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At His Majesty's Request
Maisey Yates


She might not be suitable for the throne…Matchmaker extraordinaire Jessica Carter arranges marriages that work. And that is exactly what Prince Drakos is looking for. The last thing he needs is someone as unsuitable as her…but none of the beautiful socialites paraded before him excite Stavros as Jessica does. But she can share his bed!Usually unchallenged, Stavros welcomes Jessica’s defiance – his fingers itch to lower her prickly façade and discover what lies beneath. Will Jessica agree to his final request? One month to exorcise their smouldering passion, before he marries someone fit to be his Queen…‘Maisey Yates is always fascinating to the last paragraph. Definitely recommended!’ – Polly, Events Coordinator, Derby












“You presented me with unacceptable candidates.”


“You really are being ridiculous. They weren’t unacceptable. What’s the problem? You didn’t find them attractive?”

“They were attractive. But I was not attracted to any of them.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is,” Stavros said, whirling around to face her. His dark gaze slid down to her breasts and her own followed.

Jessica looked back up at him. “Elaborate,” she said, teeth gritted.

“You expect that you can show up in that dress and I can focus on other women?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” She gripped the full tulle skirt reflexively.

“Other than the fact that you’re showing off much more of your breasts than any man could be expected to ignore? It also shows your legs.”

What he was saying felt far too good. She wanted to turn it over in her mind, to savor it. To pretend that it was for her and that it mattered. To bask in being seen as pretty instead of broken.




About the Author


Maisey Yates was an avid Mills & Boon


Modern


Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true.

Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, diaper-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.

Recent titles by the same author:

A GAME OF VOWS

A ROYAL WORLD APART* (#ulink_c2d7a3cf-c59f-5803-a45a-886d73360fee)

ONE NIGHT IN PARADISE

GIRL ON A DIAMOND PEDESTAL

* (#ulink_4731eab7-92ea-5357-8525-52d3f57319ae)linked to At His Majesty’s Request

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




At His Majesty’s Request


Maisey Yates






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




CHAPTER ONE


“THERE is a science to matching people.” Jessica Carter tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear and lifted her computer, a flat, all-in-one device shaped like a clipboard, so that it obscured her figure. Pity, Stavros was enjoying the look of her. Even if she was starch and pearls, rather than spandex and diamonds.

She continued, her eyes never leaving the screen. “A matching of social status, values, education and life experience is very important to creating a successful, enduring marriage. I think most match services realize that.” She paused and took a breath, pink lips parting slightly, her green eyes locking with his just for a moment before dropping back down. “However, I have taken things a step further. Matching is not just a science. It’s an art. The art is in the attraction, and it’s not to be underestimated.”

Prince Stavros Drakos, second son of the Kyonosian royal family, and named heir to the throne, leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. “I am not so much concerned about the art, Ms. Carter. The essentials are general compatibility and suitability for my country. Childbearing hips would help.”

Her pale cheeks flushed crimson, her lush mouth tightening. “Isn’t that what all men want?”

“I’m not sure. And frankly, I don’t care. Most men don’t have to consider the entire populace of their country when they go about selecting a wife.”

But it didn’t matter what most men did. He wasn’t most men. Ever since he’d been forced to step into the place of his older brother, he had been different. It didn’t matter what normal was, it didn’t matter what he wanted. All that mattered was that he be the best king possible for Kyonos.

His methods might be unorthodox, and they might grieve his father, but what he did, he did for the good of his people. It just wasn’t in his nature to be too traditional.

She blew out a breath. “Of course.” She smiled, bright and pristine, like a toothpaste commercial. She was so clean and polished she hardly seemed like a real woman, more like a throwback from a 1950s television show. In Technicolor. “I … Not that I’m complaining of course, but why exactly have you hired me to find you a wife? I’ve read the newspaper articles written about you and you seem perfectly able to attract women on all your own.”

“When I want to find a suit for an event, I hire I stylist. When I need to organize a party, I hire an events coordinator. Why should this be any different?”

She tilted her head to the side. Her hair was in a low, neat bun, her dress high-collared, buttoned up and belted at the waist. A place for everything and everything in its place. She all but begged to be disheveled.

Any other time, he might have done so.

“I see you have a … practical outlook on things,” she said.

“I have a country to run, I don’t have time to deal with peripherals.”

“I’ve compiled a list of candidates, to be refined, of course …”

He took the monitor from her hand and hit the home button, tapping a few icons and not managing to find a list. “What is this?”

She took the device back from him. “It’s a tablet computer. Shall I put that technologically savvy women need not apply?”

“Not necessary, but you can put down that women with smart mouths need not apply.”

Her full lips curved slightly. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

“No one has to keep me in line. I’m going to be king.” That hadn’t kept Xander in line. In fact, he’d pulled himself straight out of line and put Stavros in front. But Stavros wouldn’t falter. He wouldn’t quit.

One well-shaped eyebrow lifted upward. “Oh? Is that so.” She typed something on her onscreen keyboard.

“What? What did you write?”

“Strong tyrannical tendencies. A possible negative in social interactions, possible positive in BA.”

“BA?”

“Bedroom activities. It’s shorthand. Don’t dwell on it,” she said, her tone snappy. “I told you attraction is considered. That said, do you require a virgin bride, Prince Drakos?”

“Stavros will do, and no, I don’t.” He shouldn’t be surprised by her frankness. She had a reputation for being bold, brash even. She also had a reputation for setting up unions that had led to successful mergers and increased fortunes. She was a relationships strategist, more than a matchmaker, and he’d been assured that there was no one better. She knew the rules of society, knew the function a practical marriage served.

His marriage, and securing it, meant nothing to him personally, and being able to pawn off the legwork on Jessica Carter had been too good of an idea to pass up. And if the press happened to pick it up, all the better. He had a reputation for doing things differently. Doing things his way. Turning away from how his father had run the country.

And this was as far from something his father would do as he could think of.

“That’s good,” she said. “It’s always awkward to ask women to submit proof of sexual history.”

“Do you do that?”

“I have. Though not just women.”

“Who?” he asked.

“Ah, now, if I told you I would have to kill you. I operate on the basis of strict anonymity. Unless those involved are seeking publicity, I don’t talk about my clients.”

“But word does spread,” he said. He’d seen an old school friend three weeks earlier, and the smugness had practically been dripping from him as he stood there with his new fiancée. Oxford educated. And a model. She was everything he’d asked for. Beauty and brains. And who had accomplished the feat?

Jessica Carter.

The woman the media called the World’s Most Elite Matchmaker. She catered to billionaires. CEOs, tycoons. Royalty. And she was renowned for making matches that lasted.

That was what he needed. He’d given up on allowing himself any sort of personal interest in the selection of his bride ever since he’d discovered that it was likely he would be assuming the throne for his absentee brother. His wants didn’t matter. He needed a woman who could be a princess, an icon for his country, an aide to his rule. Aside from that, he had some of his own ideas. Someone beautiful, of course. Someone smart. Philanthropic. Fertile.

It shouldn’t be too hard to find.

“This isn’t just about me, Ms. Carter, this is about Kyonos. My family has seen too much tragedy, too much …

upheaval. I have to be the rock. I have to provide a solid foundation for my people to rest on, and establishing a solid marriage is essential to that plan.”

The death of his mother, nineteen years ago, had shaken his people to the core. The abandonment of his older brother, the rightful heir, had caused months of instability. Stocks had tanked, trade had stalled, the housing market going into a deep freeze.

Why had the future ruler really left? Would he truly abdicate? What secrets were the Drakos family guarding beneath that veneer of polish and old world sophistication?

He had been determined to undo all of the unrest brought about by his brother. And he had done it. He’d revitalized Thysius, the largest city on the island, with posh hotels and trendy boutiques. He’d brought in new revenue by having the seat of his corporation on the island, a country much too small to house companies the size of his, when the owner wasn’t the crown prince.

He’d done much to drag his country back from the brink. From the age of eighteen his entire life had altered so that it revolved around his homeland. He hadn’t had the luxury of being a boy. Hadn’t had the luxury of feeling fear or sadness. He’d learned early on that feeling had no place in his world. A ruler, an effective ruler, had to be above such things.

“I understand that this is a big deal,” she said. “Not just in terms of your country, but for you. She is going to be your wife.”

He shrugged. “An acquisition I’ve long known I would make.”

Jessica let out a long, slow breath. “Mr.…Prince Drakos, will you please stop being so candid? It’s remarkably hard to sell a man who clearly has no interest in romantic love.”

“Try this for a tagline—marry the jaded prince and receive a title, a small island, a castle and a tiara. That might make up for it.”

“Money can’t buy love.”

“Nice. Trite, overdone, possible copyrighted by The Beatles, but nice. You might consider tacking this onto the end—love doesn’t buy happiness.”

Something changed in Jessica’s eyes, a shard of ice in the deep green that had been warm a moment before. “That’s for damn sure, but we’re talking about putting together a sales pitch. And you aren’t helping.”

He shifted. “Can’t you put something in my file about my impeccable table manners?”

“I haven’t witnessed them, and I don’t lie. You’re my client, yes, but there is a pool of women I work with on a regular basis, and I have great loyalty to them.”

It was intriguing. The way she flashed hot and cold. The way she presented herself, nearly demure, and then she opened that mouth. And such a lovely mouth, too. She was holding it tight. What would it take to make it soften?

The idea made his stomach tighten.

“And you think one of them is my queen?”

“If she isn’t, I’ll walk through all of Europe beating gold-plated bushes until a member of minor nobility falls out. I won’t stop until we get this settled.”

“You are supposed to be the best. You did manage to get a confirmed bachelor friend of mine to settle down.”

“That’s because, in my business, there’s no settling. It’s all about making the best match possible,” she said brightly.

“Somehow, I do not share your enthusiasm.”

“That’s okay, I have enough for both of us. Now …” She looked back down at her tablet computer. “Your sister’s wedding is in just a couple of weeks, and I don’t want you going with a date, are we clear?”

He frowned. “I wouldn’t have brought a date to a wedding.”

Weddings were where one picked up women; he didn’t see the point of bringing one with him. The thought reminded him that it had been a very, very long time since he’d picked up a woman.

“And no leaving with any of the bridesmaids,” she added. “You have to be seen as available, approachable and, oh yes, available.”

“You said that already.”

“It’s important. Obviously, we don’t want to put out a call for all eligible women in the kingdom to show up, so we need to go about this subtly.”

He frowned. “Why aren’t we putting out a call for all eligible women?”

“Look, Prince Charming, unless you want to put a glass slipper on a whole bunch of sweaty feet, you do this my way. That means you behave how I tell you to at Princess Evangelina’s wedding.”

“I wouldn’t have picked up a bridesmaid. My sister’s friends are far too young to interest me,” he said.

“Ah … so you have an age range,” she said, perking up. “That’s important.”

“Yes, no one as young as Evangelina. I’d say twenty-three at youngest. A ten-year age difference isn’t so bad. Maybe cap it at twenty-eight.”

She frowned. “Oh. All right.” She looked down at her computer, then up, then back down again, her mouth twitching, like she was chewing on something. Her words, he imagined. She looked up at him again. “Why, exactly, is anyone older than twenty-eight too old?”

“I need a wife who can have children. Preferably a few of them. Any older and …”

“Right,” she snapped, directing her focus downward again.

“If I ask you how old you are I’ll only make this worse, won’t I?” he asked dryly.

“I have no problem with my age, Prince Stavros, I’m thirty. Not that it’s your business.”

“It’s not personal.”

“I get it,” she said. “And I’m not applying anyway.”

“A pity,” he said, noticing the way color bled into her cheeks.

Jessica set her iPad on the ornately carved table to her right and put her hands in her lap, trying like crazy to stop the slight tremble in her fingers. She was saying all the wrong things. Letting her mouth run away with her. Not a huge surprise since she tended to get prickly when she got nervous.

She’d managed to make that little quirk work for her over the years. People found her bold approach refreshing. And that suited her, since it enabled her to keep all shields up and locked, fully protecting her from people getting too close. Without showing vulnerability.

And now, with Prince Stavros Drakos, was not the time to let her guard down. No, most especially not with him.

“I’ve managed to finagle three wedding invitations,” she said. “They will go to three girls that you and I will work at selecting sometime this week. At the wedding, you will speak to them for twenty minutes apiece, no more. And after that, I want you to pick one to advance to a higher tier. I’ve made a list of questions for you to consider asking.”

“I’m not even getting a full date?” he asked, dark eyebrows lifting.

She shifted in her chair. He was so sexy it was unnerving. Because his aesthetic appeal couldn’t be observed in the cool detached manner she might use to look at a nice piece of art. That was the way she’d been looking at men for the past few years. As lovely objects, nice to behold, but nothing that invoked feeling.

She’d let that part of herself go and she hadn’t missed it. Until now.

Stavros … well, he made a spark catch in her belly. One that had been entirely absent for so long now she’d thought it had gone out permanently. It was a disastrous realization.

She stood up and took a step away from him, hoping distance would bring clarity. Or at least control over her body.

“You don’t need a full date. Not at this stage. I’ve picked out a few candidates based on what we talked about over the phone. And now I’ve refined some of that, and I’ve got a number of women I’d like for you to have an initial meet with. You’ve been matched with them based heavily on compatibility. The kind we can establish from forms, anyway. Attraction,” she said, the word sticking in her throat for some reason, “is actually one of the simpler parts of this stage. But it’s not simple, not … not really.” She felt her stomach tighten. The way Stavros was looking at her was intense, his brown eyes locked with hers. He was gorgeous.

It was sort of ridiculous how hot he was. It was as if he’d splashed around in the finest end of the gene pool, only collecting the good, the bad rolling right off. Square jaw, straight, proud nose and his lips … they changed a lot. Firm and unyielding sometimes. And other times, when he smiled, they looked soft. Soft and … kissable.

She swallowed and tried not to think about how very long it had been since she’d been kissed. She tried even harder to stop thinking about kissing Stavros’s lips.

“Anyway,” she said, breathing in deeply. She knew what to say next, knew her system by heart. She could explain it in her sleep. And she could take a few more steps away from him while she did it. “We start with that base attraction. What I call ‘lightning bolt’ attraction—” like the kind she’d felt when she’d walked into Stavros’s office this morning “—or what many confuse with love at first sight. You’ll feel a stronger pull of that immediate attraction to at least one of the women at the wedding. As we go on, we’ll try and figure out which woman you feel a more lasting attraction for. But that’s a different phase of the program.”

“And you’re accusing me of lacking in romance. You have this all worked out to a cold, calculated system. I’m not complaining, but let’s be … what was the word you used? Candid. Let’s be candid, you and I.” A smile curved his lips and he rose from his desk, slowly rounding it. “You’re no more romantic than I am.”

His voice was like warm butter. It flowed over her body, so good, and so very, very bad for her. She cleared her throat. And took a step back. “All right, I’m not a romantic. Not really. I mean I was, at one time. But not so much now. What is romance? Warm fuzzies and the unrealistic ideals we project onto others when we’re first beginning a relationship. Romance is an illusion. That’s why I believe in matching people based on something concrete. From these basic principles, love can grow. And when the foundation is solid, I believe love can be real and lasting. It’s when people go with that lightning attraction only, with nothing to back it up, that’s when you have problems.”

He lifted his arm and ran his hand over his hair, the action stretching his crisp dress shirt tight over his well-defined chest. She wondered what muscles of that caliber would feel like beneath her hands. She’d never touched a chest that looked quite like that.

Oh, dear. Wandering thoughts again. And redirecting …

“So, is that what you did?” he asked. “Follow one of those flash attractions, or whatever you call them, and have it end in disaster?”

She laughed and turned, hoping to look like she was starting to pace and not like she was trying to put space between them. “Something like that.” A lot more complicated than that, but she wasn’t about to get into it. “The point is, I know what works.”

“But you aren’t married.”

She stopped midstep, wobbling slightly on her sky-high stilettoes. “I’m happily divorced, as it happens.” Happily might be overselling it, but she was rightfully divorced, that was for sure. “I just celebrated my four-year anniversary of unwedded bliss.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And you still believe in marriage?”

“Yes. But the fact that my marriage didn’t work helps with what I’m doing. I understand what breaks things down. And I understand how to build a solid foundation. You’ve heard of the wise man who built his house on the rock, I assume?”

“It’s buried somewhere in the ether of my debauched mind. Memories of childhood Sunday school lurk there somewhere.” Oh, he did that charming, naughty smile far too well. It was no wonder he had a reputation as the kind of man who could meet a woman and have her taking her clothes off for him five minutes later.

She found her own hand wandering to the top button of her dress and she dropped it quickly, taking another defensive step back. He answered that move by taking three steps forward.

She cleared her throat. “Excellent, well, I’m helping you build a marriage on a rock, rather than sand.”

His eyebrows lifted, one side of his mouth quirking into a smile. He took another two steps toward her. “Different than a marriage on the rocks?”

She stepped back. “Much.”

“Well, that is good to know,” he said.

“You and I will work together to create a strong partnership, for you and your country,” she said, with all the confidence she could pull out of her gut. Confidence she didn’t really feel.

He closed the distance between them and she took another step in the opposite direction, her back connecting with the wall. She forced a smile, and a step toward him.

He held his hand out, so large and tan and masculine. She just stared at it for a moment, trying to remember what one was supposed to do when they were offered a hand.

Her brain jolted into gear and she stuck her hand out. He gripped it, heat engulfing her as his fingers made contact with her bare skin. She wished now that she’d worn her little white gloves with the pearls. She’d thought them a bit quirky for a business meeting, but the shield against his touch would have been nice.

She just hadn’t realized. Sure, she’d seen his picture, but a picture didn’t do justice to the man. He was broad, nearly a foot taller than her, and he smelled like heaven. Like clean skin laced with a trace of sandalwood.

He made her feel small and feminine. And like she was losing her mind.

She shook his hand once, then dropped her own back to her side, hiding it behind a fold in her full skirt as she clenched it into a fist, willing the burning sensation to ease.

“I’ll hold you to it, Ms. Carter. And I warn you, I can be a tough taskmaster.”

Her breath caught. “I’m … I can handle you.”

He chuckled, low and dark, like rich coffee. “We’ll see.”




CHAPTER TWO


“ARE you finding the accommodations to your satisfaction, Ms. Carter?”

Jessica whirled around, her heart thudding against her breastbone. Stavros was standing in the hallway of her hotel, a small smile on his face. “I … Yes, very. I didn’t expect to see you here. Today. Or ever.”

He looked around them, as though checking to see if he was in the right place. “This is one of my hotels.”

“Yes, I know, but I assumed …”

“You assumed that I had no real part in the running of my hotels, casinos, et cetera. But I do. In another life I might have been a businessman.” His tone took on a strange, hard tinge. “As it is, I divide my time between being a prince and running a corporation. Both are equally important.”

She tried to smile and took a step back. “So, to borrow a phrase … of all the hotels you own, on all the island, you walk into mine?”

His sensual lips curved upward. It was hard to call it a smile. “Oh, this was calculated, but I also had a business reason for coming by.”

Her stomach fluttered. Down, girl. What was wrong with her? A man hadn’t made a blip on her personal radar for a long, long time. And Stavros was a client.

Anyway, she wasn’t quite through licking her wounds.

The loss of her five-year marriage, and the circumstances surrounding it, had left her feeling far too bruised to jump back into dating. Which had been fine. She’d left her job, poured everything into starting her own company and perfecting her system of matchmaking.

Those who can’t do, teach, those who can’t find a match, match others.

That wasn’t true. She could find a match. Had found one, back when she’d believed in falling in love accidentally with the aid of some sort of magic that might make it stick. As if it were so simple.

And then life had taken her dreams, her hopes, her beliefs and feelings, and it had jumbled them all together until the wreckage was impossible to sift through.

Until it had been much easier to simply walk out of the room and close the door on the mess, than to try and find some sort of order again.

But her ex-husband had no business wiggling into her thoughts. Not now. Not ever, really. That was over. She’d changed.

Her job had always seemed important. At first, being a matchmaker had been all about indulging her romantic streak. She’d been in love with love. With the mystical quality she’d imagined it possessed.

She knew differently now. Knew that relationships were about more than a flutter in your stomach. Now her job seemed essential in new ways. To prove to herself that it could still be real. That people could get married and stay married.

It was almost funny. She created successful relationships, successful marriages. And she went to bed alone every night and tried not to dwell on her broken one.

She’d had mixed success with that. But she’d had phenomenal success with her business. And that was what she chose to focus on.

“All right, what was your reason?” she asked, taking another step back.

“First off, I had to speak to my manager about handling all of the incoming guests for Mak and Eva’s wedding. One of my gifts to them. Putting Mak’s family up in the hotel. He could do it himself, and he’s argued with me about it no end, but I’m insistent.”

“And you do get your way, don’t you?” she asked. She had a feeling he never heard the word no. That if a command was issued from his royal lips everyone in the vicinity hopped to obey him. It wasn’t that he had the manner of a tyrant, but that he had such a presence, a charisma about him. People would do whatever it took to be in his sphere. To get a look from him, a smile.

He was dangerous.

“Always.” The liquid heat in his eyes poured into her, his husky smooth tone making her entire body feel like it was melting. She was pretty sure she was blushing.

Oh, yeah, dangerous didn’t even begin to cover it.

She cleared her throat, “And the other thing?”

“I came to get you. If you’re going to be aiding me in the selection of my future bride, you need to understand me. And in order to do that, you need to understand my country.”

“I’ve done plenty of research on Kyonos and …”

“No. You need to see my country. As I see it.”

She really didn’t relish the idea of spending more time with him. Because it wasn’t really her practice to buddy up to a client, though, knowing them was essential. But mostly because, between yesterday and today, the strange fluttery feeling in her stomach hadn’t gone away. The one that seemed to be caused by Stavros’s presence.

“Are you offering me a tour?” She should say no. Say she had paperwork. Something.

“Something like that.”

“All right.” She wasn’t quite sure how the agreement slipped out, but it had.

Well, it was best to agree with the one who was signing one’s very large check when all was said and done with the marriage business. Yes. Yes, it was the done thing. So she really had no choice but to spend all day in his presence. No choice at all.

“Great. Do you need to get anything?”

“I was ready to go and have some lunch, so I think I’m all set.” Her cherry-red pumps weren’t the best choice for walking, but she’d packed some black ballet flats in her bag for emergencies. And anyway, they were amazing shoes and worth a little discomfort.

His eyes swept her up and down, a lift in his brow.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“What?” she repeated.

He turned and started walking down the hall and she clacked after him. “Why did you look at me like that?” she asked.

“Do you always dress like this?”

She looked down at her dress. White with black polka dots, a red, patent leather belt at the waist. It was one of her favorites, especially with the shoes and her bright red bag. “Like what?”

“Like you just stepped off the set of a black-and-white film.”

“Oh. Yes. I like vintage. It’s a hobby of mine.” One her new financial injection allowed her to indulge in in a very serious way. Her bed might be empty, but her closet was full.

“How do clothes become a … hobby?”

“Because you can’t just buy clothes like this. Well, you can, but they’re reproductions. Which is fine, and I have my share, but to actually get a hold of real vintage stuff is like a game sometimes. I haunt online auctions, charity shops, yard sales. Then there’s having them altered.”

“Sounds like a lot of trouble for secondhand clothes.”

“Possibly fourth-or fifthhand clothes,” she said cheerfully. “But I love the history of it. Plus, they just don’t make dresses like this anymore.”

“No, indeed they don’t.”

She gritted her teeth. “I don’t care if you don’t like them. I do.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t.”

“Oh, the implication was all there.”

He paused, then looked hard at her, his expression scrutinizing. “You know I’m royalty, yes?”

She nodded once. “Yes.”

“And yet you still speak to me like this?”

She frowned, a slow trickle of horror filtering through her stomach. She wasn’t backing down now, though—pride prevented it. “Sorry, my mouth gets away from me. Sometimes I need someone to restrain me.”

He chuckled. “Ms. Carter, you have no idea how interesting that sounds.”

Oh, but she did. Especially with the wicked grin crossing his lips. And it had been a very, very long time since she’d been with a man.

Longer since she’d missed it. Longer still since she’d enjoyed it.

“Jessica,” she said, her dry throat keeping her from speaking in a voice that transcended a croak. “Just call me Jessica.” Because for some reason when he called her Ms. Carter in that sexy, sinful voice of his, that Greek accent adding an irresistible flavor, she pictured him calling her that in bed. And that was just naughty. Naughty and completely out of the blue.

She wasn’t interested in sex. Not the responsibility of it, not the repercussions of it. And not the pain that resulted from it.

“Jessica,” he said, slowly, like he was tasting it.

Well, that didn’t help, either.

“Prince Stavros?”

“Stavros. Please.”

Her heart pattered, a sort of irregular beat, like it had tripped. “I don’t assume you’re in the habit of asking commoners to call you by your first name?”

He shrugged. “Titles are fine. In many regards, they are necessary as they establish one’s place in society. I like them for negotiation, for the media. I don’t really like them in conversation.”

“All right then,” she said, “Stavros.” She put a lot of effort into the name, taking her time to savor the syllables, as he’d done to hers. She saw a flicker of heat in his dark eyes and fought to ignore an answering flame that ignited in her stomach.

“We’ll start here,” he said, indicating the halls of the hotel as he began to walk ahead. “This hotel, and many others like it, have been essential to my country. After the death of my mother, my father started neglecting the tourism industry. He neglected a great many things. I was fourteen at the time. My brother, the heir to the throne, was sixteen. He left a few years after that. It became clear that Xander was gone, and that we could not count on him to see to his duties.” Stavros didn’t bother to hide the hint of bitterness in his voice. “That started rumors of civil unrest. And of course tourists don’t want to be somewhere that could possibly be dangerous. As soon as I was able I did what I could to start a revival of the tourism industry. I went abroad for college, established contacts. I studied business, hospitality, economics. Whatever I thought might be helpful in getting my country back to where it needed to be.”

“You turned Kyonos into a business.”

“Essentially. But not for my own gain. For the gain of my people.”

“True,” she said, “but by all accounts you have gained quite a bit.”

“I have. I won’t lie. My own bank account is healthy, in part due to the fact that, at this point, the interest it’s collecting on a yearly basis is more than most people will see in a lifetime.” He turned to look at her. “Do you need my estimated net worth for your records so you can pass it on to the women you’re considering for me?”

“What? Oh, no. I think they’ll feel secure enough in your … assets. I doubt they’ll need anything so crass as actual net worth. A ballpark figure will do.”

“You’re very honest.”

“Yes, well.” She took in a deep breath and tried to ignore the tightening in her stomach. “Hiding from reality doesn’t fix anything.”

“No. It doesn’t,” he said.

She could tell, from the icy tone in his voice, the depth to each word, that he was speaking from experience. Just like her.

Interesting that she could fly halfway across the world and meet a prince who seemed to have more common ground with her than anyone in her real life did.

She had friends, at least, the ones Gil hadn’t gotten custody of after the divorce. But they were still married. They had children.

A hollow ache filled the empty space where her womb had been. The same one that had plagued her so many times before. When she saw babies. Small children on swings.

Women wiping chocolate stains off of their blouses. And sometimes, it happened for no reason at all. Like now.

“No, reality’s one bitch that’s pretty hard to ignore,” she said.

He chuckled, dark and without humor. “A very true statement. That’s why being proactive is important. Sometimes you get problems you didn’t make or ask for, but hiding doesn’t fix them.”

They stopped in front of an elevator and Stavros pushed the button. The gold doors slid open and they stepped inside. The trip down to the lobby was quick, and they breezed through the opulent room quickly, making their way to the front.

There was a limousine waiting for them, black and shiny. Formal. It didn’t fit with what she’d seen of Stavros so far. He didn’t seem like the type of man who would choose to ride in something so traditional.

He seemed to lurk around the edges of traditional, doing everything a man of his station must do, while keeping one toe firmly over the line of disreputable. It ought to make him obnoxious. It ought to make him less attractive. It didn’t.

He opened the door for her and they both slid inside. She sighed, grateful for the air-conditioning. Kyonos was beautiful, but if the breeze from the sea wasn’t moving inland it could be hotter than blazes for a girl from North Dakota.

As soon as they settled in and the limo was on the road, she turned to him. “So, why a limo?”

“It’s how things are done,” he said. He pushed on a panel and it popped open, revealing two bottles of beer on ice. “More or less.”

She laughed and held her hand out. “You’re about fifteen degrees off unexpected, aren’t you?”

He chuckled and handed her a bottle. “Am I?”

“Yes. Hiring a matchmaker to find you a wife and drinking beer in a limo. I’d say you’re not exactly what people expect in a prince.”

“There are protocols that must be observed, responsibilities that must handled. But there are other things that have a bit more leeway.”

“And you take it.”

He shrugged. “You have to take hold to the pleasures in life, right?”

“If by pleasures, you mean shoes, then yes.”

He laughed and took a bottle opener from a hook on the door and extended his hand, popping the top on the bottle for her. “A true gentleman,” she said. “And clearly a professional. Get a lot of practice in college?”

“Like most people.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“I did two years in the U.K., two in the U.S.”

She nodded. “You would be best suited to a woman who’s well traveled, who understands a variety of cultures. Probably someone multilingual.”

“Because I’m clearly so cultured?” he asked, raising his bottle. He relaxed his posture, his arm over draped over the back of his seat. There was something so inviting about the pose. The perfect spot for a partner to sit and snuggle against him …

She blinked. “Well, yes, you have to be able to communicate with your spouse. Connect with them on a cerebral level.”

“Most of the women I’ve dated have only connected with me on one level, but it’s a level I’ve found to be very important.” The suggestive tone of his voice left no doubt as to just what level he was referring to.

She cleared her throat and tried to banish the heat in her cheeks. For heaven’s sake. Talking about sex was normal in her job. It was part of the job, because it was part of relationships. It never made her … blush. She was actually blushing. Really and truly. Like a schoolgirl. Ridiculous.

After enough invasive doctor visits for three lifetimes she thought she’d lost the ability to do that years ago.

“And I consider that important, too,” she said, knowing she sounded stiff and a little bit prudish, and she absolutely wasn’t either thing, so she had no idea why. “But you will be expected to see each other outside of the bedroom.”

“Of course,” he said. “But as I said, I have my priorities. Even sexual attraction takes a backseat to a spotless reputation and the ability to produce heirs.”

“Right. And how do we establish for certain if she can … produce heirs?”

“Most women can, I assume.” He said it with such throwaway carelessness. As though the idea of a woman not being able to have children was almost ridiculous.

She pursed her lips. “And some can’t.” Why did the subject always make her feel sick? Why did it always make her feel like a failure?

Well, discussing the ability to bear children as an essential trait of a queen, a wife, was never going to be easy, no matter how much peace she imagined she’d made with her lot in life.

“As we get closer to choosing someone, we’ll have to undergo a medical screening.”

“You’ll be required to do the same,” she said.

“Will I?”

“Well, yes, I’m not allowing any of the women I might find for you to sleep with you until I establish that you have a clean bill of health.”

“You need me to get tested for STDs?”

“Yes. I do. You’re planning on having children with the woman who marries you, which means unprotected sex. And that means a risk to the health of your wife.”

“I assume the women will be undergoing the same tests?”

“All of the women who come to me, all of the women and men in my file, are required to submit those test results to me.”

“As it happens, I just got tested. Clean. You can have the results if you like.”

“I would like them. And I assume you won’t be taking on any more sexual partners while we undergo this process?” She felt her cheeks heating again. The topic of sex and Stavros, in the close proximity of the limo, was just a bit too much.

His eyes flickered over her, leaving heat behind. “Naturally not,” he said, the words coming slowly. Unconvincingly. “And I haven’t had one in quite a while.”

“Good. Also, you will not sleep with the women I introduce to you. They know the rules. I don’t allow sex between my clients.”

“You don’t?” he asked, an incredulous laugh in his voice.

“Not until a match is set and I’m not longer involved. Clearly, the relationship can still dissolve, but I’m not a pimp. I’m not prostituting anyone, and I’m not allowing them to prostitute themselves. This is about creating a relationship, a real lasting relationship, not about helping people hook up casually.”

“I suppose, running it as a business, you would have to be careful of that,” he said.

“Very. When I was starting the business I was really excited, and then I realized what it could quickly turn into if I didn’t lay the rules out. Men … well, and women … could use it to find suitable people to … use. And that’s not what I want.”

“So, you’re not a big one for romance, and yet, this is what you choose to do for a living? Why is that?”

She looked out the window, at the crystalline sea and white sand blurring into a wash of color. “It was what I was doing anyway, though not on this level. But after … when I made some changes in life and started my own business, I knew that somehow … I knew relationships could work.”

“So you went looking for the formula.”

“Yes. And I don’t have the only method, though mine has proven highly successful, but I think the way I go about it works. It also helps to have a disinterested party involved who doesn’t have their heart in it. That’s me. I help people think things through rationally. I set rules so that physical lust doesn’t cloud everything else, doesn’t create a false euphoria.”

“And why don’t you apply it to yourself?”

She laughed. “Because. First of all, I can’t be my own disinterested party. Second, I don’t have the energy or the desire to do it again. I had one big white wedding and I do not intend to do it again.”

“Yet you watch other people do it. Get married, I mean.”

“Yes. But I find that it … helps. It’s restored my faith in humanity a little bit.”

The corner of his lip lifted in a sneer. “Was your ex that bad?”

She shook her head slowly. “Sometimes people change, and they change together. Sometimes one person changes. And the other person can’t handle it.”

It had been her. She’d changed. Her body had changed. And it had altered everything the marriage was built on. Their dreams for the future. It had been too much.

“You’re selling the institution so well,” he said dryly. He punched the intercom button on the limo divider. “Stop us at Gio’s.” He let up on the button.

“I’m not trying to sell you the institution. You have to get married.”

“True.”

“And most people who come to me want marriage, or need it for some reason. My personal story, just one of a sad, all too common statistic, will hardly dissuade them. And I’ll admit, most of them don’t bother to ask about my personal life.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said, as the limo slowed and turned onto a narrow road that wound up a hillside.

“Do you?”

“You’re interesting. Your clothes for example—interesting. The things that come out of your mouth, also interesting. You beg to have questions asked of you.”

“You would be in the minority in that opinion.”

“Again, I find it hard to believe.”

“I’m very boring. I have a house in North Dakota. I grew up there. Obviously, I don’t work with many billionaires, royalty or socialites in North Dakota. I do a lot of work online, and I travel a lot. I’d say my house is empty at least eight months out of the year. I live alone. Can’t have a cat because … well, the traveling. So that’s me.”

“You skipped a lot.”

“Did I?”

He leaned in, his head turned to the side. Sort of like how a man looked right before he kissed a woman. If she could even remember back that far, to when she’d experienced anything close to it. “You didn’t tell me why you’re so prickly.”

She leaned in a fraction. “And I don’t intend to. Stop flirting with me.”

“Am I flirting with you?”

“I think so.” If he wasn’t that was just too horrifying.

“I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

She swallowed. “Look, I know women melt at your feet and all, but I have a job to do, so best you leave me unmelted, okay?”

He leaned back, his lips curving into a smile. “But you’re in danger of melting.”

She was afraid she might be. “No. Sorry.”

He chuckled and settled back in his seat.

The limo stopped in front of a small, whitewashed building that was set into the side of a mountain. The building was tiny, but the deck was expansive, filled with round tables, most occupied by diners. The tables overlooked the beach, with strings of white lights running overhead.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded and put her beer in a cupholder. He got out of the car before her and opened her door. “Isn’t your driver supposed to do that?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I always open the door when I accompany a woman.”

“Another one for your file,” she said.

“I’m not sure whether I’m nervous or aroused at the talk of this file. Makes me feel like I’m in trouble, which leads to the same conflicting feelings.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, her stomach. “That’s inappropriate.”

“You’re the only one who can make jokes?”

“No … but I didn’t make any that were that bad.”

“BA? Bedroom Activities?”

“That was serious!” she sputtered as they walked into the restaurant.

“Prince Stavros.” A maître d’ walked to the door quickly, her willingness to serve the prince obvious, as was the blush staining her cheeks. “I wasn’t aware you were coming today.”

He winked. “I’m being spontaneous.”

“Of course,” the woman said. “Your usual table is available. Shall I bring you your usual dinner? For … two?”

Jessica opened her mouth to correct the woman’s assumption, but Stavros cut her off.

“That will do nicely. I can show us to my table.”

He led the way through the indoor dining area, and heads turned as they passed. Stavros had a sort of effortless charisma that poured from him, touching everyone who saw him. She could imagine, so easily, the kind of woman he would need.

One who could match his ease. His strength. Someone to create the perfect image for Kyonos. Someone to carry on the bloodline and keep it strong.

She swallowed a strange, unexpected lump in her throat.

They exited the dining room through two glass doors that led out to the deck. There were only a few scattered tables out there, each partly shrouded by draping fabric hung from a wooden frame built over the porch.

Stavros held her chair out for her and she sat, looking out at the view of the ocean, because it was much safer than looking at the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t sure why. She had meetings with male clients, and very often they were lunch or dinner meetings, in very nice restaurants.

But being with them didn’t evoke this same strange faux-date feel that being with Stavros did. It was that darned attraction.

She opened her purse and pulled out her iPad. “So, I know we were going to talk about specific women to have come to your sister’s wedding.”

“Were we? Now?” He curled his hands into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. It was hard for her to look away from his hands, from the obvious strain. His face remained passive, easy, but his manner betrayed him.

“Well, no, but I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow, so … no. But we can talk about it now. I’ve had a chance to think about what you’ve told me and I’ve been through my system. I also called two of the three women I’m thinking of and if you’re agreeable to them, they’re willing to come for consideration.”

“This is like an old-fashioned marriage mart.”

“Well, these sorts of marriages are,” she said. Strangely, she felt like comforting him. She didn’t know why. “Granted, you’re the first actual prince I’ve worked with. But I’ve dealt with lesser royals. Billionaires with an interest in preserving their fortunes. Women with family money who wanted an alliance with businessmen who could help them make the most of their assets. People have all kinds of reasons for choosing to go about things this way. Some of these women have money, but no title, while others have a title but are … low on funds.”

“Ah. A title, but no money and a need for a husband with wealth.”

“Some of them. Though this one …” She pulled up a picture of a smiling blonde. “Victoria Calder. She’s English, from a very well-to-do family. She’s not titled but she’s wealthy. She’s been to the best schools. She has her own money and she donates a lot of it to charities. As far as my research has taken me, and it took me to the far and seedy recesses of the internet, her reputation is as spotless as a sacrificial lamb. So if a prominent title isn’t important …”

“As long as you think she would be suitable to the position, she can be considered.”

“So basically fertile and scandal-free. And able to handle public appearances with grace and poise, of course.”

Stavros took the tablet from Jessica’s hand and looked at the photo of the woman on the screen. She was beautiful. More than beautiful, really. He couldn’t find fault with her features. A small, pert nose, pretty, well-shaped lips, rosy cheeks, pale blue eyes.

Yet she did nothing for him. She didn’t stir his blood. She didn’t interest him. More than that, just looking at her made his throat feel like it was tightening. The impression of a noose.

He preferred Jessica’s face. Her longer nose, fuller lips, cat green eyes that tilted at the corners. And her figure … she was like a pin-up girl.

He wondered, not too briefly, if she favored old-fashioned undergarments to go with her vintage dresses. Stockings and garters.

That caused a surge of blood to pump south of his belt. She was a distraction. A temptation. A welcome one, in many ways.

“Yes.” He shouldn’t be allowing distraction now. He had to focus on finding his bride.

Though, Ms. Jessica Carter would make an intriguing lover. She was all soft curves and pale skin. But her eyes … they showed a fire he imagined she set free in the bedroom. She was spicy, her tongue always ready to flay the skin cleanly off the bone if necessary.

Just as she’d pronounced his commanding personality a plus in bedroom activities, he imagined her sharp mind and bold tongue would earn her points in her own BA category.

It would be so sweet. So good. And a welcome distraction from the marriage talk.

“Anyway,” Jessica continued, pulling him from his fantasy, “she’s one I would like to invite to your sister’s wedding.”

“And she’s aware of just what she’ll be invited for?”

Jessica nodded. “Yes. All of the women I’m working with have come to me, seeking out husbands that are suitable to their backgrounds and financial level, just the same as you.”

“I see. So invariably my future wife will be after a title and wealth—” he looked at the photo of the blonde again “—just as I am.”

“Fair is fair. You both know just what you’re getting into. No false expectations. Not if I can help it.”

“No false expectations? Then can I assume you’re including a list of my faults in the file you’ll be sending on to the women involved?”

“Only if they make it past a certain point in the process. Discretion,” she said.

“Of course.” He looked at her face, illuminated and washed gold by the afternoon sun. She was beautiful. Not due to perfection of features, or from the expertly applied makeup, though. Her features were beautiful, and her makeup was expertly done. But it was something more. Something deeper.

She was captivating. Different.

Sexy.

His stomach tightened. “And the first wave of the process begins at my sister’s wedding.”

“That’s right. Is that okay? Or do you feel it will detract from—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted. It was strange to think of Evangelina married. To think of her as a woman rather than a little girl. “My sister is in love,” he said.

“That’s good. Since she’s getting married.”

He gave her a look. “But you know that’s not really how things work around here. Not necessarily.”

“True.”

“She was meant to marry for the good of Kyonos. She is marrying her bodyguard instead.”

“Are you angry about it?” she asked, her eyes meeting his, the glittering green light in them far too perceptive.

“Not in the least. Anger is a completely unproductive emotion.” As were most emotions. He’s witnessed it firsthand. He made sure he didn’t have time for them.

“But that leaves only you.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I can do it.”

“And your brother …”

“Might as well be dead. He doesn’t care for his country. He doesn’t care for his family, his people. He might as well have died with our mother.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue and he wished he had some ouzo to wash it out with. Bitterness wasn’t helpful, either.

As if on command, a waiter appeared with a tray, laden with food and drinks, and set them down on their table. Stavros took the drink first, while Jessica picked up a stuffed grape leaf and turned it in her fingers.

He took a quick hit of the strong alcohol. “I’m happy for Eva. And her husband does bring a lot to the country in terms of assets and security. Mak is a billionaire several times over. She’s hardly marrying beneath herself, even if he isn’t royalty.”

Beneath Stavros’s casual manner, Jessica could sense his dark mood. He was very good at playing smooth, very good at coming across as the genial prince. Ready to smile for a photograph. Never caught scowling by a scandal-hungry public, who would latch onto the salacious headline declaring one grumpy expression proof of some sort of national crisis.

And yet, she could feel that something wasn’t right. That there was something beneath it.

He was the last man standing. The anchor. How could he not feel it? Of course he would. His sister had abandoned her duty for love, his brother had abandoned it for selfish, personal pleasure. It was only Stavros now.

She felt added pressure. She couldn’t imagine that he didn’t.

“Well, we’ll find you a royal bride who suits the needs of Kyonos, and you, perfectly,” she said, injecting a confidence and enthusiasm into her voice she wasn’t sure she felt.

A half smile curved his lips, a shaft of sunlight hitting his face, that single moment displaying the breathtaking quality he possessed to its very best effect.

She certainly felt as if her breath had been taken. Ripped straight from her lungs. Why did he have to be so hot? More to the point, why did she have to suddenly care how hot he was?

She looked back down at her iPad, at the picture of Victoria Calder. And for the first time ever, she felt her stomach curl in with jealousy in connection with a client.

It was the first and last time it would happen. She couldn’t afford it. Not financially, and most especially not emotionally.

She’d already had everything drained from her in that department. She would never put herself through it again.




CHAPTER THREE


JESSICA tried not to die of despair as she watched one of her favorite potential brides, Dominique Lanphier, standing by the buffet table looking like a deer in the headlights. She was sort of fidgeting, looking as if she was ready to dart away from the table at a moment’s notice and grab Stavros from Corinthia, the petite redhead he was currently engaging in approved conversation with.

This wasn’t her best idea. She could see that now. It was just a pity she was realizing it far too late to change anything. Her prospective brides, normally so well-behaved, were a bit giddy over the chance to compete for a prince and all of the good manners that had been bred into them seemed to have been knocked from their heads the moment they’d entered the palace.

Jessica was sweating. Actually sweating. And trying not to look like anything more than a guest. Which, in the grand ballroom, filled to maximum capacity with nearly one thousand people, shouldn’t be too hard.

Victoria, her best hope for Stavros, had been unavailable for the wedding, which had forced her to bring in Dominique as a last-minute replacement. Something she was bitterly regretting.

“Just stay there,” she whispered, begging Dominique to go with the program, hoping the other woman would absorb the command from across the room.

It just seemed to be getting hotter in the ballroom now, and she could swear the sweetheart neckline of her flirty cocktail dress was about to slip and go from sexy to burlesque. And that would draw far more attention to herself than she wanted.

She gripped the sides of the bodice and tugged at it slightly. Feeling, for a moment, every inch the unsophisticated North Dakota girl she was on the inside. Feeling her persona start to slip.

No. You are not unsophisticated. You are a businesswoman. You are in a castle. Own your inner princess!

Yes. Inner princess. She was sure she had one of those.

She took a deep breath and felt a bit of her anxiety ease as Stavros checked his watch and disengaged Corinthia right on time. Any longer and there would be speculation. And now, he would go to the buffet and it would be Dominique’s turn.

This sort of brief, public meeting, was, in her experience, the perfect way to open. To see people interact in a social situation, to prevent a feeling of enhanced intimacy too quickly.

She had to remind herself of all the reasons it was a good idea now, since she was on the verge of panicking and eating her weight in wedding cake to try and stave off the anxiety. This was what she did. This was her one area of confidence, of expertise. And watching it go very much not according to plan was crazy-making.

The transition went smoothly and she watched Stavros engage Dominique in conversation. So casual it could have been accidental. He was good.

She watched as he leaned in, his body language indicating interest, the smile on his face warm. Genuine. Her throat tightened a bit, and cut off the flow of air entirely when he brushed Dominique’s arm with his hand.

Such a brief touch. And yet, it spoke of attraction.

He hadn’t touched her. Not more than a handshake. And that brief touch at the restaurant. She shouldn’t have a list of the times his skin had made contact with hers. It shouldn’t matter that he was touching someone else.

It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t. She was here to try and match him with one of these women. This choking jealousy had no place in it. Jealousy was an awful emotion. Consuming. It brought out the worst in people, in her particularly.

When she’d found out Gil was getting married again. When she’d found out his wife was pregnant.

A prickle of shame spread from her scalp through her body.

She shouldn’t be jealous of Gil’s wife. Of her ability to give birth. It was small and petty. If he couldn’t find happiness with her, he should be free to find it with someone else.

The thing that sucked was that he’d found the happiness she’d wanted. He’d been able to move on and get all of the hopes and dreams they’d built their marriage on. He’d been able to leave her.

She couldn’t leave herself.

Her body was her body. Her limitations wouldn’t change with a new partner. Moving on for her meant something very different than it had for her ex. Moving on meant rebuilding, finding new dreams. She was happy. She had a successful business. She was financially solvent and she was matchmaking for a prince, for heaven’s sake.

A prince she should have no feelings for at all. And certainly not any kind of longing type feelings.

Crazy was what it was. Crazy.

Stavros’s time with Dominique closed and he made a polite exit, not lingering for a moment longer. Which suggested he couldn’t have gotten too lost in her eyes or anything.

She should not feel satisfied by that.

She felt her stomach free-fall when Stavros changed course suddenly and started walking toward her. His movements easy, his manner approachable. And several people did approach him. He managed to make everyone feel he’d expended attention on them without actually taking much time, barely halting his movement. Every so often, his dark eyes would land on her, leaving her in no doubt that she was his destination.

And, well, he was a prince, and he was a client. So she wasn’t going to dodge him.

She stood, rooted to the spot, until Stavros stopped in front of her. “I’d love a word with you in private,” he said.

She looked around. “As long as we don’t draw attention. I’m hardly the most recognizable face in the world but …”

“Come,” he said. Taking her hand and striding toward the ballroom’s exit, his gait much more purposeful than it had been a moment ago.

She snagged a glass of champagne off of a passing waiter’s tray and followed him out. “Wait. I’m in heels,” she said, taking quick, tottering steps out into the corridor. She flashed a passing guest a smile and tried to match Stavros’s pace. “Hey, Tarzan. Me not Jane. You no drag me out by the hair.”

He ignored her, continuing to walk down the hall until he came to an ornate wood door that she recognized as the entrance to his office. She never would have found it by herself. Not in the maze of halls the Kyonosian palace boasted. He released her hand, entered in a code and pushed the door open. “Come in,” he said.

She shot him a look and walked into the room, wiping her hand on the tulle skirt of her gown, trying to get rid of the heated feeling that his touch had left behind. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, pushed her cleavage up into prominence, then thought better of it when she realized just how prominent it was.

She put her hands on her hips. “What’s up?”

“None of them were acceptable,” he said.

“None?”

“No.”

“But … but …” she sputtered. “What about Dominique? You touched her arm.”

He shrugged. “I know how to flirt.”

“Well, yeah, I know, I yelled at you for it a while back. But why flirt if you aren’t going to follow up?”

He frowned. “Did you just imply that I am a … tease?”

“Yeah. A marriage tease. Why feign interest if you don’t feel any?”

“I’m not seeking to hurt anyone’s feelings,” he said dryly. “I could hardly stand there and act bored. And anyway, that begs the question why you would send me such dull women.”

“Dull? Dominique is a beauty queen, Corinthia is a doctor, for heaven’s sake, and Samantha …”

“Had the most annoying laugh.”

“All right. Yes, her laugh is kind of annoying. But it’s sort of endearing.”

“No. It’s not.”

“You’re being unkind.”

“Maybe. But I don’t have forever to find a wife, and you were supposed to be the best.”

“I am,” she said. “I can find you a wife. Anyway, I didn’t think your personal preferences came into it.”

“I don’t want to be … irritated into an early grave by a woman who laughs at all my jokes, even when they aren’t funny, or by one who can’t seem to make conversation about anything other than the weather.”

“That’s called small talk. It’s how people get to know each other,” she said.

“Boring.” He waved a hand as if dismissing the concept. “Talk about world events. Something other than the ‘balmy evening.’”

“So marriage is more to you than you said. Glad to hear it.”

“I am not glad that you presented me with unacceptable candidates. This is not about … meaning, or emotions. This is about … I have to be able to stand the woman I marry.”

“You really are being ridiculous. They weren’t unacceptable. What’s the problem? You didn’t find them attractive?”

“They were attractive. But I was not attracted to any of them.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is,” he said, whirling around to face her. His dark gaze slid down to her breasts and her own followed.

She looked back up at him. “Elaborate,” she said, teeth gritted.

“You expect that you can show up in that dress, and I can focus on other women?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” She gripped the full, tulle skirt reflexively.

“Other than the fact that you’re showing off much more of your breasts than any straight man could be expected to ignore? It also shows your legs. This was a formal wedding. Every other woman, including the ones I was speaking to, had on long gowns. You … you …”

“This dress comes to my knees. And I didn’t realize you were a fourteen-year-old boy masquerading as a prince.”

The insult rolled off her tongue, because what he was saying felt far too good. She wanted to turn it over in her mind, to savor it. To pretend that it was for her and that it mattered. To bask in being seen as pretty instead of broken.

The thought made her so annoyed with herself she wanted to scream.

He took a step toward her, and she sucked in a breath, holding her ground. He leaned in, his face close to hers, dark eyes intense. “I can assure you, I am not a boy.”

She swallowed, fought the urge to put her hand on his cheek and see if the faint, dark shadow there was rough yet. “I believe it.”

“Then do not test me.” His eyes held hers, her heart threatening to beat clean through her chest. She pulled away, her breathing shallow.

Stavros turned away from her. She stood in the middle of his office as he paced, each movement languid and deadly. Her heart was pounding, her body shaking. She’d known that he couldn’t possibly be so easy, so relaxed. Beneath that charm lurked the soul of a predator. The deadliest sort, because he knew how to portray an air of complete and utter harmlessness.

Stavros Drakos was anything but harmless. How had she not seen it? How had she assumed he was all flirtation and ease?

And had he … had he really just confessed to finding her cleavage distracting? She looked down again and felt a small flush of pride creep into her cheeks. It had been a long time since she’d been able to feel anything overly positive in connection with her body.

It was nice to have a man look at her and simply see a woman.

It might be a facade, a trick, but it didn’t really matter. Stavros would never have to get closer. Would never have to know the truth, or deal with the fallout of it.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy it. Just for a moment.

“I wasn’t intending to,” she said.

He stopped moving. “You cannot be ignorant of how you look. You outshone the bride.”

She couldn’t believe that. Not seriously. Princess Evangelina was a great beauty. Olive skin, long dark hair and a slender figure. In her wedding gown, she was unsurpassable. Plus, the princess was only twenty-one. She didn’t have the years Jessica had on her body. Didn’t have the scars.

“I doubt that,” she said.

“My eyes were on you most of the time.”

Heat rushed up her neck and into her face, then spread down over her breasts. “We should not be having this conversation.”

“We should. Because if you’re going to be present at all of my meetings with potential fiancées, you need to dress more suitably.”

“I will dress how I please, Prince Stavros,” she said, feeling her hackles rise. She really didn’t do backed into a corner well, and, at the moment, she felt backed into a corner.

Stavros felt his pulse pounding in his neck, all of his blood rushing south of his belt. He’d been fighting to urge to go and pull Jessica into his arms and kiss her lips, kiss the swells of her breasts where they rose up over that gown. That ridiculous gown that made her look like every man’s midnight fantasy.

He’d tried to focus on the women, the bridal candidates. But they’d seemed … insipid. Young. They hadn’t interested him. They certainly hadn’t stirred his body. Not in the way Jessica did. And that was not part of tonight’s plan.




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