Rich, Rugged And Royal. Catherine Mann

machine guns.

      What should have made her feel safer only served to remind her money and power didn’t come without burdens. To think, Tony had grown up with little or no exposure to the real world. It was a miracle he’d turned out normal.

      If you could call a billionaire prince with a penchant for surfing “normal.”

      The limousine slowed, easing past a towering marble fountain with a “welcome” pineapple on top—and wasn’t that ironic in light of all those guards? Once the vehicle stopped, more uniformed security appeared from out of nowhere to open the limo. Some kind of servant—a butler perhaps—stood at the top of the stairs. While Tony had insisted he wanted nothing to do with his birthplace, he seemed completely at ease in this surreal world. For the first time, the truth really sunk in.

      The stunningly handsome—stoically silent—man walking beside her had royal blood singing through his veins.

      “Tony?” She touched his elbow.

      “After you,” he said, simply gesturing ahead to the double doors sweeping open.

      Scooping Kolby onto her hip, she took comfort in his sturdy little body and forged ahead. Inside. Whoa.

      The cavernous circular hall sported gold gilded archways leading to open rooms. Two staircases stretched up either side, meeting in the middle. And, uh, stop the world, was that a Picasso on the wall?

      Her canvas sneakers squeaked against marble floors as more arches ushered her deeper into the mansion. And while she vowed money didn’t matter, she still wished she’d packed different shoes. Shannon straightened the straps on Kolby’s favorite striped overalls, the ones he swore choo-choo drivers wore. She’d been so frazzled when she’d tossed clothes into a couple of overnight bags, picking things that would make him happy.

      Just ahead, French doors opened on to a veranda that overlooked the ocean. Tony turned at the last minute, guiding her toward what appeared to be a library. Books filled three walls, interspersed with windows and a sliding brass ladder. Mosaic tiles swirled outward on the floor, the ceiling filled with frescos of globes and conquistadors. The smell of fresh citrus hung in the air, and not just because of the open windows. A tall potted orange tree nestled in one corner beneath a wide skylight.

      An older man slept in a wingback by the dormant fireplace. Two large brown dogs—some kind of Ridgeback breed, perhaps?—lounged to his left and right.

      Tony’s father. A no-kidding king.

      Either age or illness had taken a toll, dimming the family resemblance. But in spite of his nap, he wasn’t going gently into that good night. No slippers and robe for this meeting. He wore a simple black suit with an ascot rather than a tie, his silver hair slicked back. Frailty and his pasty pallor made her want to comfort him.

      Then his eyes snapped open. The sharp gleam in his coal dark eyes stopped her short.

      Holy Sean Connery, the guy might be old but he hadn’t lost his edge.

      “Welcome home, hijo prodigo.” Prodigal son.

      Enrique Medina spoke in English but his accent was still unmistakably Spanish. And perhaps a bit thick with emotion? Or was that just wishful thinking on her part for Tony’s sake?

      “Hello, Papa.” Tony palmed her back between her shoulder blades. “This is Shannon and her son Kolby.”

      The aging monarch nodded in her direction. “Welcome, to you and to your son.”

      “Thank you for your hospitality and your help, sir.” She didn’t dare wade into the whole Your Highness versus Your Majesty waters. Simplicity seemed safest.

      Toying with a pocket watch in his hand, Enrique continued, “If not for my family, you would not need my assistance.”

      Tony’s fingers twitched against her back. “Hopefully we won’t have to impose upon you for long. Shannon and her son only need a place to lay low until this blows over.”

      “It won’t blow over,” Enrique said simply.

      Ouch. She winced.

      Tony didn’t. “Poor choice of words. Until things calm down.”

      “Of course.” He nodded regally before shifting his attention her way. “I am glad to have you here, my dear. You brought Tony home, so you have already won favor with me.” He smiled and for the first time, she saw the family resemblance clearly.

      Kolby wriggled, peeking up from her neck. “Whatsa matter with you?”

      “Shhh … Kolby.” She pressed a quick silencing kiss to his forehead. “That’s a rude question.”

      “It’s an honest question. I do not mind the boy.” The king shifted his attention to her son. “I have been ill. My legs are not strong enough to walk.”

      “I’m sorry.” Kolby eyed the wheelchair folded up and tucked discreetly alongside the fireplace. “You musta been bery sick.”

      “Thank you. I have good doctors.”

      “You got germs?”

      A smile tugged at the stern face. “No, child. You and your mother cannot catch my germs.”

      “That’s good.” He stuffed his tiny fists into his pockets. “Don’t like washin’ my hands.”

      Enrique laughed low before his hand fell to rest on one dog’s head. “Do you like animals?”

      “Yep.” Kolby squirmed downward until Shannon had no choice but to release him before he pitched out of her arms. “Want a dog.”

      Such a simple, painfully normal wish and she couldn’t afford to supply it. From the pet deposit required at her apartment complex to the vet bills … It was out of her budget. Guilt tweaked again over all she couldn’t give her child.

      Yet hadn’t Tony been denied so much even with such wealth? He’d lost his home, his mother and gained a gilded prison. Whispers of sympathy for a motherless boy growing up isolated from the world softened her heart when she most needed to hold strong.

      Enrique motioned Kolby closer. “You may pet my dog. Come closer and I will introduce you to Benito and Diablo. They are very well trained and will not hurt you.”

      Kolby didn’t even hesitate. Any reservations her son felt about Tony certainly didn’t extend to King Enrique—or his dogs. Diablo sniffed the tiny, extended hand.

      A cleared throat startled Shannon from her thoughts. She glanced over her shoulder and found a young woman waiting in the archway. In her late twenties, wearing a Chanel suit, she obviously wasn’t the housekeeper.

      But she was stunning with her black hair sleeked back in a simple clasp. She wore strappy heels instead of sneakers. God, it felt silly to be envious of someone she didn’t know, and honestly, she only coveted the pretty red shoes.

      “Alys,” the older man commanded, “enter. Come meet my son and his guests. This is my assistant, Alys Reyes de la Cortez. She will show you to your quarters.”

      Shannon resisted the urge to jump to conclusions. It wasn’t any of her business who Enrique Medina chose for his staff and she shouldn’t judge a person by their appearance. The woman was probably a rocket scientist, and Shannon wouldn’t trade one single sticky hug from her son for all the high-end clothes on the planet.

      Not that she was jealous of the gorgeous female with immaculate clothes, who fit perfectly into Tony’s world. After all, he hadn’t spared more than a passing glance at the woman.

      Still, she wished she’d packed a pair of pumps.

      An hour later, Shannon closed her empty suitcases and rocked back on her bare heels in the doorway of her new quarters.

      A suite?

      More like a luxury condominium within the mansion. She sunk her toes into the Persian rug until