his hair. The longer he kept it that way, the better. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of questions about why Real Madrid had dropped his contract. It wasn’t hard to look that one up...along with pictures of James leaving a bar in Rio with a prostitute...not that she’d mentioned money to him. Or worse, questions about whether he planned to stick around his adopted homeland and play for Alma’s reserve football team—soccer team if the questioner was American.

No comment.

A reserve team was for beginners. He would get a new professional league contract, period. If not around here, then maybe back in England, where he’d been born. There was no other alternative. Football was his life.

Peeling his shirt away from his sticky chest, he leaned back into his short-legged beach chair, stuck his legs straight out and closed his eyes, somehow sure the elusive measure of peace he sought would be within reach this time. He almost snorted. When had he turned into an optimist?

There was no peace to be had and if there was, it sure as hell wouldn’t be found in Alma, the capital of boring. Not to mention his father’s presence permeated the entire island, as if Patrick Rowling’s soul lived in the bedrock, sending out vibrations of disapproval on a regularly scheduled basis.

That’s why James was at the beach at Playa Del Onda, soaking up the sun instead of doing whatever it was his father thought he should be doing, which would never happen because James lacked the capacity to do what his father said. It was like a mutated gene: his father spoke and James’s brain refused to obey. He automatically did the opposite.

“Ooof!” Air whooshed from his lungs as something heavy landed square on his chest.

Then his beach chair flipped, tossing him into the sand on top of something. It squealed.

Someone. When his vision cleared, the tangle of supple-bodied woman and blond hair underneath him captured his complete attention.

He gazed down into the bluest set of eyes he’d seen in a while. Something shifted inside as the woman blinked back, her beautiful heart-shaped face reflecting not an iota of remorse over their risqué position. Her body had somehow slid into the grooves of his effortlessly and the slightest incline of his head would fuse his lips to hers.

She’d fully gobsmacked him.

Their breath intermingled. She seemed in no hurry to unstick her skin from his and in about two and a half seconds, his own body would start getting into the moment in a huge and inappropriate way.

Sexy strangers signaled big-time problems and he had enough of those.

Reluctantly, he rolled off her and helped her sit up. “Sorry about that. You okay?”

“Totally.” Her husky voice skittered across his skin and he was hooked on the sound of it instantly. American. His favorite. “My fault. I was focused on this thing instead of where I was going.”

She kicked at a Frisbee he hadn’t noticed lying in the sand two feet away. But who’d pay attention to a piece of plastic when a fit blonde in a tiny bikini landed in your lap? Not him.

“I like a girl who goes for the memorable introduction.”

It was certainly a new one. And he’d experienced his share of inventive ploys for getting his attention. Knickers with cell phone numbers scrawled in marker across the crotch, which he discovered had been shoved into his pocket. Room keys slipped into drinks sent over by a knot of football groupies at a corner table. Once, he’d gone back to his hotel room after a press junket to find two naked women spread out across his bed. How they’d gotten in, he still didn’t know.

The logistics question had sort of slipped his mind after ten minutes in their company.

“Oh, I wasn’t angling for an introduction.” She actually blushed a bit, which was oddly endearing. “I really didn’t see you there. You kind of blend into the sand.”

“Is that a crack about my British complexion?” he teased. “You’re pretty pale yourself, darling.”

She laughed and rearranged her hair, pulling it behind her back so it didn’t conceal her cleavage. A move he thoroughly appreciated. This gorgeous klutz might be the best thing that had happened to him all week. Longer than that. The best thing since arriving in Alma for sure.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here cooling his heels until a football club whose jersey he could stomach wearing knocked on his door.

“No, not at all. I wouldn’t be so rude as to point out your flaws on our first meeting.” She leaned forward, her vibe full of come-hither as she teased him back.

Intrigued, he angled his head toward her. “But on our second date, all bets are off?”

Glancing down coquettishly, she let loose a small smile. “I’m more of a third-date kind of girl.”

His gut contracted as the full force of that promise hit him crossways. She was a unique breed of woman, the most fascinating one he’d met thus far on this stupid rock he was being forced to call home for the time being. The memory of her hot flesh against his was still fresh—it was enough to drive him mad. And he suspected she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“I have a feeling you’d be worth the wait.”

She picked that moment to stand and for some reason, the new angle cast her in a different light. It tickled his mind and he recognized her all at once. Pictures of the new princess had graced every news channel for the past couple of weeks, but she’d been clothed. Regardless, he should have recognized her sooner and maybe not disgraced himself by flirting with a woman who probably really had no clue she’d stumbled over a former football player for Real Madrid.

A princess—especially one as fit as Bella Montoro—wasn’t running around the beach at Playa Del Onda looking to meet guys, whether they were semifamous or not. Which was a dirty shame.

He shoved his hat back onto his head and repositioned his sunglasses, both of which had flown off during the sand tango.

Ms. Montoro... Princess Bella... Your Royal Highness... What did you even call her when her brother hadn’t been crowned yet? Whatever the form of address, she was way out of his league.

But that didn’t mean she thought so. She hadn’t bothered to hide the frank attraction in her gaze when she’d been in his arms earlier. If there was anything he knew, it was women, and she might be royalty but that didn’t necessarily make her off-limits.

He quickly scrambled to his feet in case there was some protocol for standing when princesses stood...even if she was wearing a postage stamp–sized white bikini that somehow covered everything while leaving nothing to the imagination.

No point in beating around the bush. “Am I permitted to call you Bella or is there some other title you’d prefer?”

“What, like Princess?” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really used to all that yet. And besides, I think we’re a little past that stage, don’t you?”

The feel of her soft curves flush against his body flooded his mind and his board shorts probably wouldn’t conceal his excitement much longer if he didn’t cool his jets. “Yeah. Formality isn’t my specialty anyway. Bella it is.”

Strangely, calling her Bella ratcheted up the intimacy quotient by a thousand. He liked it. And he wanted to say it a bunch more times while she lay stretched out under him again. Without the bikini.

She smiled and glanced down, as if the heat roiling between them was affecting her, too, and she didn’t know quite what to do with it. “This is all so awkward. I wasn’t sure you knew who I was.”

Shrugging, he stuck his hands behind his back because he had no clue what to do with them. It was the first time he’d been unsure around a woman since the age of fourteen. “I recognized you from your pictures.”

She nodded and waved off her friend who’d most likely come to investigate the disappearance of her Frisbee partner. “Me, too. I wasn’t expecting to run into you on the beach or I would have dressed for the occasion.”

Ah, so she did know who he was—and dare he hope there was a hint of approval there? She’d gotten rid of the friend, a clear sign she planned to stick around for a while at least. Maybe he wasn’t so far out of her league after all. “I’m a fan of your wardrobe choice.”

Laughing, she glanced down. “I guess it is appropriate for the beach, isn’t it? It’s just not how I thought meeting you would go. The picture my father sent painted you as someone very serious.”

“Um...you don’t say?” He’d just completely lost the thread of the conversation. Why would her father be sending her pictures, unless... Of course. Had to make sure the precious princess didn’t taint herself with the common riffraff. Stay away from that Rowling boy. He’s a boatload of trouble.

His temper kicked up, but he smoothed it over with a wink and a wicked smile. “I’m every bit as bad as your father warned you. Probably worse. If your goal is to seriously irritate him, I’m on board with that.”

He had no problem being her Rebel Against Daddy go-to guy, though he’d probably encourage her to be really bad and enjoy it far too much. Instantly, a few choice scenarios that would get them both into a lot of trouble filled his mind.

Her eyes widened. “He, uh, didn’t warn me about you... Actually, I’m pretty sure he’d be happy if we went out. Isn’t that the whole point of this? So we can see if we’re suited?”

This conversation was going in circles. Her father wanted them to date? “He’s a football fan, then?”

She shook her head, confusion clouding her gaze. “I don’t think so. Does that matter to you, Will?”

“Will?” He groaned. This was so much worse than he’d anticipated. “You think I’m Will?”

More importantly, her father had sent her a picture of Will for some yet-to-be-determined reason, but it wasn’t so she could flirt with Will’s twin brother on the beach. And this little case of mistaken identity was about to come to an abrupt halt.

Two

Bella laced her fingers together as she got the impression all at once that she wasn’t talking to the man she thought she was. “Aren’t you Will Rowling?”

He had to be. She’d studied his picture enough on the plane and then again last night while she tried to go to sleep but couldn’t, because she’d been wondering what in the world her father was thinking with this arranged marriage nonsense. And then she’d come to the beach with the daughter of one of the servants who was close to her age, only to trip over said man her father had selected.

Except he was staring at her strangely and the niggle of doubt wormed its way to the surface again. How could she have made such a mistake?

“Not Will. Not even close,” he confirmed.

He grinned, and she let herself revel in his gorgeous aqua-colored eyes for a moment because she didn’t have to fight an attraction to him if he wasn’t the man her father picked out for her.

The sun shone a little brighter and the sea sparkled a bit bluer. Digging her toes into the warm sand that suddenly felt heavenly against her bare feet, she breathed a sigh of relief and grinned back.

This was turning out better than she’d hoped. Geez, she’d been one heartbeat away from believing in love at first sight and trying for all she was worth to shut it down. Because she’d thought he was Will Rowling. Imagine that. Her father would be insufferable about it and demand they get married right away if she’d become smitten so fast. It would have been a disaster.

But if this extremely sexy man wasn’t Will—perfect. She slid her gaze down his well-cut body, which a T-shirt and long shorts couldn’t hide. Of course she’d felt every single one of his valleys and hard peaks. Intimately.

No. This was not perfect. She was supposed to be meeting Will and seeing if they got along, not flirting with some look-alike stranger who made her itch to accept the wicked invitation in his gaze, which promised if he got her naked, he’d rock her world.

With no small amount of regret, she reeled back her less-than-innocent interest.

“Well, sorry about that, then,” she said and held out her hand. Might as well start over since this whole thing had blown up in her face. “Bella Montoro. I guess you already knew that, but I’m at a disadvantage.”

His rich laugh hit her a moment before he clasped her hand in his and the combination heated her more than the bright sun or her embarrassment. “I’m the one at a disadvantage, if you were hoping I was Will. I’m James. The other Rowling. Will is my brother.”

“Brother? Oh,” she drawled as it hit her. “You and Will are twins.”

“Guilty.” His eyes twinkled, sucking her under his spell for a moment.

“Then I’m doubly sorry.” Mortified, she racked her brain, but if her father had told her Will had a twin brother, she surely would have remembered that. “I’ve made a complete mess out of this, haven’t I?”

“Not at all. People confuse us all the time. It’s fine, really.”

It was not fine. It was so the opposite of fine, she couldn’t even wrap her head around how not fine it was. Because she’d just realized this sensually intriguing man she’d accidentally tripped over was the brother of the intended target of her father’s archaic arranged marriage plan.

If that didn’t complicate her life a million times over, she didn’t know what would.

Her hand was still gripped tight in his and he didn’t seem in any hurry to let her go. But he should. She pulled free and crossed her arms, wishing for a cover-up. Why did that glint in James’s eye cause her to feel so exposed all at once?

“I’m curious,” James said casually as if the vibe between them had just cooled, which it most definitely had not. “Why did your father send you a picture of Will?”

“Oh, so I would know what he looks like.” Actually, she’d demanded he do so. There was no way she was getting on a plane to meet someone blind.

“I’m sensing there’s more to the story.” His raised eyebrows encouraged her to elaborate.

“Wouldn’t you wonder about the appearance of a person your father wanted you to marry? I sure did.”

Surprise flew across James’s face. “Your father wants you to marry Will? Does Will know about this?”

“Of course he does. Your father was the instigator, actually. You didn’t know our fathers cooked up this idea of an arranged marriage?”

His laugh was far more derisive this time. “The elder Rowling doesn’t share much of what goes on his head. But somehow it doesn’t shock me to discover dear old Dad wants his son married to a member of the royal family. Did you agree?”

“No! Well, not yet anyway. I only agreed to meet Will and see what happened. I’m not really in the market for a steady relationship, let alone one as permanent as marriage.”

Groaning, she bit her lip. Too late to take that back, though it had been the God-honest truth. Regardless, spilling her guts to the brother of her potential fiancé wasn’t the best plan. James would probably run off and tell Will his future bride had felt up his brother on the beach— totally not her fault!—flirted with him—maybe partially her fault—and then declared marriage to be worse than the plague.

Instead of falling to his knees in shock, James winked and dang, even that was sexy.

“Woman after my own heart. If you don’t want to get married, why even agree to meet Will?”

Why was she still standing here talking to the wrong brother? She should go. There was nothing for her here. But she couldn’t make herself walk away from the spark still kicking between them.

“It’s complicated,” she hedged.

She sighed and glanced over her shoulder, but there was no one in earshot. She didn’t want to draw the attention of a camera lens, but surely it couldn’t hurt to spend a few minutes chatting with the man who might become her brother-in-law...so she could keep reminding herself that’s who he was to her. If nothing else, she could set the record straight in case he intended to repeat this conversation verbatim to his brother.

“I’m the king of uncomplicating things,” James said with another laugh that curled her toes deeper into the sand. “Try me.”

It wasn’t as if anyone was expecting her back at the gargantuan house perched on the cliff behind them. Gabriel was never home and her father... Well, she wasn’t dying to run into him again.

She shrugged. “We’re all new at this royalty thing. I don’t want to be the one to mess it up. What if I don’t try with Will and it has horrible repercussions for my brother Gabriel? I can’t be responsible for that.”

“But if you meet Will and you don’t like him, how is that different than not meeting him in the first place? Either way, you don’t end up with him and the repercussions will be the same.”

How come she’d never thought of that? “That’s a good point.”

“Told you. I can uncomplicate anything. It’s a skill.” James’s smile widened as he swept her with an impossible to misinterpret look. “I just figure out what I want to do and justify it. Like...if I wanted to kiss you, I’d find a way.”

As his gaze rested on her lips, heat flooded her cheeks. And other places. She could practically feel the weight of his kiss against her mouth and he hadn’t even moved. A pang of lust zinged through her abdomen and she nearly gasped at the strength of it. What was it about him that lit her up so fiercely?

“You shouldn’t be talking about kissing.” She inwardly cursed. That should have come out much more sternly, instead of breathy with anticipation. “Flirting as a whole is completely off-limits.”

A hint of challenge crept into his expression and then he leaned in, stopping just short of touching her earlobe with his mouth. “Says who?”

“Me,” she murmured as the scent of male and heat coiled up low in her belly, nearly making her weep with want. “I’m weak and liable to give in. You have to be the strong one and stop presenting me with so much temptation.”

He laughed softly. “I’m afraid you’re in a lot of trouble, then.”

“Why?”

“Because I have absolutely no reservations about giving in to temptation.”

The wicked smile spreading across his face sealed it—she was in a lot of trouble. She was supposed to marry his brother. And the last thing she needed was to set herself up for a repeat of the Drew Debacle, where she accidentally broke James’s heart because she ended up with Will. Better all around to stay away from James.

Why did the wrong Rowling have to be so alluring and so delicious?

Maybe she could find Will similarly attractive if she just gave him a chance.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” All right, then. She was going to have to be the one to step away. Noted.

So step away. Right now.

Through a supreme act of will, she somehow did. James’s gorgeous aqua eyes tracked her movement as she put one foot, then two between them. He nodded once, apparently in understanding but definitely not in agreement.

“See you around, Princess.”

He stood there, one hip cocked in a casual stance that screamed Bad Boy, and she half waved before she turned and fled.

As she climbed the stairs to the house, she resisted looking over her shoulder to see if she could pick out James’s yellow T-shirt amidst the other sun worshippers lounging on the white sand. He wasn’t for her and there was no getting around the fact that she wished otherwise.

James Rowling was forbidden. And that might be his most attractive quality.

* * *

Bella entered the Playa Del Onda house through the kitchen, and snagged a glass-bottled cola from the refrigerator and a piece of crusty bread from the pantry. Both the colas and the bread tasted different in Europe but she didn’t mind. All part of the adventure.

Thoughts still on the sexy man she’d abandoned on the beach, Bella munched on the bread as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She almost made it before a dark shadow alerted her to the fact that her least favorite person in the house had found her.

“Isabella.” Her father’s sharp voice stopped her dead, four steps from the landing on the second floor.

“Yeah, Dad?” She didn’t turn around. If you didn’t stare him in the eye, he couldn’t turn you to stone, right?

“Is that how you dress to go out?”

“Only when I go to the beach,” she retorted. “Is there something new you’d like to discuss or shall we rehash the same subject from last night? You didn’t like that outfit either, if I recall.”

Ever since Adela, Bella’s mother, had left, this is how it went. Her father only spoke to her when he wanted to tell her how to run her life. And she pretended to listen. Occasionally, when it suited her, she went along, but only if she got something out of it.

“We’ll rehash it as many times as it takes to get it through your scattered brain. Gabriel is going to be king.” Rafael stressed the word as if she might be confused about what was happening around her. “The least you can do is help smooth his ascension with a little common sense about how you dress. The Montoros have no credibility yet, especially not with that stunt your brother pulled.”

“Rafe fell in love,” she shot back and bit her tongue.

Old news. Her father cared nothing for love, only propriety. And horror of all horrors—his eldest son had gotten a bartender pregnant and then abdicated the throne so he could focus on his new family. In Daddy’s mind, it fell squarely into the category of impropriety. Unforgivable.

It was a reminder that her father also cared little for his daughter’s happiness either. Only royal protocol.

“Rafe is a disappointment. I’ll not have another child of mine follow his example.” He cleared his throat. “Face me when we’re speaking, please.”

She complied, but only because the front view of her bikini was likely to give him apoplexy and she kind of wanted to see it.

He pursed his lips but, to her father’s credit, that was his only reaction. “When have you arranged to meet Will Rowling?”

Ah, of course. Complaining about her bikini was a smoke screen—this was actually an ambush about her arranged marriage. With the scent of forbidden fruit lingering in her senses coupled with her father’s bad attitude, she’d developed a sudden fierce desire to spend time with someone who had clearly never met a good time he didn’t like.

And his name wasn’t Will. “I haven’t yet.”

“What are you waiting for, an invitation? This is your match to make, Isabella. I’m giving you some latitude in the timing but I expect results. Soon.” The severe lines around his mouth softened. “This alliance is very important. To the entire Montoro family and to the royal legacy of Alma. I’m not asking this for myself, but for Gabriel. Remember that.”

She sighed. “I know. That’s why I’m here. I do want to be a credit to the royal family.”

Hurricane Bella couldn’t whirl through Alma and disrupt the entire country. She knew that. Somehow, she had to be better than she’d been in Miami. The thought of Miami reminded her of Buttercup and Wesley, her feathered friends she’d left behind. Some said the wild macaws that nested in southern Florida were people’s pets set free during Hurricane Andrew. She’d always felt an affinity with the birds because they’d all survived the storm. Buttercup and Wesley could continue to be her source of strength even from afar.

“Good. Then arrange to meet Will Rowling and do it soon. Patrick Rowling is one of the most influential men in Alma and the Montoros need his support. We cannot afford another misstep at this point.”

It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, but on the heels of meeting James, the warning weighed heavily on her shoulders. Gabriel hadn’t wanted to be thrust suddenly into a starring role in the restoration of the monarchy to Alma’s political landscape. But he’d stepped up nonetheless. She could do the same.

But why did it matter which Rowling she married anyway? Surely one was as good as the other. Perhaps she could turn this to her advantage by seeing where things went with James.

“I’ll do my best not to mess this up,” Bella promised.

If it didn’t matter which Rowling she picked, that meant she didn’t need to call Will anytime soon. The reprieve let her breathe a little easier.

Her father raised his eyebrows. “That would be a refreshing change. On that note, don’t assume that you left all the tabloids behind in Miami. The paparazzi know no national boundaries. Stay out of scandalous situations, don’t drink too much and for God’s sake, keep your clothes on.”

She saluted saucily to cover the sharp spike of hurt that she never could seem to stop no matter how many times she told herself this was just how he was. “Yes, Father.”

Escaping to her room, Bella took a long shower but it didn’t ease the ache from the showdown with Rafael.

Why did she still care that her father never hugged her or told her he was proud of her? Not for the first time, she wondered if the frosty temperature in her father’s demeanor had caused her mother to leave. If so, Bella hardly blamed her. She hoped Adela had found happiness.

Happiness should be the most important factor in whom you married. The thought solidified Bella’s resolve. If her father wanted a match between the Montoros and the Rowlings, great. Bella would comply—as long as the Rowling was James.

She’d rather see where that led than try to force a match with the right brother.

Why shouldn’t she be allowed to be as happy as Rafe and Gabriel?

* * *

The loud, scornful whispering at the next table over started to annoy James about two bites into his paella. Couldn’t a bloke get something to eat without someone publicly crucifying him? This time, the subject of choice was his lack of a decision on whether to take a spot on Alma’s reserve team.

The two middle-aged men were in complete agreement: James should be happy to have any position, even though Alma wasn’t a UEFA team. He should take his lumps and serve his penance, and then it would be acceptable to play for a premiere club again, once he’d redeemed himself. Or so the men opined, and not very quietly.

The paella turned to sawdust in his mouth. He was glad someone knew what he needed to do next in his stalled career.

Playing for Alma was a fine choice. For a beginner. But James had been playing football since he was seven, the same year his father had uprooted his two sons from their Guildford home and moved them to the tiny, nowhere island of Alma. Football had filled a void in his life after the death of his mother. James loved the game. Being dropped from Real Madrid had stung, worse than he’d let on to anyone.

Of course, whom would he tell? He and Will rarely talked about anything of note, usually by James’s choice. Will was the perfect son who never messed up, while James spent as much effort as he possibly could on irritating his father. James and Will might be twins but the similarities ended there—and Will was a Manchester United fan from way back, so they couldn’t even talk football without almost coming to blows.

And Will had first dibs on the woman James hadn’t been able to forget. All without lifting a finger. Life just reeked sometimes.

Unable to eat even one more bite of the dish he’d found so tasty just minutes ago, James threw a few bills on the table and stalked out of the restaurant into the bright afternoon sun on the boardwalk at Playa Del Onda.

So much for hanging out at the beach where fewer people might recognize him. He might as well go back to Del Sol and let his father tell him again how much of a disappointment he was. Or he could swallow his bitterness and get started on finding another football club since none had come looking for him.

A flash of blond hair ahead of him caught his eye. Since Bella had been on his mind in one way or another since he’d met her the day before, it was no wonder he was imagining her around every corner.

He shouldn’t, though. She’d been reserved for the “right” Rowling, the one who could do no wrong. James’s black sheep status hadn’t improved much. Frankly, she deserved a shot at the successful brother, though he had no clue if Will was even on board with the match their father had apparently orchestrated. When Bella mentioned it yesterday, that was the first he’d heard of it. Which didn’t mean it wasn’t legit.

The woman in front of him glanced into a shop window and her profile confirmed it. It was Bella.

Something expanded in his chest and he forgot why he wasn’t supposed to think about her. Unable to help himself all of a sudden, James picked up his pace until he drew up alongside her. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Tilting her head down, she looked at him over the top of her sunglasses and murmured something reassuring to the burly security detail trailing her. They backed off immediately.

“James Rowling, I presume?” she said to him.

He laughed. “The one and only. Getting in some shopping?”

“Nope. Waiting around for you to stroll by. It’s about time. I was starting to think you’d ordered everything on El Gatito’s menu.” She nodded in the direction of the restaurant he’d just exited and leaned in to murmur, “I hope you skipped the cat.”

She’d been waiting for him? The notion tripped him up even more than her wholly American, wholly sexy perfume, for some odd reason.

“I, uh, did. Skip the cat,” he clarified as he caught her joke in reference to the restaurant’s name. “They were fresh out.”

Her smile set off a round of sparks he’d rather not have over his brother’s intended match.

“Maybe next time.”

“Maybe next time you’ll just come inside and eat with me instead of skulking around outside like a stalker,” he suggested and curled his lip. What was he doing—asking her out? Bad idea.

One of her eyebrows quirked up above the frame of her sunglasses. “I can say with absolute authority that me noticing you heading into a restaurant and accidentally-on-purpose hanging around hoping to run into you does not qualify as stalking. Trust me, I’m a bit of an expert. I have the police report to prove it.”

He had a hard time keeping his own eyebrows from shooting up. “You’re a convicted stalker?”

Her laugh was quite a bit more amused this time. “Not yet. Don’t go and ruin my perfect record now either, okay?” She shrugged and slipped off her sunglasses. “I picked up a stalker in Miami a couple of years ago. So I’m pretty familiar with American law. I would hope it’s reasonably similar in Alma.”

Sobering immediately, he tamped down the sudden and violent urge to punch whomever had threatened Bella’s peace of mind. She’d mentioned it so casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but it bloody well was. “What do you mean, you picked up a stalker? Like you went to the market to get milk and you just couldn’t resist selecting a nutter to shadow you all the way home? No more jokes. Is he in jail?”

That may have come out a little more fiercely than he’d intended, but oh, well. He didn’t take it back.

Wide-eyed, she shook her head. “He was practically harmless. A little zealous with his affections, maybe. I was out for the evening and he broke into my bedroom, where he waited for me to come home, bouquet of flowers in hand, like we were a couple. Or at least that was his sworn testimony. When my father found out, he immediately called the police, the mayor of Miami and the CEO of the company who’d sold him the security system installed on the grounds. I’m afraid they were rather harsh with the intruder.”

Harmless? Anyone who could bypass a security system was far from harmless.

“As well they should have been.” James developed an instant liking for Bella’s obviously very level-headed father. “Was that the extent of it? Do I need to worry about the nutter following you across the pond?”

James had had his share of negative attention, invasions of privacy and downright hostile encounters with truly disturbed people. But he had fifty pounds and eight inches on Bella, plus he knew how to take care of himself. Bella was delicate and gorgeous and worthy of being treated like the princess she was. The thought of a creepy mouth-breather following her through the streets of Alma in hopes of doing depraved things made him furious.

“I doubt it. I haven’t heard a peep from him in two years.” She contemplated James with a small smile and crossed her arms over the angular sundress she wore. “You seem rather fierce all of a sudden. Worried about me?”

“Yes,” he growled and shook his head. She was not any of his concern—or at least she shouldn’t be. “No. I’m sure your security is perfectly adequate.”

He waved at the pair of ex-military types who waited a discreet distance away.

“Oh, yeah. My father insisted.” Her nose wrinkled up delicately. “I’m pretty sure they’re half security and half babysitters.”

“Why do you need a babysitter?”

He couldn’t leave it alone, could he? He should be bidding her good afternoon and running very fast in the other direction. But she constantly provoked his interest, and it was oh-so-deliberate. She wasn’t walking away either and he’d bet it was because she felt the attraction sizzling between them just as much as he did.

Hell, everything he’d learned about her thus far indicated she liked the hint of naughtiness to their encounters...because they weren’t supposed to be attracted to each other.

“I have a tendency to get into trouble.” She waggled her brows. “These guys are here to keep me honest. Remind me that I have royal blood in my veins and a responsibility to the crown.”

That was too good of a segue to pass up. “Really? What kind of trouble?”

“Oh, the worst kind,” she stressed and reached out to stroke his arm in deliberate provocation. “If you’ve got a reputation to uphold, you’d best steer clear.”

The contact of her nails on his bare arm sang through him. This was the most fun he’d had all day. “Sweetheart, I hate to disillusion you, but I’ve managed to ruin my reputation quite nicely all by my own self. Hanging out with you might actually improve it.”

“Huh.” She gave him a wholly inappropriate once-over that raised the temperature a few thousand degrees. “I’m dying to know. What did you do?”

“You really don’t know?” That would be a first.

When she shook her head, he thought about glossing over it for a half second, but she’d find out soon enough anyway. “Mishap in Rio. Some unfortunate photographs starring me and a prostitute. I swear, money never came up, but there you go. The world didn’t see it as an innocent mistake.”

Gaze locked on his, she squeezed his arm. “Man after my own heart. Of all the things I thought we might have in common, that was not it. I’m recovering from my own photographer-in-the-bushes fiasco. Cretins.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Sorry.”

A moment of pure commiseration passed between them. And it spread into something dangerously affecting. They shared a complete lack of reverence for rules, their chemistry was off the charts and they were both in Alma trying to find their footing. It was practically criminal that he couldn’t explore her gorgeous body and even more attractive mind to his heart’s content.

But he couldn’t. While he might have competed with Will over women in the past, this one was different. James wasn’t in a good place to start anything with a woman anyway, especially not one who would live in the public eye for the foreseeable future. She needed to be with Will, who would take care of her and not sully her with failure.

Not to mention that his father seemed to have struck some kind of bargain with the Montoro family. Until James knew exactly what that entailed, he couldn’t cross the line he so badly wanted to.

She’d flat out told him he’d have to be the strong one, that he should stop tempting her. So that was the way it had to be.

James smiled and slipped his own sunglasses over his eyes so she couldn’t read how difficult this was going to be for him. “Nice to see you again, Bella. I’ve got an appointment I’m late for so I’ve got to dash.”

Casual. No commitment to calling her later. Exactly the right tone to brush her off.

She frowned and opened her mouth, but before she could say something they’d both likely regret, he added, “You should ring Will. Cheers,” and whirled to take off down the boardwalk as fast he could.

Being noble tasted more bitter than he would have ever anticipated.

Three

James’s rebuff stayed with Bella into the evening.

Apparently he wasn’t of the same mind that a match between the Rowlings and Montoros could work just as easily between James and Bella as it could with his brother.

Being forced into a stiff, formal dinner with her father didn’t improve her mood. Gabriel and Serafia were supposed to be there, too, which was the only reason Bella agreed, but the couple had yet to show.

Five bucks said they’d lost track of time while indulging in a much more pleasurable activity than dinner with Little Sister and Frosty Father. Lucky dogs.

Bella spooned up another bite of Marta’s gazpacho, one of the best things the chef had prepared so far, and murmured her appreciation in case her father was actually paying attention to her today. But her mind was back on the boardwalk outside El Gatito. She’d have sworn the encounter with James would end with at least a kiss in the shadows of a storefront. Just to take the edge off until they got behind closed doors and let the simmering heat between them explode.

“Isabella.” Her father’s voice startled her out of an X-rated fantasy that she shouldn’t have envisioned at all, let alone at the dinner table.

Not because of the X factor, but because it had starred James, who had cast her off with the lovely parting gift of his brother. Call Will. As if James had already grown tired of her and wanted to be clear about what her next steps should be.

“Yeah, Dad?” He must have realized that they were actually sitting at the same table. For once. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d eaten together.

“You should know your great-aunt Isabella has decided to spend her last days in Alma. She arrived this morning and is asking after you.”

Sudden happy tears burned Bella’s eyelids. “Oh, that’s the best news ever. Isn’t she going to stay here with us?”

“The restoration of the monarchy is topmost on your aunt’s mind.” Rafael’s gaze bored into her; he was no doubt trying to instill the gravity of royal protocol. “Therefore, she is staying in Del Sol. She wished to be close to El Castillo del Arena, so that she may be involved in Gabriel’s coronation to the extent she is able.”

Bella swore. Del Sol was, what? An hour away? Fine time to realize she should have taken her father up on the offer of a car...except she hadn’t wanted to learn all the new traffic laws and Spanish road signs. Too late now—she’d have to take the chauffeured town car in order to visit Tía Isabella.

“Playa Del Onda is practically like Miami.” Bella grumbled, mostly to herself. “You’d think she’d prefer the coast.”

Her father put his spoon by his plate even though his bowl of gazpacho was still almost full. It hadn’t been long enough since the last time they’d dined together for her to forget that meant a subject of grave importance was afoot and it wasn’t her aunt’s preference of locale.

“I have another matter to discuss. How was your first meeting with Will Rowling?”

Biting back a groan, she kept eating in a small show of defiance. Then she swallowed and said, “I haven’t scheduled it yet.”

Her father frowned. “I have it on good authority that you spoke to him today. On the boardwalk.”

Spies? Her father had stooped to a new low. “I wasn’t talking to Will. That was James.”

Oh, duh. Her brand new security-guards-slash-babysitters had spilled the beans. Too bad they were the wrong beans.

Rafael’s brows snapped together. “I cannot make myself more clear. Will Rowling is the man you should be pursuing.”

Bella abandoned her spoon and plunked her elbows on the table to lean forward, so her father didn’t miss her game face. “What if I like James better?”

Never mind that James had washed his hands of her. Regardless, it was the principle of the thing. Her father liked to try and run her life but failed to recall that Bella’s typical response was to tell him to go to hell.

“James Rowling is bad news wrapped with trouble,” Rafael shot back with a scowl. “He is not good enough for my daughter.”

It seemed as if James had quoted this exact conversation to her yesterday on the beach. What was he, psychic? James’s comment about the photographs that had gotten him into trouble crossed her mind and she realized there must be more to the story. She actually knew very little about the man other than the way he made her feel when he looked at her.

She eyed her father. What if Rafael had told James to brush her off? Would James have listened? She wouldn’t put it past her father to interfere and now she wished she’d chased James down so she could ask. Shoot. She’d have to arrange another accidental meeting in order to find out.

“Maybe I’d like to make that decision on my own.”

“Perhaps you need a few more facts if you’re determined to undo the work I’ve already done on your behalf.” Her father rubbed his graying temple. “Will Rowling is the next CEO of Rowling Energy, and he will be of paramount importance to your brother’s relationship with the entire European oil market. How do you suppose the Montoros will lead a country rich with oil if we do not have the appropriate alliances in place?”

“Gabriel’s smart. He’ll figure it out,” she said, but it came out sounding a little sullen. As smart and capable as Gabriel may be, he’d never been king before and besides, Alma hadn’t had a king in a long time, so her brother would be a bit of a trailblazer.

She owed it to Gabriel to give him a leg up.

“Have you given any thought to Will Rowling’s feelings, Isabella? You haven’t reached out to him in the three days since you’ve arrived. You could not have insulted him more if you tried.”

No, she hadn’t thought of that. She swore. Her father had a very small point. Miniscule. But a point nonetheless. How would she feel if Will had come to Miami to meet her and then didn’t call her, choosing instead to flirt outrageously with her best friend, Nicole, for example?

She’d hunt Will down and tell him to his face what a dog he was. So why should she get a pass to do whatever pleased her? It didn’t matter if her father had scared off James—this was about doing what she said she’d do.

“I’ll meet Will. Tomorrow, if he’s free,” Bella promised and turned her attention to eating. The faster the gazpacho disappeared, the faster she could as well.

It didn’t go down as well this time. Righteousness wasn’t as fun as it looked in the brochure.

* * *

Will Rowling took Bella’s call immediately, cleared his schedule for the next morning and agreed to take her on a tour of Alma. He’d been very pleasant on the phone, though his British accent sounded a bit too much like James’s for her liking.

When Will picked her up at 10:30 a.m. on the dot, she flung the door open and actually had a bad Captain Obvious moment when she realized Will looked like James, too. Duh. As common as fraternal twins were among the moneyed set of Miami, she’d never actually met a set of identical twins.

She studied him for a long second, taking in the remarkable resemblance, until he cleared his throat and she found a dose of manners somewhere in her consciousness. “I’m so sorry! Hello. You must be Will.”

“I don’t know if I must be, but I am Will,” he agreed.

Was that a joke? Trying not to be too obtrusive, she evaluated his expression but it was blank. With James, she never had to wonder. “I’m Bella, by the way.”

“I assumed so. I have your picture.”

Of course he did. And this was her house. Wasn’t this fun? “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, if you are.” With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he held out a hand toward his car, and waited until she left the house to follow her so he could help her into the passenger seat.

Will climbed into the driver’s seat and buckled his seat belt carefully before starting the car, which guilted Bella into fastening hers as well. Seat belts. In an itty-bitty place like Alma, where nothing happened.

She sighed and pasted on a bright smile. “Safety first.”

Usually she trotted that line out during a condom discussion. She almost cracked a joke along those lines, but something told her Will might not appreciate the parallel. Sinking down in her seat, she scouted for a topic of discussion. They were supposed to be seeing how they meshed, right?

Will must have had a similar thought process because he spoke first. “Thanks for arranging this, Bella. I’m chuffed to show you around Alma, but I’d like to know what you might be interested in seeing. Anything jump out at you? I’m at your command.”

Did he mean that in the double-entendre way? A provocative rejoinder sprang to her lips that she’d have let fly if she’d been in the car with James. Should she flirt with Will, the way she normally did on a date, or would that just lead to him taking her up on it, when she wasn’t even sure she wanted him to? Maybe she should just be herself, but what if Will hated her immediately? Would her father lay another guilt trip on her?

All of this second-guessing was making her nuts. She wasn’t with James, and everyone—including James—wanted her to make nice with the proper Rowling. Yeah, she’d looked up James last night, finding far more information about him than she’d expected, and little of it would fit the definition of the word proper.

No one, not even James, had thought it relevant to mention the man was a professional soccer—football in Europe, apparently—player. Since he appeared to have quite a bit of fame, maybe he’d assumed she already knew. Regardless, bad press followed James around like it did her. No wonder her father had nearly had a heart attack when she mentioned James’s name. He was the very opposite of the proper brother.

Proper pretty much covered Will’s personality. Five minutes in, and judging by the stiff set of Will’s shoulders, he wasn’t as much of a fun time as his brother. Hopefully, she’d judged wrong and would soon discover otherwise.

“Thanks,” she responded. “I’ve only seen the coast and a bit of Del Sol. Why don’t you pick, since this is your home?”

“No problem.” He shot her a small but pained smile, cluing her in that this whole set up might be as difficult for him as it was for her.

She should give him a break. “So, Will. How long have you lived in Alma?”

An innocuous enough subject, hopefully, and given the brothers’ accents, it was a safe bet they hadn’t been born here.

“Since I was seven. My father moved us here from England.”

“Oh, that must have been quite an adventure.”

She’d lived in Miami her whole life and living someplace new did have appeal for that reason alone. If only this arranged marriage business hadn’t soured the experience of coming to Alma, she’d be having a blast. And that was why she still didn’t think of it as her home... She still reserved the right to go back to Miami and play aunt instead of princess if the royal pressure grew too great.

Though with Tía Isabella’s arrival in Alma, going home held much less appeal.

Will’s face remained expressionless, but he tapped his pinky on the steering wheel in a staccato rhythm as he drove north out of Playa Del Onda along the coastal road that circled the main island.

“The move was difficult,” he said shortly and paused so long, she wasn’t sure he planned to continue. But then he said, “My mother had just died.”

“I’m sorry,” Bella murmured. “That would be difficult on young boys.”

All at once, she realized this was James’s history as well as Will’s. And now she was absurdly interested in learning more. The gorgeous deep blues of the bay unfurled as far as the eye could see on her right but she ignored the spectacular view in favor of watching Will.

“Thanks.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and double-checked the side mirrors before changing lanes. Will Rowling might very well be the most careful driver she’d ever met. “Look, let’s just get all of it out on the table, shall we?”

“Depends on what you mean by all and table,” she countered, a little puzzled by his abrupt change of subject.

Was this the part of the date where he expected her to air all her dirty laundry? She’d never had a long-term relationship, never wanted one, never thought about what went into establishing a foundation for one. Maybe they were supposed to spill deep, dark secrets right off the bat. She was so not on board with that.

“About the arranged marriage,” he clarified. “We should clear the air.”

“I’m not a lesbian looking for a fake husband and I don’t have a crazy uncle chained up in the closet, if that’s what you’re fishing for.”

He flashed a brief smile, the most genuine one yet, giving her a glimpse of what he might be like if he loosened up a little. “I wasn’t fishing. I meant, I wanted to tell you that marriage wasn’t my idea. I’m not after your title or your fortune.”

“Oh. Then what are you after?”

The smile vanished as his expression smoothed out into the careful nothingness he’d worn since the first moment. “Aligning myself with the Montoros through marriage is advantageous for Rowling Energy. It would be fitting if we suited each other. That’s the only reason I agreed to meet you.”

Ouch. That was kind of painful. Was she actually disappointed his motives for this pseudo-date nearly matched hers word for word? Well, not really, but no woman liked to find out a man was only interested in her connections. At least he’d admitted it up front.

All on the table, indeed.

“Yeah. I get that. My father pretty much insisted that I get on a plane and fall in love. Not necessarily in that order.” Her lips twisted into a grimace automatically. “Since we’re on the subject, would you really go through with it?”

“Marriage, you mean?” A shadow darkened his gaze though his eyes never left the road. “Rowling Energy is on the brink of gaining a starring role on the world’s oil stage. Our alliance makes very good sense. My assumption is that you thought so as well.”

“Wow.” Bella blinked. Had he memorized that careful statement in one sitting or had he repeated it to himself in the shower for the past week so he could get it out without stumbling? “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

If she’d ever had any shred of doubt about her ability to tolerate an arranged marriage, it had just been crushed under the heel of Will’s ambition. There was no way she’d marry anyone unless the words deliriously happy, scorching passion and eternal love entered into the conversation about a hundred times first, and even then, vows would be far, far in the future.

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Meaning?”

She rolled her eyes. “I just hadn’t pegged you for a romantic. That’s all.”

“It wasn’t intended to be romantic,” he explained, and she had the distinct impression he really thought she’d needed the clarification.

As nightmare dates went, this one hit the scale at about eleven point five. So much for being herself. Check, please.

“Will, I have a confession to make. Instead of seeing the sights, I’d really like a ride to Del Sol to visit my great-aunt Isabella.” She blazed ahead before he could say no. “She’s very sick and I’d like to see her. The timing is terrible, I realize, but my mind is just not where it should be for this outing.”

Hitching a ride hadn’t been her intent when she’d called him, but a savvy woman knew when to cut her losses and she might offend Will if she screamed bloody murder in his ear...which she might very well do if forced to spend five more minutes in his company.

This was not going to work out. Period. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck in a horrible marriage to a coldhearted man, as her mother had been. If it didn’t make you happy, why do it? Why do anything that didn’t have fun written all over it?

“No problem.” Will checked forty-seven points of the car’s position and did a U-turn to head to the interior of the island. “I sensed that you were distracted. Glad to know the reason why.”

Yet another reason they would never work—obviously Will read her about as well as she could read Spanish. She’d been the opposite of distracted, but only because she’d been hoping for a scrap of information about James, God knew why.

“Yeah, I’m a mess. My aunt has Parkinson’s and her prognosis is...not good.” Bella left it at that and choked back the wave of emotion for a situation she couldn’t change and hated with all her heart.

Good thing Will wasn’t her type. Now she had the morning free to visit Tía Isabella and she didn’t even have to feel guilty about it because she’d gone out with Will, as ordered.

“I’m sorry,” Will said earnestly. “You should definitely visit her. We can go out another time when you’re feeling more in the mood for company and conversation.”

Oh, so she was the problem in this equation? She scowled but didn’t comment because then she might say something she couldn’t take back about the stick up Will’s butt. “Sure. That would be nice.”

“Well, this may be an ill-timed invitation, then, but Rowling Energy is throwing a party tonight at my father’s house for some of our elite associates. Would you care to attend as my date? Might be less pressure and more fun than being one-on-one like this, trapped in a small car.”

How...reasonable. Oh, sure it was strictly an opportunity for Will to trot her out around his snobby business partners who only cared about whom he knew. She wasn’t stupid. But a party was right up her ally and the magic word fun only sweetened the pot. With enough champagne, she might even forget the whole setup reeked of royal responsibility and actually have a good time. Less pressure, as advertised.

Maybe she’d misjudged Will Rowling. “I have the perfect dress.”

“It’s settled, then.”

In no time and with only one internet map miscalculation, they found Tía Isabella’s narrow cobblestone street in the heart of Del Sol. Like a true gentleman, Will helped Bella from the car at the door of her great aunt’s rental house, and had a word with Tía Isabella’s housekeeper to ensure Bella would have a return ride home. The housekeeper promised to have a car sent from Playa Del Onda, so Will took his leave.

All in all, Will seemed like a nice, upstanding guy. He was certainly handsome enough and had gorgeous aqua-colored eyes. Too bad she couldn’t get the sexier, more exciting version she’d tripped over at the beach off her mind.

* * *

“Patrick James Rowling!”

James groaned and thought about ducking out the door of the sunroom and escaping Casa Rowling through the back gate. When his father three-named him, the outcome was never fun nor in his favor.

Actually, any time his father spoke to him it was unpleasant. Even being in the same room with Patrick Rowling reminded James that his mother was dead and it was his father’s fault. Time healed all wounds—except the ones that never should have happened in the first place. If his father hadn’t yelled at his mum, she wouldn’t have left in tears that night back in Guildford. Then his mum’s single-car accident would never have happened. He and Will wouldn’t have become motherless seven-year-old boys. The fractured Rowling family wouldn’t have subsequently moved to Alma, where James didn’t know anyone but Will, who was too shell-shocked to do anything other than mumble for nearly a year.

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