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The Irresistible Prince
Lisa Kaye Laurel


ROYAL WEDDINGSThree small-town women find happily-ever-after with three irresistible princes!EVERY WOMAN WANTED TO MARRY THE PRINCE….But Prince Lucas Hansson knew only one woman was fit to be his royal bride. If only he could find her….Enter Annah Lane. According to local legend, the pretty shopkeeper had an uncanny instinct for spotting true love. But the moment she laid eyes on His Royal Hunkiness, she realized she was his destined bride! Annah knew her intuition had to be wrong–the prince needed so much more than a small-town woman like her could give. She'd just have to find him a better match–and she would!–as soon as she could tear herself from his strong yet tender embrace….







“You are going to find the right woman to love you and have your children,” (#u1af81c2d-8dbd-5cdd-8990-b1c40f351b79)Letter to Reader (#u515d12ad-4a18-5567-8a94-76cc64c78aa3)Title Page (#ude80d830-d83a-5cfa-9e08-e8470c7b7f7a)Dedication (#ub6f80a5f-fa71-516d-8dd3-b2ac99bfc7ea)About the Author (#ufeed0589-bc84-5ca3-8dae-3d8ad8f77509)Anders Point Gazette PRINCE GOES UNDERCOVER TO FIND A BRIDE (#u7f44aa9c-bee8-5b69-a40b-59405e7f75f5)Chapter One (#u0e48d878-dc7e-5358-b984-a37784996693)Chapter Two (#u6351b48a-909d-5020-959b-faadcfbfc09b)Chapter Three (#u3a6d1c7a-91e8-5140-97c8-7fe071a2c2d2)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“You are going to find the right woman to love you and have your children,”

Annah told Luke, taking his hand in hers.

“I don’t know. It’s getting harder instead of easier. All the women I’ve met are so evenly matched.” Her hand felt wonderful in his. He pulled it up to his cheek, to hold her there.

The rasp of his evening whiskers against the back of her hand sent a thrill racing through her. “Trust your feelings, Luke. They’ll point you in the right direction.”

“I don’t think so,” he said positively.

How could he possibly choose the right bride when all he could think about was Annah—the one woman he could never marry?


Dear Reader,

This month, Romance is chock-full of excitement. First, VIRGIN BRIDES continues with The Bride’s Second Thought, an emotionally compelling story by bestselling author Elizabeth August. When a virginal bride-to-be finds her fiancé with another woman, she flees to the mountains for refuge...only to be stranded with a gorgeous stranger who gives her second thoughts about a lot of things....

Next, Natalie Patrick offers up a delightful BUNDLES OF JOY with Boot Scootin’ Secret Baby. Bull rider Jacob “Cub” Goodacre returns to South Dakota for his rodeo hurrah, only to learn he’s still a married man...and father to a two-year-old heart tugger. BACHELOR GULCH, Sandra Steffen’s wonderful Western series, resumes with the story of an estranged couple who had wed for the sake of their child...but wonder if they can rekindle their love in Nick’s Long-Awaited Honeymoon.

Rising star Kristin Morgan delivers a tender, sexy tale about a woman whose biological clock is booming and the best friend who consents to being her Shotgun Groom. If you want a humorous—red-hot!—read, try Vivian Leiber’s The 6’2”, 200 lb. Challenge. The battle of the sexes doesn’t get any better! Finally, Lisa Kaye Laurel’s fairy-tale series, ROYAL WEDDINGS, draws to a close with The Irresistible Prince, where the woman hired to find the royal a wife realizes she is the perfect candidate! In May, VIRGIN BRIDES resumes with Annette Broadrick, and future months feature titles by Suzanne Carey and Judy Christenberry, among others. So keep coming back to Romance, where you’re sure to find the classic tales you love, told in fresh, exciting ways.

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance


Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




The Irresistible Prince

Lisa Kaye Laurel







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Cindi and Chip—

for our growing-up memories

and our grown-up friendship.


LISA KAYE LAUREL

has worked in a number of fields, but says that nothing she’s done compares to the challenges—and rewards—of being a full-time mom. Her extra energy is channeled into creating stories. She counts writing high on her list of blessings, which is topped by the love and support of her husband, her son, her daughter, her mother and her father.


Anders Point Gazette PRINCE GOES UNDERCOVER TO FIND A BRIDE







Chapter One

Annah barely heard the front doorbell over the giggles and chatter of the half dozen teenagers who were prowling around her secondhand shop in search of dresses to wear to their fall formal. She was on the phone with her accountant, anyway, scribbling a note to herself to look up those figures he kept calling about while tactfully declining his offer to fix her up with his almost-divorced lawyer friend.

When she hung up, the doorbell rang again but so did the phone. It was a supplier this time, calling to break the news that the replacement part she’d ordered for her big coffeepot had been lost in transit. He was trying to track it down, but as it was now nearly five o’clock, he wouldn’t be able to honor his guarantee of same-day delivery. Annah hung up the phone with a groan, knowing that there was no way she would be able to handle the morning rush in her coffee shop without that part.

A tremendous crash brought her out of her office on the run; the teenagers had knocked over a rack of gowns. None of the girls was hurt, but the volume of talk and laughter tripled as they struggled to right the rolling rack. When the doorbell sounded for the third time, Annah seized on the excuse to escape the chaos, stepping over the pile of dresses that all but blocked the doorway. After nearly tripping in the hall, she stopped in the front room to peel away an errant sash that had wound itself around her leg. She threw it aside, and it sailed over the coffee counter and draped itself dramatically over the defunct coffeepot like a pink satin noose.

Annah rolled her eyes ceilingward and said dryly, “If you’re out there, fairy godmother, this would be a real good time to blow the cobwebs off that magic wand of yours and zap me a miracle.”

She flung open the door. There, looking as if he had just stepped out of the pages of a fairy tale onto her front porch, was a handsome prince.

Annah stood staring at him for a few moments, clinging to the doorknob while a frosty November wind whistled around her. Oddly enough, the strangest sensation of rising heat began to infuse her—a prickly kind of warmth that crept over her like the chills she should have been feeling in the cold air. What was happening to her? All of a sudden she was spiking a fever and hallucinating princes. Maybe she was getting the flu. Or else the afternoon from hell had been too much for her. That was it. Her imagination had finally gone haywire and sent her over the edge.

She blinked and looked again at the man standing not two feet in front of her. When she finally met his eyes, the physical jolt it gave her decided the matter: the prince on her porch was no hallucination, and no one in her right mind would call him a figment. He filled the doorway to Annah’s coffee shop, regal and imposing, six feet of muscled male all packaged up in an impeccable charcoal gray suit. The wind was ruffling his hair and bringing her the faint but very real scent of a woodsy, masculine shampoo. This was no storybook prince, but a real-world ruler from a land across the ocean who came fully equipped with a royal pedigree—and the most blatant bedroom eyes Annah had ever seen on a man.

“Annah Lane?” he asked, his deep voice betraying just a hint of an accent.

“You—you know my name?” she blurted out. They had met briefly a few months earlier, at the marriage of her friend Julie to his friend Prince Erik. He had made a strong impression on her, but she never expected that he would remember an unremarkable woman who had been just one of many introductions that day. She cleared her throat. “I mean, how nice to see you again. Your Highness,” she added belatedly.

He didn’t smile, exactly, but his lips twitched before he spoke. “It seems that you know who I am, as well.”

Shocker, she thought wryly. Any woman between the ages of eighteen and eighty who had a pulse would recognize him at a glance—even if he showed up out of the blue on her doorstep. He was Prince Lucas of the Constellation Isles, the inveterate bachelor prince whose marriage deadline had created an international furor. He had the world’s most prominent women tied up in knots waiting for him to choose one of them to be his bride. Annah couldn’t imagine a less likely place for him to be than here in her little out-of-the-way town on the coast of Maine.

“What brings you to Anders Point, Your Highness?” she asked, her voice filled with its customary warmth and with newly piqued curiosity. He was friends with the Anders brothers, but no one was living at their family castle at the tip of the Point right now, what with both princes newly married and taking time off to enjoy wedded bliss.

“I’ve come here to see you, Miss Lane.”

“Me?” Annah said incredulously. A prince looking for a bride, and he’d come this far off the beaten path just to see her?

“Yes. I would like to speak with you.”

“Certainly,” she said, her heart banging around in her chest like an empty trash can rolling down a hill. “Won’t you come in?”

His glance swept the dimly lit room that housed her coffee shop and came back to rest on her again. “This is a private, personal matter,” he said in a low voice that made those warm chills race along her skin.

“I...see.” She gulped. “My coffee shop is closed, so we’ll have privacy here.”

Just then a wave of laughter swept in from the back room. He looked at her questioningly.

“Oh, I forgot. I’m waiting on a batch of customers in my secondhand shop in back. That’s my other business,” she explained. There was a loud shuffling noise, and one of the girls called out for her. “I’d better take care of this.” Whatever was happening back there, it was something she felt more up to handling than the prince’s sudden appearance in her life. A little dose of real life—her life—might not be a bad idea right now.

His eyebrows drew down in the slightest frown. “Miss Lane, this is a matter of import...and urgency.”

“I figured it must be. That’s why I’m going to see you next,” Annah assured him. “Right after I finish with these customers and close up shop.” She saw his frown deepen. Unless she missed her guess, it wasn’t every day that His Highness the Prince of the Constellation Isles was asked to wait his turn while the owner of a modest secondhand shop sold used clothing to a group of teenagers. “You’re welcome to come back and have a look around in the meantime,” she added politely.

Just then a new gale of giggling swept in from the back room. She glanced down the hallway and then looked back at the prince. Somehow she couldn’t picture him browsing through the racks with the girls. “On second thought, maybe you’d be better off waiting up front here, Your Highness. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.”

He hesitated just inside the doorway, looking about as comfortable as a snowman at the equator. A tiny, wayward impulse plucked at Annah’s heart. Not caring that she was probably breaching several of the more consequential rules of royal etiquette, she took him by the arm and steered him over to the counter. He felt solid and real under the expensive material of his suit jacket, and Annah felt that unfamiliar tide of warmth begin to rise again. She dropped his arm abruptly and went behind the counter, busying herself with filling a teakettle.

“Feel free to make yourself a cup of tea. Water’s on, and you’ll find everything you need here behind the counter,” she said as she hurried off “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

In the hallway she paused to exhale, leaning back against the wall. She addressed the ceiling again. “You know, when I asked for a miracle before, I was thinking more along the lines of the deliveryman with my replacement part. Are you sure this isn’t some kind of a mistake?”

She glanced over her shoulder, but the prince didn’t disappear in a puff of smoke, so she disappeared into her secondhand shop.

Prince Lucas leaned over and grasped the edge of the counter, slowly counting to ten as his knuckles turned white. Waiting was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Time was running short for him, shorter with each tick of the clock. A delay after he had come this far served no purpose beyond giving him fodder for second-guessing—which was all too easy to do when he was on the verge of putting his pride on the line. This was a real gamble, coming here to see this woman with whom he was barely acquainted. It wouldn’t take much to send him walking back out that door before he even asked her what he had come to ask her.

He released his grip and straightened up, trying to relax by sheer force of will. He looked around him, feeling conspicuously out of place in her cozy little house in this quaint little town that time and tourists seemed to have overlooked. It was one thing to think of Annah Lane as an abstract idea. It was quite another to come barging into her world to turn that idea into a proposal.

Right now the whole idea seemed more like a foolish risk than a viable solution. And even beyond convincing himself, he had to convince her. Because, dammit, he needed her; he had never needed anyone as he needed her right now. The stakes couldn’t be higher for him... and his hand was forced.

After his father’s unexpected death last year, Lucas, his only child, had assumed rule of the Constellation Isles, as tradition would have it. His succession was unanimously confirmed by a vote of the council of elders, the elected body that ruled hand in hand with the prince, but with one great big caveat. To stay on the throne, he had to get married—and he had just one year in which to do it.

On paper, a year had seemed like enough time. Not surprisingly, ever since the deadline had been announced, women had been launching themselves at him from all sides. But even in the exclusive stratum of society that was the milieu of royalty, an altar-bound prince seemed to meet nothing but social climbers, hangers-on and mercenaries—all cleverly disguised as the ideal princess. He himself had met one too many. After ten months Lucas had finally faced up to the fact that the kind of woman he wanted wouldn’t be the type to come sashaying up to the palace gates, anyway. He would have to go to her. So here he was.

He paced between the counter and the window, finding a narrow path through a maze of closely set, round tables that were each bracketed by a pair of wooden chairs. Coming here had been the idea of his two closest friends. They were brothers, princes of Isle Anders, which was his country’s long-time ally and closest neighbor in the remote North Atlantic waters near Iceland. Prince Erik and Prince Whit had both recently married, well and fruitfully—Whit had finally settled down with the love of his life, who was the mother of his six-year-old daughter, and Erik and his adored—and adoring—new bride were expecting a honeymoon baby to arrive in the spring. There would be no shortage of heirs to the throne in the kingdom of Isle Anders, and no shortage of marital happiness, either.

That was it in a nutshell. Lucas wanted what his friends had found. And they had both found their princesses in America: sweet, smart, down-to-earth women homegrown right here in Anders Point, Maine. So Erik and Whit had sent him to Anders Point; more specifically, they had sent him to their wives’ friend, Annah Lane. Lucas had enough reservations about the whole thing to sink his island home, but it was more of a plan than he had been able to come up with, and when push came to shove, doing something was infinitely preferable to doing nothing but listen to the hourly chime of the big tower clock in the courtyard outside of his palace.

The kettle whistled softly as steam came out of its spout. He thought again of her inviting him to make himself a cup of tea, as if he should know how to do that. He wished he did. He could use a drink of any kind. But after glancing over the bewildering array of unfamiliar things behind the counter, he spun away. Pacing over to the big front window, he stared out into the dusk. In the darkness he saw her reflection as she worked in the room down the hall. Having seen her up close, he felt objectively that nothing about her looks confirmed his friends’ insistence that she was an extraordinary woman. She was of medium height and medium build, with medium brown hair cut to medium length. Her eyes were uncommonly large and expressive, but they were a common enough shade of brown. Only her lips departed from the earthy hues of the rest of her coloring; they were a lush, rich red that enhanced her every expression, whether upturned with amusement or softened with empathy. But not pouty with flirtiness, which seemed to be the standard for feminine lips since he had been given his deadline. That was refreshing, at least. And for the reason he had come to her, other qualities were far more important than looks.

He turned away from the window and positioned himself in one of the creaky wooden chairs, in order to get a better view into the well-lit back room. Sounds filtered down the hallway, and what he saw and heard caught his interest. The customers she had felt obliged to wait on were no more than girls, and they were keeping her busy. One was asking her opinion as she twirled in front of a mirror in a long dress. Another wanted to look at something in a locked jewelry case. Yet another was asking to try on a hat that was on a top shelf. Many another person would have snapped and growled by now, but it seemed that nothing was too much for Annah Lane. From climbing a ladder for the hat to kneeling on the ground to pin up a hemline, she handled it all with calm efficiency. Her patience seemed unending, and that too would be a desirable trait in the person he was looking for. She always seemed to be almost smiling, as if there was some hidden well of humor within her; and when her laughter bubbled up, it sounded genuine.

As it had been during the brief time she had spoken to him, her warmth was palpable. That was what kept him there in the chair, when his better judgment was of the opinion that he should cut and run. The sounds gradually dwindled, and at last she ushered the girls out the back door and turned the latch. True to her promise, she flicked out the lights and made her way down the hall toward him.

It was too late to turn back now. Now he could only hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst—that she would say no.

Annah was uncomfortably aware of the prince’s eyes on her as she walked down the hallway. She had noticed him watching her while she was working, and had a spot of dried blood on her finger where she had jabbed herself with a pin to prove it. She had been a bit unsteady on the ladder, too, as if proximity to a prince had the power to upset her equilibrium. But Annah’s calm had never been rattled by royalty before. After all, hadn’t her best friends just married princes? But there was something about this particular prince.

He stood up as she entered the room, and Annah found herself nearly overwhelmed by his sheer physical presence. “Thank you for waiting,” she said.

His answer was a regal incline of his head.

She glanced behind the counter and saw the kettle gently steaming. “Oh. Didn’t you have any tea?”

He seemed to hesitate a moment before answering. “No. I...didn’t.”

It dawned on her then that a prince might consider performing such a task beneath him. “Would you care for some now?” she asked, smiling slightly.

“Yes. Thank you.”

She poured a cup for each of them while he watched. “Please, sit down,” she said, placing the cups at one of three booths that lined the far wall. He waited until she was seated and then slid into the opposite bench. When Annah was serving customers there, the booth seemed like a nice roomy spot. But sitting across from Prince Lucas, she was preoccupied with the thought that the smallest slouch on her part would bring her knees into contact with those of His Highness.

She sat as straight as she could, waiting for him to say something, but he seemed more inclined to study her. Tension wound in her like a spring, while she went through the motions of fishing out her tea bag with a spoon. “You said you wanted to speak with me,” she said, when she could stand it no longer.

“Yes.”

“About whatever is troubling you?”

His eyes met hers abruptly. “Why do you say that?” he asked cautiously.

“The fact that you seemed bent on wearing a path in my linoleum was a dead giveaway,” she pointed out gently.

“You are correct,” he said. “I have a problem, and I am here because I have been told that you can help me, Miss Lane.” His smoky voice brought an odd tinge of warmth to Annah’s insides. “Prince Erik and Prince Whit of Isle Anders have both, ah—” his slight hesitation made her breath catch, in spite of herself “—recommended you.”

Erik and Whit had recently married Annah’s two best friends. That explained what had brought him here, but not what he wanted. “Recommended me?” she asked, frowning. “What sort of a problem is it, Your Highness?”

“In order to keep the throne, I must be married by the first of the year.” He stopped, as if hoping that would be sufficient explanation.

“I know,” Annah told him. “Everyone knows that, Your Highness.” She took a sip of tea, waiting for him to elaborate on how she could help him with his wedding plans. Although amused by the thought, she refrained from asking whether he needed her to clothe the royal wedding party or to cater the reception. “What exactly is it that you need?” she asked diplomatically.

He looked deep into her eyes. “A bride,” he said softly.

Annah felt her teacup slip out of her hand. It fell back onto the saucer with a crash. She ignored it, staring at him. He was in deadly earnest, of that she had no doubt. And so there it was. His softly spoken words found a home deep inside her, a place that had been waiting just for them, it seemed. He had said what she hadn’t even dared let herself think, although the notion had been flickering around the edges of her mind ever since he had appeared. That was why he had come so far to see her—he wanted to make her his bride. Who would ever have believed that a fairy tale could come to life? But it was happening to her. Her handsome prince had finally come to rescue her, and now all of the dreams that she had thought impossible were going to come true at last. She sat there overcome, unable to speak.

“Will you do it, Miss Lane?” he asked then. “Will you help find me a bride?”

Annah stared at him. Find him a bride? Not be his bride? A cloud of confusion swept over her, but the direct look he gave her on the heels of his direct question dispelled it like a brisk wind. Find him a bride. His words tolled the death knell of her reawakening dreams. She looked away quickly. Of course he hadn’t meant that he wanted to marry her, she chided herself. Not her, Annah Lane. How quickly her fancies had allowed her to forget that she wasn’t at all the kind of woman that a man would want for a wife, to have and to hold, for better...for worse. Annah took a deep breath, and the pungent scents of coffee beans and dish detergent in her shop provided a strong dose of reality. No prince was going to come walking through that door to marry her. Fairy tales had to have a happily ever after, and her life was no fairy tale.

However, her life did have a prince in it, for the moment at least. He was watching her, waiting for an answer to his question. He didn’t want her to be his princess, but he did want her to be his...matchmaker?

Looking at him, Annah found it hard to believe that the man sitting across from her needed anyone’s help in finding a bride. True, the matrimonial clock was ticking for him; but he was arguably the most eligible bachelor in the world. He was rich, handsome—and he was a prince, for gosh sakes! International scuttlebutt had it that he was putting off choosing a bride until he had made the most of his last few months of bachelorhood, and Annah had never doubted that. There were legions of women stalking him: famous women, beautiful women—princess wanna-bes who would gladly trade their names and whatever virtue they could claim for the allure, luxury and power of a regal lifestyle. If he wanted to get married to save his throne, all he had to do was turn around and let himself be caught by one of them. Unless...

She looked at him carefully. He was staring out of the window now, his mouth set in a grim line. Suddenly she understood why Erik and Whit had sent him to her, of all people. “Your Highness, you want more than just a bride for the throne, don’t you?” she said softly.

“Yes,” he said, giving her a direct gaze. “I want more.”

Annah sat back in her seat in the booth. Now it all made sense. The gossip had been wrong, and so had she. He had delayed choosing a bride not to enjoy the countdown of his bachelor days, but for the simple reason that he hadn’t found the right woman. And the friends who had nudged him her way knew about her “gift”—her mysterious insight for recognizing true love. On paper, that made her the ideal matchmaker.

How was she supposed to answer him? Her insight wasn’t exactly something she could control, or even understand. It might not even work for him. She looked at him then, really looked at him, and a smoky feminine awareness caressed her insides in a curl of warmth. It had nothing to do with his being a prince, and everything to do with her reaction to him on a far more elemental level. In his mid-thirties, he carried himself with the unselfconscious assurance of a fully mature man. The power she had sensed within him was manifest in his rugged build. His touch-me brown hair and the well-trimmed beard that matched it rippled with mahogany. And deep in those sensual gray eyes lived an intensity that was compelling. His inner vibrations were strong, but that didn’t mean they’d be easy to read. Again those warm chills passed over her body, unbidden and mysterious.

She excused herself and got up from the booth, fanning herself with her hand. In the hallway, she checked the thermostat to see if it had been accidentally bumped up by one of the girls, but it was at the usual setting. Seeking solace in the familiar, she busied herself getting a rag from behind the counter and wiping the tea she had spilled. Then she righted her cup and refilled it.

What could Lucas do, except wait for her answer? He gritted his teeth, feeling his patience stretch thin. And it wasn’t just the waiting. Everything about this situation went against the grain. It was hard enough for a man like him to have to ask for anything, but this—this was an insult to his masculinity. What kind of a man needed help in finding his own bride?

A man who had played with fire and gotten himself burned, that’s what kind. Only a fool would be anything but careful after that. Lucas would be very, very careful.

Still, as hellish as the wedding deadline had made his life, Lucas had to applaud the decision of the council of elders. His marrying was in the best interest of the country he loved, which had a long history as a representative monarchy. As its prince, he had a duty to preserve the succession and carry that history into the future. He had to provide heirs to the throne. Marriage was inevitable. But the deadline had been a stroke of genius, focusing the attention of the world on his little country—and on its finely crafted jewelry, unique scenery and old-world hospitality. Yes, the elders had their eyes nobly focused on the past and the future—and their fingers wisely wrapped around the present, tightly gripping the collective pocketbook of the Constellation Isles. Tourism had swelled, even during the off-season. You had to love that. And the deadline served another purpose. Although none knew why, the elders were wise enough to see that, at thirty-five, their prince needed a little push toward the altar. He could still feel their fingers in his back, all the way across the ocean.

Annah returned to her seat. “Is the tea all right, Your Highness?” she asked him, gesturing toward his untouched cup.

He looked at it as if just now noticing its existence. “Yes. It’s fine, thank you,” he said, and concentrated on taking a drink. She could feel the tension in him.

Annah was a toucher. She felt the strongest impulse to reach out and pat him on the arm, but an even stronger instinct told her that he wouldn’t appreciate that kind of reassurance. And in truth she didn’t know how well she could handle her own reaction if she laid a hand on him again. “You...you’ve taken me a little by surprise,” she said truthfully. “I’m not sure what to say.”

A look flickered across his face, almost of pain. “There is some irony, is there not, in a prince having to ask for help in such a matter?” he said, with a twist of his mouth that passed for a smile. “But being a prince does not make me an expert in this area, Miss Lane.”

His lack of confidence in matters of the heart was typically male, and thoroughly endearing. Just talking about it was costing him, that much was obvious. But she was no expert herself!

He went on. “I have only one chance, and precious little time. I don’t want to make a mistake that I will pay for the rest of my life.”

“No, of course not.” Annah thought that was an odd way of putting it. Not wanting to choose the wrong woman, instead of wanting to choose the right woman.

“That’s why I am willing to put myself—my future—into your hands. Miss Lane, with or without your help, I will be married in two months. That is a fact of my life, because of a circumstance that I cannot change.” He paused. “But whether I will be happily married depends upon whether or not you will help me.”

She knew—oh, did she ever know!—that there was only one way he would be happy in marriage, and that was if he found true love. Without knowing why, she sensed somehow that behind his wariness, beneath his jaded exterior, that was what he was really looking for, whether or not he knew it or wanted to admit it. But she of all people knew that love was a tricky thing. She could match him up with every woman in town and see true love if it was there—but if it wasn’t, she couldn’t conjure it out of thin air. She bit her lip, stymied. How could she explain that to him?

He seemed to take her silence as discouragement. She could almost feel him pluck up his courage before he made one last appeal. “Miss Lane, I need your help,” he said, his voice resonant with feeling. “If not for my sake, then for the sake of the children I am depending upon this marriage to give me.”

Children. He not only wanted a happy marriage, but he wanted children, too. The undisguised hunger in his voice set off a vibration of longing deep inside Annah, a feeling whose strength surprised her, given how long it had been since she had last allowed herself to indulge in it. Once upon a time, she too had wanted it all.

He lowered his voice to a raw whisper. “Please don’t refuse me.”

She swallowed once, painfully, and put the errant memory back in its place. Then she looked up, and their eyes caught and held. It was as if she were looking into the deep shadows of those gray eyes for the first time, her vision untainted by preconceived notions of who he was or what he wanted. Something in that silent exchange made Annah feel as though a match had been struck somewhere deep inside her, and the flame had caught hold in her innermost self.

No, it couldn’t be—no—it must be empathy that had engendered this sudden bond. For who better than she could understand the yearning and the uncertainty in his gaze? The prince was chasing a dream, an oh-sobeautiful fairy tale. It had eluded Annah, but it could come true for him. The growing warmth inside her seemed to fire her very being. In that moment of shared romantic hope, all her reservations turned to ash. Far from refusing his request, she knew she would move heaven and earth and Anders Point itself, rock by rock, in order to help him.

He needed his dream to come true. And if he had the will, she just might have the way.


Chapter Two

Prince Lucas had started pacing again by the time the huge grandfather clock in the castle entry hall chimed quarter to eight. The relief he had felt when Annah Lane had told him that she would help him had faded in the few hours since he had left her house and come here to the castle at the tip of the Point. While he had slept off the worst of his jet lag, showered and dressed for dinner, a renewed sense of urgency had crept back in.

He had wanted to talk strategy immediately, but she had suggested that they do it over dinner. Even that slight delay in getting the process rolling was frustrating for him, but then, he had been hashing all this over for ten months. It made sense to give her a few hours to do the same.

The sound of his echoing footsteps received the sudden punctuation of a ring at the front doorbell. He swung open the heavy front door. “Good evening, Miss Lane,” he greeted her.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” she answered. She was carrying a large, two-handled pot, which she set down on an antique table in the entry hall.

“What’s that?” he asked, looking puzzled.

“Dinner,” she said succinctly. She disappeared out the door again, heading for the car that was parked in the front drive, and fished a couple of large paper bags out of the trunk.

“Did you make dinner?” he asked when she returned.

“Of course,” she said, sounding surprised at his surprise. “I told you I would.”

He had assumed that her offer to “take care of dinner” meant that she was going to order the meal from a restaurant and arrange for its delivery. “You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” she said, smiling as if that were true while she breezed past him. “Grab that pot for me, would you?” she called over her shoulder.

What could he do? He picked up the pot and carried it obediently into the kitchen.

“Just set it on one of the back burners,” she said as she put the bags on the counter. If her voice sounded breathy, she hoped he would think it was from lugging dinner up the stone steps out front. The truth was that she had once more been thrown off balance simply by being near him, although she wasn’t sure why. A woman who was nearly thirty ought to be able to be in the presence of a handsome prince without having her backbone begin to melt. That she had never felt this way around Prince Erik or Prince Whit must be because they were “hometown” princes. Their mother had been from Anders Point, and the two of them were no strangers to the town when they stayed here in their family’s castle.

If she felt differently around Prince Lucas, she would just have to get over it. She reminded herself of the deep bond she had felt between them before he had left her coffee shop. Making his dream come true was what mattered. And if she was going to help him, she couldn’t be walking on eggshells around him just because he was royalty. Not if her plan was going to work.

She was starting to struggle out of her jacket when his voice came from close behind her, soft and low. “Allow me.”

She kept her back to him while he helped her off with her jacket, chiding herself for her weak-kneed reaction to his performing this small courtesy for her. While he left the room with it, she busied herself getting dinner underway. “I have a few things to finish up,” she told him when he returned.

He had that slight frown that she was becoming familiar with. “What with preparing this meal, Miss Lane, have you had any time to think about my situation?”

He was direct, she had to give him that. She looked up from the pot she was stirring. “I do my best thinking when I’m cooking,” she told him with a smile.

“Then by all means, cook,” he said briskly. He stood next to her at the counter, which had the effect of totally disrupting her thinking. It was just the feel of his nearness, because she had to look out of the corner of her eye to see him—not that she was sure that was a great idea, either. He had been born a prince...did he have to be so darned attractive, too? The man was a walking woman-magnet even without a wedding deadline, and Annah could well imagine the world’s social climbers climbing all over each other to get at him. There weren’t women like that here in Anders Point, but even here they would act differently around him, less comfortably, knowing he was a prince. That was just human nature. Annah knew her plan was right on target. But she wasn’t about to just blurt it out. She had a feeling it would be better to get him used to the idea gradually.

“Nice castle, isn’t it?” she asked conversationally.

“Yes,” he answered. “It is not large, but it is beautifully sited up here on this bluff.”

“As a place used only for their stays in America, I suppose the Anders family didn’t need it to be large. And it will be plenty big enough for Whit and Drew to live in after they return from their honeymoon. Lexi is thrilled about moving in here.”

He seemed to smile slightly at the mention of his friend’s six-year-old daughter, but merely said, “I was glad of Whit’s offer to let me stay here while I am in town.”

That was the opening Annah was looking for. He wouldn’t be staying in the castle long, if she had her way. “By the way, no one else knows you’re here, do they?”

He seemed a bit surprised by her change of subject, but answered her question. “Besides the Anders family? No one except you...and my staff, of course.”

“But no one here in town,” she clarified. “I mean, it was dark when you left my place, and you drove away in a nondescript sedan.”

He nodded. His chauffeur, who was also his bodyguard, insisted on it, for security reasons. He only used a limo for public occasions.

“After that, did you come right here to the castle?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone walk by while you were on my porch?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “I didn’t notice anyone.”

“And I know the girls I was waiting on didn’t really get a good look at you,” she said positively. “So you see, I am the only one in town who knows that you—that Prince Lucas of the Constellation Isles is here.”

His frown deepened. “You think that’s important?”

“Of course,” she said. As an afterthought she added, “Don’t you?”

He didn’t. Wasn’t she aware that once other people saw him, they would recognize him? He expected that. It went with the territory.

Her question dangled intriguingly. He didn’t answer, and she didn’t elaborate, but turned her attention to the food. “The salad is all ready now, so I’ll just slice up the bread.”

Lucas stood aside, watching her. “When I asked you to dinner, I had no intention of your cooking and serving it,” he said.

“I enjoy cooking,” she said, putting the bread into a basket that she had pulled out of one of the upper cabinets. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking of expanding my coffee shop hours and serving lunch, also. It’s nice having a guinea pig to try out my new recipes.”

No one had ever had the cheek to refer to him as a guinea pig before, and oddly enough, Lucas found he didn’t mind. But it still felt awkward, having his guest prepare her own dinner. Standing out of her way as she bustled about, he observed, “You seem to be familiar with this kitchen.”

“Julie lived here as the caretaker for a year before she married Prince Erik,” she said, pulling a bunch of flowers out of one of the bags. “She and I are friends.”

Which apparently gave them intimate knowledge of each other’s kitchens. He was not wise in the ways of feminine friendships, but found himself admiring the feminine grace of her movements as she worked. Bending under one counter she picked out some sort of glass container and, with a few deft moves, began arranging the flowers in it. She placed the bloom-filled bowl in the center of the big wooden trestle table that stood in front of the fireplace. Lucas watched as the drawers and cabinets that were a dark mystery to him yielded placemats, utensils, crockery and glasses at her touch. She began setting them out on the table. It looked as if she meant for the two of them to eat dinner right there.

He cleared his throat. “It was my intention that we eat in the dining room, Miss Lane.”

“We don’t have to be so formal. Please, call me Annah.”

“And expect to dine with you here in the kitchen?” He hadn’t forgotten that she was his guest, despite the fact that she had come in and taken charge of the meal.

But that seemed to be her preference. “It’s cozier in here,” she said reasonably, stirring the pot on the stove again.

“Would be, if someone had built a fire in that hearth,” Lucas muttered, and then busied himself doing just that. Until now it had escaped his notice that the sweater she was wearing didn’t look anywhere near as warm as his—although she filled it out a lot better, a fact which hadn’t escaped his notice at all. He forced himself to concentrate on the work at hand, and soon a roaring blaze filled the big stone fireplace.

She paused in her work to look at his. “You’re quite good at that,” she remarked.

Lucas turned to her. “It’s a skill a man learns early, where I’m from.”

A hint of amusement played at the corners of her lips. “Even when you’re a prince?”

“Of course,” he said seriously, not sure what she was getting at. As the only child of royal parentage, he didn’t have much experience with being teased. Was that what she was doing, or did she really think that his being a prince meant that he was some kind of wimp? Despite that niggling question, he found that putting his hands to use had righted his perspective. This wasn’t a formal affair of state, after all, and having Annah prepare dinner seemed like much less of a big deal than the leap of faith he was taking by putting his future into her hands. Still, Lucas trusted his friends. And it was clear that he himself had no way, mysterious or otherwise, to tell whether a woman was right for him. What’s more, he was wise enough to know that he needed a partner, someone who lived in the town and knew its people. Someone who could weed out the unsuitables and make introductions. Had they known about it, the grandmothers who gathered to gossip in village stores on the Constellation Isles would say that their prince had hired himself a matchmaker—and about time, too! He himself was more comfortable thinking of Annah Lane in terms of a consultant

That thought renewed his sense of purpose and his curiosity about her qualifications. Weren’t matchmakers supposed to be older, more-experienced women? “If I may be so bold as to ask, how can you help others find suitable matches when you are not married yourself?” he asked her.

“Been there, done that,” she said offhandedly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m divorced,” she clarified.

He didn’t remember Erik or Whit mentioning that. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling badly that he’d asked.

She waved away his apology. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. And she sounded as if it didn’t.

That made him feel a little better, so he asked something that did matter. “Do you really think you’ll be able to help me find the kind of woman I’m looking for?”

She seemed to be thinking it over. “Let me make sure I understand exactly what you want,” she said. “First of all, why Anders Point?”

“Princes find brides here,” he said, making it sound, to Annah’s amusement, as if finding the right woman was a simple matter of geography. “And this seems like a pretty good place to find the kind of woman I am looking for. Someone like the women Erik and Whit found.”

“Sorry,” Annah said, unable to keep from smiling at that. “I’m fresh out of best friends, and even if I had one left, I don’t think I’d let you have her, anyway. It’s getting lonely around here, with princes swooping in and carrying them off to live happily ever after.”

She hoped she wasn’t imagining the slight smile she saw underneath his beard. If he had even a smidgen of a sense of humor behind that royal demeanor, maybe he would go for her plan after all. “What is it about them that you would want in a wife?” she prodded.

He thought about that. “I guess it’s that they’re so—” he paused, as if groping for the right word “—ordinary.”

“Oh, boy,” she said playfully, rolling her eyes. “You’d best keep that one under your crown, Your Highness. No woman likes to think of herself as ordinary.”

“You misunderstand me,” he said, frowning.

“Then make me understand,” she said, smiling at him encouragingly. “If you want me to find a bride for you, give me something to work with.” She placed her hand on his and jiggled it playfully, hoping to get him to lighten up a little. The casual touch had the opposite effect on her. Once again chills danced through her, and they didn’t stop at the point of contact, but radiated up her arm, warm and mysterious. Again she pulled back abruptly.

If he noticed anything, she couldn’t tell from his response. “When I say I want an ordinary woman, I mean a woman who’s not like—” He stopped cold.

“Not like the women you meet at diplomatic parties, state dinners and other official events?” she suggested.

“That’s right,” he said, as if marveling at her insight.

It was as she had expected, but she was still relieved to hear him admit it. “Good,” she said. “Because that’s the whole basis of my plan.”

“What plan?”

She took a deep breath and plunged right in. “It’s simple, really,” she said. “The best way to find an ordinary woman is to be an ordinary man.”

“No doubt,” he said dryly. “But the fact of the matter is, I am a prince.”

She held her gaze steady. “You know that, and I know that—but we’ve established the fact that no one else in Anders Point knows that.”

“That still doesn’t make me an ordinary man,” he said.

“Doesn’t it?”

“Miss Lane,” he began, the intensity in his gray eyes sending warmth her way.

“Annah,” she said, correcting him automatically. He was an ordinary man, she told herself, and she was going to treat him like one. Not like a prince. Not like a man who could make her insides cook at a glance. Just an ordinary man.

“Annah, what exactly are you getting at?”

She looked straight at him. “Okay, here it is. I think you should go undercover.”

He stared at her. “Undercover?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“You can’t be serious,” he said, frowning.

“Why not?” she said. “Remember, no one knows you’re here.”

“So you want me to change my identity?”

“Not change it—hide it,” she corrected. “Your princely identity, that is.”

“That’s crazy!”

“On the contrary, it’s perfectly logical, Your Highness,” she countered calmly. “I’m not asking you to renounce the throne or anything. Just to do without your title for a while. Tell me, do you have a surname? I’ve only ever heard you referred to as Prince Lucas.”

He was still looking at her as if she had taken leave of her good sense. “It’s Hansson. By custom it is not used.”

“Good,” she said. “You can be here as Luke Hansson, ordinary man, instead of as Prince Lucas, ruler of the Constellation Isles and wife hunter.”

“But being a prince is who I am,” he pointed out.

“A part of who you are. You’re also a man, a man who says he’s looking for an ordinary, small-town woman. I say she’ll be easier to find if you get rid of the trappings of royalty.”

“But—”

“Trust me, your odds of success will greatly increase. It will scare off the prince groupies, and it will ensure that women act like themselves around you.”

He thought about that. Bizarre as it seemed, what she was saying made sense. Personal experience confirmed that when it came to marrying a prince, a woman would say or do or promise or pretend just about anything.

“Doing it this way will also save time,” she added. “It will allow us to dispense with a lot of formalities. That deadline of yours is awfully tight.”

Didn’t he know it. That was the kicker. “I’ll have to think about it,” he heard himself say.

He went down the steps to the wine cellar. What was he saying? Think about it! His intellect told him he’d have to be insane even to consider it. But the lesson he’d learned the hard way told him otherwise.

He was still thinking when he returned to the kitchen with the bottle he had chosen. Glad to have something to do with his hands, he opened it up and filled two glasses. Annah turned around from the stove as he carried them over, her cheeks flushed from cooking, and for a moment he felt an odd thrill of warmth that he couldn’t quite attribute to the fire.

“Dinner is—”

“Something smells—”

They both stopped and smiled at each other. Even that slight stretching of his cheeks under his beard felt unfamiliar, making him realize how little he had done that lately.

“Delicious,” he finished.

“Want to see whether it tastes as good as it smells?” she asked, holding up a spoonful of some kind of stew to his lips. He was genuinely taken aback. None of the chefs on his staff would ever dream of taking such an outrageous liberty with him, even if he had given them the opportunity by being in the kitchen. When he opened his mouth to demur, she popped the spoon inside.

He had commanded his own utensils since he had first been able. The last time anyone had spoon-fed him anything was far beyond his memory. He was her captive, standing there with a wineglass in each hand. A sensual shiver ran through him as she pulled the spoon back out, slowly, as if the better to let him savor the taste of the food. It tasted like a spoonful of heaven—with a generous helping of the fires of hell thrown in.

With a forbearance that was second nature to him, he handed her a glass of wine and lifted his own in salute. While she returned the gesture and took a sip, he took a healthy swig of his.

She noticed. “Uh-oh. Is the chili too spicy?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he said, which would have been the polite response that a formal dinner guest who had the audacity to ask such a question would have gotten from him. But to her he added, “Not if one had been forewarned that it was chili.”

Her eyes and mouth went round. “I’m so sorry! I thought you knew. No wonder you looked...taken by surprise.”

Too much about this woman surprised him, Lucas decided as they took their seats at the big table. He had met people the world over, from all walks of life, but he had never met anyone quite like her before.

“Want some shredded cheese to go with that chili?” she asked him, interrupting his thoughts.

He looked down at the steaming bowl that she had placed on the table in front of him. “Yes, thank you,” he said. She passed the cheese to him and started in on her salad, looking as if enjoying this meal was the only thing she had on her mind.

His mind was on other things, but he did notice when her glass was empty. Remembering that he was the host, he poured for her and asked, “Is there anything else you want?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I want to know how you like the chili,” she said, gesturing toward the food that he had forgotten. In the flickering light of the fire, he saw that a teasing smile played across those luscious lips of hers. “I really do. It’s a new recipe.”

“And I’m your guinea pig,” he said dryly. He took a spoonful of chili, ready for the bite this time. He took his time chewing and swallowing, aware that she was looking at him expectantly. It was good—rich and flavorful. “I like it,” he said.

She seemed pleased. “So the recipe’s a keeper?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I think so, too. Chili is bound to be a big seller at lunchtime, especially this time of year.”

He turned his attention back to his chili. It really did have just the right amount of oomph. He preferred it to most of the dainty delicacies that the palace chefs served. It was hot and hearty, a real man’s dish. If Annah served this up along with her sweet smile at lunchtime, her tiny little coffee shop would be packed.

As if on cue, she took his empty bowl away, ladled it full and set it down in front of him again. He looked down at it, then back at her. “I didn’t ask for a refill.”

“I know,” she said with a smile. “But you wanted one, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?” he asked, starting to dig in. “Do all of us ordinary guys want seconds?”

Annah laughed. She toyed with the stern of her wineglass while he finished eating. “It’s nice to know you have a sense of humor, Your Highness,” she said. “It will come in handy for my plan.”

“I haven’t agreed to it yet.”

“Well, while you’re thinking about it, why don’t you give me a little better idea of what you’re looking for in a bride?”

Fair enough. And very simple. “I’m looking for compatibility,” he said. “I want a woman I have enough in common with to share my life with, someone who wants what I want.”

“Go on,” Annah said encouragingly, pleased at how he was opening up. As he talked, the bond that she had first felt that afternoon seemed to strengthen. “Is there anything specific that is important to you?”

He answered without hesitation. “Above all, she has to love children and want to have them.”

Annah felt each word fall on her heart like a hammer stroke. Reminding herself that she had asked for this by getting involved didn’t soften the blows.

At her silence he went on to clarify. “I’m not talking about procreating to fulfill the duty of providing heirs for the succession to the throne. What I really want is a woman who will be a good and loving mother to our children,” he said softly. “That’s the most important thing of all.”

Lucas looked away abruptly, this unaccustomed confession leaving him feeling as if he had just run a marathon. He took a sip of wine and steeled himself for more, but surprisingly she didn’t follow up with another question. He looked over, only to see her gazing into the fire, looking stricken. He wondered what was wrong with his answer.

Trying not to sound defensive, he said, “I don’t see why this should be a problem.” Again, he thought, frowning. “I thought women were supposed to want to have children.”

She pulled her gaze back to him, but her smile looked forced. “Most do,” she said, her voice oddly strained.

Something about the way she said it made him ask, “Don’t you?”

“Me? I...uh—” She shrugged. “Babies aren’t my thing.”

That explained her strange reaction. But it surprised him, given what he had seen of her. A small-town, matchmaking girl with a warm smile and a talent for dispensing cheer, hope and nourishment seemed like the maternal type to him. But then again, why should he be surprised that he had misread her so thoroughly? If he had been good at spotting that sort of thing he wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Not every woman wanted babies; that concept had long been a fact of his life. The ones that didn’t had their reasons. He didn’t care to ask what hers were, but he supposed Annah was more interested in her businesses. As strong as the issue was for him, he was fairminded enough to see that she could still help him, despite her personal preferences on that matter. He just wanted to be sure that she understood his. He leaned his hands on the kitchen table. “The woman I’m looking for, babies will most definitely be her ‘thing,”’ he said flatly.

She nodded.

“And if I have to go undercover to find her...”

She looked up at him. “You’ll go along with my plan, then?”

“First tell me precisely what you have in mind.”

“Okay,” she said briskly. “First of all we’d have to get you out of this castle, the sooner the better. An ordinary guy would have no reason to live here.”

“True. Are there any hotels in town?”

“A couple of bed-and-breakfasts, but they’re closed this time of year. Besides, if you want a hometown girl, you have to be a hometown guy. You can stay at my house,” she offered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I think you should move in with me.”

She sounded so casual about it! He knew what an invitation like that meant in his homeland—if he slept one night under the same roof as a single woman, they’d be married by morning! He knew what an invitation like that meant from a jaded veteran of the ultrachic international circles, too. But he had no idea in the world it meant from a woman like her, in a place like Anders Point. “Move in with you?” he repeated.

“It’s perfectly logical. It will make it easier for us to work together, and I’ve got a spare bedroom you can have all to yourself.”

Sleeping arrangements aside, he couldn’t imagine two people living in that little dollhouse of hers—in the space that wasn’t taken up by her two businesses. Even this castle seemed small compared to his palace in the Constellation Isles. “I couldn’t possibly impose like that,” he said.

“Nonsense,” she said. “I want you to.”

Strange as it sounded, he believed her, and realized that he had just found out for himself what people meant when they talked about American hospitality.

“Your staying with me would also give us a reason for you to be in town,” she went on. “We’ll pass you off as Luke Hansson, an old friend of mine, while I get you together with women around here.”

He still wasn’t convinced it would be that easy. “Even with a different name, won’t I be recognizable?”

She had an answer for that, too. “You would be, if we didn’t change your appearance.”

“Change my appearance? How?”

“There’s only one way that a face that appears with such regularity on newsstands the world over is going to gain any kind of anonymity, even in a place like Anders Point,” she said seriously. “And I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Neither did he, whatever it was. “What is it?” he asked cautiously.

“Well, the way I see it, the one thing that would work is if you get rid of your most recognizable feature. Your trademark.”

He leaned his forearms on the table. “Miss Lane—”

“Annah.”

“Are you suggesting that I shave my beard?”

“Oh no, I’m more than suggesting. I’m insisting.”

He pushed his chair back from the table. “Unthinkable,” he said with finality.

She crossed her arms. “If you don’t, you’ll never get away with this. Especially around women.”

“No.”

The word hung in the air between them for several minutes, while they faced off. “Then you’ll just have to come up with another plan on your own,” she said finally. “This is the only plan I have, and the only way it will work.”

Getting up from the table, he put another log on the fire and watched as the flames engulfed it. He lingered there long after he needed to for the sake of fire building, thinking about what she had said.

Annah watched the flickering light play across his brooding features while she cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. She was tempted to break the silence, but there was really nothing more to say. It was up to him now.

When she was finished, she could see that he was still weighing her plan in his mind. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’m going home now, so you can finish thinking this over. But you need to make a decision tonight.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the castle is supposed to be empty.” Whit and Drew were honeymooning, and the caretaker was on vacation. “I can explain away the lights here this evening, because I’ve got a set of keys and a strong need to borrow an industrial-size coffeepot,” she said. “But if you’re here in the morning, the jig is up. You’ll be Prince Lucas, princess hunting in Anders Point.”

He registered that without a word, then disappeared while she was packing up her bags. A few minutes later, he came back with her jacket. He helped her put it on, then carried the big coffee urn for her.

Outside, her car was running. She looked at him.

“I thought I’d get it warmed up for you,” he said.

She found herself speechless at his thoughtfulness. He must have noticed her putting the keys in her jacket pocket when she arrived.

He opened the door for her. “Get in,” he said gruffly. “You must be freezing out here.”

No one was ever that concerned with her comfort. Obediently she slid behind the wheel, and he closed the door behind her. When he was halfway up the steps again, she rolled down the window. “Luke,” she called out softly. He stopped for a moment before turning around and coming back to the car.

“What is it?”

He was leaning over, his face right next to hers. Another wave of warmth washed over her, in defiance of the weather. “I really think this will work,” she said. “I’ll keep the back door unlocked for you. Your bedroom is the one at the top of the stairs.”


Chapter Three

His Highness, Prince Lucas of the Constellation Isles wiped off a corner of the steamed-up mirror in Annah’s tiny bathroom and glared at his reflection. All of a sudden this hot idea was looking mighty lukewarm. He turned away from the mirror, stripped down and got into the shower.

The steamy water sluicing over him washed away his temporary misgivings. Late last night he had gone to bed feeling optimistic for the first time since he had been handed a wedding deadline. He was a man of action, and it had gone against the grain to waste ten months spinning his wheels on the slick, dating fast track. Now, thanks to Annah, he finally had a game plan, a strategy that was going to help him find the right woman to be his bride. With her plan she had given him a changed identity, a place to stay and something more. Something less tangible but far more important—hope.

He was overwhelmed by her willingness to help him, which even extended to welcoming him into her home. However else he felt about it, there was no doubt that his being Annah’s houseguest was the perfect cover. Even if someone thought they recognized him, they would discount entirely the possibility it could really be he. Why would a prince do such a thing? Somehow it gave him a real lift, knowing that he was anonymous for a change. He had sent his bodyguard away, reasoning that if he wasn’t going to be a prince, he didn’t need one. This was an adventure. What man wouldn’t thrill to the chance of going undercover? And there would be absolutely no danger of a woman falling for him—or pretending to fall for him—because he was a prince.

Only Annah knew. But she was his partner, not a potential bride, and he was glad to have her on his side. He owed Whit and Erik for sending him to her. Not only was she helping him, the fact was he liked Annah; though at times he didn’t understand her at all, and at others it seemed as if there was enough friction between them to start a fire. She loved to tease him, too, and funny thing was he didn’t really mind it. Maybe because she had plenty of sugar to go with her spice.

But even Annah couldn’t sugarcoat this, he thought, when he came out of the shower and faced the mirror again. Thanks to her, the major part of his beard was lying in the trash can, instead of being on his face where it belonged, the badge of manhood he had worn proudly since he was first able to grow it. He had hacked it off with a ridiculously tiny pair of scissors he had found in the medicine cabinet, one of those fearsome, feminine instruments women did God knows what with. As a result, he looked like he had fallen into the clutches of a demented barber—but he knew he would have been demented himself to try to shave his thick beard without thinning it a little first. Now, with his face warm and wet from the steamy shower, he could take the final step.




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