Page 5 of Expecting Royal Twins!
Jovan stepped out of the limo finally.
About time, she thought.
Another man in a dark suit followed. Izzy took a closer look.
Smokin’.
The thought shot from her brain to the tips of her steel-toed boots and ricocheted back to the top of her head.
The guy was at least six feet tall with thick, shoulder-length brown hair and piercing blue-green eyes framed by dark lashes.
She straightened as if an extra inch could bring her closer to his height. Even then the top of her head would barely come to his chin.
But what a chin.
Izzy swallowed a sigh.
A strong nose, chiseled cheekbones, dark brows. Rugged features that made for an interesting—a handsome—combination in spite of a jagged scar on his right cheek.
Talk about character. He had it in spades.
Not that she was interested.
Spending her entire life surrounded by men, car mechanics, gave her an understanding of how the opposite sex thought and operated. The one standing in front of her wearing a nice suit and shiny shoes was trouble. Dangerous, too.
The limo, expensive clothing, personal aide and police escort meant he lived in a completely different world than her, a world where she was seen as nothing more than a servant or wallpaper or worse, a one-night stand. Having to deal with mysterious rich people intimidated her. She wanted nothing to do with him.
But she didn’t mind looking. The man belonged on the cover of a glossy men’s magazine. He moved with the grace and agility of an athlete. The fit of his suit made her wonder what was underneath the fancy fabric.
Everyone else around him seemed to fade into the background. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had this kind of reaction to a guy. No doubt the result of working too much overtime. Time to take a night off and have some fun. That would keep her from mooning over the next gorgeous guy who crossed her path.
“You are Isabel Poussard.” His accent, a mix of British and something else, could melt a frozen stick of butter.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
His assessing gaze traveled the length of her. Nothing in his eyes or on his face hinted if he liked what he saw.
Not that she cared. Not much anyway.
A hottie like him would never be interested in a grease monkey like her. Still he was a yummy piece of eye candy. One she could appreciate.
Izzy raised her chin again, but didn’t stare down her nose the way she’d done with Jovan. She wasn’t ready to send this one on his way just yet. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“I am Prince Nikola of Vernonia.”
“A prince?”
“Yes.”
She supposed a prince would have a police escort as well as an aide, but this was just the kind of prank Boyd would pull and kid Izzy about for the rest of her life. She glanced around looking for a camera. “Am I being punk’d?”
Jovan grinned.
Nikola pressed his lips together. “No.”
Yeah, on second thought, she couldn’t imagine the police participating in a joke. But she still had a hard time believing royalty would come to Rowdy’s. This wasn’t the worst part of town, but it wasn’t the best, either. “Am I supposed to call you Your Highness or something?”
“Niko is fine,” he said.
Better than fine, but he probably already knew that. Men as attractive as him usually did. “So Niko, why are you here?”
Jovan started to speak, but Niko held up his hand and silenced his aide.
Nice trick. Maybe he really was a prince. Or maybe he liked being the one to talk.
“You posted on the internet looking to find a key to a box,” Niko said. “The box is mine.”
She stared down her nose. “I don’t think so, dude.”
He winced.
“The box belonged to my mother,” Izzy added. “I’m just looking for the key.”
“I know you want the key, but the box in the picture never belonged to your mother.”
Oh, boy. Rowdy and Boyd had told Izzy if she posted on the internet she would get some strange replies. But she’d received only one email from a person who described the box so perfectly she’d sent him a picture of it. “You’re HRMKDK?”
“That’s my father,” Niko explained. “His Royal Majesty King Dmitar Kresimir.”
