Spy Girl (8 page)

To prove his point, a girl interrupts us, getting on her knees and lowering her head straight toward the Prince’s royal privates.
 

When she gets up, she whispers something in his ear, presumably about how she’s available even though she introduced me to her boyfriend earlier.
 

But based on how close she was allowed to get to him without thought shows another flaw in his security. Women aren’t viewed as a threat.
 

“Cool party trick,” I say as the girl leaves. “So why are you two really here?”

The Prince throws his thumb in Daniel’s direction. “He says you owe him a pizza.”

I hold a finger up, causing a steward to instantly appear at my side. I whisper something to him and a few seconds later he presents Daniel with a pizza box.

“What the hell?” Daniel says.

I lean toward the Prince and pretend to confide in him. “It’s my new favorite combination, so I ordered it for our party.”

Daniel opens the box, looking confused, but the pizza quickly steals his attention. He offers the Prince a piece, but the Prince turns up his nose, takes my elbow, and leads me away from the crowd. I notice his security does not follow.

He kisses my hand. “It’s nice to see you again. I had hoped to see you at my party last night.”

“Oh, sorry. I got caught up at the roulette table.”

“Was your luck good?”

“It was very good.”

“Congratulations.” He looks back at Daniel. “I can see why Daniel wanted to come to your party. You are very beautiful.”

“Thank you. But I doubt he came here for me. Isn’t Montrovia where all the rich playboy types will be this week?”

“Possibly. Regardless, I’m glad he allowed me to join him.”
 

“I will admit, it’s not every day that a Prince crashes your party.”

“So, what brings you to my fair country?” His gaze is intense. I like it. He actually seems interested in talking to me. It’s a refreshing change of pace from the guys at school who just wanted to hookup.

“Same as everyone. The race.”
 

“Would you do me the honor of coming to my party, since I crashed yours?”

“When is it?”

“Well, my party lasts all week.”

“When ever will you sleep?” I flirt. The Prince is holding back a smirk. I narrow my eyes at him. “Lorenzo, are you thinking of us together in bed?”

“Perhaps,” he says, not admitting a thing. Then he adds, “Trust me, there is plenty of time for pleasure between parties. It’s a week full of special events.”

“I know. We got tickets for the race and the car show.”

“There are events nearly every day and night this week. My private yacht is the best place to view the race, and we end the festivities with the Queen’s Ball. Girls from all over the world hope to be my date.”

“It must suck to be the Prince.”

He’s taken aback. “That’s not the reaction I usually get. Why do you say that?”

“I suspect it’s like a buffet—so many options that you can’t choose just one.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to be my date?” He looks confused. I think Daniel is right. I don’t think he’s ever been turned down before.

“No offense, but I wasn’t one of those little girls who dreamed of becoming a princess.”
 

“Too bad. You’re breathtaking,” the Prince says, touching my face.
 

“Thanks,” I say awkwardly, mostly because no one has ever said that to me before.
 

He stares into my eyes, his hand on my face. “We’re causing a bit of a scene.”

I look around—even though I am fully aware of what is going on around me. Mostly. I had to let my guard down for a few minutes to focus on the Prince—and only him—to make him feel like the only man in the room.

“How are we causing a scene? We’re talking.”

“You’re new in town and have held my attention longer than most of my dates.”

“Yay for me!”

“Sarcasm. I like it.”

“I’ll just tell everyone that I was standing close to you because you smell good.” I will admit, so far, I actually like the Prince. He’s clearly trying to impress me. He’s charming, polite, has a sexy as hell accent, and does smell quite intoxicating.
 

He touches the tip of my nose. “You’re cute.”

I say, “Thank you, Your Highness,” in Montrovian.
 

He cocks his head in surprise. “You speak our language?”

“A little. I have an affinity for languages.”

“Not many people speak our native tongue anymore.”

“I know. I’m a history major,” I say.

“My country has a great many historical sites.”

“I know that, too. My brother may have come for the cars, but I came for the history. While he’s sleeping off last night, I’ll be visiting the art museum, the hot springs, and going on a tour of the castle.”

“The castle? Well, you know most of the rooms aren’t included in the public tour. You’d need to know someone if you wanted to see the best parts.”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “Let me guess. The best part is
your
place?”

He laughs. “I’d show you the rest of the castle, too. Would you like a private tour?”

“I’d love that, actually.”

“I will send my driver for you tomorrow at noon.”

“No.”

“But you just said you wanted—”

“You aren’t sending your driver. If you wanna hang out with me, you can come get me yourself. Or I’ll drive.”

“You did mention that you have a new car here. Care to drive me home?”

“Sure, why not?” I smile as I escort him down to the garage.
 

He whistles at the car I’ve been dying to get behind the wheel of and says, “This isn’t a street car, it’s a track car.”
 

I don’t know who was in charge of acquiring this car, but they get two big thumbs up from me. “I’m pretty sure it’s street legal. Besides, I’m with the Prince of Montrovia, I should be able to drive whatever I want, don’t you think?”

“This car is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That’s because there were only two made. They had planned to make three, but the white carbon fiber proved to be difficult, so they only made two. It’s a Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita. Bad ass, right?”

“I’ll say. How did you get it?”

“I recently came into some money.” He raises his eyebrow at me, then looks at the car again. “Well,” I clarify, “it was quite a lot of money.”

“Roulette?” he laughs.

I lower my eyes and my voice. “My father passed away.”

He touches my hand gently. “My own father is gravely ill. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Are you spending a lot of time with him?”

“Not as much as I’d like.”

“You should make the time. Even if it’s hard. My dad died suddenly. Massive heart attack.”

“But he didn’t suffer. It’s hard to watch your father, the King, a man who has always been larger than life, wither away.”

“I suppose, but trust me, you should be with him. Every day.”

“Will you come with me?” he asks with such emotion I have no other possible answer.

“Yes.”

“Maybe it will help you heal too, no?”

“Maybe. I didn’t know my father. My parents passed away when I was younger, and I recently got a call from an attorney asking me to come for the reading of a will. There, I discovered who my real father was and that I also have a brother. We are taking some time off to travel together. See the world. Get to know each other. Ari lost his parents too, so we’re the only family each other has.”

I’m surprised when he wraps me in a hug. “So much tragedy for someone so young.”

I allow him to console me. It’s really sweet.

“So are you ready to go for a ride?”

“Oh, I think so.”

We get buckled up and pull out of the drive. I take it easy through the city streets, giving people plenty of time to gawk at the car and take photos.
 

Ten minutes later, we’re winding up the hill to the castle and pulling through the gates. I take in my surroundings like I was trained to do.

“You have an airstrip up here.”

“Yes, for landing the royal jet.”

“Anyone planning on using it in the next few minutes?”

“I don’t believe so, why are you asking?”

I throw the car in neutral, rev the motor, and raise my eyebrows at him. “What do you say? I would love to see what she can do, and everything in Montrovia is really cliffy.”

“Cliffy?” He laughs. “Does that mean what I think?”

“What do you think it means?”

He gives me a smirk, shrugs his shoulders, and turns his hands sideways gesturing down at his pants.

“Cliffy. As in your hard, throbbing dick?” I ask, stifling a laugh.

He bites his lip, a little embarrassed. It’s sexy as hell.
 

“Cliffy means the roads are all on cliffs that I don’t want to drive off and splat into the Med. What you are referring to is a stiffy. A boner. Hot. Hard. Ready for action.”

“Oh, yes, stiff. That would make sense.”

I drive to the end of the runway. “You ready for this?”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond because I quickly rev the engine and drop the hammer. The tires scream for every ounce of grip they can find. I use the paddle shifters to switch gears, the car responding effortlessly. This car is stupid fast and since it has a super charger as opposed to a turbo, there isn’t the kick every time I shift. The car just rockets down the runway.

“How fast are you going?” the Prince yells. “Slow down.”

“I read you race cars for fun. You should be used to this.”

“There’s a difference. I’m not driving. A girl is.”

When I reach the other end of the runway—which happens really quickly—I slam on the brakes, downshift, and swing the car around ninety degrees to prove a point, then hit the throttle again.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, looking very nervous.

“We haven’t even hit top speed yet, but we’re going to try.”

“What’s her top speed?”

“Four hundred and ten kilometers per hour. That’s like triple the speed limit in America.” I push the car, finally getting it up to four hundred, before I have to stop at the other end of the runway. “Holy shit. Wasn’t that fun?”

“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t just here for the history?”

“Okay, so maybe I like the cars, too. What do you say? Wanna do it again?”

“Only if I can drive.” He starts laughing then he sobers. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

He instructs me to pull around the castle and out onto the lawn.
 

“Am I going to get in trouble for this?” I ask.

“Just the opposite,” he says. “My father loves cars. If he’s having a good day, he might be able to come out and see it.”

What he says touches my heart.
 

I use the hydraulics to lift the chassis so its profile is not as low and, hopefully, I’m not getting grass all up in the grill.
 

We enter the castle through a set of French doors that lead directly to the King’s suite. I know I’m with the Prince and that we checked in at the gates, but this seems way too easy. I could take out both the King and the Prince in less than a minute if I were playing for the other team.
 

The King looks very tired, but his face lights up when he sees his son. “Lorenzo!” he exclaims.

“Hello, Papa, how are you feeling today? I brought a friend for you to meet, and we have a surprise for you.”

“Are you getting married?” he asks.

The Prince blushes. “No, we have just met, but I am hoping she will accompany me to the events this week.”

“Including the Queen’s Ball?”

“Um, yes. Except I haven’t formally asked her yet.” He turns toward me and holds out his hand. I take it and allow him to lead me toward the bed. “I’d like you to meet Huntley Von Allister.”

“Von Allister? As in Ares Von Allister?”

“Yes, he was my father. Did you know him?”

“A long time ago, yes. When we were young men. How is he?”

“He passed away a few weeks ago.”

The King looks somber and reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry for your loss. He was an interesting man. Smart as hell. And you are quite beautiful. I can see why my son fancies you.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. But I think Lorenzo might fancy my car a bit more than me.”

“Your car?”

I smile. “He had me pull it up to your terrace so that you could come out and see it.”

“What kind of car is it?”

“A Koenigsegg. One of only two produced. Prior to this car, they only had access to a traditional black carbon fiber, but this one is white.”

“White?”

“Yes, a silvery, sparkling white that looks like millions of diamonds when the sunlight hits it.”

The King smiles and sits up. “This I must see.” He looks over at a nurse. “Can we unhook this thing?”

“Yes, of course,” the nurse says, undoing the IV.

“I haven’t had a proper stroll in a few days.”

“Huntley, why don’t you lead the way?” Lorenzo suggests, so I walk slowly toward the doors, suddenly realizing how few clothes I have on. I only threw a short cover-up over my bikini when I took the Prince to see my car.
 

I turn around and notice both the men are following me with grins on their faces. I’m not sure if it’s from seeing my backside or the excitement of the car, but whichever works. The King looks happy right now.

“Wow, now that’s a car,” the King says. “Tell me about it.”

“Koenigsegg aluminum V8, double overhead camshafts. Zero to 100 kilometers per hour in 2.9 seconds. Top speed of over 410. The fuel tanks are integrated for optimal weight distribution and safety, and it even has a detachable hardtop.”

The King moves around the car. “The color is stunning. Will this be in the auto show?”

I shake my head.
 

“You must remedy that, Lorenzo,” he says.

“Yes, I must.”

His father seems to tire quickly, so we escort him back inside and say goodbye.

“Thank you for making my day,” the King says, giving me a wink. “And try to keep him out of mischief.”

“I’m probably the wrong girl for that job,” I tease.