A Bride For The Playboy Prince: The perfect royal romance to celebrate Harry and Meghan’s wedding

About the Authors

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring often stubborn but always to die for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

SANDRA MARTON wrote her first novel while she was still in primary school. Her doting parents told her she’d be a writer some day, and Sandra believed them. She wrote a novel, her very first, and sold it to Mills & Boon Modern Romance. Since then she’s written more than sixty books, all of them featuring sexy, gorgeous, larger-than-life heroes. A four-time RITA® award finalist, she’s also received five Romantic Times magazine awards, and has been honoured with RT’s Career Achievement Award for Series Romance. Sandra lives with her very own sexy, gorgeous, larger-than-life hero in a sun-filled house on a quiet country lane in the north-eastern United States.

MAISEY YATES is a New York Times bestselling author of more than fifty romance novels, including the Copper Ridge and brand new Gold Valley series. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking and a slight Pinterest addiction (those half-naked men are for research, she swears). She lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, online shopping for shoes and probably not doing dishes.

A Bride for the Playboy Prince

Crowned for the Prince’s Heir

Sharon Kendrick

The Ice Prince

Sandra Marton

At His Majesty’s Request

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08511-3

A BRIDE FOR THE PLAYBOY PRINCE

Crowned for the Prince’s Heir © 2016 Sharon Kendrick The Ice Prince © 2011 Sandra Marton At His Majesty’s Request © 2012 Maisey Yates

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2018-06-20

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Crowned for the Prince’s Heir

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

The Ice Prince

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

At His Majesty’s Request

Back Cover Text

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

About the Publisher

Crowned for the Prince’s Heir

Sharon Kendrick

The secret she kept from the prince...

Dress designer Lisa Bailey reluctantly broke off her relationship with Luc, knowing an affair with the prince had no future. But one last stolen encounter left her quaking with passion, drenched in desire and unexpectedly pregnant!

Months later, Prince Luciano Leonides of Mardovia is on the brink of the perfect political marriage when a news article shows Lisa with an obvious bump! His baby. With Mardovian royal blood. Now he must claim his heir at any cost. She may be an unsuitable bride but she will become his queen!

When one night...leads to pregnancy!

With special thanks to a dear friend - the wildly talented and inspirational Stewart Parvin – who designs amazing clothes and wedding dresses for discerning royals and women everywhere!

CHAPTER ONE

THE NAME LOOMED up in front of him and on the back seat of the limousine, Luc’s powerful body tensed. He knew what he ought to do. Ignore it. Drive on without a backward glance. Forget the past and accept the future which was waiting for him. But the dark voice of his conscience was forgotten as he leaned forward to speak to his driver, because sometimes curiosity was just too damned strong to resist.

‘Stop the car,’ he ordered harshly.

The car slid to a halt in the quiet street of London’s Belgravia, a street full of unusual restaurants and tasteful shops. But only one of these caught his eye—which was surprising, since Luciano wasn’t the kind of man who had ever featured shopping as a hobby. He didn’t need to. Even the expensive baubles discreetly bought as compensatory keepsakes for departing lovers were purchased on his behalf by one of his many staff.

But there had been no purchase of baubles for quite a while now and no heartbroken lovers to pacify. He had recently undertaken two long years of celibacy—not exactly happily, but because he’d recognised it was something he needed to do. And he had risen to the challenge. His mouth hardened at the unintended pun. He had channelled his considerable energies into his work. He had worn out his hard body with exercise. His mind had been clear, strong and focussed—yet he wondered where that focus was now as he read the two words scrolled in fancy letters above the shop across the street.

Lisa Bailey.

He could feel the sudden throbbing of his groin as her name whispered into his memory just as her soft voice had once whispered urgent little entreaties into his ear as he drove deep inside her. Lisa Bailey. The hottest lover he’d ever known. The talented designer with the unblinking gaze. The tumble-haired temptress with the delicious curves.

And the only woman to kick him out of her bed.

Luc shifted in his seat, locked in an uncharacteristic moment of indecision because ex-lovers had the potential to be complicated—and complications he didn’t need right now. He should tap on the glass and tell his chauffeur to drive on. Continue the journey to his embassy and deal with any last-minute queries before he returned to his island home after the wedding. He thought about what awaited him in Mardovia, and a sudden stillness settled over him. He had a duty to fulfil, or a burden to carry. It all depended which way you looked at it, and if he preferred to look for the positive rather than the negative—who could blame him?

His gaze returned to the shop front, and it was then that he saw her walking across the showroom and the pounding in his heart increased as he glimpsed the tumble of her curls. She turned slightly—showcasing the swell of her magnificent breasts. Lust arrowed sharply down into his groin, and stayed there.

Lisa Bailey.

His eyes narrowed. It was strange to see her here in this expensive part of town—far away from the edgier area of London where their paths had first crossed, in the tiny studio where she had designed her dresses.

He told himself it didn’t matter why she was here because he didn’t care. Yet he was the one who had directed his driver to take this route, wasn’t he? And all because he’d heard some woman mention her name and had discovered that Lisa Bailey had come up in the world. His tongue snaked out over suddenly dry lips. What harm could it do to drop in and say hello, for old times’ sake? Wasn’t that what ex-lovers did? And wouldn’t it convince him—as if he needed any convincing—that he was over her?

‘Wait down the road a little,’ he told the driver, opening the door himself and stepping onto the pavement. A few discreet yards away, a second car containing his bodyguards had also stopped, but Luc gave an almost imperceptible signal to tell them to keep their distance.

The August sun was hot on his head and there wasn’t a whisper of wind in the leaves of the trees in the nearby square, despite the fact that it was getting on for five o’clock. The city had been caught up in a heatwave so fierce that news bulletins had been featuring clips of people frying eggs on the pavement and lying sprawled in the city’s parks in various states of undress. Luc was looking forward to getting back to the air-conditioned cool of his palace in Mardovia. There white doves cooed in the famous gardens and the scent of the roses was far sweeter than the clogging traffic fumes which surrounded him here in the city. If it hadn’t been for Conall Devlin’s wedding party this weekend then he might have taken an earlier flight. Back to begin the process of embracing his new future—which he intended to do with whole-hearted dedication.

He pushed open the shop door and there she was, crouched down beside a rail of dresses with a needle in her hand and a tape measure around her neck—worn in the same way as a doctor might wear a stethoscope.

‘Hello, Lisa,’ he said, his tongue curling around the words as once it had curled around the soft swell of her breasts.

* * *

Lisa glanced up and narrowed her eyes against the light and at first she didn’t recognise him. Maybe because he was the last person she was expecting to see, or maybe because she was tired and it was the end of a long day. A hot day at the end of August, with most people away on holiday and the city overrun by tourists who weren’t really interested in buying the kind of clothes she was selling.

She felt the clench of rising hope as the doorbell gave its silvery little tinkle and a tall figure momentarily blotted out the blaze of the summer sun as the man stepped inside. She was due to close soon—but what did that matter? If this was a customer then he could stay until midnight for all she cared! She would switch on her best smile and persuade him to buy an armful of silk dresses for his wife. As he moved towards her she got an overwhelming impression of power and sensuality, and she tried to keep the cynicism from her smile as it crossed her mind that a man like this was more likely to be buying for his mistress than his wife.

But then he said her name and she stiffened because nobody else had an accent quite like his. She could feel the painful squeeze of her heart and the sudden rush of heat to her breasts. The needle she was holding fell to the carpet and vaguely she found herself thinking that she never dropped a needle. But then the thought was gone and the only one left dominating her mind was the fact that Luc was standing in her shop. His full name was Prince Luciano Gabriel Leonidas—head of the ancient royal House of Sorrenzo and ruler of the island principality of Mardovia.

But Lisa hadn’t cared that he’d been a prince. She had known him simply as Luc. The man who had—unbelievably—become her lover. Who had introduced her to physical bliss and shown her that it had no limits. He’d made her feel things she’d never believed herself capable of feeling. Things she hadn’t wanted to feel if the truth was known—because with desire came fear. Fear of being hurt. Fear of being let down and betrayed as women so often were—and that had scared the life out of her. He’d told her he wasn’t looking for love or commitment and that had suited her just fine until she’d started to care for him.

She’d done her best to hide her growing feelings and had succeeded, until the day she’d realised she was fighting a losing battle with her heart. And that was when common sense had intervened and she had shrunk away from him—like someone picking up a pan to discover that the handle was burning hot. Telling him it was over hadn’t been easy—and neither had the sleepless nights which followed. But it was easier than getting her heart broken and she hadn’t once regretted her decision. Because men like Luc were dangerous—it was written into their DNA.

Her gaze flickered over him and immediately she became aware of the powerful sex appeal which surrounded him like an aura. His black hair was shorter than she remembered, but his eyes were just as blue. That brilliant sapphire blue—as inviting as a swimming pool on a hot day. Eyes you just wanted to dive straight into.

As always he looked immaculate. His handmade Italian suit was creaseless and his silk shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a tantalising triangle of silken skin. Lisa wished she didn’t feel so warm and uncomfortable. That she’d had a chance to brush her wayward curls or slick a little lipstick over lips which suddenly felt like parchment.

‘Luc,’ she said, and the name sounded so right—even though it was two years since she’d spoken it. Two long years since she’d gasped it out in delight as he’d filled her and her body had splintered into yet another helpless orgasm around his powerful thrust. ‘You’re...’ She swallowed. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see.’

He closed the shop door behind him and Lisa glanced over his shoulder, wondering where his bodyguards were. Lurking out of sight, probably. Trying to blend in to the upmarket location by peering into windows, or melting into the dark shadows of a shop doorway as they controlled access to their royal boss. And then she saw two low black cars with tinted windows parked further down the road and she was reminded of all the protocol which surrounded this charismatic man.

‘Am I?’ he questioned softly.

His voice was velvet and steel and Lisa felt a rush of desire which made her feel momentarily breathless. Against her lace brassiere her nipples hardened and her skin grew tight. She could feel the instant rush of heat to her sex. And it wasn’t fair. How did he manage to provoke that kind of reaction with just one look?

So stay calm. Act like he’s a customer. Maybe he was a customer—eager to commission one of her trademark silk dresses for one of his countless girlfriends. After all, wasn’t that how she’d met him, when he’d walked into her workroom near Borough Market and she hadn’t had a clue who he was? Her designs had just been taking off—mainly through word of mouth and thanks to a model who had worn one of her dresses to a film premiere. All sorts of people had started coming to see her, so it hadn’t been that surprising to see the imposing, raven-haired man with a beautiful blonde model on his arm.

She remembered the blonde trying to draw his attention to one of the embroidered cream gowns Lisa had been making at the time and which women sometimes wore as wedding dresses. And Lisa remembered looking up and witnessing the faint grimace on Luc’s face. Somehow she had understood that he was no stranger to the matrimonial intentions of women, and their eyes had met in a shared moment of unwilling complicity until she had looked away, feeling awkward and slightly flustered.

But something had happened in that split second of silent communication. Something she could never entirely understand. He had dumped the blonde soon afterwards and laid siege to Lisa—in a whirlwind of extravagant gestures and sheer determination to get her into his bed. He had turned all that blazing power on her and at first she’d thought she had been dreaming—especially when she’d discovered that he was a prince. But she hadn’t been dreaming. The amazing flowers which had started arriving daily at her workshop had borne testament to his wealth and his intentions. Lisa had tried to resist him—knowing she had no place at the side of someone like him. But it had turned out he hadn’t really wanted her by his side—he’d just wanted her writhing underneath him, or on top of him, or pushed up against a wall by him, and in the end she’d given in. Of course she had. She would have defied any woman to have held out against the potent attraction of the Mediterranean Prince.

They had dated—if you could call it that—for six weeks. Weeks which had whizzed by in a blur of sensuality. He’d never taken her to any of the glitzy functions featured on the stiff cards which had been stacked on the marble fireplace of his fancy house, which she had visited only once, under the cloak of darkness. He had been reluctant to be anywhere which didn’t have a nearby bed, but Lisa hadn’t cared. Because during those weeks he had taught her everything he knew about sex, which was considerable. She had never experienced anything like it—not before, and certainly not since.

The memory cleared as she realised that he was standing in her shop, still exuding that beguiling masculinity which made her want to go right over there and kiss him. And she couldn’t afford to think that way.

‘So you were just passing?’ she questioned politely as she bent and picked up her fallen needle.

‘Well, not exactly,’ he said. ‘I heard in a roundabout way that you’d moved premises and was interested to see how far up in the world you’ve come. And it seems like you’ve come a long way.’ His eyes glittered as he looked around. ‘This is quite some change of circumstance, Lisa.’

She smiled. ‘I know.’

‘So what prompted the transformation from edgy designer to becoming part of the establishment?’

Lisa kept her expression neutral as she met his curious gaze and even though she owed him no explanation, she found herself giving him one anyway. He probably wouldn’t leave until she told him and she wanted him to leave, because he was making her feel uncomfortable standing there, dominating her little shop. ‘I was selling stuff online and from my workshop—but it was too far out of the city centre to appeal to the kind of women who were buying my clothes.’

‘And?’

She shrugged. ‘And then when the opportunity came up to lease a shop in this area, I leapt at the chance.’ It had been a bad decision of course, although it had taken her a while to see that. She hadn’t realised that you should never take out an expensive lease unless you were confident you could meet the charges, and she’d chosen a backer who didn’t know a lot about the fashion industry. But she had been buoyed up and swept away on a wave of acclaim for her dresses—and had needed a new project to fill the void left in her heart after Luc had gone. And then when her sister had announced she was going to have a baby, Lisa’s desire to increase her income had become less of an ego-boosting career move and more of a necessity...

He was looking around the shop. ‘You’ve done well,’ he observed.

‘Yes. Very well.’ The lie slipped with practised ease from her tongue, but she justified it by telling herself that all she was doing was protecting herself, though she wasn’t quite sure from what. And everyone knew that if you talked yourself up, then people might start to believe in you. ‘So what can I do for you?’ She fixed him with her most dazzling smile. ‘You want to buy a dress?’

‘No, I don’t want to buy a dress.’

‘Oh?’ She felt the unsteady beat of her heart. ‘So?’

He glittered her a smile. ‘Why am I here?’

‘Well, yes.’

Why indeed? Luc studied her. To prove she meant nothing? That she was just some tousle-haired temptress who had made him unbelievably hot and horny—before she’d shown him the door.

But wasn’t that what rankled, even now? That she had walked away without a second glance—despite his expectation that she’d come crawling back to tell him she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. His pride had been wounded in a way it had never been wounded before, because no woman had ever rejected him—and his disbelief had quickly given way to frustration. With Lisa, he felt like a man who’d had his ice cream taken away from him with still half the cone left to lick.

As his gaze roved over her, the sheer individuality of her appearance hit him on a purely visceral level. He had dated some of the world’s most desirable women—beautiful women whose endlessly long legs gave him the height he preferred in his sexual partners. But Lisa was not tall. She was small, with deliciously full breasts which drew a man’s eyes to them no matter what she was wearing, or however much she tried to disguise them. She was none of the things he usually liked and yet there was something about her which he’d found irresistible, and he still couldn’t work out what that something was.

Today she was wearing a simple silk dress of her own design. The leafy colour emphasised the unusual green-gold of her eyes and fell to just above her bare knees. Her long, curly hair was caught in tortoiseshell clips at the sides, presumably in an attempt to tame the corkscrew curls. Yet no amount of taming could disguise the colour of her crowning glory—a rich, shiny caramel which always reminded him of hazelnut shells. A glossy tendril of it had escaped and was lying against her smooth skin.