Alison Roberts - A Daddy For Christmas

Rowan swept aside the fabric and stepped inside. “Sorry I’m late, my friend.”

His old school pal Elliot Starc lounged in a recliner under the cabana in their designated meeting spot as planned, both loungers overlooking the endless stretch of ocean. “Nothing better to do.”

Strictly speaking that couldn’t be true. The freelance Interpol agent used his job as a world-renowned Formula One race-car driver to slip in and out of countries without question. He ran in high-powered circles. But then that very lifestyle was the sort their handler, Colonel Salvatore, capitalized on—using the tarnished reputations of his old students to gain access to underworld types.

Of course, Salvatore gave Rowan hell periodically for being a do-gooder. Rowan winced. The label pinched, a poor fit at best. “Well, thanks all the same for dropping everything to come to Cape Verde.”

Elliot scratched his hand over his buzzed short hair. “I’m made of time since my fiancée dumped me.”

“Sorry about that.” Talk about headline news. Elliot’s past—his vast past—with women, filled headlines across multiple continents. The world thought that’s what had broken up the engagement, but Rowan suspected the truth. Elliot’s fiancée had been freaked out by the Interpol work. The job had risked more than one relationship for the Brotherhood.

What would Mari think if she knew?

“Crap happens.” Elliot tipped back a drink, draining half of the amber liquid before setting the cut crystal glass on the table between them. “I’d cleared my schedule for the honeymoon. When we split I gave her the tickets since the whole thing was my fault anyway. She and her ‘BFF’ are skiing in the Alps as we speak. I might as well be doing something productive with my time off.”

Clearly, Elliot wouldn’t want sympathy. Another drink maybe. He looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes. From lack of sleep most likely. But that didn’t explain the nearly shaved head.

“Dude, what happened to you?” Rowan asked, pointing to the short cut.

Elliot’s curly mop had become a signature with his fans who collected magazine covers. There were even billboards and posters.... All their pals from the military academy—the ones who’d dubbed themselves the Alpha Brotherhood—never passed up an opportunity to rib Elliot about the underwear ad.

Elliot scratched a hand over his shorn hair. “I had a wreck during a training run. Bit of a fire involved. Singed my hair.”

Holy hell. “You caught on fire?”

Elliot grinned. “Just my hair.”

“How did I miss hearing about that?”

“No need. It’s not a big deal.”

Rowan shook his head. “You are one seriously messed-up dude.”

But then all his former classmates were messed up in some form. Came with the territory. The things that had landed them in that reform school left them with baggage long after graduation.

“You’re the one who hangs out in war-torn villages passing out vaccinations and blankets for fun.”

“I’m not trailed by groupies.” He shuddered.

“They’re harmless most of the time.”

Except when they weren’t. The very reason he’d consulted with Elliot about the best way to protect Mari and Issa. “I can’t thank you enough, brother, for overseeing the security detail. They earned their pay tonight.”

“Child’s play. So to speak.” Elliot lifted his glass again, draining the rest with a wince. “What’s up with your papa-and-the-princess deal?”

“The kid needed my help. So I helped.”

“You’ve always been the saint. But that doesn’t explain the princess.”

Rowan ignored the last part of Elliot’s question. “What’s so saintly about helping out a kid when I have unlimited funds and Interpol agents at my disposal? Saintly is when something’s difficult to do.”

“And the woman—the princess?” his half-drunk buddy persisted. “She had a reputation for being very difficult on the subject of Dr. Rowan Boothe.”

Like the time she’d written an entire journal piece pointing out potential flaws in his diagnostics program. Sure, he’d made adjustments after reading the piece, but holy hell, it would have been nice—and more expedient—if she’d come to him first. “Mari needs my help, too. That’s all it is.”

Elliot laughed. “You are so damn delusional.”

A truth. And an uncomfortable one.

Beyond their cabana tent, a couple strolled arm-in-arm along the shoreline, sidestepping as a jogger sprinted past with a loping dog.

“If you were a good friend you would let me continue with my denial.”

“Maybe I’m wrong.” Elliot lifted the decanter and refilled his glass. “It’s not denial if you acknowledge said problem.”

“I am aware of that fact.” His unrelenting desire for Mari was a longtime, ongoing issue he was doing his damnedest to address.

“What do you intend to do about your crush on the princess?”

“Crush? Good God, man. I’m not in junior high.”

“Glad you know that. What’s your plan?”

“I’m figuring that out as I go.” And even if he had one, he wasn’t comfortable discussing details of his—feelings?—his attraction.

“What happens if this relationship goes south? Her father has a lot of influence. Even though you’re not in his country, his region still neighbors your backyard. That could be...uncomfortable.”

Rowan hadn’t considered that angle and he should have. Which said a lot for how much Mari messed with his mind. “Let me get this straight, Starc. You are doling out relationship advice?”

“I’m a top-notch source when it comes to all the wrong things to do in a long-term relationship.” He lifted his glass in toast. “Here’s to three broken engagements and counting.”

“Who said I’m looking for long-term?”

Elliot leveled an entirely sober stare his way, holding for three crashes of the waves before he said, “You truly are delusional, dude.”

“That’s not advice.”

“It is if you really think about it.”

He’d had enough of this discussion about Mari and the possibility of a train wreck of epic proportions. Rowan shoved off the lounger, his shoes sinking in the sand. “Good night.”

“Hit a sore spot, did I?” Still, Starc pushed.

“I appreciate your...concern. And your help.” He clapped Elliot on the shoulder before sweeping aside the canvas curtain. “I need to return to the hotel.”

He’d been gone long enough. As much as he trusted Elliot’s choice of guards, he still preferred to keep close.

Wind rolled in off the water, tearing at his open shirt collar as he made his way back up the beach toward the resort. Lights winked from trees. Fake snow speckled windows. Less than two weeks left until Christmas. He would spend the day at his house by the clinic, working any emergency-room walk-ins as he did every year. What plans did Mari have? Would she go to her family?

His parents holed up on Christmas, and frankly, he preferred it that way. Too many painful memories for all of them.

He shut off those thoughts as he entered the resort again. Better to focus on the present. One day at a time. That’s the way he’d learned to deal with the crap that had gone down. And right now, his present was filled with Mari and Issa.

Potted palms, carved masks and mounted animal heads passed in a blur as he made his way back to his suite. He nodded to the pair of guards outside the door before stepping inside.

Dimmed lights from the wet bar bathed the sitting area in an amber glow. Silence echoed as he padded his way to Mari’s room. No sounds came from her room this time, no conversation with her royal dad.

The door to Mari’s room was ajar and he nudged it open slowly, pushing back thoughts of invading her privacy. This was about safety and checking on the baby.