Mindy Neff - The Inconveniently Engaged Prince

It didn’t have to turn into a sexual thing.

Friendships between opposite sexes were normal and acceptable.

“Actually, I was planning to go bird-watching today,” she said, absently covering Sissy’s ears. Sissy would rather eat a bird than watch it.

“Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“You mean like sit out in the yard and just look?”

“The yard’s good. But I like the park better. Someplace with lots of trees. I was thinking about driving over to Torrey Pines and taking a short hike.”

“To watch the birds,” he repeated.

“It counts for science credits.”

“I see.” He sounded a little deflated, disappointed.

She twisted the phone cord around her finger. Her heart leapt into her throat and pounded. She probably shouldn’t ask, but… “Would, um…do you want to go with me?”

“Sure. I could get into bird-watching.”

He hadn’t even hesitated. She let out a breath, lectured herself not to panic. It wasn’t polite to uninvite. Besides, how much trouble could she get into bird-watching?

“Okay. You can either meet me somewhere or I can stop by and pick you up on my way.”

“I can come for you.”

“Nope. It’s my suggestion. I’ll do the driving.”

“I’ve got to tell you, I’m partial to a woman who likes to take charge.”

“Don’t push your luck, pal.”

He laughed. “Okay. My condo’s over the bridge on Coronado. Got a piece of paper?”

Accidentally dumping Sissy off the bed, she rummaged in the nightstand drawer and came up with a pen and a dog-eared crossword puzzle book. It seemed almost sacrilegious to write down the ritzy address in the margins of a rumpled game magazine, but it was the handiest at the moment.

He gave her several telephone numbers and a gate code, as well as detailed directions that were hardly necessary. She’d taken the ferry across to the lovely seaside suburb of Coronado several times just to soak up the ambiance—to see how the wealthier half of the world lived. So she was familiar with the area.

“See you in about an hour and a half?” she asked.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Hanging up the phone, she glanced down at Sissy, who was staring out of faintly annoyed iridescent blue eyes.

“What? It’s only bird…I mean science studying. There’s no rule that says I can’t invite company.”

Sissy merely licked her silky fur, as though she could see right into Vickie’s soul, feel the giddy butterflies winging in her stomach.

“Just wait until you see him before you take that attitude. Then try to tell me that you could resist.”

WITH THE TOP DOWN on her ten-year-old Chrysler convertible, Vickie drove over the spectacular two-mile bridge that connected Coronado Island to the mainland. Her hair swirled in the breeze and the brisk fall air sneaked beneath her lightweight turtleneck sweater, but she loved the freedom of driving with the top down on a beautiful sunny day.

Against the blue waters of the bay, the Hotel Del Coronado stood like a grand lady with its quirky timber facade of conical towers, cupolas, turrets, balconies and dormer windows. A distant memory flashed—herself as a young girl, watching a classic Marilyn Monroe movie that had been filmed at the hotel.

Caught up in fantasy, as girls on the bud of teenage could, she’d imagined herself right there, strolling through the acres of polished wood and old-fashioned ambiance. She’d have worn diamonds and silk, and been the love of a handsome leading man’s life.

At the time, she’d been living in a foster home in Washington, and California had seemed another world away. Yet, oddly enough, it was this hotel she’d focused on when she and Chet had run away together. They’d ended up only making it as far as Los Angeles. The pull of the hotel, though, the fantasy, had finally gotten her to San Diego…alone and much, much wiser.

She shook away those thoughts, unwilling to dwell on what couldn’t be changed. Definitely unwilling to spoil such a beautiful day.

Navigating the tidily maintained streets, she located Jace’s condo and punched in the gate code. The place was quite impressive, as she’d known it would be. Two stories, built in a Spanish architectural style, it sat right on the beach with a third level observation deck that would no doubt have a clear view to downtown San Diego, Mission Bay and the endless Pacific Ocean beyond.

Bicyclists whizzed down the streets dodging neighbors out for a morning jog and mothers pushing children in strollers. Parked in driveways or open garages were luxury cars and sports cars that cost the earth and made Vickie feel a little self-conscious about parking her dated Chrysler on the same block as them.

Oh, well. The classics were supposed to be an in thing. She got out of the car, breathing in the scent of the sea and fall blooms. Pots of geraniums, mums and fluffy ferns gave the oak and leaded glass entry doors a welcoming aura.

Before she could connect her knuckles with the wood, Jace was opening the door.

“Hi,” he said.

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth for about three seconds. He wore a white chef’s apron over a pair of jeans and a torso-hugging blue sweater. His dark blond hair was streaked light in places by the sun and sexily mussed—the result of an expensive salon cut rather than lack of a comb.

And his smile…Lord have mercy, it could render a woman speechless. Especially those dimples.

His brows rose. “Do I have spinach in my teeth?”

She snapped out of her trance. “Uh, no. Sorry.”

He laughed. “Come on in.”

“Why are you wearing an apron?” Like a kid gazing at a castle for the very first time, she stared in awe at the high ceilings and chandelier dripping with hundreds of sparkling crystals. A gleaming piano with a mirror-clear ebony surface drew the eye toward the cavernous living room, the wall of glass, the balcony and the sea beyond.

“I invited you to breakfast, remember?”

She finally found her manners and stopped gawking at the house, looking instead at him. “But I thought we changed the plans and decided on the park.”

“Did you already eat?”

“Well, no. But—”

“Then come on in and let me impress you with my skills.”

Now, there was an invitation that ought to make a woman wary.

She followed him across sandstone tiles and up several plush carpeted stairs to a kitchen that also boasted a wall of glass and a clear view of both the city and the sea. At night it would be even more breathtaking.

Acres of granite counters flowed over and around top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances—two of almost everything, she noted. She could probably fit her entire apartment in this one room alone.

“Um, are you trying to impress me?” Good grief, Vickie, stop stammering!

“Actually, yes.”

“Well, at least you’re honest. Can’t say as much for the modesty.”

He waved a spatula at her. “Told you, I’m a take-me-as-I-am kind of guy.”

Yes, and she would love to take him. Because her heart was pumping like mad, she glanced away.

The dining table was set with china and crystal. Orange juice filled goblets and champagne iced in a bucket beside two of the chairs.

Something smelled absolutely wonderful. Arming himself with oven mitts, he bent and removed an egg casserole from the oven. Vickie decided that a man in close-fitting jeans wearing an apron was a dangerous combination for a woman’s heart.

“How in the world did you manage to have this all catered in a little over an hour?”

He took the serving dish to the table, lowered his brows. “If I’d had it catered, do you think I’d be parading around in an apron?”

“Probably. You said you were out to impress me.”