“Mas, senorita?” the bartender asked.

I shook my head, shooing the small man’s attempt to refill my drink. I was on another stakeout. I couldn’t let my body be swayed by too much alcohol.

I scowled at my phone. Why hadn’t I received an update from the newsroom? Jacques was pleased with the pictures he had submitted from our high-speed chase. I didn’t appreciate that he used my byline to sensationalize his pictures of the duke. There was a code journalist followed, but apparently Jacques didn’t know, or maybe he didn’t care.

What mattered was Luis was pleased he had something to run in tonight’s edition. Jacques and I were the first with the royal scoop. I was supposed to feel some kind of joy or success, but I didn’t feel anything but a sense of sickening regret. I wasn’t this type of journalist.

I pushed the swizzle straw around, squashing the cherry against the ice.

I didn’t feel good about it. Chasing celebrities wasn’t the kind of reporter I wanted to be. The only way to redeem myself was to try to land an interview with the duke myself. If I could speak to him one-on-one, I had a chance to humanize the story. Maybe he would actually open up about why he had traveled ahead of his security.

I had already sent a request through the royal office for an interview, but it could take weeks before they even considered it and by then I’d be on to something else. What happened today would be old news. It would be nothing at all.

The only option I had was to wait for the duke to pass through the lobby. He’d have to walk through here sometime tonight. It was a small boutique hotel. I should be able to easily spot him.

“Are you sure, senorita?” the bartended asked again.

“Si,” I answered. I didn’t need another drink. What I needed was to write something with merit. To write something that mattered to Galona. To write something I could be proud of.

The bartender ran his towel across the mahogany bar, irritated I turned down a second drink. His motions were fast and spastic. I scooted out of the way of the floppy rag, leaning back a little too far.

“Oh shit,” I whispered, losing my balance.

It happened in slow motion. There was nothing I could. My arms flailed around me, but I couldn’t stop it. My phone hit the floor, screen down. There was a heavy thud with the landing.

I hopped off the barstool and knelt. I cringed, leaning to pick it up. I knew it was cracked before I saw it. This was going to be my third screen replacement in a month. Crap.

I stared at the floor as one expensive leather shoe stepped into view and then another. The pair stopped short of where my phone had landed. I was afraid to look up. I should have listened to my gut instinct. Pretended I was so distraught by my phone I couldn’t be bothered. I should have let the designer shoes keep walking out of my path.

But I didn’t. I made the mistake of gazing upward into dark smoldering eyes. The kind of eyes that made me shiver. Eyes that made me forget my name. Eyes that made me forget I was a reporter. That I was trained to handle situations like this. Only right now I couldn’t do anything but gawk.

His hand reached forward. “Mademoiselle?”

I had another chance to move out of his range. To avoid being his target. To act like a voice like his had zero effect on my body.

Instead, my palm slid against his as he raised me to my feet.

Was I imagining that our skin singed when it touched?

I swallowed, realizing I was looking into the Duke of Marquis’s eyes. I was holding his hand. And my body was reacting in all kinds of ways it shouldn’t. I held in the holy shit that was on the tip of my tongue.

“Looks like you ran into some trouble.” He pointed to my phone.

“Uh-yeah.” The eloquence from TV reporting along with the public speaking classes I had taken evaporated from my brain. I could barely form a sentence.

“Hate it when that happens. I’ve lost two this month.”

“You have?” I managed a full question. It was only two words, but it was an improvement.

“I tend to live an adventurous lifestyle. Lost one mountain climbing. And another off my boat.”

“Those sound more interesting than clumsily dropping it on the hotel bar floor.”

He laughed and my insides melted. He had a beautiful laugh. Rich and deep. As if I were the only person in the room and had told the most hysterical joke he’d ever heard.

“Does it still work?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t checked.” I tapped the screen. The home screen lit, but I couldn’t activate any of the apps. I sighed. “I guess not. Looks like I will have to buy another one.”

“I know exactly what will fix it.”

“You do?”

“I have a remedy for these kinds of problems.”

“Unless you have a spare phone in one of those suit pockets, I don’t think so.”

“Trust me.” His gaze moved from me as he looked at the bartender. “Two Sangreaux martinis,” he directed.

I blinked. The Duke of Marquis had just ordered a drink for me. And I knew then, I wan’t getting my phone fixed any time soon.