Finding Chris Evans: The Royal Edition (2 page)

“What? No!” The pretty innkeeper looked so flustered Cristopoulis Matretti instantly thought he’d said the wrong thing—again—and he grit his teeth. His ambassador father had never warned him the nuances of the English language could be so challenging. He’d only wanted to fix the problem he’d caused; instead the woman looked like she was about to cry. And he hated above all to see LeeAnn Werth sad. The innkeeper worked all the time, and frequently seemed on the verge of melancholy whenever she watched the swans out on the lake. He’d resisted the urge to ask why, but now
he
was the one causing her distress.

Then her face cleared the way it always did whenever she was talking to guests—any guests, even him.

“I’m sorry, of course, Mr. Evans,” she said, once again all smiles. As if his impending departure was the best thing she could possibly imagine, when he knew that wasn’t true. Didn’t think it was true, anyway. He’d believed she was almost sweet on him, the way she watched him when he thought she wasn’t looking. She had no idea he’d been fielding such surreptitious looks since he’d been a young boy summering at the royal palace of Garronia with his cousins Kristos and Ari Andris.

She couldn’t have any idea, in fact, because she thought he was some boring foreign businessman with a corps of overprotective associates—associates who’d just nearly blown his cover.

LeeAnn—such a perfectly American name—said something else, and Cristopoulis refocused. “I’m sorry,” he murmured for what had to be the fifth time. It was becoming his favorite mantra around this woman. “You were saying?”

Her smile became a touch more panicked at his scrutiny. “I—I wanted to be sure there was nothing we could do to make your stay more comfortable until you leave,” she said. “I know what’s happened here must have been very stressful, and to be honest, it’s my fault.”

That arrested his attention. “Your fault? How could a woman speaking to me in your garden be your fault?”

“Because I let her in,” LeeAnn said. She’d clasped her hands tightly together, and was now positively wringing them. “Ellie’s a very nice woman, truly, and she asked me about meeting you and of course she’s so, I mean she’s so—” LeeAnn broke off, then flapped her hands at him. “It’s my fault. But it won’t happen again, I promise.”

“She’s so what?” Cristopoulis quirked a brow as he tracked the blush burning up LeeAnn’s fair skin. The pretty blonde could never hide her emotions, which he’d realized the first week he’d arrived. Athletically slim, she wasn’t petite, but she still stood a touch shorter than him, her dark golden hair making up the difference as it bobbed on top of her head in a sort of loose bun. He much preferred it when she wore her hair down, and it was perhaps that errant thought that caused him to lean forward into her personal space.

LeeAnn breathed a small hiccup, but Cristopoulis couldn’t help himself. He’d spent the last four months doing everything right, laying low, playing it cool. Now the only woman he’d even seen on a regular basis since coming to this godforsaken wilderness was dismissing him out of hand. Frankly, it pissed him off.

“No, I must know,” he said. “She’s so what?”

“Never mind,” LeeAnn said, too brightly. “Will you be leaving today or later this week? We’re happy to help you plan the next leg of your journey, wherever it may take you.”

She sounded like the travel brochure that had brought him here, one of a dozen his father had sent to Greece along with the phalanx of bodyguards, his message clear.
Get out, get out now, and don’t come back until the media circus was over.

But his uncle was one of Garronia’s most prominent ambassadors, wanting only to smooth over the latest round of trouble Cristopoulis had caused. He could be excused for wanting to get rid of him. LeeAnn Werth was something else altogether.

Cristopoulis tilted his head, regarding her as she squared her shoulders.

“Either timeline is fine, but it does help us to know,” she tried again. “When will you be leaving?”

Cristopoulis wasn’t paying attention to LeeAnn’s words, though. Instead his whole attention was fixed on all he knew about the woman.

Charming, energetic, unfailingly thoughtful of her guests’ comfort, LeeAnn Werth never seemed to relax or even take a break. She lived in a tiny carriage house across the main lawn from the Werth Inn, and her home allowed her the same stunning view of Lake Haralson…yet he’d rarely seen her sitting on the deck, watching the sunset. Instead she was always busy, directing staff, tidying the lodge, scheduling everyone else’s entertainment but her own.

Life was too short for that, even for someone living in the back edge of beyond. Cristopoulis made up his mind.

“We’ll leave within the next several days,” he said with finality, emphasizing his Garronois accent perhaps a bit more thickly than necessary. “You do not need to help me with where I need to go. However,” he waved around the hotel. “I should like you to show me more of this place.”

LeeAnn blinked at him, startled. “This place? You mean the lake?”

“No,” he said. “This hotel, the work you do here. I have decided to consider the advantages and disadvantages of purchasing an inn such as this, and I’d like to know what goes into it. You’ve been an extraordinary innkeeper.”

Her eyes widened, but the hint of dismay in her gaze caught him off guard. What had he said wrong?

Still, LeeAnn forged ahead. “Oh—well, Werth Inn is quite small, Mr. Evans. If you’d like I can arrange for you to speak with the North Woods Resort. They’re far bigger.”

“I’ve been there.” He nodded but wasn’t about to let her off the hook. He was enjoying himself too much. “But if you are not too busy, I should like you to show me yourself. Your cooking, it is fantastic!”

To his surprise, LeeAnn burst out laughing. “Ah, well, you definitely are mistaken there.” She shook her head. “I don’t cook, and I don’t bake. That’s my staff, I’m afraid.”

“Because you spend so much time seeing to your guests, of course.” Cristopoulis said smoothly. “There are many cottages that make up the inn as well, yes?”

“Not so many as that,” LeeAnn hedged. “Twelve or so, ranging up the mountain.”

“And so much more.” He gestured around him. “I want to understand what each requires. These gardens, the dock house, the stone barn by the lake, all of it.”

“Oh, that,” she wrinkled her nose. It was such an unaffected gesture he was instantly charmed by it, and he wondered at himself. Had he been stuck in this backwoods for too long? He was used to having some of the most gorgeous women of Greece and Garronia on speed dial. What was he doing looking twice at the tousle-haired innkeeper?

But he was looking twice at her. Looking twice and liking what he saw a great deal. He wanted to get to know this LeeAnn Werth who worked so hard for others, to see what lay beneath the warm smiles and self-effacing comments. It was the least he could do, yes? A last, positive memory of the great and wild north woods.

LeeAnn’s next words derailed those thoughts. “There’s nothing in the barn but junk, so you can scratch that off your list,” she said. “I haven’t been in there since my—since I took over the inn, to be honest. It has to be completely cleaned out and refurbished, but I haven’t had the time.”

“Then we should have a look, eh?” Cristopoulis said, spreading his hands wide. “My men can find something else useful to do besides lurk about in the shadows and attack strangers. They can help you clean out this barn.”

Before she could object, he continued. “I insist. I’ll hold off on departing until at least we have done that. It will be good exercise, something we have all sorely missed.”

Not at all true, but LeeAnn had no idea of the life he’d led before decamping to Minnesota. The long days of football training had paid off, however, and the Greek national football team had been poised to crush its international competition this summer…until the coach had pissed off Cristopoulis for the last time. He could deal with corruption in the sport—that was to be expected. But he could not deal with the blatant cheating and foul play that the coach encouraged.

The fact that Cristopoulis had snapped during the quarter-finals match of an internationally televised tournament was simply bad timing. The fact that he’d broken the coach’s jaw with his fist, however, had become a national embarrassment for Garronia. When his father had suggested America as the most likely place for an international football star to hide out, Cristopoulis had gone one step further, choosing the remotest location possible: the north woods of Minnesota.

Now he’d be leaving again. It would only take a half-day for his men to inform the ambassador of the local interest in him, then he would be gone.

If Cristopoulis had already committed himself to some worthy cause, however, he could potentially buy himself a little time. His father was, above all, a man of honor.

Even as Cristopoulis warmed to the idea, LeeAnn tried to shut it down. “I do appreciate your offer, but I’m afraid that’s simply not possible,” she said. “You’re all guests of the hotel.”

“Then we will leave today,” Cristopoulis said, with such finality LeeAnn blinked.

“I don’t understand.”

“We are desperate for work, the men especially—they have resorted to picking up small women in order to get their exercise, you see?” He grinned disarmingly, and LeeAnn was no more immune to it than the women at home had been. “So if you’re not willing to allow us to stay and work, then we will leave your lovely inn and find lodging elsewhere, then apply here as day laborers.”

She stared at him. “Mr. Evans—”

“Please. Call me Cris—but no h in it, eh? My true name is Cristopoulis, but Cris is so much easier.” He lifted one shoulder, dropped it. “Since we will be working very close, it’s better this way. Christopher, he was useful, but a bit boring, I think. I no longer wish to be boring.”

Her blush flared higher. “Oh. Well, Cris, then. You can’t seriously want me to put you and your men to work.”

“I assure you, I have never been more sincere,” Cristopoulis said, adding every ounce of authenticity he could to his voice as he held LeeAnn’s gaze. “I cannot imagine a better way to end my vacation than spending it by your side, Ms. Werth, helping you do whatever you must do.”

Chapter Two

LeeAnn knew Cris-without-the-h was simply trying to make up for his men carting off Ellie, but once he had his mind set on the idea of helping her, he seemed driven with a single-minded purpose. After she’d successfully staged lunch—under the man’s watchful and curious eye—she’d hesitantly asked for his help with tidying up the boat house.

It was a distraction for herself, she knew. She really needed to sit down with the lease documents, figure out how much money she needed to borrow to keep the place running, call Mr. Prentiss, the property manager to finalize the paperwork. The same as she’d done five years earlier, in the wake of her father’s death. Back then, there’d been some assets she could liquidate, but now…now she didn’t know.

So instead she cleaned the boat house.

Cris and his men threw themselves into the task. They removed all the kayaks and canoes from the building and repainted the stands, then staged races with the other lodgers while everything dried. Her guests loved it, chattering into the evening, none of them aware that Werth Inn may not even exist in another few months if LeeAnn didn’t get her act in gear and secure a new lease.

Still, for the moment, the inn did exist—and for the moment, she had five very strong men at her disposal. And as much as she needed to focus on her paperwork…she really did need to clean out that stone barn too.

Trooping down the hill to the barn the next morning after breakfast, however, LeeAnn had her doubts. Cris kept pace as he simultaneously keyed in notes on a tablet. He’d done that throughout the past day with such an intensity she could almost believe he truly wished to understand the art of running an inn successfully.

LeeAnn grimaced. As soon as he figured that out, he should give her some pointers.

“I haven’t even opened this since I started managing the inn,” she said now, sliding the correct key around the chain. Her critical eye picked up every flaw in the old stone building. It’d been her grandfather’s pride and joy, but her father had had too much work to do to keep up with it, and they’d shuttered it long ago. LeeAnn’s heart twinged at the memory of her dad, his weathered face still happy despite all the hard effort that had gone into the inn. Always with a kind word or a friendly smile to ease the load of some careworn traveler. He hadn’t truly understood the financial status of the inn, when all was said and done. She hadn’t either until after he was gone.

But she still remembered his smile. His clear blue eyes and hearty laugh. The only time she’d ever seen him sad, really, was when her mother had left them for what she’d apparently decided was an easier life. LeeAnn wouldn’t let her dad down, she’d resolved then. She wasn’t about to let him down now, either.

“Which was how long ago?” Cris’s curious words startled her, and it took her a second to realize what he was asking.
The inn
. He wanted to know how long she’d been managing the inn.

“Five years,” she said, her tone more clipped than it usually was. Cris nodded, turning his dark gaze toward the broad barn with a smile that looked so much like her father’s that it teased her back into a good mood.

“This building could be refurbished as another guest house, yes?” he asked. “You’re full up it seems at the main lodge.”

“Only because it’s still tourist season.” LeeAnn shook her head. The idea of hosting more than the inn’s current allotment of fifty guests made her stomach clench. They were already spilling out of the main dining room into the garden most days. When it rained, she had to convert the sitting rooms with tables and chairs as well. Then there were the cottages, whose guests often brought their own provisions—until they didn’t, which left her scrambling to create portable meals for her staff to drive up the long, winding mountain road. “Once the snow starts to fly, our guest numbers drop.”

“But they don’t have to! You could store the boats for the winter, then bring in skis, snowmobiles, and store them all here.”