and shovel or simply pay you back?”
The councillor’s eyes widened in surprise before a smile creased her face. “Good morning, Ms Hartley.”
A beat, then, “Good morning, Councillor Pinkerton.”
“Paulina, please.”
Hugo pressed back his chair and stood. Amber wore a short summer dress that hung from her tanned shoulders by thin ribbons tied at her shoulders. A battered pork-pie hat sat atop her head, leaving her long honey-blonde hair to hang in waves over one shoulder.
But it was the eyes that got him every time. They were devastating. Fierce, wanton bedroom eyes that could lay civilisations to waste.
“Well, if it isn’t my worthy adversary,” he said.
Amber tilted her chin and looked only at Hugo’s companion. “I’m so glad to have run into you, Paulina. I was hoping to have a word.”
“Any time. Won’t you join us?”
Amber’s chin lifted. “Considering the subject, I don’t think that’s wise.”
“I think quite the opposite. Did the two of you manage to meet properly last night?”
Hugo looked to Amber with a smile, allowing her to respond.
She gaped like a fish out of water before saying, slowly, “We did not meet last night.”
“Then allow me. Amber, this is Prince Alessandro Giordano of Vallemont. Prince Alessandro, this is our supplier of all things sweet and honeyed, Amber Hartley.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Hugo held out a hand. Amber’s face was a concerto of emotion as she fought against the need to play nice, at least in front of others, so she didn’t look like an ass.
Finally, Amber’s eyes turned his way. “Prince Alessandro, was it?”
He nodded. “My friends call me Hugo.”
“How nice for them.” Then she took his hand, grabbed a hunk of skirt and curtseyed. Deeply. “Your Highness.”
Until that moment Hugo hadn’t realised a curtsey could be ironic. Laughter knocked against his windpipe, desperate to escape. Only years of maintaining a neutral countenance in affairs of state made it possible to swallow it down.
“Amber, sit,” said Paulina. “I insist. Talk to the man. Work out your grievances. At least attempt to come up with a workable plan, for your sake and for the sake of the town. If you can’t, well, you can tick ‘having tea with a prince’ off your bucket list.”
Councillor Pinkerton pushed back her chair and stood. Hugo reached for his wallet.
“No,” said the older woman. “My treat. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’d bribed me with a pot of tea, now, would we?”
Then she held out her hand, offering the seat to Amber.
“No,” said Amber, waving both hands to make it clear she meant it. “Thank you. But I couldn’t.”
“Your loss,” said the councillor. Then, at the door she called, “She’s got mettle, this one. Might take more than a peach.”
Hugo’s laugh left his throat before he even felt it coming. Then he ran a hand up the back of his neck, settling the hairs that were still on edge.
Amber continued to glare.
“Please join me. At the very least so that I don’t have to stand here all day.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Prince Alessandro? Get some paparazzi shots of us hanging together so as to muddy the waters regarding my side of the case.”
“It’s Hugo. Paparazzi a fixture here in downtown Serenity?”
“Well, no. But now word is out that you are here I’m sure it won’t be long.”
Hugo was sure of it too, meaning his blissful few weeks of anonymity truly were over. And the time to get the plans put to bed was ticking down.
“I’m going to sit,” he said. “The chair is yours if you want it.”
Amber glanced around, found the table beside his was empty, and sat there instead. With her back to him.
She turned her head ever so slightly. “This isn’t the first time for you, is it?”
“Hmm? I didn’t catch that with you sitting all the way over there.” First time for what? he wondered. Drinking tea that smelled like feet? Or locking horns with a stubborn woman he couldn’t get out of his head? “First time for what?”
“Tearing the heart and soul out of a town and turning it into some fancy, homogenised getaway for the idle rich.”
“Ah. I probably won’t use that as the tagline of any future advertising, but yes, I have experience in this area. This will be my...seventh such resort.” A beat, then, “Have you been Googling me, Amber?”
Her shoulders rolled. “It was a stab in the dark. The only semi-decent Wi-Fi around here is at Herb’s Shiatsu Parlour. You can go grey waiting for a picture to load.”
“But at least you’d feel relaxed while doing so.”
Her mouth twitched before she turned her back on him again. He spotted the edge of the dandelion tattoo that curled delicately over her shoulder blade. He remembered the slight rise of it as he’d run a thumb over the area once. The way her muscles reacted, contracting under his touch.
“I’ve come up against people like you before,” she said, “privileged, successful, glowing with an aura that says don’t worry, I’ve done this before, you’re in good hands. But just because you think you’re in the right, doesn’t mean that you are.”
“I could say the same for you.”
“I live in a shack, Your Highness. I collect and sell honey for a living. You and are I are not on the same playing field. But the biggest difference is that, while you think you are in the right, I know I am.”
Hugo could have argued relativism till the cows came home. In fact, if they’d been rugged up in her bed, limbs curled around one another, it might even have been fun.
“What were you telling Councillor Pinkerton about me?” Amber asked, and Hugo gave up pretending he could focus on anything else while she was near.
He pushed his tea aside and turned back to face her. “Until the moment you arrived your name did not come up.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Are you a subject of much chatter around these parts?”
A pause. “No. Maybe. At one time. I was a newcomer too once.”
“The councillor and I weren’t talking about my plans at all. It turns out she knew my mother. And my father.”
Talk of family? Talk of something personal? He half expected Amber to leap over the table and bolt. But her head turned a little further, giving Hugo a view of her profile. Full lips, neat nose, and a fine jaw disappearing into swathes of golden hair. When she lowered her eyes he was hit with the memory of her sleeping; hands curled under her ear, lips softly parted, lashes creating smudges of shadow against her cheeks.
She asked, “Was that a surprise?”
“It was. A good one, though.”
She turned a fraction more on her chair, until her eyes found his. Big, brazen pools of whisky that he knew, from experience, darkened with desire and brightened when she laughed. “Prince Alessandro—”
“Don’t do that.” Hugo’s voice dropped so that only she could hear. “Amber, I am still the same man you found sleeping in your hammock and took into your home. Into your bed. I am still Hugo.”
Amber’s throat