Page 1 of Incognito (Royally Reckless #1)

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“ I want a crate of soda, a monster bowl of extra hot nachos, and a triple layer choc fudge banana split sundae. Got that?” The rude guest snapped their fingers. “And I want it in my suite pronto.”

Natasha Telford glared at the back of Australia’s youngest pop star as he strutted towards the lift after shouting his order at her, surreptitiously squeezing a stress ball under the concierge’s desk while wishing she could rip a few more slashes in the upstart’s trendy torn T-shirt.

How old Harvey did this job on a daily basis she’d never know.

As a kid growing up in Telford Towers, she’d thought the concierge had the most glamorous job in the world. That had changed this week, when she had to fill in while Harvey had his hip replacement. Giving polite tourists directions to Melbourne’s famous sites she could handle. The cocky, demanding, famous guests—especially young punks barely out of school who thought they ruled the screen or stage—she could politely strangle.

Though she had to reserve her strangling tendencies, considering the hotel would welcome their most famous guest, the Prince of Calida, any second.

She cast a quick, assessing glance around the lobby, ensuring everything appeared spotless. The obnoxious pop star could wait for his fancy sundae. She had a more important guest to impress: Dante Andretti, the soon to be crowned monarch of a tiny principality off Italy’s west coast.

Thankfully, the lobby looked perfect. Polished marble floor, gleaming brass-trimmed check-in desk, plush chocolate brown sofas, and muted antique lamps blending with the stunning floral bouquets they ordered on a daily basis.

Natasha smiled, infused with the same pride she experienced every day she entered the Towers. She loved this place, every inch of it, and she’d do anything to make sure it stayed in the family.

“So when’s His Uptightness due?”

The question made Natasha’s smile broaden as she whirled around to chastise her best friend, Ella.

“Don’t call him that, El. He’s probably a really nice guy,” she said, rearranging a pile of maps, a box of theatre tickets, and a credenza of tourist flyers for the umpteenth time. Her nerves were working overtime and if the prince didn’t arrive soon, she’d go into serious meltdown.

Ella rolled her eyes and stuck her ink-stained hands in the pockets of her low-slung denim hipsters. “Yeah, I bet he’s a real prince.”

Natasha ignored Ella’s cynicism. Telford Towers needed a high profile guest like the prince now more than ever.

“Do you know much about him?” Ella asked.

Not enough, and that’s what had Natasha worried. Usually, she knew everything about the VIPs staying at the hotel. It was an integral part of her job, and in this case, more vital than usual.

Telford Towers needed the PR from the prince’s presence; like yesterday.

Natasha shrugged. “Only what I’ve learned online, which isn’t much. From what I could gather, there’s a lot of geographical stuff about Calida, generic information about the royal family, and that’s about it.”

Ella’s eyebrows arched. “When a guy doesn’t have much on social media, that’s a major red flag.”

“I know, but he’s a prince. He probably pays someone to scour every online site to ensure he’s not gossip fodder.”

Ella’s eyebrows rose higher. “Paparazzi would be stalking him. How could he not be online?”

“Carida is a tiny country, a mere dot on the map. Maybe journalists and photographers don’t care about the royal family there?”

Ella made a scoffing sound. “Sounds suss to me. But more importantly, is he cute?”

“I couldn’t tell much from his pic on the royal website. It’s too small.”

“You wouldn’t be holding out on me by any chance?” Ella’s teasing elicited a laugh and Natasha held up her hands in surrender.

“Give me a break. From what I could see from his tiny pic, the guy was trussed up like a turkey in a fancy-schmancy uniform, had his hair slicked back, and looked like he couldn’t crack a smile if his life depended on it.”

Though one thing had stood out in the prince’s photo.

His eyes.

Beautiful, blue eyes, the colour of the ocean on a perfect summer’s day, unnaturally vivid on the computer screen and imprinted on her brain.

She’d always had a thing for a guy’s eyes, believing in the ‘windows to the soul’ thing. Pity she hadn’t read the real motivation behind Clay’s eyes. It would’ve saved her a lot of heartache and avoided putting her family in the insidious position of losing the one thing that meant everything, courtesy of her greedy ex.

“Well, don’t let him boss you around, okay?” Ella waggled a finger. “You’re only filling in for Harvey, so you don’t have to take anyone’s crap, uptight prince or not.”

Natasha appreciated her friend’s loyalty. “The prince is important for business and I’ll treat him like I treat the rest of our customers. With respect, care, and—”

“Yeah, yeah, save the spiel for someone who hasn’t heard it a million times before.” Ella held up her hand, though her fond grin underlined the lack of malice in her words. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a gardening column to write and a few more botanical drawings to do before lunch.”

“Coffee at Trevi’s, usual time?”

By then, Natasha would be in dire need of a caffeine hit and a debrief with her bestie.

“Sounds great. See you at five.”

With a cheeky wave Ella sauntered away, a slim, tall figure in head to toe denim, her short, shaggy, auburn bob swinging in sync with her steps.

Her stunning best friend turned heads wherever she went, enjoyed life, and had energy to burn. In comparison, Natasha felt like a worn washcloth wrung dry. Stress did that to a person, the type of stress that dogged every waking moment, and unfortunately, most of her sleeping ones too. Little wonder she looked so pale next to her vibrant friend.

Glancing at her gold and silver link watch, the one her dad had given her for her twenty-first birthday—years before money became a problem for them—she wondered why the prince was late. Most of the VIPs she usually dealt with had their itineraries scheduled to the last second and she assumed royalty would be more pedantic than most. Especially a prince who looked like he couldn’t smile if that tiny photo online had been any indication.

A gleaming black motorbike roared to a stop outside the front door and Natasha nibbled on her bottom lip, hoping Alan the doorman would get the noisy thing valet parked ASAP. First impressions counted and she desperately needed to make this one count with the prince.

After another nervous glance at her watch and more subtle rearranging of the tourist brochures stacked on the concierge desk, she glanced up in time to see the motorbike’s rider stride through the glass doors.

Hell.

The guy looked like a walking advertisement for Bad Boys Inc. Tall, over six foot, with broad shoulders hugged in soft, grey cotton, long lean legs encased in faded denim, black wavy hair mussed by a helmet and a gusty southerly Melbourne wind, and bone structure that could’ve been chiselled by one of the Italian masters.

Natasha took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and tried to refocus. So the guy looked like every woman’s fantasy come to life? Since when did she have time to ogle guys, let alone lose concentration on the job? Especially at a time like this.

Mentally slapping herself for letting her long dormant hormones get the better of her in that one, glorious moment when he strode into the foyer, she exhaled and opened her eyes, ready to march outside and haul the prince into her hotel the moment his limo pulled up.

But before she could move, the bad boy made a beeline for the concierge desk.

“I need your help,” he said, his deep voice with a hint of gravel as sexy as the rest of him.

Intent on assisting him quickly so she could focus on the prince’s impending arrival, she smoothed her cuff over her watch and fixed her professional welcoming smile in place. However, her smile froze when she looked up and locked gazes with the bad boy.

Clear blue eyes. Almost aquamarine, the mesmerising colour of the Great Barrier Reef on a sunny day. A colour imprinted on her memory, considering it had been a stand out feature of the prince’s fuzzy picture online.

“Miss Telford, is it?”

The bad boy glanced at her name tag before returning his gaze to her face. A face flushed with heat at the realisation that she must be losing the plot if she thought for one second that this scruffy, wind-tossed guy could be the Prince of Calida.

She really needed a day off to unwind.

“Yes, that’s right. What can I do for you?”

Apart from bustle him out of here and get ready for the most important meeting of her life.

“Plenty, hopefully.” He rested his forearms on the desk and she tried not to stare at the way his biceps bunched.

Maybe she needed to change her non-dating policy. It had been eighteen months since the Clayton disaster and she hadn’t been out with a guy since, preferring to concentrate on fixing the mess Clay had lumbered her family with.

Resisting the urge to take a peek over the bad boy’s shoulder towards the door in case the prince snuck in without her seeing, she said, “Do you have a reservation, Sir? If not, perhaps I can arrange it with someone at check-in and we can discuss your needs later?”

“No, I need this sorted now and you’re just the woman I want.”

His deep voice sent an unexpected shiver down her spine and her smile faltered as he fixed her with a penetrating stare.

Those eyes… that colour… no way…

It couldn’t be.

He leaned across the desk, barely inches from her face, enveloping her in a heady scent that reminded her of hot cross buns: warm, sweet, and cinnamon. Yum.

“I think you’ve been expecting me? I’m Dante Andretti.”

Natasha gripped the desk to steady her wobbly legs.

This couldn’t be happening.

No way could this guy be the prince.

“The Prince of Calida,” he added as an afterthought, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small, sexy smile that did strange things to her insides, things she’d never felt before, things she had no right experiencing now.

This… rebel, the man she’d pinned all her hopes on to save her father’s business, was the prince?

Heaven help her.

“Is there a problem, Miss Telford?”

Swallowing her first response of ‘you bet your sweet ass there is’, she said, “Not at all, your highness.”

“Ssh.” He pressed an index finger to his lips like some second rate spy. “Someone might hear you.”

“And that might be a problem because?” Her voice held a slight tinge of hysteria and she took a few steadying breaths.

This was crazy. It had to be one of those stupid candid camera stunts when her dad and Ella would leap out at any moment and say, ‘gotcha!’

She’d expected the prince to arrive in a stretch limo, this guy had revved in on a motorbike.

She’d expected the prince to have an entourage of bodyguards, this guy was solo.

She’d expected a stiff upper lip, hair slicked back pompous ass style, and this guy was laid back, ruffled, and very, very sexy.

Way too sexy.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not advertising my identity and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Natasha sighed, wishing for one ounce of Ella’s saint-like patience when her best friend sat for hours in front of an inanimate plant to sketch it.

“I’m not following. You’re booked in under your real name but you don’t want anyone to know you’re here?”

He snapped his fingers under her nose, his smile broadening. “Exactly.”

Natasha wanted to stamp her feet like one of her rock-star guests having a tantrum. This couldn’t be happening. She needed to broadcast the prince’s presence in her hotel to the world and he wanted to keep it a secret? He had to be out of his mind.

“Is there a security problem? Something I should know about?”

Like why he’d arrived looking like a jeans model and spouting a lot of nonsense about going incognito.

“There’s no problem. But I would like a chance to talk further.” His gaze bore into her, demanding she listen. “Like I said, I need your help while I’m here. Let me check in and perhaps we can meet when you’ve finished your shift, yes?”

“No.”

Natasha derived some satisfaction from the surprised glint in those too-blue eyes. Good. Let him see how it felt to be on the receiving end of a few surprises for once. She’d had her quota for the day.

“No?” One of his eyebrows arched, mocking her.

Channelling her best professionalism, she said, “What I meant was, I’m busy here for the next few hours. It will be a while before I finish my shift.”

“It does not matter.” He waved his hand as if her answer meant little and she realised that though this guy didn’t look like a prince, he had the commanding mannerisms down-pat. “I will wait. My room is 818. Dan Anders.”

Her mouth twitched, the first time she’d felt like smiling since this crazy prince-impersonating-a-bad-boy had strutted into her hotel.

“Nice pseudonym.”

He shrugged and she stared at those muscles again, the way they bunched and shifted beneath the cotton T-shirt, wondering if they felt as firm as they looked.

“Dante Andretti, Dan Anders. I chose something similar not to confuse myself.”

His self-deprecating grin dazzled her, and she blinked like a wombat caught in headlights.

She knew photos often didn’t do their subjects justice. In the prince’s case, he should have the royal photographer shot.

Dante Andretti was gorgeous, and for a girl who had sworn off guys after Clay, that was saying something.

She wasn’t blind. She could look. Like window shopping; she didn’t have to touch—oops, she meant buy—the merchandise.

“Why don’t we meet in the Lobby Bar for a coffee around four-thirty? I have plans at five.”

He shrugged. “Fine. I’m not surprised a beautiful woman like you would have plans.”

Okay, she could add charm to his list of impressive attributes.

“Right,” she said, flustered when he didn’t look away, her hands fiddling with the stress ball behind the desk. “We’ll talk about this more then, but let me tell you, I’m not happy about this situation. I don’t like lies, I don’t like subterfuge, and having you stay at our hotel is important for our business.”

She tried not to cringe at her babble, hating the way his mouth curved deliciously at the corners, the way his eyes glinted with amusement, and the way she kept noticing inconsequential details like that.

She sounded like a fool, an uptight teacher scolding a recalcitrant kid. She always got defensive and huffy when she was nervous. Ella teased her about it. Sadly, Natasha spent too much time these days being defensive.

“We’ll talk about this business later, Miss Telford.”

“Call me Natasha,” she said, a blush heating her cheeks for some inexplicable reason.

“Dante.”

His polite nod and slight bow reaffirmed what she thought earlier; you could take the bad boy out of the prince but you couldn’t take the prince out of the bad boy.

“See you at four-thirty.” She managed a tight smile, the type of smile that made her teeth ache with the effort.

This secretive business with Dante reeked of trouble.

Big trouble.

And she’d had enough of that lately to last a lifetime.