 
# Royal Heartbreaker

### Part One

## Ember Casey

## Renna Peak

#### Casey Peak Publishing

### Contents

Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team

1. Elle

2. Leopold

3. Elle

4. Leo

5. Elle

6. Leo

7. Elle

8. Leo

9. Elle

10. Leo

11. Elle

12. Leo

13. Elle

14. Leo

15. Elle

16. Leo

17. Elle

Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team

The Royal Heartbreakers Series

Royal Heartbreaker

Also by Ember Casey

Also by Renna Peak
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, locations or incidents are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by Ember Casey and Renna Peak

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Edition: July, 2016

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# Elle

I stare down at the poor excuse for a slice of birthday cake sitting on what passes for my equally poor excuse for a desk. The "cake" is really only a peanut butter sandwich with a half-burned little tea light-type of candle sitting on top of it. On some level it's a pathetic attempt at normalcy, not that I remember much how normal feels anymore.

Rummaging around in the plastic tub on my desk, I try to find the box of matches I accepted a while ago. After a few seconds of searching, I find them, pull one out, and light the candle.

_Make a wish Elle._ I close my eyes.

_I wish my prince would come so I can have my happily ever after_.

I cringe as I blow out the candle. Does any girl over the age of ten even _believe_ in fairy tales? Let alone _wish_ for one?

Guilt bubbles inside me as I stand from the folding chair that is the only other piece of furniture in the tiny room serving as my office. _I should have wished for_ that _. An office. A real place to sit and do my work._ _Or for supplies for the clinic. Or for medicine for the kids I treat. Damn, for_ anything _that a real medical clinic should have._

I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I came to work in South America at this charity pediatric clinic in Rio de Campo, but it didn't include having to wish for supplies. It also didn't include the less-than-ideal conditions of this place—and that's putting it mildly.

I don't even reach the door of my little office before my assistant Raul comes rushing in, breathless. "Doctor...Elle. Doctor—" He reaches out with one hand, his other hand on his chest as he gasps for air. "I... He..."

My brow furrows and I walk over to him, concerned he might be having chest pain again. I place a hand on his shoulder. "Slow down. Take a breath—"

He pushes my hand away, still clutching at his chest. "No." He straightens, slowing his breathing. "A...a man is here."

My brow wrinkles again, but not with concern for Raul this time. I've spent a lot of time over the last year worrying about the one employee at my clinic, but I don't remember him ever looking so distraught.

He nods and gulps down the last of his breathlessness. "A man. An official man. He asks to meet with the doctor." He nods again, and the deep creases on his forehead tell me how concerned he is about this visitor. "He says he is from Montovia."

My heart races in my chest. My face feels like it's on fire and I try to swallow my sense of dread. There is no official visit scheduled—no inspection. The country that founded this children's clinic has never even been here to my knowledge. I'm only the second doctor who's worked here since the clinic opened, but they haven't been here at all in the almost-year I've served. I haven't heard a peep from them—no emails, no calls. Nothing. It makes no sense that some official from Montovia would show up for an unannounced inspection. Central Europe is a hell of a long way from where we are in South America, and you'd think there would have at least been enough time for an email before they showed up at my door.

I suck in a breath and puff out my chest. I press my lips together, and I walk into the small lobby where a man is standing with his back to me. He's tapping his fingers rhythmically on the counter, almost like he's playing a tune on a piano.

He's tall. Muscular. I can see the outline of his shoulders through his white dress shirt. He has his suit jacket folded over the arm that isn't strumming out whatever tune he's playing on my lobby counter. I wonder for a second who he's trying to impress. We don't see anyone in suits around here—even if they are official representatives from Montovia—and he would have to do a lot more than wear a suit to impress me. Besides, I have to wonder about his intelligence, wearing that outfit in weather like this.

I glance down at my clothes, which have probably been damp since I put them on. I don't even notice it anymore, but I still remember how hot it felt when I first arrived here. Because of the constant heat and humidity, I stopped wearing makeup a long time ago. I don't even do anything with my hair now other than throw it into a ponytail. There's no point—makeup melts off when I wear it and if I leave my hair down, it curls into a frizzy, matted wad.

A hot mess. That's what I am. A hot and sticky mess.

_He's going to be old_. Something tells me that when this guy turns around, he's going to be old enough to be my grandfather. Because that is how my luck is. Not that I believe in luck. I just somehow _know_. He's going to be old and gross and a total dick, especially when he starts asking questions.

I clear my throat and the man turns. Our eyes meet and...holy shit.

_He's not old_.

Not only is he not old _or_ decrepit, but he's also my age. And oh my fucking God—he's not ugly, either.

He's beautiful, to be honest. His hair is the same color as the sand on the beach where I lived before I came here. And his eyes—oh my God, his eyes. They're like deep blue miniature oceans...

The heat rises in my face again—my whole body is on fire now. And this time, it has nothing to do with my fear of having an official visitor auditing my clinic. I'm almost embarrassed by how my body is reacting to simply having this man look at me. He hasn't spoken a single word, and it seems like I'm about to melt into a puddle of warm goo.

Maybe I've been out of society for so long I'm having a psychological reaction. A very _inappropriate_ reaction, judging by the way the heat in my body is coiling in places I should _not_ feel while I'm at work.

_Stop. This. Now._

I'm a professional. I'm a doctor, for Christ's sake. It's not like I've never seen a man before—it might be the mothers who usually bring their children into this clinic, but I've been around plenty of men in my life. I suppose it has been awhile, but the year I've been here has gone by quickly. And it's not like I'm held prisoner—it's been my choice to live like a hermit. Everything is easier that way.

I need to get it together since I know what's coming next. I can guess why he might be here, but I can't seem to make my brain think about that now. And I can't help gawking at him—at what I'm imagining to be his perfect abs under the shirt clinging a little too much to his body because of the lack of air-conditioning. And his ocean blue eyes that haven't left mine. And—

"Dr. Eleanor Parker?" He glances down at the file in his arm as his brows knit together. " _You're_ Dr. Eleanor Parker?"

"You can call me Elle. Everyone does." The words fly out of my mouth before I even have a chance to think them through—my mouth has somehow disconnected from my brain. And it's probably more that my brain has disconnected from everything in favor of the electrical current overtaking my body. _It's his European accent. If I can just ignore that..._

His mouth falls open a little. "I thought you were going to be older. _Much_ older." He glances down again at the file he's carrying on top of the suit jacket still folded over his arm. "Am I at the right place? The Montovia Children's Clinic?"

I can't seem to shake my sense of dread, wondering what he must think of the humble conditions of this place. But at least there are no chickens running around at the moment. And no one has brought a goat with them for a few days, so it doesn't smell particularly bad today.

But I nod. It's all I can do at this point. Even with my dread, I'm about to suggest some very inappropriate things to this man if I allow myself to speak much more. It isn't like me to be like this, and my cheeks grow impossibly hot again. I am a professional. A doctor. And I don't lose control of myself, my mouth, my body. Nothing. I am in control. Always.

I don't know why I have to keep reminding myself, but I do. I am _not_ this girl. Not anymore. And I'm not a girl at all. I'm a professional _woman_ , and I do not let myself act like this.

"Right." His brow creases and he tilts his head. "Well, _Elle_. We need to talk."

# Leopold

This is certainly...unexpected.

I suppose I must be in the right place. I find it highly unlikely there's more than one Montovia Children's Clinic in the vicinity, but considering the amount of money my family has given this place, I expected something a little more...well, just a little _more._

My gaze drifts around the room. We're in what I suppose must function as the lobby, but it consists of little more than a couple of wooden benches and the counter next to me. Someone has left the windows open, making the whole room feel rather muggy—but I suppose that can't be helped, as it's quite clear the air-conditioning isn't functioning properly. I'm regretting my choice of suit for this meeting, especially considering the doctor I've been sent across the world to meet looks as if she's spent the afternoon tromping through the jungle, not administering vaccines to her patients. That cannot be sanitary. This must be what happens when the Montovia Medical Council hires an American for one of our charity clinics.

_On the other hand..._

My eyes fall back to the woman standing in front of me. She's younger than I expected—much younger. Probably just out of her medical studies. Doctors are supposed to be gray and wrinkled and sporting crisp, white coats. Not young and wearing clothes that leave so little to the imagination.

_Perhaps she discarded her coat in response to the air-conditioning situation._ I can hardly fault her for that. The oppressive humidity seems to be affecting her as much as it is me, and, if I might be honest, the entire effect is quite... _charming_. Her clothes cling to her skin, and there's a damp spot on her shirt right at the valley between her breasts. Her hair is tied up, but a couple of wisps have fallen and cling to her bare neck. In fact, every visible bit of her skin—from her neck to her bare arms to the exposed area above the low neckline of her shirt—glows with moisture. __ The more I look at her, the more I believe my initial assessment of her was wrong. She doesn't look like she's come straight from an energetic romp through the jungle, no—she looks a lot more like she's come straight from an energetic romp in bed.

And between her glowing skin and those full breasts and those soft-looking lips, I'm beginning to think that's a side of her I'd very much like to explore.

_Perhaps this trip might not be much of a punishment after all._ My father intended this as an _educational venture_ —a chance to teach his problem son a lesson in proper behavior—but perhaps he should have investigated the situation more carefully. The urges inspired by the woman in front of me are far from noble.

I grin. I'm beginning to think I might very much enjoy this little adventure.

"Perhaps we might speak somewhere private?" I suggest, glancing at the man hovering behind the counter. He looks nervous, and I'd rather not have my discussions with Doctor Eleanor Parker disturbed.

_Elle_ , I remind myself, pleased we've moved into such familiarities. She doesn't immediately answer, and for a moment I think I'm going to have to repeat my question, but then she seems to find her voice.

"Of course," she says. "My office is over here."

Her _office_ , as it turns out, is even less impressive than the lobby. In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd think I'd ventured into an interrogation room—there's nothing but a folding table and chair in here. _What the hell has she been doing with all the money we've sent?_

She seems to have realized only one of us will have a seat.

"I'll grab another chair," she says. I start to tell her that I'm perfectly capable of standing—and frankly, after nearly fifteen hours on my personal jet, I'm grateful for the chance to stretch my legs—but then I decide I'd much rather watch her walk away. It turns out that her backside is as lush and round as the front.

_Doctor Elle Parker_ , I think, my smile deepening. _Who knew you would have a body like that?_

When she's gone, I set my coat down on the little table that's apparently been serving as her desk. God knows how she gets anything done on the rickety thing—even the little bit of extra weight makes it shake.

_Add that to the list of upgrades this place needs_ , I think, undoing my cuffs and rolling up my sleeves. My God, the heat in here is oppressive. How does she stand it? The air is so thick I can hardly breathe, and even the breeze coming in through the open window does little to make this place feel like less of a sauna.

When my sleeves are rolled up, I move on to my collar. As I undo the buttons, my eyes roam over the table in front of me. I was expecting something a little more organized—a computer or file system, at the very least—but aside from a few meaningless pieces of paper and a sandwich, there's nothing on the table.

_Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps my father knew_ exactly _what he was doing._ It's going to be an endless chore trying to sort out financial records with someone who apparently keeps no records at all. _Then again..._

Elle has returned with another folding chair, and she's sucking on her bottom lip in a way that makes my pants suddenly feel too tight.

_Maybe a long visit won't be such a bad thing after all, not with such pleasant distractions around._ I can think of plenty of ways the doctor and I might occupy our time while I'm here.

"Here you go," she says, unfolding the chair. "I'm sorry we don't have anything nicer, Mr...?"

"You can call me Leo," I say, extending a hand and flashing my most charming of smiles. "Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner."

For a moment, she seems unsure, but then she reaches out and takes my hand. I bring her fingers to my lips, brushing a kiss against her knuckles, and I feel a shiver move across her skin.

_Oh, yes. This will be easy. And very, very enjoyable._

She withdraws her hand a little too quickly, and I suppress a grin. She wants me, quite certainly. But I can't rush things. I must take it slowly, or I'll scare her away.

"Why don't we sit down?" I suggest. "Forgive me. I seem to have interrupted your lunch."

"My..." Her brow wrinkles in confusion, but then her eyes fall to the sandwich on the table. "Oh, no. That's nothing. I'm done." She grabs the sandwich and tosses it into the rubbish bin.

It hardly looked done to me, but I'm not about to comment on her eating habits.

"Please, sit down," she says, taking her seat.

I follow suit, sinking onto the folding chair. It creaks under my weight, wobbling slightly as I settle back. _What sort of clinic can't even afford proper chairs? After all the money my family has sent?_

Elle folds and unfolds her hands in front of her on the table. She looks almost nervous. "So you're from Montovia? No one told me to expect a visit."

My priority is to put her at ease. I give her another smile—the one that never fails with women—and spread my hands.

"It was an impromptu decision," I say. "Nothing to worry yourself over. We just realized it had been quite some time since someone was sent to survey the condition of this clinic." _And my father was determined to get me out of Montovia before I could cause even more trouble._

She nods, but she takes her time before speaking. "You've come to see what we need."

It's clear to anyone who sets foot in this place that it needs quite a bit—so where has my family's money gone?

"Of course," I tell her. "If there's anything you require—anything at all—we should talk about it." _And do more than talk, if I have any say in the matter._ "Just think of it as an audit of sorts. I'm here to take a look at the financial statements and see how the funds are used."

She immediately looks wary. "We do the best we can with what we have."

"I'm not suggesting that you don't," I say lightly, leaning back in my chair and propping my hands behind my head. "But we won't know for sure until we look at the accounting. Track the funds going in and out." _God help me, I might die of boredom by the time we're done with the figures, but I should at least_ try _to do something besides stare at her breasts while I'm on this side of the ocean, shouldn't I?_ "Of course, we don't need to go into this now. There's plenty of time to go through the accounts. In the meantime, tell me a little more about how you ended up down here."

When I look up at her, though, I realize her entire demeanor has changed. She's suddenly gone very stiff, very still, and those soft-looking lips of hers are pressed in a hard line. Her cheeks are a most intoxicating shade of red.

"You believe I'm misusing funds," she says, and it's clear from the dark spark in her eyes she's barely holding back her temper.

This isn't exactly how I expected her to respond—women usually have a very different reaction to me—but I'm not afraid of a woman with a short temper. In fact, I rather like a little feistiness, and the thought of taking her to bed is becoming more and more appealing by the second.

But first, I have to ease her fears.

"I never accused you of misusing funds," I tell her with a wave of my hand. "I simply want to ensure that you have everything you need. The funds the clinic receives should be more than enough to cover a proper desk, for example." I drum my fingers on the card table between us. "And proper chairs for you and your guests." My eyes fall to the damp spot on her shirt right between her breasts. "And I suspect there is even enough to get the air-conditioning fixed. We need to make sure everything is comfortable for you and your patients."

But though my words are meant to reassure her—there's no need for her to be working like this—instead, they only seem to anger her further.

"How dare you," she says, rising out of her chair. "How dare you come here and accuse me of not caring about the comfort of my patients. Or act like you have any idea how things should be run down here. Have you even been to Rio de Campo before?"

I start to respond, but she cuts me off.

"This isn't Montovia," she continues. "Buildings here don't have air-conditioning. And there are more important things than desks and chairs. You have no right to waltz in here and start lecturing me about how we use our funds when you haven't even been here for five minutes—"

"Forgive me," I say, standing as well. "But I believe I have every right—"

"You have no right," she repeats. "Now get out. I have patients to see, and I don't have time to listen to some pompous idiot who's never been outside of the first world before. This isn't Montovia."

_Forget feisty_ , I think, fighting back a laugh. _She's as fiery as they come._ And all the more attractive for it, too—it's all I can do not to let my gaze fall to her breasts, which are heaving against the clingy fabric of her shirt. She should shout at me more often. I rather like the view.

But sadly, I should try to resolve this.

"Elle," I say calmly, "if we could just—"

"No. Get out." She grabs my sleeve and starts dragging me toward the door.

I don't resist—though I could overpower her quite easily, I suspect that isn't the right tactic.

"Elle," I say again. "I've spoken poorly. I never meant to accuse you of anything."

"It doesn't matter," she says, pulling me through the lobby. "This conversation is over." The man behind the counter looks startled by this little scene, but he doesn't try to stop Elle from dragging me right to the door of the clinic and back outside.

"This isn't convenient or fun for either of us," I say, trying another angle. "It wasn't my choice to come here. But I'm afraid I must ensure my family's money is being used properly." She's released my sleeve, and I spin around just in time to see her grab the door—and freeze.

"What did you say?" She looks back at me, and her eyes have gone wide.

I straighten. It seems I've found the right approach. "I said that this isn't convenient for either of us and—"

She shakes her head. "No, I mean about the money. You said it was _your family's_ money _._ "

"Why yes, I—"

"Who are you?"

_Ah, yes, now I see._

It seems Doctor Elle Parker has started to realize who I might be. And I'll be damned if I don't use it to my advantage.

"I've already told you," I say lightly, ready for this little game. "My name is Leo. It's short for Leopold."

She gives a jerk of her head, apparently out of patience. "What's the rest of it?"

My lips curl into a smile. Perhaps I should have mentioned it sooner—but now I'm having far too much fun watching her squirm.

"I'm Leopold Augustus Xavier Lothair, second son of King Edmund II. Most people know me as Prince Leopold of Montovia."

# Elle

He left out the _His Royal Highness_ bit.

I can't believe I didn't recognize him, but in all honesty, the tabloid photos do _not_ do Prince Leo justice. I've known since I took this job it was the Montovian royal family underwriting this clinic, but meeting _him_...here? It's all so out of context I didn't see it before.

I have to clench my jaw to keep my mouth from falling open, though I'm almost sure that's what he's expecting me to do, judging by the smirk on his lips.

_He does this all the time._ I can see it on his face—this is how this asshole gets his way in life. He can drop his family's name—hell, _his_ name—and get anything he wants. And with the way he keeps staring at my chest, getting in my panties is probably next on his wish list. And the sad thing is, it wouldn't have taken much for him to convince me to have done just that before he did the whole name-dropping thing.

Maybe the year I've spent holed up here _has_ been too long and something tells me he can almost smell my desperation.

_I'm pathetic_.

But this is Leo—the bad boy prince of Montovia. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ One of the first single men to enter this clinic in almost a year had to be _this_ asshole?

Maybe I should have left the clinic more often. Maybe I should have been more involved in the local activities. If I hadn't shuttered myself in this place, perhaps I wouldn't be having such a problem now.

I cross my arms over my chest, all too aware of the way his eyes keep dropping to the gross sweaty stain on the top of my shirt—and now I'm even more aware _why_. This guy has probably slept with every woman in _Europe_ , not just every woman in Montovia. Clearly, he thinks he's going to start a new trend here in South America since he's likely run out of willing females on the other side of the world. But I'll be damned if he's coming anywhere near me. Especially now that he's accused me of being some thief—I can see in his eyes what he thinks of me. It must be giving him a thrill, thinking he's going to catch a criminal, then...what? Sleep with me? _Ha_.

The old me would have bitched about how unfair this all was. How some asshole prince from Montovia who has never worked a day in his life can just waltz in, not knowing anything about what goes on here, and expect me to do _anything_ for him.

But that isn't me now. I don't whine about much anymore—I don't have much time to complain, even if the situation here does suck. I've come to understand how life _is_ unfair, and it has nothing to do with _my_ life. Before I came to Rio de Campo, I thought my life was pretty horrible. I honestly thought nothing could be worse than what had happened to me back in the States. But that seems so trivial now, compared to what I see here every single day. And this douchebag—he has no idea. No fucking clue—

"Why don't you give me a tour?" He gives me another one of _those_ smiles, his gaze never leaving mine. Something about that look... I'm not sure why, but I know he's used it before. It's probably the go-to thing he does to get his way. His smirk is a little _too_ cocky. Almost arrogant, but so fucking _charming_.

That stupid electric thrill runs through me again, centering itself exactly where I should _not_ be feeling it. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to remind myself I am _not_ going to let his charms work on me, no matter how desperate for company I might be. I almost wince from the pain before the metallic taste of blood hits my tongue.

"As I said, Elle, I'm only here to see how we can help." He puffs out his chest a little. "There are no accusations being made. Just _concerns_..."

My gaze narrows and I touch my tongue to the wound I've made on the inside of my cheek. I glare at him for a moment. His eyes drift south again, and I tighten the hold I have on my arms, still crossing my chest.

"Concerns." I almost parrot his tone instead of asking a question.

This day should have come a long time ago—long before I arrived here. It's been pretty clear to me the royal family has their heads pretty far up their asses, considering what goes on in _this_ country. The fact that it has taken them almost two years to start asking questions speaks a hell of a lot more about _them_ than it does about _me_. I guess I'd hoped they had figured it out themselves and were staying out of it. Or maybe I'd hoped if they did decide to grace Rio de Campo with their presence, I would be somewhere else by then. _Anywhere_ else.

"You want a tour." I'm surprised at how resigned my voice sounds—almost flat. I press my lips into a line again and force myself not to say something that is going to make me sound like I'm a smartass. Not that I'm not _very much_ a smartass, but the guy is a royal, after all, not to mention one of my employers. I suppose I have to show some sense of decorum, even if my brain is screaming at me that he doesn't deserve it.

"Follow me." I spin on my heel, my arms still crossed over my chest. I'm almost glad to be moving—the small amount of silence between us is too uncomfortable.

He probably thinks this place is disgusting, and he isn't wrong. But if he thinks the lobby is bad...

We only walk a few feet toward the swinging door separating the lobby from the rest of the clinic before I hear the front door burst open behind us. A woman is carrying a baby and she screams something in Spanish.

I don't even think—I take the baby from the woman's arms and race into the back. I lay her down on one of the two gurneys. This room is supposed to serve as the office area, where a nurse and a secretary might sit, but it now functions as the main area where I see my patients. I have the bed raised high enough for me to be able to stand next to it while I work on the child. It's become a habit now, preparing the area for the next sick baby as soon as the last one has left.

I make sure she's still breathing—she is, but she's wheezing. I grab my stethoscope from the side table between the two beds and listen to her lungs. They're awful, similar to what I hear every day—but this baby is lucky. Her mom brought her to the clinic before her airway closed.

I don't have time to think about how I've seen this too many times in the past year—babies and children who can't breathe. This isn't what this clinic was meant for at all. It was supposed to be a wellness clinic—somewhere for children to get free annual checkups and vaccinations—something that is needed here, but not exactly culturally appropriate. As far as other medical care goes, even with the heavily discounted rates, it's still far too expensive for most people to afford.

The nearest hospital is over forty miles away and most of the people here don't have any means of transporting themselves there, even though many of the children I see have medical needs I can't meet with the meager supplies and nonexistent staff at this facility. Taking the bus to the nearest city would cost a week's wages for most of the families I see. It isn't even a possibility for most of them.

Raul speaks to the mother of the baby, explaining what I'm doing. I turn the baby on her side so I can listen to her lungs from her back.

"Can I help with anything?" I hear Prince Leo's voice right behind me—so close I can almost feel his breath on my neck.

He walks around to my side to get a better look at the baby. Just as he reaches down, the child coughs and blood spurts from her mouth and onto his arm.

He gasps and pulls his hand away. His partially rolled-up shirt sleeve now has a splattering of blood on it.

Listening to the baby's lungs is about all I can do. We don't have the equipment here for me to do anything else. She needs an x-ray, blood tests, and medicine—things I don't have at this clinic.

Raul is talking to the mom about what is going on. I'm already dreading the conversation the woman and I are going to have when I tell her that her baby needs to go to the hospital for the tests and the medication she needs.

I'm not sure if this is a child I've seen before or not. There are too many of them, and most of them come in multiple times. To some people, I might seem like I'm cold or uncaring, but I'm not that way at all. I've just had to distance myself from the realities of what happens here. If I didn't, I'd be crying all the time and unable to care for these little kids.

And he doesn't get it. Prince Leo leads a charmed life—he doesn't ever have to see what happens in the real world. Neither did I before I came here—I mean, I worked in a pediatric emergency room for a year after I finished my residency, but it was never like _this_. And this place isn't supposed to be like this, either. It's supposed to be a _clinic_ , not an emergency room. And while the Montovia Medical Council explained there might be occasional emergencies, it isn't supposed to be a _daily_ thing. The _only_ thing. And it happens so much, I don't have any time to figure out why it's happening at all.

I live here most of the time, alone in the clinic so I'm always available when I'm needed. One of the two little patient rooms off to the side of this area is where I live and sleep. Prince Leo is going to freak out when he finds out about _that_. I'm supposed to have my own apartment—his country is paying for it, for Christ's sake. But I spend my salary on other things—getting kids like this to the hospital in Santa Rosa, mostly.

I turn to Raul, giving the mother as warm a nod as I can. I can speak Spanish, but the dialect here is different than what I learned back home, and most of the locals can't understand me. "Tell her we need to get the baby to the hospital."

He translates my words for the woman, and the same look clouds her face that clouds the face of every mother who comes into the clinic.

My brow creases and I let out a long breath. "Tell her I'll make sure the costs are taken care of."

Raul nods grimly and turns back to the woman. Tears stream down her cheeks and she fishes around in her bag.

I know this drill—it happens multiple times a day. I pull up the rails on the bed so the baby won't fall if she does happen to wake up and I turn to go back to the lobby, trying to ignore the royal idiot who is staring at me with his mouth almost gaping open.

The baby's mother walks up to me saying something I don't understand and places an object in my hand.

"She says you're an honorable doctor." Raul looks at me with an almost identical look to the one the woman gave me a moment ago. The same clouded, almost dejected look. "She says she wishes she could give you more."

I nod, giving the woman a grim smile. "Get the baby to the hospital. And if the baby gets sick again, take her straight there." They are the same words I say every time, even though it isn't going to happen. If this happens again, I'm sure she'll bring the baby right back here.

I don't even look at what it is she's given me and I try not to think about her or the man I can sense following close behind me as I walk back into the lobby.

I spin on my heel to face Leo. "That was your tour."

He's no longer staring at my chest, at least. He gazes into my eyes with a look I don't recognize. Not from him, anyway. It almost looks like...respect. I find it hard to believe he respects anything, though, knowing what I've heard and read about him in the past.

He looks at me for a moment before his brow wrinkles and he glances down at my hand. He nods at my closed fist. "What did she give you?"

I raise my arm, turning my hand over so that it's between us. I release the tight fist I made around the object and open my hand so we both can see what treasure it is that's been given to me as payment this time.

His nose wrinkles as he examines the item she's given me. "A seashell? Why would she give you a seashell?"

I look down at the white seashell in my hand and close my fingers around it again, lowering my arm. "Do you know how far we are from the ocean?"

He looks into my eyes and I almost forget my heart was racing only a few minutes ago because of the adrenaline rush of saving a baby's life. It seems to be racing for an entirely different reason now.

He stares at me for a beat too long. "I have no idea. A hundred kilometers?"

"Almost three hundred _miles_. It's something valuable to her." I touch the cool shell in my hand, tracing its outline with my thumb. I try not to think about how many of these nearly identical shells I collected as a child growing up near the beach in California or how many of them I colored on with markers. This is the most valuable thing the woman had with her and she was willing to give it up for her child.

"The supplies you used in there cost more than that shell is worth. Your time costs—"

I glare up at him, my fist tightening around the trinket in my hand. "You know, at least it wasn't a chicken this time. Do you know how many of those I've gotten since I came here?" I try not to roll my eyes. "I'll take care of it. It'll come out of my salary."

His expression softens and his mouth opens as though he wants to say something, but nothing comes out for another moment. "I didn't mean... I didn't mean to suggest that you should be paying for anything. I merely meant that it's the responsibility of the parent to pay for the health care of their child."

I lift a brow and hope that he understands, but I can see that he doesn't. "Your family built a wellness clinic here. I don't think you realized that no one is going to come if they are _well_. That there isn't anyone here who can _afford_ to come to your clinic if they are sick and actually need care." I look around the room, almost hoping Raul will come to my rescue, but I'm sure he's left with the mother through the back entrance.

He glances around the room, too, probably trying to figure out what I'm looking at before his gaze returns to mine. "And how will she pay for the hospital? How will she get there?"

I let out a long sigh and motion for him to follow me into my office. I drop onto the folding chair in front of my desk before I pick up the plastic tub with the other similar items, remove the top and place the new shell into it. I cover the box quickly with the lid and slide it back under the table.

He drops onto the chair across from me and gives me a confused look. He nods at the floor toward the plastic bin. " _That_? Those are the payments?" He makes a face that seems a little too much like disgust. "Those are the _only_ payments?"

I press my lips into a line and narrow my gaze, not answering the question with anything but my stern expression. I wait a few moments, trying to figure out how the hell I can even _begin_ to explain what goes on here.

I gulp down my indignation and straighten my shoulders. "She'll get to the hospital in the car your country has so generously provided for my use. The one that sits out back and has never once been driven by me."

I see something that looks close to a wince flash across his face, but the pained look is quickly replaced with the same look he's had since we came back out of the treatment area. Some mix of confusion, disgust and anger, I suspect.

"You can't ask a doctor to come here and just..." I snap my mouth closed, unsure if I want to say the words out loud. "You can't expect me only to provide care to people who can pay."

# Leo

Well, I guess I'm starting to understand where all the money is going.

I rub my forehead. When my father sent me here, I thought my responsibility was simple—find the discrepancies in the accounts, figure out where the money was going, and report back. I thought it would be an easy task—sure, there was the chance I'd have to wade through some shoddy bookkeeping and possibly even sack a person or two, but I wasn't expecting to deal with a situation like this. This...this _complicates_ things.

_What in bloody hell am I supposed to do now?_

This isn't supposed to be my responsibility. My family has launched philanthropic ventures all over the world—we've built clinics, schools, shelters, food banks, and dozens of other facilities, as expected of a wealthy royal family—but we don't usually have to handle any of the finer details ourselves. We have people for that. Foundations to dispense the money. Boards of directors and diplomats to oversee the functions of any particular project. The only reason I'm here is because my father thought I needed to learn a lesson, to understand my place in this world.

I understand my place just fine—and so does the rest of the world. My older brother is the crown prince, the heir to the throne of Montovia, and he's played his part—he's serious, dutiful, and everything a proper dullard of a prince should be. My next youngest brother is still finishing up his obligatory round of service in the royal military—God help him—and the one after that is pursuing his studies at university. And as for my sister, the youngest of us all...well, Sophia shows signs of being properly infamous someday, but she's still too young to be making much trouble yet.

Me? I'm the one who reminds the world not all of us are royal bores. I've done my duty at every major club in Europe, made appearances on yachts in the Mediterranean with supermodels and starlets, closed down the bars with the latest Hollywood A-listers in all corners of the globe. The tabloids have covered every minute of it. Someone has to remind the world that Montovia isn't trapped in another century, that we aren't all stodgy buffoons with pokers shoved up our backsides.

And God, what a life it's been. Beautiful women, luxurious resorts, VIP treatment everywhere I go. What's the point of being a royal if I don't take full advantage of the perks? If life has blessed me with certain advantages...well, I'd be a fool not to accept them graciously.

And I _have_ accepted them, with enthusiasm, and usually everything works out in my favor—until the one night I let things go too far.

I straighten. That night is the reason I'm here. My father thought my actions were reprehensible enough to send me across the ocean, but he doesn't even know the entire story. He knows I was reckless and irresponsible. He knows my actions put the reputations—and lives—of myself and my brother Andrew at risk. But he doesn't know what else was at stake. He doesn't know the part Andrew played, and he definitely doesn't know the worst might be yet to come. He did what he needed to in order to keep the press from hearing anything. And I did what I could—including covering for Andrew with our father—to keep the situation from escalating in other ways.

I'm not sure if it will be enough. But I'm here, paying my penance.

The air in this place is feeling warmer and thicker by the minute. A bead of sweat drips down my back as I run a hand through my hair. I thought a journey to Rio de Campo might, at best, be something of an adventure; at worst, I was convinced it would be a chore. And though I'm beginning to understand I have my work cut out for me, this is all quite a bit more complicated than I anticipated. I haven't even been here a day and I've met with a number of surprises—from the beautiful doctor to the reprehensible state of this clinic to the dramatic scene I just witnessed—and I'm not sure what to make of it all.

I look down at my arm, at the small splatter of blood on my sleeve. I'm not sure what just happened here. But seeing Elle in action, watching her tend calmly and skillfully to that child, moved me in a way I didn't expect. And for her to accept only a seashell in payment...

I glance back up at her, realizing she's waiting for me to say something. It's clear from the look in her blue eyes that she has no intention of listening to me, though, however I might answer her.

"We're going to need to discuss your budget eventually," I say carefully. "But I see no reason that we need to have this discussion now." Not after what I just witnessed. She saved that child's life, and though I can't say I usually pay much attention to a woman's talents—outside the bedroom, at least—there was something unspeakably beautiful about what I just saw. Maybe it was the determination in her expression when she bent over the child, or the tenderness in her hands as she helped her—or maybe it's the passion I see in her eyes now as she glares at me. She'll fight for this place and her part in it with every breath in her body. If I thought I wanted her before, it's nothing compared to the desire I feel for her now.

She, on the other hand, looks very much like she wants to throw a fist at my face.

Her eyes fall closed, then open again. She shakes her head, and the wisps of hair that have come loose from her ponytail brush against her neck. I want to slide my tongue along the skin of her throat, to see if it's as soft as I imagine it is.

"You can discuss the budget now or later," she says, her voice far too calm. "But my decision won't change. I will never, ever charge these people for care. Take it or leave it." She stands and moves toward the door again, and I rise and follow her back into the room where we just were.

She doesn't say a word to me. She grabs a pair of latex gloves and goes over to the gurney, bending over it and cleaning up. I try to keep my eyes away from the curve of her ass, but I can't help myself—the woman is lush in all the right places, and I find myself musing about what it might be like to take her right here, to slide down her pants and take her from behind with that soft curve of her bottom pressed right against me. As feisty as she is, I can only imagine how passionate she might be in the throes of pleasure.

No—I have no intention of further discussing business today. Why focus on such dull things, especially when they only seem to aggravate her? I'd much rather soften her up again, see if I might get her to turn her tender hands to me. I'm sure we'd both like to forget about the child and the money and turn our attention to something much more pleasant.

When she's done cleaning up the gurney, she peels off her gloves and tosses them in the rubbish bin.

A sudden thought occurs to me, and I glance down at my sleeve again.

"I...uh, is this contagious?" I ask. I had a full round of vaccines before I left Montovia, but I have no idea what was coughed up all over my arm.

Elle shoots me an almost disgusted look. "You'll live."

I can almost hear the word she doesn't say— _unfortunately._ But while she might prefer that I be gone, I'd prefer not to die out here. I might not be the heir to the throne, but there are still many things I'd like to do in life.

Like _her_ , for example.

When you're a prince—and blessed with charm and good looks—you always have your share of women to choose from. I can walk into any club in the world and snap my fingers and have a dozen gorgeous women hanging off my arm in seconds, or flash a smile at some hot little starlet and have her naked in my bed in under an hour. So meeting a woman who's immune to my charms—or at least determined to be—is both a little perplexing and a little exciting. And I'm more than prepared for the challenge.

_Just soften her up a little. You've come into her territory, stepped on her toes. Show her what you can offer her and she'll melt in your hands._ I saw the way she looked at me when she first set eyes on me. She wants me. She might be fighting that desire now, but it's just a matter of teasing it out again. Putting her at ease.

"Does that happen often?" I ask her. "The baby, I mean. Is that something you see in here on a regular basis?"

Surprise flickers in her eyes—I suppose she didn't expect me to take an actual interest in the affairs of this clinic.

She pushes a loose bit of hair behind her ear. "More than it should."

"Ah." I clasp my hands behind my back. _Tread carefully._ "I thought you handled it quite skillfully."

She gives a dismissive shake of her head. "I was just doing my job."

"And you did it quite well, at least from what I could tell." _And you looked absolutely intoxicating doing it._ I take a casual step toward her. "I can see you're quite suited to the position here."

Instantly, I see her guard go up again.

"What exactly are you trying to do?" she asks. "You can't accuse me of mishandling funds one minute and then tell me I'm suited to this job the next." She gives another shake of her head. "And while we're at it, why the hell are you still here? You've seen the place. You've told me we can put off the money conversation until a different day. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work."

I don't move. Instead, I smile at her, trying to lighten the mood. "I was hoping that since we have to work together we might do so on good terms, Elle. That we might be friends."

" _Friends._ " She snorts. "I know what you want, and it's not friendship."

_Well, I can't deny that._ But I'm not entirely sure I need to. Even as I take another step forward, I see her eyes fall to my lips—a sure sign some part of her subconscious mind is thinking about kissing me—and I swear I can see the pulse beating at her throat.

"We have no choice but to work together," I tell her lightly. "And I'd prefer to do so with some civility. Perhaps if we met somewhere neutral, somewhere outside of the clinic, we can chat on more casual terms. Get to know each other a little better." I take yet another step toward her, and still she doesn't move away. "You've had a trying day, Elle. You deserve a break. Is there somewhere in town where we might relax and have a couple of drinks?"

She crosses her arms. "I can't leave the clinic."

"After you're done, then."

This time I get an exasperated roll of her eyes. "We are _not_ having drinks. Ever. Your charms might work on other women, but they're not going to work on me."

"Are you so sure about that?" I take one final step toward her, and this one brings me close enough that I hear the sudden sharp intake of her breath.

_Try as she might, she can't fight it._ My lips curl up into a slow smile as I lean forward, bringing my mouth close to her ear.

"I think you're trying very hard to convince yourself that my charms won't work on you," I murmur. "But I think they've been working since the moment you set eyes on me." I bring my hands up slowly, carefully, to her sides, and though she flinches slightly at my touch, she doesn't pull away. "It's fairly easy to recognize a woman's desire, Elle, even if she tries to resist it. Her eyes get darker. Her breath gets quicker. And her pulse..." I bring one hand up to brush my fingers against her throat, "...flutters so quickly you can see it dancing beneath her skin." I press my fingers against the spot where I can feel the racing rhythm of her desire.

"Anger also causes those reactions," she says, but her voice is little more than a ragged whisper.

"Mm. Then I am more than okay with your anger." I move forward, leading her back one step and then another until her back is against the wall. Her body tenses slightly, but still she doesn't push me away.

I'm close enough now that my lips brush against her skin when I speak.

"You want me, Elle," I tell her. "And I want you. So why don't we just do away with all the pretense and make the most of our time together?"

# Elle

My temperature has risen to a point I'm sure isn't healthy—my entire body feels like it's on fire. It's a good thing I'm almost one hundred percent certain the illness the baby has isn't contagious, or I would be pretty sure I had contracted it.

My heart is pounding in my chest. Except it isn't so much pounding anymore as it is trying to burst itself right out of my body. He's standing too close to me—not quite touching me—but so close I can feel the waves of heat emanating from him. I'm pretty sure I'm not breathing, except I can hear the ragged breaths escaping me that make me sound like an animal in heat. And I don't even want to think about the goddamned pulsing between my legs that has made me embarrassingly wet.

And he's barely even touched me.

He rocks back on his heels, pulling away just enough to look into my eyes, almost daring me to deny my attraction to him.

_Fuck._

This is _not_ how things are supposed to be happening. This is not how anything in my life is _ever_ going to happen. I'm not going to let myself even consider how this is the stuff fantasies are made of—how one evening with Prince Leo would set me up with enough fantasy material to take care of my sexual needs for the rest of my life.

_If I can just stop looking at his lips..._

Almost as though he can read my mind, his tongue trails slowly across his bottom lip, and his eyes sear through me.

My mouth opens, and I'm mesmerized, imagining his tongue in places I should not be thinking about—not here. Not ever.

I blink a few times, snapping myself out of one hot daydream. That is all he is ever going to be to me—a fantasy. It isn't like I haven't fantasized about Prince Leo before, like every other warm-blooded woman on the planet. It's just that the photos in the magazines do _not_ do him justice—the man oozes sex appeal, which has obviously not translated itself completely onto the pages of the tabloids. It isn't fair that a man this magnetic is also a _royal_.

_A royal pain in my ass. A royal bad boy who will never change._

And that's the problem. Never again am I going to be someone's plaything.

He lifts an arm, placing his hand on the wall behind me and almost pinning me there with his body. He tilts his head to whisper in my ear again, his breath hot on my neck. "Elle. I don't believe you can deny our attraction, no matter how much you resist."

Something about his words snaps me to immediate attention and I duck under his outstretched arm, just as his other hand reaches up to touch my cheek. I back away, around the gurney to the middle of the room. There are no walls here—nothing he can pin me against now. My eyes dart around the room, planning my escape path, which is silly considering I've spent a year here, only leaving on rare occasions. I know this clinic better than I've known any other place I've ever worked, so escaping seems almost like an overreaction.

I take a long breath, trying to slow my pounding heart as much as I'm trying to slow my racing thoughts. I don't get like this—overcome. I just...don't. I don't know what sort of signals I've been sending out since Leo arrived, but he must have misinterpreted them.

_Ha._

He hasn't misinterpreted anything, but I didn't know I was so...transparent. And knowing he's somehow able to read my mind makes my cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and anger about my overactive libido.

"Elle." His voice is low, almost soothing. He turns to me with that same slow, sexy smile that he's given me—Christ, I don't even know how many times now. I might have to start counting.

_No. You. Won't_. I ball my hand into a fist and dig my fingernails into my palm, trying to remind myself with the prick of pain how this is _not_ going to happen. That I am _not_ going to allow my body to betray me. No matter how much I might think I want to.

I don't think I've ever had to do battle with myself like this before. There's something about the whole sleeping-with-a-prince thing that is definitely...appealing. But I'm pretty sure I was hot for him before I knew he was Prince Leo. It was only an hour or so ago, but I seem to remember my body deciding to betray me before I ever had the slightest notion he was a royal...

It doesn't matter. This is wrong on so many levels. Even if I _did_ decide it would somehow be okay to sleep with him, then what? Where would we even go? My room—if you can call it that—is small. The twin-size bed takes up almost the entire space, with only enough room left over for the small plank of wood I have sitting on two concrete blocks that serves as a makeshift desk, holding my laptop from home and the few personal items I brought with me. There isn't even enough room for a dresser—I'm still living out of my suitcase a year after coming here. And I don't even want to think about the state of my wardrobe.

"Your clinic closes at four o'clock. If my watch has set itself correctly, you have been officially off duty for almost ten minutes." He stares at me, his eyes hooded and his mouth... God, his mouth. He gives me the same smile as before and I almost melt into the floor. I have to press my fingernails a little deeper into my palm to stop this line of thinking. Again.

I blink at him a few more times, trying to get my brain to catch up to what is happening here. It's still more than a little unbelievable. Prince Leo doesn't _notice_ women like me, let alone sleep with them. Not to my knowledge, anyway. He dates starlets, famous women who look a hell of a lot better than some girl who has sweat and blood stains on her shirt and can barely keep her hair out of her face.

Prince Leo _must_ be bored. He probably would have tried to bend that mother over if she hadn't run in here screaming with her baby. He just had...what? A fifteen-hour flight here from Montovia? He's been without sex for close to a _day_. Considering the tabloids all say he's a sex addict, the whole jonesing-over- _me_ thing makes sense. He really _would_ do any woman who moves—he's having withdrawals. It's like an alcoholic who gets so desperate for booze he's willing to drink hand sanitizer to get a buzz—desperate times calling for desperate measures and all that.

Good thing I'm not desperate. Or a sex addict. I've been without it for a year and I'm doing just fine—no matter what my body is screaming at me. If I can go a year without sex, I can go forever.

_Damn right I can_.

I force a smile, almost sure I have a plan to keep myself in control now, no matter how much Leo might try to convince me otherwise. "You're right. We do close at four." I motion to the door separating the clinic from the lobby, hoping he'll walk out ahead of me.

He doesn't move—he stands there staring at me, his eyebrows slightly raised. He's tilting his head like he's waiting for me to suggest where it is I'd like for him to set me down after he has my clothes off.

_The floor would be fine. The cool tile would feel nice with this heat—_

Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me? I give my head a good shake, hoping some of my raging hormones will fall out. I walk to the door, swinging it open before walking through, back into the small lobby.

I can feel his eyes on my ass as he follows close behind me, but I don't turn to be sure. I go to the door and turn over the sign reading _cerrado_. It doesn't always stop people from coming in, but I'm hesitant to lock the door today, knowing it would trap me inside with Leo.

I turn to face him again, unsure of what to expect.

He's standing near the swinging door to the treatment area, looking me up and down. His smile has disappeared, but he lifts a brow. "Aren't you going to lock the doors?"

I force another smile. "Look, Your Highness, I think I might have given you the wrong idea. I mean—"

He interrupts. "Call me Leo. Please, there's no need for formality." He raises his palms to me, almost as though he's acquiescing. "I believe I may have been a bit too...aggressive." He frowns. "You should know that is _not_ characteristic of me, nor is it my typical behavior."

Damn. His stupid accent can make a girl swoon, I have no doubt about that. Not that _I'm_ about to swoon over it.

He seems to cross the room with a single step. He's now far too close to me again, though at least not pressing his body against mine this time. "There's something about you, Elle, that makes me lose all sense of my normal decorum. What is it you've been eating out here in the jungle that gives you this—?"

"Peanut butter. And radishes. Maybe it's the radishes." I have no idea where my words come from—they seem to slide off my tongue without much thought.

I back around him again, edging myself toward my small office. There's nowhere to run, and I'm not totally sure I want to run at all. But I do need to keep as much distance between the two of us as possible.

"Radishes? In the jungle?" His brow furrows. "What—?"

"Raul's wife grows them. Like a lot of the people here. Most of them are subsistence farmers. They grow enough for their families to eat and they sell back what they don't so they can buy more seeds." _Too much information, Elle._ As if His Royal Highness gives a crap about how the people here live. He doesn't. He's only here for...

I realize I have no idea why he's here at all—why his family sent _him_ and not someone else. _Anyone_ else.

My brow furrows. "Why are you here? I mean, I know _why_ you're here—the finances. I mean, why _you_? Why not someone from the Montovia Medical Council?"

He frowns and his eyes narrow. "There are reasons..." He clears his throat and straightens. "I suppose my father might have sent an official or my elder brother instead." He purses his lips, nodding. His gaze falls to the floor for a moment before his head snaps upright and he lifts his eyes to meet mine again. "But Andrew has been otherwise engaged or I suppose he would have been the one sent here." He stiffens and I could swear his cheeks redden slightly.

I decide not to push the issue, which is clearly sensitive.

_I didn't know he could be sensitive_.

I try to ignore the little shiver of desire running through me again. We're silent for another moment. "Look, Your Highness...it's been a long day. A trying day. And I have things to do, so—"

He cocks his head, his lips ticking up into another of those damned sexy smiles. "Things? And what _things_ might someone have to do in this hell—?" He stops himself, clearing his throat. "Place? One could say there are few things that could be done here that would be of any importance. Outside of your medical practice, of course. But now that you've closed for the evening..." His voice trails off in the same suggestive tone he's been using since he arrived.

I take a half-step back, sensing the aggression coming back into his voice. "Believe it or not, we do have an internet connection here. It isn't great—it's slow and it goes down a lot, but we have one of the three connections in town."

"I see. Is that how you amuse yourself? Watching _things_ on the internet?" He lifts an eyebrow, telling me exactly what he's suggesting.

"If you're suggesting I'm watching porn—"

He feigns shock, puffing out his chest and taking a step back before he smiles. "I would never suggest such a thing. Not to a lady." He relaxes his posture slightly. "However, if that _is_ what amuses you, might I state that the real thing is quite a bit more...pleasurable?"

I shake my head, holding back a laugh. "You really are insufferable." Maybe he isn't being aggressive. Maybe he can sense my discomfort and this is _his_ way of amusing himself—by making me uncomfortable. I'm not sure why I didn't see it before now. "And you should know there will be no pornography of any kind on the premises of this clinic, real or otherwise." I splay my hands in front of me. "Just so you know."

"I see. You are aware, however, that I have booked a hotel room for the next two weeks. I haven't viewed the premises of the resort yet, but I did book the deluxe suite. I imagine it would be quite a bit more suitable than what you're used to."

"Right." I nod, closing my eyes for a moment. I open them after a few seconds, meeting his gaze again. "Not going to happen."

He looks at me for a moment, almost like he's trying to bore a hole through me with his blazing eyes. "What is it they say in America? Never say never?"

I nod. "You're right. Never is a long time. What I _should_ have said was that I'll be gone before your two-week stay is up. But you'll be here to meet the new doctor, which should be nice for both of you. I'm sure he'll appreciate how the royal family sent one of their own to greet him."

"Him...?" His gaze narrows and the sexy smile falls from his lips. " _Him_?"

I nod again. "Yes, as I'm sure you've read in your files, I signed a one-year contract. And my contract is up in only four short days."

# Leo

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.

# Elle

I'm surprised Prince Leo hasn't shown up yet today—I was almost expecting him to be waiting outside the clinic doors when I opened up earlier this morning. But I haven't heard from him—maybe he's decided there isn't anything very interesting here after all.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, I suppose—I currently have plenty to keep me busy in the clinic and to keep my mind from drifting to the playboy prince.

My thoughts are thankfully interrupted by my brother—the man sitting on the gurney in front of me.

He shifts around a little, obviously uncomfortable. "Think I'll live?"

I roll my eyes, glad I'm standing behind the idiot so he doesn't see how irritated I am with him this time.

I dispose of my gloves in the wastebasket next to the gurney and walk around to face him. "You're going to have to take your shirt all the way off. This..." I wave my hands at the t-shirt he's pulled up to reveal his back to me, which is still hanging around his neck. "This is filthy. What is it you were doing this time?"

The Cheshire grin he gives me makes me think twice about having asked.

"Never mind," I say. "I don't even want to know."

He chuckles. "Not _that_. I was ziplining. I guess I let go too soon and...bam! Dude, I hit the ground so hard."

I shake my head to myself, glad I don't have to hear about Owen's latest escapades with whatever horny co-ed he's scored with this time. I grab my supplies from the cabinet on the other side of the room before I walk back to him, setting a suture kit and bandages on the bed.

"You're going to need stitches—probably twelve or so. This is going to hurt, and I don't have any medicine to numb it."

"Elle, dude, you're killing me."

The muscles in his back clench as I begin scrubbing at the dirty wound. I finish cleaning it, open up the suture kit and pull on my sterile gloves to begin sewing back together the ragged gash across his shoulder blade.

He groans a few times but doesn't say anything while I'm working on him. My brother has never been much of a complainer, and he doesn't disappoint me this time.

I finish with the stitches and dressing before I clean up the mess I've made. "I need to check this in a couple days to make sure it isn't infected. And you have to keep it clean and dry." I walk around to the front of the gurney to make eye contact. My brother spends most of his time drunk or high at the youth hostel—probably both—so he's going to have trouble following directions, no matter what I say to him. "Owen. Look at me."

He looks up, giving me another one of his stupid grins. He might be a little unkempt—his dreadlocks have always grossed me out—but I can see why the ladies like him. He's nothing if not charming.

"That means you're going to have to stay out of the river. And the shower." Not that I'm overly concerned about the shower thing—I somehow doubt he takes many of those.

He laughs. "Dude, our shower's been broken for like three weeks. It just dribbles out a little bit of cold water." He slaps his thigh, bursting into laughter. "Oh, man, I guess I should have told those British dudes about that."

I shake my head. I don't see the humor here—I still have no idea how he even managed to get the job at the hostel, let alone how he's managed to _keep_ it for the past year. He came with me as some sort of brotherly protection. And when I told him I was coming _here_ , the only thing he asked me was how far away we were going to be from the beach. I still remember how disappointed he was when he found out he wouldn't be surfing here—especially since the name of his hostel means _the beach_. It was almost a cruel joke at first, but he seems to have found plenty to keep himself occupied since then.

"Whatever. Thank God you've already had your tetanus shot. Just keep it clean. And _dry_. No canoeing, or whatever it is you do out there."

He laughs again. "God, Elle, _rafting_. You know, it wouldn't kill you to take a day off and come out there with me."

"No thanks." It isn't that I'm not outdoorsy—I just know what happens with the kids who hang out with Owen. And I'm not about to go down that road again—not with Owen's friends. I've never had any interest in the party life and my one try with one of Owen's surfer pals back home was heartbreaking in too many ways.

"So, what's up with the fancy clothes? And the fancy hair?" He looks me up and down. "You haven't been this dressed up since we first got here. And is that...? No, it can't be." He slides off the gurney and reaches out to tip my chin up. "Holy shit, it _is_. You're wearing _makeup_. Holy shit, dude, what the fuck?"

I shrug away from him, my cheeks burning. I did make a little too much of an effort. I'm not even sure why I did, except that I looked like hell yesterday when Leo showed up. So I put on a little mascara this morning and yes, I even flat-ironed my hair, which took me way too long to do and reminded me of why I never do it in the first place.

_Why am I even worrying about what Leo thinks?_ It's not like I'm going to let him get anywhere near me, even if he is a prince.

Thinking about him and the reason he's here in Rio de Campo, my stomach grows hard as a brick.

I hide my discomfort before I turn back to face my brother. "That reminds me. You need to pay this time."

"Pay for what?" His brow furrows and he looks at me like I've lost my mind.

"Your stitches." I motion with my head toward his shoulder. "Your medical treatment."

"Ah, dude, you know I don't make much at the resort. Hey, how about drinks on me tonight? You didn't come by for your free birthday drink last night. You can get really loaded tonight—or maybe you want to wait a few days and get out of here with a real bang?" He looks at me hopefully.

"I don't think so." I don't drink much, and I definitely am not into the kind of life Owen is leading at the hostel.

He shrugs. "Maybe when we get back to the beach then..." His voice trails off like he's thinking about something else, but he never finishes his statement. He grabs his dirty shirt from the gurney and walks back toward the lobby.

I follow him through the swinging door, fully prepared to explain exactly why I'm never going to set foot in that place he calls a _resort_ —a dump is more like it—and how I have no intention of ever going there again for anything. I'm pretty sure they need a sign warning people to be up-to-date on their vaccinations before they eat or drink anything served in what they say passes for a bar and restaurant there.

I open my mouth to tell him that as the door swings closed behind me. But I have to stop—I can't seem to move or say anything for a second. My mouth hangs open and I see Leo standing at the counter. He's chatting with Raul, who seems to understand him easily, though I can't imagine Prince Leopold would know the local dialect.

He turns to me, looking me up and down for a moment—too long a moment, honestly—and his eyes seem to stop their roaming when they get to my breasts. I wore my cleanest top, even though it's white and a bit too tight across my chest. I'm sure my gaze rests on him longer than it should, too. He's done away with the suit he wore yesterday in favor of dark khakis and a shirt the same color blue as his eyes—a short-sleeved polo that fits him perfectly, showing off his broad chest and sculpted biceps.

I can't help it—my pulse quickens more than a little as I imagine what else might be under his shirt.

His gaze turns quickly to my brother, his eyes narrowing. "What is this? What is... _this_?" His jaw clenches and he turns back to Raul, saying something in Spanish, but his voice is so low I can't hear him.

"Dude!" My brother walks up to him, clapping him on the back. "I was just telling Elle about the shower at the resort. Sorry I forgot about that last night, man—I was a little messed up. I'll see about having someone come around to fix it in the next couple of days. You know how it is."

Leo's jaw is still clenched and he bares his teeth, almost spitting at Owen. "Put on your shirt. It is unsanitary to be in a medical facility while only half-clothed."

I take another step into the lobby, snapping instantly out of my inappropriate daydream. I motion toward Owen's back. "I—"

Leo interrupts, his eyes still fixed on Owen. "You will leave the premises at once. And you'll never return."

Owen turns to me, his brow furrowed. "Elle?"

I open my mouth to speak, but Leo already has Owen by the arm. He pulls him to the front door, almost shoving him out. He stands there for a long time, staring at my brother's back before turning to Raul, giving him a curt, almost dismissive nod.

Raul bolts through the lobby and into the back room, not making eye contact or saying a word to either of us.

Leo turns to me, his eyes narrowed. "Explain yourself, Doctor."

I hesitate for a beat too long and I hear Leo almost growl under his breath.

"This is inappropriate behavior. I could have your contract terminated immediately—"

"You saw the bandage on his back. You—"

"Having a man in this facility is unacceptable. This is a _children's_ clinic. There should be no—"

"Have you met Owen?" I interrupt. "He _is_ a child."

He growls again under his breath. "There are no provisions for adults to be treated here. There is no acceptable reason for an adult male _ever_ to be inside this clinic unless they are the father of a patient."

I stare at him for another long moment. I lift a brow. "Or Raul."

He meets my gaze, almost challenging me with his eyes. "Or Raul."

"Or you." I tilt my head, offering him my own challenge. "You didn't seem in too big a hurry to leave yesterday. And you didn't seem to have too much of a problem with trying to seduce me, either."

"I assure you, Doctor, that had I wanted to seduce you, I would have been successful."

I smile. "Is that so? So the little show you put on yesterday _wasn't_ an attempt to get me to sleep with you? I guess I'm a little confused at what the hell that was, then. Because if something in this clinic has ever been _inappropriate_ while I've been here, that had to be—"

He crosses the room in what seems like a single step, wedging me with his body against the wall in what is an all too familiar replay of yesterday's events.

I steady myself, even though my heart is now thudding in my chest and I'm somehow sure he can see it. Hell, he's close enough to me to be able to _feel_ it.

He tips his head, whispering into my ear. "Is that imbecile the type of man you prefer? Because I think I may be able to change your mind."

I close my eyes for a moment, trying not to shudder. I'm not sure why I can't control my body's response to this man. My thoughts around him seem to turn to utter chaos and it isn't like me to lose control like this.

The reality of what he's suggesting permeates my brain and I lift my hands to his shoulders. My hands must rest there for a moment too long— _he_ shudders beneath _my_ touch this time and I open my eyes. I push against him with every bit of force I'm capable of mustering and he stumbles backward.

I step into the middle of the room, turning to face him. My jaw tightens and my gaze narrows. "First of all, the caveman act doesn't go very far with me."

He runs a hand through his hair before dropping his arms to his sides. His hands ball into fists before he lifts his gaze to meet mine. "I don't know what you're speaking of, Doctor Parker."

I lift a brow. "Really?" I hitch a thumb over my shoulder. "You don't think that little scene just now was a bit...I don't know. Over the top?"

He juts his chin a bit, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don't know what you're talking about." His tone is almost indignant.

I nod. "Right. I was pretty sure you were about to club me over the head and drag me out of here by my ankles." I smile. "Into your cave."

"Oh, I understand your reference to cavemen, Doctor. I believe you've misinterpreted my intentions. Which seems likely to be because you're using my family's clinic as a location to host your sexual liaisons. I assume with your medical knowledge, you might understand how a woman such as yourself—"

I raise my hands to interrupt. "Hold on. You think I was having sex with _Owen_?"

"I didn't have the _privilege_ of knowing his name before this afternoon, Doctor Parker." His voice drips with sarcasm. "But I assume—"

"You've heard that old saying about _assuming_ things, haven't you, _Your Highness_?" I lift a brow again. "You know, the one that says when you _assume_ something, it makes an ass out of you?"

He puffs out his chest with indignation. "No, I've not had the pleasure. Do continue, though. You have no idea how much I enjoy hearing your American colloquialisms, Doctor." He almost sneers as he says the words.

I stifle the urge to laugh, but still smile. "How about this one, Your Highness? Owen _Parker_ is my brother. He followed me down here last year when I signed up for this nightmare that is your family's clinic."

His shoulders drop and the pinched look on his face softens into something else. His lips curl into a slow smile and he stares at me for another long moment. "I see."

# Leo

Her _brother_?

On the one hand, I find it incredibly disturbing that the host of the hostel and his questionable sanitation habits are connected to the lovely doctor in any way. On the other, I'm relieved to learn there was nothing untoward happening between them just now. When I saw him come out of the back room without his shirt...

_God help you_ , I chastise myself. _This isn't the time to behave like a jealous fool._ It hasn't even been a day since I met Elle and I'm already acting possessive—though, to be fair, it's not often I have any competition, especially from someone like _that_ young man. It merely surprised me, that's all. If I'd taken a moment to consider the situation, I would have seen from the start that my assumptions could hardly have been true.

_But if you're so certain, then why the show? Why the grand display?_ Because as much as I try to deny it, my entire body is on edge, ready to take on anyone who might threaten my claim on Elle. I may have only met her yesterday, but this is one challenge I am not ready to relinquish.

I straighten and look over at the doctor. She's still glaring at me, but there's a brightness in her eyes that tells me she's enjoying our little argument as much as I am.

She's looking exceedingly lovely today. While I was entranced by her yesterday—the glowing skin, the disheveled hair, the way her thin clothes clung to her body—I must admit I'm finding today's version of Doctor Elle just as intriguing. Her hair is straight today—though the humidity has already started to draw out a few wispy curls—and if I'm not mistaken, she's even wearing makeup. What ever could have inspired this extra attention to detail?

I smile to myself. There are, I suppose, many reasons why a woman might spend extra time on her appearance, but I suspect there's only one reason why today, of all days, Elle decided to do such a thing.

_In spite of her protests, she's trying to impress me._ And I have every intention of taking full advantage of that.

"Why don't we get to business?" I say. "Since you're clearly quite busy around here."

She crosses her arms. "We aren't done talking about that little scene you just caused."

"By all means, continue to lecture me, if that's what you desire." I stroll over to the wooden bench against the wall and sink down, propping my hands behind my head as I lean back. "I thought you were eager to have our business over and done with, but if you prefer to spend more time in my company, then please, go on. I'm free all afternoon."

She rolls her eyes. "You're insufferable."

"I try."

She doesn't return my grin. Instead, she turns on her heel. "Come on. I've gotten the financial statements together."

I hop up and follow her into her office—taking full advantage of the view along the way. Her pants hug the round curve of her ass in a way that brings all the blood rushing straight to my cock, but I force myself to focus. I have a game to play, and if I try to move too fast, I'll only send Elle running away again.

Her office, while still as empty and poorly stocked as before, looks a little neater today. There's a stack of papers and files on the rickety table serving as her desk, and she taps it with her hand as she sinks onto her chair.

"There you go," she says. "Have at it."

I take the seat across from hers and pull the papers toward me. "Would you care to take me through it?"

She shakes her head. "Not really. You can read, can't you? Or did they forget to teach you that at the same time they forgot to teach you manners?"

"Forgive me," I say, raising a hand in surrender. "I simply wanted to know if there was anything you wanted to share that wasn't explicitly stated here. I understand that not everything is always clear on paper. There are some things numbers can't explain."

That seems to surprise her. Her mouth falls open slightly, but for once, she doesn't try to argue. Instead, I can almost see her walls coming down a little.

"It's true," she says as I flip open the top file. "Sometimes it's not as simple as balancing the funds coming in with those going out." There's something almost wistful in her voice—something that sounds like hope.

And, God help me, I don't want to be the one to take that hope away.

We can talk about the specifics of the clinic's financial situation later. Now, I find myself wanting to kindle that bit of light for her. I've seen the passionate Elle, the capable Elle, the determined Elle—and now I have an intense longing to see the softer Elle. The one she's hiding behind all the bravado.

"You're right," I tell her. "Sometimes it isn't that simple. That's why I'm here—to see and understand the things the Montovia Medical Council can't see by only looking at the numbers." I spread my hand against the page at the top of the file. "So tell me, Elle. What should I know about this place and your work here?"

She blinks. "I..." For the briefest of moments, I see the emotions flicker across her face—hope, of course, but also fear, and sadness, and longing—and I'm suddenly struck by how lonely it must have been here for her this past year, even with her brother so close. She's been dealing with so much of this alone, working essentially by herself so far away from her home. Once again, I find myself wondering what drove her out here. _What is she running from?_

But before I can nudge her in that direction, she shakes her head, and instantly I see the walls go back up.

"I do the best I can," she says simply. "All the money we receive goes into the clinic and toward the care of the people here. Most of them can't afford to pay for the care I provide, but I refuse to turn anyone away." She crosses her arms again. "But you knew all that."

"Indeed I did," I say, flipping over the top page. My eyes skim over the numbers, but I don't read anything. Frankly, I couldn't care less about these bloody financial statements. "But I thought you might have more to say."

"You know what I have to say," she tells me. The bit of softness I saw is disappearing again, lost behind her distrust of me.

I close the file. "I'm attempting to extend an olive branch, Doctor. We both have business to do, but we _can_ be friends—"

"And I've told you that I know you aren't interested in being friends. We had all these arguments yesterday, _Your Highness._ "

"Well, if you'd prefer to be more than friends, I have no intention of arguing with that," I say, grinning. "But I'd settle for less than friends as well, as long as it allowed us to move forward with the proceedings."

She closes her eyes and shakes her head again, then leans forward, holding her face in her hands in apparent exasperation.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks into her palms. "Why are you making this so difficult?" She doesn't sound angry—just defeated. And sad.

My chest tightens. I have no interest in distressing anyone—but least of all this woman, who puts on such a brave face but appears to be suffering gravely beneath the surface. I close the file and sit back.

"We can put this off until tomorrow," I say gently.

She drops her hands. "You don't have to do this."

"Then what would you like me to do, Elle?" I say, leaning forward across the table. "We can put this off until another day, or we can deal with it now. You can tell me more about the clinic, or I can analyze these financial statements without that information. The one thing I cannot do is walk away from my responsibility." I drop my voice slightly. "Somehow, though, I don't think you want that. I think you're grateful to have someone to talk to besides your brother and Raul."

"I'm not that pathetic," she says, but her eyes fall away from mine. "And I have plenty of people to talk to."

"Mm. I suppose you know better than I do." I slide my finger across a crack in the vinyl surface of the table between us. "May I ask you, Elle, when was the last time you did _more than talk_ with someone?"

She understands my meaning immediately, and her eyes snap back to mine. "You most certainly may _not._ How the hell is that any of your business? Or is that an acceptable question in your country?"

"Forgive me for giving offense. I simply didn't want to make any assumptions. After all, you've been here for a year—"

"And you think I haven't...that I've been alone all this time?"

"As I said, I didn't want to assume anything." For all I know, it's possible she's had some affair with a local man, or even one of those repellent backpackers coming through—but judging by her reaction, my initial guess was correct.

"My sex life is none of your business," she says.

"I never claimed it was."

"And I don't see why it matters. It's not like you can't have a fulfilling life without sex. There are more important things in this world than getting off." Her cheeks are getting redder with every word, but she can't seem to stop herself. "And maybe you'd know that, too, if you thought with something besides your cock." She seems to realize she's given more away than she intended to, because she clamps her lips together. Her chest rises and falls, straining against a shirt that is intoxicatingly snug across her breasts.

I don't say anything immediately. Instead, I straighten slightly, watching as the blush on her cheeks spreads all the way to her ears.

"Perhaps you're right," I say. "But there's no shame in having needs, Doctor. No shame in wanting someone to hold you at night, or wanting to enjoy the pleasure of another's body. Yes, life is full of other perfectly wonderful things, but I dare you to look me in the eye and tell me honestly that your body doesn't crave that intimacy." I hear her breath catch as my hand closes over hers. "I dare you to look me in the eye and tell me you haven't thought about doing those very pleasurable, very intimate things with me."

Her breaths are shallow and fast. She can't seem to find her voice.

"Tell me that you haven't thought about those things," I tell her, "and I'll never raise the subject again. But tell me you have, Elle, and I will make sure I fulfill every one of your fantasies and more."

# Elle

_F uck. Me._

There's no way in hell I'm saying that out loud, even though it's _exactly_ what I want him to do. No. Way. I'm not saying that _ever_ —not for him, not even if he _is_ a prince. Not for _anyone_. And not for...him.

"My body..." My voice cracks under the strain. "Is not..."

I expect him to give me another one of those telling grins, but he doesn't. The look on his face is all too serious and his eyes—damn if they don't pierce right the hell through me. "Go on, Doctor."

"Not...not your concern." I clear my throat, regaining some semblance of dignity and composure. "My needs or lack thereof are of no concern. Not to you and not to anyone."

_Yeah, Elle, way to tell him._ I don't believe my weak-willed attempt at standing up for myself any more than he will.

I hate myself for being like this. Weak. Feeble and uncertain. I only remember one other time I've acted like this—and I'll be damned if it's going to happen again.

The time I spent in medical school was no picnic, but I learned how to mostly stand up for myself there—I had to, or I would have been eaten alive. Senior doctors—and hell, nurses for that matter—lived to tear apart medical students and residents who couldn't be assertive. That was a lesson I had learned quickly, especially as a woman. I only wish it had followed me to this hellhole.

And to the job I had before this.

I straighten, reaching to tap again on the stack of papers I've so neatly arranged on my desk. "Do what you need to do. If you have any questions, you know where to find me."

I stand and turn on my heel, walking out of the office before I take an immediate turn to go into the treatment area.

I let out a long breath and lean myself against the wall for a moment—more to recover from whatever the hell _that_ was than anything else.

Raul is standing at the sink across the room, washing the instruments I used on Owen a little while ago, and he turns to me, lifting a brow.

I straighten, smoothing down my shirt as I walk over to him. "How are you feeling?"

He smiles, turning back to the dirty instruments. "Much better, Doctor Elle."

"You're taking your medicine?"

He nods, not making eye contact with me.

He's lying, but there isn't anything I can do. Not here. He can't afford the medicine I prescribed for him, even if he could find a pharmacy to get it. Once I get back home, I'm hoping I can get my hands on some samples of the heart medication he needs—and I'll have to try to get it back here to him somehow.

The guy who thinks he's prince of the jungle doesn't know it yet, but I'm planning to come back here. I have no idea how I'm going to do it or how I'm going to get the money, but I'm going to do what I need to do. I've been emailing pharmaceutical companies for the past year, but they won't do anything for this place. It isn't American, and even if it were, it's a children's clinic. Prince High and Mighty is right—there are no provisions for adults to be treated here. But there isn't any place else for them to go, either. It isn't like they can hop in the car and go down the street to the hospital—the nearest one is forty miles away. Forty miles seems like nothing when you have a car, but when you have no transportation—it's a long walk for someone who's sick.

Somehow, I'm going to get the money to build my own clinic. I'm not sure where the funds are going to come from, but I think if I talk to a few of my former co-workers, they might be able to help. The hospital I worked at before owes me. That asshole former boss of mine _really_ owes me, especially since I left without too much of a fuss.

_His_ career was all it was about. What about mine? What the hell did I spend all those years training for? To be thrown out on my ear because some bastard couldn't keep his hands to himself?

I was so immature back then. If I'd been able to stand up for myself, I wouldn't have even come here. I would have... I don't know what I would have done. Owen seemed to be pretty worried I might throw myself off a building or something, but that isn't me. I was young and stupid then, and I'm not either of those things anymore. This clinic isn't able to do the things it should do or provide the kind of care it should provide, but if it's done nothing else for anyone, it's helped me grow up a little. Mature into the doctor I always wanted to be.

Maybe if the people of Montovia knew what was really going on here, they'd throw the residents of Rio de Campo a bone or something. Not just send over vaccines and supplies for well-child checks. Not that I wouldn't love to see some children who were actually _healthy_ once in awhile. But that is a cultural thing Montovia doesn't seem to understand—the residents of this village don't bring healthy children to see the doctor, even if those services would be free for them. I don't think the royal family thought about it when they set up this clinic—providing free checkups and vaccines does nothing when so many kids are sick. It isn't the kind of service needed here, even if they meant well by setting it up in the first place.

And maybe if I can get my own clinic up and running, I can do something about the lung infection the babies here seem to get after it rains. I would bet good money it's a fungal infection, but without a lab to do some tests, there's no way for me to know. I hope the hospital I've been sending the kids to is doing those tests, but they don't give me any information. To the hospital, I'm the lady who pays the bills, not anyone of significance.

I walk over to the gurney to clean up my mess from treating Owen, and it seems suspiciously quiet back here. The instruments clink in the steel sink where Raul is washing them, preparing them to be sterilized, and I disinfect the gurney and prepare it for the next patient.

Prince Leo is right—I am too busy to think about him. There's more than enough for me to do here—today and every day—and I certainly don't need the complication of some man fucking things up for me. Besides, I'm only under the control of this place for the next three days. And today is almost over—there are only two more working days left for me to worry about it.

So what if he finds something amiss in the financial records? I'm not a bookkeeper and I _have_ done the best I could with what I've had. It's more than anyone could say for the last person who ran this place—he walked out on his contract six months early. And the place was pretty much gutted when I arrived.

The door swings open and Prince Leo stands just inside the doorway, staring at me. There's no trace of a smile on his face and I see there's not going to be any more of the playful arguing we've been enjoying. By his expression I see he's found whatever it is he was looking for—and he's going to blame me for it.

_Well, you had your chance, Elle. All you had to do was tell him you wanted him to fuck you._ Yes, and no doubt he would have obliged, but the outcome would still be the same—he was going to go through the finances eventually. He still would have figured out how the majority of his family's money is being sent to the hospital down the road—and then he would still fire my ass anyway. Having sex with him would have only delayed things by another day or two.

I'm not sure why I even care at this point. It isn't like I'm out job hunting or anything—after the past year, I doubt I can work under close supervision again. The freedom I have here is thrilling—even though I'm not able to care for children in exactly the way I dreamed of, I wouldn't want to go back to having someone constantly watching over me. It's something few doctors in the States know about unless they've worked on their own out in the field. _This_ is what we want—this is the doe-eyed dream of almost everyone that goes into any field of medicine. It's what we all want—to help. To make a difference. Not to be at the beck and call of shareholders or CEOs or to be prescribing drugs to people because they saw some commercial about them on television. Working here _matters_. And it's changed me for the better. I need to remind myself of that.

Leo clears his throat. "I have some questions, Doctor."

I sanitize my hands, rubbing my palms together. "Of course you do," I mutter under my breath.

His gaze narrows a bit, but he says nothing. He merely turns and walks back through the swinging door.

I have nothing to be afraid of. Even if he accuses me of embezzling funds, there's nothing he can do about it. Not that I am or ever would—but I'm sure it looks that way. I'll be off the hook after the close of business the day after tomorrow. And as soon as I am, I'm going to take matters into my own hands and make sure the people here get the care they deserve—not the half-assed children's wellness clinic his country built.

I follow him back into my office and he drops onto the chair in front of my desk with a sigh. "Elle—"

"Just...don't." I can't even bring myself to look at him. "I'll pay Montovia back for whatever it is you decide I owe you. It might take me some time, but I'll pay back every cent."

He drums his fingers on the table for a moment. "Elle...Doctor. You don't know what I was going to ask. Why do you assume I'm going to tell you that you _owe_ anything?"

I have to close my eyes for a moment. I somehow knew this day would come, but I thought I would be better prepared. I should have had some sort of statement ready or something. Not that my brain works very well with _him_ near me, but I can't remember what I told myself I would say when the Montovian people came knocking. I suppose I thought there was no way they would actually send a _prince_ , for fuck's sake. If they had sent another doctor, at least I would have been able to appeal to his or her desire to serve people—to heal them. At least I would have had a prayer of making someone with experience in the medical field _understand_. Instead, they sent Prince Leo, and I have no hope in hell of making him understand _anything_ unless I'm willing to drop my panties for him.

But I'll be damned if I'll go down that road again. I'd rather have my reputation ruined for all time before I sell myself—or my body—out to save my career ever again.

I open my eyes and see that he's staring at me with...hell, I don't know what it is in his eyes. Concern, maybe? I guess I expected there would be more anger. Rage, more likely, but it isn't like that at all. His gaze is soft, almost like he...

_It's almost like he cares. Is it so impossible he might_ not _be the douche you assumed him to be?_

Um, yes, it is impossible. He's made it clear that he _is_ an asshole. An asshole who wants to sleep with me, and only because of his severe boredom. There's no way he would ever have any interest in me if we weren't stuck in a tiny little hellhole in South America. If there were a starlet within a thousand miles of here, he wouldn't even be in the same room with me.

I saw how he looked at those papers, as though his eyes were going to bleed—he wants nothing to do with the business going on in this clinic. I'm not sure why he's here, but it isn't to _help_. It has to be a punishment of some kind, so his feigned interest in me has to be a short-term thing to help him pass the time he's required to be here.

Even though I don't want to admit I'm having desires of my own, it's difficult to deny. But as much as part of me would love nothing more than attending to his sexual needs while I tend to my—very neglected—own, there's no way I'm ever getting involved with anyone ever again. Even if it is for only three nights. Even if he is a prince.

# Leo

She's looking at me very oddly.

I can't decide whether her thoughts bend in my favor or not. Honestly, telling her I had additional questions for her was a ruse—I have little interest in reviewing the financial statements, especially when time is so limited. But I _do_ wish to hear more from Elle, to bring her walls back down. I shouldn't have been so forward with her, perhaps, but when I saw how much she squirmed and blushed under my questions about her sex life, I couldn't help myself.

Now, though, I have to help her relax again. I want to see some of that softness return to her eyes. The more time I spend with her, the more curious I become about her. I want to know more about this woman who pours so much of her heart into a place so far from her home—and why she believes she _owes_ me or this place anything.

_This is new_ , I realize. _Most of the time I care about little beyond a woman's name—and even_ that _doesn't always matter._ Maybe it's the humid air or the strange events of the past couple of days, but I find myself eager to discover the deeper layers of this woman. If that leads to other pleasures, even better—but I must restrain myself for now.

"Did you have a question?" she asks me. "If not, I need to get back to cleaning."

"Ah, yes," I say. "But first, I'd like to understand why you thought I was going to accuse you of owing anything to Montovia."

She closes her eyes and presses her lips together, and I try not to imagine what it would feel like to suck that plump bottom lip of hers between my teeth.

"It's nothing," she says after a moment. "You know that I only accept what people can pay for the treatments here. I just thought you were planning to make me pay for the difference."

"I have no intention of any such thing." My father or the Medical Council might have different ideas, but I'll handle them later.

"Then what were you planning to ask me?" she prompts.

"I..." I straighten and rub the back of my head. I should have been better prepared, but as usual, she's caught me off guard. From one moment to the next, I can't tell whether she despises me or whether she wants me to peel off all her clothes and take one of those luscious breasts in my mouth. "I'd like to know what a typical week's activity looks like. How many patients do you see?"

"More than we should," she says, her eyes dropping to the table. "But again, you know that I refuse to turn anyone away."

I was expecting a numerical answer, but I see an opening and follow it. "Because you clearly care deeply about the people who come into this clinic, Elle."

"You don't get into this career if you don't care. And you don't take jobs at charity clinics unless you're serious about helping people."

"You help people at the expense of yourself," I comment.

She stiffens. "I wouldn't be here if I weren't willing to do that. If I were interested in money or comfort, there are a thousand cushy medical jobs back in the States."

"But you chose to come here," I say, nodding. "And you would give anything for the people who walk into this clinic."

"Are you accusing me of something?" she asks. "Because I'm not apologizing for that."

"On the contrary. I'm simply wondering why someone who cares so deeply for her work, who's willing to sacrifice so much for her patients, would walk away from this position." I lace my fingers together. It's a dangerous question—I risk frightening her back into her shell—but I can't deny my curiosity.

She hesitates. The shadows fill her eyes again, but she doesn't grow angry this time. In fact, she looks like she may give me an honest answer.

But then she shakes her head. "I'm willing to answer any questions you have about the business and financials of this clinic," she says. "But I'm under no obligation to say more than that. I've fulfilled my contract. That's all that should matter to you."

"You haven't fulfilled your contract completely," I point out. "You still have two more days."

She rises. "And I'll be here for those two days, but I'm sure your country will be much happier if I spend them doing the work I was hired to do, rather than answering a bunch of questions that are none of your business. Unless you're confused about those statements in front of you, then I have nothing to say to you."

There is plenty I could ask her about the statements, but before I can utter a word, the door bursts open and her assistant—Raul, was it?—comes rushing in.

"There's another child," he says.

Elle doesn't hesitate, and she doesn't even glance in my direction before rushing out the door, leaving me once again alone with the files.

_Unfortunate timing_ , I think. I was just starting to believe I might be able to get past the barriers she's put up between us, but it appears the universe is conspiring against me.

Almost as soon as that thought settles in, the shame follows as I remember the poor child she saw yesterday. She said that wasn't a rare occurrence—what if the child who just came in is equally as ill? How can I sit here lamenting the fact that I haven't managed to soften and seduce the lovely doctor when a child might be fighting for his life?

_Look at you_ , I think. _Listening to your conscience again._

I close the file in front of me. Part of me wants to go after Elle, to watch her tend to the child and to observe how lovely she is in action. But I have a feeling that wouldn't help my case.

Still, I'm suddenly feeling very restless. I have no interest in reading these reports. What am I doing here? How did I end up in the jungle worrying about babies and chasing after such a complicated woman?

_You know why you're here_ , I remind myself. _This is your own doing._ And Andrew's, of course—but I'm trying to make my peace with that. In spite of everything that happened on _that night_ , I'm not sure I can blame anyone but myself. _I_ was the one who convinced Andrew to go to Prague with me. _I_ was the one who insisted that he needed to loosen up, have a little fun. It's only right that I should be covering for him now.

I stand. I need to get out of here. Need to work off some of this agitated energy. I grab the files and put them under my arm. I'll force myself to look at them later. Now, I just need to leave.

I head back to La Playa first. Toss the files down onto my bed. Flip on the television. But it only takes me a few seconds to realize watching dubbed sitcoms isn't going to do anything to soothe this restlessness. The room feels too hot, the air too thick, and my entire body is on edge. I start pacing.

_What is happening to me?_

My thoughts keep going back to Elle. To the determination I've seen in her eyes, to the passion I've heard in her voice, to that perfect, curvy body I can't seem to get out of my mind. Everything about her tempts me closer. Every encounter we have leaves me more intrigued. I've wanted her physically since the moment I laid eyes on her, but it's my interest in the rest of her—in the thoughts behind those intoxicating eyes—that unsettles me.

A knock sounds at my door, and I freeze.

"Your Highness?" comes Matthias's voice after a moment. "Have you returned?"

My shoulders relax. For a moment, I thought Elle might have come after me—but that was a foolish assumption.

_You're mad_ , I tell myself as I walk over to the door. _Why have you let this woman get under your skin?_

I open the door to find Matthias grinning up at me.

"I thought I heard you," he says cheerfully. "These walls are thinner than paper. But I didn't expect you until later."

"The clinic was busy," I tell him. "I brought back the files I needed."

"Ah, good," he says, nodding. "I informed your father of our safe arrival. He says he expects a call from you later."

_Of course he does_ , I think, running a hand through my hair. But I don't have the patience for my father now. "Thank you, Matthias. Is there anything else you need?"

"The Medical Council has sent over an additional list of things they need you to inspect. And some paperwork and information regarding a Doctor Walter Mitchell."

"The new doctor," I say, understanding. _That explains why I didn't find any information about him in my files._ Everything about this clinic from top to bottom reeks of disorganization and poor planning. It's a wonder it's been functioning for as long as it has.

_It's Elle. Her attention and devotion have given it life, even when it's falling apart around her._

"I've organized a list of all the amenities in Rio de Campo," Matthias says. "The information I compiled before we arrived was outdated and incomplete, but I've been talking to some of the nice young people who work here. There isn't much in the way of restaurants, but I've got information on the markets. And the city of Santa Rosa isn't far. I can drive up there tomorrow and stock up on necessities."

_Santa Rosa is where the hospital is_ , I remember.

"And if you're in the mood for a little recreation," he continues, "they gave me a map of the nearby walking trails. There's also a zipline a couple of kilometers to the north, and they launch whitewater rafting tours from a spot just up the river."

_I wonder what Elle thinks about that_ , I muse. _Her brother and the other backpackers amusing themselves with adventure tours while her patients can't even afford care._ Thinking about her makes me start to feel restless again.

"There's also the bar below," Matthias goes on. "You should have gone down there last night. Lots of pretty girls here." He gives me a wink and nudges me with his elbow.

There's only one girl on my mind—and she's currently saving a child's life. And determined to hate me, it would seem.

My temples throb. "I think I'm going to take a little walk." I need to clear my head.

"Wonderful, Your Highness," Matthias says. "I'll come with you."

"I'll be fine," I say. Another time, Matthias's cheerfulness would have been exactly what I needed, but not today. "I'll be back in time for dinner."

Matthias, thankfully, doesn't try to argue. He knows how to read my moods by now. He gives a single nod and says, "Make sure you have your mobile. Your parents will have my head if anything happens to you."

Honestly, I doubt that—their lives would be significantly easier if their problem son weren't around. But I pat my pocket for Matthias's sake. "I'll call you if I run into any trouble."

He nods. "You should come back for happy hour. You might enjoy it."

"I'll leave the pretty girls to you," I say, forcing a grin. "Thank you, Matthias."

He knows when he's dismissed. And I have no reason to linger, so I lock my door and head back outside.

There's a trailhead right behind La Playa, marked by a wooden sign printed with both Spanish and English words. Apparently the path leads down toward the river, and it seems to be as good a destination as any. I care little about where I go—I need to move. To work this tension out of my body.

Normally, if I were in this sort of mood, the solution would be simple—I'd simply find a beautiful, willing woman and release all my stress and agitation in the most pleasurable way possible. But considering it's a woman who's put me in this state—a woman who's being stubbornly resistant to my charms—I need an alternative form of relief.

On another day, I might have found my surroundings fascinating, but right now I'm not in the mood to give them more than a cursory glance. The trees tower overhead, and everything is green and lush—from the vines hanging on the trees to the ferns spilling onto the dirt path. Birds chirp and whistle in the branches above, and there are also many calls I can't recognize—frogs? Monkeys? Honestly, I'm not sure I care at the moment.

I stalk down the path, clenching and unclenching my fists. I'm tempted to throw a punch at one of the trees, but I suspect it wouldn't be wise for a prince of Montovia to cause any damage to the rainforest. And Elle wouldn't be impressed if I appeared at her clinic with bloodied knuckles.

_Stop thinking about her_ , I tell myself. Maybe I should take Matthias up on happy hour and find myself a pretty young thing to distract me for the night. Maybe a tumble is exactly what I need to get the doctor out of my mind. My interest in Elle is unsettling, yes—but I suspect it will be as fleeting as my interest in any other woman has ever been. She's merely different than the women I normally meet.

But as soon as I've decided that this is the best course of action, I find myself changing my mind again. I keep marching down the trail.

After a kilometer or so, the path forks. There is another wooden sign here, and the arrows indicate the left path continues to the zipline and adventure course, while the right path goes down to the river. Honestly, it doesn't matter where I go, but I hear laughter and shrieks coming from the direction of the zipline, and I find I'm not the least bit interested in encountering any of my hostel-mates at the moment. I take the path toward the river.

_This should be simple_ , I tell myself. _You just need to do what you were sent here to do, make your father happy, and return to your normal life. Forget about your conscience. Forget about your cock. There's no reason to cause yourself distress over any of this. It's just a woman. It's just a clinic._

I stop and run a hand through my hair. The trees are thick here, blocking most of the light overhead, and the forest extends in lush shades of green and brown on every side of me. I've been around the world a dozen times, but I rarely step beyond the cities—hell, I rarely step beyond the luxury resorts _in_ the cities. This feels like a completely different world.

The back of my neck prickles.

I stiffen, turning quickly, but there's no one on the path behind me. No one in any direction.

_You're mad_ , I tell myself. _Jumping at shadows._ What is this place doing to me?

Still, my senses are on full alert as I continue down the path. A breeze sweeps through the branches and vines, making the leaves rustle, and I can hear the rush of the river below, but otherwise the forest is silent.

_Silent._

I stop again, listening. When I entered the forest, I heard dozens of cries from birds and other creatures. Now everything has fallen quiet.

I turn slowly this time. The tiny hairs on my neck are standing up, and my hand clenches, ready to fly at whatever threat might be bearing down on me.

As my eyes scan the trees, I realize the potential threats are quite numerous. The jungle is full of deadly creatures—jaguars, boa constrictors, and other predators—and there's also the human threat as well. I'm a prince of a small but extremely wealthy nation. Kidnapping and ransom attempts are always a possibility—and I'm out here alone.

My gaze rises to the branches above me, looking for a flash of scales or spots that might indicate a dangerous beast. I see nothing, but that doesn't mean something isn't there. As for men...

I wish I'd thought to bring a weapon. Civilian citizens of Montovia aren't permitted to own firearms, but my time in the royal military made me proficient in the use of a number of weapons. I didn't bring any guns with me, but there's a small knife back in my luggage. I regret I didn't think to bring it along. My distraction has made me careless.

Slowly, I bend down and grab a stone. It's smaller than my palm, but it's the only weapon I have at hand. I still see nothing among the trees, but I'm not taking any chances. My entire body is tense. On alert.

After a moment, when nothing has moved, I start moving back down the path in the direction from which I came. The rock is clenched in my fingers, ready to be hurled at the first sign of movement. As a prince, my military training was more a formality than anything else—they would never send someone of royal blood into actual combat—but that doesn't mean I didn't pick up some useful tactical skills.

The ground slopes downward on my left, angling in what I suspect is the direction of the river. Most animal predators would stalk me from higher ground—it gives them a distinct advantage—and the same is true for any men with actual training or experience in this sort of thing. Since I have yet to catch sight of anyone or anything, I suspect I'm not dealing with amateurs. The bad news is that I'm in the weaker position. The good news is that this means I can keep my attention solely on the forest to the right of the path.

I move slowly at first, then quicken my pace little by little. I wish I'd thought to read those books on the jungle Matthias collected before our departure—they might have given me a better idea of what natural predators to expect in a place like this, and possibly even how to behave upon encountering such beasts. Will I provoke a jaguar into chasing me if I try to run? Should I stand my ground and shout in an attempt to scare it off?

Frankly, though, it's the idea of human predators that makes me more anxious. I could take two or three men by myself—unless they had firearms. But if they have guns, then why haven't they approached me yet? I'm armed only with a stone.

A twig snaps behind me. I freeze and glance back.

The next few seconds are a blur—suddenly there's a large shape moving toward me, and I don't have time to do anything but react. The stone flies from my hand, and my aim must be good because I hear a cry—but whether it's human or animal, I don't know. As I spin around, my foot slides off the path onto the slope down toward the river, and suddenly everything is shifting beneath me. I go flying backward, sliding down the incline before I have a chance to see what tried to attack me.

I know from my military training how to fall, but those lessons never prepared me for an environment like this. Though I try to roll in a way that protects my body, there are too many things in the way. One of my feet catches in some underbrush as my left shoulder hits the base of a tree. I grunt in pain, but the sound is lost as I keep tumbling. And then just when I think the fall will never end, my body slams into a large rock. Searing pain erupts through my side.

I groan, but there's no time to think about the pain. I attempt to sit, forcing myself up on my elbows, and look back up the slope. I need to find another weapon before whatever attacked me tries again.

There's nothing on the slope. I wait for several long, painful moments, but nothing appears to be coming after me. Maybe I actually hurt the damn thing—or at least scared it off for the time being.

Only when I'm sure I'm not in immediate danger do I look down at my side. There's a tear in my shirt, and beneath it, a huge gash is oozing massive amounts of blood.

_Fuck._

Now that I've seen how bad it is, I'm suddenly aware of how lightheaded I am. I press one hand against the wound—wincing as I do—and fumble for my mobile in my pocket.

I'm right next to the riverbank. I'm going to have to shout to get Matthias to hear me over the roar of the water. But as my finger hits the call button and darkness starts closing in on my vision, I'm not thinking about the precariousness of my current situation. Instead, I find myself thinking, _Well, at least I have an excuse to see Elle again today._

# Elle

A wiry man stands in front of me, wringing his hands. He hasn't told me anything helpful since he's arrived, and I haven't been able to understand much of what he's saying with the way he's blubbering and carrying on. He has a minor cut on his forehead that may require a few sutures. From the small amount I've been able to understand between his frequent sobs, he was hit in the head with a rock.

He seems a little old to have been out on the trails with Owen and his bunch, but whatever. It's not like it's for me to judge. But the way the guy is almost sobbing, you'd think he was dying. Or he had killed someone.

I point at the gurney behind him. "Sit down on that bed and _do not get up again_." I glare at him, and he drops onto the gurney without argument. It doesn't stop the wringing of his hands, though, _or_ the crying.

I shake my head, wishing I hadn't just sent Raul to take the baby to the hospital in the car. With Raul, there's at least a bit of a buffer—it makes me almost miss the hospital, where I could always get a nurse or another doctor to come in and stand with me when we had a difficult patient.

I search the drawer between the two gurneys for my penlight to do a quick neurological examination. I pull out the small instrument and turn back to him.

Tears are streaming down his cheeks. "I...I only did what my king asked of me. I followed him. I wanted to be sure he was safe."

I nod. "Of course you did," I agree, even though I have no idea what the hell he's talking about. He must have hit his head harder than he thinks. I walk over to him and shine the light into his eye. "You may need to go up to the hospital for a CT scan. Your speech is a little garbled and I can't rule out a brain injury—"

He grabs my wrist. "I went to La Playa first. No one was there."

I unwind his fingers from my forearm and pat his hand as I place it back on his lap. I smile, trying to cover up the prickling fear creeping up my spine.

_I really need Raul..._

I shine my light into his other pupil—it looks normal from what I can see. I would usually ask him to follow the light with his gaze, but under the circumstances, I think getting him out of here would be better—I'm suddenly feeling pretty unsafe and almost sorry I didn't lock the doors this evening.

"Do you have a way to get up to Santa Rosa? It's an hour away by car. But you'll need someone to drive you—"

He snivels a little more and shakes his head. "You don't understand, Doctor. I am not the injured party, which is what I've been trying to tell you."

"Right." Like most medical professionals, I've developed a sixth sense for knowing when something isn't right—and there is _definitely_ something wrong here. I'm praying he isn't going to start swinging his fists at me.

He shakes his head, pointing to his forehead again. "I frightened him. As I said, I am not the one in need of assistance. He may be dying—I wasn't able to see—"

"Who?" My brow furrows and there's an odd sensation in my stomach as it twists around on itself. " _Who_ may be dying?"

"As I said, my prince—"

My stomach doesn't only twist—it cartwheels into a knot in my belly and I find it difficult to breathe for a moment. I come to my senses, realizing he's talking about Leo. "Where? Where is he?"

He points toward the door. "He was near the river—"

_Oh, fuck._ I don't even wait for him to finish his sentence. I run for the cupboard under the sink on the other side of the room and grab the large bag filled with medical supplies I have stashed for emergencies. I sling the strap over my shoulder and run out the door.

I barely feel the weight of the heavy bag flopping against my side as I race to the trail behind La Playa. The river trail is to the right and I run as fast as I can, trying not to think about the consequences or how I've left another patient behind.

I only get halfway down the trail, barely past the point where it forks one way to the zipline and the other to the river and I see...blood. My eyes snap to Leo's injured body and I don't even notice the two people flanking him for a moment. My brother and another man I don't recognize—soaking wet from having been in the river—are carrying Leo.

I rush to the three men, dropping the bag for a moment to check Leo. His breaths are shallow and ragged, but he's definitely moving air and I motion for the men to follow me. I point at a flat spot on the ground and they lay Leo down so I can examine him.

I open the bag, fishing for scissors to cut off his shirt, and I look for a stethoscope so I can listen to his lungs. I don't even glance up at Owen or his friend. "What happened?" I pull on some gloves and get to work, cutting away the blue fabric of Leo's torn shirt so I can access the wound underneath.

"Dude, we were rafting and we saw him take a dive off the bank over there." I recognize my brother's voice without looking up at him. "It looked like he hit one of the rocks pretty hard, so we bailed and swam over."

I put the stethoscope in my ears and listen—his lungs sound clear, but he's bleeding pretty heavily from the gash on his side. I pull the stethoscope off, toss it back in the bag, and grab a wad of gauze to at least stop some of the bleeding. I pull a neck brace out of the bag and slide it onto his neck. There's no way I can tell if he's had a spinal injury or not, and I have to suspect he might have hurt himself pretty badly after a fall like that.

I look up at my brother. "We need to get him back to the clinic."

The other guy groans. "Too far, dude. My back is killing me—"

" _I_ will kill you if you don't help." My words sound a little more acidic than I intended, and the guy looks down at the ground sheepishly.

Owen motions to his friend and they pick Leo up again, sliding their arms under him and grasping each other's hands to create a makeshift hammock underneath the unconscious man.

Considering how uncomfortable the position looks for all three of them, it's more than a little troubling how Leo hasn't moved at all.

I lug my supplies back to the clinic and the two men carry Leo behind me. The man who was here before—I never did catch his name—meets us about halfway back. The hand wringing starts up again when he sees Leo, and I figure he must be his travel companion—maybe his valet. I don't think about it too long—I have two patients to attend to now.

I make the smaller man take a seat on the gurney again when we get back to the clinic. I don't even have to say anything to him—I point my finger and he plops down on the edge of the bed, facing the other gurney.

He begins to cry again—something about the way he's behaving tells me he loves Leo like a son—but I don't have time to chat with him about it now. I pull the curtain between the two beds closed with a snap of my wrist and Owen and his friend manage to get Leo onto the other gurney.

I pull his shirt away from his body as they're laying him down—it's pretty much shredded now. I pull out the gauze I'd stuffed in the wound on the left side of his chest—the cut isn't quite as bad as I'd thought. I inspect the wound—other than one tiny area that might need a stitch or two, it's pretty minor. He didn't wake up when I touched it, though, and it's a bad sign he isn't responding to pain.

I gather some supplies to clean the gash. He needs to get to the hospital so they can figure out why he's unconscious and to see if there is any damage to his neck or back. It might be nothing more than a concussion, but there's no way to know without a scan, and that is one piece of equipment this clinic will _never_ have.

I walk back over to my patient and look up at the two men standing at the end of his bed. I almost force Owen to meet my gaze. "I thought I told you not to get wet."

He gives me a shrug but doesn't smile. Unlike his friend, he seems to know how serious the situation is here.

I look at the other guy—he's young, like Owen, but without the dreadlocks or the unshaven face. "Do you have a car?" It's a long shot—most of the people who come through here hike in.

The guy shakes his head and frowns. "Is the dude gonna die?"

I give him the only answer I can. "I don't know."

I hear sobbing from the gurney next to me after I say the words. I walk over and pull the corner of the curtain back to look at the other man. "What's your name?"

He snivels and buries his head in his hands for a moment. "Matthias." He pauses. "I've failed. I've failed them all—"

"Matthias." I try not to roll my eyes at his exaggerated regret. "Do you have a car?"

His gaze snaps to mine and the crying stops instantly. He nods.

"Good." I nod in return. "You need to get it so we can get Leo to the hospital. Owen will drive you—"

"You mean _us_." Owen interrupts. "You're coming, too, Elle. You can't just leave him—he needs an ambulance or something. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing." He motions with his shoulder toward his friend. "And Patrick _definitely_ doesn't know what the fuck _he's_ doing—"

"It's true," Patrick interrupts. "I don't."

"Fine. I'll come, too." It's late, and the clinic should be closed. I always make a million excuses for why I can never leave this place—I'm always sure the second I do a baby will need my help—but it's clear Leo needs my assistance more than anyone else now. And I don't have any other way to get him the help he needs.

Owen goes over to talk to Matthias about where he can find the car keys. Owen and Patrick leave after a few minutes and I turn my attention back to Leo.

I pull on another pair of gloves and gingerly clean the wound before packing it properly. Part of me hopes he'll wake up from the pain I must be causing him, but he doesn't move.

After I've cleaned his wound, I tape a large bandage over the gash before I get to work on cleaning up the rest of the dried blood still covering his chest.

I barely touch him with the saline-soaked gauze—barely even have a moment to appreciate the well-defined muscles I had suspected were hiding underneath those dress shirts of his—when he shifts.

Leo's eyes flutter open and he grabs my wrist. "That is very cold."

I have to press my lips together to hold back my laugh. "I'm sorry. I don't have anything to warm it with."

"Mm." He releases my arm and tries to lift his head, unable to go very far because of the brace still encircling his neck. He looks around for a moment before dropping his head back onto the pillow. "How did I get here? Was it you who was following me?"

I glance at the curtain separating the beds, uncertain of whether or not I should share who was following him through the jungle. I shake my head and go back to work, cleaning the blood from his skin.

He watches me, his eyes following my every movement.

I stand, looking down at him. "You can move your arms, I see. Can you move your legs, too?"

He tries to lift his head again, but drops it back in frustration. "The problem, Doctor, seems to be with my neck."

I nod and sit on the side of the bed again. "I know—you're wearing a brace because you fell. You might have a neck injury. If I had an x-ray machine—"

He groans and closes his eyes. "It's on the list of upgrades."

I pat his arm and stand again. "Of course it is." I walk to the end of the bed—he seems to be moving fine now. Keeping the neck brace on until we get to the hospital might be an unnecessary precaution, but one I'm not willing to risk.

"How long do you plan to keep me in this...most uncomfortable position?" He tries to lift his head again and groans, dropping back onto the pillow.

I stifle the urge to laugh. "Until you arrive at the hospital, I'm afraid—"

The rustling from the other bed interrupts me and I turn to see Matthias standing next to me. "Your Highness...there are no words..." He begins to cry again and I can't help it—I reach out and pat his arm.

His head drops and he looks over at Leo. "Your father insisted... He made me swear an oath that I wouldn't leave you, Your Highness. I didn't mean...I never meant to startle you..." His head drops into his hands again and I lead him back around the curtain.

I point to the gurney and he sits down, giving me a dejected nod.

I walk back around the curtain and Leo is sitting on the side of the bed, pulling at the brace on his neck.

My eyes widen. "You can't—"

He holds up a palm to me, unfastening the brace with his other hand. "I assure you, Doctor, I'm fine. I seem to have survived my ordeal."

"Thank God. Oh, thank God," I hear Matthias cry behind the curtain.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, instead turning my gaze back to Leo. "I can't let you walk out of here. You need to be examined by a doctor—"

"And I _have_ been examined, have I not?" He tilts his head. "Forgive me, Doctor, but I do believe I witnessed you _examining_ me just a bit too closely a moment ago."

Heat rises in my cheeks and the burning moves quickly to my ears—my head seems to be on fire now, but I can't deny I _had_ taken a moment to _appreciate_ his body. That's all it was, though—appreciation.

_There's nothing wrong with that_ , I tell myself. I might be a doctor, but I'm also _human_.

His hands move over his abdomen. "I also seem to be without a shirt. I don't suppose you had something to do with that, as well?"

Clearly, the prince is fine, his sense of humor—if you can call it that—having returned almost as quickly as his consciousness.

I can't contain my eye roll this time and I shake my head. "Your assistant needs stitches. On his head. Where you hit him with a rock."

He lifts a brow and I can only shake my head at him. I walk over to attend to my other patient.

Leo calls through the curtain. "You know, I wouldn't have needed to throw a rock if my pursuer would have told me he was following me."

Matthias looks up at me with wide eyes, not saying anything in return.

I examine the wound on his forehead—it isn't as deep as I had originally thought and I'm able to close it with a butterfly bandage. I finish with Matthias and edge around the curtain to check on Leo again.

He's lying on the bed with his hands behind his head, his legs crossed at his ankles. He looks over at me with a goofy smile on his face. "You believe I've injured my head?"

I give him a small nod. Given his odd behavior, I'm fairly sure his head injury is significant, though I would have no way of knowing for sure. His behavior has been pretty odd since he arrived and I don't have much else to compare it to.

"If I remember my first aid training correctly, someone will need to monitor me overnight. Isn't that correct, Doctor?"

I see all too well where this line of questioning is going and I roll my eyes again. "Yes, that is correct, Your Highness. I'm sure the nurses at the hospital in Santa Rosa will enjoy getting to know you as much as I have over the past few days."

Leo shakes his head. "I'm not going anywhere, Doctor."

"You don't have a choice, Your Highness."

He grins. "Forgive me, Doctor, but I believe I _am_ allowed to refuse to be transported, am I not?"

I open my mouth to respond—to tell him how insane he's being, which only proves my theory of a head injury—when the door to the treatment area swings open. Owen has finally returned, but his friend is nowhere to be seen. It only takes a moment before I see what has taken him so long to get back here. His inappropriate giggling should have been the first giveaway, but I can also see how bloodshot his eyes are now. "Sorry, dude, I got back as quick as I could."

I let out an exasperated breath. Leave it to my brother to get high when I ask him to do something—even when it's something as important as _this_. "Did you bring the car?"

"Oh, shit. I knew I forgot something..." He grins at me. "Sorry, man." The way he stumbles forward tells me he likely downed a few shots while he was gone, too.

"Go home, Owen. And come back tomorrow so I can check your stitches."

He laughs. "You got it, dude." He turns and stumbles back through the doorway.

As soon as he's exited, Leo turns his attention back to me. "It looks like you're stuck with me." He grins again.

Matthias walks back around the curtain. "I, too, should be going, now that I know you're safe with the doctor." He gazes over at Leo with loving eyes. "I'll need to inform your father of this evening's events." He frowns. "I don't know how to bestow enough apologies, Your Highness."

The cocky grin falls from Leo's face. "No apologies are necessary, Matthias. Please assure my father that I'll be fine and that I'm in capable hands."

The man nods and walks out before I can tell him I should monitor _him_ overnight, too, as long as we're all staying up to watch head injuries in the clinic tonight.

I turn back to Leo. "You really should go to the hospital. You need a head CT—you should probably have an ultrasound of your belly, too. And a neck x-ray—"

"I'm fine, Doctor. I assure you."

I shake my head. "You don't understand. I can't even check your blood pressure—I don't have an adult-sized cuff and—"

He reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me over to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. "I don't think _you_ understand, Doctor. I have no intention of going anywhere tonight."

# Leo

This isn't how I expected my first night alone with Elle to come about, but I can't say I regret that circumstances brought me here.

_It's a shame Matthias had to suffer, though._ The poor fellow has always been so loyal to my family and me, and I hate to see him upset—and hurt—when he was only following my father's orders. Why didn't he _tell me_ he was under strict instructions to keep me within his sight at all times? Yes, I would have argued against such ridiculousness, but at least I wouldn't have thrown a rock at the poor man.

But Matthias seems to be fine—just shaken—and now my attention is entirely on the woman in front of me.

"We really need to figure out a way to get you to the hospital," she tells me again. She crosses her arms—trying to be firm with me, I suspect—but her eyes tell a different story. I saw the way her gaze traveled over my chest when she was cleaning my wound.

"Enough of this nonsense," I say. "You can see for yourself that I'm fine."

"If you're fine, then maybe you should go back to La Playa."

My mouth curls up. "You are the doctor. If you feel confident that I'm well enough to be released, then I'll let that responsibility settle on your shoulders."

She shakes her head at me and rubs one hand across her eyes. "I should let you go so you can deal with the consequences. Maybe then you'd learn your lesson."

"Come, now. We both know you're too good of a doctor for that. You'd never willingly leave a patient to suffer."

To my surprise, she doesn't try to argue my point—and considering I truly meant it as a compliment, I'm pleased she's willing to accept the truth of my words.

"Fine. You can stay," she says. "But I swear, if you try one inappropriate thing, I'm sending you back to La Playa and letting Owen deal with you."

"Hm," I say, grinning. "I suppose he might have a few ideas about how I might self-medicate my pain away."

"If Owen tries to give you anything I'll kill him." But then her face softens slightly. "Are you in a lot of pain? Do you need something?"

In truth, my entire body aches. I suspect I'll have some nasty bruises by tomorrow. My head throbs slightly, and the wound on my chest stings. But it's nothing unbearable.

"I'll survive," I tell her.

Her eyes are serious. "Any pain in your head or neck? I need you to be honest with me."

"Just a little ache in my head. Nothing terrible," I tell her.

Her brow wrinkles, but when she speaks, she is talking more to herself than to me. "I don't like head pain..." She bites her lip, as though she is thinking to herself.

I understand her apprehension, and though a part of me enjoys the thought of her fussing over me all night, I don't want to worry her so much that she tries to send me off to the hospital again.

"Some water might help," I tell her cheerfully. "And I wouldn't refuse an aspirin, though I'd certainly continue to survive without one."

She's still chewing on her lip, probably considering her options, as she nods and goes to retrieve what I requested. When she returns a moment later, she seems to have made up her mind about something.

"I need you to tell me the moment something changes," she says. "If your head pain gets any worse, or if your vision starts to get blurry. And if you feel even the slightest bit of anything in your neck—"

"I'll alert you immediately," I say, taking the medicine and the bottle of water from her. "I promise." It looks like she's resigned herself to the fact that I'll be staying here for the night.

She's frowning again, and I notice her eyes have dropped once more to my bare chest. When she glances up and sees I've caught her staring, color rushes to her cheeks.

"You're going to need a shirt," she says.

"If you insist," I tell her. "But honestly, I think I might be more comfortable like this. It is quite warm in here. And I'm not sure I like the idea of having any fabric weighing down on this." I gesture at my wound. "Of course, if you find my bare chest distracting—"

"I'm _not_ distracted," she says. "I was trying to help." Her cheeks grow even pinker. "Go ahead and take the aspirin."

I do, and she turns and starts tidying up the room, including the gurney where she'd been seeing to Matthias. My eyes follow her as she moves, and I wonder if she realizes how graceful she is, even doing something as simple as this. After a few minutes, she seems to realize I'm watching her, and she turns, looking suddenly self-conscious.

"It's rude to stare," she tells me.

"I wasn't staring. I was admiring."

That _almost_ earns me a smile as she rolls her eyes. "Try to keep it in your pants, Your Highness."

"If you insist. But that is really no fun at all."

She ignores my comment. "I guess I should get you something to eat if you're going to be here all night."

There's only one thing I'm hungry for now—but I doubt Elle is offering herself up as part of the menu.

She returns with a loaf of bread, a jar, and a knife.

"I hope you're okay with peanut butter sandwiches," she says.

"I suppose I can give it a try," I say. "I've never had peanut butter before."

She blinks at me. "You've _never_ had peanut butter?"

"It's a very American food," I say. "You won't find it in most places in Europe. And my family's chefs never thought to use it in any of their recipes."

"Well, I hope you like it, because it's all I have at the moment." She spreads some of the peanut butter on the bread, folds it into a sandwich, and tries to hand it to me.

"Ladies first," I say. "I can make my own sandwich."

"You're injured," she says. "Take the damn sandwich."

"If you insist." I take the offered sandwich and grin. "I think I might like having you here to take care of me."

She gestures toward me with the knife. "Don't get any ideas. I'm here to make sure you don't die. That's it."

"Don't worry," I say, still smiling. "I've had all the ideas already. There aren't any more to get."

My little jest earns me an exasperated look, but she finishes making a sandwich for herself. When she's done, she glances around for a place to sit and settles on the gurney opposite mine.

"There's plenty of room over here," I tell her.

"Thanks, but this is fine." She nods toward my sandwich. "What do you think?"

I haven't taken a bite yet, but I do so now. And then almost immediately take another.

"Peanut butter is delicious," I say.

She smiles—one of the first genuine smiles I've seen from her. "I thought you might like it."

"I love it," I admit. "In my experience, most American cuisine has been...questionable. But this might change my opinion. I'm going to have to ask Matthias to look for some when he goes to get supplies." At the thought of my valet, though, my mood drops. "Do you really think he's going to be all right?" I'd never forgive myself if something happened.

"Hopefully, he's smart enough to come back if he starts feeling worse," she says. "I might check on him in a bit." She nibbles at the crust of her sandwich but doesn't seem particularly hungry. "What exactly happened out there? Why did you think someone was after you?"

It all seems so foolish now.

"When you're a prince, there are always risks," I say. "My country is very wealthy, and there are those who might try to kidnap me for ransom." While other children in Montovia were learning how to get along with each other in the schoolyard, my siblings and I were taught how to handle certain political situations a member of the royal family might encounter. "And there are many dangerous creatures in the rainforest as well, and that's not even considering the possibility of running into drug lords or general criminals who might decide to set upon a man walking by himself in the jungle. I've been trained to defend against such situations."

She raises an eyebrow. "And did that training include falling down a steep slope to escape?"

"I never claimed to be particularly graceful. And I hit my target, didn't I? Poor fellow."

She shakes her head at me again, but she's in a much better humor now. "Poor fellow is right. Being forced to follow you around the world and make sure you don't get yourself into too much trouble."

"I assure you he's compensated quite well."

She gives a short laugh. "You couldn't pay me enough to make me even consider that job."

"Come, now," I say. "I'm not all bad. Surely you can think of at least one positive thing about me."

She takes another bite of her sandwich, considering, but her eyes are bright with amusement as she looks at me. She's playing along with the game.

"Well," she says, "You seem to care genuinely for your valet."

"Is that the only thing you can think of?"

She makes a show of thinking about it. "Your English is very good. And your Spanish didn't sound half bad, either."

"Most children in Montovia learn at least three or four languages going through school. That is hardly anything special. Really, Doctor—if those are the only positive things you can say about me, it's no wonder you find me so distasteful."

"You also dress well."

"And you ruined one of my best shirts." I glance down at my chest. "Though you seem to appreciate the new view much better."

"First of all, you ruined your own damn shirt when you took that dive down the hill. And secondly, I don't care one way or another about your chest. In fact, I'm perfectly neutral about it. But you're very confident. There, I'll give you that."

"From some people, that might be a compliment. But I'm not sure it is, coming from you." My sandwich is almost done, but though it's quite delicious, I've become distracted by our conversation. "Come, Elle. Can you not name one _real_ thing about me that you like?"

# Elle

I sigh and look down at my half-eaten sandwich. I'm not hungry—the adrenaline rush of the past few hours has taken away any appetite I might have had, even though it's way past dinner time. I chuck the thing into the wastebasket and stand, brushing the crumbs from my shirt.

He thinks I'm playing along with him, but what I'm concerned about is his head—people don't lose consciousness for more than half an hour without some _reason_. He could very well have a brain injury, and I have no way of knowing because of the lack of equipment in this clinic. Keeping him talking seems like the best thing to do, considering he won't go to the hospital and I don't have any way to get him there even if he hadn't refused. If his valet is smart, he'll come back here with the car. And I'm still holding out hope that when Matthias makes his call to Montovia, Leo's father will insist he's examined by someone who can actually do something for him. Leo was so _adamant_ about not going to Santa Rosa that the only thing I can do now is sit here with him and wait.

And I don't like the quiver I'm feeling in my stomach, waiting for him to lose consciousness again so I can get him to the hospital with no argument this time. It's hotter than hell in here, but I'm feeling a shudder of uneasiness in my spine, and it has nothing to do with him having his shirt off. I've dealt with difficult patients—and parents of patients—before. People who think they know better. But those people were all at least close enough to a real hospital to have been able to get help when the worst happened. Or in a place that at least has _ambulances_. Raul should be back with my car soon—and we're going to have to rush to get Leo the help he'll need if what I'm suspecting comes about.

I let out another long breath, trying to cover up the unease I'm feeling, and I shake my head at him. "I wouldn't think someone like _you_ would need someone like _me_ to shower him with compliments."

He grins. "Come now, Elle, everyone enjoys a compliment. And I'm merely asking if you can't see at least something redeeming about me."

"I already told you. You have great taste in clothes." Heat rises in my cheeks at saying even that—especially thinking about how he looked in his shirt yesterday. The one I'm pretty sure he paid some tailor a huge chunk of money to custom make for his body. His very, _very_ nice body—

"That is hardly a personal compliment, Elle." His voice snaps me out of my momentary daydream.

I shake my head to myself again and try to gulp down whatever the hell _that_ was—the stupid attraction to him I can't seem to shake no matter what I do. But I can't do this now. I need to be on high alert, at least until Raul returns with the car. There is no time to fantasize about his body or what I would very much like him to be doing to me with it.

_Shit._ I have to stop that.

"I like your accent." I tilt my head and smile again. "Happy?"

He chuckles and shoves the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. He's eyeing the jar of peanut butter and I'm pretty sure he's considering making himself another sandwich.

I grab the jar along with the bread and make a beeline for the counter across the room, putting it out of his reach. It's not like I'm trying to be mean or anything, but I've seen what happens to people after head injuries, and I'm almost kicking myself for letting him eat in the first place. And not only because of the head injury—there's a pretty good chance he could have some internal bleeding under the bruising I see starting to form on his chest and abdomen.

I walk back over to the gurney opposite him and sit back down to face him.

He tilts his head, confused. "Am I under a dietary restriction now, too, Doctor?"

"I..." I pause, unsure I should be telling him my suspicions. "I—"

He interrupts. "I realize your American peanut butter may not be the best choice if one is attempting to watch his caloric intake, but I hardly think we should be worrying about that today, should we?" He smiles and blinks a few times.

It's so hard not to bend to his charms. Something about his formal manner combined with the accent is just so disarming. If he weren't here in Rio de Campo for the reasons he is, I would have agreed to every suggestion he's made to me over the past few days. And as much as I hate to admit it, I have no doubt I would have enjoyed an affair with him immensely—even if it was only a one-time or short-term thing.

I can't believe I'm even _thinking_ that. Two days ago, I had all but sworn off men. Today, though...

_No._ I remind myself he _isn't_ here to enjoy himself like one of the adventure tourists who stay at Owen's resort. He's here to check on his family's clinic and to help the new doctor get his bearings. The new doctor who should be here tomorrow or the next day. My replacement—and there's no doubt that once I'm gone, Leo will have forgotten all about me. I have nothing to offer him—I'm not the kind of woman he sees in his real life. The only reason he's even speaking to me now is because of his duty to his family—and because I'm the only doctor within forty miles of this place.

_But he is nice to look at. And there's nothing wrong with a little fantasizing..._

I blink a few times, breaking myself out of the seemingly constant daydream state I'm finding myself in when I'm around Leo. I clear my throat. "It's not your caloric intake I'm worried about. You've had a serious head injury and I don't want to clean up the mess when you vomit."

The smile falls from his face. "As I said, Doctor, I can assure you I am fine. I've suffered far greater injuries—"

"With a thirty-minute loss of consciousness? I seriously doubt it, Your Highness." Tears sting at my eyes saying the words, but I blink them back, hoping he didn't notice. My voice drops to something barely above a whisper. "You could die. You really, really need to go to the hospital."

His lips part as though he's about to speak, but he says nothing. He reaches over to me, taking my hand in his. "You care."

I tear my hand away from his, trying very hard to ignore the bolt of electricity racing up my arm at his touch. My heart is pounding in my chest. "Of course I care. I thought we established that. I care about _all_ my patients, you included."

He nods. "I see."

"Do you? Do you see?" The filter between my mouth and brain seems to have evaporated. "Because I'm pretty sure you don't see _anything_ but a diversion for your boredom. I don't think you see anything but my tits and my ass and I _certainly_ don't think you see anything even _remotely—_ "

"Elle." He shakes his head. "You don't know me. You think you do—everyone _thinks_ they do. Even my family thinks..." His voice trails off and his eyes move to a point beyond my shoulder before his gaze snaps back to mine. "I don't see you as a diversion. I might have at first, but I don't any longer."

I sit there, silent. All I can do is blink—I'm being a bitch. I'm acting like every other judgmental person out there. I'm the same as the people who read the tabloids and think they know celebrities because of how their escapades are reported. My eyebrows draw together and I let out a heavy breath. "I'm...sorry. I'm really sorry."

His eyes narrow for a split second before he nods, but he doesn't say anything.

I remember how I need to keep him talking—I'm still afraid he could slip into a coma at any second. "Tell me about your life then."

He lifts a brow and looks at me. He rubs a hand across his jaw. "What exactly is it you want to know, Doctor?"

I fold my hands on my lap—trying to appear at least as though I'm not trying to dig for personal details. "Tell me about what you do in Montovia."

His smile is forced and I'm not sure how to read his expression. It almost seems like he's uncomfortable talking about it. "I actually spend very little time in Montovia anymore." He shrugs. "I spend the majority of my time traveling. Seeing the world and such."

I nod. "And what will you do when you're done with that? What does a prince do when he settles down?" I smile. "It's not like you can go work at the mall or something."

He lets out a short breath, something less than a chuckle. "No, I suppose I can't, not that I would want to." He stares at me. "I suppose I haven't really thought about it."

"Because your brother—he's the crown prince, right? He'll be king—"

"I'm the second in line for the throne at the present moment. I still must learn the _duties_..." His voice trails off and he shakes his head, his gaze drifting to the floor. He's silent for a second before he looks back at me. "I'm next in line for the crown until my brother has a child. And I'm certain that once he finds a wife, conceiving will be his only priority."

There's something in his voice—something almost sad, but that isn't quite it. He's wistful, for sure, but I can't quite put my finger on what's going on, especially when he talks about his brother. "So what do the non-crown princes do?"

The look on his face is all too serious. "Ribbon cuttings. Ceremonial events. The occasional parade." His mouth twists around on itself. "Nothing of any great importance—"

His words are interrupted by a loud crack and I know immediately what is happening. I walk over to the cupboard and start pulling supplies out of the cupboard. I set a box on the counter and walk over to the window, closing it with a loud thud.

"Doctor, it is almost unbearably warm in here. I don't suppose we might leave the window open?" His smile hasn't returned, and after what he's just said, I have my doubts that it will.

The crack sounds again, followed by a loud boom. I meet Leo's gaze and point to the ceiling. "It's going to rain."

"Rain sounds positively _delightful_ in this heat, though. If we couldn't just—"

I interrupt with a shake of my head. "I don't think you understand, Leo. When it rains here, it doesn't just _rain._ "

He smiles. "You called me by my name. I don't think you've called me by my name since I've arrived."

I blink at him a few times—trying not to react—before I walk back over to the box on the counter. I pull out the candles and other supplies we'll need. But I don't acknowledge what he said—or what it means. I'm not sure I even know.

I glance over at him, meeting his gaze before turning back to the emergency supplies. "Most of the time we lose power when it rains, especially when the storms happen at night. We'll probably get our electricity back in the morning, and if we don't, we have a small generator..." I stop talking when I realize I'm babbling.

"Elle."

I turn to face him. "Your Highness."

He grins. "I like it much better when you call me Leo."

I roll my eyes before I turn back to the supplies. And before he sees the grin that has appeared on my lips.

"Perhaps we should go out into the rain for a time? As I said, a rain shower sounds delightful—"

I interrupt, turning back to him. "They have wet t-shirt contests at the bar on Tuesday nights, Your Highness. You're welcome to peruse the female form in all its glory then."

The grin returns to his face. "Well. I hadn't even thought of seeing you in a wet shirt, but now that you mention it..."

I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep myself from smiling, too. "You. Are. Insufferable."

"As you've previously stated." His eyes are shining with delight—something has happened between us. Something small, but significant. He's starting to melt me the tiniest bit, and even though I'm not sure I like how he's starting to break down my walls, there's something good about it. Something right.

It's scary as fuck for me to even think about. But it makes my heart flutter in my chest all the same.

He looks at me for a long time before he stands—I'm pretty sure he's going to try to pin me against the wall or something again. And I don't think I'd even mind this time.

But he stands for only a second before dropping back onto the bed. He pauses for a moment while he sits there and rubs his head. "Doctor. I seem to be feeling a bit dizzy." He looks up at me, and the grin has disappeared from his lips. "Though I'll admit I suspect it may be because I'm picturing you in a wet shirt."

"Lie down." I use the same tone I used with Matthias earlier—the _I mean business and don't argue with me_ voice. "Now."

He kicks his legs up onto the gurney and I walk over to him quickly, grabbing the pillow from the other bed before I put it under his knees.

"The problem does not seem to be with my legs, Doctor. The problem..." He closes his eyes and his voice trails off.

"Wake up, Leo." I sit on the edge of his bed, giving his shoulder a shake. I lean over him, my face close to his. "Open your eyes."

He doesn't move. I bend down, tilting my head to see if I can hear him breathing. But he's motionless and I can't even feel his breath on my face.

My breath hitches in my chest, and I begin to tremble. I need to move quickly—I need to try to resuscitate him.

I switch myself into doctor-mode again, but not before a thought floats through my mind.

_I need to save him so we can both have our happily ever after._

Before I can even chastise myself for the thought, his eyes flutter open and he blinks several times, the grin returning to his lips. His arms slide around my waist before I realize he's conned me.

He grins. "Ah, this is much more comfortable."

# Leo

I half expect her to jerk away from me immediately. But to my pleasant surprise, she doesn't. Perhaps I've only startled her...but no—there's something in her expression, something unmistakable. Her eyes are darker, and the blood has returned to her cheeks. I can feel her warm, sweet breath on my face.

And I can feel other parts of her, too. Those full breasts of hers are pressed against my chest, and her heart is beating so quickly I can feel it fluttering.

"Don't you agree?" I prompt. "This is much better than before."

One of her hands is on the gurney by my shoulder, but the other has been pressed between us. I feel her fingers curl against the bare skin of my chest, and I brace myself for her to push away.

But she doesn't. She seems to be paralyzed. Speechless.

And I'm only too happy to take the lead.

I spread my hands against her back, trying to feel her through the fabric of her shirt. It's unfortunate she's still clothed, but I won't rush things.

"You want me to stay in bed," I murmur, "but you also seem to think it important that I stay awake. Tell me, Elle, whatever shall I do to keep myself occupied all night?"

Thunder cracks overhead, and this time, it's followed by the unmistakable sound of rain coming down against the roof. Within the space of a breath, it goes from a small spattering of drops to a great downpour, pounding against the tiles above us.

_Trapped by a storm_ , I think. If the storms here are as bad as Elle claims, I can't imagine she'll think it safe to try and transport me to a hospital under these circumstances. Now all I must do is convince her that I am perfectly fine.

She still hasn't moved. Slowly, carefully, I let one hand drift up her back. My fingers trace her spine all the way up to the base of her neck, where they slip into the strands of her hair. Though she clearly took great care in straightening it this morning, the humidity of this place and the events of the day seemed to have returned it to its natural state, which pleases me greatly. I like it like this—wild and untamed. I tangle my hand in the wavy strands, and she sucks in a sharp breath.

I take my time pulling her face down to mine, enjoying the way she's looking at me. The way her pupils have dilated. The way her gaze keeps flicking down to my lips.

And then she's too close to look anywhere. Her eyes fall shut. Mine do, too, and I drink in the sweet taste of her breath as I close the final distance between us.

When our lips touch, the world explodes around us.

But no—that's not us. That's the thunder erupting again overhead, and it's so close and so loud it makes the entire clinic shake.

And it seems to startle Elle out of the moment. I hardly have time to register the warmth of her lips against mine before she's jerking away. She pulls back so quickly, so violently, that she can't seem to find her feet, and she stumbles back a couple of steps as the lights flicker around us.

"Elle," I say, starting to sit up.

The lights go out.

I hear the _clang_ of her foot colliding with something metal—the other gurney, perhaps?—then the _thump_ of her hitting the ground, followed by a " _Shit._ "

"Elle?" I say, getting up. It's black as pitch in here, but I move toward the sound of her muttered curses. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she says.

She's right at my feet, and I bend over, reaching through the darkness for her. My hand finds her arm.

"Why are you out of bed?" she says. "Lie down. Now."

"You're hurt." I try to help her to her feet, but she pulls her arm out of my grip.

"I just tripped. _You_ might have a head injury. Now lie down."

I stay where I am. "I promise you, Elle, I'm perfectly—"

"And while we're at it, that was completely inappropriate."

"Which part?"

"You know which part."

"Well. You should have said something. I gave you plenty of time to do so."

"You...you startled me. That was all."

I hear her take a step in front of me, but then she seems to realize I'm still there.

"Lie back down," she tells me.

"We need those candles you pulled out," I say. "Let me help you. We wouldn't want another accident."

"If you don't listen to me, then what I do to you won't be an accident."

"Oh," I say, "and what is it you plan to do to me? I think I may enjoy this plan very much."

She tries to move past me, but by design or by accident, she ends up stumbling right into me, and I catch her in my arms.

"You are very clumsy, Doctor," I tell her. "Maybe I _should_ help you."

"And you are insufferable."

"So you continue to tell me. Really, Doctor, I'm beginning to feel a little offended you don't care enough to be more creative with your insults."

I expect her to argue—or to throw a few of those creative barbs right back into my face—but she doesn't. Instead, I feel the brush of her hair against my chest as she leans her face forward.

"Don't do this," she whispers, shaking her head.

"Do what?" I ask, my voice just as soft.

" _This._ "

Her hands are braced against my chest, and I'm acutely aware of every single one of her fingers. I want to tighten my arms around her. To pull her snugly against my body and whisper soft things into her hair. I want to do other things, too—my cock is definitely responding to her nearness—but I restrain myself on all counts. The rain continues to beat down overhead, and another rumble of thunder makes the window shake.

"Why shouldn't we do _this_?" I ask her softly.

I'm close enough to smell her hair, and the scent is heavenly—like summer and fresh air and something distinctly feminine. It seems unlikely that Elle wears perfume, so this scent is entirely her, and it takes every ounce of will in my body not to lean my face down and inhale deeply.

She takes a deep breath as if composing herself. If the lights were on, I'd tilt her face up toward mine so I could see the expression in her eyes—but then again, if the lights were on, she wouldn't be in my arms now.

"I don't do this," she says. "And I certainly don't do it with men like you."

"Like me?"

" _Princes_ ," she says. "Or with men I've only known for two days. I hardly know you. You hardly know me. I don't care if you say I'm not a diversion. We're still basically strangers. And you're here to oversee my work, which makes you practically my boss—which makes this inappropriate." She takes another deep breath and rushes on. "You're also my patient—and you've had a head injury, which means you should be lying down."

"Well, if you'd prefer to go back to the gurney—"

"You need to refrain from all activity. Anything that increases your heart rate is absolutely out of the question."

I smile, though she can't see it. "I'm afraid it's too late for that."

"And you need to stop cracking jokes about this. I'm serious. If anything happened to you while you were under my care—"

"You'd never forgive yourself," I finish for her. "Because despite your determination to dislike me, you find that you can't."

"Because I'm serious about doing my job, and I'd never forgive myself for letting my personal feelings get in the way of my professional responsibilities."

She seems to realize what she's said at the same moment I do because she stiffens in my arms. But I'm not about to let that one slide.

"Your personal feelings?" I press, my tone light and teasing. "Well, I'm glad you finally admitted it to yourself. I was beginning to think—"

"You know that isn't what I meant." She lifts her head up, and though my vision is starting to adapt to the lack of light, I still can't see her face clearly. "And you still need to lie down."

"Are you quite finished?" I ask her.

"I'm not going to be finished until you're back on that gurney."

"And I'm not going back to that gurney unless you come with me," I tell her. "But that is not what I meant. I was simply asking if you were done listing off all your excuses for why you think we shouldn't do _this._ "

"They aren't excuses," she insists. "They're legitimate reasons for why all this is a bad idea. And even if those reasons didn't exist, I'm still leaving in two days."

"Mm." I lean my face down slightly. "And do you often shy away from things you want because you're afraid they're going to end?"

Her voice is so soft I can hardly hear it above the pounding rain. "I'm not shying away."

"No," I murmur. "Right now, I guess you aren't."

And then I kiss her.

# Elle

His lips press against mine, so very gentle at first but insistent, his tongue trailing along my bottom lip. Before I have a moment to think about what it is I'm doing, my lips part and his tongue slides against mine.

And he's delicious. A mix of peanut butter and...something. Something that is just _him—_ and I want more. Part of me thinks I might never have enough, which should be enough to scare me into ending this now.

Whatever electricity there's been between us before is nothing compared to this moment—the warm tingling sensation coiling around my body, settling low in my belly. Waking up parts of me I've spent the past year pretending were dead.

I'm only vaguely aware of some area in my brain screaming for this to stop—telling me this is wrong on so many levels and how I'm going to regret every moment of it. But I'm able to ignore that voice somehow, and it grows more distant by the second.

My fingers press against his chest, tracing the outline of the muscles beneath his skin. His hand slides up my back, resting at the base of my neck before his fingers tangle again in my hair. I gasp against his lips, and he pulls away for a moment before he brings his other hand to my face, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.

He dips his head into my hair, whispering in my ear. "This. This is much better."

I try to twist away from him, unable to pull out of his grasp completely as my legs are pinned against the gurney behind me. If I arch back, I'll tumble onto the bed. If that happens, I have no doubt he'll be on top of me a second later, and I'll be unable to stop things from progressing from there.

My voice is breathless, probably because it's so damn hot and, well, so hard to breathe with him this close to me. "Stop. We have to stop."

He lets go of my hair, letting his fingers fall to the back of my neck. But his other hand stays on my face. He traces the length of my jaw again, his finger trailing down to my neck, following the path of the opening of my blouse.

I reach up and grab his wrist when he touches the edge of my breast. "Please."

He lets out a short breath and takes his hand away from my chest, pulling his hand back to lace his fingers through mine.

My other hand is still pressed against his chest. Part of me wants to tear it away as quickly as possible, but I don't. For some reason I don't understand, I let my hand caress down his chest, down to what even in the pitch darkness I can feel are his well-defined abs. He almost growls, but it's so quiet I can tell he doesn't want me to hear.

My fingers only rest there a moment before I feel something wet.

I blink a few times, waking myself from the daze I've been in for the past few minutes.

My fingers aren't just _wet—_ they're sticky. And even though it's taken me a few seconds to regain the ability to use my brain, I know what I'm feeling.

"You're bleeding." I pull my hands away from him.

His voice is low, still silky with desire. "I assure you, Elle—"

"No, your chest. Your wound..." I let out an agitated breath. "I _told_ you not to get up."

He releases me from his grip and I hear him take a seat on the nearby gurney. "You could join me."

"I...can't." My voice hitches in my chest—I owe him more of an explanation than that, but something stops me. "I can't. Not tonight. Not...ever." The words fall from my mouth faster than I can think. "You and me...not happening."

I hear him let out a long breath. "Then what do you propose, Doctor?"

"I _propose_ that you need some stitches." I feel my way around the gurney and flail my arms around in the dark, trying to find the counter on the other side of the room.

"And you expect me to submit to suturing _in the dark_?" His voice is unamused. He's silent for a moment before continuing. "How long can a wound such as mine be left unattended before it becomes too late for this procedure?"

I stop in my tracks. Of course, he's right—there's no need to do this in the dark. I turn to face him, though I can't see much of anything. "Twenty-four hours. Though I'd prefer it be less than twelve. It minimizes the risk of infection..." My voice trails off and I realize I'm being stupid. Sure, he needs a stitch or two—I thought that before the entourage left earlier. But there's no reason to do it now. I could simply redress the wound and we could get back to doing _other_ things.

And _that_ is exactly what I'm afraid of. I'm sure I subconsciously ripped open his wound myself, I'm so scared to be with anyone. But especially _him._ And I could kick myself for even _thinking_ about going back to doing _anything_ with him. It's like I told him—it isn't going to happen. Not now and not ever and not with anyone. It doesn't matter that he's a prince. His status as royalty is beside the point. He's...well, he's a guy. And guys are all dicks, even my brother. I've pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I'll be alone for the rest of my life.

And what did he say a few minutes ago? _Why do you shy away from the things you want because you're afraid they're going to end?_ I shake my head to myself. _That_ is a long story. Okay, maybe it isn't that long, but that particular tale is why I had to end the kiss we shared before anything else might have happened. And I'm still not sure how I let any of this happen at all.

He interrupts my momentary pity party. "Then, Doctor, I would suggest we not do this procedure by candlelight. It will be light outside in fewer than twelve hours and I'd feel more comfortable having it done in the morning." He pauses. "As long as you're confident my life is not in danger because of it."

"I'm confident," I say, though my voice sounds anything but. I turn around and feel my way over to the counter, locating the box I pulled out earlier that I keep for this situation. I pull out the flashlight and turn it on, finding the supplies I've stowed in the box.

I strike a match and light a candle, then another. I turn off the flashlight and bring the candles back over to the treatment area, where I see Leo sitting on the side of the bed. His gaze has turned to the floor and he doesn't look up when I approach.

I frown and pause there for a moment, but I don't know what to say to him. Clearly, I've bruised his ego, and I'm terrible in situations like these. My occasional brashness, though usually unintended, has a tendency to throw off members of the opposite sex, as I'm all too aware.

I hurry back over to the cupboard and grab some gauze and bandages before walking back over to Leo. I set the supplies down on the end of the bed. "I should at least redress your wound."

He nods and kicks his feet up onto the bed without a word. He lies down and stares up at the ceiling.

I put on my gloves and get to work, pulling off the soaked bandages. It's difficult to assess anything in the flickering candlelight, but he _is_ bleeding again. I apply a stronger dressing, packing the wound tightly before taping it closed. I toss the used bandages along with my gloves into the wastebasket and walk back over to the sink to wash my hands.

Leo says nothing, which seems uncharacteristic of him. Though as he's pointed out, I don't know him. But I can't help but feel as though I've hurt his feelings, and that is honestly the last thing I wanted to do.

I return to the gurney and sit on the edge of the bed opposite his. He doesn't even turn to me—he stares up at the ceiling. There is a sharp pang in my chest, remembering how he's had a significant head injury, and he might be showing signs of it getting worse.

"Leo..." My voice trails off—I'm not sure what to say to him. I'm pretty much only trying to see if he's still awake.

He turns to me, rolling onto his side as he splints his wound. I think he's in a lot more pain than he's letting on, though I'm not sure how much of it is physical. His face—what I can see of it in the dim lighting—is expressionless. "Doctor."

I force a smile. "Oh, good, I wanted to make sure you were still conscious—"

"Tell me, Doctor, who did this to you?" he interrupts.

My brow furrows. "Who did _what_?"

He rolls onto his back and resumes his staring at the ceiling. "I hypothesize there may have been a man in your past who has destroyed your ability to _feel_."

I'm silent but my cheeks begin to burn again. It's good he's not looking at me, and I'm almost glad that even if he were, he probably wouldn't be able to see the embarrassment I'm feeling.

I decide to change the subject. "Your clinic provided us with battery powered lights—like that flashlight." I point to the flashlight sitting on the counter. "But batteries here are ridiculously expensive. I can buy a year's supply of candles for what it costs for a single battery..."

He shakes his head.

"And normally you wouldn't want an open flame in a clinic or hospital. But since we don't have any oxygen here—"

"Doctor, please," he interrupts me again. "If you would prefer we didn't speak of your past, you can just say so. There's no need to ramble on about such minutia."

I snap my mouth closed and fold my arms over my chest. "Your Highness, as I believe we've established earlier, my love life is not your concern."

I hear him let out a sigh sounding an awful lot like exasperation. "I had hoped we were over the _Your Highness_ situation."

"Well, you've gone back to calling me Doctor—"

His head snaps to face me and I can see his eyes have narrowed. "You _are_ a doctor, are you not?"

"I am. And you are royalty, are _you_ not?"

Something clouds his face and if the lighting weren't so bad, I would swear it was a sneer. He turns his head back to look at the ceiling again, drawing in a long breath and releasing it slowly. He's silent for a moment before he speaks. "Two days can be a very satisfying length of time for an affair. Some of my most memorable encounters haven't lasted two _hours_."

"Wow. Great information for me to hear, Your Highness. Kind of an overshare if your plan is _seduction_ , though."

I would swear his face turns a few shades of red, but the dim, flickering light makes it hard to be sure. "I was merely pointing out, Doctor— _Elle_ —that considering the chemistry there seems to be between us, the duration of our affair should not be of great concern."

"Oh." I purse my lips and nod. "I'm glad it's not for you. No, really. It's great that you're so emotionally mature. I guess that makes one of us."

His jaw clenches a few times before he speaks again. His words are measured as though he's holding back a torrent of anger, though I'm not sure what he has to be upset with me about. "This has nothing to do with my _maturity_." The word is dripping with something—it sounds like rage, but that makes no sense. I haven't done anything other than stop our kiss—our very _inappropriate_ kiss. And if he's going to get all pissy about that, well, he can hang it.

"I didn't say that it did." I pause for a moment. "Leo." I'm almost desperate for things to go back to the way they were—though I'm definitely afraid of doing anything beyond kissing him. And hell, I'm pretty sure that will never happen again. But the flirting thing—it was fun. Even _I_ can admit that.

He turns back to face me again. "Tell me about him. We have all night. Is it not a doctor's job to keep her patient entertained?"

I lift a brow. "Not in that way." I realize he might mean something else as soon as I say it. "And not in _that_ way, either."

He chuckles and returns his gaze to the ceiling.

We're both silent for too long. I fold my hands on my lap and begin to fidget. There's not much I can do with the power out—when I'm alone, I usually read medical journals or trashy tabloids depending on my mood. But I don't want to do either of those things now. Part of me wants to go back to kissing him, but the part of me that has been thinking about how wrong this is begins winning out. Because I can't go there—and not because he's technically my boss, though that would be as good a reason as any. And it's not because he's technically my patient, either, though I'm sure I have plenty of colleagues who would be clucking their tongues at me about that, too.

I decide I have to speak. I'll ramble, but the silence is too loud. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings or something."

He doesn't turn to face me this time. "You've decided I have no emotions, isn't that correct, Doctor? How is it possible for you to have injured something of mine that doesn't exist?"

My brow furrows. I guess I _have_ hurt his feelings. "I never said that. I only said I don't do _this_. I just...can't." I'm not going to explain it to him. Ever. All he needs to know—all anyone needs to know—is I'm not that kind of woman. I'm not going to ever let myself be used like that again, and he doesn't need to know the details of it.

"You can't? Or you _won't_?" His gaze seems to be fixed on some point on the ceiling. "Because there is a difference, Doctor."

"I understand there's a difference, _Leo_." I'm still not sure how we got back to the formalities, but it's starting to piss me off. "But in this instance, nuance doesn't matter."

"Are you certain of that, Doctor? Because I believe it _always_ matters."

# Leo

She's being willfully vague.

I don't know what to do with her, how to make her open up to me. Something—some man, some experience—has made her afraid, and I want to know who or what has made her pull back from the attraction we obviously share.

This is new for me—wanting to know a woman's past. Wanting to break down her emotional barriers. Normally I try to keep emotions out of my affairs—it's easier for both parties involved—but every moment I spend with Elle I find myself wanting more. Wanting to understand what she's feeling behind those troubled eyes. Wanting to see the person she hides from the world.

She returned my kiss. Gave herself over, for the briefest of moments, to the passion and energy surging between us. God, I can still taste her. Still smell her. I only had her in my arms for a couple of moments and yet she's taken over my senses completely. Hot desire still burns through my blood—but I don't dare touch her now. I continue to stare at the ceiling while I wait for her to respond to me.

She sighs, and out of the corner of my eye I can see her fidgeting. Her fingers lace and unlace, and finally, she speaks.

"I don't understand why you're so interested in my past," she says. "Especially when you haven't told me a single thing about yours."

If I were sitting up, I'd shrug. "There's little to tell."

"You're a _prince_ ," she says. "I don't buy for a minute that there's nothing to tell. And I still hardly know anything about you or Montovia."

At least she's talking, which is promising. "You don't know anything about your employers?"

"I mean, of course I know stuff. I know the names of everyone in the royal family. I know that Montovia is in central Europe and that the flag is purple and has the royal arms on it. All the information in the packet they gave me when I took this job. But that isn't what I mean."

"Then what _do_ you mean?" I ask her. I risk a glance over at her, but she's looking down at her hands, apparently thinking.

And then she looks up, and for a moment when our eyes meet, I feel the shock of connection surge through me, pulsing through my blood. But she looks away again.

"What made you like this?" she says.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You asked me what in my past 'destroyed my ability to feel.' Not that I'm saying anyone or anything did—I'm just saying that it's only fair I get to ask you what made you the way you are."

"And what exactly am I?"

"You...you're _this_ ," she says, looking a little flustered as she waves her hand at me. "A womanizer. The kind of guy who tries to get into a woman's pants an hour after meeting her."

"I go after what I want," I say. "I don't see what's so strange about that."

"An hour after meeting someone?"

I chuckle. "Doctor, most men know whether or not they want a woman within ten seconds of meeting her. Any man who tells you otherwise is lying. Am I to be criticized because I'm honest about my intentions?"

"It's not that," she says. "It's that you can do that over and over again without developing any actual feelings for anyone."

"Once again with the assumption that I have no emotions," I say.

"I've seen no evidence that you do."

I can't read her face, not in the flickering candlelight.

"I would think," I say carefully, "that if you're so afraid of getting close to someone, an emotionless affair would be ideal."

Her eyebrows snap up. "So you admit there's no emotion involved?"

"That is not what I said."

"Then prove it. Tell me about a time you had feelings for a woman."

Is that the only way I can convince her to trust me? It would be a simple thing to invent a story. To craft a fictitious woman, to claim I loved her and she broke my heart. Perhaps then I could get Elle to talk about her past.

But it would be a lie. The truth is there's never been a woman who's inspired any feelings of great importance in me. There's been lust, certainly. Even a passing affection. But nothing that lingered. Nothing that went beyond the superficial.

Until now.

I'm not sure what this is—as she's fond of reminding me, we've only known each other a couple of days. And yet I can tell there's something different this time. Something that won't be out of my system come morning.

But it's clear enough she won't believe such a thing. She already thinks the worst of me. And since I can't answer her question without lying, well...I dare say I can't blame her for such assumptions.

I reach up and push the hair back from my eyes. The movement causes a twinge of pain in the gash on my chest, but I manage to keep from wincing.

And Elle is apparently tired of waiting for my response.

"All of life is a game to you, isn't it?" she says. "Just an endless buffet of money and women and fancy things. You never have to worry about where your next meal is coming from or what will happen to you if you get hurt and can't afford treatment. You're always provided for. And you never have to worry about forming any real attachment to a woman because there's always another one to take her place. You don't ever have to worry about the consequences of any of your actions."

"If that were true, I wouldn't be here right now."

I say the words without thinking. And they don't slip by Elle.

"What do you mean?" she says.

"Nothing," I say quickly. "Just that I don't live free of consequences, despite what you may believe."

"You said you wouldn't be here..." She leans toward me. "Do you mean _here_ here? At the clinic?"

I see my opening. "Of course. If I hadn't tumbled down that ridge, I wouldn't be on this gurney right now." I grin for good measure.

But she's seen through me. She shakes her head.

"No," she says. "No, you meant _here._ In Rio de Campo. What does that mean? Why are you here?"

"As you are well aware, I'm here to inspect this place."

"But why _you_?" She straightens. "I've been wondering this whole time. Why send a prince instead of a member of the Medical Council? Why send a prince when anyone official would do?"

"For the adventure, of course," I say lightly.

"Stop bullshitting me." She crosses her arms. "I want the real answer."

The real answer is complicated. And it involves more than only me—and my brother's reputation is far more important than my own. Besides, that whole night was my fault. _I_ was the one who came up with the stupid idea in the first place.

I can tell by the way Elle is looking at me that she's read something on my face.

"What is it?" she says.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was almost concerned.

"It's nothing," I tell her, keeping my tone light. "Every prince has to do something responsible sometimes. This is simply my contribution."

"You chose to come here," she says. "Instead of your usual ribbon cuttings and ceremonial events? You willingly came to a place with no luxury resort and no air-conditioning out of some sense of duty?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

She's studying me carefully, and I turn my gaze back up to the ceiling. I don't care how much she presses me—I have no intention of sharing anything about _that night_ with her.

"You were ordered to come here," she says after a moment. "Why? Did your family finally have enough of your partying?"

"My hard work as a tabloid star goes completely unappreciated."

For a moment, I think she'll drop this unfortunate subject.

"No," she says. "It's more than that. I can tell."

I glance at her again, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you suddenly an expert on me? I'll admit, I'm flattered by the attention."

"I can tell when someone is lying to me. And you, Leo, are lying to me."

Hearing my name on her lips is a special sort of pleasure. But it doesn't leave me more inclined to share anything with her.

I gingerly prop myself up on my elbows, careful of my wound.

"I haven't lied to you," I say. "But why should I share anything about my past when you refuse to share anything about yours? I asked _you_ first, I might remind you."

A wrinkle forms between her brows. "I'm not telling you anything."

"Neither am I. Which makes us even." I try another one of my smiles on her. "Forgive me for saying so, Elle, but if we've both agreed we won't be sharing anything with each other, I don't see what the problem is. It certainly makes things much simpler when it comes to this relationship."

She throws up her hands. "We are _not_ having this conversation again. And this is not a relationship. I'm surprised that word is even in your vocabulary."

"I'm full of surprises, I assure you." I sit up all the way.

"Lie back down," she tells me.

"You're welcome to come make me."

"And we all know what happened the last time I got near you."

"Mm, yes." I close my eyes, and my senses are flooded with her again. With the scent of her hair, the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin beneath my fingers. It was only a moment, and yet the memory of it makes my whole body come alive, makes the need course hard and fast through me.

When I open my eyes again, I find her staring at me intently. I know my hunger is plain on my face. But the hunger is equally as plain on hers.

"I'll lie down on one condition," I tell her. "That you lie next to me. We don't have to do anything else. You have to lie next to me tonight. That is all."

# Elle

My breaths are coming too quickly. "It's not big enough." I'm panicking, and the words fall out of my mouth before I even know what I'm saying.

He chuckles. "I assure you, Doctor, I've never heard any complaints."

I groan at the innuendo and stare down at the floor. There's no way I'm going to lie down next to him—no way I'm going anywhere near him ever again for that matter. That kiss— _fuck_. Someone might think no one had ever touched me before by the way my body is still reacting to the memory of that kiss. And I can't control myself around him. The closer I get to him, the less authority my brain seems to have over my body.

_Damned hormones. Seriously._

"There is plenty of room beside me, Elle, as I'm sure you've noticed. It would seem that when my family dedicated this clinic, they spared no expense on these gurneys." He motions between the two beds, pausing for effect. "And I see no reason we shouldn't be utilizing them now." He grins.

I shake my head. "I'm sure there's a weight limit, though. The last thing I want is the bed collapsing and you injuring yourself again. I mean, I'm probably going to be court-martialed for allowing His Royal Highness to have lost so much blood already..." I'm rambling again. And making excuses. Anything to keep me as far away from him as possible.

He stands and I swear I see a wince flash across his face, but he hides it as quickly as it appears. "As you can see, Elle, I'm feeling much better."

"Please. Please lie down. Do you really want me to beg you?"

"Yes." He grins again and his eyes flicker with amusement. "Yes, that is exactly what I want."

My voice lowers and I speak under my breath, though I'm sure it's still loud enough for him to hear. "So fucking immature..."

"I look forward to showing you just how _mature_ I can be, Elle." He flashes another grin before his brow furrows and he bends over, holding the wound below his chest.

I stand and step over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist to guide him back to the gurney. "You might have broken a rib. You need to be resting—I swear, Leo if you don't stop this, you could puncture a lung."

I halfway expect him to argue, and I don't want to admit it, but I more than halfway hope he's faking it again.

But he doesn't resist this time, allowing me to walk him a step back to help him back into bed. He barely holds back a groan as I help him get his legs up. But before I can step away, he catches me by the wrist. His voice is much lower, almost hushed. "Elle, I meant what I said."

"Which part?"

He groans in pain. I wish there were something else I could give him, but I can't—I've given him the strongest medication we have. And I still don't know how his head is doing—and if it weren't for the damn rain pouring down overhead, I would insist on taking him to the hospital now.

I sit next to him on the bed. That's as close as I'm willing to go, and even this is a little too close.

His eyes close and he squeezes my hand. "I meant all of it. But at the moment, I'm speaking of the part in which I said the only way I was lying back down was with you next to me." He opens his eyes. "I'm happy you've decided to oblige."

I shake my head and roll my eyes to the ceiling.

He drops my hand to pat the bed and tries to shift over. "I promise, there's plenty of room." He almost moans in pain with the movement. "Please."

I know there's still a small chance he's conning me again, but it doesn't seem like it this time. And I don't know what happens to me, but I turn and lift my legs onto the bed and lie down next to him.

He slides his arm beneath my neck and I turn to face him. There is barely enough room for both of us on this thing, and with him on his back, there's even less. My ass is probably hanging off the edge of the bed.

But only for a moment. His hand slides down my back and he guides my body toward him until I'm pressed against his side. I pull my bottom arm across my chest, at least keeping my breasts from touching him. I'm not sure I can take this much contact and I'm starting to shake a little. He's too close. The scent of him is overpowering me—some mix of pine and earth and fuck if I know what else. Something making my heart race in my chest. Making the rest of me pulse with excitement.

I finally give in and rest my head against his outstretched arm. And I swear I hear him sigh.

"This...this is only because I need to observe you." My voice is trembling like the rest of my body.

"Mm. Of course it is." His voice is still hushed and he doesn't seem to be teasing me in quite the same way he was before.

"And it's only because I _really_ needed you to lie down. Because you're clearly injured. And—"

"Elle. I promise you. I will not be doing anything but lying here with you tonight. Unfortunately, even if I did desire more, I find my body is quite uncooperative at the moment."

"Because you're hurt. Because I tried to tell you before—"

"Yes. I should have listened to you."

My mouth falls open and I'm not able to find the words to speak. _He should have listened to me_? What the hell kind of guy _ever_ admits he's wrong?

"Now, Elle, tell me something about yourself. We don't have to speak of your love life if you're still intent on keeping that a secret from me." His hand rubs across my back and over to my arm, tracing it up and down.

"I..." My breath catches in my chest. His caress is electric, and I find I can't think of anything else when he touches me. "You have to stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Touching me. Doing that." I'm almost pleading with him. "I need to... I still need to observe you. For your head injury."

"Mm, yes. For my head injury." His finger trails all the way down my arm until he takes my hand in his. "Is this better?"

"Yes." I gulp. "No."

He chuckles. "I'd prefer to be on my side, too, Elle. To feel your body pressed against mine again."

I can't even respond. My brain is now flooded with the memory of that kiss. Of tasting him—damn it, I can still taste him on my lips.

He lets out a breath that sounds almost pained. "Tell me something about yourself and I'll share something about myself. If you feel that is fair."

"Okay." I hate the way my voice sounds, all breathless and...hopeless. "What do you want to know?" I'm not sure I can play this game, though. If the topics get too touchy, I'm out.

"Where did you live before you came to Rio de Campo?"

"California. Santa Monica. Owen lived there, too. He loves to surf." Fuck, I have no idea why I'm talking about my brother now.

"And you? Do you like to surf?"

"No, my turn. I told you something—now you have to tell me something."

"Hm. Fair enough. What burning question do you have for me, Elle?"

I pause. I have plenty of questions for him, but I'm not sure there are any he'll be willing to answer. "What happened that your family made you come here?"

He pauses for a moment. "That hardly seems fair. I ask you an inane question and yours is...less than inane."

"You didn't say there were topics that were off limits."

"Indeed, I did not. I should have explained the rules. You may ask me any questions that are unrelated to my family."

"And you may ask me any questions that are unrelated to my love life."

"Fair enough." He pauses again, waiting for me. "Would you like to ask a different question?"

"Yes," I reply, though I have no idea what I'm going to ask. I think for a moment. "How long was your longest relationship?" It takes me a second to realize I've left out an important detail. "Not with your parents. A romantic relationship."

"Ah, you're good at this. Because I would have replied with my age if not for the clarification." He chuckles. "Let's see." He pauses. "I spent the better part of a summer holiday with a woman not too long ago. It might have lasted a bit longer if..." His voice trails off. "I believe it was just over three weeks. Perhaps closer to four."

I'm embarrassed to admit I think I know who he's talking about—it was all over the celebrity news a few years ago. _Has Prince Leo finally settled down_? Clearly not. Not with that particular starlet.

"What happened?"

"Ah, I believe it's my turn to ask a question now." He's silent for a moment. "I have occasion to be in California several times per year. There's a hotel in Beverly Hills catering to people with my particular needs. It has private entrances where no paparazzi have the ability to photograph its guests."

"This doesn't sound like a question."

"I'm coming to that." He pauses again. "Would you consider...joining me, perhaps? The next time I find myself there, of course. I suppose a better question would be to ask if that is where you are planning to return upon your departure from Rio de Campo."

"I can't believe I'm letting you get away with a two-parter," I mutter. "I am going back to California. It's the only place I've ever lived. Before here." I let out a long breath. "As for the other part of your question—I have no desire to take part in some secret rendezvous with you."

"We have so little time left here, Elle. And I believe this desire we both feel for each other is something worth exploring."

I try to pull myself away from him, but his grip on me tightens.

"It's your turn, Elle."

"Why? Why would you ask me something like that?"

He turns his head to face me, his eyes dark with passion. "Because I want to hear you admit you feel the same desire for me that I feel for you."

I shake my head. "So, you want me to—what? Come suck you off like a cheap whore? You want a guaranteed quick and private fuck after you're done partying and being seen with the women you want to be photographed with? Yeah, no thanks. I think I'll have to pass on that one."

He releases my hand and grips my forearm. "When you put it like that, it sounds much less pleasurable than it could be."

"I'm not a toy, Leo."

He smiles. "No. But I believe you would very much enjoy being played with. In fact, I can virtually guarantee it."

I shake my head and try to pull away again, but he pulls me even closer—my body is almost melded to his now.

"It's your turn," he says.

"It is _not_ my turn. I just asked you why... You know what? Never mind. I don't want to play this game."

"Then I guess we'll lie here in silence for the rest of the night." He turns his head to look up at the ceiling again.

"I guess so." I let out an exasperated breath. "You should let me go."

He doesn't move.

"Leo, really. I think..." _Damn it_. I don't know what I think. I hate how he wants to use me. I hate how my body wants me to let him. I hate...everything. Everything about this is so wrong.

His head turns to face me again, his forehead tipping to touch mine. I can feel his breath on my lips. "What? What do you think, Elle?"

"I..." My body is betraying me again. Because I can't think of what I _think_. All I want to do is kiss him. I part my lips, tilting my head to his when I hear a crash in the lobby, halting whatever might have happened between us. The door to the treatment area swings open a moment later.

A man stands in the doorway. A chill runs down my spine and Leo's grip on me tightens, almost like he's trying to protect me.

"Excuse me," the man says. "I'm looking for Dr. Eleanor Parker."

"I'm Elle," I say and I pull out of Leo's grasp, sitting myself up. "Can I help you?" Thunder cracks loudly overhead and another torrent of rain beats against the roof.

He nods. "They thought the roads would wash out because of the rain so I came a bit early. I'm Dr. Walter Mitchell, your replacement."

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# The Royal Heartbreakers Series

_R oyal Heartbreaker_ unfolds over the course of six novels, released every three weeks. Each follows the continuing story of Prince Leopold of Montovia and Dr. Eleanor Parker. _Royal Heartbreaker_ is the first of the Royal Heartbreakers Series.

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# Royal Heartbreaker

Part One (July 5, 2016)

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