A Royal Disaster Page 2

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  Their Majesties weren’t going to be pleased. They were not easily amused, especially when it came to compromising photos of their children in the press. After all, it was difficult to claim divine right when one’s progeny were making arseholes of themselves in front of the entire world.

  Liam had largely avoided such humiliations, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think this wouldn’t be on the wire within hours. He was the crown prince, and this was exactly the kind of dirt the gossip rags liked to publish. But there was nothing to be done about it now. Engaging the photographer would only escalate the situation. He scrubbed a hand over his face and turned his back to the paparazzo. He might be exposed, but he didn’t have to make it easy for them. “Would it be possible to use the lavatory to clean up?”

  The woman studied him for a painfully long moment, and he could almost see the word “no” forming on her lips, but she finally nodded in agreement and gestured toward the back door.

  “So, are you a celebrity or something?” she asked, glancing nervously at the cameraman peering over the gate.

  Talk about a loaded question. Common sense dictated he should tell her the truth, but he liked the way she was looking at him, like he was a mystery she wanted to solve and not a prize to be claimed, so he kept his answer vague. “Or something.”

  Chapter Two

  Lena held the back door open for the stranger and gestured for him to go ahead of her, giving silent thanks for quick drying paint. At least he wasn’t leaving purple footprints on the cement floor. Not that she’d complain if he did. God knew, he was handling the situation with surprising grace. He was obviously someone important if the paparazzi were tailing him, and yet he hadn’t flown off the handle or berated her for the mess she’d made of him. It was a small thing, but damn if it didn’t warm her marshmallow heart, because when was the last time she met a man with that kind of character?

  Spoiler alert: never.

  She locked the door and followed him down the narrow hall to the heart of the studio, where Nia stood on a step stool, counting ceramic piggy banks for the weekly inventory.

  “That was fast,” Nia called over her shoulder.

  Lena wiped her palms on her overalls, forcing a bright smile. “Yes, well, there was a bit of an incident.” To the stranger she said, “Welcome to East Village Art.”

  Nia froze, but when she turned around and saw the giant eggplant at Lena’s side, her face split into a huge grin. “Please tell me you didn’t do that.”

  Lena gave her best “Who me?” look, but it was a wasted effort, because Nia’s eyes were locked on the eggplant dude, and her jaw hung slightly agape. She turned to face the stranger and caught him surveying the studio, oblivious to Nia’s stare.

  To him, EVA probably looked like a shabby little shop overflowing with colors and textures and wobbly stools. But to her? It was beautiful chaos, with every inch of the walls covered in paintings and tapestries and wooden shelves lined with ceramics and pottery of all shapes and sizes. The front windows were filled with some of her best spring pieces, the pastels a bright pop of color to welcome the new season.

  Why did it matter what he thought? Judging by his sharp three-piece suit, they ran in different social circles. He was upper crust to her hot mess. Plus, there was the whole matter of turning him into an eggplant. The vegetable kind, not the emoji kind. Except she had kind of asked about his penis. Honestly, who asked a complete stranger if their penis was broken?

  That seemed like something you should save for at least the second date.

  Not that this was a date. Or ever would be. Because, yeah, this was exactly why she’d sworn off men. She was a walking disaster. Lena gave herself a mental face-palm. Why did she have to babble like an idiot, even to herself, when she was nervous?

  Eggplant Dude cleared his throat.

  “Oh, right.” Lena turned back to Nia. “This is… Sorry. I don’t actually know your name,” she said, flames licking at the back of her neck.

  Could this be more awkward?

  He smiled and, despite the splatters of paint on his face, she had to admit he was sexy. Now that she wasn’t so focused on avoiding another lawsuit, she could appreciate the way his features came together with perfect symmetry.

  Under different circumstances, she would’ve loved to draw him. He had the kind of cheekbones most women dreamed of, high and delicate, a perfect complement to his square jaw and strong, straight nose. His eyes were blue, but not the bright cerulean and topaz shades that were so highly coveted. They were pale—nearly gray—like the color of melting ice, a sharp contrast to his dark hair, which shone like obsidian.

  “Liam Stanley.”

  “I’m Lena, and that’s Nia,” she said, offering her hand. Liam extended his own paint-slick hand, giving her pause. “Uh, maybe we can do that part later.” She yanked her hand back and jerked her head toward the storage room. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

  Liam laughed, a low rumble that set her insides quivering, and she found herself smiling right along with him as she led him behind the counter to the storage area that housed extra supplies, the kiln, and her tiny office. She rummaged around the utility sink and offered him a roll of paper towels and a scrub brush.

  “Thanks,” he said, accepting the cleaning supplies and glancing down at himself. “I have to admit, I’m not even sure where to start.”

  “Um, I’ll pay to have your suit cleaned,” she offered, determined to do the right thing even if it meant she’d be tight on cash.

  He lifted his chin and smirked. “Pretty sure it’s beyond salvage.”

  Mierda. Lena’s heart sank. She’d have to buy him a new one, then. God, she hoped it wouldn’t be too expensive. It looked expensive. Oh, who was she kidding? Even his shoes appeared to be way out of her price range. Most guys she knew didn’t even care about shoes, but the ones who did? They wore designer labels.

  She was so screwed. First the lawsuit. Now this?

  “I’ll tell you what,” Liam said, positioning the cleaning supplies on the back of the sink. “If you help me get cleaned up, we’ll call it even. I was going to donate the suit anyway, so no harm done, but I can’t go back out on the street like this.”

  Lena pressed her lips flat. Aside from the paint, the suit was in mint condition. Either he was one of those people who never wore the same thing twice or he was letting her off the hook because she obviously couldn’t afford to replace it.

  It was a kind gesture, but the idea of being so pitiable grated. She was not a charity case. She busted her butt running her own business and making a difference in the community where she’d grown up, and she didn’t need any help.

  Except, maybe this time she did.

  “What do you say?” he asked, the words floating across her skin like a warm caress. He had a nice voice, smooth like honey and an accent—British maybe?—that probably made all the girls drop their panties.

  “Sure.” Lena sighed and gestured for him to spin around. He complied and started to shrug out of his jacket. She caught the scent of his cologne under the paint fumes, a heady combination of sandalwood and jasmine that had her inhaling more deeply as she grabbed the jacket and pulled it down over surprisingly well-muscled arms. The man smelled like a dream, but her momentary bliss was shattered when she glanced at the label of his jacket and confirmed she most definitely could not afford this. Pride smarting, she hung the jacket over the lip of the sink, unable to bring herself to throw it away.

  Liam started to roll up his sleeves, but Lena shook her head.

  “What?” he asked, the question sounding like a statement and giving the clear impression he was used to commanding the room.

  “Lose the shirt,” Lena said, determined not to blush again. Sure, he was hot, but this wasn’t about ogling the hottie. It was about making him presentable. Never mind that no woman in her righ
t mind would be turned off by a little paint.

  He looked like he was ready for one of those sex games where you painted each other with edible chocolate and licked it off. Except for the fact that the paint was acrylic and highly toxic. But, you know, other than that, he looked good enough to eat.

  Not that she was thinking about licking his eggplant.

  God, was she hungry or horny? It was hard to tell. It had been six hours since breakfast and six months since she’d had sex. Could be either. “The shirt is toast, but it’ll be easier to wash your face and hair without it.”

  He gave a curt nod. “Good point.” He began to unbutton his shirt, and Lena’s pulse quickened as his fingers moved nimbly from one button the next, revealing a swath of taut flesh and hard muscle. Watching him undress was a strangely intimate act, one that caused her pulse to flutter as she imagined other scenarios where he might remove more clothing for her viewing pleasure.

  Ay bendito.

  Liam slipped out of his shirt and draped it over his jacket. Then he turned the faucet on and began washing, scrubbing meticulously at the fast-drying paint. With his attention elsewhere, she couldn’t help but admire the hard ridges and planes of his broad shoulders and the way his back tapered to a firm, trim waist.

  Geez, couldn’t the guy have one measly flaw? Other than trespassing. Because the whole trespassing thing? It was feeling like a minor infraction compared to the peep show she was getting.

  As if sensing her thoughts, he straightened and water dripped from his hair, running down his back in tiny rivulets. Lena’s breath hitched, and she swore his muscles tensed, although he didn’t turn to face her.

  Quit staring like a perv!

  “I might have a clean shirt in the office,” she said, taking a step back and bumping into a shelf of ceramic pots. They clattered and shook but thankfully settled quickly. “I’ll, uh, just go check.”

  Inside the cramped office, she fanned herself and heaved a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t going to sue her. That was something, right?

  Lena shook her head. She needed to get a grip and focus on the task at hand. She spun a slow circle, trying to remember where she’d stashed the extra shirts. Spotting the box of EVA tees in a corner on the floor, she dug through it until she found one that would fit Liam. It would probably be snug, but hey, at least it was clean.

  There was a gentle knock at the open door, making her painfully aware of the fact that her ass was in the air on full display. She straightened and offered Liam the shirt. His face was clean and even more devastatingly handsome, with ruddy, fresh-scrubbed cheeks. Her fingers itched to trace those beautiful lines, but her attention quickly drifted to his bare abs.

  Because of course he had a six pack.

  “What exactly is this place?” Liam asked, pulling the tee down and tucking it into the waist of his ruined dress pants.

  “EVA is my vision come to life,” Lena said simply. “I grew up in the East Village and it’s always been my dream to create a space where artists from one to one hundred can let their light shine, regardless of skill level. We have open studio hours, but we also do a lot of classes and events. Paint nights, pottery nights, bachelorette parties. You name it, we’ve probably tried it.”

  “It’s a lovely studio,” he said in that charming accent that turned her insides to mush. “It has a lot of character.”

  “Thanks,” she said, unable to fight the grin that split her face. “What about you? Where are you from?”

  Liam peered over her shoulder. “Is that your work?” he asked, sidestepping the question and pointing to the painting that hung above her cluttered desk. “It’s quite good.”

  Lena’s gaze shifted to the canvas where three abstract hearts beat as one. It was the only piece she’d hung in the office, and it wasn’t really meant for strangers. It was personal, a reminder that although her parents had passed from this world, they were with her always. She’d painted it shortly after they’d died, and she’d never shown it to anyone but Nia.

  Lena cleared her throat. “Yes, that one’s mine. So are the pieces in the front window, if you’d like to see them.” She gestured toward the door, suddenly desperate to get him out of her private space.

  “I’d like that,” he said with a nod. “But first I’d better call for a ride. Where am I anyway?”

  Lena plucked a business card from the desk and handed it to him, a spark of electricity igniting as her fingers grazed his. He smiled down at her, and their eyes held for an impossibly long second. Then the moment was shattered by an inhuman hiss. Lena jerked her gaze to the bookshelf, but it was too late. A ball of silver and black fur launched itself at Liam, hitting him square in the chest.

  Liam stared slack-jawed at the cat hanging from the front of his shirt by its claws. It was all she could do not to laugh as the itch to draw him filled her fingertips once again. Liam was undeniably handsome, but when he let his guard down? He was captivating. He had an unusually expressive face—the kind that could convey a thousand thoughts with a single look—though he’d been hiding it behind a mask of tightly held control. But Jinx, the little scamp, had managed to slip past his defenses, revealing a side of him she suspected few ever saw.

  “Bad kitty,” Lena admonished, reaching out to collect the fluffy tabby. He purred as she held him to her chest, as if reassuring her he’d just been doing his duty as man of the house. “Sorry about that. Jinx doesn’t like strangers.”

  “You named your cat Jinx?” Liam asked, eyeing the cat warily as she carried him to the door and released him into the storeroom.

  “It seemed fitting.” Lena shrugged. She and Jinx were a matched set. Always had been, always would be. “You can use the phone on the desk. I’ll wait for you out front.”

  She backed out of the office, pulling the door shut behind her. She’d barely stepped into the studio when Nia grabbed her hand and dragged her around the corner, whisper-yelling with barely contained enthusiasm.

  “Do you have any idea who that is?” she demanded, her brown eyes dancing with excitement.

  “Liam Stanley, trespasser extraordinaire,” Lena said, wondering if the name was supposed to mean something to her. Nia was a fan of all things celebrity, so if he was an up-and-coming actor or something, she was sure to know it. “Jinx isn’t a fan, by the way.”

  Nia rolled her eyes and leaned closer so their faces were just inches apart. “His Royal Highness, Prince William Louis Albert George Stanley, Duke of Carlyle,” she said, placing heavy emphasis on each word. “Crown Prince of Valeria.”

  Lena sucked in a sharp breath. Liam was a prince? No freaking way. It wasn’t possible. Except… She chewed her lip. “Well, I guess that explains the photographer.”

  “What?” Nia grabbed her shoulders. “Did you hear what I said? He’s a prince!”

  “What difference does it make?” Lena swallowed the sharp sting of disappointment. Liam’s suit wasn’t the only thing out of her league. “I’ll never see him again after today.”

  …

  Liam stared out the window as the limo pulled away from East Village Art. Although the afternoon had taken a rather unexpected turn, he couldn’t bring himself to regret ditching his security team. Even if his best friend was glaring daggers at him from the opposite side of the car.

  Fin would get over it. Eventually.

  The run-in with Lena was the most exciting thing to happen since his arrival in New York, and though he could’ve done without the paint—which had left his trousers stiff and uncomfortable—it was nice to have a normal conversation with someone who saw something other than the crown when they looked at him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d met someone who didn’t know of his royal lineage before they’d been introduced.

  It was refreshing.

  It was also the reason he’d been evasive when she’d asked where he was from. Guilt pricked at his
conscience. He should’ve been forthcoming, but if he had, their entire dynamic would’ve shifted, and that was the last thing he wanted. He liked the way she challenged him, not backing down and not taking any crap.

  “It’s about bloody time you turned up,” Fin said, each word laced with irritation. “I’ve been ringing you all afternoon.”

  “Did it occur to you that I wasn’t interested in talking?” Liam returned, suppressing a sigh. Fin was an excellent assistant and a better friend, but he’d become quite the rule follower in recent years and had a tendency to go full mother hen when they traveled beyond the borders of Valeria.

  “No, but I did wonder if perhaps you were lying face down in a gutter somewhere.”

  Liam smirked. “Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

  “That’s debatable.” Fin wrinkled his nose and did a slow scan of Liam’s clothing. “Where’s your jacket?” he asked, gaze fixed on the too tight EVA T-shirt. “And what is that all over your trousers?”

  “It’s nothing,” Liam said, turning his attention to the fully stocked bar. He hated the absurdly ostentatious and wholly American limousine the hotel provided, but it did have its perks. He selected a pristine tumbler from the rack and removed the ivory napkin folded neatly inside. Tossing it aside, he reached for the whisky. He’d need to tell Fin about the paparazzi, but it could wait. Better to let the conversation—and the whisky—run its course before mentioning the paps. “Did you bring me a change of clothes?”

  “Of course. And don’t change the subject. You can’t keep giving the security detail the slip,” Fin said as Liam poured himself a drink, the amber liquor splashing up the side of the glass. “This shit was funny when we were at uni, but we’re not students anymore. You’re the Crown Prince of Valeria, and this is an important diplomatic mission.”

  Liam sipped the whisky, savoring the smooth, smoky flavor as it burned a path to his gut. Did Fin really think he needed a reminder? His role had been drilled into his head from the time he spoke his first word. Hell, his earliest memories involved etiquette lessons with Miss Cartwright, a deceptively sweet-looking ballbuster who never lost her temper but could subdue the unruliest of royal children with a sharp twist of the ear.