Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) by Nicole Burnham Page A

that kind of budget kept a modest city apartment, then used the money to purchase a more spacious house out in the country.
    And they had the money to spend.
    “I thought you said that’s what you wanted for the finale.”
    “I did?”
    “You did. When we were in the Palermo apartment, you remarked that it was a gorgeous building, exactly the type you wanted.” He stepped out of the dressing room, then turned slowly in front of her, his arms spread, showing off a lightweight cotton shirt in a shade of olive that emphasized both his Mediterranean complexion and a well-muscled pair of shoulders. Wickedness tinged his smile. “Camera ready?”
    She swallowed. He could grace a magazine cover. “That’ll be fine.”  
    “Fine?”
    “Yes, you look nice. The green is a good color for you.”
    His brows rose. “ Nice? ”
    How did he make her so uncomfortable with such a simple question? “Is nice bad?”
    “Nice is boring. How about, ‘you look extremely fit and have a great face for television.’ Or perhaps something along the lines of, ‘women will tune in to see you.’”
    Warmth suffused her face as he delivered the very lines she’d used at the café while trying to convince him to do the show. “Now you’re flirting with me ?”
    At his raised brow, she said, “All right. Yes, you look extremely fit and have a great face for television. Women will tune in to see you.” She couldn’t help but add, “And green is a good color for you.”
    “Then I’ll get it.”
      He ducked back into the dressing room. Though she couldn’t see him changing, the top of the door was low enough for her to catch the sight of his arms stretched overhead as he pulled off the shirt. She shifted on the settee, averting her eyes. Yesterday, after breakfast, she’d suspected he was attracted to her, even if he’d turned her down for the show. Seeing him at the apartment blew that thought out of the water. But in the cab and at lunch afterward, he’d been kind—if businesslike—so she’d eased her mental pendulum back to the center, deciding he liked her, but wasn’t attracted to her. Now she didn’t know what to think.  
    Maybe Mike had plied him with more than one beer during the game.
    Victor’s rich voice came to her over the door. “In answer to your budget question, yes, I’m well aware of what that amount buys in Buenos Aires right now. I have the cash available, if that’s your concern, but I don’t need to spend that much. A prestigious address isn’t my priority. Nor is owning an obscene amount of square footage or swanky kitchen appliances I’ll never use. I don’t want a showplace or an entertaining space.” There was a shuffling of fabric, then the sound of hangers bumping against the door. “This is a vacation apartment for me. I want light, I want a view, and most of all, I want privacy. Problem is, privacy usually means spending more for a corner or penthouse unit. And buying furnished, so I don’t have to deal with salespeople and delivery people.”
    He made it sound like he’d planned a hermit’s life while in Argentina. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    He emerged with the shirt on its hanger and placed two others on a returns rack outside the stall. “I’ll change back into this after I’ve paid for it, then we can head to the apartment.”
    Emily shook her head as she stood. “I told you, the show can buy—”
    “I wouldn’t hear of it.” He wrapped his hand around the top of her arm, deepening the sexual awareness already thrumming within her. “This is mine.”
    Much as she wanted to argue, she didn’t. Not only was she unsure of her voice, there was a confidence in his gaze, as if he knew that when he used that particular tone of voice no one would question him. She stood by as he handed the gray-haired gentleman at the register the required amount of cash, spoke a few polite words in Spanish, then headed back into the dressing room to remove the tags and change. He