A Prince of a Guy (Red Hot Royals #1)(32)

Sean broke the world record changing his tire with Carly’s soft laughter egging him on.

“My, my.” She handed him the wrench. “A man who can use his tools. I like that.”

He was laughing when he kissed her. Laughing. He couldn’t remember ever being turned on and full of amusement at the same time.

The thunder and lightning had stopped, but the rain hadn’t. The side of the road where they’d parked had become a sea of mud.

If anyone had said he’d be changing a tire in the middle of the night, in the pouring rain, in a damn suit, and laughing while doing it, he would have called them crazy.

But here he was.

He wasn’t thinking about work—not the getting of said work, or the doing of it, or the finding of it. In fact, around Carly, he almost always felt this way.

He liked that. Hell, he ran his own business, and he’d worked long, hard years for his success. If he wanted to cut back a little, if he wanted the weekends and evenings to himself, he was entitled.

And now he had someone to spend that time with.

They got back on the road, but hadn’t gone far when they came to a small café with a Breakfast All the Time sign. Sean pulled in and turned to Carly.

She had a streak of dirt down one cheek, mingling with her running makeup, which made him grin. “I’m famished,” he said. “How about you?”

“Pancakes sound like heaven,” she admitted.

The rain hadn’t let up, so they made a run for it, holding hands and laughing like a pair of kids.

Sitting at a booth toward the back, Sean pushed away the newspaper that had been left on the table, the one that had Princess Carlyne Fortier’s face plastered across the front page.

They both blinked like owls in the garish, obnoxiously bright café, which was decorated in equally eye-squinting red vinyl and checked floors. But the scents coming from the kitchen had Sean’s mouth watering.

Until he caught a good close look at Carly for the first time since they’d left Sam’s party.

“I’m going to have bacon, too,” she said, scanning the menu, oblivious to his sudden stillness. “Tons of it. Crispy,” she added with a grin that slowly faded when she realized he was staring at her. “What?”

His heart had stopped, but now it started up again with a funny rhythm that hurt with each beat, so he was mildly surprised to find he sounded so normal. “Where are your glasses?”

Her hand went immediately to her face, which turned ashen beneath the dirt and makeup. “I don’t know.”

He stared at her because it wasn’t just the glasses, it was…

“I…must have lost them when we were changing the tire,” she said, her words picking up speed as she went. She scooted to the edge of the booth and started to get up, but he put a hand on her wrist to stop her.

“Your eyes.” He had to pause to take a deep breath. Something awful was happening as he stared at her, something so beyond his comprehension that his brain refused to put it together for him. “One is blue, like always. The other is…green. Carly, your eyes are different colors.”

She closed her eyes, and when she answered, her mouth trembled. “I didn’t realize I’d lost a contact, as well.”

“They’re really…green?”

Her eyes opened, but at the look on his face, she covered her mouth with a shaking hand and nodded. Belatedly, her other hand went to the top of her head.

“Too late,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can see the blond poking out from under the wig I didn’t know you wore.”

A funny sound escaped her, one that told him exactly how miserable she was, but since he felt worse, had to feel worse, he didn’t sympathize. “Why are you wearing a wig? And why do you need both glasses and contacts?” But he knew, God help him, he knew. He grabbed the newspaper, holding it up to compare the two faces, one so poised and elegant, one so grim and miserable. “You’ve purposely disguised yourself.”

“Sean—”

“Coffee, folks?” Their waitress appeared and smiled at them, oblivious to the tension humming between them. “Or would you like to order?”

Order? He wanted to throw up. He tossed the paper aside. “We need a minute,” he managed to respond.

“Of course.” The woman started to walk away but glanced at Carly.

Her double take might have been comical if this nightmare hadn’t been happening to Sean.

“Why, I don’t believe it! It’s you! You’ve been hiding out here on the west coast? Oh, I knew it!” She let out a happy little squeal. “I told Marge just this morning you weren’t any junkie in rehab. So…are you enjoying your stay?”

The clues had been there all along, of course. Her desperation for a job that supposedly had nothing to do with needing money. The way she always looked when she saw her reflection in a mirror—so utterly surprised.

And then of course, the whopper—her secrecy about her past.

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered.

The woman he’d just made wild love to, the one clenching the menu, with her wig falling off and her eyes mismatched, winced. “Could we have a moment, please?” she asked the waitress.

“Of course!” Grinning, she bent close to Sean. “I won’t tell a soul about your little romantic tryst,” she promised in a stage whisper. “Honest.”