Page 16 of Royal Agenda

Not that Ryker was a slob; he was used to having a maid. There was a big difference between the two mindsets, whatever Gray believed.

Ryker continued to the office, where Sean leaned back in his seat, his bare feet on the desk as he talked on the phone. He set the pizza on the coffee table—a converted shipping pallet stained light gray. Sean saluted him in acknowledgment, then went back to his conversation.

Ryker flipped open the lid and took out a slice. Of all the American food he’d been forced to eat during his time here, pizza was by far the best. It didn’t come close to authentic Italian pizza and was a ghost compared to Isoladian pizza, but he could appreciate it for what Americans wanted it to be.

They really knew how to pile on the meat.

“We’ll keep an eye out. Let us know if you need backup.” Sean followed his nose to the pizza. He said goodbye to the person on the phone.

Ryker knew better than to directly ask who it was. Secrecy was safety for all of them. “Anything I need to know about?”

He found his seat on an old plaid couch with springs poking out all over. He had endured a painful planning session the first time he sat down, and his backside refused to go through such treatment ever again. Therefore, he had painstakingly scouted the perfect spot–the only spot that didn’t poke him in his royal bottom. He had a sneaking suspicion this had been Bob’s couch.

Sean took two pieces of pizza, folded them together to make a sandwich, and took a large bite. He chewed thoughtfully before responding. “There’s a movement taking place, and someone pointed to Diamond Cove. Murmurings really. Nothing solid yet.”

“You are concerned.” Ryker threw one arm over the back of the scratchy couch and continued to eat. Three pizzas would be a lot for two men, but others would come. They were drawn to the smell like sharks to blood. “Is this because of Grace?”

He loved her name. Grace, adonare in Italian, had several meanings, including to adorn. His life would be adorned beautifully with such a woman. But, for once in his life, he preferred the English definition of a word and thought of her as an unmerited favor of God. He did not deserve a woman like her. But, if he were not a principe, he would court her with all of his soul–releasing the great white shark of passion swimming just under the surface. The wild beast was no threat to Grace but could destroy him if left unchecked.

Sean grinned, his eyes creasing in the corners with amusement. “Nah. Your girlfriend’s in the clear.”

Ryker bit back the need to correct him about the status of his relationship with Grace. Which was to say, there was no relationship. To his dismay, he could not even claim she was a client, and saying goodbye to her at the end of her appointment was only possible because Freddie had shown up, speaking loudly about his back hair and how the missus wanted to know if Ryker could trim that up for him.

Grace had squeaked as she tried to hold back her giggles. “Arrivederci, buona fortuna,” goodbye and good luck with that. Her eyes glinted with laughter as she waved to him from the doorway.

He did not shave Freddie’s back. However, he ordered a bottle of hair removal cream and told him to be very careful that he did not get it on his partially bald head. In The Palms, handing out such a cream was like handing out explosives, and the men treated it with the same care.

“Give me some gloves, man!” Freddie insisted. He took four so he could layer up.

“What did you learn about your girlfriend?” Sean pressed. He was almost through his pizza sandwich, though he would not stop eating at just one. Despite being of Italian descent—and bearing a familial resemblance to Ryker in skin tone, hair color, and build—Sean was American through and through and the biggest teaser in the group. Ryker had acclimated to the way he kidded around–mostly.

“She is Nancy Matthew’s granddaughter. She is a genealogist and fiercely loyal to her family.” In the short time he had had Grace to himself, he had discussed benign topics such as proper conditioning techniques and the type of brush she should use based on the thickness of her hair strands. Basically, he had been a bumbling idiot. Hiding in America had taken him off his game. He used to woo political women, doctors, lawyers, and the occasional supermodel with ease. They fell into his charm with weak knees and batting eyelashes.

He brushed at his pants as if there were crumbs. There were not. A prince did not make crumbs when he ate despite the lack of plates and utensils. “What did you learn about her?” He tried to sound disinterested.

Grace was not immune to his charms, but she had not asked for a second appointment at the end of his ministrations. There was a moment when he thought she felt the same heady blur of attraction he had been drowning in since running his fingers through her hair. When he had whispered in her ear, and she had replied with a breathy, though articulate, answer, the very air around them charged, and it was almost as if they were in an embrace because he could feel the heat coming from her. One signal, and he would have taken it all a step farther and kissed her neck.

But she had dropped her gaze, and he had pulled away, and the moment was lost to eternity.

The fact that he could not sweep her away made him all the more interested.

Typical male ego—he hated himself for it.

Sean grabbed a roll of paper towels, tore one off, and wiped his lips. “She’s twenty-seven. Has multiple degrees. A trust-fund kid—thanks to her grandma, Nancy, who’s a total sweetheart and often offers to review my business plans or help me take things to the next level.”

Ryker arched a questioning brow. So, he was not the only one Nancy used her business savvy to help.

“Nancy has ideas. A lot of them. So many business ideas.” Sean rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.

Ryker cleared his throat to get Sean back on topic.

“Anyway,” Sean said, taking the cue, “Grace is actually pretty well known in her field. She made a name for herself with the Octavis scandal turned pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Taking his case was a gamble for her–could have ruined her reputation if it’d gone the other way.”

“When she said she studied families, alarms went off.” Ryker flashed his hand like an alarm blaring. He felt foolish calling in the whole team because of his reaction to an innocent woman.

“Understandable. Considering your family situation.” Sean paused for a moment, looking over something on his phone. “She’d be a great femme fatale. Smart. Knows several languages. Can read body language and unconscious cues–it says here she’s also a certified graphologist–remind me not to write her a note. Plus, Liam said she was hot.” Sean watched him out of the corner of his eye.

Ryker’s neck burned with jealous fury. Only by training and sheer royal will did the blush not spread to his ears. If Liam thought he was getting within ten–no fifty–feet of Grace, he would find himself at the bottom of a swamp hole. “I will thank Liam for his compliments on my talents as a hair connoisseur,” he quipped, pointing the attention at his ability to cut hair more than Grace’s natural beauty, which surpassed every other woman’s. “Speaking of my family situation, how are my sisters?”

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