The Prince's Ultimate Deception. Emilie Rose

“Just be careful.”

      Madeline snorted. “Please, I am a medical professional. You don’t have to lecture me about safe sex. Besides, I’m on the Pill.”

      “I wasn’t referring only to pregnancy or communicable diseases. Don’t let that dickhead Mike make you do anything reckless you’ll regret.”

      Candace and Amelia had never liked Mike. Maybe Madeline should have listened to her friends. But not this time. This time she wouldn’t be blinded by love. This time she was looking out for number one. “That’s the beauty of it. Assuming Damon is interested in a temporary relationship, he can’t lead me on, dump me or break my heart because I’ll be leaving right after the wedding. I mean, what can happen in four weeks?”

      Amelia winced. “Don’t tempt fate like that.”

      Candace sighed. “I know each of us has different things we want to see and do in Monaco, but don’t spend all of your time with him. We want to see some of you, too.”

      Madeline bit her lip and studied her friend. How could she explain that being immersed in all the wedding hoopla brought back too many painful memories—memories of planning her own aborted wedding and wallowing in every intricate detail to make the day perfect? All for naught. She couldn’t, without hurting Candace’s feelings.

      “I promise I won’t abandon my friends or my bridesmaid’s duties—no matter how good Damon is at guiding or anything else.”

      She looped an arm around each woman’s waist. “Friends are forever and lovers—” she shrugged “—are not.”

      

      Good grief, she was as nervous as a virgin on prom night, and at thirty-two Madeline hadn’t seen either virginity or prom night in a long time.

      Her heart beat at double time and it had nothing to do with the sugar rush from sampling too many wedding cakes this morning.

      Was her hair right? Her dress? And wasn’t that just plain ridiculous? Nonetheless vanity had caused her to pull on a dress with a deep V neckline in the front and back and to don the outrageously sexy shoes she’d bought at the designer outlet down the street. She’d even French braided her unruly hair and added her favorite silver clip.

      She scanned the partially open-air café for Damon. He rose from a table in the shadowy back corner, looking absolutely delicious in dark glasses, a casual, short-sleeved white cotton shirt and jeans. Wide shoulders. Thick biceps. Flat abs and narrow hips. Yum.

      The glasses were a tad affected given he wasn’t seated in the sunny section of the café, but so many people in Monaco sported the same look that he didn’t seem out of place. Still—she tipped back her head and looked up at his handsome face—she’d rather stare into his pale blue eyes than at her own reflection.

      “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Spencer.” He pulled out her chair.

      She tried to place his accent and couldn’t, which was pretty odd since her job exposed her to an assortment of nationalities on a daily basis. And then there was the intriguing way he occasionally slipped into more formal speech….

      “Good morning, Damon, and please call me Madeline.” His knuckles brushed the bare skin between her shoulder blades as he seated her. Awareness skipped down her spine, startling a flock of butterflies in her stomach. Ooh yeah. Definitely a prime candidate for her first string-free fling.

      She tugged a pen and pad of paper from her straw purse. “I thought we’d discuss possible outings today. Perhaps you could give me a list of suggestions, and I’ll tell you which ones interest me.”

      “You will not trust my judgment to choose for you?”

      As she’d done with Mike?

      “No. I’d prefer to be consulted. I’m not sure how much you overheard last night, but I’m here with a friend to help plan her wedding. I’ll have to be available for her morning meetings Monday through Friday and whenever else she or the other bridesmaids need me. So you and I will have to snatch hours here and there and not every day. Are you okay with that?”

      “I am.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his square jaw. He really had wonderful bone structure. His blade-straight nose had probably never been broken, and his high zygomatic arches allowed for nice hollows in his lean, smooth-shaven cheeks. Straight, thick, dark hair flopped over his forehead, making him look boyish, but the fine lines beside his eyes and mouth said he had to be in his thirties.

      “Last night you said romance made you nauseous. I have yet to meet a woman who did not revel in romance. What happen—”

      “Now you have,” she interrupted.

      His lips firmed and his eyebrows lowered as if her interruption annoyed him, but her sorry love life was not up for discussion.

      The last thing she wanted to tell a prospective lover was that she’d been an idiot. She’d been so enthralled with the idea of love and being part of a couple that she’d given in to whatever Mike wanted, and in the process she’d surrendered part of her identity. What ticked her off the most was that even though she’d been trained to assess symptoms and make diagnoses, she’d missed the obvious signs that her relationship was in trouble. Not even the twenty pounds she’d gained over six years while “eating her stress” had clued her in to her subconscious’s warnings.

      “What happened to make you so wary?” he asked in a firm voice that made it clear he wasn’t going to drop it.

      She stared hard at him for several moments, trying to make him back down, but he held her gaze without wavering. “Let’s just say I learned from experience that planning a perfect wedding doesn’t always result in happily ever after.”

      “You are divorced?”

      “Never made it to the altar. Now, about our excursions…Despite what Mr. Gustavo said about Vincent Reynard picking up your tab, I don’t want to go overboard with expenses.”

      “I will keep that in mind. Are you more of an outdoor person or the museum type?”

      She said a silent thank-you that he accepted her change of subject. “I prefer to be outside since I spend most of my waking hours inside.”

      “Doing…?”

      Who was interviewing whom here? He didn’t act like any potential employee she’d ever questioned. He was a little too arrogant, a little too confident, a little too in charge. But that only made him more attractive. “I’m a physician’s assistant in a metropolitan hospital. What kinds of outings do you suggest?”

      “There are numerous outdoor activities within a short distance that would cost little or nothing. Sunbathing, snorkeling, sailing, windsurfing, hiking, biking, fishing and rock climbing.”

      He ticked off the items on long ringless fingers bearing neatly trimmed, clean nails. She had a thing about hands, and his were great, the kind she’d love to have gliding over her skin.

      “If you have more than a few hours we can go river rafting or spelunking in the Alpes-Maritimes or drive across the border into Italy or France to explore some of the more interesting villages.”

      “I’m not a sun lizard. Isn’t that what they call the people who lay on the rocks of the jetty? I prefer action to lazing about, and cold, dark places give me the creeps, so let’s skip the sunbathing and the spelunking and go with everything else. You’ll arrange the tours and any equipment rental and provide me with the details?”

      “It will be my pleasure.”

      She’d bet he knew a thing or two about pleasure, and if she was lucky, he’d share that knowledge. She slid a piece of paper across the table. “Here’s my tentative schedule for the next month. I’ve blacked out the times when I’m unavailable. That’s my suite number in the top corner. You’ll have to call me there or leave a message for me at the front desk since my cell phone doesn’t work in Europe.”

      She