Scandal With a Prince Read Online Free Page B

bursts of color?   Check.
    Whispered oohs and aahs from the gathered crowd?   Check.
    And that was the crux of the problem.   The crowd.   Dozens of CEOs, charity event organizers, and society mavens had monopolized every second of Megan’s time over the last two hours.   Whenever Stefano meandered closer to her, subtly moving through the rooftop crowd so he’d be in position to whisk Megan aside when the opportunity arose, another party guest captured her attention, gushing about the hotel’s facilities and asking how soon they needed to call in order to reserve space for an upcoming event.   After ensuring their booking needs were met, they lingered at her side to rave about the food, the beachfront setting, the modern facilities, even the lavender-scented shampoo provided in the guest rooms.
    He wanted to be rid of them all.  
    The wicked part of him imagined shoving them all down the fire escape, even the musicians, leaving him alone under the stars with Megan, just as they’d been that night on the beach in Venezuela.   The more imaginative—and pacifist—part of him wanted to encourage every last couple to take full advantage of the romantic views and luxurious bedding in their beachfront hotel suites.   So few unattached guests were in attendance, they’d disperse quickly enough to pursue their own entertainments.   All but Megan, whom he’d capture for himself.
    The mere thought of holding her again made his body harden with desire.
    First, however, he needed to take care of Ilsa, the dark-haired Dane who’d remained at his side most of the evening.   There was no denying the woman’s beauty.   Even if Ilsa weren’t wearing a body-hugging red gown, with her height and unusual, sensuous eyes she drew the attention of men as certainly as hummingbirds flocked to sweet-scented nectar in the midst of summer.   Nor could he deny her intelligence.   She was a witty, entertaining conversationalist, having completed a graduate degree in art history at the Sorbonne before moving to Barcelona to work at its contemporary art museum.   But when Mahmoud politely inquired about the prince’s interest in Ilsa, Stefano hadn’t needed to engage in his usual conversational gymnastics to avoid the personal question.   He’d been able to give his father’s friend an unequivocal no .   Ilsa was his sister’s longtime best friend, the two women having been inseparable since they were assigned as boarding school roommates in Switzerland.   Stefano would no more pursue Ilsa Jakobsen than, well, his own sister.
    Beside him, Ilsa relaxed into one of the cushioned benches that skirted the Grandspire’s rooftop deck, tilting her head back for a better view as the fireworks display reached its crescendo.   Five giant bursts of gold opened like flowers, then separated to fall to the sea in a rain shower of glitter.   Then, as a finale, a series of giant, spiraling fireworks were launched from barges at sea, their twisting shape mimicking the spires of La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona’s famous Gaudi-designed cathedral that served as the inspiration for the Grandspire Hotel’s name.   The booming, original finish drew raucous cheers from the crowd.    
    As the last burst faded to smoke, Ilsa said, “No offense, Stef, but I believe this outshines the fireworks your father arranged for your last birthday party.   I hope you’re circumspect when you report back to King Carlo.”
    “No offense taken, because I agree.”   He glanced sideways at her.   “We’ve been up here quite a while.   You’re warm enough, I hope?”
    He’d fallen into the role of her protector soon after his arrival at the hotel.   Stefano caught sight of Ilsa’s familiar face across the lobby and waved in greeting only to witness her date, a renowned art expert who’d acquired the pieces on exhibit in the hotel lobby, drunkenly attempt to slide a hand under the rear straps of Ilsa’s dress.   Though Ilsa remained calm despite