Chapter 3

Zara stood in the doorway of Bedroom Number Three, deciding it was the best one. It sat way down at the end of the hall, past the other two rooms. It had its own attached bathroom, and it had a set of double doors directly ahead where the evening sunlight still shone through.

She groaned as she stepped across the threshold, her overnight bag holding hardly anything but weighing so much on her shoulder. Probably because she’d been carrying it for the past twenty minutes as she figured “stuff” out with Noah.

“You must be insane,” she muttered to herself as she closed the door behind her. The knob had a lock, which she pressed, and then she could truly relax. Not that she thought Noah would come barging into her bedroom. For some reason, she got the vibe that he’d stay up on the second floor this summer. Even the pool was too out in the open for him, something she’d gathered as the panic from having her car parked by the front door instead of in the garage had rolled across his face.

And yes, there were four doors leading out of the garage, but Zara wasn’t an idiot. She’d just needed some time to do a little Google-Fu online. Noah Wales was a prince.

“A freaking prince,” she said to the fake flower arrangement on the dresser. It was dust-free, and she wondered if she’d be the maid this summer or if Petra had someone coming in. Because if she did…Zara wanted to be around when Noah met the maid.

She actually smiled thinking about it. With her bag on the bed, she rolled her aching shoulders and stepped over to the double doors. The gauzy curtains billowed as if a bit of a breeze had come in, but Zara knew this house was locked down tight.

She flipped several switches until she found the one that controlled the ceiling fan, and then the curtains really went swish-swish-swish. She pulled them apart and unlocked the door, pushing it open in the next moment.

The warmth from the sun felt glorious on her bare arms, and she drew in another deep breath. This was definitely the best bedroom choice, as it had a small patio with a table built for two and a waist-high railing with a gate in it that led to the pool.

The aqua water undulated and sparkled in the sun, and Zara could think of nothing better than the sight before her.

Oh, yes, she could. She could imagine a situation where she lived in this beautiful mansion alone for the summer, making a battle plan for her dating game in the fall.

“Nice view, isn’t it?”

Horror struck her right between the ribs at the sound of Noah’s voice. She shaded her eyes as she glanced around, finally finding him on the second-floor balcony to her right.

“I’m surprised you came outside,” she called back. “What if a reporter has a camera on a drone?”

His eyes flew to the skies, and she giggled as he ducked back under the eaves of the house, moving all the way out of sight a moment later. She heard him say, “You think you’re so funny,” before a door closed.

Zara did think she was funny. And now she knew how to get Noah out of her hair should he ever annoy her.

Ever annoy her? He’d annoyed her from the moment they’d met.

“Playboy,” she said to the pool. “A playboy prince.” Which was exactly the last thing Zara needed in her life—even if he did have gorgeous hair and eyes and a smile that had probably cost the king several thousand dollars.

And he wasn’t going to stop her from having the summer of her life. She owned no less than ten swimming suits, and she went back into her bedroom and changed into one she didn’t use for work. Pairing that with a billowy, white coverup, she padded down the hall and around the corner and down another hall into the kitchen to see what Prince Noah had to drink in the fridge.

She’d definitely be getting her steps in just by traveling from her room to the kitchen for meals. The fridge was easily ten feet wide, with huge double doors that swung all the way open. Zara felt like she was standing in front of the refrigeration units at the convenience store as she took in the bottles and cans before her.

“At least he has good taste in beverages,” she said, selecting a bottle of pomegranate lemonade.

Down the halls, around the corners, and out the doors, Zara positioned herself beside the pool, her lemonade and her phone all she needed to watch the sun set into the Pacific Ocean in front of her.

And it didn’t matter that she’d have to deal with a spoiled prince and his huge dog this summer. This place was big enough for the two of them, and if she couldn’t have friends up to the mansion, so be it.

Zara liked being alone anyway.

The following morning, she’d fed Whitewater and shut her in the suite where they’d be living for the next few months. The rainfall shower head in the bathroom had been divine, and she wound her damp hair around and around into a bun as she entered the kitchen at the same time Noah slid three fried eggs onto a plate.

“Morning,” he said like they’d be best friends forever by the end of the day. “Breakfast?” He raised those deliciously thick eyebrows at her, his face a bit less clean shaven this morning.

“You cook?”

“A little,” he said. “Coffee, toast, eggs, bacon. The usual suspects for breakfast.”

“Then sure,” Zara said, sliding onto a barstool. “I’ll take an egg.”

“Coming up.” He set the pan back on the stove and cracked another egg into it. The satisfying hiss of the white and yolk meeting the hot pan sang through Zara’s soul. So she liked to cook. It wasn’t a crime, and she didn’t want to be a chef at Indian Room just because she liked putting a meal together.

“So, how’d you sleep?” he asked, turning from the stovetop.

She peered at him, trying to decide if he was really asking or if he knew she’d been awake half the night, wondering if he wore pajamas to bed or not.

“Fine,” she ended up saying. “You?”

“Oh, it was a rough night.” He ran one hand down his face, flashed her a smile, and plucked a fork from a drawer. He started cutting into his eggs, letting the yolk run out and touch his toast.

Zara almost gagged. “I like my eggs well-done,” she said. She got up and rounded the island. “I can do it.” She’d just picked up the spatula when he appeared at her side.

“I can do it. My mother called a well-done fried egg a rubber sole.” He took the spatula gently from her fingers and carefully broke the yolk, adding a bit of salt and pepper before flipping the egg with the ease of someone who’d done it a great many times before.

“Well then, I need a rubber sole.” She inhaled, finding it so unfair that he could smell so good and look like he’d just tumbled out of bed moments ago. She found a hint of pine, something spicy, masculine, and a hint of fabric softener under that. Maybe the fresh breeze scent.

“Are you going down to town today?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s my day off, but I’m going to give notice at my apartment and pack a few more things.”

“I was thinking you could drop me off at Your Tidal Forever before you did all that.”

Zara backed up a few steps, finally realizing how close they stood together. In the next moment, he turned from the stove too, the pan in his hand. He pulled down a plate with his free hand and slid the rubber sole out of the pan.

“There you go.”

“Thanks.” She opened the same drawer he had, grabbed a fork, then a couple slices of bacon, and retreated back to the barstool she’d been sitting on earlier.

“So today?” he asked. “I’ve already spoken to Shannon, and she said I can come in anytime.”

“Great,” Zara said, though she did not think it was great. “We can go anytime then. Unless, of course, you were planning to shower before leaving the house.”

His eyebrows puckered for a moment, and then he dropped his gaze to his food so she couldn’t read it. “Maybe I should get your number,” he said, ignoring her jab about showering. “Then I can let you know when I’m ready to go.”

“I’m not a car service.” She bit off the end of a piece of bacon, imagining it to be his head.

“Fine,” he said, his dark eyes flashing dangerously. “Then when do you want to go?”

“You tell me.”

“But you just said you weren’t a car service.”

“Because you made it sound like you’d just text me when you were ready, and I should come running out, keys ready.” Zara had plenty of her own fire inside too. She tossed the half-eaten piece of bacon on her plate and stood up. “I’m going to go eat in my bedroom.”

She’d taken four steps—nowhere near enough to get out of the kitchen—when he said, “Wait.” He sounded a bit contrite, so Zara paused and turned back to him. “I’d still like your number, and yes, I need to shower. Maybe we could go in about an hour?”

Ah, so the prince could be nice. Zara smiled, hoping it came off as sweet. “Sure. I’ll meet you in the car in an hour.” She turned and started walking away again. She’d never be able to storm out to make a point the next time they argued. This house was too freaking big.

“What about your number?” he called after her.

“Yeah, I’m still deciding on if you need that or not.” She finally reached the hallway and turned left as he started to chuckle, a sound that wormed its way under Zara’s skin and into her bloodstream, no matter how much she wished it wouldn’t.

An hour later on the dot, she opened the door from the kitchen to the garage to find Noah already there, the huge double-doors already open and letting in tons of sunlight.

“So how are we going to do this?” he asked, peering down through her back door windows.

“Do what?”

He straightened and faced her, and Zara’s heart did a little jig in her chest. So he was extremely good-looking. Handsome. Some might even say gorgeous. Drop-dead gorgeous, Zara thought, her own mind betraying her.

No wonder he needed to do some volunteer work to repair his image. He probably had women throwing undergarments at him, and he probably hadn’t resisted all that much.

She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts. She didn’t know him, and it wasn’t right of her to make such assumptions about him just because she’d read a paragraph off the Internet about him and his royal status.

“I can’t be seen coming and going from here,” he said. “People have to think you’re house-sitting.”

“Oh, right.” Zara glanced around the garage, but it was like the prince and his family didn’t really live here. “Do you have any blankets or anything? We could pile those on top of you.”

Inside the house, his dog barked, and Noah looked over her shoulder. “He has to be quiet too. If someone gets too close to the house and hears him, they’ll know I’m here too.”

“Are you guys like a package deal?” she asked. “Wherever you go, Lassie does too?”

Annoyance flashed across his face, but Zara didn’t mind all that much. “His name’s Boomer,” he said icily. “And yes, he goes everywhere I do—and the paparazzi know it.”

“Maybe you should’ve named him something like Whisper,” Zara said.

Noah rolled his eyes and said, “I’ll go get some blankets.”

She stepped out of his way, enjoying herself a little too much. As soon as he’d gone, a knot of guilt struck her in the gut. She should be nice to him. He was obviously concerned about the media finding him, and something he’d said last night flowed through her mind.

The anonymity I’ve never had.

Zara’s guilt doubled and then tripled, and she sighed under the weight of it. When Noah returned, she said, “Sorry for how I’ve been acting. I just…I was expecting to be here alone this summer.”

Noah blinked at her over the pile of blankets in his arms. “You’ve been acting badly?”

The urge to roll her eyes was so strong, she almost couldn’t stop herself. Luckily, she did, and she stepped forward to take some of the blankets. “I have been. I’m sorry. I’m sure we’ll get used to our living arrangements.”

Noah put that charming smile on his face, and Zara could definitely see how he’d gotten himself into some trouble with that. “All right. Well, thank you for apologizing. Now let’s see how this works.”