Read Online Beauty and the Reclusive Prince by Raye Morgan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Raye Morgan
Ads: Link
and gave him a significant look. “If only I had the number for his mobile.”
“Ah.” He bit back a grin, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “You’re not the first to hint around for that number.”
She leaned closer, trying to look persuasive but not sure how to do that with a man like this. “I’m sure you know what it is.”
He nodded, looking her over with barely leashed pity. “I do. And I’m sworn to secrecy, just as you’d expect.”
“Oh.” She straightened and frowned, her heart sinking.
“I’m not allowed to tell anyone.”
She nodded, feeling tragic and hopeless. “I was afraid of that.”
He looked as tragic as she felt. “I’m sorry. It would be a betrayal of trust for me to tell you what it is.”
She nodded again, leaning against the tall counter with her chin in her hand. “I understand,” she said sadly.
He reached past her to take a pencil from a cup full of them. “It’s a fairly easy number to remember,” he said as he pulled a piece of paper from a stack of them on the counter. “I think I could probably recreate it right now, just doodling here.” And he began to do just that. “But I would never tell you what it is.”
Her eyes widened. Had he just done what she thought he’d done? “Of course not,” she said faintly, hope rekindled.
They chatted for another few seconds. Isabella was on tenterhooks but she studiously avoided looking at the paper in front of him, which he was filling with doodles. Still, she noticed out of the corner of her eye when he turned to leave and crushed it into a ball. Very deliberately, he tossed it into a nearby trash can.
“Take care, Isabella,” he said. Giving her a big smile, he winked and headed for the door.
She waited until he was out of the room, then whirled and grabbed the paper from the trash can. She pressed it flat against the counter, and there it was—a telephone number, the figures embellished wildly, but still legible.Just the thought of calling it sent her pulse soaring. Thanks to Marcello, she had what she’d wanted, a connection to the prince. Now, how was she going to work up the courage to use it?
Max jerked upright when he heard his mobile chime. For just a moment, he wondered what the noise was. He’d only heard it a few times before. Almost no one had his number, and those who did usually called on the landline or sent him an e-mail. He frowned as he fumbled through his stack of books and papers, looking for the blasted thing and ready to bark at whoever was calling and interrupting a good idea flow he’d got into on this lazy, sunny afternoon.
His frown deepened as he realized he didn’t recognize the caller’s ID. Probably a wrong number. He dropped the phone back onto his desk and turned away, ready to let it ring itself silly. But it didn’t stop and he swore sharply and reached for it again, prepared to turn it off. But this time something about the caller ID caught his attention. He hesitated. Why not give it a try? After all, what could it hurt? With a grimace, he clicked on and put it to his ear.
“ Ciao .”
There was a soft exhalation of breath and a feminine voice said, “Is this Max?”
He blinked. “Yes. Who’s this?” But in a flash, he knew.
“Isabella Casali. I…we met the other night when I…”
Letting his head fall back, he closed his eyes. He really didn’t need this. Life as he’d grown to know it was boring but placid. Not too many highs and lows—if you didn’t count the midnight agonies of a guilty conscience. And then, this woman had inserted herself into his sphere. And it came to this—just the sound of her voice did strange and mystical things to him.
“I remember,” he said gruffly. “How did you get this number?”
“It wasn’t easy.” She hesitated, then went on. “Listen, I don’t mean to be a bother, but I need to talk to you.”
His hand tightened on the small device. “It’s that damned basil, isn’t it?”
She sputtered for a
“Ah.” He bit back a grin, his eyes sparkling with laughter. “You’re not the first to hint around for that number.”
She leaned closer, trying to look persuasive but not sure how to do that with a man like this. “I’m sure you know what it is.”
He nodded, looking her over with barely leashed pity. “I do. And I’m sworn to secrecy, just as you’d expect.”
“Oh.” She straightened and frowned, her heart sinking.
“I’m not allowed to tell anyone.”
She nodded, feeling tragic and hopeless. “I was afraid of that.”
He looked as tragic as she felt. “I’m sorry. It would be a betrayal of trust for me to tell you what it is.”
She nodded again, leaning against the tall counter with her chin in her hand. “I understand,” she said sadly.
He reached past her to take a pencil from a cup full of them. “It’s a fairly easy number to remember,” he said as he pulled a piece of paper from a stack of them on the counter. “I think I could probably recreate it right now, just doodling here.” And he began to do just that. “But I would never tell you what it is.”
Her eyes widened. Had he just done what she thought he’d done? “Of course not,” she said faintly, hope rekindled.
They chatted for another few seconds. Isabella was on tenterhooks but she studiously avoided looking at the paper in front of him, which he was filling with doodles. Still, she noticed out of the corner of her eye when he turned to leave and crushed it into a ball. Very deliberately, he tossed it into a nearby trash can.
“Take care, Isabella,” he said. Giving her a big smile, he winked and headed for the door.
She waited until he was out of the room, then whirled and grabbed the paper from the trash can. She pressed it flat against the counter, and there it was—a telephone number, the figures embellished wildly, but still legible.Just the thought of calling it sent her pulse soaring. Thanks to Marcello, she had what she’d wanted, a connection to the prince. Now, how was she going to work up the courage to use it?
Max jerked upright when he heard his mobile chime. For just a moment, he wondered what the noise was. He’d only heard it a few times before. Almost no one had his number, and those who did usually called on the landline or sent him an e-mail. He frowned as he fumbled through his stack of books and papers, looking for the blasted thing and ready to bark at whoever was calling and interrupting a good idea flow he’d got into on this lazy, sunny afternoon.
His frown deepened as he realized he didn’t recognize the caller’s ID. Probably a wrong number. He dropped the phone back onto his desk and turned away, ready to let it ring itself silly. But it didn’t stop and he swore sharply and reached for it again, prepared to turn it off. But this time something about the caller ID caught his attention. He hesitated. Why not give it a try? After all, what could it hurt? With a grimace, he clicked on and put it to his ear.
“ Ciao .”
There was a soft exhalation of breath and a feminine voice said, “Is this Max?”
He blinked. “Yes. Who’s this?” But in a flash, he knew.
“Isabella Casali. I…we met the other night when I…”
Letting his head fall back, he closed his eyes. He really didn’t need this. Life as he’d grown to know it was boring but placid. Not too many highs and lows—if you didn’t count the midnight agonies of a guilty conscience. And then, this woman had inserted herself into his sphere. And it came to this—just the sound of her voice did strange and mystical things to him.
“I remember,” he said gruffly. “How did you get this number?”
“It wasn’t easy.” She hesitated, then went on. “Listen, I don’t mean to be a bother, but I need to talk to you.”
His hand tightened on the small device. “It’s that damned basil, isn’t it?”
She sputtered for a
Similar Books
