From royally seduced...

To prisoner in paradise!

Prince Zakary allows himself no weaknesses. His kingdom paid the price of a ruler’s debauchery once before, but never again. The only threat to Zak’s ruthless self-control is his red-hot attraction to untouched heiress Violet! And when she’s transferred to his company, it’s not long before their unstoppable chemistry consumes them both—with lasting consequences!

To secure his legacy, Zak demands Violet meet him at the altar. And when she refuses? This powerful prince will keep Violet a willing captive on his private Caribbean island until she says, “I do!”

MAYA BLAKE’s hopes of becoming a writer were born when she picked up her first romance at thirteen. Little did she know her dream would come true! Does she still pinch herself every now and then to make sure it’s not a dream? Yes, she does! Feel free to pinch her, too, via Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads! Happy reading!

Also by Maya Blake

The Boss’s Nine-Month Negotiation

Pregnant at Acosta’s Demand

The Sultan Demands His Heir

His Mistress by Blackmail

Crown Prince’s Bought Bride

An Heir for the World’s Richest Man

Bound by the Desert King collection

Sheikh’s Pregnant Cinderella

Rival Brothers miniseries

A Deal with Alejandro

One Night with Gael

The Notorious Greek Billionaires miniseries

Claiming My Hidden Son

Bound by My Scandalous Pregnancy

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Kidnapped for His Royal Heir

Maya Blake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09810-6

KIDNAPPED FOR HIS ROYAL HEIR

© 2020 Maya Blake

Published in Great Britain 2020

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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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

VIOLET BARRINGHALL HELD the thick envelope in her hand, mutiny brimming in her heart. She managed to dredge up a thin smile for the smartly dressed courier before shutting her apartment door.

She knew its sender without peeking inside. Its weighted richness shrieked wealth, and its creamy, seamless perfection stressed its importance. The gold-embossed emblem on the top right-hand corner was distinctive enough without her years-long exposure to the family that bore it with centuries-old pride and unapologetic arrogance.

But more than that she encountered an even purer strain of that pride and arrogance on a daily basis in the form of His Royal Highness Prince Zakary Philippe Montegova—the sender of the envelope in her hand.

It wasn’t a highbrow invitation.

No, this was a summons.

She knew this because she’d been responsible for sending out those invitations for his latest fundraising event herself, in her role as his long-suffering dogsbody for the last twelve weeks.

Three months, and counting, of pure hell. Of relentless commands and impossible expectations of perfection from a man—no, a prince—who demanded the very best of himself and therefore of everyone else around him as well.

As Director of the House of Montegova Trust, a foundation that dealt with everything from managing Montegovan business interests abroad to charity and conservation work all over the world, the trust had gained international acclaim for the small but immensely wealthy Mediterranean kingdom.

Together with his brother, Crown Prince Remi Montegova, and their mother, the Queen, Zak had elevated the status of the kingdom to even greater heights since the untimely death of the King over a decade ago.

Where others would’ve grown content at achieving multi-billionaire status, unquestioning respect and reverence, and rested on their laurels, Zak was even more driven, his terrifying, breakneck work ethic inexhaustible. Heck, every facet of his life was lived in high octane.

Right down to the revolving-door speed of his personal liaisons.

Violet didn’t want to think about that. Right now, she’d give anything to completely erase Zak Montegova from her memory. At least for the next twelve hours.

But she couldn’t.

She’d committed to being at his beck and call. In fact, that clause was specifically stated in her contract with the trust. While she had several reservations about the man himself, she couldn’t forget that her degree in community development and her personal career ambition as a conservationist would be given a huge boost with a stint at the trust on her CV. It was why her deliberations about accepting the secondment offer in New York had been woefully short but immensely painful.

Because, aside from her grimace-inducing personal history with Zak, it directly played into her mother’s blatant and conniving plans.

Despite telling herself that incident was a thing of the past, Violet hadn’t been able to consign it to history. Like a recurring nightmare, it leapt to life and replayed in vivid Technicolor every time she was in Zak’s presence, which these days happened to be several hours of every day.

Three more months. A mere ninety-odd days. What could possibly go wrong?

Like an impossibly perfect spectre, his face loomed in her mind’s eye.

Formidable perfection. Insufferably handsome, with a royal swagger that shouted his awareness of his charisma. The raw prowess she’d heard whispers about long before she’d first encountered him.

Every dismissive word he’d thrown at her that day in her mother’s garden six years ago had been steeped in pure masculine arrogance. He’d carried that entitlement in his thick, broad shoulders and arrogant slant of his head as he’d walked away, secure in the knowledge that his manhood was assured, even worshipped by yet another woman, while he’d cruelly rebuffed the attention he’d garnered.

Violet’s face heated up at the memory. Her hand curled tighter around the envelope, one heartbeat away from crumpling the expensive paper. Slowly, she unclenched her fist, breathed deeply to restore her equilibrium. She wasn’t eighteen any more, hadn’t been for six long, tough years.

She’d had to grow up pretty damned fast shortly after that eye-opening party, thanks to an unexpected heart attack taking her father, and the discovery that the life of luxury they’d led had been lived on the back of a ruthlessly guarded facade of falsehoods, humiliating ingratiation and a blatant and ultimately futile exercise of robbing Peter to pay Paul.

The shocking revelation that the Earl and Countess Barringhall weren’t as esteemed or as wealthy as they’d led the world to believe, that they were in fact destitute to the point of bankruptcy, had become an open, humiliating secret. Even far away at university, Violet had been subjected to snide and cruel gossip, social media playing its part in serialising the true status of her family to the world.

It was why Violet had buried herself in her work at the International Conservation Trust. And when the opportunity came up to work away from Barringhall and her mother’s ever-increasing efforts to marry her off to someone socially advantageous, Violet had grabbed it with both hands and taken the position in Oxford.

But with senior positions in the field going to more experienced colleagues, not conservationists with less than two years’ experience, she’d known it was only prudent to redouble her efforts to accelerate her career path and put herself entirely out of her mother’s orbit.

She’d taken this job despite knowing her mother’s close friendship with the Queen of Montegova would be exploited to the utmost in her bid to marry her daughter off.

Violet had considered telling her mother not to bother because she wouldn’t succeed. Little did her mother know that Zak Montegova couldn’t have made his feelings for Violet any clearer than he had that night six years ago or during the last few weeks she’d been working alongside him.

To Zak, she barely existed.

So she didn’t understand why this envelope had been delivered here, now. After ten hours’ exposure to His Royal High-Handedness today, she’d hoped for a night’s reprieve before being subjected to his disturbing presence again.

Lips pressed together to hold her feelings inside, she slid a finger beneath the flap.

The note was brief. Succinct. Imperious.

My assistant has been taken ill. You will take her place in accompanying me to the Conservation Society fundraiser, which starts in an hour. A chauffeur is at your disposal.

Don’t let me down.

HRHZ

The inherent threat in those four final words had kept her awake for more nights in the past three months than anything else had done in her whole life.

That need for her to be exemplary in all things lest the stain of gossip, that underlying suspicion that she was a freeloader, a leech, because of her parents’ infamous misdeeds, attach itself to her. So far it’d proved an uphill battle, social media and her mother’s relentless pursuit of status playing their part in keeping the gossip mill alive and robust.

But she only needed to withstand this for a while longer, to earn her place in life through hard work and dedication to her chosen career. Prove sceptics like Zakary Montegova wrong. If that included stepping into his assistant’s shoes for one night...

She could gain invaluable experience from other conservationists attending the much-vaunted and anticipated event. So why were thoughts of Zak uppermost in her brain? Why was her heart hammering at the prospect of seeing him again?

She jumped when her phone rang from where it lay on the tiny console table next to the front door. Her Greenwich Village apartment was compact enough to cross in a handful of steps, although she suspected who it was before she reached for the phone. Sure enough, the cynical HRH she’d programmed into the contacts was displayed in green.

‘Hello?’

‘You have received my note, yes?’

She hated it that her fingers shook at the deep, faintly accented tones that blended Italian, French and Spanish in an enthralling mix that made up Montegova’s language and history.

‘Since you informed the courier to hand it over personally, no doubt you’ve been told exactly that. And good evening, to you too. Your Highness.’ She couldn’t stem the snippiness from her voice even as she grew irritated with herself for letting him get under her skin. For this heart-banging-against-ribs effect he so effortlessly commanded from her.

But hadn’t he done that to her since she’d first set eyes on him at twelve? Hadn’t she and her twin sister, Sage, watched him that first time from their bedroom window? Hadn’t Violet, freshly done with reading her favourite fairy tale, instantly placed herself in the Princess’s shoes, with Zakary Montegova in the leading role of Prince Charming, because in that seemingly serendipitous moment when he’d looked up and locked eyes with her, he’d been her every wish come to life? The answer to those desperate, seemingly futile prayers for deliverance from her parents’ endless arguments, the whispers and conversations that suddenly stopped when she and her sisters walked into the room, and their mother’s constant badgering about making strategic friendships?

She’d hated herself for that weak moment later, of course. Because books were books. Nothing in real life could mislead her into thinking she needed a boy...or man...to save her. That the answer to her self-worth lay in a prince whose gaze turned cool and dismissive as he stared at her from across the top of his perfectly polished sports car.

His Perfect Highness didn’t immediately respond to her snippiness now, and that drawn-out extra second tightened Violet’s already strung-out nerves. He’d always had a knack for making her feel self-conscious, even awkward once upon a time.

But only if you give him that power.

Where she would’ve rushed into further speech at twelve or eighteen, Violet forced herself to hold her tongue now. To wait him out. As if her heart wasn’t banging harder just from the sound of his voice. As if her palms weren’t growing clammy, reminding her how she’d ruffled him, for a very brief, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it instant, six years ago.

It was infuriating that her brain refused to let go of that moment, the scent and, sweet heaven, the taste of him still lingering, vivid and real and affecting, after all this time.

‘Personal dealings with couriers are outside my remit, so you’ll have to excuse my ignorance,’ Prince Zakary drawled, dragging her attention back to the present. Back to his exclusive importance. To the reminder that he dealt with heads of state and Fortune 500 CEOs, not the common working class. ‘But I’m pleased to note the urgency of the situation was relayed. I trust you’re ready?’

‘No, I’m not. I received the note five minutes ago. I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to wear yet.’

‘Think fast, then, Violet. I’ll be at your apartment in twenty minutes.’

‘What? You said I had an hour before your chauffeur fetched me.’

‘There’s been a change of plan, which necessitated this call. My foreign minister wishes to meet with me before the fundraiser starts.’

‘And what does that have to do with me?’

Again, he paused for an extra beat. ‘Since you’re acting as my assistant, your presence is also required at the meeting. Unless you feel you’re not up to the task...?’

That barely veiled insinuation stung.

‘Not that long ago I spent three weeks under an intense sun, with very little sleep, cleaning and tagging hundreds of birds after an oil tanker spilled its contents on the other side of the world, Your Highness. I’m sure I’m up to taking notes at a meeting. Unless you’ll be conducting it in something other than one of the five languages I speak fluently?’ That need to prove her worth to him, to ram her few but much prideful accomplishments down his throat, grated for a moment before she owned it.

She’d learned to her cost that timid didn’t work with Zak.

Anything other than toe-to-toe combat was just asking to be eaten alive and spat aside with singeing indifference. He responded to challenges, usually attempted by misguided fools who dared to say no to him. But occasionally it didn’t hurt to remind the man that simply because that word didn’t exist in his vocabulary, it didn’t mean she intended to gushingly enquire how high when he said jump.

‘I’m well aware of the contents of your résumé, Lady Barringhall. You don’t need to recite it to me, especially not when time is of the essence.’

‘Of course not. Your Highness. Just as I won’t remind you that you’re the one who called me. That you’re the one wasting time by keeping me on the phone when I could be getting dressed.’

‘Ah.’ His voice was a cool, deep exhalation. ‘I imagined you were an expert at multi-tasking. Since I don’t recall that listed as one of your accomplishments, I’ll have to make my own judgement on that score. You now have fifteen minutes, Lady Barringhall.’

The line went dead, and Violet couldn’t stop the uncouth word that erupted from her lips. That little catharsis freed a layer of tension and propelled her to her tiny bedroom, where she rummaged through her meagre wardrobe in search of the gown she hadn’t worn since her twenty-first.

Recalling how different that birthday had been from her eighteenth, she pursed her lips. A three-hundred-plus guest list shrunk to a half-hearted twenty-five, so-called friends having fallen away like rats deserting a sinking ship, some exhibiting shocking cruelty on their way out that still hurt to this day.

Violet had endured the occasion only because her mother had insisted on marking the day, spending money they hadn’t had for a birthday party no one had wanted to attend, wearing a dress she suspected had come from a charity shop, not the haute couture line her mother had insisted it’d come from.

Whatever the genesis of the dress, Violet couldn’t fault its simple but tasteful lines. The dove-grey pleated bodice swept from a shallow V over her cleavage to wrap around her upper arms and back, leaving her shoulders and lower back bare, before the soft chiffon gently moulded her hips and fell away to her ankles.

Since she’d already showered in anticipation of slipping into her pyjamas for an early night, her only task was to slip on the dress, brush and sweep her hair into a tidy chignon, add a simple string of pearls inherited from her grandmother, shoes and make-up, and spritz on her favourite perfume.

Her doorbell went for the second time within half an hour as she was tossing her keys into her small, matching clutch. Her heart attempted to jump into her throat, until she assured herself that royalty didn’t conduct such mundane tasks as climbing four flights of dark, dank stairs to knock on the front doors of apartments in buildings within a short sprint of a housing project.

She went to the door, opened it and froze, her jaw sagging at the sight of the man framed in her doorway.

‘Do you normally throw open your door with very little regard for your safety?’ Prince Zakary Montegova asked coldly.

Violet stared, convinced that the combination of memories, exhaustion and his earlier phone call had colluded into make her hallucinate him. But, no, that steady breathing, those much too incisive grey eyes, that towering, mouthwatering body and especially that aftershave convinced her he was all too real.

‘I... What are you doing here?’

One sleek, winged eyebrow rose, sarcasm dripping from that small motion.

‘I meant you didn’t have to come up and get me yourself. You could’ve called. Or sent one of your bodyguards.’ She managed to drag her gaze from him long enough to confirm the security guards without whom he never travelled were indeed present, watchful and crowding her poorly lit hallway.

‘And missed this scintillating peek into your life? One that makes me question why you have a peephole and an adequate-looking security chain on your door but chose to use neither?’

That tight bite of irritation had thickened, even as his gaze swept over her from hair to heels, dragging awareness over every inch of skin he scrutinised, all the parts he couldn’t see.

It was that bite, that suppressed energy that intensified her awareness, dragged even more unnervingly arresting pieces of Zak Montegova into focus.

The sharp classiness of his bespoke tux highlighting his brooding sexiness.

An innate sensuality overlying a raw masculinity that’d earned him Most Eligible Royal status for more years than Violet cared to count.

‘You told me you’d be here in fifteen minutes about...fourteen minutes ago. It doesn’t take a wild leap to conclude who was knocking on my door. And, really, are we going to waste more time debating safety protocols? Because I assure you that would take up even more of my precious time.’

‘Your precious time? You signed a piece of paper, I believe, stating that every moment of your secondment was mine. Have you forgotten?’ he drawled, his gaze flickering past her shoulders and into the apartment. Sharp eyes lanced over cheap furniture, cheaper blinds and the stack of conservation books on her coffee table before returning to hers, a little less cynical and a lot more...turbulent. ‘Did I interrupt something? Were you entertaining, perhaps?’

Violet pulled the door closer, unwilling to let him see the small sanctuary she’d created for herself. While she kept her space neat and tidy and as homely as a temporary living space could be, the truth was she had very little spare funds to make it any more than functional.

To a man whose kingdom delivered precious gems by the quarry-full, amongst other priceless resources, an apartment like hers would probably make him shudder. But more than that, Violet wanted nothing to escalate his belief that her mother’s agenda to marry her off advantageously was hers as well. That she was here in New York for any reason other than to gain as much work experience as she could.

‘I think you’re a little misguided. You’re my mentor for the hours I spend at the trust and perhaps a few extra-curricular duties, but I don’t account to you for every moment of my time, and what I do with my private time is none of your business.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked.

For some reason, her belly somersaulted, and her breath hitched. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

For the longest minute he simply stared at her, eyes slowly narrowing. Then he sharply veered from her doorway, granting her the freedom to shut it behind her.

‘You’re right. The matter of your security and extra-curricular activities can await another time. I don’t wish to keep my minister waiting.’

The fact that he’d simply evaded answering her question puzzled her before she assured herself she didn’t really want to know what he’d meant. After all, it had nothing to do with her work.

She told herself that with every step down the long flights of stairs. With every arrogant step that testified that the man who walked beside her was no ordinary man. That he was high born and could trace his ancestry back almost half a millennium.

He gestured her forward at the front door. She stepped through, then startled at his sharp exhalation. A furtive glance over her shoulder showed the briefest flare in the straight blade of his nose. The tiniest hungry flicker in his eyes as they dropped down to her bare back.

A second later he was back under control, prompting her to wonder if she’d imagined that reaction.

Because Zak Montegova didn’t betray superfluous emotion. In all things he held himself under supreme control. As if he were still in the military position he’d held in the Montegovan air force in his twenties.

But he had that night.

That hard-packed body had been alive with passion, impatiently aroused and breathlessly all-consuming with it. Even though he’d snapped into chilling rebuttal afterwards, she’d experienced that blistering moment when his guard had dropped. When he’d given her a glimpse beneath his armour-plated façade.

For years Violet hadn’t quite been able to dismiss that fraction of a moment from her thoughts. Not as easily as the Prince had dismissed her, anyway. Even when she’d imagined she’d seen a residual memory lurking in his eyes the handful of times fate, or her mother, had thrown them together.

But it wasn’t until her arrival in New York that she’d known she was mistaken. It’d all been in her imagination. And she needed to kill those thoughts once and for all if she hoped to get ahead in life.

And she had.

For the most part...

But that vital final step eluded her. The last memory of sizzling heat, masterful hands on her body that had ruined her for much longer than she cared to admit. It was why she’d rebuffed any advances from the opposite sex. Because after a few tentative tries she’d known she was wasting time better spent pursuing a fulfilling career. Because even if those advances hadn’t eventually been ruined by her mother’s meddling or male interest only piqued by the whiff of scandal that followed her name, the memory of Zakary Montegova had always been there, a formidable apparition, rendering every man who came close an unworthy imitation of the accomplished Prince.

The man lauded as a genius. While his brother had been tasked with preserving Montegovan interests, Zak had been tasked with interests abroad. Within a handful of years he’d had heads of states at his beck and call. And that acclaim had gained power and glory with each passing year.

The sights and sounds of New York blasted in the moment they stepped out of her apartment building.

And into the path of a bicycle courier. The cyclist swerved, just as Violet took a hurried step back. Into the hard, towering body of Zak Montegova.

Strong arms gripped her arms to steady her. Fierce eyes drilled into her with a mixture of concern and brusque irritation and that enigmatic gleam that immediately drove the breath from her lungs. Everything fell away.

The courier’s irritated shout despite his blatant contravention of cycling laws.

The blare of taxi horns and loud hiss of bus brakes.

The scent of stale hot dogs and hot pretzels.

Only the searing awareness of skin-on-skin contact remained, taking up ever-expanding room in her consciousness until it was the only thing that mattered. Until even breathing became redundant. Secondary to the rush of having her every fear confirmed.

That, regardless of her mother’s machinations and Zak’s blatant reservations about her presence in New York, she harboured terrible secrets of her own. Secrets she’d taken turns scoffing at and then fearing.

On a sordid little street corner in New York City, Violet accepted the truth that the fairy tale was very much alive.

That the man who’d taken her in his arms, kissed her with soul-stirring expertise while murmuring husky Montegovan words to her, was still very much present beneath that stoic facade. That the man who’d come within a heartbeat of taking her virginity on the night of her eighteenth birthday was still the man she secretly yearned for.

That Zakary Montegova was the reason Violet was, at the ripe old age of twenty-four, still a virgin.

Hard on the heels of the bracing indictment came the realisation that he knew. It was there in the blaze of his grey eyes, in the awareness that rippled through his body. In the thumbs brushing her bare skin...testing her weaknesses?

A shiver ran through her body, spreading goosebumps all over her skin.

His gaze released hers for a moment to track her reaction while his hypnotic caress continued. When her nipples began to pearl, he didn’t miss it. Didn’t miss the acceleration of her heartbeat or the erratic cadence of her breathing.

As if from a distance, she watched his expression change, morph into calculation. It didn’t take a genius to guess he was cataloguing his every effect on her for possible use against her.

He made a sound under his breath, a curious cross between a growl and a visceral sound of satisfaction. Of a hunter having stalked his prey into a tight corner.

It was enough to drag Violet out of her stupor. Enough to stress the urgent need to redouble her efforts to resist her mother’s intentions.

But most of all to prevent Zak from confirming the truth.

At all costs.

CHAPTER TWO

WEAK MOMENTS HAD the power to bring down kingdoms.

Zakary Montegova knew this all too well.

So when Violet scurried away from him towards the limo idling at the kerb as if he’d suddenly contracted a flesh-eating plague, he let her go, following at a slower pace and absolutely rejecting what the sight of her smooth bare back and pert, rounded bottom did to his libido.

Dio mio, hadn’t his father delivered an abject lesson in weakness from beyond the grave? The repercussions of it had been deep and traumatic, and still haunted the royal Montegovan household to this day in the form of his much more reserved and circumspect brother, Remi. In the form of his mother’s quiet anguish, well hidden behind the façade of royal duty and the solemn, defiant refusal to be cowed by any circumstance. It was well documented in the antics of his illegitimate half-brother, Jules, the physical manifestation of their father’s weakness.

Most of all, it was what he’d witnessed within hours of his father’s death and the revelation of the late King’s infidelity. How close the seat of power had come to being usurped by greedy generals and shameless opportunists, eager to capitalise on the kingdom’s instability; that had shown Zak just how precarious temptation could be.

Weak moments had the power to bring him down.

It was why he led a life of hard work, harder diligence and zero trust in his fellow man. Why no woman had even the smallest chance of claiming him. Why he was more than content to leave the production of heirs to his brother, the Crown Prince.

So why had he allowed Violet Barringhall to burrow beneath his skin six years ago?

He’d nearly refused his mother’s request to attend her birthday party. He’d had better things to do than indulge his mother’s misguided friendship with the notorious Margot Barringhall, the infamous gossipmonger, opportunist and tabloid lover.

Everything he stood against. But his mother had insisted.

And from the first moment he’d seen the grown-up version of the girl he’d met very briefly only twice before, Zak had been unable to take his eyes off Violet. The hour he’d intended to spend at her party had turned to two, then four. Despite his distaste at the increasingly drunken behaviour of her so-called friends, he’d lingered. Followed her out into her mother’s garden, enticed by the timid but alluring feminine wiles she’d seemed determined to flex.

At some point he’d believed he was testing himself, seeing how far her enthralment would last. A misguided attempt at immersion therapy, over-exposure to several hours’ worth of temptation after which he’d walk away, triumphant over the pressure in his groin and the bewildering need to touch her. Taste her.

Find a mundane answer to why Lady Violet Barringhall intrigued him.

So he’d followed. He’d touched. He’d tasted. And craved more with an unending hunger that had dogged his waking hours for months. Driven him to investigate the Barringhalls. He’d felt no guilt over it, as it was in fact a practice he’d followed since his father’s death. He’d thoroughly vetted every affiliation to his family, tenuous or otherwise, ensuring the events following his father’s death never occurred again.

But he’d also secretly entertained the possibility of a liaison with Violet down the line.

Only he’d discovered there was nothing remotely honourable about the Barringhalls.

They were in hock up to their eyeballs, the Earl having depleted his substantial family resources through a dizzying series of bad investments and gluttony before his untimely death. After which his wife, Countess Margot Barringhall, had taken up the mantle, frantic to safeguard her way of life by indiscriminate dalliance with the press and, when they had come of age, attempting to marry off her daughters to any half-decent man with a large bank balance who was thirsty for a shoddy little title.

Zak’s disappointment in the discovery had been searing and shocking, his fury at nearly falling into Margot Barringhall’s well-laid trap elevating her and her daughters to the top of his to-be-watched list.

The phone call from his mother three months ago with the secondment request had fortified Zak’s guard.

Since her arrival, he’d thrown every menial task at her to push her into admitting defeat and pleading for her mother to intercede on her behalf.

The crunch point had never arrived. Perversely, he’d detested being proven wrong about her, and had piled more work onto her slim shoulders. She’d raised her game higher, exhibiting a finely tuned talent for understanding the needs of his trust, especially the work he undertook for the less privileged.

But Zak was rarely impressed. Violet Barringhall was a tougher cookie than he’d given her credit for, but the reminder of her body straining against his, her shockingly sexy little whimpers and greedy hands, were testament to her hidden skills. And that sometimes shy demeanour that hid a tart tongue? Si, it’d come within a whisker of rousing his jaded humour.

And therein lay the pitfalls. Allowing himself to be impressed, tempted, by her had nearly resulted in a gross error of judgement that could’ve cost his family untold misery.

It was why he stayed away from tall, statuesque women with silky, chestnut hair and eyes the colour of the turquoise-blue waters that sparkled beneath the Montegovan sun.

He slid into the car, watched her cross her legs in a curiously elegant way that effectively angled her body away from his. Poise, no doubt drilled into her in that expensive finishing school her family had ill-afforded, was evident in her ramrod-straight spine, the hands folded neatly over her clutch in her lap, and perfectly angled jaw.

The only thing giving all that decorum away was the pulse leaping at her throat. Her very silky, very smooth and supple throat. Creamy skin he wanted to stroke. To taste.

Basta!

He stirred in his seat, registered what he was doing and froze.

Dio mio, since when did he fidget?

He told himself it was his annoyance that made him glance over her body, over her shadowed cleavage that gave a tantalising peek of her breasts. It was annoyance causing the fever in his veins.

‘You’re meant to be taking notes, yet you don’t seem to have brought any note-taking equipment with you.’

Shrewd blue eyes met his and...mocked him? ‘Perhaps because it’s no longer necessary to bring a whole stationery cupboard to take notes. I have an app on my phone—approved by the trust, I believe—to take notes and transcribe digitally. Depending on how quickly you want it, I can have it ready in an hour.’

‘And if I want it sooner?’ he asked, simply because his mood was decidedly testy and she was the cause of it.

‘Then I’d have to wonder why you’re even bothering to attend the fundraiser if you have far more pressing matters to deal with. Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re a master at multi-tasking but it would help to know what I’m supposed to prioritise.’

Their arrival at his embassy put paid to his errant thoughts and, thankfully, the need to dissect thereal cause of his disgruntlement. ‘Let’s go and find out, shall we?’

He stepped out, ingrained courtesy dictating he hold out his hand to her.

She accepted his assistance, slid out gracefully but almost immediately attempted to regain her hand. Zak released her but not before he once again registered the smooth, supple warmth of her skin. The need to keep touching her.

General Pierre Alvardo, Montegova’s defence minister, approached the moment they were inside the vast hallway of the Montegovan embassy.

‘Your Highness, thank you for meeting me. This matter is urgent or I wouldn’t have interrupted your evening.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Zak had accepted the meeting because Alvardo tended to be a little trigger happy. His mother had her hands full with parliamentary duties and his brother, Crown Prince Remi, was on a diplomatic mission in the Middle East.

Alvardo slid a glance at Violet, then addressed his next request in Montegovan.

Zak stopped him with a halting hand. ‘You may address me in English, Alvardo. Lady Barringhall has signed a confidentiality contract and knows the consequences of breaking it.’

Beside him, Violet gave a sanguine smile that somehow tunnelled straight into his bloodstream, heating it up several more degrees. ‘Lady Barringhall hasn’t forgotten, Your Highness. She doesn’t need to be reminded.’

Alvardo’s eyes widened but he hadn’t risen to defence minister without learning a thing or two about diplomacy.

In the conference room, Zak waited for Violet to be seated before taking his place at the head of the table. The moment she set her phone to record, he got straight to the point.

‘Is this about the group of dissidents you alerted us to two months ago?’

Alvardo nodded. ‘Intelligence reports they’ve doubled in number and may be planning an insurgency in Playagova in the near future.’

Zak tensed. ‘May be? You’re not completely certain of their plans?’

Alvardo’s gaze grew cagey. ‘We haven’t been able to infiltrate the group as easily as we’d hoped.’

Zak’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re here to seek leave to openly pursue them?’ he surmised.

His minister nodded. ‘As the Queen’s appointed head of the Montegovan military, you will have to give express instructions for an active investigation into the group.’

‘Even though such an act could fuel anxiety, cause undue panic?’ he countered.

‘I believe it’s a small price to pay for absolute certainty.’

‘I don’t.’

Zak felt Violet’s gaze on him. He glanced at her, registered the relief in her eyes before she broke eye contact to fiddle needlessly with her phone.

‘But... Your Highness.’ Alvardo paused, and Zak got the notion he was measuring his words. ‘I’m of the opinion that this could get out of hand very quickly if not immediately dealt with.’

‘Then redouble your efforts to turn may be into concrete evidence. The Montegovan people have been through enough without causing ripples with unfounded rumours. Maintain surveillance without engaging and report back to me when something changes.’ Until then he’d make his own investigations, double check the general’s report.

With his mother’s recent but as yet unannounced intention to step down from the throne in favour of Remi, the situation would need extremely careful monitoring. The last thing Montegova needed with its recent history was another shaky period. ‘That will be all.’

The general rose, gave a grave bow and left the room.

Zak noted Violet’s heavy silence as he escorted her back out to the car.

It wasn’t until they cleared Midtown traffic and were heading towards the Upper East Side, where the fundraiser was being held, that he turned to her.

‘Ask your questions. I can see you’re about to burst from the effort of maintaining your silence.’

She pressed plump lips together for a short moment. ‘Is there really a threat to your country?’

He shrugged. ‘There’s always a threat. The trick is to separate the salient from the white noise, as it were.’

‘But what the general said...it all sounded urgent.’

‘Alvardo is a defence minister. He believes he wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t advocate fire and brimstone at every turn.’

She frowned. ‘Are you sure? It seems a little more than that.’

‘Probably because it is,’ Zak confirmed, then wondered why he was giving her this leeway, letting her into secrets that might come back to bite him.

‘And you’re happy to go along with such dire predictions? Are you really okay with such blatant...warmongering?’

‘I’ve learned to look beneath the surface, always. He makes his reports. I investigate further where I need to. The truth of the situation always comes out in the end.’ He couldn’t stem bitterness that stemmed directly from the secret his father had kept for over twenty years, only to have it explode in their faces even before the dirt had settled over his final resting place. But his statement was also aimed at Violet, more specifically at the plans she’d concocted with her mother.

He glanced at her, noted how her lashes swept down and away, pretending interest in the passing scenery outside the window. Si, Lady Violet Barringhall, like her mother, clearly thought they were pulling the wool over his eyes with this stint at his trust.

‘And do you think this situation requires serious investigation? Are people really plotting to bring the kingdom down?’ she asked after a moment with wide-eyed interest that appeared genuine. But then her interest would be genuine, wouldn’t it, if she had aspirations of elevating herself from Lady to Princess?

Zak shrugged with an ease he didn’t feel deep down. ‘There are those who believe the era of the monarchy is long past. That the people should dispense with the royal house altogether.’ He gauged her reaction. While her expression looked a little troubled, there wasn’t the cutting desperation he’d expected at the possibility of her coveted position evaporating before her eyes.

Perhaps she was a better actress than he’d initially credited her with being.

‘And what do you say to that?’

Centuries-old pride and the warrior’s clamour of his forebears drew only one answer from him. ‘My ancestors didn’t carve out a kingdom through blood and battle only to hand it over to a disgruntled few who believe they know what’s right for my people. Montegova isn’t ruled by a power-hungry figurehead who merely sits on the throne and collects taxes at the end of a fiscal year. My mother and brother are both active members of parliament. Their votes are just two among many that operate under a system of check and balances agreed by law. As the current head of the monarchy, the Queen has certain rights, granted, but she’s not above the law. Whatever injustices are felt should be addressed through the legal system, not through uprisings.’

‘That’s easy to say, though, some would say. Didn’t your ancestors stamp out dissension when there were bloody revolutions?’

He allowed himself a smile that didn’t quite unfreeze the chill in his chest, not when the memory of how close to chaos Montegova had come a mere decade ago echoed through him. ‘Precisely. So why follow the same tired route when we can forge new ones? Innovate, don’t imitate, isn’t that the saying?’

‘Why are you pretending to be flippant about this?’ she asked.

Zak tensed, despising the extra layer of disgruntlement her incisive observation triggered. ‘Perhaps I’m wondering what your motives are. Your task was simply to take notes. Why the sudden interest in Montegova?’ he tossed back at her.

She floundered momentarily before her composure snapped back into place. ‘I work for you, for the time being. Is it really so strange for me to take an interest, considering I have an affiliation with Montegova? Or have you forgotten that my mother is half-Montegovan?’

He hadn’t forgotten, neither had he missed how effectively the Barringhalls used that fact when it suited them financially. ‘And how many times have you visited the homeland you have a quarter claim to?’

She flushed, even though her gaze stayed defiantly on his. ‘Not as often as I would’ve liked—’

‘By that you mean never, am I right?’

‘We both know I’ve never visited Montegova.’

Perhaps it was time to root her out, turn the tables on this scheme by the Barringhalls and be done with this woman who tempted him like no other.

‘According to your résumé, you’ve been to the other side of the world. The life you choose to live on social media is fond of screaming that fact but you’ve never bothered to visit the homeland of your non-British ancestors on the other side of Europe? I’m sure you’ll excuse me if I find your concern for the state of affairs in my kingdom somewhat...lacking.’

‘My travels were funded by charitable donations painstakingly gathered over four years because I was determined to make a difference. And if by life on social media, you mean my job, then yes. It’s called raising awareness.’

His lips twisted. ‘There is a fine line between raising awareness and raising one’s own profile.’

‘Is there? How would you know? Isn’t your royal webpage managed by a team of social media experts? Or are you one of those royals who can’t resist having a secret profile so you can play the voyeur on other people’s lives?’

He allowed himself a riling smile. ‘If I do possess such a page, rest assured, I won’t divulge it to you.’

Hot emotion flashed through her eyes. But again it was swiftly swept under the cloak of utter composure. And why did that normally laudable ability suddenly grate on his nerves?

‘Because you, like everyone else, believe every single thing you hear about my family?’ she demanded, her tone holding a chilled note of censure. As if she was the one disappointed in him, not the other way around.

‘The evidence is hard to refute but I invite you to try.’

Her lips pursed again and, like a fool, he latched onto the motion, recalling far too vividly the taste and suppleness of her lower lip. The eagerness of her response. Did she still make those insane little sounds when aroused?

‘No, thank you. Far be it from me to waste my time on a futile task. Besides, we’ve arrived,’ she announced with more than a little relief in her voice.

Zak flicked a glance out his window, his ire increasing. He’d been so absorbed in her he’d lost all sense of time and place. He ignored his driver’s presence beside the back door and concentrated on Violet. On the answer she’d given him. Had she truly just refused a silver-plated invitation to interact with him?

Zak could honestly say he didn’t recall the last time the words no, thanks had fallen from a woman’s lips in his company.

And again he was...intrigued. He stared into the blue eyes regarding him with a touch of wariness and...reproof.

‘Your Highness—’

‘Zak.’

Her eyes widened. ‘What?’

‘You may call me Zak when we’re not in a formal or professional setting. I’ll leave it to your discretion,’ he said, reeling a little from the words falling from his own mouth.

She didn’t speak the words but the refrain of no, thanks, blazed in her eyes.

Another first.

‘We’re going to be late, Your Highness.’ She aimed a pointed gaze at the door. ‘And I don’t wish be blamed for your tardiness.’

A peculiar little blaze fired through him, fanning higher the longer he looked into her eyes. He was a prince. Second in line to the throne of a small but infinitely mighty kingdom. Not very many people dared to defy him.

Violet Barringhall was exhibiting definite signs of defiance.

The urge to put her in her place resurged. But it had a different slant to it this time. There were so many ways to deliver one’s point. To those who sought to seed mistrust and dissent in his kingdom. To those who sought to gain financially on the back of his family name.

Why not try a different solution to this problem? Take that immersive therapy he’d mocked to another level. Send the Barringhalls a message once and for all.

She blinked, drawing his attention to her wide, alluring eyes. The flawless skin of her throat and neck. Lust kicked hard in his groin, reminding him that he hadn’t indulged himself in a while.

She’d flashed those eyes at him just like that on her birthday. Well, two could play at this game the Barringhalls had started.

Si, it really was the perfect solution.

Decided, he flicked his wrist and his driver eased the door open.

Zak stepped out to a frenzy of paparazzi flashbulbs. Ignoring them, he offered his hand to Violet, this time holding onto her as she stepped out onto the red carpet.

In her heels, she came up to his shoulder, the perfect angle for him to gaze down at for a beat before the inevitable personal questions were shouted at him.

He didn’t answer, of course. Pandering to the media was beneath him, and he’d learned long ago that the tabloid press printed what they wanted regardless of his answers or, indeed, the truth.

But when they caught sight of Violet and tripled their questions, he allowed an enigmatic smile to play on his lips as he tucked her arm into his and escorted her inside.

The paradigm had shifted.

Violet couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had happened or when. But as she walked beside Zak though the throng of designer-clad guests, she sensed an edgier purpose from him. Instinctively, she knew it wasn’t the challenge of attempting to meet his impossibly high standards.

Whatever Zak had up his sleeve was personal. Aimed at her.

It lurked in the shrewd, too-long gazes that repeatedly slanted her way as he guided her around the opulent ballroom. Halfway through the first circuit, she knew she needed to extricate herself from him.

His tight schedule, even at social functions, provided the perfect excuse. ‘You have three pre-dinner drinks. The first is with the Bolivian attaché. Here he comes now,’ she said briskly, hoping that flinging them both into business mode would throw him off whatever scent he seemed determined to hunt down.

Zak nodded without taking his eyes off the person he was saying goodbye to, then skilfully intercepted her with a hand on her elbow before she could walk away. ‘Stay. Your presence will curtail his tendency to drone on ad nauseam. You might also pick up a tip or two to take back to your institution when you leave in a few months.’

The reminder that this position was temporary shouldn’t have annoyed her, considering she’d been praying for it to end a short while ago. Perhaps it abraded her nerves because he stated it with that narrow-eyed, watchful suspicion? ‘I’ll stay if you think I’ll be useful. My role is to assist, after all.’

‘Do I detect a little displeasure in your tone, Lady Barringhall?’

Violet.

She barely stopped herself from issuing the invitation. She wouldn’t. He could use that mocking tone all he liked. Right up until she extricated herself permanently from him.

‘Of course not,’ she said with a smile manufactured straight from the depths of the decorum rulebook.

She ignored his droll expression as he greeted the attaché, sending him on his way the moment the man’s conversation grew circuitous. But after he’d introduced her to the next person with that faintly mocking tone once more, she’d had enough. ‘Why do you keep throwing my title in people’s faces?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Ignoring the blatantly false claim of obliviousness, she pressed on. ‘You’ve been in a...mood since we arrived. Is this some sort of test?’

‘Everything is a test, Lady Barringhall. If you don’t know that by now, then I’ve been wasting my time.’

‘I don’t mean professionally and you know it. This feels personal. Did I do something to offend you?’

The only hint that she may have strayed near a bullseye with her question was in the brief flaring of his nostrils. Then he was back under supreme control. ‘I merely introduced you with your correct title. I fail to see why you would feel attacked by it.’

To push the issue felt like overkill. And yet... ‘Perhaps we should clear the air. Lay things out in the open?’

His eyes gleamed. ‘Ah, now we get to the heart of the matter. Is this where you confess?’

She frowned. ‘Excuse me? Confess what?’

‘That this so-called role of yours is just hiding your true purpose here,’ he said, an edge in his tone.

‘And what’s my true purpose, pray tell? No, wait, let me guess. You think it’s some sort of ploy to land myself somewhere in your private life? Or, goodness, perhaps even in your bed?’

That earned her more emotion. His eyes blazed wildly and ferociously, just like they had that night, before he ruthlessly smothered it. But it didn’t die completely. She felt its latent heat as his gaze drilled into her. ‘Is your ultimate goal to land in my bed? You should’ve said this straight out, Violet. Then we could’ve dispensed with all this...pretence.’

Fire intensified, flaring out from her pelvis to engulf her whole body. ‘You’re deliberately twisting my words. I don’t want to end up in your bed. Hell, I don’t want to go anywhere near your bedroom!’

A few heads turned, and she flushed as eyebrows went up at her hot, charged denial.

Just then a discreet little chime announced the end of the champagne reception. Violet breathed in relief.

‘Saved by the bell but definitely to be continued, I think,’ he rasped as they drifted towards an even more opulently decorated ballroom where the main event was being held.

‘No, it won’t,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘I hate to disappoint you but I’ve said all I’m going to say on the matter. I don’t care what you think my motives are, but I’d thank you to—’

‘You don’t care? Have you forgotten that one major reason you’re here is to get your hands on my invaluable letter of recommendation?’

‘Are you threatening to withhold it unless I indulge you in your silly little game? Is that what this is about?’

His mouth twisted. ‘Let’s not throw around accusations on who is playing games with whom, Lady Barringhall.’ His voice was silky, like a stiletto knife sliding through butter. All without losing an ounce of his arrogant composure. Hell, he even nodded greetings to a few guests in the process of cutting her down.

She refused to be cowed. ‘You didn’t answer my question. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me since I arrived in New York. But if I’m wasting my time, at least have the balls to tell me so we can be rid of each other sooner rather than later,’ she dared, her heart banging hard against her ribcage. She didn’t want to risk irritating him more than she already seemed to be doing, but she didn’t want to throw away all her efforts either.

They reached their designated high table and he slid back her chair, his strong, elegant hands braced on the sides as he waited for her to be seated.

Violet moved, incredibly aware of his proximity, of his scent and the powerful body barely leashed beneath the trappings of civilised clothing. Aware of his complete focus on her. She called on every crumb of composure she possessed, thankful when she took her seat without stumbling.

But then he lowered his head to align with hers, drawing a wild shiver as he murmured for her ears alone, ‘A few weeks of running around in my office, dispensing effortless English charm, isn’t going to quite cut it. If you want to earn my regard, you’ll need to do a lot more than lackey work. And as for my balls, Lady Barringhall, I’d caution you not to involve them in our conversations. At least, not in this setting. Later, though...who knows? I just might accommodate you.’

Heat flared into her cheeks, whipping up a wild tornado that centred between her thighs. She refused to be thrown by the images he evoked. Nevertheless, it took considerable scrambling to get her brain to formulate an answer. ‘What do I need to do to prove my worth?’ she demanded once he was seated, frustration building in her chest.

‘You want to prove your worth? The trust is in the process of building eco-lodges in Tanzania. It’s a tourism initiative in partnership with the government to provide long-term income to the area. Tell me what you would bring to the table in this project.’

Violet ruthlessly curbed her excitement. With a few words, he’d described everything she hoped to aspire to in her career. But she didn’t put it past him to dangle an offer in her face only to snatch it up the moment she expressed an interest. That gleam in his eyes had only intensified in the last few minutes, his focus on her almost rabid in its fervour.

‘How many lodges?’

‘Thirty to start off with catering to the discerning and environmentally-conscious tourist in mind. Twice that in phases two and three.’

‘When are you looking to vet volunteers? I could help you with that. Weed out those wanting a free ride against those committed to truly making a difference.’

‘There are a few on the ground already but the majority are lined up to be vetted in the next week or two.’

She shook her head. ‘The rainy season starts in less than three months. If you don’t want the project severely disrupted, you need to move quicker than that.’

A smile ghosted over his lips and Violet suspected he’d been testing her.

Her shoulders went back. She lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eyes. ‘You want to test my true commitment? Include me in the project. My secondment is up in about the time it’ll take for this first phase to be done. Let me prove to you that this isn’t just some flight of fancy.’

He wasn’t impressed by her declaration. If anything, his scepticism increased. ‘You wouldn’t be the first royal seeking to elevate their status by affiliating themselves with a project like this. Just so we’re clear, that’s not going to happen here.’

‘All I’m asking is that you suspend your suspicion of my motives for a few weeks and let me do what I came here to do. Or are you so cynical that you won’t even give me that chance?’

His smile turned hard, edgy. ‘You seem in a mood to throw around taunts.’

‘I’m defending my character. I’m a hard worker. Take my word for it or let my actions speak for themselves.’

Stormcloud eyes pinned her to her seat. But before he could respond, a hush descended, drawing their attention to the podium as the patron of the fundraising charity rose to make her welcoming speech. The world-renowned socialite, known for her skills in raising millions for charitable causes, repeatedly glanced over at Zak as she spoke.

Despite being over a decade older than him, her interest was blatant, a fact, Violet suspected, that had contributed to her hosting this event.

For a cynical moment Violet wondered if Zak had taken advantage of it. Whether he’d had even a moment’s pause before aligning himself with a woman whose gaze caressed his face even as she delivered a charming, quick-witted speech.

She only registered that she’d been staring at him for an indecent amount of time when his gaze swung sharply to her, one eyebrow cocked at whatever he read in her expression.

She resisted the urge to drop her gaze, allowed hers to linger before, feigning boredom, she turned towards the podium as the socialite ended her speech to applause.

Violet couldn’t fault her. As her own mother had repeatedly striven to maximise every opportunity by hosting such events, people were more prone to opening their wallets when in a good mood.

And the sight of Prince Zak Montegova, rising with masterful grace and long-limbed elegance to step up to the podium, made them feel extra-special.

His speech was a sublime combination of wit, gravitas and arrogant challenge, rousing consciences and stirring sluggish apathy. Heads nodded and any remaining sceptics couldn’t help but be moved by the video presentation of the trust’s needs, especially in deprived communities.

‘And just so you’ll appreciate the urgency of my latest project, I’ve been informed by Lady Violet Barringhall, my newly appointed special advisor on our latest project in Tanzania, that time is even more of the essence if we’re to meet our goals. Which means you’ll also need to move fast or this particular train will leave without you. And if you miss this one, you won’t be guaranteed a seat on the next one.’

And, simply because everyone in the room wanted a connection with the Royal House of Montegova and its representative Prince, they laughed a little more eagerly, their glances sharper as they turned to her, prying and assessing whether she was the conduit to their ultimate prize—access to Zak Montegova.

But Violet wasn’t interested in them. She was wholly consumed by Zak’s revelation. Her heart banged anew when he stared at her in blatant challenge for a sizzling few seconds, absorbed the applause at the end of his speech, before stepping off the podium.

He neither paused nor smiled in acknowledgement of the accolades dropped in his wake as he returned to the table.

Soft music struck up from a string quartet as he resumed his seat.

‘You couldn’t have told me before you made the announcement?’ she asked, wondering why her excitement, while effervescent—because this was what she’d dreamed of for as long as she could recall—was tinged with an even sharper thrill she suspected had nothing to do with her new role and everything to do with the man who’d granted it.

‘I believe this is the moment in the process where you thank me for giving you this opportunity?’ he drawled silkily, dark grey eyes fixed on her face.

Violet swallowed her sharp reply. Regardless of how the package had been delivered it was the content, the chance to start to make a difference, that mattered. ‘Thank you for the opportunity. And before you taunt me by asking me if I’m up to the task, I assure you I am.’

‘You urged me to test your mettle. Consider this the first lesson. But I’ll be watching you every step of the way. One misstep and you’re done.’

‘There won’t be any,’ she stressed, for him and especially for herself. She couldn’t afford any, not if she wanted to drag herself out of the shadow of her parents’ misdeeds.

‘Good. We leave in seven days. You can have tomorrow morning off to pack.’

Something wild and urgent fluttered in her belly. ‘We?’

‘Did I not mention it? I’ll be in on the ground in Tanzania too. Which means you’ll be working directly under me,’ he said, his voice deep, weighted with evocative meaning that sent blood surging through her body to concentrate traitorously between her thighs.

He stared at her long enough to register the effect of his words on her. Then he turned away and addressed the other guests at the table.

Violet sat back, attempted to absorb the swift turn of events, and the image she couldn’t erase from her mind—of her trapped beneath the sensual power and might of Zak Montegova—quickly enough.

The gauntlet had been thrown down, and her with it, right into the spotlight. Perhaps in more ways than one.

Either way, it was up to her to show him, to show everyone, that she wasn’t just a tainted title, biding her time until a rich, preferably titled man swept her off her feet and answered all her mother’s prayers.

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