Page 4 of Incognito

“It does not matter.” He waved his hand as if her answer meant little and she realised that though this guy didn’t look likea prince, he had the commanding mannerisms down-pat. “I will wait. My room is 818. Dan Anders.”

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

“Nice pseudonym.”

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

“Dante Andretti, Dan Anders. I chose something similar not to confuse myself.”

His self-deprecating grin dazzled her, and she blinked like a wombat caught in headlights.

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

Dante Andretti was gorgeous, and for a girl who had sworn off guys after Clay, that was saying something.

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

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

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

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

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

She tried not to cringe at her babble, hating the way his mouth curved deliciously at the corners, the way his eyes glintedwith amusement, and the way she kept noticing inconsequential details like that.

She sounded like a fool, an uptight teacher scolding a recalcitrant kid. She always got defensive and huffy when she was nervous. Ella teased her about it. Sadly, Natasha spent too much time these days being defensive.

“We’ll talk about this business later, Miss Telford.”

“Call me Natasha,” she said, a blush heating her cheeks for some inexplicable reason.

“Dante.”

His polite nod and slight bow reaffirmed what she thought earlier; you could take the bad boy out of the prince but you couldn’t take the prince out of the bad boy.

“See you at four-thirty.” She managed a tight smile, the type of smile that made her teeth ache with the effort.

This secretive business with Dante reeked of trouble.

Big trouble.

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

2

Dante cast subtle glances at Natasha behind the concierge desk while an efficient young woman checked him in.

Natasha intrigued him.

He was used to subservience, deference, and awe when people learned his identity, but the stunning brunette hadn’t reacted. Instead, upon hearing he was a prince, she’d grown more prickly, tension radiating from her in palpable waves.

She didn’t like him.

He wanted to know why. Maybe she had a hang-up about wealth? Or maybe his title?

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

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