Tempted By The Royal. Michelle Celmer

she couldn’t entirely stifle her gasp of surprised pleasure.

      It stood high atop a jutting cliff, a stunning structure of towers and turrets that was both more imposing and impressive than she could have imagined. She’d been curious enough to do some reading about the Santiago family and knew they had ruled long and ruled well, and she sensed that this castle, standing strong and proud on the hill, wasn’t just a symbol to the people of Tesoro del Mar but a promise.

      Another fanciful thought, perhaps, and while she’d been prepared for a fairy tale—something reminiscent of a little girl’s misty-edged dreams—the reality was somehow even better.

      The driver parked at the bottom of a set of wide stone steps that led up to a pair of imposing wooden doors that looked as if they could withstand the attack of a medieval battering ram. Those massive doors opened into an entranceway that was bigger than Molly’s entire apartment, with a floor made of marble and walls papered in something that added hints of both shimmer and depth. Sun streamed through the tall arched windows that bracketed the doors, bathing the space in warmth and light, and fresh flowers spilled out of tall vases so that the air was perfumed with their fragrant scent.

      They were greeted by a housekeeper who curtsied to the prince before advising that the guests’ rooms were ready. Eric thanked and assured her that he would show them the way, then directed them up the curving stairs to the second floor, then the third. He guided them down a wide hallway, where the sound of their steps was muffled by the plush carpet. The walls were hung with pictures and tapestries, and the windows draped with velvet curtains.

      Fiona and Scott were delivered to their suite before Eric led Molly a little bit farther down the hall.

      “Your rooms overlook the gardens,” he told her.

      Not a room but rooms, she noted, as he opened an ornately carved door and led her into a sitting room that boasted a couple of richly upholstered chairs on either side of a stone fireplace and an antique writing desk and balloon-back chair. Behind the desk was a window, wide and multipaned, with the promised view of gardens that boasted a stunning array of vibrant colors and exotic scents.

      Through the sitting room was the bedroom with a tall chest of drawers and matching bedside table of gleaming cherrywood and a wide bed topped with a thick duvet and piled with fluffy pillows. The bathroom was half the size of the bedroom again, with a deep whirlpool tub and separate shower, toilet and pedestal sink.

      “If you need anything, you only need to ring for housekeeping,” he told her, gesturing to the phone beside the bed.

      “You might need a crowbar to pry me out of here after the wedding,” she warned.

      “Then maybe you’ll decide to stay,” he said, sounding as if he meant it.

      “You know I can’t,” she told him.

      But there was a part of her that already wished she could.

      Eric had decided to give Molly space.

      As much as he was eager to spend time with her and anxious to show off his homeland, he had sensed a new wariness in her since they’d landed in Tesoro del Mar—as if she knew that he now had the home turf advantage and was waiting to see how he would use it. He decided it couldn’t hurt to let her wait—and wonder—a little while longer.

      It was Fiona who gave him the opportunity, and the opening, he’d been hoping for. Saturday morning, only their third full day on the island, he found her alone by the pool.

      “Lose your fiancé already?” he teased.

      “He went down to the stables to take a ride with Rowan and Christian.”

      “What about Molly?” he asked, with what he thought was casual interest.

      “She should be down shortly.” But she frowned when she said it. “You’re supposed to be relaxing not worrying,” Eric told her, lowering himself onto the edge of the vacant lounger beside hers. “I assure you, all the wedding details are being taken care of.”

      “I’m not worrying about the wedding,” she said.

      “But you’re worried about something.”

      She sighed. “Molly.”

      “Is something wrong?”

      “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I know she argued with her sister before we left Texas, although that’s not really unusual. And even before that—for the past several weeks now—she’s seemed really distracted. As if she’s worried about something but she won’t tell me what it is.”

      “She probably figures you have enough on your mind right now.”

      “She used to tell me everything,” Fiona said. “I don’t have any siblings, and although Molly does, we’ve always been as close as sisters. Closer than Molly and Abbey, that’s for sure, especially after the stunt Abbey pulled with Jason.”

      “Molly’s ex-fiancé?”

      “How did you know they were engaged?” she asked curiously.

      “I saw them talking at the restaurant one day, and she told me.”

      “That’s not usually something she talks about,” Fiona mused.

      “Bad break-up?” he wondered aloud.

      “Obviously she didn’t tell you everything.”

      “What more is there?”

      “The fact that he’s now Abbey’s husband.”

      “Molly’s sister married Molly’s former fiancé?”

      “He was still current when Abbey seduced him.” Fiona winced. “I can’t believe I told you that. But I figured if you’d met Jason, you knew he was Abbey’s husband.”

      No, Molly had conveniently neglected to mention that fact, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. He’d asked about the guy he saw her with. She’d used his status as an ex to remind Eric that she wasn’t his—a lightweight reminder if he knew that the ex was married to someone else.

      “I know it sounds like something out of a soap opera, but that’s exactly what happened. And though Molly keeps insisting that she’s over him, I wonder if a person can ever get over that kind of betrayal. I worry that she won’t ever open up her heart to anyone else.”

      “That’s not something you can make happen,” he told her, knowing—and regretting—that it was true.

      “I know,” she admitted. “It’s just that she’s my best friend, and while no one else might have noticed the change, I’ve seen it. She still smiles and laughs and even dates occasionally, but she’s so guarded now, so careful not to get too close to anyone.

      “I’d hoped that coming here would be good for her. She needed a change of scenery, a change of pace, but she’s been so preoccupied lately, obviously worried about something.”

      “Give her some time,” he suggested. “It’s only day three.”

      “I know.” She picked up her bottle of sunscreen, reapplied the lotion to her shoulders and arms. “And you’ve already done so much—none of this would be possible without you and I know I won’t ever be able to repay you, but I really want to ask you for another favor.”

      “What’s that?”

      “Would you—if you had some free time—mind showing Molly around the island? It might take her mind off whatever is bothering her.”

      And Eric realized there were times when opportunity didn’t just knock, it threw open the door and tossed out a welcome mat.

      “I wouldn’t mind at all,” he said.