a red tee. His long, muscular legs seemed to go on forever beneath the shorts down to his sneakers. It was the first time she’d seen that much skin on him.
Forget the wink. His knees were knee-weakening. Tan thighs, tan forearms, all dusted with that sexy golden hair. His broad shoulders and very big biceps strained the shirt to tautness that also emphasized his pecs. If you didn’t know he was a prince, you’d assume he was a sailor, since they were just blocks from the harbor.
A sexy sailor. Maybe a pirate.
But Mallory noticed other things, as well. The darkened shadows just beneath his eyes. The downward pull to his mouth. The dark shadows in his violet eyes, the unusual, identical shade to the woman she’d always called her sister—and always would, even if DNA didn’t hold up that claim anymore.
The prince looked exhausted. Beat up. And yes, as much in need of distraction and drinks as she herself was.
“I’m in if you are. Fair warning—I’m in a crappy mood. My entire plan for the night was to drink it away.” Mallory pushed the wooden plank holding three full samplers toward him. “If you’re on board with that, you can start with these.”
“Great minds think alike. It just so happens I came here for exactly the same reason.”
“On a motorcycle? That seems…dumb. I mean, unwise.”
Probably a bad move to call the crown prince dumb. Not because of protocol—just basic politeness. She and Christian had barely talked during her first trip to the country. Kelsey assured her he was nice, but to Mallory he was still more or less a polite stranger.
Albeit a very hot stranger who she ogled whenever the chance arose.
“I took the bike to escape. Someone will drive me home. Which reminds me, I should text Elias, let him know I’m playing hooky.” He handed the helmet to the bartender, who tucked it underneath the bar.
“Wait, you ditched your bodyguard?” The assassination attempt where she’d been shot—and Christian had been standing just in front of her—had happened only three months ago. Security was supposed to be an imperative for the House of Villani. So Mallory dumped protocol out the window and called him out on it. “That was dumb.”
“I needed to do something by myself. For myself.” He sounded unrepentant. His thumbs raced over his phone. “Nobody knows who I am on the bike. And in here, I’m as safe as the palace. This is a Royal Protection Service hangout. Half these tables are filled with off-the-clock bodyguards.”
Mallory whipped her head left and right, taking in the relaxed crowd and noting that nobody looked out of control. Or desperate. Or even rough around the edges. It was the Disneyland version of a bar: spotless, charming, and far from exciting.
“I knew when I asked Klaus to take me someplace to let my hair down that he’d choose the safe, boring route.”
“It’s his job to keep you safe. But as for boring? Well, that all depends on the company.” He sat down, stroking a hand back and forth on the polished wood of the bar. Then his eyes locked onto hers like a tractor beam. “And I don’t plan on being bored at all.”
Oh.
My.
Christian was known as the Playboy Prince of Europe. One who took his responsibilities seriously, but also played hard and with an almost conscientious work ethic to going through women. Mallory had assumed it was his title that had women bending over backward to be with him for a night.
She’d been wrong. It was his…charisma, even while worn out. His focused attention. Not to mention the sensuality of his wide lower lip and those hypnotic eyes.
Suddenly getting drunk with him seemed like a very bad, very dangerous idea.
But Mallory also couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do.
Lifting a glass, she waited for him to raise one and then clinked. “To having fun.”
They both drained the contents in two long gulps, eyes still locked. She wasn’t entirely sure how to stop looking into the violet depths. Or even the dark-blond scruff covering his jawline.
How would that scruff feel on the inside of her thighs?
Why was she bothering to wonder, as it could never, ever happen?
“Before we have all the fun, do you want to say what made your day utter shit?” he asked, ever the polite, well-trained conversationalist.
Ohhhhhh, no. How ungrateful would that sound? Thanks for letting me live, rent-free, in your beautiful palace, in your country, but I’m lonely and bored and miss my old life.
Mallory ran