The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1), Iris Morland [best reads of all time TXT] 📗

His accent made the words especially erotic, and it was like I could feel them against my skin. When he’d finished, his gaze was heated.

“Pretty mermaid, are you here to drown me?” he asked.

I felt like the world had tipped on its side. One minute I was afraid that I’d seriously injured this strange man; the next, he was practically propositioning me with poetry. Whatever happened to a “u up?” booty call message on Tinder? This guy was playing on an entirely new level compared to the men I’d dated.

“I’m not a mermaid.” I tried to take the book back, but Golden Man’s grip was stronger than I’d anticipated. “Give that back.”

“If you say please.” He smiled, his teeth white and straight and obnoxious.

I scowled. “How about I promise not to hit you again and give you an actual concussion instead?”

“Americans have a strange way of saying please.”

Backed into a proverbial corner, I finally muttered please, very tempted to carry out my threat of hitting him a second time. Holding the book to my chest, I narrowed my eyes at the Golden Man.

“Why are you skulking about my grandda’s library in the middle of the night?” I asked. In all the commotion, I’d yet to find out what the hell he was even doing here.

“I’d ask you the same question.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m the granddaughter of the owner.” And will soon own it out right, I thought. “I don’t have to tell you anything. You, however, work here, and based on our initial encounter, you have no reason to be in the library.”

“Are you saying landscapers shouldn’t have access to knowledge?” He clucked his tongue. “That’s not very American of you. Aren’t you all about equality and freedom—”

“Please shut up. You talk too much.”

He just bowed.

“Now, stop trying to weasel your way out of answering my question. Why were you trying to go through those drawers? What are you trying to steal?” I held up my phone like it was a weapon. “I’ll call the cops if you don’t tell me. I doubt you want to go to jail tonight.”

Golden Man just crossed his arms. He looked way too relaxed, although in the dim light, I could make out how tight his jaw was clenched. He held out his hands, even going so far as to pull out his pockets. “I’ve stolen nothing. What would be the charges?”

“Um, trespassing?”

“I work here.”

“Not in the middle of the night. No one but the security guard does. I already confirmed that fact.”

He chuckled. “Aren’t you thorough?”

I didn’t know the number for emergencies here in Ireland, but I began to dial 911 anyway. Hopefully my smartphone was actually smart enough to know what I meant.

As I tapped the 1 on my phone, Golden Man said, “Fine, fine! I’ll tell you everything.” He scowled. “Damn harpy woman,” he muttered.

I decided I’d ignore that comment. Returning my phone to my robe’s pocket, I gestured at the armchair I’d been hiding behind just minutes earlier. “Sit.”

We sat down across from each other. Golden Man crossed his legs, waiting for me to begin the interrogation.

“How about we start with an easy question: what’s your name? And please, don’t give me some random answer that doesn’t actually answer the question.”

“My name is Olivier.”

I waited for more, but Olivier didn’t seem inclined to give me a last name. Fine. It was better than nothing.

“I’m Niamh,” I said.

Olivier’s lips twitched. “You already told me that. Or do you not remember our first meeting?”

“I’ve been so busy that it completely slipped my mind.” My tone was sugar-sweet. “But now that I at least have a name for you, how about you tell me why you’ve been skulking around my grandda’s library two nights in a row?”

“Skulk? I’ve never skulked in my life.” He almost sounded genuinely offended.

“Sneak, then?” I pulled up the thesaurus on my phone just to be extra petty. “Oh, here we go: how about snoop? Wait, creep is a good one. You’ve definitely been creeping. A creep who’s been sneakily skulking in my library—”

Olivier said something in what I presumed to be French, ruffling his hair as he sifted his fingers through it. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“If I need to, I’ll sit on you until you tell me the truth. I have all night, mister.”

I realized I’d made a technical error when his eyes flashed. “You make it sound like you sitting on my lap would be a burden. Not when I was done with you.”

I was glad it was dark enough that he couldn’t see me blushing like a teenage girl. “Stop flirting with me to distract me!” I was close to throwing the book still clutched in my hands at his big, dumb face. “Get on with your explanation!”

“You’re not giving me much of a reason to be honest with you.”

I just waited. He could either spill his guts, or I’d…do something. Hit him again with another, much heavier book. Maybe push him out of a window. They’d never find his body once he hit the dark water below.

“I’m looking for something,” said Olivier. “Something your grandfather had in his possession.”

I propped my chin on my hand. “I figured out that much for myself,” I said wryly.

Olivier rubbed at his head where I’d hit him with the book. He said something in French again—probably something about how women were evil she-demons. I’d admit, seeing him wince was immensely satisfying.

“I’m looking for an antique that your grandfather bought years ago. It’s extremely important to my family.”

My ears perked up. “An antique what?”

Olivier sat up slightly to pull out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to me, not needing to say the words “antique clock” because I’d already unfolded the paper to see the clock in question. The same exact clock that my father, not my grandfather, possessed.

My mind moved rapidly. Suddenly, things were becoming even more complicated than they had been just an hour ago. Why was this clock so valuable?