A stream of sunlight woke Cassie from the most amazing dream. She was in the Georgia countryside with a handsome European, eating cheese and drinking wine in a hayloft that had been decorated to look like a rustic hotel. But as sunlight and consciousness seeped into her foggy brain, she began to realize it wasn’t a dream, it was her reality. She actually was tangled in silk sheets and she actually had spent the afternoon of her brother’s wedding in bed with God’s gift to accents.

Her brother’s wedding!

Cassie’s eyes flew open as she shot upright in bed. A strong arm circled her waist, urging her back to the pillow.

“Hank!” she shrieked.

He bolted up next to her. “What? What’s wrong?”

“The wedding!” The ceremony was set to begin at five o’clock and judging by the angle of the afternoon sun, that time was a lot closer than she wanted it to be.

He checked the watch strapped to his wrist. “It’s four fifteen. We can still make it.”

The two of them scrambled out of bed, bumping into each other as they gathered their clothes up off the floor. How could she be so stupid as to fall asleep? An all-nighter of sex and baking, that’s how. Combine that with midday wine and a bed that felt like a cloud that had floated down to Earth, and she never stood a chance.

“Sorry,” she said as she bent to pull her bra out from under the corner of the featherbed, knocking Hank with her ass in the process.

“I’m not,” he said in a voice totally at odds with the frantic feeling in the pit of her stomach. She turned to find him admiring her backside with an unabashed appreciation. Under most circumstances she would have been mortified to discover a man she liked had a full-on view of her uncovered ass. And in broad daylight no less! But for some reason Hank’s lingering gaze didn’t leave her feeling vulnerable or exposed, it left her feeling beautiful and desired. She took a moment to return the favor, letting her eyes drink in the sight of him. His hair was even more of a mess than usual and his beautiful face was creased from the pillow, but he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. If only they had more time . . .

Time. Crap, the time.

“Stop!”

“Stop what?” he asked. Gorgeous bastard, he knew exactly what.

“Stop distracting me with your . . .” She waved her hand through the air. “With all that!”

Hank chuckled as he pulled his boxer briefs up over his thighs. “Relax, love. The car is just downstairs. I’ll have you back to town in fifteen minutes which will give you plenty of time to change and get to the church.”

“Fifteen minutes?” she squeaked as she hooked her bra. “It took us over thirty to get here.”

They both yanked their jeans on at the same time. No telling where her panties were, but there was no time to waste searching. Commando would have to do, at least until she could make it back to her room.

“That’s because we were taking a leisurely drive,” he said, buttoning his shirt while she pulled her T-shirt over her head and stepped into her shoes.

Holy mother of God, if that was leisurely, then she shuddered to think what was in store for her once she climbed back into that flying torpedo. Not that she had much choice. Desperate times called for desperate measures and right now she was about as desperate as a woman could get. Her brother was going to kill her. Scratch that, her mother would kill her, Matthew would be too busy finishing off Hank. Bottom line: They were totally screwed.

* * *

Hank slipped into a pew near the back of the church just as the last bridesmaid finished her walk down the aisle.

“Little late for ushering duties,” the bride’s cousin Pat whispered a bit too loudly. “You might not be included in the next one.” He laughed at his own joke, then frowned as he realized what he’d just implied.

“Car trouble,” Hank said. Meaning the car wouldn’t drive as fast as the ones he had back home. Not that he could have really opened her up. As it was Cassie had squealed more on the ride back to the inn than she had on the horse. Amazing how one woman’s near-hysterical laughter could bring him so much joy.

A few gray-haired women in hats to rival any seen at the Kentucky Derby turned around to shush them. The two men had no sooner nodded in apology when the organ began to play Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus,” prompting everyone in the crowded church to stand as one. Hank buttoned the jacket of his black tuxedo and straightened his bow tie. All heads turned as the doors at the rear of the church opened and Emily and her father began their walk down the aisle. But while everyone else’s attention was on the woman in white, Hank’s gaze was locked on the front of the church where a beautiful woman in pale pink was doing her best to discreetly take her place on the altar.

It was a beautiful wedding, as far as weddings go. No one forgot their vows and the best man didn’t lose the rings. And although Hank had been to dozens of ceremonies, what struck him most about this one was the look on his mate’s face as the preacher said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” It was like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear those words, which might have explained why he jumped the gun and kissed his bride before the poor man had even finished speaking. The entire church erupted in a quiet laughter as the normally reserved and level-headed Matthew Miller got swept up in the moment and swept his pretty wife off her feet. This was usually the point where Hank would start to hum the opening bars of “Another One Bites the Dust” but for some reason he found himself smiling and clapping like the group of mad hatters seated in front of him.

He watched as the wedding party followed the bride and groom down the aisle, catching Cassie’s eye and giving her a devilish wink that made her cheeks blush the color of her dress. After she passed he joined the ranks as the guests flowed down the steps of the church. The sun had dipped behind a thick row of pine trees and the first fireflies of the night had started to flicker across the lawn.

“Shotgun,” a voice behind him said.

Hank turned to find his golf partner from the day before. He wore a sport coat and tie instead of a lime green polo shirt and plaid pants, but his carefree demeanor was still the same.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I called shotgun,” Conor said. “It means I’m riding in the passenger seat.”

There wasn’t a back seat. Well, technically there was, although the only way he would fit would be to put half his body in the boot. But that was beside the point. Hank wasn’t aware that Conor was riding with him at all. “I’m familiar with the term but—”

“But you’ve got the sickest ride here,” he said, slapping Hank on the back and flashing him a wide grin. “So I’m all yours.”

Great, he thought, though not that it really mattered. It wasn’t likely that Cassie was going to ditch her family to ride with him, especially not after arriving late. Instinctively, he sought her out across the car park. She was bending down to speak to one of the flower girls who was apparently distraught after emptying her entire basket of rose petals. Hank watched as Cassie wiped tears from the young girl’s cheek, then smiled and gave her the pink-and-white bouquet she’d just carried up the aisle. The child’s face lit up and she scampered off to join her mum. As Cassie straightened, her eyes met his. When they did, her face lit up in a smile not unlike the one he’d just seen on the young flower girl. Only in this case the reaction wasn’t due to an upgrade in flower arrangements. No, the smile that spread across sweet Cassie’s face was all because of him.

An unfamiliar sensation gripped Hank’s chest but before he’d had time to even begin to think about what it meant, their connection was broken by the arrival of a long black limousine. Cassie gave him a small wave before ducking inside. He knew it would only be a matter of minutes until he saw her again, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the loss of her presence. It was ridiculous really, she was taking a car to a reception on the other side of town, not a flight across the ocean to a city on the other side of the globe. But come tomorrow, that would be exactly what he would do. The realization hit him like a brick wall.

And so did Conor.

“Let’s go,” he said, body-slamming into him from the side. “They might not keep the bar open during dinner, which means I’ll need to stock up.”

Hank opened the door to his rented Porsche and slid behind the wheel. Come dawn he was going to tell Cassie the truth, and while he didn’t know how she would react, one thing was certain: They still had tonight.

* * *

Cassie waited until dinner was over before excusing herself from the head table. After arriving late she didn’t think it would look too good if she was in the restroom when it came time for the toasts. So instead she’d stayed in her chair, smiling and clapping and clinking her butter knife against her champagne flute, until the bride and groom had shared their first dance. After that, all bets were off. She might have even cut line in front of a pregnant woman, something she wasn’t proud of, but again desperate times and all that.

She’d only made it halfway back to the table when Olivia grabbed her by the arm.

“There’s hay in your hair,” she whispered in her ear.

Cassie’s hand flew to the French twist she’d hastily thrown together on the drive to the church. “Oh,” was all she managed to say.

“Yeah, oh.” Olivia smiled and shook her head. She was wearing a jade green dress that did crazy things to her hazel eyes and had her blonde waves swept to one side. She looked like a million bucks. Or as Cole would have no doubt corrected, a billion.

Cassie opened her mouth to offer a feeble excuse but Olivia cut her off. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for the details.” She smiled. “At least not right now. First, I want you to point out Mr. Sexy Accent.” Olivia glanced around the crowded ballroom. “Which one is he?”

Cassie searched the room until she found Hank standing near the bar. He was having a conversation with the priest who’d said the wedding mass, although from the looks of it, Hank wasn’t the one doing the talking. A ghost of a smile curved her lips as she imagined the padre giving Hank a lecture on his late arrival. If he only knew what had happened at church the day before.

“He’s over there,” she said. “Talking to the priest.”

“Damn, girl, you know how to pick ’em. No beer goggles needed for that hook-up.” Olivia snagged two glasses of white wine from a passing waiter and thrust one in Cassie’s direction. “Here,” she said. “Have a drink with me and as soon as Hank is done confessing all his sins you can take me over there and introduce me because I’m dying to meet the man who not only gave you that hickey,” she said, nodding to Cassie’s neck, “but who made you late to your own brother’s wedding.”

Her hand flew to her neck. “Are you serious?”

“About meeting this mystery hunk?” Olivia teased. “You betcha.”

“No, about the hickey?” she asked under her breath. Cassie had never even had a hickey as a teenager. Then again, it wasn’t like she’d had many boys interested in giving her one. None, actually. But to have one now, at twenty-eight? Jeez Louise, this day was a hot mess.

“Oh yeah.” Olivia narrowed her gaze and leaned in for a better look. “Nice work too. Also helps explain why you were late. Hickey on your neck, hay in your hair . . .” Olivia counted the evidence on the fingers of her free hand. “Holy shitballs!” she said as the light bulb turned on. “You did it in a hayloft.”

“Livvy!” Cassie checked to see if anyone was in earshot.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Right about what?” Cassie’s mother asked.

Cassie startled. “Nothing,” she said a bit too quickly. Smooth, Cass, real smooth. From the way she was acting you’d have thought the two of them had just been busted smoking a cigarette in the school lunchroom. Olivia on the other hand was cool as a cucumber—if cucumbers were blonde troublemakers hell-bent on giving Cassie a coronary before the age of thirty.

“I was just telling Cassie how much I like her hair up like that.”

Her mother squinted her eyes, leaving Cassie to hope like hell there wasn’t another piece of hay tucked away somewhere.

“Beautiful ceremony, don’t you think?” her mother asked Olivia before turning her attention toward Cassie. “Glad you didn’t miss all of it.”

Here we go. Cassie shot Olivia a plea for help, but her best friend merely smiled over the top of her wine glass as she drifted away. Traitor. But it was just as well. She’d played, now it was time to pay. But like her mother pointed out, she didn’t miss all of it, just getting ready in the bridal suite, and the family pictures beforehand, and her walk down the aisle. Her shoulders sagged. Oh, who was she kidding? There was no way around it, she was a horrible sister. “I . . . I . . .” she searched for the words to somehow justify her rather late and disruptive entrance to her own brother’s wedding then decided the truth was the best option. “I met someone.”

“And you couldn’t wait until after the ceremony to have a chat?”

“No, mom, you don’t understand. I met someone.”

Realization dawned and her mother’s eyes grew wide. “You did?” she asked a bit louder than necessary. “When? Where?”

Not too bad. Her mother was appeased and she’d only hit her with two questions—and they weren’t even difficult ones to answer.

“I met him Thursday at the bakery,” she said. The words came so easily, she decided to offer a bit more. “He stopped in for directions.”

“How old is he? Where is he from? Does he want children?”

So much for easy. “You heard the part about only meeting him on Thursday, right?”

“Sorry, I’m just so happy for you. You’re always working. I can’t even remember the last time you had a date.”

Cassie stood a bit taller. “Well, I had one this afternoon,” she said. Even she could hear the joy in her voice. “He took me horseback riding.”

“Oh sweetie, that’s wonderful. Do you know when you’ll be seeing him again?”

Instinctively her eyes darted to where she’d last seen Hank. His conversation with the minster appeared to be over and now he was alone at the bar. “Actually, I think I’ll go and see him right now,” she said. It was impossible to stop the goofy smile that spread across her face.

“He’s here?” her mother squeaked.

“Yes,” she said before her mother had the chance to launch another round of rapid-fire inquiries. “But please don’t make me regret telling you.” Truth be told, she couldn’t have kept it a secret if she tried. Cassie was an open book when it came to her emotions. Happy or sad they bubbled right up to the surface and at the moment she was so full of happiness, she was ready to burst.

* * *

Hank never thought the preacher would leave. Normally he was a pro when it came to making small talk, but the clock was ticking and his time with Cassie was quickly running out. He’d endured the ceremony, the dinner, endless stream of toasts, and even the bride and groom’s first dance, watching and waiting for the time to come that he could whisk her away, or at the very least, sweep her across the dance floor. When she finally left the table, he’d made his move, only to be intercepted by the good minister. Halfway through their conversation inspiration struck, and by the time he’d finished his penance, he was well on his way to a full-blown idea.

He made it as far as the bar when a petite blonde strode up like a woman on a mission.

“So you’re the infamous Hank,” she said, extending her hand.

“Guilty as charged.”

“I’m Olivia Ramsey,” she said. When Hank didn’t catch the significance she added. “Cassie’s best friend.

“What she meant to say,” a dark haired man said as he approached, “is that she’s Olivia Grant.” He wrapped his arms around his wife from behind and whispered something in her ear. It was too quiet for Hank to hear but it caused a wicked smile to spread across Olivia’s face.

“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Olivia Ramsey-Grant.”

The man chuckled. “Well, now that we have that settled.” He released his wife to shake Hank’s hand. “Coleman Grant the Third.”

“Hank Green.”

“You can call him Cole,” Olivia said. “All his friends do and if you’re Cassie’s friend that makes you ours too.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” he said. “Cole, I’m a huge fan of the green initiative you started last month.” Coleman Grant’s name was a regular on the finance page. But lately he’d taken Grant Industries in a new direction, one that was catching the attention of several European nations, including his.

“As much as I’d like to take the credit, I’m afraid my wife is responsible for that.”

Olivia laughed. “Credit, blame, same difference.” She cocked her head to one side. “You look really familiar, Hank.”

Hank stilled. “People tell me that all the time.” He forced himself to relax into a smile. “Guess I just have one of those faces.”

“No, she’s right.” Cole narrowed his gaze. “Are you sure we’ve never met before?”

“I don’t think so.” He didn’t like the direction this was headed. Not one bit.

“Weren’t you both classmates of Matthew’s?” Olivia asked.

“Yes, but university,” Hank said. “Cole, you know Matthew from grad school right?”

He nodded. “That’s right. Harvard MBA.”

“Of course.” Hank needed to cut their conversation short. There was far too great a chance one of them would put the pieces of the puzzle together. The less time he spent around the two of them the better. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to see if I can steal the sister of the groom away for a more intimate toast.”

* * *

Cassie managed to escape her mother’s questions with a promise that she’d answer each and every one after the weekend. It was a steep price to pay, but the night wasn’t getting any younger and she wanted to spend the rest of it with Hank. Problem was, once she finally made her way to the other side of the ballroom, he was nowhere to be found.

“Looking for someone,” he whispered in her ear.

She turned around and smiled. “You really shouldn’t keep sneaking up on a girl like that,” she teased. “Might end up with a face full of mace.”

He pushed his bottom lip out in the most adorable pout that had her wanting to drag him off to the nearest broom closet. Not the most romantic thought, but at the moment she’d take it.

“But I come bearing gifts,” he said, his mouth curving into a panty-dropping smile. He lifted his hands in the air. In one he held two empty champagne flutes, in the other a bottle of chilled champagne.

“How did you get those?”

“I may have persuaded a waiter to part with them.”

“So you’re not just smooth with the ladies.”

“I merely told him there was a beautiful maiden in need of wooing.”

“And champagne is how you woo?”

“Sometimes, although I find charring tiny cakes to bits is far more effective.”

Cassie laughed. “It wasn’t the burned cupcakes. It was the offer to help me afterwards.”

“Is that so? And here I thought it might’ve been my accent. Or maybe the dimple.”

She giggled. “Definite pluses, but in my opinion there’s nothing sexier than a man willing to roll up his sleeves.”

“Dipping fruit in chocolate earns favor?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She bit her bottom lip as she nodded her head. “That and flirting with eighty-five year old aunts.”

“Perhaps I should be writing these down.”

“And don’t forget the part about cleaning up.”

“Yes, I do believe I heard someone once say that hoovering is the way to a girl’s heart. Second only to making her French toast.”

“That and going down on her.”

Hank’s eyes darkened. “Now that one I knew.” He stepped closer and his voice dropped to a sexy tone she felt all the way to her toes. “If it’s all the same to you, let’s leave the dirty dishes to the caterer tonight and let me woo you with my tongue teasing that sweet pussy.”

Holy moly. The man had reduced her to a puddle and he hadn’t even touched her yet. “Okay,” she said on a stuttering breath. “What did you have in mind?”

“I thought we could take a walk and perhaps find somewhere a bit more private to toast the happy couple.”

Cassie knew he was referring to the bride and groom, but as far as she was concerned that label could apply to her and Hank as well. Happy couple. A tiny voice in the back of her head shouted at her to slow down. She might have been bursting at the seams, and while there was no denying he looked pretty damn happy at the moment, they were far from a couple. But could they be? Gah, why did everything have to be so complicated? The only way to know for sure was to put on her big girl panties and ask him if he wanted more than just a wild wedding weekend. But seeing as how she had the distinct impression she was about to be taking off her tiny slutty panties, she decided it was best to save the big girl version for morning. There would be plenty of time to have a more serious discussion then. For now at least she wanted to keep things light and fun and full of woo.

“Hmm,” she said. “Last time we went for a stroll I ended up with grass stains on my ass.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t hear any complaints. In fact, if I recall correctly I heard just the opposite.” His eyes were lit with amusement as he repeated the words she’d moaned that night. “‘Don’t stop, Hank. Oh god, please don’t stop.’”

Her face warmed at the thought of her wanton behavior but there was no denying the fact that the memory was affecting her in other ways as well. “I meant that was adventurous.” She gave him a playful shove then lifted a brow in invitation. “Any idea how you’re going to top that?”

A mischievous gleam lit his eyes. “I’m sure we could find something to suit your fancy.”

“Well, I saw a coat room in the lobby but seeing as how it’s June I’m guessing not many people checked coats, so not much cover. Maybe we could find an empty conference room or something? Then again the swimming pool looked rather inviting and with everyone busy in here and the loud music drowning out any noise . . .”

Hank laughed. “You’re quite a list maker. I’m starting to see why you were drawn to accounting.” He slung his arm around Cassie’s shoulders as they began to walk toward the exit. “Although something tells me I’ve only just begun to discover the vixen that lies beneath that proper exterior.” He dipped his head so that his lips brushed against her ear. “Tell me, naughty one, what’s your deep dark secret? What fantasy can I fulfill tonight?” As if his words weren’t enough to cause her to spontaneously combust, he teased the shell of her ear with is tongue before catching the lobe between his teeth.

“You’re a bad, bad man,” she said, giggling as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Oh, love, you have no idea. But you will.” His lips found hers as they pushed through the doors and into the warm night air.

Flashbulbs erupted the moment they stepped outside.

“Cassie, Cassie, what does your family think about the pictures?” a man shouted.

“Pictures? What pictures?” She lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the onslaught of light. Through the haze of white spots she could make out the silhouettes of at least a dozen men. Each had a camera poised in front of their faces, with spares slung over both shoulders. They pushed and shoved as they jockeyed for a better position, all the while shouting over one another in an effort to be heard.

“Henry, Henry, look this way!”

“Why all the secrecy surrounding this trip?”

“Does her brother know?”

“What’s going on, Hank?” Cassie asked. “Why are they calling you Henry?”

“Ignore them and stay close.” Hank tightened his grip around her shoulders, tucking her into his side. He tried to steer her back into the building but it was no use, the swarm of men had formed a circle. For the first time Cassie realized that a few of them held video recorders. These were the ones who seemed most determined to get an answer to their questions or at the very least a reaction of some sort. In the back of her mind she remembered hearing about this on some celebrity news show. How photographers would ask obnoxious questions in the hopes of getting a picture or sound bite that would fetch a higher price than a simple smile or a covered face. But knowing about the practice in the abstract was a far cry from actually experiencing it.

A man to her right shoved an eight-by-ten glossy in front of her face. It was grainy but she could still make out the two people in the photograph. Lovers, entwined in the grass along the banks of a pond. “Working on the next heir?” he asked.

“Where did you get that?” she rasped around the lump that had formed in her throat. But the words had no sooner left her mouth when she remembered a question she’d asked Hank the night before. Did you hear something? It sounded like a clicking noise.

A shiver ran across her skin. Someone had been there, lurking in the bushes or behind a tree, taking pictures of them. But before she could wrap her mind around why, one of the photographers asked a question she would have never expected.

“Does the palace know about your American girlfriend?”

Palace? The word was still ricocheting around her head when another reporter shouted something that stopped her cold.

“Prince Henry, over here!”

Cassie reared back to look at Hank, her mouth gaping. “Prince?”

Hank’s entire body tensed. “I can explain.” Someone sure as hell needed to, because at the moment nothing made any sense. But then she looked closer, past the anger and frustration that etched his face, to the bleak expression in his brown eyes. They weren’t warm and inviting, or sparkling with mischief. They were empty and ashamed, and in a rush of sudden clarity she knew with all certainty that everything about him had been a lie. The realization hit her like a physical blow and for a moment she felt as though she might be sick.

But then a man in a dark suit appeared at Hank’s side, speaking into a microphone barely visible at the end of his sleeve. “Extraction.”

Out of nowhere a fleet of SUVs appeared just as dozens of wedding guests burst through the entrance of the country club. Cassie hardly had time to process what was happening before Hank was hustled into one of the cars by three men in dark suits who looked just as intimidating as the first one.

A squeal of tires was followed by a cloud of dust and just like that he was gone.

Cassie stood frozen in place as she watched the red taillights of the black SUV disappear into the darkness. The flashes didn’t let up though. They popped one by one in front of her eyes until she felt as though she was standing in broad daylight with every feeling and emotion on display for all the world to see.

Emily’s cousins tried to form a human barrier between Cassie and the press, holding them back as the cameras surged closer and closer. A few photographers shouted her name, just as they’d done to Hank, but that wasn’t what drew her attention. It was the sight of her brother, standing at the door with his new bride by his side. His expression was one of anger and concern but the emotion she didn’t see written across his drawn features was shock or surprise. He knew . . . her brother knew all along.

Cassie’s heart raced and her face grew hot, too hot. The screaming questions and the whirling cameras began to fade as the sound of her own pulse began pounding in her ears.

Olivia was suddenly beside her. “Cole, get the car,” she shouted, although to Cassie the words sounded muffled. As if she was hearing them from underwater, which in a way was exactly how she felt.

Cole had his phone pressed to his ear. “Already on it.”

The next few minutes felt like they were happening to someone else. It was as if she was watching it all play out in slow motion on some television show. Cole’s driver steering the car up onto the sidewalk, blaring the horn as photographers dove out of the way. Cole opening the door for them and Olivia flipping the press the bird before following Cassie into the back seat.

“Should we take you back to the B and B?” Cole asked as he settled into the passenger seat. His voice was quiet and his tone grave.

Cassie looked over her shoulder as the mayhem in front of the country club grew more and more distant. How had this happened? One minute she was laughing and smiling and happier than she’d ever been in her life and then . . .

She squeezed her eyes shut but all she could see was the white flash of cameras. “No,” she finally said. If they’d been able to find her brother’s wedding reception then there was little doubt they’d found her hotel too. “Take me home.”

* * *

Hank shoved his bodyguard, but the man was a solid block of muscle and despite his best efforts he made little progress. “Get the fuck off me,” he grunted. Lack of bulletproof glass aside, the human shield was overkill. It was a pack of paparazzi, not an assassination attempt.

Clayton moved to the leather seat beside him. Hank righted himself then yanked hard on the end of his bow tie, freeing himself from its chokehold. “Turn the car around,” he barked at the driver. There was no way he was leaving Cassie to fend off those jackals alone.

“Keep driving,” Clayton said without missing a beat.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Disregarding a direct order from a member of the royal family was unheard of, but to actually contradict one could be seen as treason. Unless of course it was a matter of life and death, which this was not. Clayton needed to stand the fuck down. Still, the man had covered for Hank, giving him the latitude and freedom he’d requested. The fact that the situation had exploded, and that there were pictures to prove it, meant they’d both catch hell from the queen upon their return. Only difference was, Hank was the prince. Worst that could happen to him was a lengthy lecture and a slap on the wrist. Clayton, on the other hand, faced consequences far worse. Hank would deal with that when the time came. Right now his only concern was Cassie. He couldn’t begin to imagine the anger and confusion she must have felt.

Hank took a deep breath through his nose in an attempt to reign in his temper. “Clayton, I realize I’ve put you in a terribly awkward position, but there was no need for all that.” He squared his shoulders. “Now turn the car around.”

“My apologies, Your Highness, but I can’t.”

“I can handle a few overzealous photographers, but I can’t leave her like that. They’ll eat her alive.” In the end she might still hate him for his deception, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do all he could to protect her.

“Your extraction had nothing to do with the press finding out about your trip.”

Hank’s fingers clenched into a fist. “So this is about Cassie?” If this was his grandmother’s latest attempt to control his life . . .

“No, sir,” Clayton said, “It’s not about Miss Miller.”

“Then what the fuck is going on?”

Clayton let out a heavy breath and for the first time Hank noticed that his eyes were red and his face was drawn. The realization made the hair on the back of Hank’s neck stand on end. He’d only seen that look one other time—when his father had given him the news that his mother had died.

“What is it, Clayton? What happened?”

“You’re needed at the palace immediately, Your Highness. There’s been an accident.”