The Princess and the Billionaire Read Online Free PDF

warming without making a total fool of herself.
    “Very good,” said Bronson a few minutes later as he joined her near the sideboard. “I almost believed you knew what you were talking about.”
    She cast him a look that would have destroyed a lesser man. “And what makes you think I didn’t know what I was talking about?”
    “Remember what I told you about your poker face? You lost it again back there.”
    Juliana would have graciously admitted her shortcomings and made it her business to introduce Dr. Wortham to an expert. “Does the doctor realize that?”
    “Princess, if she doesn’t, she’d better give back that Nobel prize.”
    “Oh, do be still,” Isabelle hissed, putting her plate back down on the sideboard. “Who asked for your opinion?”
    Bronson grabbed the honey bread from her plate and bit off a chunk of it. There was something almost primitive about the flash of white teeth, something disturbing and earthy, and Isabelle looked away. Thank God he wasn’t her type at all.
    “He’s out there, you know.”
    “Who is?”
    “Your boyfriend.”
    “Don’t you ever tire of juvenile pranks, Mr. Bronson, or is it merely another facet of the remarkable American character?”
    “You don’t like Americans, do you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as he looked at her.
    “I like some Americans,” she replied pointedly. “Those who understand that familiarity is something to be earned.”
    He grinned. “That doesn’t change the fact that your boyfriend is outside.”
    “Impossible. He isn’t due for another quarter hour.” She met his eyes. “Besides, he wouldn’t wander through the garden. He would come inside. After all, Eric is like one of the family.”
    “Not if he wasn’t alone.”
    To her horror, tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to stem the flow. “Eric wouldn’t do that to me.”
    “Life is tough, princess,” he said, his gaze intent upon her. “Things aren’t always what they seem.”
    “You’re despicable,” she whispered. “I pity you that you find it necessary to hate those who are lucky enough to have someone to love.”
    He gestured toward the garden beyond the glass doors. “Go ahead. Find out for yourself. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll be waiting for your apology.”
    “You’ll be waiting in hell for it, Mr. Bronson, because I would rather die than give you the time of day.”
    “You’ll change your mind, Isabelle,” he said, heading back toward the breakfast table. “Sooner or later, you’ll come around.”
    Isabelle didn’t linger long enough to try to untangle his words. With hasty apologies to the others, she dashed from the room. She could have let herself out the French doors and into the garden, but Bronson already had more than enough to amuse him, so she hurried through the hallway and into the kitchen.
    “Princess Isabelle!” Olivia, one of the chef’s assistants, leaped to her feet as Isabelle burst into the room. “Is there something I can do for you?”
    Isabelle shook her head. “A back door,” she said, glancing about the room. “We have one that leads into the garden, don’t we?”
    Olivia maintained her composure, even though Isabelle was certain the girl was filled with curiosity. “Through the butler’s pantry and down the hallway to the right. It takes you to the rose garden.”
    Isabelle clapped her hands together. “Splendid! I’ll be on the other side of the garden.” Away from prying eyes watching from the French doors. She would die of embarrassment if Bronson and the other guests saw her scurrying down the path after Eric.
    “Mademoiselle?”
    “Nothing, nothing.” She flashed the girl a quick smile. “Thank you, Olivia. If anyone should ask, you haven’t seen me all morning.”
    “As you wish, mademoiselle.”
    The butler’s pantry was an enormous, windowless room in which the bounty of harvests past rested on deep shelves that went from floor to ceiling, effectively hiding the door