The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1) by Iris Morland (learn to read books TXT) 📗

heavily in the chair. “And you have no idea where he is.” He said something in French that even I could tell was a swear word.

“Of course that would be the case. Of course.”

“Sorry?”

Olivier was silent for a long moment, which I rather hated, because it gave me a chance to ogle him. In our previous encounters, I’d been so distracted with what he was saying that I hadn’t taken in quite how handsome he was. Now, watching him, I felt tingles up and down my spine just from looking at him. It was ridiculous.

He had the cheekbones of a model, his eyes were a piercing gray. And I was fairly certain his hair was naturally golden. But it was everything put together—the smile, the accent, the eyes, the confidence in the way he moved and spoke—that created a figure that seemed more god than man.

“Why do you want this clock so badly?” I said.

“I told you: it’s my family’s.”

“But why go to all of this trouble? Come all the way here to Ireland, play landscaper, snoop around a library…it must be worth something to you personally. Why?”

Olivier’s expression shuttered. “It was my mother’s,” he said grudgingly. “It means a great deal to her, and she wants it returned.”

“What happened to it in the first place?”

“It was stolen from her.”

I stared at him. “Stolen? Then how could my da have bought it from an antique dealer?”

Olivier shrugged. “Perhaps the dealer didn’t know it had been stolen originally. Perhaps the dealer didn’t care about its origins.”

When I’d looked over the documents my da had had mailed here, I hadn’t found any information on the dealer enclosed, which had been strange.

“Why would you tell me this information?” Olivier scowled at me. “What’s your angle?”

Did I have an angle? Well, besides wanting to find my father, I guess I had an angle in that regard. Rolling my eyes, I replied, “My only ‘angle’ is to find this stupid clock and in doing so, my da. That’s it. I told you about this because I thought…” I swallowed, the words drying up in my throat.

I thought what? That we’d team up? Now I realized that spilling the beans about my father maybe hadn’t been a great idea. I didn’t have much else to bargain with beyond that crucial piece of intel.

Trying to tame the blush that was creeping into my cheeks, I said, “If you want this clock, you’re not going to get it without my help.”

Olivier laughed. “And how do you figure that, mademoiselle?” He looked at his nails, appearing bored. “Now that I know who actually owns this antique, I can leave this damp, Godforsaken country—”

I stood up. “I’m going with you.” I pointed a finger in Olivier’s face. “I’m going to find my da. Even if it means stowing away in your luggage and stalking you across Europe, I’ll do it.”

Olivier gently pushed my hand aside. “Pointing is so gauche. Try to refrain from it.” He continued sitting; he gazed up at me, assessing me, I guess. “Then what do you have to offer me?” he said finally.

“Offer you?”

He gestured at me. “What should make me want to bring you along in this search?” He leaned forward now, and he cocked a golden eyebrow. “You’re not really my type, but I’m open to an arrangement. You’re pretty enough, at least.”

Oh, I wanted to slap him. I even raised my hand, palm open, feeling my face turning beet red. “Are you seriously asking me to bargain with sexual favors?”

“If you want to put it that way.” He shrugged.

I poked him in the chest. Well, maybe more like pushed him, if I were being honest. “I’m not sleeping with you. I have no interest in you whatsoever.” Liar. “I want to find my da. I’ve never met him, and I’ve always wanted to know why he left me and my brother. Why he left our mom when she was dying from cancer.” Hurt filled my voice despite my best efforts to tamp it down. “This isn’t about some antique, or a grift, or some scheme to get into your most likely gonorrhea-filled pants. I’m going to find my da, and you can either help me, or you can eat a bag of musty dicks.”

Olivier pushed my hand away a second time, standing slowly, forcing me to back up if I didn’t want our bodies to collide.

Before he could reply, I said, “And if you do find my da, do you really think he’s going to sell you the clock in the first place? He sent those documents here because he wanted to prove a point to my grandda. What, I don’t know. But I’m going to take a flying leap and say that he’s not just going to hand the thing over.”

“I’m willing to pay a lot of money. Most people can be convinced if the price is right.”

“Maybe. But we’re Irish. We’re stubborn, and from everything I’ve heard about my da’s side of the family, the stubbornness is legendary.” I tipped up my chin. “But if it were me asking for the clock, I would have a better chance. Hell, I could guilt my da into just giving it to me.”

Olivier narrowed his eyes. “And what? You’d simply…gift it to me?”

“Yes. If you took me with you on this wild-goose chase.”

“I don’t know what this has to do with geese.”

“It’s an expression.” I waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. How about it? Do you want to team up and figure this out together?”

Olivier considered me. I nearly squirmed under his scrutiny. He assessed me, rather like how he’d assess a horse he wanted to buy. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

“I do not know if I can truly trust you,” he said slowly, “but perhaps you cannot truly trust me, either.”

“I trusted you enough to tell you about my da.” Trusted enough—or was stupid enough, I thought. Same difference.

“Yes, you did. Then perhaps I can be truthful with you. When I said the