This was a mistake.
Mackenzie Roberts moved around King Gabriel’s study restlessly. She was unaccustomedly nervous as she awaited the arrival of Prince Devereaux. Subconsciously, she smoothed her hands down the pale grey fabric that constituted the palace maid’s uniform and pulled at the edge of the frilly white apron tied around her waist. Still agitated, she fidgeted with the feather duster which King Gabriel’s assistant had given her as a joke, when she’d arrived at his office still dressed as a maid.
Mostly she entered the homes of her famous clients dressed as a member of household staff because she could come and go in this role without arousing the interest of the paparazzi. Once she was there, she usually dropped the disguise. An hour ago when she’d arrived at the airport, a member of the palace staff had brought her the uniform and she’d changed immediately. Although she’d been shown to a luxurious guest suite of the palace, where she’d be staying for the duration of this contract, there’d been no time to change into her business clothes. At least she thought there’d been no time to change. Prince Devereaux was now ten minutes late.
She was used to meeting with rich, spoilt, badly behaved individuals who needed her help to re-create their public images, however she wasn’t used to being kept waiting by those who wanted her help. Then again, this assignment was different to anything she’d willingly undertaken. It broke her two most crucial criteria. One: Her clients had to be remorseful and genuinely want to change. Two: Her clients had to be female.
A big fail on both her rules for this job, and she’d argued long and hard with her father about accepting a contract which went completely against her ethos.
It wasn’t Prince Devereaux who wanted a new image, it was his brother who’d signed the contract. And Prince Devereaux de la Croix was exactly the sort of client she wanted to avoid at all costs. Her father was well aware of it too. He knew she’d sworn she’d never help re-shape the reputations of a recalcitrant and notorious playboy, or a cheating husband.
For the last few weeks she’d outright refused to come, even though her father had thrown all manner of inducements her way. Last week, she believed she’d finally convinced her father to send her younger brother, Jed, in her place. It’d taken tears and she’d laid her soul bare so Bill Roberts would understand exactly why she couldn’t accept this assignment. In the end he’d softened and extracted her promise that she’d guide Jed from England if he needed any help.
But, just this morning when she thought Jed was on his way and she was free to enjoy the last two weeks of the summer holidays in southern England, her father had phoned to tell her Jed’s wife, Carmen, was unwell and was at risk of going into premature labour.
There’d been no choice.
The contract had been signed.
The recommendation that the King of Santaliana hire the Roberts Agency had come from no less than the Crown Prince of Turastan. It was a big deal. Offending Prince Khalid was something no corporation would want to do. And, one did not break a contract with the King of Santaliana, no matter what the personal circumstances.
So, instead of packing up her car and driving to southern England, Mackenzie had seethed as she’d headed to the airport. What else could she do? Jed had to stay at his wife’s side, and this contract had to be honoured.
She’d telephoned King Gabriel to outline one important condition she had. Once he’d agreed, she’d been handed the file on Prince Devereaux by her PA. A half an hour later, she’d boarded a luxurious private jet bound for the beautiful kingdom whose southern coastline bordered the Mediterranean Sea.
A couple of months in such an idyllic setting should be bliss but, she had a feeling she’d work day and night. King Gabriel wanted the prince to be a worthy candidate for matrimony. She needed a watertight plan to ensure the reprehensible playboy prince attained a public image which would make each of his subjects adore him, and suitable women queue up to marry him.
She definitely had her work cut out for her.
What sort of woman would want to be married to Prince Devereaux?
Oh, a social-climbing, shallow woman who’s looking for royal status and the funds to secure a pampered lifestyle, she reasoned with deep cynicism. And it would serve him damned well right! From what she’d read about the prince, he didn’t deserve any other sort of wife. There was absolutely nothing in the dossier she’d read on the way to Santaliana to suggest there was anything about his personality to recommend him. He was one selfish, idle playboy who flouted rules and treated women as playthings. How the hell was she supposed to build upon that foundation and sell him to the world?
Irritation pricked along her shoulders as she glanced again at her watch. Fifteen minutes late!
She dropped the feather duster down on the surface of King Gabriel’s huge oak desk and folded her arms across her chest. Pacing back and forth, she worried her lower lip with her upper teeth. Instinct told her she should’ve heeded her better judgement and refused to come—made the King wait until Carmen had delivered the baby safely and Jed was free to tackle this job. As hard as she fought to ignore her other concern, it nagged at her.
The second she’d seen the photo of Prince Devereaux’s raven-black hair and piercing blue eyes, her stomach had dropped. The Prince of Santaliana reminded her way too much of Gray—the man she’d sworn to forget.
All her career, she’d studiously avoided working with any man who wasn’t related to her. Now fate was having a joke at her expense, throwing her into a close working arrangement with a drop-dead gorgeous guy who changed his women as often as he changed his shirts. It was almost as though the universe was forcing her to face her demons.
At twenty-eight, she was older and far wiser than she’d been when she met Gray. Back then she hadn’t realised she’d been nothing more than a challenge to him—that it was a game he and all men of his ilk played. All she’d been to him was a—
Mac jumped as the door to the study opened. Uncrossing her arms she subconsciously grabbed up the feather duster as she swung around and steeled herself for this initial meeting.
Oh hell, yeah. In walked Trouble.
Prince Devereaux de la Croix didn’t just walk into the room, he invaded it with his sheer presence. His whole persona was so intense he seemed to suck all the air out of the space around her. It was as though Mac was at high altitude—the air was suddenly too thin and she had to work hard to get the oxygen she needed.
He barely seemed to register her as his gaze swept around the room.
Six foot four, the prince towered over her—especially as she wore flat shoes as part of her maid’s uniform. Oh help. He was even better looking than the images she’d seen in the briefing file—even more heart-wrenchingly handsome than Gray.
Despite having prepared herself—even knowing he was a world-renowned womaniser—her initial reaction was simply to stand there and admire his high, chiselled cheekbones and the strong set of his jaw. He was so much more than the cliché of tall, dark and handsome because he exuded strength and command.
Strength and command? Clearly she’d hyperventilated. There was nothing strong about sleeping with a different woman every night of the week. His immoral behaviour came from weakness and insecurity, not from strength and command. Given her reflexive physical reaction to him, she’d do well to remember it.
Pulling herself up sharply from the dangerous direction of her thoughts, Mackenzie searched for her voice. ‘Your brother’s been called to a meeting with the treasurer,’ she explained, assuming it was King Gabriel the prince looked for.
The cobalt-blue eyes were intense as he looked at her closely for the first time. Actually, looking probably wasn’t the best word to describe what he did. In a split second he seemed to take in every feature and imprint it on a file in his memory. His gaze roamed freely over her in an entirely leisurely and appreciative fashion.
Everywhere his gaze rested, an unwelcome heat ignited and spread through her body.
For seconds he examined below the hemline of her uniform, tracking the shape of her legs.
Damn! Her skin prickled at the backs of her knees.
Hell! Who knew one’s calves could actually blush?
When his gaze travelled upward and reached her chest, her breasts tingled. Without warning, her nipples hardened, pushing against the lacy confines of her bra as if they wanted to be noticed. Praying he wouldn’t detect her reaction, she cleared her throat. Instantly, his gaze meshed with hers.
‘You’re new here.’
Ah. He hadn’t been told about her maid’s disguise. Instead, he’d mistaken her for a member of the household staff.
He smiled lazily—a man confident in the effect he had on women.
One confidently lazy smile was all it took for her to confirm her preconceived perception that she wouldn’t like him. The second he oozed sexual confidence, her innate physical reaction to him was doused.
Ten years ago, she’d fallen for this particular brand of charm and been burnt in the worst possible way. Now she had immunity, she reminded herself sternly. For life.
He leant casually against the side of a bookcase. ‘What’s your name?’
Mac weighed her options. King Gabriel had warned her she might meet with strong resistance from the prince. She could either tell the prince straight out who she was, or she could keep him in the dark and try to get more of his measure. Already feeling a little off-kilter because of her unexpected reaction to him, the idea of having him at a disadvantage from the outset held distinct appeal.
‘Do—you—speak—English?’ he asked slowly when she failed to respond to his question.
She hesitated, then said equally slowly, ‘Yes.’
He didn’t look convinced. ‘You’re new here.’ He gestured around him as he enunciated each word clearly.
‘Yes.’ Surprise flicked through her. Surely he wouldn’t know all the household staff employed in the palace?
‘I’m Prince Devereaux.’
She forced herself to wait a second before she nodded and smiled. ‘Ah. Prince Devereaux.’
He walked closer and involuntarily she breathed a little deeper to inhale the delicious, masculine scent of cologne he wore. Dear Lord, it was no wonder he’d earned his reputation. On a sex-appeal meter, he was off the scale. His features were entirely masculine. Five o’clock shadow peppered his jaw even though it wasn’t even lunch time, and his nose was straight, below the most arresting blue eyes she’d ever seen.
As if his facial features weren’t enough to contend with, the solid breadth of his shoulders and chest were a blatant invitation. It was tempting to picture herself leaning against him. Some basic part of her wanted to be enfolded in his arms because his body promised that once held tightly against it, a woman would be sheltered and protected from anything bad the world could throw at her.
Protected from anything bad? Geez, women needed protection from this man, not by him and she’d better remember it.
His gaze zeroed in on her mouth. His voice deepened. ‘You’re incredibly beautiful,’ he husked.
Oh my gosh. All the notes her PA had passed on told her Prince Devereaux was bad. The fact he looked set to make a pass at a woman he thought was a new palace maid told her she was going to be fighting an incredibly difficult battle to reform his image. But, there was an even greater problem. As much as she didn’t like his playboy approach, she fought an internal war with herself because every one of her nerves was stretched tight with awareness, and need beat a relentless tattoo at each pulse point.
Her survival instincts urged her to find King Gabriel immediately. She needed to tell him he’d contracted her for Mission Impossible and now she realised the full extent of what she was up against, she chose not to accept it.
As the prince reached towards her, Mackenzie thrust the feather duster out to ward him off. It was a laughably ineffective rebuff in the extreme, yet his hand became suspended in the space between them.
‘That’s enough!’ She didn’t bother to conceal the ice from her tone.
He lowered his hand to his side and one eyebrow lifted in enquiry. ‘You’re not wearing a ring. Are you already involved with someone?’
Of all the conceited bastards!
‘That’s none of your business,’ she said tightly. ‘But, I certainly don’t welcome your attention.’ If he kept up this arrogance, she’d definitely be able to stop her body from melting in a pool of want at his feet.
‘You don’t?’
‘About as much as I’d welcome being put into a backyard swimming pool filled with piranhas!’
His eyes twinkled with laughter. ‘Obviously you do speak English.’
‘Just how you’ve managed to escape a very public law suit for sexually harassing your employees defies belief,’ she railed, still holding the feather duster between them. ‘Or has King Gabriel had to pay people off to cover up for you?’ Good grief, were there scandals that had been hushed up? If so, she needed to know straight away. The last thing she needed was some publicity bomb to explode just when she least expected it.
‘It seems I must apologise for causing offence, Miss …?’
‘Roberts,’ she threw at him. ‘Mackenzie Roberts.’
She thought she saw a fleeting quirk of those beautifully sculpted masculine lips just before he stepped back with a frown pleating his brow. ‘Mackenzie. Mac. You’re Mac Roberts?’ His eyes widened. ‘The image consultant?’
‘One and the same.’ Even as she directed a hostile glare his way, her mind worked overtime. Something didn’t feel right. His dismay felt … overdone—as though he’d known all along who she was and had been playing with her and testing her response to him.
‘I sincerely apologise.’ He moved his head in acknowledgement of his mistake. ‘My brother didn’t warn me. When he mentioned Mac Roberts, I thought I was to meet with a man.’ Very appreciative masculine eyes swept over her again. His voice was as deeply seductive as satin sheets when he said, ‘Clearly, I was wrong.’
‘Prince Devereaux,’ she began in her best imitation of a stern school ma’am voice, ‘I—’
‘Please, call me Dev.’
When hell freezes over. ‘I’m going to say this straight up.’
‘Please do, although I think it would be rather more fun talking lying down—particularly if we’re both naked and completely physically sated.’
Mackenzie bit back a choked sound. It was half gasp of shock and half an exasperated growl. No. She would not be put on the back foot by this man who exuded so much sex appeal he should be locked up for the protection of all womankind. ‘I didn’t want this assignment and I’d rather not be here.’
‘Then, we’re even,’ he said with the sexiest smile she’d ever seen, ‘because I don’t want you here. No, scrub that. I do want you. Right here and now will do just fine, but once we’ve got the hot, heavy and extremely satisfying sex out of the way, you’re free to leave.’
Incredulous at his open suggestion of sex when he’d only just met her—and his persistence when she’d already told him she wasn’t interested—Mackenzie’s eyes widened to the point of strain. Rather than spluttering at him, she tried to stream every bit of disgust she felt out through her eyes in twin laser beams. God, but if they really could be laser beams, she’d direct her gaze at his crotch and hope to emasculate him for good.
If this contract wasn’t so important to her father, she’d walk out of the palace right now and never look back. She searched for words to put him firmly in his place. ‘Every time you open your mouth you reinforce everything I’ve read in your file. You have absolutely no redeemable qualities.’
He shrugged. ‘Most women don’t seem to mind. I assure you I have other qualities to well and truly make up for it.’
God help her because part of her wanted to discover whether or not his boast was true. Intuitively, she recognised he’d be an incredible lover—but then, he’d had lots of practice. He’d probably bedded more women than he remembered.
I won’t be one of them, she resolved. Burnt before by a playboy, she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
For her own self-preservation, she wanted to deflate this man’s incredible ego with a fiercely desperate intensity, even though her brief was to build him up to the public. How was she supposed to remake his tarnished image so he looked shiny and new?
‘I’m not most women, Prince Devereaux, and I don’t admire pampered brats,’ she told him frostily. ‘I’ve never been impressed by any man—royal or otherwise—who has the morals of an alley cat and assumes he can have any woman he wants simply by crooking his little finger.’
She wished she could wipe the amusement off his face as he said, ‘There’s a first time for everything. Given time I’m sure I’ll grow on you.’
There’d been a first time for her when she met Grayson. A first time which she was also determined would be her last time. Gray had impressed her and she’d fallen for his lethal brand of charm because she hadn’t seen past it to his true colours. The affair, with a man who’d turned out to be serially unfaithful, had almost destroyed her. There was no way she was going to leave herself open for heartache again—especially with a man who was just like Gray. Now, the blinkers were well and truly off.
‘A leech would have more chance of endearing itself to me as it grew fat on my blood!’ she told him coldly.
He threw his head back and laughed in what seemed like genuine amusement.
‘Perhaps my brother was right in saying I need an image consultant if you find a leech more endearing!’
Never had Mackenzie expended so much energy focusing on a flower arrangement and trying to keep her hands at her sides when her temper was in danger of rocketing out of control. Her gaze was glued to the vase of flowers on the low coffee table as she tried to shut out the sound of deep, rumbling masculine laughter, and convince herself she shouldn’t just launch at him and slap that self-assured smile right off his face.
The real problem was that Prince Devereaux’s laugh was just as attractive as the rest of him. It would be so easy to fall under his spell, and that was why she felt threatened. But she couldn’t afford to be just as vulnerable to his appeal as the next woman. Having had a heartbreaking experience surely she could resist the prince even if he was way more good-looking and dynamic than Gray?
Pull yourself together, Mackenzie! This guy is another playboy jerk!
‘You need far more than an image consultant. You need a personality transplant!’
Oh geez.
The ticking of her watch was suddenly horrendously loud in the silence. She hadn’t just thought the words, she’d actually said them! Mortified heat suffused her face as she realised she’d been incredibly rude to her client—her royal client.
It didn’t matter what she thought of him, there was no excuse for her blatant rudeness. She was here in a professional capacity and she should’ve ignored his flirtatious advances and kept everything on a business footing. Just how had he managed to goad her into losing her cool in such a short time?
No. She couldn’t blame him for her outburst. The fault lay squarely with her. Her hostile behaviour towards him was an instinctive knee-jerk reaction back to her relationship with Grayson. Just meeting this playboy prince had resurrected all the pain she’d known when Grayson had betrayed her and she’d found out just how insincere her fiancé had been. She hadn’t realised her hurt was still so close to the surface—hadn’t known Devereaux de la Croix would rattle her so thoroughly and bring back all the vulnerability she thought she’d buried.
Breathe. Needing to calm herself and regain control of her cool, image consultant persona, Mac told herself she didn’t need to be defensive. The barriers she’d erected in the last ten years would hold against this man. The prince would never hurt her.
‘I apologise, Prince Devereaux.’ She forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘That was extremely rude and incredibly unprofessional.’
‘But, entirely the truth in your opinion?’ Barely suppressed amusement lurked at the corners of his mouth, as though he struggled to contain a smile.
‘I … well … yes.’ Her hands moved in a small agitated circle in front of her chest. ‘Your bad boy image isn’t something the press has invented or over-exaggerated, is it?’
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and the smile that spread across his mouth was entirely unrepentant. ‘No.’
She hesitated. ‘It’s going to be very difficult to change public perspective.’
It’s going to be very difficult for me to stop appreciating your physical attributes even though you’re a love-rat!
‘So, you’ll be tearing up the contract, refunding the huge deposit my brother has already paid you and flying back to England?’
Although the words were drawled in a lazy manner, she detected an energetic undertow designed to pull her in the direction he suggested. Oh, he was good. His words were a temptation, an invitation to walk away. The master manipulator was also in for a hell of a shock.
Mac was no quitter.
Yes, this was her chance to tell him she wouldn’t go through with the assignment—that there was already too much bristling hostility between them and there was no way she could work with him. Yet, despite every shred of sense which warned her that ripping up the contract was the safest course to follow, a stubborn streak bubbled to the surface. This was a job, damn it! This was her job and one her father was depending on her to complete.
Prince Devereaux was not Grayson. She was not eighteen years old and there was no danger of her falling under the prince’s spell—especially when she’d already assessed the man’s morality … or lack of it.
Her fingers curled into her palms and she gritted her teeth. There was no way she’d give him the satisfaction of tearing up this contract. She wouldn’t fail her father or run back to England with her tail between her legs. Even more importantly, she would take this on as a personal challenge and prove to herself she could work professionally with a practised playboy like Prince Devereaux and remain unscathed.
Looking at him squarely in the eye, she told him, ‘I said it would be difficult to change public perspective. I didn’t say it would be impossible.’
He uncrossed his arms and his smile thinned. ‘But, be honest, that’s what you’re thinking.’
She stared at him, trying to read him and figure out just how to interact with him. ‘You’re going to resist any change I suggest, aren’t you?’
‘Absolutely.’ His tone was resolute, his expression unapologetic.
‘So, you’re telling me I may as well quit now?’
He smiled. ‘You’ve got the picture.’
‘You’ll end up thanking your brother if you do as he wishes.’
‘I won’t.’
‘He cares about you, you know.’ She wagged her finger at him like she was addressing an errant child. ‘This isn’t just about how your reputation may adversely affect the kingdom. This is about an older brother trying to help his kid brother grow up and live a more meaningful life.’
A sardonic expression set on his features. His tone matched it when he challenged, ‘You’ve formed this opinion in all of the ten minutes you’ve known my brother?’
She straightened her shoulders. ‘Yes.’ Not bothering to justify herself she allowed her eyes to challenge him right back.
‘Amazing.’
Okay. She’d had enough. She thumped the feather duster down on the desk and regretted it didn’t make much of a bang. ‘You need to understand that while I don’t like what I’ve read about you, and I certainly don’t respect your behaviour, I don’t need to like or respect you to do my job. It would make things easier, but I can accept that those two elements are going to be missing from our working relationship.’ She folded her arms across her chest and stared him down. ‘I still intend to fulfil this contract.’
‘Very noble of you.’
‘You can cut the sarcasm, Prince Devereaux.’ Her hands went to her hips. Too late, she realised the movement thrust her breasts forward. His eyes followed the movement.
Blood simmering, she refused to allow him to intimidate her or distract her from business. ‘There are a few things we need to get straight from the outset.’
One dark eyebrow arched at her in enquiry. ‘I’m listening, Mackenzie.’
Oh. Her name spoken in his deep, bedroom voice sounded good. Too good. She needed to be angry with him, not succumbing to his practised flirtations. She deliberately remembered some of the comments he’d made and summoned indignation. The simmering anger in her blood began to boil over as she stiffened her spine and resisted weakening at the sound of her name on his lips.
God damn it! Her blasted heartbeat stuttered for a few seconds and threatened to gallop away before she got it under control. It was time to summon her authoritative mode and get down to business.
‘You’re my client but make no mistake about who’s in charge. I’m—your—boss. I run this campaign and will work damned hard to achieve success. From now on the only thing you’ll have on your mind is the reformation of your public image. You’re going to do what I tell you, when I tell you, and exactly how I tell you to do it.’
He held her regard for the longest ten seconds of her life, his expression one of idle amusement. When he moved towards her she was reminded of a panther sizing up his prey. He was all sleek strength and deadly intent and it took some fortitude on her part not to back away.
‘I like a woman who wants to be on top of the situation.’ There was no missing the double entendre. ‘In fact, I can picture you there.’
The second he closed his eyes, Mac swallowed hard and tried to ignore the prickling heat which spread across her chest like a blazing bushfire.
‘Really? I can picture you with a tomahawk through your skull.’ His eyes opened as he burst out laughing, but she ignored him and pressed on. ‘I’m sure I’m not the only one to have visualised the image in your almost thirty years of life! In fact, it’s probably only been the presence of your royal bodyguards to have saved you from such a fate.’
‘Oh, Mackenzie. For one so beautiful, you’re so cruel.’ His broad smile threatened to weaken her guard as he copied her earlier action and waggled a finger at her in rebuke. ‘So much unhealthy aggression coiled up inside you, but don’t worry. I know the perfect way to release it.’
‘Stop it, or the only thing I’ll need to be released from is a prison.’ She glared at him. ‘I’m serious about my work, Prince Devereaux. I’m good at what I do, but I won’t be able to get on with it if you keep reducing our conversations to ridiculous banter.’
He reached out and ran the tip of his index finger right down along the delicate slope of her nose. ‘You need to relax, sweetheart. In my experience, it’ll work much better for us both if you follow my lead. I’ll show you how it’s done and it’ll be like you’ve never experienced it before.’ How was it possible that his deep voice lowered another octave? ‘I promise you it’ll be very, very good between us.’
Her heartbeat went from stuttering to fluttering around the confines of her chest, which was suddenly way too constricted. She swallowed to lubricate her dry throat.
He’d been very open about his intent, but she was so not going there. Common sense warned her to place as much distance as possible between them, because this panther was hungry and more than ready to pounce.
But, oh … the heady sensual promise in his bedroom blue eyes … And, everything about this man assured her that he’d completely live up to the promises he made. Sex with the younger de la Croix brother would surely be mind-blowing.
A million or more nerve synapses fired warning signals. Mac needed to steer this conversation onto far less personal issues and she needed to do it fast.
‘I …’ Damn her scratchy voice! She held out a hand to his chest to push him away.
Big mistake! The heat from his body radiated through the fabric of his clothes, into the flesh of her hand and right up through her arm.
God, but every female should be given a vaccination to protect themselves against him. It should be compulsory for girls to be inoculated at birth.
For a crazy half-second, she wanted to pull him towards her instead of thrusting him away. Thrusting … Oh Lord. She shook her head to dispel the X-rated mental images the word conjured.
‘Stop it!’ Not sure whether she issued the order to him or to herself, she dropped her hand to her side. Aware her whole face must be flaming, she sidestepped him, desperate to put some distance between them. Heat blasted through her like an inferno and she had to find a way to douse it. ‘I know what you’re doing and I’m not some toy you can play with!’
His lips twisted in wry amusement. ‘That’s a pity. I’d like to play with you.’
‘You’re playing with me right now,’ she railed at him. ‘You’re trying to reduce me to a sexual object instead of respecting my professionalism. Your brother has employed me to work miracles so your deplorable public behaviour can be redeemed.’ She paced to the other side of the desk but even with the huge piece of furniture between them she didn’t feel far enough out of his extremely attractive force field. ‘I generally succeed with my clients because I find something good about them. You’ll be much more of a challenge because so far you’ve failed to exhibit a single worthy quality.’
‘So leave.’
The two words whipped her. ‘No. I may not like you, but I genuinely like and respect your brother and he’s asked for my help.’
For a split second, his features tensed and it looked like it took concerted effort for him to resist grinding his molars together.
‘He’s been very candid in outlining the reasons you need to reform,’ she pushed on, ‘and while I don’t believe I’ll be doing any woman a favour by making you look like worthy husband material, I’ve promised King Gabriel I’ll do my best.’
He winced. ‘You fire straight from the hip, don’t you?’
Surprisingly, it didn’t actually sound like a criticism. ‘Always.’
‘Too bad. I’m a moving target, sweetheart. I won’t stay still long enough for you or anyone else to take aim.’
She stood firm and jutted her chin forward a little in stubborn defiance of his refusal to cooperate. ‘I have never failed an assignment and I’m not going to fail with you either.’
For a few moments his expression was so shuttered she couldn’t figure out how he reacted to her lines-drawn-in-the-sand statement. Then he finally said, ‘Like hell!’
No way was he going to dismiss her, so she continued as though he hadn’t spoken. ‘Any campaign to improve your image is going to be much more effective if it’s proactive. I don’t have time for damage control along the way,’ she warned. ‘First up each morning we’ll go over the daily plan.’
‘If you insist on staying, I can think of far better ways to spend our mornings.’
Just ignore him. ‘Come the afternoon, your appearances will be planned down to the letter. You say what I’ve told you to say, behave exactly as I’ve briefed you.’
‘Breathe when you tell me to breathe?’ he asked with disdain.
‘Essentially, yes.’
‘And you and my brother seriously think I’m going to fall in with these ridiculous plans?’
‘Your brother expects it of you. I’m here to see his expectations are realised.’
He stepped to his right and placed his hand on a large jewelled globe of the world which rested in a gold stand. Almost absently, he began to rotate the globe. The action drew her attention to his hand. It was strong. Masculine. Capable. Tanned from the sun and from all reports, well practised in …
‘My brother tells me you came highly recommended. I’m curious. Just how did you plan to reform my public image?’
‘I have some general ideas.’ Those initial plans would be modified along the way as she used her psychology degree and her instincts and got inside his head to determine what made him tick. It was only when she got to know him that she’d know how far she could go with what she wanted to do—how much he’d be able to sell naturally to the public and what would look too staged.
He made a sound of disgust. ‘Don’t tell me my brother paid you an exorbitant amount of money to trot me out as the new patron of some orphaned children’s charity? Do you think the image of me holding babies and patting children on the head will elicit warm and fuzzy feelings among our populace?’
‘Doing something for charity wouldn’t hurt you—’
‘If you’re hell-bent on staying, you should know that I have an intense dislike for children. I break out in hives around them.’
He gave a shudder of revulsion and she felt her eyes widen. He really wasn’t likeable at all. ‘Frankly, I’d be more worried about the children and your effect on them if you were unleashed in their vicinity,’ she countered drily. ‘Anyway, you need something much more than to be patron of a charity in order to win the approval and good favour of your entire nation. You need to do something positive to put you centre stage at a global level.’
‘Ha! You’re in league with a team of scientists who are going to give me super human powers and have me save the world!’
‘Thankfully it won’t take a heroic feat of such magnitude to make suitable women view you as worthy husband material.’
He scoffed in disgust. ‘A royal title and hefty bank account are things I already possess. In my experience those are all it would require were I to seek a wife.’
He was wrong. Stripped of his title and wealth, he’d still have women lining up. It was impossible not to be attracted to his good looks and charisma. It was only the knowledge of his steadfast unwillingness to commit to a serious relationship that would scare the right type of woman away. ‘No self-respecting woman would want to marry a man renowned for sleeping with a different woman every night—not even a drop-dead good-looking, wealthy man with a royal title.’
‘You think I’m drop-dead good-looking?’ he asked with a satisfied grin.
She shrugged even while she berated herself. ‘Facts are facts.’ Why had she admitted it? His ego didn’t need any more pumping. ‘Your brother doesn’t just want you to marry,’ she pushed on, ‘he wants you to marry and be happy.’ Belatedly, she tried for diplomacy. ‘He wants you to appeal to the right sort of women. My job is to highlight enough redeemable features to convince a suitable woman to want to marry you—not the royal prince, but Devereaux de la Croix.’
Weight pressed down on her shoulders. She knew from personal experience that women generally bought the illusion they could tame the playboy. Hadn’t she believed Gray truly loved her and hoped he’d change his ways and be faithful to her because he loved her—because she was worthy of his love?
Pain stabbed through her and she instinctively hardened herself against it.
Ignoring the prince’s mocking expression, she focused on her brief. ‘Your one legitimate interest appears to be yacht racing.’ She didn’t wait for him to confirm it—it was all in the dossier. ‘First step is to take your sport and put a beneficial spin on it.’ It was good to get into professional mode—good to focus on the job rather than the man. ‘Presently, your participation in yacht racing is viewed by most as an indulgence. Outside the yachting world, there’s little recognition of your very capable skill in this area.’ It’d surprised her when she’d read an article claiming he was considered one of the two best super yacht racing captains in the world, and to know sailors vied for the opportunity to be part of his crew. ‘I’m going to take this sport you love and use it to reintroduce you to the public. You’re highly skilled and your use of tactics demonstrates intelligence.’ Although that beggared belief considering his satisfaction with his idle playboy lifestyle.
His snort was derisory, but she pressed on.
‘You’re captain of the crew—responsible for their well-being and safety in ocean racing which can be highly dangerous, especially in treacherous seas. You need to ensure there’s harmony and efficiency in your team, and you have a reputation of drawing out the best from each of your crew members and knowing exactly how much to push your yacht.’ God, but she hoped it was true. She needed something to work with, but it would be bitter irony if the article she’d read had no substance—if she’d fallen for the spin of the journalist who’d written it! Still, the results the prince achieved must surely be proof of his skill. ‘You win the majority of your races.’ She turned one palm upward. ‘Everyone likes a winner.’
‘Everyone knows I race super yachts.’ His tone was unimpressed. ‘Highlighting this to the world won’t change anything.’
‘It’s not the facts which are of such vital importance. It’s the way you spin them.’ Mackenzie was on safe, familiar ground now. She loved her work—loved the challenge of it. At supersonic speed she was absorbed by it and able to forget this was an assignment she’d initially refused. ‘Yes, everybody knows you race super yachts, but very few people understand just exactly what it entails. I doubt people stop to consider the physical skill, mental challenges and huge responsibility which go hand in hand with it.’ She shrugged. ‘Calling a media conference to announce your involvement in another race wouldn’t raise the interest level we require. In reinventing you, a different slant is essential. At the press conference, you’ll announce an inaugural international yacht racing series. It will definitely be for charity rather than just another rich boy’s recreational activity.’
He made a dismissive sound and gave the globe another spin.
‘It can be whatever charity you and your brother favour—your brother’s already mentioned the Princess Eden Foundation. We make it a prestigious, global event—one entry per nation. We hype it up so the entire population of Santaliana rides with you as the kingdom’s representative.’ The basic idea she’d considered, developed and crystallised in her mind even as she spoke.
‘You really believe your own hype, don’t you?’
She ignored his disparaging tone. ‘As a build-up to the event and to publicise it, we’ll do a television documentary on your life as a captain and highlight all the preparation which goes into every race. We’ll put a camera on your yacht during the races and automatically you’ll have people on your side riding with you, seeing the challenges you face and the split second decisions you make.’ Hopefully people would admire his skill. ‘Most importantly, your citizens will root for your win because you’re the man who’s representing the nation.’ By now, she truly did half-believe the spin herself and excitement pumped through her veins. ‘You get the credit for initiating and organising the event. Raising funds for charity will also make your reputation more favourable.’
Enthusiasm always brought a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes. Mackenzie knew it because her father and brother had remarked on it often enough. She realised it was the reason the prince looked closely at her now. Usually, her clients found her enthusiasm contagious, yet his expression was unreadable.
His body language, however, was not. The stiffness of his stance and the sudden tightening of his shoulders warned of his rejection even before he spoke.
‘You are good,’ he conceded with a slight nod of his head. ‘If I wanted to change my image, I’d be impressed.’ He flicked at his sleeve, as though he removed a small, irritating speck of lint. ‘I don’t.’ His eyes were cool, blue dismissal. ‘Good day, Miss Roberts.