Four days.

With any other woman, that would be plenty of time—four days of passion and pleasure, four nights to explore each other in every way imaginable. In fact, the more I think about it, four days might be the ideal length for a hot little affair—by the fifth, sixth, or seventh day, I’m usually bored and ready for my next amusement.

But with Doctor Elle, four days will be a challenge. Yes, she desires me—it’s clear even through the piercing fire of her glare—but if she refuses to admit that to herself, four days might as well be a lifetime. I won’t force her, of course. I like my women willing and eager—begging for it, preferably.

Hm. I find a special pleasure in seducing women I’ve just met, but the intoxicating Elle might require a little more romancing than usual. Very well. I have a feeling this spirited doctor might be worth the extra effort.

“Well,” I say, straightening, “since it’s clear I’ve missed a few important details about the situation here, I suppose I should retire to review my files again.” And figure out how in bloody hell I missed the fact that her contract was expiring this week. I dip my head slightly. “Have a good evening, Elle.”

When I rise out of my shallow bow, I find her staring at me, her lips parted in apparent surprise.

She expected me to have a very different reaction to that news, I think, smiling to myself as I turn away. She thought I would try and convince her to stay—or perhaps that I would press her up against the wall again and make her forget about this place altogether. But while the thought of tearing off her clothes and taking her right here on the floor is certainly appealing, I doubt she’d let it get that far. No, I think I need to adopt a different strategy.

She still hasn’t said a word by the time I reach the door, so I pause at the threshold and look back.

“You might only be here for a few more days,” I tell her, “but I still have a job to do. We’ll have that chat about the finances before you go. That way I can make sure your replacement will be made aware of how things will be done around here. Good evening, Doctor Parker.”

I don’t wait for her response. I simply turn and head back out to the street.

Street, perhaps, is a rather generous word. It’s little more than a wide dirt path leading through the town.

When I spotted the clinic on the way into town, I asked Matthias to stop and continue to the hotel with our bags. Thankfully, my father allowed my valet Matthias to accompany me on this little adventure—after all, I am a prince of Montovia, and it wouldn’t do for me to undertake a diplomatic mission all by myself, without any sort of entourage—but I know Matthias is mainly here to keep an eye on me, to ensure I don’t cause any more trouble than my father believes I already have. Matthias has been my valet for several years now, and while he is a pleasant fellow—and as loyal as they come—my God if the man doesn’t shut up when he gets a few cups of coffee in him. And he had five on the plane. He chattered at me for approximately thirteen of the fifteen hours on the flight over here, and I only escaped him for those last two hours by pretending to sleep. By the time he’d turned our rental car onto this road, I’d been ready to throw myself out the window. The sight of the clinic was my salvation—even as exhausted as I was, taking an initial inspection of the clinic seemed a far better alternative than sitting in the car for another ten minutes with the man. Fortunately, Matthias agreed to continue to the hotel with our bags and check in.

I slide my hand into my pocket for my mobile phone. I should call Matthias and ask him to retrieve me, but I think I’d prefer to walk into town. My legs could use a good stretch after that flight—and my body could use a little exercise to release the tension caused by Elle.

God, who knew I’d meet such a breathtaking woman within an hour of my arrival?

The clinic is right on the edge of town—or so I thought. As I walk down the road, I begin to wonder if I’ve come the wrong way—there are only a handful of buildings here, and half of them are smaller than the outbuildings at the palace in Montovia. Matthias mentioned that Rio de Campo was small, but I must admit I was expecting something much larger than this.

And then I see it—La Playa.

I’ve stayed in hundreds of resorts in my life—I’ve traveled more in the last year than the average person does in their lifetime, stayed in hotels in every corner of the globe—but I’m still not prepared for La Playa.

This can’t be it.

I’m used to hotels with carefully manicured grounds and marble entryways. Resorts with five-star amenities and twenty-four-hour concierge services. The stables at my palace are in better shape than the building in front of me. It appears to be missing part of the roof, and the door is hanging at an angle. But my Spanish is impeccable—my father insisted his children be fluent in English, Spanish, French, German, Dutch, and Russian, and I’m passable in several other languages as well—and even if it weren’t, the name of this “resort” is spelled out in four different languages on the crooked wooden sign above the door. I take a deep breath and step inside.

I’m immediately struck by the stench of marijuana and cheap beer. Behind the counter, a pale young man with blond dreadlocks calls out, “Bienvenido!” in one of the most atrocious attempts at Spanish I’ve ever heard. He’s certainly not local to this country—by my guess, he’s probably another American.

And when I glance around the main room, I realize he isn’t the only one—there are a dozen young men and women hanging around, many of whom look young enough to be on their gap year. While I pick up a handful of different languages being spoken among them, most of them are speaking English. At the back of the room, there’s a bar with fluorescent lights above it, and a couple of people are playing table tennis by the window.

This isn’t a resort—it’s a bloody youth hostel.

“I think there might be some mistake,” I say, turning back toward the man at the counter. “Is this La Playa?”

“That’s us,” he says with a grin, looking relieved to be able to speak English. “You looking for a room, man?”

I glance back behind me. Where the hell is Matthias? He should have taken one look at this place and known it wouldn’t be suitable.

“I think I might be in the wrong place,” I say. “Is there any other lodging establishment in town?”

“Nah,” he says. “We don’t get a lot of tourists out here. But it’s a good thing, man. Travel is so much more authentic when you aren’t surrounded by gift shops and tourist traps and other symbols of capitalist greed. You never fully experience a place if you’re cooped up in a fancy hotel, dude.”

I rub my forehead. I do not have the patience for this now.

“Did a man by the name of Matthias check in here a short time ago?” I say.

“Ah, yeah! Matthias! That dude was awesome. He was really excited to find out about our happy hour.”

I’m almost afraid to ask. “You have a happy hour?”

“From five to seven every night, man. Beers are half off. And shots are free if you have tits.” He gives me a wink. “Great time to meet some ladies, if you know what I mean.”

I hardly need alcohol to get a woman to be interested in me. An image of the intriguing doctor rises in my mind, and I remind myself of why I’m here. I sigh.

“I believe I have a reservation for the deluxe suite,” I say.

The young man gives a couple of enthusiastic nods. “I thought that might be you, man. Come on, your friend already brought your bags in.”

He leads me up a set of stairs that creak beneath our feet. As we reach the second level, someone breaks into drunken song below. My head throbs. I’m no stranger to wild parties or clubs—in fact, that’s the whole reason I’m here in the first place—but I’m not particularly thrilled by the idea of spending the next couple of weeks with this crowd.

“Here you go,” my host says, opening a door.

The room beyond is smaller than my washroom back home. It contains only a double bed—which appears to be sagging in the middle—a rickety stand with an ancient-looking television, and a dresser.

“Your friend’s in the room next door,” he tells me. “And the bathroom’s down the hall. Hope you brought some flip-flops for the shower.”

Maybe I can convince Elle to let me use her shower instead. Preferably while she’s in there, too.

“That will be all,” I tell him.

He snorts a laugh. “You Brits always sound like something out of a movie. You should definitely come to happy hour, man. The ladies are going to love you.”

I’m not British, I want to tell him. And if he calls me man one more time, I might take my chances sleeping outside tonight—otherwise I might snap and murder the fellow. God knows what my father would do in that situation—I’m essentially an exile now, but maybe he’d decide a public execution was in order. I am the problem son, after all.

My host leaves me with a key on a loop of parachute cord and smiles at me through his bloodshot eyes before heading back downstairs.

At least all my things seem to be here, I think, glancing over my luggage. I should let Matthias know I’ve arrived safely, but I’m not in the mood for any small talk. I pull out my mobile and send him a text before closing and locking the door behind me. I’m exhausted, but before I do anything else, I need to check on something.

I hit the power button on the television before bending over and grabbing the briefcase with my laptop and my file of information on the clinic. The first channel to appear on the television screen is broadcasting an American show that has been dubbed in Spanish. I leave it on and go over to the bed.

The mattress protests under my weight. It smells musty, and there’s a suspicious stain on one corner of the bedding.

It’s your own damn fault you’re here, I remind myself as I open my laptop. I pull the paper file onto my lap. The folder has the royal arms of Montovia on the front—a gold, embossed image of an ornate shield with the Montovian royal scepter lying across it. My stomach tightens as I stare down at one of the most beloved symbols of our small but proud country.

With a small shake of my head, I force myself to open the file. Now is not the time to feel guilt about things I cannot undo—I must find information on Doctor Elle Parker and her impending replacement.

How could I not have known she was leaving? I ask myself. But I know the answer to that—honestly, the details of this little expedition never mattered to me. I skimmed enough of these files to understand what I was supposed to do, but I never bothered to look beyond that. The doctor was just a name, one more person to deal with. I never expected her to be…well, so damn intriguing.

I lean back against the wall—there’s not even a bloody headboard on this bed—and close my eyes. In my mind I can still see her in perfect detail—those full lips, those tiny curls of hair clinging to her neck, those breasts that promised to be more than a handful. I can still feel the stuttering thrum of her quickened pulse beneath my fingers. And those eyes…those fierce, bright eyes are what intrigued me most of all. Those eyes promise a spirit and passion I’m more than eager to explore.

Look at you, I think. You’ve hardly known her an hour and she’s already under your skin. It’s not often anymore that a woman challenges me so, not often one inspires more than a passing interest. I’m looking forward to exploring this one further, to teasing out her desire bit by bit.

But I only have four days.

That might make things more complicated. I open my eyes and begin to flip through my papers again. After a moment, I find what I’m looking for—a copy of her contract. She’s right—it expires in four days. But when I glance through the next few sheets of paper, I find no information about her replacement.

What am I supposed to do? Convince her to stay? That would certainly make my stay here more interesting—and pleasurable—but it would also undermine the entire reason for this visit. After only an hour at the clinic, I have a pretty good theory about why it’s bleeding funds. Perhaps the easiest and quickest way to resolve everything is to let Elle go and make sure her replacement has a better understanding of his financial responsibilities.

Though after what I witnessed today, I’m not sure letting her go is the right course of action, either. My temples throb again as I remember the scene with the woman and her baby. Elle said it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence—that she’d even given up her own car so people might reach the hospital—and though I’ve only known the doctor an afternoon, I have no doubt she’s being honest about the situation here. How can I ask someone to charge for care the clinic’s patients can’t afford?

God, who’d have thought I’d end up having a crisis of conscience over this? I’ve done many things in my life of which I’m ashamed—and the events of the night that led to my temporary exile are on the top of that list—but I’d prefer not to make a habit of distressing myself over other people. I don’t like having this sort of responsibility.

But the more I think about it, the clearer my decision—the easiest choice is to let Elle leave. To do what I came to do and ensure the new doctor is settled before returning home triumphantly.

And as for the current doctor…

She’s in my mind, burning through my blood, and I’m hard even before I let myself imagine what color her nipples might be beneath the clingy shirt she was wearing.

Four days.

I can seduce her in four days, I have no doubt of that. And she’ll be gone before this can get dull or—worse—complicated. It really is perfect.

Four days.

That’s not a lot of time, but it will have to be enough. And if Elle thinks she can resist my charms that long…well, she’s about to learn she hasn’t even begun to see my charm yet.

* * *