Page 2 of Her Red Hot Secret Royal Fling

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” Salvatore grinned, extended his hand, which the King shook. “Have you met Sofia?”

For the first time since entering this room, the King’s gaze travelled toward Sofia, landing on her face before briefly flicking over her body and then returning to her eyes. His smile was practiced, rather than warm.

“No. It’s a pleasure.” The words were somewhatpro forma.This was a man who probably met dozens of people a day, at a minimum, and had his shtick down pat.

“The pleasure is mine.” She held out her own hand, as Salvatore had done, for the King to shake. He took a step towards her, so she caught a hint of his masculine fragrance—oranges and cloves—and felt it dance on the edges of her senses. His broad, tanned hand encased hers, shook it lightly and thewarmth from that simple gesture travelled the length of her arm, turning into a sort of spark somewhere in her chest and spreading through the rest of her. Sofia’s gaze, which had been vaguely on his face, honed in on his eyes then, narrowing in surprise at the unmistakable reaction to such a simple touch.

His own eyes, with those fascinating caramel flecks, seemed to shift slightly, to deepen and wonder. Or she’d thought they had. Perhaps it had all been in her mind. He dropped her hand quickly and turned back to Salvatore. “Okay, let’s do this.” He gestured to the conference table at the same time a knock sounded on the main door. The woman who’d led them in reappeared, carrying a tray of refreshments.

“I asked for tea and coffee, but would you prefer anything else?”

“Coffee would be great,” Sofia said, gratefully.

“Actually, could I just grab a water?” Salvatore said, surprising Sofia. The man always had a coffee in hand. She glanced at him swiftly, noticing his skin was a little pale.

But then, they began the pitch they’d prepared, both confident because this was second nature to them. While Sofia had only recently joined the Santoro company officially, she had lived and breathed their work and triumphs all her life, and she was more than able to extol their strong commercial history, their reputation, and their established contacts in the industry.

“In terms of construction,” Ares interrupted, “Almost one hundred per cent of the workforce would need to be sourced locally. There’s an employment problem in the country, brought about by the collapse of one of the largest shipping operators in the region…”

“I read about that,” Salvatore leaned closer. “Did you consider buying in?”

“I looked at it,” Ares admitted. “But it wouldn’t have been enough. The business was in too much trouble. It had to go.” Heshook his head with obvious frustration. “Unfortunately, that’s had a knock-on effect of supply issues to the country. We’ve turned a corner lately, but it’s been a difficult year.”

And there’d been his breakup too, Sofia thought. She’d read about it in the papers, only six or seven weeks earlier. Having dated for more than two years, it had been largely expected that a summer engagement and wedding would be on the cards for the King of Moricosia, but instead, there’d been a dramatic and immediate split, splashed all over the tabloids.

“I want these buildings, and the surrounding precinct, to offer my people hope. This is more than a construction project; it’s a beacon.”

A shiver ran down Sofia’s spine. “A beacon,” she murmured, glancing at the large easel behind the King, which had concept drawings of the project pinned to it. Unbidden, she stood, walking with unconscious grace towards it, eyes scanning first the towers, and then the gardens. Large arches were formed from metal and stone, covered in abundant, blooming bougainvilleas, which were synonymous with this island. The artist’s rendering included people —families, individuals, couples—enjoying the garden as an extension of their lives. It was a broad, community space, the kind of project that did indeed act as a beacon.

She turned back to the King and Salvatore to say as much, only to realise they’d moved on, and were in conversation. “The terrain is easy enough—don’t be afraid,” Ares was saying, in a teasing tone.

Salvatore, who was almost grey now beneath his tan, nonetheless smiled. “Are you forgetting who you’re talking to?”

“You don’t mind if I borrow Salvatore for a few days, do you?” Ares asked, turning to Sofia, so their eyes met once more and she experienced a rush of heat, just like when he’d shaken her hand.

She shook her head, suddenly not trusting her voice.

“His Highness has suggested a hike,” Salvatore added, raising a brow as he looked at Sofia.

“It’s something I do every couple of months,” the King explained. “I was planning to leave this afternoon—Salvatore’s being here is perfect. It will give us a very overdue chance to catch up.”

“It has been too long,” Salvatore agreed.

“It has,” Ares agreed.

“You’ve been busy.”

“And you haven’t?” The King prompted. “The Santoros seem to be taking over the world, one development at a time.”

“Which is why we’re perfect for this job,” Sofia said smoothly, coming back to the table and taking her seat, aware of the King’s eyes on her in a way that she probably shouldn’t have been. Her body tingled and zinged in response to his focused attention.

“We’ll see,” he responded, in a tone that gave her little insight to how he felt. She knew one thing for certain: it wasn’t a done deal. Personal friendships wouldn’t make the leader of this country invest with the Santoros—he couldn’t be seen to allow something like affection to cloud his judgement. His eyes lingered on Sofia’s so her lips parted in a soft exhalation. When he glanced back at Salvatore, she expelled a longer breath, glad that she was out of the high beam of his inquisitive attention. “You will have a few days of uninterrupted time to try to convince me,” Ares promised.

Salvatore turned to Sofia. “Is that okay with you?” He asked, in a way that was solicitous and sweet—which infuriated her. It was a prime example of why she couldn’t work for Santoros. They still treated her like the lost little nine-year-old she’d been that first summer. Like a little girl who desperately needed their protection and love, who needed to be looked after.

But Sofia had grown a lot, and she was no longer that child. She had become strong. Hardened by life, rejection, and a lack of love from the one person she’d most wanted to be loved by: her mother. That grief had sort of fossilized inside of her at first, and then it had grown and expanded to become like a shield.

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