Page 51 of Incognito

“If there’s anything else I can do—”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Gina, but I’ve listened to your crazy theories about me loving your brother,” not so crazy as it turned out, “and I’ve considered what you’ve said when I hardly know you, but I think I can take it from here.”

Could she say, ‘butt out’ any more politely?

“I think that will change very soon, the part about you not knowing me,” Gina said, not fazed in the slightest by her outburst. “Now, I must go. Tell the runaway prince his sister is looking for him and get him to call me?Ciao.”

Gina blew her a kiss and strolled across the lobby, looking every inch a princess in head to toe designer black.

Natasha must be crazy to listen to his sister, a woman who earlier in the week had been warning her to stay away. She must be totally insane to consider confronting Dante after he’d made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing more to do with her.

Well, luckily for her, she was in a loco mood and after the fastest handover in history, she sprinted to her room.

“I’m not trying to impress him,” Natasha muttered, yanking her favourite black cargo pants and apple green halter out of the wardrobe as she shimmied out of the boring navy suit she’d worn to her meeting with Clay. But she didn’t want to scare him off either.

Besides, perhaps a change of outfit would give her a much needed confidence boost?

Annoyed by her dithering, she dressed, slipped her feet into high heeled sandals, and fastened small silver hoops in her ears, before running a quick slick of gloss over her lips.

Go get him, princess.

While Natasha frowned at her frightened reflection, she couldn’t help but like how the title sounded.

28

Taking a deep breath, Natasha knocked on the door of room 1718 before she lost her nerve.

Pin-drop silence echoed in the plush corridor with its soft lighting and thick carpet, her sharp rapping at the door shattering the peace.

Maybe Dante hadn’t returned from his official business, when she’d seen him departing in the limo earlier? She’d been so fired up to confront him and get this ordeal over with that she hadn’t considered that scenario.

Besides, she’d been too busy devising a way to discover his room number, when her luck had changed. Running into Fay, the Sofitel’s day manager and her one-time roomy at an hotelier’s conference, had been a godsend.

Though she’d subdued her guilt at having to tell a little white lie to get the info she needed out of Fay; the ‘a client left something rather delicate behind at the Towers and I thought I’d bring it over and deliver it personally’ story had been the most plausible thing she could come up with on the spur of the moment.

Thankfully, it had worked and Fay had given her Dante’s room number—after ear-bashing her for ten minutes on how utterly dreamy the prince was. As if she hadn’t noticed.

Glaring at the wooden door and wishing it would open, Natasha almost stumbled back when it did.

“Natasha? What… why… ” Dante’s momentary open-mouthed shock gave way to a deep frown.

Not the most pleasant of greetings. Too bad. She hadn’t come all this way to turn tail and run now.

“Can I come in?”

Calm, collected, straight to the point. If only she could keep up the blasé facade if he ever let her in the door.

“Fine, but I have a lot of work to do so make it quick.”

He stepped aside and, ignoring his rudeness, she entered the room, her keen eye doing a quick scan of the competition. Larger than the Tower’s average room, though the muted bronze lamps, comfy armchairs, antiques, and fresh flowers faded into oblivion when her gaze landed on the bed, a huge king-size monstrosity covered in the richest cream damask fabric. It appeared larger than life and beckoned with its plump cushions and thick quilt.

When Dante shut the door behind her, she quickly averted her gaze from the bed and swung around to face him, desperately trying to erase the vivid image she’d just had of the two of them entwined on that inviting bed.

“Would you like something to drink?” He asked, out of politeness rather than wanting her to linger, his folded arms and formidable glower screaming ‘hands off’.

“No thanks.”

“Why are you here, Natasha?”

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