The Prince's Stolen Virgin

Awakened by his kiss...

Ordinary Briar Harcourt is horrified to discover her life is a lie—she is in fact a long-lost princess, sent into hiding to escape a forced marriage to a brutal king. But now his son, Prince Felipe, has found Briar and is determined to claim her as his bride!

Marriage to Briar will give Felipe the power he was born for: her compliance is nonnegotiable. But his searing, uncontrollable desire for her is unexpected...and he’ll use all his formidable charisma to seduce her into surrender!

“I just have to marry a monster.”

“There is that,” Felipe said, looking completely unfazed by the insult. “What sort of monster do you suppose I am, Princess?”

Briar couldn’t tell if he was asking the question with sincerity. She wasn’t sure she cared. But as she looked at him a picture began to form in her mind. His eyes were gold, glinting with heat and the possibility of a kind of cruelty she didn’t want to test. There was something sharp about him, whip-smart and deadly.

“A dragon. Clearly,” she said, not entirely sure why she had provided him with the answer.

“I suppose that makes you the damsel in distress,” he said.

“I’d like to think it makes me the knight.”

“Sorry, darling,” he said. “I kissed you awake not eight hours ago. That makes you the damsel.”

“If we’re going on fairy tales then that should make you Prince Charming, not the dragon.”

He chuckled. “Sadly this is real life, not a fairy tale. And very often the prince can be both.”

Three innocents encounter forbidden temptation in this enticing new fairy-tale trilogy by New York Times bestselling author Maisey Yates...

Once Upon a Seduction…

Belle, Briar and Charlotte have lived sheltered lives, far from temptation—but three billionaires are determined to claim them!

Belle has traded herself for her father’s freedom—but the dark-hearted prince keeping her prisoner threatens to unleash an unknown sensuality...

Meanwhile Briar awakens to find herself abducted by Prince Felipe—who blackmails her into becoming his royal bride...

And Charlotte is reunited with the billionaire who once climbed a tower to steal her innocence—and Rafe is about to discover the secret consequences!

Find out if these young women can tame their powerful men—and have their happily-ever-after!

The Prince’s Captive Virgin

June 2017

The Prince’s Stolen Virgin

August 2017

The Italian’s Pregnant Prisoner

October 2017

The Prince’s Stolen Virgin

Maisey Yates

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAISEY YATES is a New York Times bestselling author of more than fifty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: maiseyyates.com.

Books by Maisey Yates

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Carides’s Forgotten Wife

Bound to the Warrior King

His Diamond of Convenience

To Defy a Sheikh

One Night to Risk It All

Once Upon a Seduction...

The Prince’s Captive Virgin

The Billionaire’s Legacy

The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize

Heirs Before Vows

The Spaniard’s Pregnant Bride

The Prince’s Pregnant Mistress

The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin

One Night With Consequences

The Greek’s Nine-Month Redemption

Married for Amari’s Heir

Princes of Petras

A Christmas Vow of Seduction

The Queen’s New Year Secret

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

For my mom and dad, who read to me always, and made me fall in love with books—most especially fairy tales—from the beginning.

My favorite stories always ended with “they lived happily ever after.” And they still do.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Once Upon a Seduction…

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

Once upon a time...

BRIAR HARCOURT MOVED quickly down the street, wrapping her long wool coat more tightly around her as the autumn breeze blew down Madison Avenue and seemed to whip straight on through to her bones.

It was an unseasonably cold fall, not that she minded. She loved the city this time of year. But there was always a strange sense of loss and nostalgia that mixed with the crisp air, and it was difficult for her to figure out what it was.

It would hover there, on the edges of her consciousness, for just a moment. Then it would slip away, like a leaf on the wind.

It was something to do with her life before she’d come to New York; she knew that. But she’d only been three when she’d been adopted by her parents, and she didn’t remember her life before them. Not really. It was all impressions. Smells. Feelings. And a strange ache that settled low in her stomach.

Strange, because she loved her parents. And she loved her city. There shouldn’t be an ache. You couldn’t miss something you didn’t even remember.

And yet, sometimes, she did.

Briar paused for a moment, a strange prickling sensation crawling up the back of her neck. It wasn’t the cold. She was wearing a scarf. And anyway, it felt different. Different than anything she had ever experienced before.

She paused then turned around. The crowd behind her parted for a moment and she saw a man standing there. She knew, immediately, that he was the reason for the prickling sensation. He was looking at her. And when he saw that she was looking back, a slow smile spread over his face.

And it was like the sun had come out from behind the clouds.

He was beautiful. She could see that from here. Dark hair pushed back from his forehead, making him look carelessly windswept. There was dark stubble on his jaw, and something in his expression, in his eyes, that suggested he was privy to a host of secrets she could never hope to uncover.

He was... Well, he was a man. Nothing like the boys that she had been exposed to either at school or at various functions put on by her parents. Christmas parties at their town house, summer gatherings in the Hamptons.

He wouldn’t stumble around, bragging about conquests or his beer pong score. No, never. Of course, she also wouldn’t be allowed to talk to him.

To say that Dr. Robert Harcourt and his wife, Nell, were old-fashioned was an understatement. But then, she was their only child, and she had come to them late in life. Not only were they part of a different generation than many of her friends’ parents, they had always made it very clear that she was precious to them. An unexpected gift they had never hoped to receive.

That always made her smile. It made the ache go away.

It didn’t feel like a chore to do the best she could for them. To do her best to be a testament to all they’d put into raising her. She had always done her very best to make sure they were happy they’d made that decision. She’d tried—so very hard—to be the best she could be. To be perfect.

She had done her deportment lessons and her etiquette. Had done the debutante balls—even though it hadn’t appealed to her at all. She had gone to school close to home, had spent every weekend back with her parents so they wouldn’t worry. She’d never even considered rebelling. How could you rebel against people who had chosen you?

Except, right now, she felt a little bit like disregarding their concern. Like moving toward that man, who was still looking at her with those wicked eyes.

She blinked, and just as suddenly as he had appeared he was gone. Melted back into the crowd of black and gray coats. She felt an unaccountable sense of loss. A feeling that she had just missed something important. Something extraordinary.

You wouldn’t know if it could have been extraordinary. You’ve never even kissed a man.

No. A side effect of that overprotectiveness. But then, she had no desire to kiss Tommy Beer Pong or his league of idiot friends.

Tall, sophisticated-looking men on bustling streets were another matter. Apparently.

She blinked then turned back around, heading back in the direction she had originally been going. Not that she was in a hurry. She was on break from school, and spending the days wandering her parents’ town house wasn’t terribly appealing. So she had decided she was going to go to the Met today, because she never got tired of wandering those halls.

But suddenly, the Met, and all the art inside, seemed lackluster. At least, in view of the man she had just seen.

Ridiculous.

She shook her head and pressed on.

“Are you running away from me?”

She stopped, her heart slamming against her breastbone. Then she whirled around and nearly ran into the object of her thwarted feelings. “No,” she said, the word coming out on a breath.

“You seemed to be walking quickly, and with great purpose.”

Oh, his voice. He had an accent. Spanish, or something. Sexy and like the sort of thing her brain would weave out of thin air late at night when she was trying to sleep, concocting herself the perfect mystery dream date that she would likely never find.

He was even better-looking up close. Stunning, even. He smiled, revealing perfect teeth. And then, he relaxed his mouth. There was something even more compelling about that. About being able to examine the shape of his lips.

“I wasn’t,” she said. “I just...” Somebody bumped into her as they walked by quickly. “Well, I didn’t want to be in the way,” she said, gesturing after the person, as if to prove her point.

“Because you had stopped,” he pressed. “To look at me?”

“You were looking at me.”

“Surely you must be used to that.”

Hardly. At least, not in the way that he meant. Nobody likes to be different, and she was different in a great many ways. She was tall, first of all. Which was one refreshing thing about him. He was at least five inches taller than her height of five eleven, which was a rare and difficult thing to come across.

But yes, that was her. Tall. Skinny. All limbs. Plus, her hair was never going to fall in the effortless, silken waves most of her friends possessed. It took serious salon treatments to get it straight and she often questioned if it was worth it. Though, her mother insisted it was.

She was the opposite of the typical blonde beauty queen in her sorority or at any of the private schools she had attended growing up.

She stood out. And when you were a teenager, it was the last thing you wanted.

Though, now that she was in her early twenties, she was beginning to come to terms with herself. Her first instinct still wasn’t to assume someone was staring because they liked what they saw. No, she always assumed they were staring because she was out of place.

“Not especially,” she said, because it was honest.

“I don’t believe that,” he said. “You’re far too beautiful to walk around not having men snap their necks trying to get a look.”

Her face grew warm, her heart beginning to beat faster, harder. “I’m not really... I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

That earned her a chuckle. “Then perhaps we should make sure to become something other than strangers.”

She hesitated. “Briar. My name is Briar.”

A strange expression crosssed his face, though it was fleeting. “A nice name. Different.”

“I suppose it is.” She knew it was. Yet another thing that made her feel like she stood out.

“José,” he said, extending his hand.

She simply stared at it for a moment, as if she wasn’t quite sure what he intended her to do. But of course she did know. He wanted to shake her hand. That wasn’t weird. It was what people did when they met. She sucked in a sharp breath and allowed her fingers to meet his.

It was like she’d been hit by lightning. The electricity was so acute, so startling, that she immediately dropped his hand, taking a step back. She had never felt anything like that before in her life. And she didn’t know if she wanted to feel it again.

“I have to go.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, insistent.

“Yes. I do. I was on my way to... I was just going to...to a hair appointment.” A lie easily thought of because she’d just been pondering her hair. But she could hardly tell him she was going to the museum. He might offer to walk with her. Though she supposed he could offer to take her to a salon, too.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I have to go.” She turned away, walking away from him quickly.

“Wait! I don’t even know how to get in touch with you. At least give me your phone number.”

“I can’t.” For a whole variety of reasons, but mostly because of the tingling sensation that still lingered on her hand.

She turned again, taking too-long strides away from him.

“Wait!”

She didn’t. She kept on walking. And the last thing she saw was a bright yellow taxi barreling down on her.

* * *

Warmth flooded her. The strangest sensation assaulted her. Like she was being filled with oxygen, her extremities beginning to tingle. She felt disembodied, like she was floating in a dark space.

Except then it wasn’t so dark. There was light. Marble walls. White. With ornate golden details. It was so clear. A place she’d never seen before, and yet...she must have.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she felt like she was being brought back to herself.

First, she could wiggle her fingertips. And then, she became aware of other things. Of the source of the warmth.

Lips against hers. She was being kissed.

Her eyes fluttered open, and in that instant she recognized the dark head bent over hers.

The man from the street.

The street. She had been crossing the street.

Was she in the street still? She couldn’t remember leaving it. But she felt... Tied down.

She opened her eyes wider, looking around. There was a bright, fluorescent light directly above her, monitors all to her side. And she was tethered to something.

She curled her fingers into a fist and felt a sharp, stinging sensation.

She looked down at her arm and saw an IV.

And then, all her focus went straight back to the fact that she was still being kissed. In a hospital bed, presumably.

She put her hand up, her fingers brushing against his cheek, and then he pulled away.

“Querida, you’re awake.” He looked so relieved. Not like a stranger at all. But then, he was kissing her, which was also unlike a stranger.

“Yes. How long was I...? How long was I asleep?” She posed the question to the nurse that she noticed standing just behind him. It was weird that he had kissed her. And she was going to get to that in a moment. But first she was trying to get a handle on how disoriented she felt.

“You were unconscious. Only for an hour or so.”

“Oh.” She pushed down on the mattress, trying to sit up.

“Now be careful,” he said. “You might have a concussion.”

“What happened?”

“You crossed the street right in front of a taxi. I was unable to stop you.”

She vaguely remembered him calling after her, and her continuing to walk on. Feeling slightly frantic as she did. Logically, she knew that her parents were overprotective. She knew that they had been hypervigilant in instilling the concept of stranger danger to her, but she had taken it on board, even knowing that it was a little bit over the top.

They had told her that she had to be particularly careful because Robert was a high-profile physician who often worked with politicians and helped write legislation pertaining to the healthcare system, and that made him something of a target. She had to be extra vigilant because of that, and because of the fact that they were wealthy.

It had made her see the bogeyman in any overly friendly stranger on the street as a child, but she supposed it had kept her safe. Until she had met him and run out in front of a car.

Her parents. She wondered if anyone had called them. They wouldn’t be expecting her home until evening.

“Excuse me...” But the nurse had rushed out of the room, presumably to get a doctor? She didn’t know why the woman hadn’t stopped to check her vitals.

“My father is a doctor,” she said, looking back up at José. That was his name. That was what he had said his name was.

“That is good to know,” he said, a slight edge in his voice that she hadn’t heard earlier.

“If he hasn’t been called already, somebody should get in touch with him. He’s going to want input on my treatment.”

“I’m sorry,” José said, straightening.

Suddenly, his face looked different to her. Sharper, harder. Her heart thundered dully, a strange lick of fear moving through her body.

“You’re sorry about what?”

“It isn’t going to be possible for your father to have input on your treatment. Because you’re going to be moved.”

“I am?”

“Yes. It seems to me that you are stable, and that has been confirmed by my nurse.”

“Your nurse?”

He sighed heavily, lifting his hand and checking his watch. Then he adjusted the cuff on his jacket, the mannerism curt and officious. “Yes. My nurse,” he said, sounding exasperated as though he was explaining something to a small child. “You do not have to worry. You will be treated by my doctor once we arrive in Santa Milagro.”

“Where is that? I don’t understand.”

“You don’t know where Santa Milagro is? I do question the American school system in that case. It is truly a shame that you had to be brought up here, Talia.”

Something niggled at her, something strange and steep. As deep as those wistful feelings she often felt when the air began to cool. “My name isn’t Talia.”

“Right. Briar.” His smile took on a sardonic twist. “My mistake.”

“The fact that I don’t know where Santa Milagro is is not the biggest issue we have. The biggest issue is that I’m not going to see your doctor. You’re just a crazy man that I met on the street. For all I know you stole that coat—it is a really nice coat—and you’re actually an insane vagrant.”

“A vagrant? No. Insane? Well. That matter is fully up for debate. I won’t lie.”

“José—”

“My name isn’t José. I’m Prince Felipe Carrión de la Viña Cortez. And you, my dear Briar, are mine by rights. I have spent a great many years looking for you, and now I have finally found you. And you’re coming with me.”

CHAPTER TWO

PRINCE FELIPE CARRIÓN DE LA VIÑA CORTEZ had yet to lose sleep over any of his actions. As long as he steered clear of covert murders to further his political status, he was better than his father.

A low bar, certainly. But Felipe liked a low bar. They were so much easier to step over.

And while this might be the lowest he’d stooped, it was also going very well. Surely if he wasn’t supposed to have Princess Talia she wouldn’t have delivered herself quite so beautifully to him.

Well, the part where she was hit by a taxi was perhaps not ideal, but it had certainly made the second half of his scheme easier. Because she was now confined to a hospital bed, being wheeled through an empty corridor—something he was pleased he’d arranged, because she was yelling for help, and it was much nicer to not have to deal with anyone trying to come to her aid—and he was going to have her undergo a quick check by a privately hired physician before having her loaded onto the plane.

He was covering all his bases, and truly, being quite generous.

Though he supposed the kiss hadn’t been wholly necessary. But remembering the way she had jolted when she’d seen him on the street, he had wondered. Wondered if there was enough electricity between them to shock her awake.

It had worked, apparently.

Other men might feel some guilt over kissing an unconscious woman. Not this man.

Not with this woman.

She was owed to him. Owed to Santa Milagro. She should be thankful that he was the one who had found her. Had it been his father...

Well. Yet more reasons Felipe would be losing no sleep over this. Life with him would be a kindness by comparison.

Though it was clear to him that his princess did not see it now.

“Are you insane?” She was still shouting, and he was becoming bored with it.

“As previously mentioned, it is entirely possible that I’m crazy. However, hurling it around like an epithet is hardly going to help.”

She looked up at him, her dark eyes blazing, the confusion from earlier cleared from them. Even now—in a hospital gown—she was beautiful. Though her rich skin tone would be better served in golds, colors like gems. Not the sallow, white and blue cloth her slight curves were currently covered by.

No, he would see her dressed like a queen, which she soon would be. His queen. Once his father died and Felipe assumed the throne.

He had a feeling his father would be distinctly unhappy to know that Felipe had managed to track down the quarry his father had spent so many years searching for. Good thing the old bastard was bound to his bed.

Though, even if he was not, Felipe had the support of the people, and at this point, the support of the military. He supposed considering treason in the form of dispatching his own father was probably not the best course of action.

Though, if the old man was healthier, the likelihood of him considering it would be much higher.

There would be no need to do that. No. Instead, he would bring Talia back to the palace, and he would parade her before his father like a cat might deliver a bird to its master. Except the old king was not Felipe’s master. Not anymore.

He passed the nurse a large stack of US dollars after she helped load the princess into the back of the van he had hired. He would not be paying anyone with anything traceable. No. He wanted all of this to go off without a ripple in the media.

Until he decided to make the tidal wave.

This would be one of his grandest illusions, and he was a master of them. Sleight of hand and other trickery so that he would be consistently underestimated on the world stage. Because it suited him. It suited him endlessly.

Well, that wasn’t true. The end was coming.

Talia was a means to it.

“To the airport,” he said to his driver as the van was secured.

“The airport?” She was sounding quite shrill now.

“Well, we aren’t swimming to Santa Milagro. Not in your condition, anyway.”

“I am not going with you.”