The Keys' Prince (The Royal Heirs) (2 page)

Stella, along with dozens of other interested people in the community, had been involved in serious discussions for months to remove the stigma Sarasota achieved from being named the meanest city in the USA—mean because of the way it had historically refused to deal with its huge homeless population.

For the first time, under Dean’s plan, a solution was in reach. Adult shelters would be built as well as villages for homeless families that would include much-needed case management and mental health services. Street outreach teams made up of law enforcement officers and social services experts would work together to convince the homeless to choose the help these shelters and villages could give them instead of serving jail time for trespassing and panhandling.

Stella thought the plan sounded wonderful. But how would the county pay for it? Yes, there were private foundations and non-profits already willing to pledge funds, but the large, comprehensive scope of Dean’s plans would take millions more than had already been promised. Stella had the millions needed, but if she pledged them, they’d come with her name attached, her real name, meaning her cover would be blown along with the new life of relative obscurity she’d come to love.

At the end of the presentation, Stella slipped her notebook back into her tote and reached for her phone, texting Auntie Elo to see if she’d like her usual, late afternoon iced mocha.

“Excuse me, miss.” A low, heavily accented, ultra masculine voice filled Stella’s ears while strong hands came to rest on her shoulders.

Stella jumped straight off of her seat. Her phone tumbled out of her hands and onto the floor.

No way. Totally impossible. It couldn’t be. But it had to be.

If there was one thing she was sure of it was that no matter how hard she tried—and darn it if she hadn’t given it everything she had for going on twenty-five years—she’d never forget that voice. And she’d never ever forget the touch of the person who owned that voice.

Feeling his hands against her bare shoulders caused a long-extinguished flame to flicker back to life deep inside her.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You were about to leave behind your sweater. Here, let me get that,” he said, handing her the sweater and then reaching down to retrieve her phone.

Stella turned around to an exquisitely dressed man, with a devastatingly debonair, ebony black pony tail and a deep bronze, Mediterranean tan. When he started to straighten again, after bending down to pick up her phone, she couldn’t help but notice that even after all of these years, he still took her breath away.

She inhaled sharply, which forced his way too familiar, spicy exotic scent straight up her nostrils. Good thing she was still seated. Otherwise, his animal-like magnetism would have sent her to the floor.

“Thank you,” she whispered as the man she’d managed not to run into for twenty-five years placed her phone in her hands. He gently wrapped her fingers around the protective case. If he hadn’t, it would have been back on the floor.

“Your voice is gone. You’re sick, no?” He asked, the tender, genuinely concerned look in his eyes making Stella feel like even more of a bumbling idiot.

“No, I’m not sick,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’m fine. Really. I’m fine. You just startled me. That’s all.”

Was her cover so good that even he didn’t recognize her?

And why did that thought disappoint her? She should be glad that even he couldn’t see past her new look.

Suddenly, he tilted his head and looked her over from top to bottom—sizing her up—apparently trying to decide if it was just an eerie coincidence or if it really was her.

She stood up, way too quickly. If he hadn’t abruptly moved back, she’d have nailed his forehead with hers.

So much for coming off as smooth, competent and unaffected, she thought. She was acting as if she’d never seen an attractive man, let alone a man who she used to know better than anyone. A man who’d been much more than her lover.

’Course, if she was totally honest, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a man as handsome as he was. With his natural good looks and charisma, even a decent comparison was close-to-impossible to come by. And no man she’d ever met had his good heart and kind spirit.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, a smile beginning to feather out from the corners of lips she’d love to feel pressed against hers just one more time. Stella knew his well-practiced public smile, one of his sweet-natured, charmers. But this smile ran much deeper. One born from years of shared experiences and memories.

“Yes. Yes. I’m fine. Sorry for being such a klutz.”

He tilted his head as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.

Dammit. What was wrong with her? Even after twenty-five years apart, it was very clear that when he was around, she couldn’t think straight.

Klutz. Of all things to say. There’s no way he’d hear that word and not think of her. Why she’d said it was beyond her. She’d been teased about being a klutz since she was a child. And he’d often laughed with her about it. Fortunately for her, unfortunately for him, he’d been at her side for several of her embarrassing missteps. There was simply no way he wouldn’t associate that word with the woman who was once his everything.

Stella shook her head and tried to regroup, not willing to give up her identity in this public setting. She’d promised herself and her security team that she’d remain under the cover of her new, abbreviated name, knowing that was the only way to protect herself and Auntie Elo.

She had to do her best to convince him that they didn’t know each other. Otherwise, they’d end up creating a scene that both of them would regret.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. To the contrary, there was no one she trusted more.

He’d grown up in and lived his adult life in the same international circles that she’d come from and used to circulate in. Extremely wealthy in his own right, although not anywhere close to her net worth—in fact, if she wanted to, she could buy his entire country—he understood the risks that having that ability presented.

Her secret would be safe with him. But now was not the time to divulge it. It would be best if she tried to tap dance her way out of this.

“A klutz...as in I tend to be rather clumsy at times,” she said, making sure to keep her voice light and airy as if small talk was all they’d ever shared.

“You don’t say. Once upon a time, I knew someone like that,” he said, refusing to let her off the hook.

Judging by his full smile and the new twinkle in his double-chocolate gelato eyes, her remark and her identity were no longer lost in translation.

To be sure he was onto her, she held his gaze a bit longer.

A jolt of anticipation made it difficult for her to breathe. Not only was he onto her, the love in his eyes once more melted her heart.

Boy she could get used to those eyes all over again. They were the dark rich color of her favorite snack, without the calories.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said, filling the awkward silence between them, his words a challenge instead of a statement of fact. “I’m Dario Adonis.”

He reached for her hand, which Stella thought he was about to shake. But as she raised her hand in kind, she smacked her knuckles against his lips.

Could she get any clumsier? Dear God, she was a wreck.

Of course he’d planned to kiss her hand instead of shake it. He was European, not American. Not to mention they’d long since gone way beyond the formality of shaking hands.

“I’m sorry...again. You should probably leave right now before I really hurt you,” she said stepping back, for the first time getting a full view of the amazing, even more distinguished man he’d become since she’d last stood in front of him.

No one should get this much better looking with age. It almost seemed against nature itself.

He’d said his name was Adonis. Dario Adonis. And he sure represented the Greek god by that name. 

Interesting that, while traveling in the States, he’d shortened his name like she’d abbreviated hers. Their protective service teams had always worked well together and relied on many of the same methods to keep them safe. So Stella wasn’t sure why she was surprised to hear his alias mirrored hers.

Dario was six-foot-five and built like an NFL wide receiver—broad-shouldered with a torso that narrowed into a perfect v-shape at his waist. He had lots of lean muscle mass, every contour of which Stella had memorized. She’d bet he still had the sexy-as-hell six-pack he’d always worked hard to maintain.

He was a man whose clothes were hand-tailored in order to fit his athletic body and his place in life. From the looks of his suit, he must still use the Italian master suit maker his family had employed for years. The luscious, navy tone-on-tone, pin-striped fabric alone costs thousands of dollars. But money was no object for a family like Dario’s, who lived only by the highest standards.

Every time he stepped out into the public eye, he was perfection. Behind closed doors, he was also perfection, she thought, mentally kicking herself for letting her mind go there.

“So you’re saying that I should be afraid of you?” Dario asked, raising his thick, dark eyebrows, snapping her out of thinking things she had no business thinking.

“Very, very afraid,” Stella said, laughing in spite of their situation.

Only she could scare away—not once, but twice—the one man she’d ever loved. And she had no doubt she should stop whatever this was before it even started. It would be better for both of them.

“In your case, I’m willing to take my chances,” Dario said, his eyes traveling from her head, around her new curves, to her toes and then back again.

“Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said. “I’m Stella DeAngelo, by the way, and it’s nice to meet you, Dario.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he said, never taking his eyes off of hers as he draped his jacket over his arm and rolled up the sleeves on his white shirt.

He’d done the same thing when she’d known him long ago. Stella’s stomach fluttered with the recognition.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, momentarily drawing her attention away from him. It looked as if she’d be stopping by the café a few doors down from Neptune’s Treasures to fetch an afternoon pick-me-up for herself and Auntie Elo. Nothing like an iced mocha to reduce the heat. And a cooling off period was exactly what she needed.

“Would you care to join me for an espresso, Stella DeAngelo?” Dario asked, putting extra emphasis on her name. “I know this great little café on the circle.”

“Java Love, by chance?” Stella asked, silently thanking the gods and goddesses above for guiding Dario to use discretion for the time being and go along with her nice-to-meet-you mojo.

She was more than happy to go along with the coy game they were playing. Anything to get them moving away from the crowds. The longer they stood looking at each other like love-sick fools, the more risk they took that someone would identify them. Instead of staring into each others’ eyes looking for answers they’d already decided on years ago, they’d best get going.

“Java Love. Why yes. You know the place? They make the best espresso I’ve found here in the States.”

“That they do, and I think I’m quickly becoming their best customer. Actually, I’m on my way there now for my afternoon mocha. I own a shop a few doors down. I suppose, since you’re willing to take a chance on my uncanny ability to do you bodily harm, you could accompany me,” she said, doing her best to get them out of the meeting room.

“Yes. I’d like that very much.”

Dario swept back his hand in a grand gesture and tipped his head, signaling Stella to lead the way.

He was certainly a brave man to want to have anything to do with her again. Although, she supposed, they’d always been brave. But they’d also been stupid—stupid to have ever thought that they could make their relationship work, considering all that they each had to face.

“Well, okay then. Let’s go,” she said.

They left the meeting room and ventured back into the brilliant, late afternoon Sarasota sunshine.

“So where are you from?” She asked, taking their game to an entirely different level.

He hesitated a moment, as if deciding how to answer her.

Stella was on edge, knowing exactly how he felt trying to answer the most basic of questions. ‘Where are you from’ is normally not a tough question. But it sure is when you don’t want to answer it and when your answer identifies you as a member of a family you want nothing more than to escape from.

At least Dario only had one place to call home, Stella mused while waiting for his answer. Her father had left her twelve properties around the globe and a private island, none of which she currently called home, and all of which were on her short list of assets she could sell, if need be. Based on her own issues defining home, she should cut Dario some slack.

“A small country in Europe, along the Riviera. You’ve probably never heard of it,” he finally said, looking at his fine-crafted Italian loafers instead of at her.

“Try me,” Stella challenged, not about to let this conversation drop.

Another stretch of silence hung between them. This one even longer than the first.

“Kristianico. I’m from Kristianico,” he said looking at her with more hope and desire than she thought she could ever reconcile in her head or her heart, no matter how much she wanted to.