something wrong?” he asked, already reaching for his iPhone.
“You’ll have to tell us that,” Vernon answered without once taking his raccoonlike eyes off Tony. “Actually, you can skip the messages and just head straight for the internet.”
“Where?” He tapped through the menu.
“Anywhere.” Vernon sank back into his chair like an anchor thudding to the bottom of the ocean floor. “It’s headlining everywhere. You won’t miss it.”
His iPhone connected to the internet and displayed the top stories—
Royalty Revealed!
Medina Monarchy Exposed!
Blinking fast, he stared in shock at the last thing he expected, but the outcome his father had always feared most. One heading at a time, his family’s cover was peeled away until he settled on the last in the list.
Meet the Medina Mistress!
The insane speed of viral news…His gaze shot straight to the windows separating him from the waiters’ station, where seconds ago he’d seen Shannon.
Sure enough, she still stood with her back to him. He wouldn’t have much time. He had to talk to her before she finished tapping in her order or tabulating a bill.
Tony shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly in the silence as Vernon’s friends all checked their messages. Reaching for the brass handle, he kept his eyes locked on the woman who turned him inside out with one touch of her hand on his bare flesh, the simple brush of her hair across his chest until he forgot about staying on guard. Foreboding crept up his spine. His instincts had served him well over the years—steering him through multimillion-dollar business decisions, even warning him of a frayed shrimp net inching closer to snag his feet.
And before all that? The extra sense had powered his stride as he’d raced through the woods, running from rebels overthrowing San Rinaldo’s government. Rebels who hadn’t thought twice about shooting at kids, even a five-year-old.
Or murdering their mother.
The Medina cover was about more than privacy. It was about safety. While his family had relocated to a U.S. island after the coup, they could never let down their guard. And damn it all, he’d selfishly put Shannon in the crosshairs simply because he had to have her in his bed.
Tony clasped her shoulders and turned her around. Only to stop short.
Her beautiful blue eyes wide with horror said it all. And if he’d been in doubt? The cell phone clutched in Shannon’s hand told him the rest.
She already knew.
* * *
She didn’t want to know.
The internet rumor her son’s babysitter had read over the phone had to be a media mistake. As did the five follow-up articles she’d found in her own ten-second search with her cell’s internet service.
The blogosphere could bloom toxic fiction in minutes, right? People could say whatever they wanted, make a fortune off click-throughs and then retract the erroneous story the next day. Tony’s touch on her shoulders was so familiar and stirring he simply couldn’t be a stranger. Even now her body warmed at the feel of his hands until she swayed.
But then hadn’t she made the very same mistake with her dead husband, buying into his facade because she wanted it to be true?
Damn it, Tony wasn’t Nolan. All of this would be explained away and she could go back to her toe-curling affair with Tony. Except they were already in the middle of a fight over trying to give her money—an offer that made her skin crawl. And if he was actually a prince?
She swallowed hysterical laughter. Well, he’d told her that he had money to burn and it could very well be he’d meant that on a scale far grander than she could have ever imagined.
“Breathe,” her ex-lover commanded.
“Okay, okay, okay,” she chanted on each gasp of air, tapping her glasses more firmly in place in hopes the dots in front of her eyes would fade. “I’m okay.”
Now that her vision cleared she had a better view of her place at the center of the restaurant’s attention. And when had Tony started edging her toward the door? Impending doom welled inside her as she realized the local media would soon descend.
“Good, steady now, in and out.” His voice didn’t sound any different.
But it also didn’t sound Texan. Or southern. Or even northern for that matter, as if he’d worked to stamp out any sense of regionality from himself. She tried to focus on the timbre that so thoroughly strummed her senses when they made love.
“Tony, please say we’re going to laugh over this misunderstanding later.”
He didn’t answer. His square jaw was set and serious as he looked over her shoulder, scanning. She found no signs of her carefree lover, even though her fingers carried the memory of how his dark hair curled around her fingers. His wealth and power had been undeniable from the start in his clothes and lifestyle, but most of all in his proud carriage. Now she took new note of his aristocratic jaw and cheekbones. Such a damn handsome and charming man. She’d allowed herself to be wowed. Seduced by his smile.
She’d barely come to grips with dating a rich guy, given all the bad baggage that brought up of her dead husband. A crooked sleaze. She’d been dazzled by Nolan’s glitzy world, learning too late it was financed by a Ponzi scheme.
The guilt of those destroyed lives squeezed the breath from her lungs all over again. If not for her son, she might very well have curled inside herself and given up after Nolan took his own life. But she would hold strong for Kolby.
“Answer me,” she demanded, hoping.
“This isn’t the place to talk.”
Not reassuring and, oh God, why did Tony still have the power to hurt her? Anger punched through the pain. “How long does it take to say damned rumor?”
He slid an arm around her shoulders, tucking her to his side. “Let’s find somewhere more private.”
“Tell me now.” She pulled back from the lure of his familiar scent, minty patchouli and sandalwood, the smell of exotic pleasures.
Tony—Antonio—Prince Medina—whoever the hell he was—ducked his head closer to hers. “Shannon, do you really want to talk here where anyone can listen? The world’s going to intrude on our town soon enough.”
Tears burned behind her eyes, the room going blurry even with her glasses on. “Okay, we’ll find a quiet place to discuss this.”
He backed her toward the kitchen. Her legs and his synched up in step, her hips following his instinctively, as if they’d danced together often…and more. Eyes and whispers followed them the entire way. Did everyone already know? Cell phones sang from pockets and vibrated on tabletops as if Galveston quivered on the verge of an earthquake.
No one approached them outright, but fragments drifted from their huddled discussions.
“Could Tony Castillo be—”
“—Medina—”
“—With that waitress—”
The buzz increased like a swarm of locusts closing in on the Texas landscape. On her life.
Tony growled lowly, “There’s nowhere here we can speak privately. I need to get you out of Vernon’s.”
His muscled arm locked her tighter, guiding her through a swishing door, past a string of chefs all immobile and gawking. He shouldered out a side door and she had no choice but to follow.
Outside, the late-day sun kissed his bronzed face, bringing his deeply tanned features into sharper focus. She’d always known there was something strikingly foreign about him. But she’d believed his story of dead parents, bookkeepers who’d emigrated