Scandal With a Prince (2 page)

Before Megan could protest, the group parted in front of her to reveal a broad-shouldered man sitting on the far edge of the cocktail table, his face turned away as he laughed at a comment from a statuesque, cat-eyed brunette wearing the most arresting red gown Megan had ever seen.
 

Mahmoud cleared his throat.
 
"Prince Stefano, may I present Megan Hallberg, the Grandspire's director of business development?
 
Megan, this is Prince Stefano Barrali of Sarcaccia.
 
His father and I have hosted a number of charity events together over the years, so I wanted Stefano to see the Grandspire's new facilities.
 
I'm certain he'll give King Carlo a favorable report on the hotel's suitability for our future events."

The brunette tried to hide her disappointment at the interruption as Stefano spun around and stood in one easy motion.
 
Megan's mouth went dry as sand.
 
She'd forgotten how tall he was, how fluidly he moved.
 
As Stefano stepped toward her, the memory of their first meeting returned in a rush that threatened to flatten her.
 
He'd moved in that same easy manner when he'd approached her a decade ago, offering to carry a length of pipe for her as she struggled to maneuver it through an alley in the congested Venezuelan village where they both worked as volunteers.
 
She'd joked that he was her hero when he'd hefted it onto one shoulder as if it were no heavier than a loaf of bread.

But there were changes in him, too.
 
While the celebrity gossips frequently commented on Stefano's athleticism, his playful nature, and even his dimples, no report could accurately convey the ways he'd matured in the years since Megan had last seen him.
 
Television and magazines failed to capture the masculine line of his shoulders as they filled his tuxedo jacket, the texture of the skin along his sunkissed cheekbones, or the utter charisma he exuded.
 

Megan forced herself not to flinch as he came within arm's reach.
 
She hadn't thought it possible his appearance could improve over the years, but it had.
 
He’d become broader, stronger, more confident…more
him
.

Of course, his most distinctive physical characteristic could never change.
 
His eyes were a clear sea green with a distinct ring around each iris, as if Picasso himself had taken up a narrow paintbrush to edge the green in black.
 
She remembered all too well the last time she'd looked into those eyes.
 
She'd been twenty-two, as had Stefano.
 
They each sported grubby clothes that evening, having worked the entire day to finish installing a water system, but they'd been unwilling to use a single precious moment to change, knowing it was their final night together before returning to their separate lives.
 
Their
real
lives.
 

He'd threaded his long fingers through her hair as they stood on a secluded beach not far from the village.
 
Even in the waning light of the setting sun, she'd seen the deep passion in those green eyes.
 
"I will never, ever forget you," he'd whispered before pulling her into a heart-stopping, explosive kiss.
 
"These have been the best days of my life."

It felt surreal to look into those same eyes now, knowing she'd been forgotten within weeks, perhaps even days, relegated to what would become a long, long line of disposable women.
 
A decade's worth of women, starting with the one to whom he'd become engaged less than a month after leaving Venezuela.
 
The one to whom he’d run, barefoot, across the palace courtyard in a photo that appeared around the world, intriguing even those who’d never heard of the Barrali royal family.

 
Yet she couldn't have forgotten Stefano Barrali, even if she'd wanted to forget.
 
Emotion threatened to overwhelm her as he stood before her, reaching out to take the hand she extended as if she were on autopilot.
 
Before he could speak, undoing her with his whiskey-rich voice, she managed a calm, "Prince Stefano, it's an honor to have you here at the Grandspire.
 
I hope you're enjoying your time in Barcelona."

He wrapped his large hand around hers, the touch shaking her very center.
 
Searching out any excuse to break eye contact, she glanced toward Mahmoud and thanked him for the introduction.
 
It was an act of sheer self-preservation out of fear Stefano could see to her soul, revealing both the wild lust coursing through her and the secret she'd kept hidden for so long.

Twenty floors above them, in the expansive suite that served as Megan's residence while she worked on the hotel's revitalization, a young girl with sea-green eyes and the same dark, wavy hair as Stefano sat at a desk, under the supervision of Megan's parents, finishing her homework.

A young girl conceived that very night on the beach.

* * *

Megan Hallberg?

Adrenaline shot through Stefano at the mention of her name, propelling him to his feet.
 
In the same instant, reason kicked in.
 
After all these years, it was unlikely the same Megan Hallberg.
 
Wouldn't she be married by now?
 
Living somewhere in Minnesota, where she'd returned after they'd met during the gap year service project he'd pursued in Venezuela?
 

He turned, expecting to see a dour older woman he'd never before met, someone who'd fit the description of a director of business development for a major hotel, only to see a vital, sexy, alluring Megan.
 

His
Megan.
 

Stefano's breath stilled at the sight of her.

He had no right to think of her as such.
 
They'd shared nothing more than a brief, heady summer together, but after they'd left Venezuela—he to fulfill his military and royal obligations, she to finish her graduate degree—he frequently thought of her, and always in that way.
 
His
.
 
There had been other women and other relationships, of course, but none like he'd enjoyed with Megan Hallberg.
 
At twenty-two, how could he have appreciated the unique nature of the bond they'd forged in those few weeks together?
 
The absolute freedom of those days in each other's company?

It likely wouldn’t have worked between them—not in the real world, away from the isolation they'd experienced in South America—and they had both sensed it.
 
Still, it was an easy fantasy to keep tucked away in a remote corner of his mind, one to be conjured forth on those days where he strained against his royal role.

He took in the sight of her, from her sweetly sculpted calves to her nipped waist and ripe bosom.
 
Who knew reality would be so much better than the fantasy?
 
The years had been good to Megan.
 
Very good.
 
Proper posture made her appear straighter and leaner than he remembered, but she still curved in all the right places.
 
The ethereal color of her knee-length, cut-to-kill gown combined with the soft glow of the dimmed lounge lighting to make her blonde hair even more luminous than in his memory of those sun-filled, steamy days.

Then she met his gaze, firing his blood as if they'd never left that beach.

He approached to give her a warm kiss on each cheek, only to be stopped by her outstretched hand and formal tone.
 
"Prince Stefano, it's an honor to have you here at the Grandspire.
 
I hope you're enjoying your time in Barcelona."

He met her handshake, shocked she didn't remember him.
 
Women always remembered him, and she had more reason than most.
 
But as he studied the depths of Megan’s soft blue eyes and felt the spark of her touch once more, he knew she did.
 
She remembered it all.

Their attraction was still mutual.
 
Still undeniable.
 

Megan turned her head to thank Mahmoud, who'd made the introduction, and Stefano saw his opportunity.

"Megan," he leaned in to drop a lingering kiss on her cheek, taking in the citrus and sunshine scent of her hair.
 
"It's good to see you again.
 
The Grandspire is stunning, but not as stunning as its head of business development.”

He glanced past Megan to Mahmoud, who could not hide his surprise over Stefano’s familiarity.
 
"Megan and I met many years ago in South America on a volunteer project.
 
She’s one in a million.”
 
Capturing Megan's blue-eyed gaze once more, he said, “It was a memorable time, working there.”

Her lower lip twitched.
 
“Yes, memorable is the perfect word for it.
 
It was a great learning experience for me.”
 

Noticing for the first time that the lobby had emptied as guests transitioned to the ballroom, he pulled Megan's hand through his arm and guided her toward the stairs, hoping to put her at ease.
 
"I haven't familiarized myself with the seating arrangements for dinner, but I would be honored if you'd join me.
 
You likely know more about my life than you care to if you've seen a newspaper, but I'd love to hear how you came to Barcelona."

He'd also love to pick up where they left off.
 
Megan clearly worked hard to attain such a position of responsibility.
 
He'd been too young and too obsessed with his impending military training to realize the rarity of finding a woman of Megan's intelligence and beauty.
 
The amazing chemistry they shared—chemistry he doubted time had dimmed—was rarer still.
 

Now he was old enough and experienced enough to appreciate a woman of her attributes.
 
Damn if he wasn’t going to make the most of the opportunity.

"Yes, I heard that you were engaged," she said as they made their way across the lobby.
 
The group from the bar trailed in their wake, including Ilsa, the woman with whom he’d been chatting when Megan appeared, and his father’s friend Mahmoud.
 
"I'm sorry to hear it didn't work out."

Was she?
 
Her tone made it difficult to tell.
 
He certainly hadn't been sorry.
 
Only sorry he'd become entangled in the first place.
 

She cleared her throat and added, "While I'd love to speak over dinner, Your Highness, I have a prior obligation.
 
Part and parcel of the job, I'm afraid.
 
But I hope you enjoy your meal.
 
Our head chef has truly outdone himself."
 
Megan slowed as they approached the entrance to the ballroom.
 
Inside, hundreds of guests bantered happily, but he could only see Megan.
 
There was a strength in her demeanor he didn't remember, one which spoke to a woman who'd developed an iron core.
 
How had the years affected her, to change her this way?
 
Was it simply the passing of time, or something else?
 

Slowly, she snaked her hand from where it rested in the crook of his arm, but not before he could catch the tips of her fingers.
 
"Then perhaps you would meet me on the roof during the fireworks later.
 
It would be a shame to miss this chance to catch up, don't you think?"

She blinked, considering.
 
If he didn't know better, he'd think he read anxiety in her expression.
 
But why?

"Of course, Your Highness.
 
I'll look for you."

He let go of her fingertips, but not before capturing her gaze and murmuring, "And I for you."

Chapter Two

Escape.
 

Megan needed to escape the ballroom before dinner finished or
she'd
be finished.
 
She nodded in agreement as the Russian businessman beside her commented on the fine quality of the dining room’s new chandeliers, then used the opportunity to glance over the man’s shoulder and determine which of the ballroom's doors offered her the easiest out.
 
Once her dinner companion finished his patter, Megan turned her focus to the podium and tucked her napkin to the side of her plate, waiting for a moment of applause so she could leave without being noticed.

She couldn't look at the table between hers and the podium—or the dark-haired guest seated alongside Mahmoud Said and smack in front of the speaker—much longer, not without having her manager or other coworkers notice her discomfort.
 
They’d become a sort of family as they worked together on the hotel renovations.
 
They’d see she wasn’t herself tonight.
 
Worse, Megan couldn’t risk having Stefano corner her.
 
She’d managed to hold it together when facing him in the lobby, but now that she’d had time to absorb the fact he was actually here in Barcelona, in the same room, breathing the same air, threatening everything she’d built for herself and her daughter Anna, she wasn’t sure she’d appear so confident next time.
 
She had too much at stake, and Stefano was a man used to getting everything he wanted.