Page 9 of Royal Hottie
“What about best example of drunk dancing ever seen in the island’s history?” He winks at me, and I shake my head, fighting a smile. He’s teasing Maya, and she’s loving all the attention.
“You are a fine dancer, sir,” Maya says with a laugh.
He inclines his head. “Thank you. Good to know I’ve at least got that to fall back on. And today I’ll play your moving man, shopping assistant, or interpreter, as the case may be.”
Maya beams at him and turns to me. “He speaks French.”
“That could be helpful,” I say, playing it cool. I’m not a blushing maid so easily taken in by a little flirty charm. “I mean, the other stuff is great too. So, okay, let’s go.”
We head through a side exit of the palace, where a couple of black Mercedes with tinted windows are waiting. Phillip holds the car door open to the backseat. I’m not sure if it’s me or Maya he’s expecting to sit there. Where do the guards sit?
“You go, ma’am,” Maya says. “I’ll take the front seat.”
I brush past Phillip, his heat close enough to warm me, and murmur, “Thank you,” before taking my seat.
He joins me a moment later in the backseat. “Security will take the lead car. There’s not much concern here on the island, but they’re helpful in public.”
There’s space between us. Even so, his fresh clean scent washes over me, making me want to lean closer just to breathe him in.Nice, Ruby, you’re turning into the panting desperate woman he thought you were.No wonder he’s a playboy. His pheromones are lethal.
The car smoothly drives down the curving palace road. I take in the gorgeous view of sparkling blue-green sea and bright blue skies with white fluffy clouds. It’s near the end of September and the weather is still a comfortable seventy degrees. Why did Phillip volunteer today? Did he do it as a favor to Anna, wanting to help with the royal fantasy suite? Or did he change his mind about spending time with me as a friend? I don’t think princes go shopping just to help out their maid.
I stealthily check out Phillip in profile—his expression is neutral. My gaze follows the line of his square jaw, his full lower lip, the cord of his neck, his wide shoulder, back up to—
Crap! He winked at me.
I face front, willing my blush to go away. Busted times a zillion. Augh. I am the worst kind of hypocrite, blaming him for being into his looks and then checking him out. Okay, back to work. Logistics, lists, tight schedule. It’s no use. My mind is static. I fear he short-circuited it.
I finally cool off enough to risk a look at him. He gives me a small smile, and I smile back. I’m genetically incapable of not smiling back. I can’t help it. I’m a smiler. Before my crash and burn with Satan, aka my ex, I used to be known for having lots of positive energy. I’ve been compared, in a good way, to a happy pixie with my petite size and energy.
I attempt a normal friendly tone with Phillip in line with today’s agenda. “Will you be mobbed by paparazzi?” That could really hamper our shopping progress.
“I hope not,” he replies.
“Let me hear you speak some French.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to hear if you sound fluent.”
A smile plays over his lips. “And you would know this how? Maya says you don’t speak French.”
“I’ve got an ear for language.”
“Oh, really? And what languages do you speak?”
“Err, English. But I can recognize a bunch of them.”
“How useful.” His tone is droll, and I can’t help but laugh. He holds up a finger. “Je ne peux pas manger les produits laitiers.”
Maya giggles.
“Why’re you laughing?” I ask, leaning forward to Maya. “That sounded like real French.”
“It was, ma’am,” she replies. “It’s the one phrase I know. Phillip taught me.”
Phillip takes on a mock aggrieved tone. “Did you think I spoke fake French?”
I lean back in my seat. “Well, I don’t know. Some people exaggerate their skills.”
