“I’ll move over to this other table and work so I don’t bother you,” Maylee said, picking up the laptop.

He looked up from his book and glanced at the laptop, then at her. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to stay, but he nodded instead. “Thank you. You have the schedule Kip left?”

“It’s all right here,” she said. “I’ll give you a rundown of the day when you’re ready to go.”

He nodded again and returned to his book.

The dining room was silent, and Griffin sipped his hot tea as he ate his breakfast and read. The sunlight poured in through a nearby window, and it felt like an island of calm in this moment. Occasionally, he would look up and see Maylee working on the computer, taking notes on her sticky pad, or occasionally chatting with one of the staff nearby. They were always smiling and happy to see her.

All so bloody happy around his assistant. He wasn’t sure if he found that interesting or irritating.

* * *

Maylee’s first day in Bellissime was an exhausting one.

Once they’d finished breakfast, she’d given Griffin a brief overview of his schedule for the day. For someone who didn’t visit the country much and wasn’t getting married, he sure did have a heck of a social calendar. There was a museum visit, a fitting at the royal tailor, an afternoon tea with a dignitary of a neighboring country, a visit to a charity of something or other, a photo op with another viscount, and an interview for a gentleman’s magazine that dealt exclusively with archaeology and exploration, which she learned was one of Griffin’s passions. And it was her job to herd him along and ensure that he got to them all on time.

It had been a struggle, but Maylee was proud of herself for keeping things going. At one point, she’d panicked to discover that the venerable Kip had double-booked Griffin to tea, so she’d had to smooth a few feathers, make some phone calls, and reschedule his appointment with his mother for the next day. She hadn’t told Griffin, because she knew he’d give her that particular down-his-nose look as if it was her fault.

But she’d managed it. She’d spent the day with her phone pressed to one ear, laptop on her thighs, and waiting in the limo as Griffin went to one social appointment after another.

It was obvious he didn’t like any of this; his mood got fouler as the day went on, though he was always polite and gracious to the people waiting for him. It was just Maylee and the driver, Mr. Sturgess, who received the brunt of his unhappiness.

Between Griffin’s appointments, Maylee had to also juggle incoming press requests to interview Griffin, more requests to visit local charities, and somehow make arrangements in regards to the wedding. She had to make calls to the palace to speak with the Royal Wedding Coordinator—who hadn’t wanted to talk to her at first, thanks to her accent—so she could find out what clothing colors should be avoided for royal appointments, and when and where the rehearsal dinners, wedding breakfasts, and the like would be held. The locations were secret, Maylee was told, because the press would get a hold of the information and descend like a horde.

She couldn’t argue with that. The moment they saw the seal on Griffin’s limo, they were followed everywhere. She really had to talk to that man about an inconspicuous ride.

But at least the worst was over and Griffin had only snarled at her once (when his tie was askew and he was about to drive up to his tea appointment). She’d fixed it without so much as a thank you from the man. Not that she blamed him—if she was feeling frazzled by his schedule, she could only imagine what it felt like to be the pony in the dog and pony show.

The grueling day was over, though, and even if she hadn’t had a chance to eat—or breathe—since the quiet breakfast, she’d gotten Griffin to all his appointments on time and looking respectable, and now they were back at the hotel. He’d disappeared into his room for the evening and that meant she was finally free to explore Bellissime.

Of course, she was so tired that all she wanted to do was take a shower and raid the mini-bar in her room to see what she could scarf down before breakfast tomorrow.

Maylee took a long, hot shower, luxuriating in the fancy soaps and shampoos that were complimentary with the room. She made sure to hide the bottles once she was done with them, so the staff would replace them daily and she could get new ones to bring home with her. Maybe Mr. Griffin wouldn’t mind if she snuck his extras, she mused as she wrapped one of the huge, opulent towels around her torso.

Humming to herself, Maylee tucked the top of the towel in at her breast and headed into her room. She moved to the bed and began to adjust her towel when she noticed the closet door was slightly ajar. With a frown, she crossed the room and went to go close it . . . but something about it nagged her, and she peeked inside it instead.

A man stood there, camera in hand. “Don’t scream,” he whispered, “I can offer you a very lucrative deal if you’re willing to work with me to get the inside story—”

Maylee slammed the closet door shut.

Then, she screamed.

Chapter Five

A bloodcurdling yell arose from Maylee’s room, shocking Griffin out of his book. He flung it aside, hopped out of bed, and bounded across the room to the door that adjoined their suites.

When he flung it open, a wet blonde wrapped only in a towel tumbled into his room, her hands going to his waist. “Man in my room,” she babbled. “There’s a man in my room!”

Stunned at the sight of Maylee nearly naked, dripping wet, and now wrapping her arms around his waist, Griffin remained frozen in place. Lustful fantasies bloomed in his mind, only to come skidding to a halt at her terrified sob.

A man in her room? It finally sank in. “You have a man in your room?” he repeated.

“Yes!” she sobbed, clinging to his back. “There is some weird creep in my closet!”

He patted her arm, warm, damp, and smelling like flowery soap. “Wait here,” he said. He looked around for a weapon, grabbed a lamp from a nearby table, unplugged it, jerked off the shade, and then brandished it like a bat. Then, he moved into Maylee’s room.

The closet door was shut tight. For a moment, he wondered if this was simple feminine hysterics to try and seduce him. He knew Reese had all kinds of wild stories about what girls would do to get into his bed, but Griffin had never run into such scenarios himself. Still, Maylee hadn’t seemed the type.

So he approached the closet and knocked on it. “Someone in there?”

“Please don’t kill me,” a muffled voice responded. “I’ll come out if you promise not to kill me.”

Astonished, he looked over at Maylee. She was biting her knuckles, terrified, her eyes dark and huge in her face. And she was naked under that towel. She was completely and utterly vulnerable.

And someone had broken into her room and tried to harm her.

A protective surge shot through him, and Griffin grabbed a nearby chair and jammed it under the handle of the closet door. He tested it, but it was stuck fast. Good. He looked over at Maylee, who was trembling so hard that droplets of water were shaking off the ends of her wet curls. “Wait in my room,” he told her. “Go through my clothes and put on something of mine.”

She nodded and disappeared into his room.

Griffin scanned her bedroom. It was tidy despite the fact that she’d been interrupted out of the shower. Her knitting sat on the corner of the bed, clearly waiting for its owner to return. Nothing else seemed out of place, so he couldn’t see where someone had broken in. Furious, he went to the phone next to her bed and dialed the front desk.

“Ms. Meriweather,” the voice on the other end said smoothly. “What can I get for you tonight?”

“This is Lord Montagne Verdi,” Griffin said in his iciest, most austere tone. “Ms. Meriweather has an intruder in her room. I’ve locked him in her closet but I want security up here right away. Understand?”

“Absolutely, my lord! We’re sending someone up—”

He hung up. Across from him, he watched the closet doorknob turn, the man in there clearly testing it. The door rattled, and he heard a soft curse. Griffin moved over to the chair, straightened it, and then sat down, pinning the door shut with his weight.

And he waited for security.

Luckily, the hotel was prompt. A mere minute or two later, there was a quick knock at the door. “Security.”

Griffin got up from the chair and headed to the door, letting them in. “He’s in the closet.”

The security team extracted the man, who was clearly one of the paparazzi. The man babbled and tried to make excuses, but the camera in his hand—and the fact that he was hiding between Maylee’s ugly dresses—told the real story. They took him away and another man stayed behind to take down Griffin’s information. He told them what he knew, then glanced back at his room. His assistant hadn’t shown her face since the others had arrived. “Maylee? Can you come give this man your statement?”

A moment later, she stepped through the doorway of their adjoining rooms. Her hair was still wet, but had been finger-combed into loose, damp waves. She wore one of his button-up shirts, the hem of it grazing her tanned thighs. It was big on her, though when she moved forward, he saw the soft bob of her breasts under the fabric.

And holy Christ, she was sexy in his shirt.

Griffin clenched his fists, willing away the inappropriate surge of lust he felt at the sight of her. Those greenish-brown eyes were still huge and troubled, and when she stuck her hand out for the security officer to shake, he noticed it was still trembling. She was terrified.

Her fear made his protective instincts arise. He put a hand on her shoulder and tugged her closer to him, ignoring the security officer’s questioning look. As Maylee gave her statement, he remained at her side, and she seemed to relax a bit, toying with the too-long sleeves of his shirt as she spoke.

“He told me he wanted me to work with him,” she said in her soft drawl. “That he wanted the inside story. I’m guessing he wanted details on the wedding, or on Mr. Griffin. He said he’d pay me lots of money.”

“And what did you say to him?” the man asked.

She looked surprised. “Why, I screamed. I screamed and slammed the door in his face.”

Griffin smiled faintly.

“Thank you,” said the security officer once Maylee had given her statement. “We’ll turn this information—along with the intruder—over to the police.”

“What are you going to do to ensure this doesn’t happen again?” Griffin’s voice was cold, authoritative, and he gave the man a hard look. “I’m not keen on the idea of my employees being harassed while I’m staying at what is supposed to be a safe establishment.”

“Of course, sir—er, my lord,” the man said, and he looked embarrassed. “We’ll post a security guard on this floor in addition to the ones downstairs. You won’t be disturbed again.”

“See that we are not,” Griffin said.

“Thank you,” Maylee said in a trembling voice. “I appreciate it.” Her arms crossed over her chest, and Griffin noticed that the man’s gaze slid there.

“We’ll call if we need anything else,” Griffin said brusquely. With a nod, he indicated that the man should exit the room.

The security officer left, and Maylee shut the door behind him. Now, it was just Griffin and Maylee in her room. He kept his eyes on her face as she turned around, all soft and curvy in his shirt. Her round face looked exhausted, though she tried to give him a game smile. “I guess we’ve had our excitement for the evening,” Maylee said.

Griffin examined her face closely. “Are you all right?” She didn’t sound like her normal cheery self.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I feel like a ninny. Maybe I should have just talked to him instead of screaming my fool head off.”

“He broke into your room. You absolutely did the right thing.” He squeezed her shoulder.

She gave him a tremulous smile. “I guess.”

Griffin was already impressed at her trustworthiness. She hadn’t even considered giving details to the paparazzi. She’d immediately thought of defending his reputation. That kind of loyalty couldn’t be bought, no matter the price. He’d give her a nice bonus when they got home, he thought. But she still looked so troubled and that bothered him.

I need a hug, she’d told him when she was drugged up on the plane.