The Prince's Ultimate Deception. Emilie Rose

have borrowed those French lesson CDs her suitemate Stacy had used.

      The heavy fabric swished over her friend’s head. With the dress draped over her arms, the seamstress departed. Candace quickly pulled on her street clothes, crossed the dressing room to Madeline’s side and took her hands. “You had a lucky escape. You know that, right?”

      Madeline winced. She should have known her friend would see through her fake merriment. They’d been through a lot together in the past twelve years: college, their engagements to Mike and Vincent and the deaths of Madeline’s father and Candace’s brother. “I know, and trust me, I am not missing that two-timing dud.”

      “But the wedding preparations are hard for you.” It was a statement, not a question. “I’m sorry. But I couldn’t do this without you, Madeline.”

      “I love seeing you this happy.”

      “Your turn will come.” Candace squeezed her fingers and released her.

      Not as long as I have a functioning brain cell. God forbid I ever go through that again. “This month is all about you.”

      “When will the rest of us get to meet your gorgeous guide?”

      “I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask. I won’t see him again until Saturday.” Two days. It seemed like an aeon.

      After kissing her into a stupor yesterday Damon had put her in a cab with the promise of passion to come. If that kiss was a sample of what she could expect, then it would be passion unlike any she’d ever experienced. She couldn’t remember Mike’s embrace ever making her forget where she was.

      Last night after dinner with Candace at the world-renowned Hôtel Hermitage she’d returned to the suite and found a message from Damon telling her he had arranged a sailboat for the weekend. He’d found a place for them to be alone. Her mouth dried, her palms moistened and her pulse bounded like a jackrabbit. She felt wild, reckless and free. A first for her.

      “Maybe Damon will sweep you off your feet, and we’ll have a double wedding in three weeks,” Candace interrupted Madeline’s illicit thoughts.

      Madeline groaned. “Don’t start your matchmaking here. It’s bad enough that I suffer through your blind date matchups at home. Besides, I’d never be stupid enough to marry a guy I’d known such a short time.”

      She hitched her purse over her shoulder and opened the door, hoping Candace would leave the topic behind in the dressing room of the chic boutique.

      Candace followed her out. “That’s just it. When you love someone you don’t want to wait. The only reason I waited to marry Vincent was because he insisted on being able to put the wedding ring on my finger himself. The day he reached that point in his physical therapy we set the date.”

      Which reminded Madeline of the crazy year her friend had had. Vincent had been severely burned along the right side of his body just over a year ago in a freak pit accident at the local race track. Madeline had treated him in the E.R. when he’d first arrived at the hospital and then Candace had been his nurse throughout his months-long stay in the burn unit. Before he’d been released the two had fallen head over heels in love.

      Madeline had to give Vincent credit. He’d tried to convince Candace she deserved a man who wouldn’t be scarred for life, but Candace didn’t care about his scars. Love truly was blind.

      A fact you know all too well.

      Candace handed her credit card to the clerk and then turned back to Madeline. “The fact that you dated Mike for almost a year before you became engaged and you didn’t push him to set a date for six years tells me you weren’t in a rush to tie yourself to him till death do you part.”

      Good point. She hated it when others saw something that should have been obvious to her. “When did you become a shrink? I thought you were a nurse.”

      Candace shrugged. “Nurse. Shrink. Most days they’re one and the same in the burn unit. But I don’t need to be a psychiatrist to know that Mike didn’t treat you well. You deserve a guy who will, Madeline.”

      “I’m strictly a love ’em and leave ’em gal from now on.”

      “That’s a knee-jerk reaction to the dickhead’s lies. You’ll get over it, Ms. Monogamy. You’re the one whose only lover was a man you thought you were going to marry.”

      Madeline’s cheeks flashed hot. She glanced at the couturière. If the woman understood English—and most people in Monaco did apparently—she gave no sign of being interested in their exchange.

      Having older parents meant Madeline’s values were from a bygone era, and she’d waited to fall in love before falling into bed. But that was because her father had been a tough, no-nonsense vice squad detective with a habit of scaring off his teenage daughter’s potential suitors and later she’d been too busy with school and a part-time job to have the energy to date.

      But she had every intention of sowing the wild oats she’d been hoarding—starting with Damon Rossi. “My inexperience is a circumstance I intend to remedy as soon as possible.”

      “I still think there’s more to your instant attraction to Damon than lust. I’ve never known you to get gaga so fast.”

      Madeline didn’t reply until the shop door closed behind them. She faced her friend on the sunny sidewalk lined with designer shops and wrought iron lampposts. “Candace, I’m not gaga. I’m horny. And that’s all it is. I have a two-year itch to scratch. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

      “Right. It took you ten months to sleep with Mike. You wanted to jump Damon after ten minutes. Listen to your subconscious, Madeline. It’s trying to tell you something.”

      “You’re wrong. Completely. Totally. Unequivocally wrong. And I’ll prove it. Just watch.”

      She’d live it up in Monaco and then leave in three weeks’ time with her sexual urges satisfied and her heart intact.

      

      This had to be a mistake.

      Madeline stopped on a long stretch of sunbaked dock in the Port de Monaco. Over a hundred boats bobbed and swayed around her in neat rows, and because it was Saturday, a number of other boaters were out and about, chatting in a musical chorus of foreign languages. The boats in this line were big. None resembled the small craft she’d expected Damon to rent. She double-checked the slip number on the note the hotel desk attendant had given her. Whoever had taken the message must have misunderstood.

      No problem. She slung the strap of her beach bag over her shoulder and started walking. She’d check out slip one-eighteen just in case there was a smaller sailboat tucked behind the big ones. If there wasn’t, she’d return to the hotel and wait for Damon to call with the correct instructions. Surely he’d guess something had gone awry when she didn’t arrive on time?

      Sun warmed her skin. Boat parts clanged and creaked beside her and birds cried overhead. A breeze teased tendrils from her braid and molded her skirt and cropped sleeveless top to her body. She’d only made it past a half-dozen yachts when a familiar dark-haired figure in white pants, a loose white shirt and sunglasses stepped onto the planks from a boat about five car lengths long. Her heart and steps faltered. The hotel hadn’t made a mistake. Damon had rented a boat with a cabin. Make that a yacht with a cabin.

      And because Candace didn’t have a morning meeting tomorrow, Madeline was free to spend the night if she chose. She moved forward, one step at a time. Her lungs labored as if she’d sprinted from the hotel instead of ridden in the cushy hired car Damon had arranged for her. She’d never had a wildly passionate no-strings-attached affair, but if she boarded the boat, there would be no turning back.

      This is what you wanted.

      Maybe so, but that didn’t keep her from being nervous. The distance between them seemed to stretch endlessly.

      Damon didn’t smile, didn’t move toward her. Hands by his side and legs braced slightly apart, he