She extended her hand and, after a prolonged moment, he shook it. "Conrad, the crown prince's personal assistant."
Ah. Gatekeeper, schedule keeper. The prince's man.
Not someone she wanted to offend.
"Conrad. It's nice to meet you. Where are we going?"
"Your meeting with his highness."
"On the beach?"
Her skepticism must've been audible because Conrad sighed with a good dose of long-suffering. She'd heard sighs like that often from her younger brothers.
"If you would...?" He gestured for her to follow him.
And even though a small part of her wondered if this was some elaborate joke Michael had cooked up—did her brother have the connections to pull this off?—she reached down and took off her shoes and followed Conrad onto the sand.
The sun was coming up over the edge of the water. The sky was all orange hues. Even the sand was gilded gold.
She blamed the romantic lighting for what happened next.
It felt like a lightning bolt. A current that zapped straight down her spine to her toes when she caught sight of the prince.
He was shirtless, his skin slicked with sweat and gleaming bronze as he jogged down the beach at the water's edge.
No, jogging wasn't the right term. There was someone a few paces behind the prince—a bodyguard?—who was puffing for air and straining for each step as he fought to keep up.
Sprinting. That was the word.
The crown prince was sprinting closer and closer, each step churning up sand behind him.
She'd known he was handsome. Yesterday, she'd pored over her computer for hours, surfing the internet and reading article after article about him. Of course there had been pictures. She was acquainted with the planes of his face, the patrician nose, the startling ice-blue of his eyes.
But this was not the polished, handsome man in a designer suit, posing for photos. Even in the occasional candid she'd seen, he was all elegant haughtiness.
This was the prince like she'd never seen him before. And she guessed not many people had.
And then he raised a hand and did a slow lope right toward them.
Lightning bolt. Prince with a hot bod. Crystal blinked as she felt a blush scalding her cheeks. She had one-point-five seconds to find her composure, but it had deserted her completely.
Think about Michael and Reid.Her brothers needed her. She needed this job.
She breathed in deeply the scent of salt water, and when she exhaled, she was back to herself.
A few yards away, the prince slowed to a walk. It didn't seem fair that he was only slightly winded. He glanced at her, his eyes wary, as he approached Conrad first.
His assistant held out a T-shirt, which the prince slipped over his head, the material quickly covering his powerful chest and the six-pack she hadn't imagined beneath his tailored suits.
Conrad handed him a small towel that he used to wipe first his face and then his hands.
And then the prince turned from Conrad to her.
"So you're the matchmaker."
"So I am." She stepped forward to meet his handshake and only belatedly remembered she had her shoes in hand. She juggled them, along with her satchel, her face heating again at her own awkwardness, before she got everything into her left hand.
She couldn't help the lift of her chin. Meeting on the beach had been his idea, not hers. "I'm Crystal Ramos. It's an honor to meet you, your highness."
