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Royal Holiday Bride
Brenda Harlen



Was he really prepared to track down every female guest until he found a green-eyed redhead with a sexy little mole on her right hip?
Of course not, because even if he had the time or the energy for such an endeavor, the discovery of her true identity would change nothing. Because he’d known when he invited her back to his room that they could never be anything more than strangers in the night.
So why was he wishing for something different now? Why was he fantasizing about an impossible reunion with a woman he didn’t even know?
His future was already laid out for him and last night had been only a temporary and forbidden deviation from the path that had been set for him at birth. It was time to set himself back on that path and be the king his country needed.
It was time to meet his bride.
Dear Reader,
Royal Holiday Bride is my sixth title in the REIGNING MEN series, but the first that starts with a bona fide princess.
I remember reading fairy tales as a child and being captivated by the idea of finding my own prince someday. As I grew up, I was less enchanted by the prospect of meeting a real blueblood and more interested in meeting a man who embodied princely characteristics. (And not only did I meet one, but I married him!)
But for a woman who is already a princess, what does she dream about? Surprisingly, Princess Marissa Leandres of Tesoro del Mar doesn’t have great expectations—until she meets the newly crowned King of Ardena. Then the sparks start to fly and the princess begins to hope that the chemistry between them might lead to a fabulous holiday wedding … and a happily-ever-after.
I hope you enjoy their story.
Best,
Brenda Harlen

About the Author
BRENDA HARLEN grew up in a small town, surrounded by books and imaginary friends. Although she always dreamed of being a writer, she chose to follow a more traditional career path first. After two years of practicing as an attorney (including an appearance in front of the Supreme Court of Canada), she gave up her “real” job to be a mom and to try her hand at writing books. Three years, five manuscripts and another baby later, she sold her first book—an RWA Golden Heart winner—to Mills & Boon
.
Brenda lives in southern Ontario with her real-life husband/hero, two heroes-in-training and two neurotic dogs. She is still surrounded by books (too many books, according to her children) and imaginary friends, but she also enjoys communicating with real people. Readers can contact Brenda by e-mail at brendaharlen@yahoo.com.

Royal Holiday
Bride
Brenda Harlen


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Sharon & Ken May~
When I created the fictional island of Tesoro del Mar
for the Reigning Men series, I was looking for a make-
believe paradise. When you invited me to Exuma,
I discovered that paradise is real
—and it’s in the Bahamas.
Thank you both so much for sharing it with me!

Chapter One
Princess Marissa Leandres of Tesoro del Mar had a plan.
If her plan seemed a little desperate, well, that was probably because she was desperate. For too many years, she’d been a good princess, behaving as was expected of her, careful not to make waves in the family or do anything that might result in a scandal. After all, her brother, Cameron, had created more than enough of those.
But time was running out and if she had any hope of taking control of her life and her future, she had to make a move. And she knew she would never have a better opportunity than tonight’s masquerade ball.
What better way for a princess to shed the restrictions inherent to her title and all of her own personal inhibitions than to be someone else—at least for one night?
Still, she couldn’t deny that she was nervous. Actually, she was more than nervous—she was terrified. But she was also determined.
She hadn’t planned to be a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. As a teenager experiencing the first stirrings of physical attraction, she’d been cautious. Not that she’d thought of her virginity as any great prize, but she hadn’t been anxious to throw it away, either—especially not with the possibility of a reporter or photographer lurking around every corner.
While a lot of her friends boasted about going “all the way,” she’d been content to wait, at least until she met someone really special. Unfortunately, that special someone never did cross her path, and now her mother was ready to offer her as a virgin sacrifice to Anthony Volpini, the Duke of Bellemoro.
Marissa shuddered at the thought. No way was she going to let that happen. She’d shared one brief kiss with Anthony a few years back, and the memory of that lip-lock was not a pleasant one. The prospect of experiencing anything more intimate with the lecherous duke made her skin crawl. So tonight, she was dressed as Juno. And the goddess knew what she wanted.
As she made her way toward the ballroom, the elegantly engraved invitation trembled in her fingers. Her first test would be at the door, where her cousin and his wife, Prince Rowan and Princess Lara, would be greeting each and every guest. If she could get past them—
No, she wouldn’t let herself think if. She had to be confident. She had to ignore the butterflies frantically winging around inside her tummy and refuse to think about all the reasons she should abort her plan—and she knew there were many. She couldn’t have second thoughts about what she was doing, because if she didn’t go through with it tonight, she would forever be a helpless pawn in her mother’s unending games.
Drawing in a slow, deep breath, she took a step forward as the line of guests advanced. She couldn’t help but smile when she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the antique mirrors that lined the halls. She’d worried that her plan would fail, that she would somehow be recognized, but as she curtsied to the prince regent and his wife and neither of them showed so much as a flicker of recognition, her butterflies began to settle.
Really, she had nothing to worry about. With the auburn wig, emerald-colored contacts and elaborate mask covering half of her face, her own mother wouldn’t be able to identify her. Not to mention that the gold sandals on her feet added a full four inches to her usually petite five-foot-four-inch frame.
The one-shoulder toga-style gown hugged her breasts, nipped in at her waist and flowed to the floor with a slit halfway up her thigh on one side. It was more suggestive than revealing, but it made her feel sexy and daring—and nothing at all like the demure and conservative Princess Marissa.
She liked sensual fabrics and bright colors, but she didn’t often wear them in public. She preferred to blend into the background, unnoticed by the paparazzi that had always shadowed her brother’s every move. She’d certainly never worn anything so vibrant and bold, and she knew there was no way she could hide in the background in this outfit. But tonight she didn’t want to hide—she wanted to be noticed. She wanted to be wanted.
Tonight, “the prim princess” was finally going to lose her virginity.
Dante Romero hated costume balls. He felt ridiculous enough in the finery he was required to wear for state functions without having to dress up and pretend to be someone else. As if being born a prince hadn’t required him to do enough role-playing on a daily basis, he was now trapped in the role of King of Ardena.
It was his birthright and his burden, and one he hadn’t expected to assume so early. Unfortunately, his father’s health had rapidly deteriorated over the past few years to the point that King Benedicto and his advisers—and especially his doctors—had agreed it would be best for the country if he passed the throne to his son. It was a position Dante had been groomed for throughout his entire life, his inescapable destiny.
Not that he was looking to escape. He acknowledged and understood his responsibilities to his family, his people and his country. But he was barely thirty-two years old and he’d always thought he’d have more time before he had to accept those responsibilities—more time to be free before he gave his people a queen.
But his father had been unrelenting. He hadn’t worried too much about his reputation as a playboy prince, but he was the king now and his country needed a queen. He needed a partner to share his life and a mother for his children—the future heirs to the throne.
That was one of the primary reasons he was in Tesoro del Mar now—not just to shake a few hands and smile for some photo ops, but to meet Princess Marissa Leandres, the only daughter of the Princess Royal and a cousin of the prince regent. His father was optimistic that he would find the princess “acceptable enough” to consider issuing a proposal of marriage, which would go a long way toward strengthening the ties between their respective countries.
It was, Dante understood, as good a reason as any for a king to choose a bride. Unlike the childhood song that claimed “first comes love, then comes marriage,” Dante knew that it was more likely “first comes coronation, then comes marriage.” The official ceremony had taken place only a few weeks earlier, and now the clock was ticking.
And so, at his father’s insistence, he’d paid a thousand dollars for a ticket to this masquerade ball to benefit the Port Augustine Children’s Hospital and dressed himself up like Jupiter, just because Benedicto was certain that Princess Marissa would be in attendance and because he had yet to figure out how to refuse anything his ailing father asked of him.
“She’s not unattractive,” his mother had informed him, although she’d seemed slightly less enthusiastic than her husband about the idea of the Tesorian princess as her son’s bride. “Just a little more conservative than the women you usually date, but she is always stylish and well put together.”
Unwilling to rely on his mother’s description, he’d done some research on his own. Finding pictures of the princess hadn’t been very difficult—though she wasn’t frequently on the covers of the tabloids, she did make public appearances for noteworthy causes. It seemed that the Port Augustine Children’s Hospital was one of her favorites.
He would agree that she wasn’t unattractive. In fact, when he studied her face more closely, he realized that she was actually quite beautiful, if not the type of woman who would ordinarily catch his eye. Medium height, average build, dark hair usually tied back in a braid or secured in a knot at the base of her neck. Her eyes were also dark, her smile as unobtrusive as the rest of her.
It shouldn’t have been too difficult to pick her out of a crowd, except when the crowd was attired in fancy costumes and elaborate masks. As Dante looked around the ballroom of the royal palace, he realized that he was surrounded by gods and goddesses and various mythological creatures, some that he recognized but many more than he did not. Even the staff were in costume: the waiters as slaves and the security guards as gladiators.
It was as if he’d stepped into another world, and he had to give credit to the decorators for their efforts. The boundary of the dance floor was marked by tall Roman-style columns wrapped in green ivy and twinkling lights. Beyond the dance floor were round tables covered in white linen with laurel wreath centerpieces. Marble pedestals topped with busts of ancient philosophers had been placed around the perimeter of the room.
Some of the guests were in formal attire and carried simple stick masks as a nod to the theme; others had elaborate costumes and face decorations that ensured they remained anonymous. For Dante, the one benefit of being unrecognizable in his costume was that he’d been able to forgo having bodyguards flanking him as he moved through the crowd.
He stepped out of Medusa’s path and fought against a smile as she turned to give a blatant once-over to a centaur. He decided that even if he didn’t manage to locate Princess Marissa, it wouldn’t be a boring night. But he wasn’t willing to give up on his mission just yet. He scanned the crowd again, looking for someone who was trying to blend into the background—an observer rather than a participant. The harder he looked, the more convinced he became that his task was futile.
And then he saw her.
The dress was of the richest emerald where it was gathered at one shoulder, with the color gradually transitioning from green to blue until it became a vivid sapphire at her ankles. Her hair spilled down her back, a luxurious cascade of silky red curls. Enormous hammered-gold earrings dangled from her ears and wide bracelets of the same style glinted at both wrists.
Her mask was an elaborate design studded with blue-and-green jewels with a fan of peacock feathers on one side; behind it, her brilliant green eyes sparkled. Her glossy lips were lush and full and curved in a tempting smile. Her skin was pale and dusted with gold. The slope of her shoulders was graceful and sexy.
Lust shot through his veins, as strong and fierce as any bolt of lightning his namesake might have thrown down from the heavens. He forgot about his mission to find the Tesorian princess and made his way across the room to her.
He bowed; she curtsied.
“Juno,” he acknowledged with a nod.
Those luscious lips curved. “Jupiter?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She gave him a slow once-over, her emerald eyes skimming over the gold-trimmed purple toga, gold breastplate, down to the sandals on his feet. “The ruler of the gods is customarily depicted with a beard.”
“I’m a man for whom practicality trumps convention,” he told her.
“The facial hair was itchy,” she guessed.
“And you are a woman who is obviously as smart as she is beautiful.”
“I know that Jupiter had a lightning bolt. I didn’t know that he had such a glib tongue.”
“There’s probably a lot about me that you don’t know,” he told her. “But if you would do me the honor of sharing a dance, we could start to fill in some of the blanks.”
“I’d like that,” she said.
She placed her hand in his, and he felt the jolt again.
Her gaze flew to his, and he saw the same awareness—the same desire—in her eyes that was coursing through his blood.
He lifted her hand, touched his lips to the back of it.
Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened.
He drew her closer, dropped his voice. “Or we could skip the dance.”
She shook her head. “A tempting offer, but I want to dance … at least for now.”
“And later?” he queried, leading her onto the dance floor.
Her lips curved in a slow, sexy smile that made his heart pound. “We’ll figure that out as we go.”
He was a good dancer, Marissa noted. He moved easily, naturally, and it felt so good to be held in his arms, close to his body. Her heart was pounding and her blood was humming. For the first time since she’d set her plan in motion, she started to believe that she could go through with it.
If she could be with Jupiter.
That this man had chosen to come to the ball dressed as her mythological mate was nothing more than a coincidence, she knew that. And yet, in her heart, she believed it was a sign that she was doing the right thing.
Or maybe it was just her hormones, because she honestly couldn’t ever remember responding to a man as immediately and intensely as she’d responded to this one.
She tipped her head back, smiled when she met his gaze. She’d danced with a lot of men whose eyes had roamed the dance floor, looking for their next partner, their next conquest. But Jupiter seemed interested only in her, and for a woman who was used to standing on the sidelines, being the center of such focused attention was absolutely exhilarating.
Though his face was half-covered by a gold-colored mask, there was no disguising the strength or masculinity of his features. His eyes were as dark as espresso and surrounded by thick lashes, his jaw was strong and square, his lips exquisitely shaped and quick to curve.
“So why Jupiter?” she asked him now.
“Why would I choose the identity of any one god when I could be the ruler of the gods?” he countered.
“Lofty ambitions,” she mused.
For just a second, she thought she saw a shadow cross his eyes. But then he smiled, and everything inside of her quivered.
“I would expect the consort of the king to have similarly grand desires,” he noted.
She didn’t think his use of the word desires was either inadvertent or inappropriate. She had very specific plans for this night, and while she didn’t think they were particularly grand, she was determined to see them through.
“You don’t honestly expect me to confess my grandest desires to a stranger on the dance floor, do you?” she challenged.
“But I’m not a stranger,” he pointed out, leading her away from the crowd as the song ended. “I’m your mythological mate.”
He plucked two glasses of champagne from the tray of a waiter and passed one to her.
She murmured her thanks and lifted the glass to her lips to soothe her suddenly parched throat. It was easy to flirt with him on the dance floor when they were surrounded by other dancers. But now, even though there were probably five hundred people in the ballroom, she felt as if they were alone. And the nerves tying knots in her stomach were equal parts anticipation and apprehension.
She had barely finished half of her champagne when she was approached by a Minotaur. Ballroom protocol dictated that an invitation not be refused, so she let him lead her back to the dance floor. After the Minotaur, she danced with Apollo, then with a senator. Each time she made her way around the dance floor past the table where she’d left Jupiter, she saw him watching her.
She felt like the belle of the ball and she had a wonderful time dancing and chatting with all of them, more comfortable in her anonymity than she’d ever been as Princess Marissa. But all the while, she was anxious to return to Jupiter.
“I was beginning to feel neglected,” he said when she finally escaped the dance floor and made her way back to him again.
“My apologies,” she said sincerely, accepting the fresh glass of champagne he offered.
“No need to apologize,” he assured her, leading her away from the crowd and onto the balcony. “It’s understandable that every man in attendance would want a turn on the dance floor with the most beautiful woman here.”
“There’s that glib tongue again,” she noted.
He maneuvered her into the shadows. “Do you believe in destiny?”
“I believe we make our own destiny,” she said, and reminded herself that this was the destiny she had chosen. To take control of her life and her future.
“And I believe our paths were meant to cross tonight.”
She wanted to think that he sounded sincere, but even if it was nothing more than a well-worn line, even if he was just looking for a quick hookup, wasn’t that what she wanted, too? Wasn’t that what she needed to prove that she was capable of controlling her own destiny?
“And now that our paths have crossed,” she said, “where do we go from here?”
Dante wasn’t entirely sure how to answer her question, except that he knew he wasn’t going to walk away from the lovely goddess. Not just yet.
He knew nothing about her and she knew nothing about him, and maybe the anonymity was part of the attraction. He’d been born in a castle and raised from the cradle to understand that he would rule his country one day. It was a birthright that carried with it tremendous responsibility—and relentless public scrutiny. Everything he did was fodder for the tabloids. Every decision he made was documented and analyzed. Every woman he dated was subjected to background checks and media attention.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t a royal representative of Ardena. It was as if he’d completely shed that identity when he’d donned the costume of the Roman god. And then he’d spotted his goddess.
He didn’t know if he believed in destiny, but he did believe that she’d felt that same instantaneous tug of attraction he’d experienced when their eyes met across the room. And he hoped they would have a chance to explore that attraction.
So he replied to her question with one of his own. “Where do you want to go?”
She tilted her head, studying him with steady green eyes as she considered her response. “Are you married?”
“No.” His response was quick, vehement.
Her lips twitched, as if she was trying not to smile. “Engaged?”
“No,” he said again. “There’s no one.”
She continued to hold his gaze as she finished off her champagne. When the glass was empty, he set it aside and took her hands in his, noting the absence of any rings on the third finger of her left hand. “How about you? Boyfriend? Lover?”
She shook her head and her earrings glinted in the moonlight. “Completely unattached,” she assured him.
“I’m very glad to hear that,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.
Her lips were as soft as he’d suspected, and sweetly yielding. And the flavor of her lips buzzed through his veins, more potent than the champagne he’d drunk and more addictive than anything he’d ever tasted.
She neither pulled away nor moved closer, and he sensed a certain amount of both caution and curiosity in her response. He couldn’t blame her for being wary—he was a stranger and they were alone in the shadows—but he didn’t want her to be afraid. So he held his escalating desire firmly in check and forced himself to move slowly.
He touched his tongue tentatively to the seam of her lips, once, twice. The second time, her lips parted for him. When he dipped inside, she brushed his tongue with her own.
He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her tight against his body. He wanted to feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest, to let her feel the hard proof of his desire for her. He knew what he wanted—he wanted her. But he sensed that she was still undecided, and he was more than happy to take whatever time was needed to convince her that she wanted him, too.
Thankfully, she seemed willing to be convinced. When he released her hands and inched closer to her, she didn’t protest. When he slid his hands from her waist to her breasts, she only sighed and pressed closer to him. It was all the encouragement he needed. The fabric of her costume was almost gossamer thin, and he could clearly feel the pattern of the lace on her bra. Through the lace, he traced circles around the peaks of her nipples, felt them pucker in response to his touch.
She gasped and shuddered, but didn’t pull away. He eased his lips from hers and skimmed them along her jaw, down her throat, over the curve of her collarbone. The soft, sexy noises that sounded in her throat made his blood pound and his body ache.
Maybe this was crazy. It was certainly beyond scandalous. Anyone could wander out from the ballroom as easily as they had done, but he didn’t care. He experienced a heady sense of freedom that he’d never known before, trusting that even if someone did venture out onto the balcony, they wouldn’t catch the king of Ardena in a compromising position. Because he wasn’t the king of Ardena right now—he was Jupiter, and making love with Juno seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
He tore his mouth from hers and drew in a deep, shuddering breath to say, “Come upstairs with me.”
It was a plea as much as a demand, and there was only one answer Marissa wanted to give. She would follow him to the ends of the earth if he would keep doing what he’d been doing, if he could make those exquisite sensations ricocheting through her body never stop. But even with lust clouding her mind, something in his words gave her pause.
She’d been on the verge of saying “yes.” She’d been on the verge of letting him take her right there on the balcony. Because she’d thought he was an anonymous stranger. But he hadn’t said come home with me or come back to my hotel. He’d said come upstairs with me. And if he was staying at the palace, he had to have some kind of connection to the prince regent.
She drew back, tried to catch her breath and focus her thoughts. “You have a room … here at the palace?”
He hesitated, as if only now understanding the implications of his words. But then he said, “I’m visiting with a friend who is well acquainted with the minister of foreign affairs. He arranged for our accommodations.”
It was a logical explanation and not one that would concern most women. Of course, most other women weren’t closely related to the minister of foreign affairs.
She exhaled slowly, reconsidering his invitation. But if the connection to her brother was only through a friend of his, then this … interlude, she decided for lack of a better term, could remain anonymous. Which meant that his revelation didn’t require her to abort her plan. At least not yet.
“That seems rather convenient,” she said lightly.
He brushed his lips against hers again. “Or maybe it’s destiny.”
She smiled and splayed her palms on his breastplate. She could feel the ridges of the storm-cloud design beneath her fingertips, but what she wanted to feel was the warmth of his bare flesh. She wanted to explore every inch of him, with her hands and her lips. It was a shockingly bold desire for a woman with zero sexual experience, and a desire that she didn’t want to deny any longer.
For the first time in her life, she wanted a man without hesitation. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was irrefutable proof that she had set upon a desperate course, but it was true. She wanted to be with this man. She wanted him to kiss her again, she wanted to feel his lips on hers, his hands on her body, his naked flesh against hers.
She whispered against his lips, “Lead the way.”

Chapter Two
As they made their way through the maze of hallways to the third floor of the north wing, Marissa’s apprehension increased.
Could she do this? Could she really make love with a stranger? She wanted to—and not just because she was determined to finally lose her virginity, but because she wanted this man as she’d never wanted anyone before. Because he’d made her feel things she’d never felt before.
But what if she got scared? What if she stepped into his room and he pressed her up against the wall and shoved his tongue down her throat and—
She jolted when he took her hand.
Behind the gold mask that covered half of his face, his gaze was hot and intense, but when he spoke, his voice was carefully neutral. “If this isn’t what you want—”
“No,” she interrupted quickly, shoving aside the unpleasant memory of the Duke of Bellemoro. “It is.”
“Good,” he said, and slipped his arms around her waist to draw her close. He lowered his head and kissed her again.
He truly was an exceptional kisser, teasing her lips, coaxing her response. As their tongues danced and mated, she felt as if she could be content to continue kissing him forever. But contentment quickly gave way to desire, and desire to need.
“Maybe we should take this inside,” he suggested against her lips.
She hadn’t even realized they were still in the hall. What was it about this man that he could make her lose all concept of time and place? And not even care that she’d done so?
He kept one arm around her as he slipped the old-fashioned key into the lock and pushed open the door, and he was kissing her again when he steered her inside.
She was too busy enjoying the sensation of his hands on her body to wonder how he’d scored the corner suite that was usually reserved for state visitors of the highest rank. Too preoccupied to appreciate that the thick rug on the floor of the formal sitting room was an antique Savonnerie, or that the mullioned windows were draped with heavy velvet curtains. But she did notice the massive Chippendale four-poster bed with its pale blue silk cover and mountain of pillows when he steered her into the bedroom.
“One moment,” he said, and released her long enough to light the trio of candles on the rosewood bedside table.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic,” she admitted.
“There are times when romantic gestures are called for.” He took her hand again, brought it to his lips. “I would say this is one of them.”
“You’ve already succeeded in luring me to your room,” she reminded him.
“So I have.” His quick grin was sexy and satisfied as he drew her into his arms again. “And now that I have you here … how about some champagne?”
She blinked. “Champagne?”
“Sure, I could call downstairs and ask them to send up a bottle—or we could get something to eat, if you’re hungry.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want anything but you.”
“And here I was trying to show some self-restraint.”
“Why?”
“Because if I didn’t, we’d already be naked and in the middle of that big bed right now.”
“I want to see you naked,” she said and reached for the hooks that held his breastplate in place. It was heavier than she’d expected, and it nearly slipped out of her grasp before he took the armor from her and set it aside.
“Same goes.” He unfastened the braided gold rope at her waist, let it fall to the floor, then turned his attention to the twisted fabric at her shoulder. As he worked the knot, his fingertips brushed her bare skin and yearning flooded through her.
When the fastening was untied, the silky gown slid down the length of her body to pool at her feet so that she stood before him in only her mask, lacy sapphire bra, matching bikini panties and the gold-colored sandals.
His gaze skimmed over her, from her shoulders to her toes and back again, slowly, hungrily. “You’re even more beautiful than I anticipated.”
“And you’re still mostly dressed,” she noted.
He unclipped his leg guards, kicked off his sandals and tugged the tunic over his head. As she watched him strip away the various pieces of his costume, she couldn’t help but think that he looked even more like a god without the period enhancements.
His skin was darkly tanned—apparently all over—and stretched taut over glorious muscles. His chest was broad and smooth, and she instinctively reached out to lay her palms against the warm flesh. She felt the sizzle spread through her veins and reverberate low in her belly.
He reached for the tie at the side of her mask, but she turned her head away. Above the top of his, she saw his brows lift.
“I’m more comfortable being Juno,” she explained.
His smile was tinged with amusement and desire. “Then you won’t mind if I keep mine on, too?”
She suspected it was going to be a little awkward, making love while both of them were wearing masks. But she knew it was the only way she would be able to follow through with her plan. She had no objection to removing all of her clothes so long as her face remained covered, because as much as she wanted to be naked with him, she couldn’t risk her identity being exposed.
“No,” she responded to his question. “In fact, I’d prefer it.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
She exhaled slowly as her hands slid downward. Her fingertips traced over the rippling muscles of his abdomen to the top of his fitted briefs, then dipped inside. He groaned when her fingers wrapped around him, and she had a moment of worry when she registered the size and strength of him. He was huge and rock hard, and the thought of his body joining with hers made her shiver with anticipation.
“You’re going to obliterate what’s left of my self-restraint,” he warned her.
She tipped her head back to brush her lips against his. “Good.”
He cupped his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her off the ground in a move that was so quick and unexpected, her breath whooshed out of her lungs. He tumbled her back onto the bed, the full length of his body pressing against hers, and she gasped with shock and pleasure.
Then his mouth was on hers again, hot and hungry. He wasn’t coaxing so much as demanding now, and she was more than happy to give him what he wanted, what they both needed. She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, relishing the feel of his flesh beneath her fingertips. She arched beneath him, eager for more, for everything. He nibbled on her bottom lip, and she sighed again as pleasure drowned out caution and reason and everything else. She had no thoughts of anything but this man and this moment, no need for anything more. And then she had no thoughts at all as her mind gave way to the bliss of sensation.
She was everything Dante had imagined … and more. Beautiful and passionate and so incredibly responsive. And she was his—if only for this one night.
He stroked his hands slowly down her torso, a careful study of delectable feminine curves. From the sexy slope of her shoulders … to the lushness of her breasts … to the indent of her waist … the flare of her hips … then down those long, shapely legs to the laces of her sandals.
He broke the kiss and reluctantly levered himself off of her. Her eyelids flickered, opened, and she propped herself up on her elbows. He touched a fingertip to her lips, to silence any questions or protests. She said nothing, but watched him curiously.
He tugged on the lace that was tied just below her knee, then slowly unwrapped the cord. His fingers traced lightly over her skin as he unwound it, and he heard the catch of her breath. He took his time removing the first sandal, but when he dropped it to the floor, he still held on to her foot. It was narrow and slender and incredibly sexy. He stroked a finger along the arch and felt her shiver. He lifted her foot higher, kissed her ankle, then let his lips skim up her calf to her knee.
He repeated the same process with her other sandal, her other leg. Then he propped her feet on the edge of the mattress so that her knees were bent and lowered his head between her thighs to kiss her through the thin barrier of lace. She gasped, as if shocked by the intimacy of his mouth on her. But she made no protest when he slid his hands beneath her buttocks, tilting her hips forward to remove her panties.
He used his thumbs to part the slick folds that protected her womanly core and flicked his tongue over her. Once. Twice. She sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush. He teased her mercilessly, alternating quick strokes with slow circles until she was whimpering. Then he teased her some more, relentlessly driving her toward the ultimate pinnacle of pleasure and leisurely easing back again. When he was certain that she could take no more—when her heels were digging into the mattress and her hands were fisted in the covers and her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps—he pushed her over the edge.
She was still shuddering with the aftereffects of her climax as he made his way up her body. He unfastened the clasp at the front of her bra and pushed the lacy cups aside. He paused, taking a moment to enjoy the glorious nakedness of her long, lean body stretched out on his bed.
Her breasts were perfectly shaped and centered with rosy-pink nipples that he ached to touch, taste, savor. He dipped his head and swirled his tongue around one turgid peak, while his thumb traced the same path around the other. She cried out when a second climax racked her body.
She was incredible. And he wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in a very long time. As he drew away only long enough to shed his briefs and don protection, he thanked the gods that had allowed their paths to cross and cursed the fates that had decreed they would only have this night.
When he lowered himself over her, his whole body was trembling with the anticipation of finally joining with hers. She reached for him, her hands linking behind his head, drawing him down for another kiss.
His hands stroked over her again, arousing her, arousing himself. He could feel the blood pounding in his veins, hot and demanding. He could hear the beat of his heart, fast and fierce. Did she know how desperately he wanted her? How he ached for her?
Maybe she did, because her eyes—those gorgeous green eyes—met his and her hips lifted, and the silent urging snapped the last of his self-restraint. He guided himself into the slick heat between her thighs. But despite her apparent readiness, his entry wasn’t easy. He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands in the quilt, forcing himself to go slow, to give her time to adjust to his size. His muscles ached with the effort of holding back and his heart pounded against his ribs as he inched a little farther, swallowing her soft sighs of acceptance, of pleasure.
He frowned when he felt an unexpected resistance, but before he could begin to comprehend what it might mean, her legs lifted to lock behind his hips, pulling him deeper so that he pushed through the barrier of her innocence.
He held himself completely still over her, his arms locked in position, his brows drawn together behind his mask.
How was this possible? How could he not have known? And what was he supposed to do now?
But she seemed oblivious to his inner turmoil. Her legs were still hooked around his hips and her hands clutched at his shoulders as she instinctively moved against him, until his control finally snapped and there was nothing left to hold him back.
He drove into her, hard and deep. She cried out, but he recognized that the sound wasn’t one of shock or fear but pleasure. She met his rhythm, thrust for thrust, in a primitive and almost desperate race toward the release they both craved. When the next climax took her to the edge and finally over, he could do nothing but surrender with her.
It was a long time before Marissa managed to catch her breath. She felt stunned, overwhelmed and exhilarated. She’d never even imagined that so many emotions and sensations could rocket through her system at the same time.
She’d felt desire before, subtle tugs that had piqued her curiosity and made her wonder. But there had been absolutely nothing subtle about what she’d experienced in Jupiter’s arms. It had been so much more than she’d anticipated, so much more than she ever could have hoped for, and she would always be grateful to him for this night.
Unfortunately, she could tell that he wasn’t feeling grateful. He was angry, and she was afraid that she knew why.
“You were a virgin,” he said.
The accusation in his tone confirmed her fears and took some of the shine off of the experience for her. She shifted away from him, pulling up the corner of the quilt to cover herself.
“And you wanted someone with more experience?” she guessed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“I wanted to know.” He rose from the bed and paced across the carpet, apparently unconcerned by his own nakedness. When he faced her again, his anger was visible despite the mask he still wore. “I had a right to know.”
She pushed herself off of the bed, dragging the cover with her. “I’m sorry you were disappointed.”
She started to gather up her costume, but it was hard to see through the tears that blurred her eyes. She’d had the most amazing, exhilarating sexual experience of her life, and her partner wished it had never happened.
He crossed the room in three quick strides and caught her arms. “I wasn’t disappointed.”
She couldn’t read his mood. He’d sounded furious, but now he was looking at her with such tenderness in the depths of those beautiful dark eyes. She wished, for just a moment, that she could push the mask off of his face, to really see this man for who he was. But that wasn’t just a futile wish, it was a dangerous one. It was the assurance of anonymity that had given her the courage to follow through with her plan. She couldn’t let him discover her identity now.
“But you’re angry,” she said again.
“At myself.”
“I don’t understand,” she admitted.
“I should have realized.” Sighing, he thrust a hand through his hair. “If I’d known, I would have been more careful.”
“You didn’t hurt me.”
But Dante knew that he had. Every muscle in her body had tensed when he’d pushed through the barrier of her virginity. He’d been stunned by the knowledge, and appalled that even when his brain had finally registered that she’d been an innocent, he hadn’t been able to stop.
He’d wanted her with such desperation that even knowing she’d been untouched hadn’t tempered his desire. In fact, discovering that he was her first had somehow stoked the burning need to take, to claim, to possess. One thought had echoed in his mind: mine.
Of course, she couldn’t be. Not for more than this one night.
It was something they both knew, though neither had spoken aloud of the fact. The anonymity had served his own purposes—he’d thought this night would be one final fling without the heavy cloak of royal responsibilities that had settled around his shoulders. But now he was ashamed, knowing that he’d taken the innocence of a woman and he didn’t even know her name.
He brushed his knuckles gently down her cheek. “Actually, if I’d known you were untouched, I would have made sure you stayed that way.”
“Why?”
“Because your first time shouldn’t have been with a stranger.”
“It was what I wanted,” she insisted.
“You deserved better. You deserved more. And I can’t give you anything more than this night.” His words were heavy with genuine regret.
She lifted her chin. “All of this night?”
It was more of a challenge than a question, and he fought against a smile. She had spirit and spunk and a willingness to go after what she wanted, and he felt both honored and humbled that she’d wanted him.
“Did you think I was going to turn you out of my room now that I’ve had my way with you?” he asked lightly.
“How would I know? This is new territory for me,” she reminded him.
He took the gown that she’d twisted into a ball and set it aside. “I would very much like you to stay.”
Marissa thought those words meant that he wanted to take her back to bed. Instead, he excused himself and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. A few minutes later, he was leading her toward a deep tub filled with fragrant bubbles and surrounded by dozens of flickering candles.
“I thought a bath might help ease some of the soreness in your muscles,” he told her.
“I won’t be sorry to have aches to remind me of this night,” she said, and meant it. “But how can I refuse when you went to so much trouble?”
He smiled and brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “Take as much time as you want.”
She didn’t plan to be long. She didn’t want to waste a single minute of the short time they would have together, but the bath was too tempting to resist. There was a robe on the back of the door, and she used the belt from it to tie the heavy length of hair up off of her neck. She didn’t dare take off the wig or her mask. Though she kept a fairly low profile, there was always the possibility that she might be recognized, and that was a chance she couldn’t take. Not tonight.
Pushing the worry aside, she stepped into the tub, sighing as she sank into the warm, scented water. She hadn’t realized she was tense until she felt the stiffness seep out of her muscles. But while her body relaxed, her mind raced.
She’d lucked out tonight, she realized that. In retrospect, she could appreciate that her plan to go to bed with a stranger had been not just desperate but reckless. And she had absolutely no regrets. Maybe she did wish that she knew something about the man who had been such an attentive and considerate lover, but there was no point in getting to know a man whose presence in her life couldn’t be anything more than temporary.
Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she rose from the tub and briskly rubbed a thick towel over her body. Then she released the tie that was holding her hair, tucked it through the loops of the robe she’d wrapped around herself and stepped back into the bedroom.
He’d lit more candles in here, too, she realized, and folded back the covers on the bed. An antique serving cart had been rolled into the room, on top of which sat an assortment of bowls and platters offering fresh fruits and an assortment of crackers and meats and cheeses. There was also a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket filled with ice beside two crystal flutes waiting to be filled.
“I thought we might have that champagne now,” he said.
She was as surprised as she was flattered that he’d gone to so much trouble, but the wild pounding of her heart made her wary. Was she a complete sucker for romantic gestures? Or was it somehow possible that she could be falling in love with a man she didn’t even know—a man that she wouldn’t ever see again after this night?
She wasn’t sure she could answer those questions, or that she wanted to, so she responded to his suggestion instead.
“Champagne sounds wonderful.” Then she went to him and linked her hands behind his neck, urging his head down so that she could meet his lips with her own. “Later.”
Her heart gave another sigh when he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She had never dreamed that such romance could be found anywhere outside of the pages of a Victorian novel, and knowing that she was unlikely to experience anything like it again, she savored every moment.
She promised herself that she would remember each stroke of his hands, every touch of his lips, and she knew that she would treasure the memories forever. Whatever happened tomorrow, whatever trials and tribulations she might face in the future, she would always have her recollection of this incredible night. No one could ever take that from her.
He lowered her gently onto the mattress and sank down beside her. He’d shown her pleasure already—so much more than she’d expected. But now, with every brush of his fingertips, there was even more. With every caress, he showed her that she wasn’t just desired but revered. With every kiss, he proved that she wasn’t just wanted but cherished. And when he finally joined his body with hers again, she felt not just connected but complete.
It was hours later before Marissa finally slipped from his bed.
She hadn’t intended to stay so long. Truthfully, her plan for the evening had been remarkably sparse on details beyond finding a willing lover. She knew that she’d been fortunate to find one not just willing but eager to please, and she’d been reluctant to leave the warm comfort of his arms. But she did so, anyway, understanding that she had no other choice.
If anyone was to see her leaving his room—well, she didn’t even want to imagine what kind of scandal that would cause. Definitely enough of a scandal that Anthony Volpini would have to accept she would never be his virgin bride. That thought made her smile, and for a brief moment she actually considered stomping her feet as she made her way down the hall so that she would be discovered.
But aside from an arranged marriage to the Duke of Bellemoro, there was nothing Marissa dreaded more than the possibility of finding herself at the center of a media circus. So instead of stomping, she carried her sandals in her hand to ensure a quiet escape as she slipped away from Jupiter’s room.
Although she’d stayed longer than she’d intended, it was still early enough that Marissa didn’t expect to encounter any servants moving through the halls just yet. So she didn’t notice the shadow behind the curtains across the hall or hear the barely audible click of the shutter as her clandestine departure was captured by the camera’s lens.
She was gone when Dante awoke. The only proof he had that she’d even been there was a lingering trace of her scent on his pillow and a broken peacock feather that he picked up off of the carpet near the bed.
He sat on the edge of the mattress with the feather in his hand and thought about the woman he knew only as Juno. They’d shared intimacies but not names, and while he didn’t regret a minute of the time they’d spent together, he did regret that she’d disappeared from his bed and his life without even saying goodbye.
It wasn’t impossible to imagine that their paths might someday cross again, but the possibility did nothing to ease the unexpected emptiness inside of him. Because he knew that, in the unlikely event that they did meet again, he wouldn’t recognize her. If he really wanted to ascertain her identity, he could probably finagle a copy of the guest list from one of the palace staff. But then what?
Was he really prepared to track down every female guest until he found a green-eyed redhead with a sexy little mole on her right hip? Of course not, because even if he had the time or the energy for such an endeavor, the discovery of Juno’s true identity would change nothing. He’d known when he invited her back to his room that they could never be anything more than strangers in the night.
So why was he wishing for something different now? Why was he fantasizing about an impossible reunion with a woman he didn’t even know?
His future was already laid out for him and last night had been only a temporary and forbidden deviation from the path that had been set for him at birth. It was time to set himself back on that path and be the king his country needed.
It was time to meet his bride.

Chapter Three
Marissa slapped a hand on her alarm to silence the incessant buzzing. She wasn’t ready to get out of bed. Her reluctance had nothing to do with the fact that she’d crawled between the sheets less than four hours earlier and everything to do with the incredible sensual dreams from which she never wanted to awaken.
Dreams of a mouthwateringly sexy god with fathomless dark eyes behind a gold mask, a strong jaw with just a hint of shadow and a mouth that was both elegantly shaped and infinitely talented. She could almost taste his kiss, dark and potent and thoroughly intoxicating.
She snuggled deeper under the covers, certain she could feel the heat of his skin beneath her palms as she explored the planes and angles of all those glorious muscles. Broad shoulders, strong pecs, rippling abs and a very impressive—
She slapped at the alarm again.
Then, with a sigh that was equal parts resignation and regret, she hit the off button and eased herself into sitting position.
Pushing back the covers, she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. She winced a little as she made her way to the bathroom, feeling the tug of strained muscles in her thighs, the ache in her shoulders and an unfamiliar tenderness in her breasts.
Not a dream, after all, she realized, smiling as she turned on the shower and stripped away the silk boxers and cami that she slept in. Memories of the previous night played through her mind as she stepped beneath the spray.
A fantasy come true, but definitely not a dream.
As she’d donned her costume in preparation of the ball the previous evening, she’d worried that she might regret embarking on her course of action, but she’d been more worried about what her future might hold if she chose a course of inaction.
She’d taken control of her life and her future—as much as she could, anyway. Because according to the outdated but still valid laws of the principality, Marissa could be forced to marry the duke, but at least she wouldn’t go to his bed a virgin on her wedding night.
She’d evaluated her options and she’d made a choice, and she didn’t regret it now. How could she regret what had been the most incredible experience of her entire life?
If she felt any disappointment, it was only because she might never again know the kind of pleasure Jupiter had given to her. He’d been an incredibly attentive lover. He’d not just touched but tantalized every inch of her body with his hands and his lips and his tongue—
She turned her face into the spray and nudged the temperature dial downward to help cool her heated skin and resolved to stop fantasizing about what was past.
After she’d stepped out of the shower and toweled off, she opened her closet in search of an appropriate outfit for brunch with her mother. In the midst of various shades of ivory and cream and beige, the stunningly vibrant dress she’d worn the night before shone like a beacon. Instinctively her hand reached out, her fingers caressing the shimmery fabric, and she made a mental note to send a heartfelt thank-you card to her dressmaker.
Then she purposely moved Juno’s dress to the back of the closet because she was no longer a Roman goddess. She was just an ordinary princess again and she had to look the part for her meeting with the Princess Royal.
She selected a simple beige-and-white sheath-style dress, slipped her feet into a pair of matching kitten heels, then brushed her hair away from her face and secured it in a knot at the back of her head. She added simple gold hoop earrings and a couple of gold bangles on her wrist and decided the overall look was stylish if rather bland—and perfectly suited to Princess Marissa.
You’re even more beautiful than I anticipated.
The echo of Jupiter’s reverent whisper made her heart sigh. He’d made her feel beautiful. Desirable. Desired. But there was no hint of that woman in the reflection that looked back at her now.
She turned away from the mirror, refusing to admit that she longed to feel that way again. She knew that she could be beautiful. Elena had been—and still was—a stunning woman, and many people had remarked upon the similarities between mother and daughter. But while the Princess Royal always took care to highlight her best features, Marissa chose to downplay her own. Beautiful women did not go unnoticed, and she preferred the freedom to live her life as she chose rather than under a microscope.
Of course, she was a princess, so a certain amount of media attention was unavoidable. She even courted that attention when it served her purposes. But most of the time, she was happy to let the paparazzi chase after those who were much more bold and beautiful.
A knock at the door jolted her out of her reverie. She set down the cup of coffee she’d just poured and went to answer the summons.
There were few people who could gain access to the private elevator leading to her tenth-floor condo, so she wasn’t surprised to open the door and find both of her sisters-in-law on the other side. She was disappointed that they didn’t have her nieces with them, as she absolutely doted on Michael’s five-year-old Riley and Cameron’s eleven-month-old Jaedyn.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, because she knew they didn’t have any plans to get together this morning.
Michael’s wife, Hannah, was the first to respond. “We were worried about you.”
Marissa led the way to the kitchen, where she filled another mug with coffee and a third with only milk. “Why would you be worried?”
“Because you had a migraine severe enough to keep you at home last night. It’s not like you to miss an event benefiting the Children’s Hospital,” Gabriella—Cameron’s very expectant wife—explained, accepting the milk with more resignation than enthusiasm.
She’d forgotten the excuse she’d made to both of them to explain her supposed absence from the event the night before. Though she didn’t lie easily or well, the fib had been necessary to ensure that they weren’t looking for her in the crowd.
Hannah stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “I called last night to see if you needed anything, but when there was no answer, I figured you turned off the ringer because of the headache.”
Gabby’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “But when Hannah told me that she’d called and didn’t get an answer, I began to suspect that maybe you didn’t miss the ball at all.”
She sipped her coffee. “You’re right. I was there,” Marissa admitted. “But I left early.”
“With the sexy guy in the purple toga?”
Marissa didn’t bother to deny it. She’d already proven that she couldn’t lie to them—at least not very well—and she didn’t want to, anyway. They weren’t just her sisters-in-law, they were her best friends, and she desperately needed friends to confide in right now.
“With Jupiter,” she confirmed.
Gabby grinned. “Good for you.”
Hannah’s head swiveled toward her. “Are you kidding? It’s not good—it’s crazy.”
“Was it good?” Gabby asked, not the least bit chastened by Hannah’s outrage.
Marissa couldn’t help but smile. “It was … fabulous.”
“Details,” Gabby immediately demanded.
Hannah only sighed.
“I’m sorry if you’re disappointed in me,” Marissa said to Michael’s wife, and meant it.
“I’m not disappointed in you, just surprised,” Hannah told her. “I’ve never known you to be reckless or impulsive, and leaving the ball with a stranger—”
“Was necessary,” she interjected.
Even Gabriella seemed surprised by that revelation. “Why?”
Marissa lifted her chin. “Because I’d decided it was finally time to lose my virginity.”
Her brothers’ wives exchanged another look. Obviously neither of them had been aware of her lack of sexual experience, and why would they be?
“Okay, back up a minute and put this in context for us,” Hannah suggested. “Why, having made it to this point in your life without losing your virginity, was it suddenly so urgent to do so?”
“Because there are rumors floating around that the Duke of Bellemoro is in the market for his second wife and, based on several appointments that he’s had with the Princess Royal over the past few weeks, I figured out that Elena was preparing to offer me as a virgin sacrifice.”
“There aren’t a lot of suitable marriage prospects for a bona fide princess,” Hannah noted. “So I can see why your mother might consider a match with someone holding such a high hereditary title to be a coup.”
“But the Duke of Bellemoro?” Gabby winced sympathetically. She, too, had obviously heard the rumors of the duke’s sexual proclivities. And despite his appreciation for women with a multitude of experience in his bedroom, he’d let it be known that he was seeking a more innocent type for his bride.
“Which is why I decided that I wasn’t going to be manipulated,” Marissa said firmly. “Not anymore.”
“So don’t be,” Gabby said. “It’s not as if Elena can force you to marry against your will.”
“Actually, she can,” Hannah interjected, sounding almost apologetic. “Archaic as it may be, the laws of this country still allow the parents of a princess to enter into a legal contract of marriage on her behalf.”
“But not the parents of a prince?” Gabriella was as incensed by the inequality of its application as the law itself.
“I said it was archaic,” Hannah reminded her.
“It’s an old and acceptable tradition,” Marissa said. “And my mother knows that I would honor such a contract because it’s my duty as a member of the royal family to respect our history and uphold our customs.”
“Because you’d never do anything that might create a scandal,” Gabby noted.
“Losing your virginity to a stranger seems pretty scandalous to me,” Hannah said.
“If the Princess Royal’s daughter lost her virginity to a stranger, it would be scandalous,” Marissa acknowledged, which was why she’d been so worried about the possibility that someone might recognize her. And during one turn around the dance floor, she’d spotted her sisters-in-law on the perimeter and had felt the weight of Gabriella’s gaze on her. But her brother’s wife had shown no hint of recognition, which reassured Marissa that her true identity would not be discovered. “Which is why I made sure that no one would know that I was Juno.”
“Gabby recognized you,” Hannah pointed out.
“I suspected,” she clarified. “And I should say now that you looked absolutely stunning.”
Before Marissa could respond, Hannah forged ahead again.
“It was still a crazy idea. No, not just crazy but dangerous,” she said. “Do you have any idea how many things could have gone wrong?”
“Nothing went wrong,” Marissa told her.
“Nothing except that you slept with a man you don’t even know,” Hannah countered.
“Actually, I didn’t sleep at all until I got home around three this morning.”
Gabby grinned. “You’re actually bragging.”
Marissa lifted her chin. Maybe she was bragging, and she wasn’t going to apologize for it. If a wedding to the Duke of Bellemoro was in her future, at least she would have the memories of one fabulous night to help get her through it.
Hannah looked at her, the furrow in her brow easing. “It really was good?”
“It really was fabulous,” she said again.
“Well, I guess that’s something,” she relented. “But you should have at least asked his name.”
“I couldn’t,” Marissa said. “Because I had no intention of telling him mine. I wanted to be anonymous so that, for the first time in my life, I could feel confident that a man was interested in me and not my title or political connections.”
“Still, I would think you’d at least be curious about his true identity,” Gabriella mused.
“Of course I am. But the whole point of putting my plan into action last night was to ensure that no one would know who I was—it would hardly be fair if I changed the rules now.”
“It would be easy enough to track him down,” Hannah told her. “All you’d have to do is contact the palace’s master of the household and find out who was staying in … whatever room he was staying in.”
“It was the corner suite,” Marissa answered automatically, “but I’m not going to do it.”
“Why not?” Gabby demanded, clearly disappointed.
“Because he obviously had his own reasons for wanting to remain anonymous.”
“Which only makes me more curious.”
“Maybe he’s married,” Hannah suggested.
“He’s not,” Marissa assured her. “I did ask about that.”
“Glad to know you did exercise some moral judgment before you gave your virginity to a stranger,” Hannah noted, tongue-in-cheek.
“Thank you,” Marissa said. “Now, if you two are finished with your interrogation, I’m going to kick you out so that I can stop at the hospital before I have to meet my mother and potential suitor for brunch.”
Gabriella paused in the act of pushing back her chair. “Why did you say ‘potential suitor’?”
“Just repeating Elena’s words,” Marissa explained. “You know my mother thrives on mystery and drama.”
“So she never actually said it was the Duke of Bellemoro?” Hannah asked.
“No,” she admitted, still not following the direction of their parallel thinking.
“What if it’s not the duke?” Gabby pressed.
Marissa dismissed the possibility with a shake of her head.
“Who else could it be?”
Dante had first met the Princess Royal about half a dozen years earlier when he’d accompanied his father on an official visit to Tesoro del Mar. His initial impression had been of a woman whose beauty was surpassed only by her ambition—an impression that was confirmed when, a few weeks after he’d taken the throne, she contacted him with a proposal to strengthen the bond between their respective countries.
At the time, he’d had more pressing issues to contend with, and she’d graciously agreed to defer the matter to another time. But when the invitation to the Mythos Ball arrived in the mail, he’d accepted that this meeting was one that could be put off no longer.
Since assuming his new role, Dante had been the recipient of more marriage proposals than he wanted to count. The majority of them were personal entreaties sent by hopeful future queens, though some were sent on behalf of the potential brides-to-be by a mother or sister or grandmother. Dante had delegated the task of responding to these offers to the palace’s junior secretaries.
Elena’s letter had been the exception. He was all too aware that Ardena’s relationship with Tesoro del Mar—her closest neighbor, naval ally and trading partner—had become strained in recent years. Just as he was aware that it was his responsibility to do whatever he could to rectify the situation. A marriage between Ardena’s king and a Tesorian princess would go a long way toward doing that.
When he arrived at Elena’s estate, Dante was prepared for the Princess Royal to do or say almost anything to convince him that he should marry her daughter, and he was willing to let himself be convinced. As his father had pointed out to him, there weren’t a lot of single women of appropriate genealogy—and even fewer still with whom he didn’t already have some kind of history.
“Your Majesty.” The Princess Royal curtsied. “I’m so pleased you were able to take this time to meet with me while you’re visiting Tesoro del Mar.”
He bowed to her in turn. “The pleasure is mine, Your Highness.”
“I trust you had a good time at the ball last evening,” she said when they were seated in the parlor.
“I did,” he agreed, though the remark caused his mind to flash back not to the charity event but to the pleasures he’d enjoyed after leaving the ballroom.
“Marissa will be pleased to hear it.” Elena passed him a delicate gold-rimmed cup. “Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to be there last night, but she tries to ensure that the annual ball isn’t just successful but also enjoyable.”
“I’ve heard that she’s very committed to her work at the hospital.” He sipped his coffee.
“She has experience with numerous charitable endeavors—an essential attribute for the wife of a king.”
Dante had always found it easier to negotiate with people who were forthright about their demands rather than those who tiptoed around them. It was clear that the Princess Royal didn’t believe in tiptoeing.
“I don’t disagree,” he told her. “But there are many other factors to consider.”
“You won’t find another candidate more suitable than Princess Marissa,” Elena promised. “She has lived her whole life with the demands and duties of royal life, she is educated, well mannered, kindhearted and still innocent.”
Definitely no tiptoeing going on here.
Dante set down his cup and cleared his throat. “I do think that the criteria for suitability have changed somewhat with the times.”
“But your country’s Marriage Act still enumerates some very specific criteria,” Elena pointed out. “Including that the bride of a king must be of noble birth and pure virtue.”
Technically, she was correct. But since a king was entitled to privacy on his wedding night, he wasn’t concerned about the latter stipulation. “I’m not sure that’s a realistic expectation in this day and age,” he acknowledged, refusing to think about his mysterious virgin lover of the previous evening. “I’m more concerned that my future bride is untouched by scandal.”
“I assure you that my daughter is untouched in every way that matters.”
He forced a smile, though the calculation in her eyes made him uneasy. It was obvious that the Princess Royal wanted a union between their families and would do everything in her power to make it happen, and he couldn’t help but feel a tug of sympathy for the princess whose mother so clearly viewed her as a commodity to be bartered.
“You don’t think she would be reluctant to leave her friends and family here to live in another country?”
“Ardena is not so far,” Elena said dismissively. “And a marriage between its king and a Tesorian princess would only strengthen the historically close ties between our two countries. It might even help our people forget the unnecessary stir created by your father on his last visit.”
“Whether the stir was or was not necessary is a matter of perspective,” Dante retorted, not even attempting to disguise the edge in his tone. “And he had reason to be concerned about your son’s relationship with my sister.”
“Well, that’s past history, anyway,” she said, conveniently forgetting that she’d been the one to bring up the subject. “What matters now is the future.”
“Agreed,” he said, only because he knew that the relationship between Prince Cameron and Princess Leticia alleged in the newspaper headlines had been predicated on nothing more than one dance in a nightclub.
Of course, the relationship Elena was advocating for her daughter would be based on even less, and Dante couldn’t help wondering if the princess in question might not want more than a marriage founded solely on politics. And he was both baffled and infuriated that her mother didn’t seem to want more for her.
Or maybe he was angry that he wasn’t allowed to want more for himself. His parents’ marriage had been “suggested” rather than arranged, and they’d been lucky enough to fall in love so that they wanted to honor the wishes of their respective families. When Dante had protested that he should be given the opportunity to find love, too, his parents had bluntly pointed out that he’d managed to find enough lovers without worrying about emotional attachments, and now it was time for him to accept that he had a responsibility to his country and its people. And that responsibility took precedence over all else.
“How does Princess Marissa feel about a potential wedding to the king of Ardena?”
“You don’t need to worry about her feelings,” she assured him. “She understands very well that duty must come before desire.”
“You seem certain of that,” he noted.
“Marissa understands the demands and responsibilities of your position. She will stand by your side when you need her there and remain in the background when you don’t.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted a wife who would be so docile and unassuming. He’d always admired women who had their own thoughts and ambitions, who challenged him to consider different ideas and perspectives, who were intelligent and strong and passionate. He wanted passion.
He wanted Juno.
He pushed the haunting memories of the previous night from his mind. He’d acted impulsively and recklessly, and he knew it couldn’t ever happen again. He was the king of Ardena now, and he needed to find a wife.
He, too, knew that duty must come before desire, and he accepted that there could be no more stolen moments with sexy strangers. So he directed his attention back to his hostess.
“When can I meet your daughter?” he asked.
The Princess Royal’s smile was smug. “She will join us for brunch.”

Chapter Four
When her mother scheduled brunch for one o’clock, Marissa knew that the meal would be on the table at one o’clock—the Princess Royal was absolutely unyielding when it came to maintaining her schedule. Marissa also knew that Elena would not be pleased by her daughter’s arrival at 1:08.
It wouldn’t matter that she had called as she was leaving the hospital to advise that she was running late. The Princess Royal was as intolerant of excuses as she was of tardiness.
Marissa realized her lateness wouldn’t score any points with the duke, either, but she was less concerned about him. Or maybe she was hoping that Anthony Volpini would be so annoyed by her delay that he would abandon all thoughts of marrying her. Buoyed by this thought, she practically skipped up the steps to her mother’s front door.
Edmond, her mother’s butler, had obviously been watching for her, because he opened the door before Marissa even had a chance to ring the bell.
“The Princess Royal and the king are in the dining room.”
She started to nod, accepting that her mother wouldn’t wait even eight minutes for an expected guest, then froze when the import of his words registered. “The king?”
“His Majesty, Dante Romero, King of Ardena,” Edmond announced formally.
“But I thought …”
It didn’t matter what she’d thought. Certainly her mother’s butler wasn’t interested in hearing about her mistaken assumptions. Marissa drew in a deep breath as she tried to consider the implications of this revelation, but she could only think, I’m going to meet the king of Ardena—a thought that made her heart beat hard and fast.
With excitement? Or apprehension? She honestly didn’t know because she didn’t know a lot about him. Although Dante Romero had been a favorite subject of many tabloids for a lot of years, Marissa had never paid much attention to those reports. But when he’d assumed the throne in February—after health issues forced his father to step down—it had become all but impossible to open up a newspaper or turn on a television and not see a photo or a video clip. And she had to admit, it was never a hardship to look at his picture.
But while the tabloids had loved him because the escapades of a playboy prince always generated good headlines, the legitimate press had been much more critical. Especially since he’d transitioned from “the Crown Prince of Ardena” to “His Majesty the King.” They criticized his experience, challenged his knowledge of laws and customs, and questioned his ability to relate to his subjects. But he’d apparently put in a lot of long hours and made a concerted effort to alleviate the concerns of his detractors, and if he’d made a few mistakes along the way, Marissa thought those mistakes only proved that even a king was human.
That thought helped steady her erratically beating heart.
Still, she wished her mother had given her some warning. But the Princess Royal always liked to have the upper hand, and she obviously had it now since she’d somehow convinced the king to come to Tesoro del Mar to meet her daughter.
Elena had commented often enough that a princess’s options for a good marriage were limited, and Marissa didn’t doubt that she would have happily given her consent to any noble who requested her daughter’s hand. But if Marissa somehow managed to snag the interest of a king …
Unfortunately, she knew that the king wasn’t really interested in her. How could he be when he’d never even met her? Besides, she wasn’t a cover model or a famous opera singer or a Hollywood starlet—and yes, the king had dated each of those and a lot more famous and beautiful women—but she was of noble birth. No, the reason for the king’s presence in Tesoro del Mar had nothing to do with her personally and everything to do with politics.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?”
“Actually, I’m famished,” she responded to the butler’s question.
He smiled. “Cook has kept your plate warm. I’ll make sure it’s brought in right away.”
“Thank you, Edmond.” Marissa smiled back, then hurried to the dining room, now twelve minutes late.
Dante recognized her the moment she walked through the door.
Although they’d never met, she looked just like she did in the photos he’d uncovered—and very much a princess.
She wasn’t the type of woman who would ordinarily attract his attention, even in a crowd of one, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t just looking for a wife for himself but a queen for his country. And there was no doubt that Princess Marissa had all the grace and poise required of a woman in that position. She also had excellent bone structure, flawless skin and long, dark hair that he thought might be more flattering if it was left loose to frame her face rather than scraped back into a tight knot at the base of her neck.
And though he would never claim to be an expert on fashion, he felt her wardrobe could use some work, too. In every picture he’d seen of her, she was wearing some shade of beige. The dress she was wearing today was no different. It was stylish enough, he imagined, but the boxy cut gave no hint of any feminine curves and the beige-and-white combination was beyond bland, making him wonder if she had some kind of moral objection to color.
He tucked away the thought and pushed back his chair when she stepped into the room. The movement caught her attention, and her gaze shifted in his direction.
Their eyes locked, and Dante was surprised to realize that her eyes weren’t brown, as he’d believed, but the color of amber, fringed by long, dark lashes.
The second surprise was the tightening in his gut, raw and purely sexual, and an inexplicable sense of recognition.
“Your Majesty,” she said, dipping into an elegant curtsy. “I apologize if I’ve kept you waiting.”
He bowed. “No apology is necessary,” he assured her, though the disapproval in Elena’s gaze warned that she did not agree. “I’m just pleased that you are able to join us.”
The princess lowered herself into the chair that the butler held for her. As soon as she was seated, a server appeared with her plate.
“The king was telling me about the sights he’d like to see while he’s in Tesoro del Mar,” Elena said to her daughter.
Her intention might have been to simply make the princess aware of the topic of conversation, but the subtle edge in her voice gave Dante the impression that Elena was making a point about her daughter’s tardiness rather than the current discussion.
Marissa’s only response was to ask him, “Are you here on vacation, Your Majesty?”
“This trip is a combination of business and pleasure,” he told her. “Although I’m hoping it will be less of the former and more of the latter.”
“And are you enjoying yourself so far?” She picked up her knife and fork and sliced off the end of a crepe.
“Always,” he assured her. “It is a beautiful country—in many ways so much like my own, and in many ways different.”
“I’ve never been to Ardena,” the princess admitted.
“Then you should definitely visit,” he said. “And when you do, I’d be honored to have you stay at the palace as my guest.”
“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” the Princess Royal declared.
Marissa’s smile was much more tentative than her mother’s response.
“In the meantime,” Dante continued, “I was hoping you might have some time tomorrow afternoon to attend the hot-air-balloon festival at Falcon Ridge with me.”
“I appreciate the invitation,” the princess said graciously, “but I have plans with my niece tomorrow.”
Elena’s eyes were frigid when she looked across the table at her daughter. “King Dante has invited you to spend the day with him,” she admonished.
Marissa met her mother’s gaze evenly, suggesting to Dante that she might not be as docile and dutiful as the Princess Royal had implied—a possibility that intrigued him.
He’d never felt the need to surround himself with people who would agree with his every word and deed, and he’d never enjoyed being with a woman who couldn’t express her own thoughts and feelings. He was pleased by this evidence that the Princess Royal’s daughter would not be one of them.
“And I have a previous commitment,” Marissa pointed out to her mother.
“Which I wouldn’t expect you to break,” he assured her. “But maybe your niece would enjoy attending the festival with us.”
Marissa’s attention shifted back to him, revealing both surprise and suspicion. But when she spoke, her voice was carefully neutral. “That sounds like fun—if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind spending the afternoon with a five-year-old.”
“I’m sure it will be my pleasure,” he countered.
Apparently satisfied with the progress that had been made, the Princess Royal monopolized the rest of the conversation as they finished brunch. Marissa managed to eat a few bites of crepe and a couple of pieces of fruit, but her stomach was too tied up in knots to attempt any more than that. She didn’t doubt for a minute that her mother had been the one to set up this meeting with the sole purpose of putting Marissa on display in front of the king, but the fact that he was here, having brunch in Elena’s dining room, proved that he was at least considering the potential benefits of a union between their families.

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