Tall, Dark & Royal

His mother took his hands in hers and leaned toward him intently. Her cold fingers and the glint of pain in her blue eyes betrayed her emotions. She gave a sad smile. “I’ve told you many stories about Altaria. You’ve even visited a couple of times.”

Daniel nodded, his mind filling with vague childhood memories. “I remember Altaria as a beautiful island off the coast of Italy with a great beach,” he said. “But how in the world can I be its new ruler?”

“Altarian law stipulates that only male descendants can assume the throne. My father and brother are dead,” she said, and squeezed his hands in a moment of telltale grief. Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel saw his father squeeze his mother’s shoulders in a gesture of support. Grant Connelly had made his fortune in textiles, but his backbone was made of steel. His mother took a quick breath.

“My brother had only one daughter, Catherine. He had no male children.”

Daniel thought about some of the gossip he’d heard about his uncle, Prince Marc, over the years. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but are you sure Uncle Marc didn’t have any other children? He really seemed to take that playboy-prince role to heart.”

His father made a sound between a cough and chuckle.

His mother frowned. “Daniel,” she said, her tone just a shade sharper. “Marc may have had his flaws, but he would never turn his back on his own child. You are the heir to the throne of Altaria.”

Daniel’s head reeled. In all his thirty-four years, he’d never imagined being a ruler of a small kingdom. Chicago-born and-bred, he’d always assumed he would spend his life in America. He glanced at his father, a man who had taken the family textile company and turned it into a Fortune 500 corporation. His father had always possessed a passion for the family business, an unrelenting zeal to make it grow.

Daniel had not.

He had succeeded in competitive sports in college, and he had succeeded as Vice President of Marketing at Connelly Corporation, but he’d always had the sense that something was missing, that he wanted something deeper, more. Could this possibly be it?

King? Lord help him.

He looked at his parents and shook his head. “King?”

His father nodded and leaned forward. “You’ve got what it takes to lead a country if that’s what you think you should do. It’s your choice.”

His mother squeezed his hand again. She looked at him with a mixture of pride and concern in her eyes. “Consider it carefully. My father had such dreams for Altaria. When he founded the Rosemere Institute to research cancer treatment, he not only provided a beautiful memorial to my mother, he also brought Altaria into the scientific age. Ruling will be a heavy responsibility, and once you start down this road, your life will be changed forever.”

One

She was late, but anxious to meet her assignment. Erin Lawrence bit her lip at her slip. Begin her assignment, she mentally corrected. His Majesty might not appreciate being regarded as an assignment. Even if that were true.

She adjusted her hat, then showed her identification to the security guard on the bottom floor of Daniel Connelly’s high-rise condominium. Despite the jet lag from her delayed flight, she felt a rush of anticipation as she entered the steel elevator. Even though she’d arrived at night, she couldn’t help noticing how different Chicago’s architecture was from the Mediterranean-style houses and buildings in her homeland, Altaria.

The elevator doors whisked open, and she walked down the hallway to Daniel Connelly’s condo. She lifted her hand to ring the buzzer, and her heart hammered in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she couldn’t escape the sense of history surrounding this moment. She was about to meet the royal heir to the throne of Altaria.

Squaring her shoulders, she pressed her index finger into the buzzer and waited.

And waited. A dog barked in the background.

She counted to twenty, then pushed the buzzer again and waited. The dog continued to bark.

The door opened and a tall man with tousled hair and jade-green eyes met her gaze. His chest was bare and muscular, and the only item of clothing he wore was a pair of lounging slacks slung low on his narrow hips. “You rang?”

“Perhaps I’m at the wrong—” She broke off, totally fixated on his wide shoulders and all that naked skin. A dusting of chest hair arrowed down to the top of his slacks. Leaning against the doorjamb with indolent ease, he gave the impression that he was comfortable with his half-naked body. Something told Erin he knew his way around a woman’s naked body. This was the kind of man all her headmistresses had warned her against. This was the kind of man who inspired all the bad girls to sneak out of their windows at night.

Tearing her gaze from his impressive body, Erin rechecked the number on his door. The address was correct. She swallowed over a knot of apprehension. “Your Majesty?” she said weakly.

His gaze cleared, and he lifted his head in realization. “You must be Erin Lawrence, the royal etiquette rep.”

“Royal etiquette and palace liaison,” she said, fighting a twinge of irritation at his casual description of her position. She gave a slight dip. “At your service, sir.”

His gaze swept over her in brief masculine assessment that hinted at banked, yet powerful sensuality. She held her breath, until he looked into her eyes again with a glint of amusement. “For some reason I thought you were supposed to arrive earlier today.”

“Yes, of course, sir. I apologize. My flights were delayed.”

“Happens to everyone,” he said generously and held the door for her to enter. “Come on in. Sorry I’m not dressed for the occasion. I had nine meetings today, so I decided to hit the sack early. Don’t worry about the dog. I put Jordan in his kennel when I answered the door,” he said, referring to the barking dog.

“Jordan, sir?”

“In honor of Michael Jordan, the best basketball player the Chicago Bulls were sorry to lose.”

Erin made a mental note to bone up on American basketball. She knew nothing about it. She stopped midway through the doorway and gazed expectantly at him. “The rule of protocol is the king should precede, sir. One should never turn one’s back to the king.”

“Oh.” He gave her another once-over. “Well, that could be a damn shame.”

Erin felt a rush of heat to her cheeks and prayed he didn’t notice. “Please do proceed, sir. I will follow.”

He gave a slow nod, then led the way through a luxurious living room furnished with contemporary brown leather furniture and oak end tables. She followed him into a clean, well-equipped kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a carton of milk. “You want something to drink? Or a sandwich?”

The man was almost completely unaware of his position, she thought, and wondered how he would change once he began to exercise his power as king. If he exercised his power as king. Daniel Connolly struck her as a man who didn’t need a title or decree. Staring at his wide shoulders, she caught her mind wandering and gave herself a mental shake. The king was offering to fix her a drink or a sandwich. That would never do. “No, thank you, sir.”

He grimaced slightly. “Do you mind me asking how old you are?”

She stiffened her spine. “Twenty-two, sir.”

“You’re young, but we’re both adults. Do you have to call me sir?”

“It’s proper, sir,” she said.

He sighed. “Okay,” he said and took a swig directly from the milk carton.

Erin’s eyes widened in horror.

He must have caught her expression because he gave her a grin. “Don’t worry. Last sip,” he told her and tossed the empty carton into the trash container.

Erin practiced what had been drilled into her from years at the finest Swiss boarding schools: she kept her mouth shut. This was the new king of Altaria—a good-looking American who had a body that would make any woman’s temperature shoot up ten degrees and who clearly had zero knowledge about royal protocol. She wondered how many of his Altarian ancestors would be spinning in their graves.

Heaven help Altaria.

Heaven help her.

“I’m not exactly sure what your role is,” he said.

“I’m to fill you in on royal protocol and also to learn as much about your preferences as possible so that the palace is well prepared for your arrival, sir.”

He raked his hand through his hair. “Translate royal protocol.”

“Traditional royal etiquette, sir. It’s my job to inform you about how the people of Altaria will greet you and how you will be expected to respond.”