From Cinderella waitress...

To his convenient queen!

Before taking the throne, Crown Prince Remirez Montegova has to do two things: find a wife, and resolve the royal scandal unintentionally triggered by stunning waitress Maddie Myers. Remi solves both problems by striking a deal with Maddie that she become his queen! But his innocent new bride awakens a passion he’d thought long buried. And after their scorching wedding night, suddenly their arrangement feels anything but convenient...

Indulge in this dramatic royal romance!

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

Brunetti’s Secret Son

A Diamond Deal with the Greek

The Di Sione Secret Baby

Signed Over to Santino

The Boss’s Nine-Month Negotiation

Pregnant at Acosta’s Demand

The Sultan Demands His Heir

His Mistress by Blackmail

Rival Brothers miniseries

A Deal with Alejandro

One Night with Gael

Bound to the Desert King collection

Sheikh’s Pregnant Cinderella

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Crown Prince’s Bought Bride

Maya Blake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08750-6

CROWN PRINCE’S BOUGHT BRIDE

© 2019 Maya Blake

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 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.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

REMIREZ ALEXANDER MONTEGOVA, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Montegova, paused before the imposing double doors, his raised fist as frozen as the rest of his body.

It didn’t escape him that anyone who knew him would be shocked by this uncharacteristic display of hesitancy. Since infancy he’d been lauded as a fearless, valiant visionary who would one day steer his people to greater heights than any of his forebears had imagined.

But here he was, cowed by a set of doors.

Granted, they weren’t just any doors. They were the portals to his final destiny. As pretentious as the words sounded, that didn’t make them any less true.

He’d been dreading this day.

The simple truth was he didn’t want to go inside. Didn’t want to face his mother the Queen. Every instinct warned him that he wouldn’t emerge the same person.

When had that ever mattered? He’d never belonged to himself. He belonged to history. To the destiny forged by countless Mongetovan warriors who’d fought bloody battles to carve out this Western Mediterranean kingdom with their bare hands.

For as long as he drew breath he would belong to the people of Montegova. Duty and destiny. Two words branded with indelible ink into his skin.

Like twin weights they settled like a heavy cloak over his shoulders, making his next breath a torturous chore.

‘Your Highness?’ his senior aide prompted nervously but firmly from behind him. ‘Her Majesty is waiting.’

One voice in many that peppered his daily life. One that cajoled and coaxed and, when he closed himself off to that, as he’d mastered doing, prodded and pushed.

The morning’s summons, however, had been absolute.

His mother requested his presence at nine o’clock sharp. The solid gold antique clock standing proudly in one of the many marbled and hallowed hallways of the Grand Palace of Montegova solemnly announced that he was five seconds from being late.

With a resigned breath, he unfroze his fist, rapped sharply on the gold-leaf-framed doors and awaited the command to enter.

It arrived, brisk and firm, yet wrapped in a layer of unmistakable warmth.

The voice accurately reflected the woman seated in the throne-like chair beneath the grand coat of arms that spelled out her royal status in Latin, her flint-grey gaze tracking him across the vast office.

She nodded approvingly when he executed a respectful bow before taking his seat before her.

‘I was wondering how long you’d remain behind the door. Am I really so frightful?’ she mused with a trace of sadness in her eyes.

That sadness grated, but Remi refused to let it show.

He was used to people wearing that expression in his presence. He was used to several more expressions, yet sorrow and pity chafed the worst. But he supposed it was better than being treated as if he were made of fragile glass.

He ignored the emotion and searched her face for signs that, just this once, his instincts were wrong. But from her perfectly coiffed hair and flawless make-up, to the classic Chanel suit she favoured for official duties, and the diamond and emerald brooch made in the image of the Montegovan flag, Remi was left in no doubt that this meeting was exactly what he’d suspected it to be.

The axe was truly about to fall.

‘Not frightful, no. But I suspect the reason for this summoning will leave one of us less than thrilled.’

His mother’s lips pursed momentarily before she rose. A tall, striking woman, she would have commanded attention with effortless ease even if she hadn’t been the reigning Montegovan monarch. Long before she’d become Queen she’d won three beauty pageants across the world. When she deigned to bestow it on the deserving her smile could stop a grown man in his tracks—Remi had seen it first-hand. The hair that had turned silver almost overnight ten years ago, after his father’s death, had once been as dark as his own, but she’d owned that very visible sign of pain and grief with the same stalwart strength that had stopped her kingdom from descending into chaos at the sudden death of its King and the scandal that had followed. At twenty-three, Remi had been deemed too young to take the throne so his mother had taken his place as interim ruler. He was supposed to take the throne on his thirtieth birthday. But then further tragedy had struck.

His mother was the strongest woman he knew. Which was why everything inside him tightened when, after several minutes examining the spectacular view from her office window, she returned to her desk, planted her palms on the polished antique cherry wood and locked eyes with him.

‘It’s time, Remirez.’

His gut clenched tighter. She very rarely used his full first name. As a child that had never boded well for him or his hide. As a grown man of thirty-two it still commanded his attention.

Unable to remain seated in the foreboding of impending fate, he stood and paced in front of her desk. ‘How much time are we talking, here? Weeks? Months?’

It wouldn’t be years. She’d already given him two years. And lately she’d indicated, without cruelty, that it was time to set his own grief aside.

‘I would like to make the announcement that I’m stepping down at the next Solstice Festival.’

The third week in June.

‘That’s...three months away.’ The reality of it hit him like a cold wave in the face.

‘Yes,’ she replied firmly. ‘Which means time is of the essence. We must put our house in order before we begin to make the announcements.’

‘Announcements?’ he echoed. ‘Plural?’

His mother’s gaze dropped momentarily to her desk. ‘I’m not just stepping down, Remi. I’m also taking extended leave from all official duties.’

Isadora Montegova wasn’t just the ruling monarch, she was also an active member of parliament.

‘You’re resigning? Why?’

Her lips compressed—a sign that she didn’t like to admit whatever it was she was about to say. ‘The past few years have been difficult for both of us. I need a little...time away from everything.’

She wouldn’t stoop so low as to call it me time, the way others might, but if anyone had earned the right to retreat and regroup it was his mother.

Not only had she borne the unexpected death of her husband with unwavering strength, she’d weathered the subsequent scandal unleashed by the discovery of her husband’s decades-long secret with remarkable dignity and poise.

Behind closed doors, though, Remi had caught glimpses of the true toll it had taken on her. He himself had barely been able to hold back his fury at discovering that the father he’d held in such high esteem had proved to be faithless. Over the years his rage had boiled down to a simmering resentment, but it had never dissipated. Because not only had his father caused his mother untold hardship by his actions, he’d also thrown the kingdom into turmoil for years. Years which had taken a brutal toll on his mother. On him and on Zak, his younger brother.

Secrets and lies. It was a cliché until it happened on your doorstep and was played out for the world to see.

He tamped down on his fury as his mother reached out.

‘Which brings me to the next housekeeping problem.’ She opened a slim folder and slid it across the desk.

And there, displayed in full Technicolor, was the latest source of his mother’s angst.

Jules Montegova.

The surly half-brother who’d been presented to them moments after his father’s burial. The twenty-eight-year-old whose paternity had been proven via a discreet DNA test, to be royal, courtesy of an illicit affair his father had indulged in when he had briefly been stationed in Paris on diplomatic duty.

Jules was the scandal that had nearly unsettled the kingdom. The paparazzi had gone on a feeding frenzy for months, prising open every closet they could find in the hope of unearthing more skeletons.

It would have been easier to stomach had Jules not proved to be nothing but a thorn in their sides from the moment he’d arrived in Montegova ten years ago.

Remi scanned the picture, his jaw clenching as he noted the glassy eyes, the dishevelment, the slurred expression of drunkenness. ‘What has he done now?’ he bit out.

Queen Isadora’s mouth twisted. ‘A less aggravating question would be what hasn’t he done? Three weeks ago it was reckless gambling in Monte Carlo, then he flew to Paris and carried on gambling for another four days. The royal bursar was apoplectic when he received the bill. Ten days ago he turned up in Barcelona and gatecrashed a private party Duke Armando was throwing for his niece. Since then he’s been in London, and in the past few days in this woman’s company,’ she said, sliding aside the first picture to reveal several more.

They all showed variations of the same woman. Dark blonde. Leggy. Bright green eyes and a figure designed to stop traffic. She was striking. And her smile would win a contest against a thousand-watt bulb.

But she was a dime a dozen in Remi’s world. All flash and no substance.

Hell, in one picture she was literally flashing her underwear, uncaring that the world could see her lacy thong as she threw her arms around his half-brother’s neck. In all of the pictures her clothes barely covered her admittedly remarkable assets, and the camera’s glare threw every curve and dip into high-definition exposure.

Remi examined her carefully, searching for weaknesses. His gaze tracked her pert little nose, her wide, sensual mouth, cheekbones sculpted by a master craftsman and a delicate jawline designed to be worshipped with fingers and lips.

The sleek line of her neck dropped to slender, lightly tanned shoulders. Her collarbones were revealed by a sleeveless top, drawing attention to her soft throat and the impressive swell of her breasts. A flat, toned stomach, rounded hips and those endless legs completed the package.

She was flawless. Physically, at least. He had very little doubt that she would be severely lacking in other areas. Except maybe in the—

‘Who is she?’ he snapped, intensely annoyed with the direction of his thoughts. Who cared how the trollop was in bed?

His mother resumed her seat, her gaze meeting his. ‘Her details are on the last page. The rest is still sketchy, but I’ve seen more than enough to know she presents a potential problem. For one thing, Jules never usually stays in one place more than a few days. He’s been in London for almost two weeks. And, unfortunately, these are the least offensive pictures. Whatever is going on between them needs to end. Now. The royal transition must be as smooth as possible. So far he’s refused my summons for him to return to Montegova. Short of having his bodyguards forcibly put him on a plane—and risk a kidnapping charge—I have to find a way to bring him to heel.’

Remi’s gaze was drawn, against his will, back to the pictures. He flipped to the last page. The woman his half-brother had taken up with was summed up in four lines.

Madeleine Myers

Waitress

Twenty-four years old

College dropout

Distaste filled his mouth. ‘You want me to take care of it?’ For the sake of his kingdom’s reputation, his half-brother’s antics needed to be curbed before they attracted unwanted attention.

Queen Isadora linked her fingers and placed them on the desk. ‘Jules may not have any interest in behaving like a Montegovan except when it eases his way into casinos and parties, but this cannot be allowed to continue. He pretends otherwise, but he’s a little in awe of you. I dare say you scare him a little too. He’ll listen to you. And you’re the only one I trust to handle this discreetly.’ She cleared her throat. ‘With the news of my stepping down and your ascension to the throne we can’t afford another scandal now. Especially when you announce that you’ll be taking a wife at the end of the summer.’

Icy shock gushed through his veins, rendering him speechless for one stunned second. ‘I will be what?’ he demanded when he found his tongue.

‘Don’t look so shocked. Surely this doesn’t come as a surprise? You were all set to do so two years ago.’

Different emotions surged high—a peculiar mingling of pain, futile anger, bitterness and guilt. The first was natural—the pain of a cherished one lost never went away. Although lately the pain had been less and the other emotions more pronounced.

His anger stemmed from a life cut far too short. From all the plans made that would never come to fruition. And the bitterness was aimed squarely at fate and the cruelty of time.

The fact that his fiancée had been on her way to her doctor when the tragedy had struck was irony itself.

Which brought him to the guilt. The culmination of events had been his fault and his alone. For that he had to bear the crushing weight on his soul.

‘You would be king and married by now if we hadn’t lost Celeste,’ his mother said, gentle but firm.

His teeth clenched at the unnecessary reminder. ‘I’m well aware of that.’ Just as he was well aware that his voice now echoed the chill weaving through his bloodstream. ‘But tell me, Mother, where exactly am I to conjure a bride from in three months?’

If he’d hoped to cow her with his caustic tone, he should have known better.

Without missing a beat she opened a tiny drawer directly in front of her chair and took out a single piece of paper. ‘The list of candidates we put together for you five years ago is still viable—save for one. She married a count and is already pregnant with her second child.’

The trace of wistfulness in her voice further aggravated Remi, but he kept his emotions on a tight leash, saved his verbal dexterity for the noose caressing his throat.

‘I didn’t stoop to plucking my future wife from a list put together by faceless advisers five years ago and I’m not about to do that now.’

Queen Isadora slapped the piece of paper down on the desk. ‘Well, that’s too bad. This time you don’t have the luxury of time or indulgence. Perhaps this is the best way forward. I married for love. You were about to marry the woman of your heart. Look where that got us both!’

Remi stiffened. His mother froze in her chair, her eyes widening in shock at her own outburst. Thick silence slammed between them as Remi examined her closer, noted the pallor beneath the make-up, the lines of stress bracketing her eyes.

He’d absorbed more of her duties this past year, but he could still see the strain of office on her face.

Heavy really was the head that wore the crown, temporary or not.

A crown that was soon to be placed upon his own head.

Before he could comment she gathered herself with regal poise, her spine ramrod straight as she speared him with a glare.

‘Let me be clear, Remirez. I will not sit by and watch all that I’ve painstakingly rebuilt these past ten years fall to ruin again because your sensibilities won’t allow it. You’ll go to London, separate your half-brother from this piece of bad news and bring him home. Then you’ll pick a bride and announce your betrothal one week before the Solstice Festival. At the festival we’ll give an official date for your wedding, which will be three months after your engagement. That gives you six months to get used to the idea of marriage. I’ll make myself available to help with preparations if you need me to. Otherwise, I look forward to being the lucky mother of the groom come September.’

She closed the folder and nudged it an extra inch towards him, before straightening the specially engraved pens which had belonged to his father.

When she was done, she looked him straight in the eye. ‘It’s time to take your true place as head of this kingdom. I know you won’t let me down.’

One minute later, Remi walked out. And, as he’d rightly predicted, everything had changed.

* * *

Five more weeks.

Maddie Myers resisted the urge to check her phone for the exact hour and minute before this nightmare was over.

She should never have agreed to this preposterous proposition. So far every second had been hellish.

But then her choices were severely limited. And when a Lamborghini sideswiping you compounded those woes by knocking the grocery shopping paid for with your last tenner out of your hands, you needed to take a moment to accept that things were truly awful.

With luck in very limited supply in her world, she’d thanked every star she could name for escaping that horrifying incident with just a few unpleasant-looking bruises, the occasional twinge in her ribs that made it difficult to take a full breath and a sore arm.

To be honest, Maddie was sure it was the shock of being nearly run over that had made her agree to Jules Montagne’s scheme in the first place. But by the time she’d downed that second restorative brandy she’d been in the darkest pit of despair, one that not even expensive booze could lift her from. So when the owner of the Lamborghini of Death had offered her a solution to her problems...

Truth be told, at that point she’d been seriously considering the logistics of how to sell one of her kidneys, so a rich assaulter with money to burn had seemed the answer to her prayers.

Nevertheless, it had taken her forty-eight hours to accept his deal. Probably because he’d been cagey about why he needed her in the first place. If Maddie had learned one thing in life, it was to look before she leapt. Blind trust was no longer a flaw that would tarnish her.

She’d trusted her mother to stay and help the family she’d helped break apart. She’d trusted her father every time he’d told her he had his addiction under control. And Greg... He’d been the worst culprit of all.

So when Jules had delivered that stony-faced ask no questions ultimatum her first instinct had been to walk out of the fancy wine bar he’d taken her to after nearly running her over, and never look back.

But no matter how many times she’d checked her meagre bank account, or riffled through her belongings in the hope of finding something pawn-worthy, the balance had fallen far too short.

With time running out for her father, she’d had no choice but to return Jules Montagne’s phone call.

Of course his help hadn’t come for free. Hence her being once again dressed like a high-class escort, listening to him hold court among his circle of trustfundistas and minor royals in another VIP lounge as they guzzled thousands of pounds’ worth of champagne.

She’d long since passed the life is so unfair and why me? stage. And after her mother’s shocking desertion Maddie had shrugged off there’s always hope too.

‘Hey, Maddie, smile! The way you’re staring into your glass, you’d think somebody’s died.’

She plastered on a fake smile while the urge to scream burned through her gullet. True, no one had died. But the man who’d once been a strong, supportive father—a man now sadly broken by his failures—most definitely would, unless she pulled off this performance successfully and collected the payment due to her.

Seventy-five thousand pounds.

The exact amount needed for her father’s private kidney operation and aftercare in France.

The exact amount Jules had agreed to pay her if she pretended to be his girlfriend for six weeks.

She raised her gaze from her glass and connected with the gunmetal eyes of her pretend boyfriend. The man who barely spoke to her once they were away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi who dogged his every movement.

‘Smile, cherie,’ he insisted, with a hard, fierce light in his eyes.

She tried again, aiming for authenticity this time. She must have succeeded. He gave a brisk nod and raised his glass to her before swinging back into whatever joke he’d interrupted himself in.

Maddie breathed in relief, winced as her ribs protested, then went back to wondering just how long she could survive down this rabbit hole.

The first time they’d gone out she’d heard one tabloid hack shout a question about Jules’s family—specifically how the queen felt about his behaviour. Maddie had asked him about it. He’d shut her down with a snapped response she was sure had been a lie, and reminded her of the ask no questions rule.

The possibility that she’d struck a bargain with a minor royal had triggered unease. Media attention was the last thing she wanted.

Despite needing the money desperately, she’d voiced her concerns. Jules’s suggestion that she wear headphones with the music turned up high to avoid the paparazzi’s questions, and keep her head down to avoid the camera’s flash had worked a treat. After all, she couldn’t answer questions she couldn’t hear.

Maddie was sure that her perceived rudeness had earned her a disparaging label on social media. But the great thing about selling your laptop so you could buy food and using your phone only for emergency calls to avoid expensive bills was the blessed absence of the burden of social media.

So here she was, firmly ensconced in Wonderland, with no inkling of why she was playing pretend girlfriend to a handsome, spoilt, maybe minor royal who travelled with two bodyguards.

She watched him beckon one of them. Jules whispered in his ear, then loudly ordered another half-dozen bottles of Dom Perignon as the young guard headed to the back of the nightclub.

In the gleeful melee that followed the arrival of more booze, very few people noticed Jules following his bodyguard.

The sudden realisation that she’d aligned herself with a man who was headed down the same path of addiction as her father was enough to propel Maddie to her feet. She wasn’t sure exactly how she would deal with Jules Montagne if she caught him taking drugs, but her burning anger and anxiety couldn’t be contained.

She was halfway across the floor when a commotion by the front doors caught her attention.

Except it wasn’t a commotion. It was more a force of nature invading the onyx-and-chrome interior of the Soho nightclub.

Two bodyguards, taller, sharper and burlier than the ones who followed Jules around, parted the crowd.

The man who sauntered forward and paused under a golden spotlight nearly caused Maddie to swallow her tongue.

Frozen in place, she stared unashamedly, certain that the faint tendrils of artificial smoke and strobe lighting were causing her to hallucinate the sheer magnificence of the god-like creature before her.

But no.

He was flesh.

The quiet fury and electric energy blanketing him clearly transmitted through the muscle ticking in his jaw.

He was blood.

Royal blood, if the arrogant, regal authority with which he carried himself and the further four bodyguards who formed a semi-circular barrier around him were any indication.

There was something vaguely familiar about him, although where she could possibly have caught a glimpse before of that square, rugged jaw, those haughty cut-glass cheekbones or those sinfully sensual lips eluded her.

Eyes like polished silver gleamed beneath slashed dark brows, scanning the crowd as he continued to prowl through the semi-dark space.

As he drew closer Maddie knew she should look away. Not out of shame or discomfort, but out of sheer self-preservation. He radiated enough sensual volatility to urge her to avoid direct eye contact. To take herself out of his magnetising orbit before she was swallowed up in his vortex.

And yet she couldn’t make her feet move. In fact she was fairly sure her lungs had stopped working too, now she was witnessing the way he moved. Like a jungle cat on the prowl... Each step a symphony of grace and symmetry and power.

Utterly absorbing.

Infinitely hypnotic.

She was unashamedly gawking when his eyes locked on her. For a fistful of heartbeats he stared.

Hard. Intense. Ice-hot.

Then with long strides he zeroed in on her. His scent invaded her senses as powerfully as the man himself. He smelled of ice and earth, elemental to the core and so utterly unique she could have stood there breathing him in for an eternity, her sore ribs be damned.

‘Where is he?’ he breathed, and the sound was electrifying enough to send skitters of stinging awareness over her skin.

Whether by some silent command, or simply because everyone in the room knew they were in the presence of greatness, the volume of the music had dropped. That was the reason she heard him and knew that his voice was deep and accented, resulting in sensually wrapped words that triggered a yearning to hear him speak again just for the hell of it.

Maddie knew that would never happen. When this man spoke it was for immediate and masterful effect, no extraneous words necessary.

Seconds passed. His nostrils flared slightly. She realised she hadn’t answered.

‘I...’ She swallowed hard. ‘Where is...? Who do you mean?’

‘The man you’re here with. Jules—’

‘What are you doing here?’

The snapped question from Jules held anger, panic and defiance, slicing through Maddie’s comprehension that the stranger—whoever he was—knew her, knew she was with Jules.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead he studied Jules from head to toe, causing him to fidget and adjust his ruffled clothes.

‘What did you think would happen when you refused to answer your summons?’ he asked icily. ‘Did you think your activities would be allowed to continue unchecked?’

Jules opened his mouth, but the other man stopped him with a wave of his elegant hand that would have been poetic had it not been filled with foreboding.

‘I will not have this conversation with you here, while you’re in this state. Come to my hotel tomorrow morning. We will have breakfast together.’

Each statement was a stern directive, permitting neither disagreement nor disobedience.

It rubbed Jules the wrong way. His chin jutted out. ‘Pas possible. I have plans in the morning.’

Low thunder rumbled across the stranger’s face. ‘According to your assistant, the only thing you have scheduled is sleeping off your hangover. You will be present, in my suite, at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Is that understood?’

They faced off for less than ten seconds, but it felt like an hour.

Jules’s abrupt nod bordered on the insolent, but at the piercing, relentless regard directed towards him his head dropped the way a dog’s might when confronted with its disobedience by its master.

The older man stared down at him for another long stretch before his eyes slid sideways to the usually raucous group Jules partied with, who were now respectfully, watchfully silent.

Then his gaze switched to Maddie. He took his time scrutinising her, from the loose knot of her thick hair to the painted toes peeping through her stilettoes.

Every inch of bare skin his gaze touched—and unfortunately there was a lot of it—blazed with an alien, thrilling fire, even the tips of her fingers. She wanted to recoil. Retreat. But there was something weirdly hypnotic about his eyes on her that held her in place, made her struggle to catch even a shallow breath.

Jules followed his line of sight and his eyes widened a touch when he spotted Maddie. Clearly he’d forgotten she existed. He hastily rearranged his expression and reached for her arm. ‘Viens, mon amour, let’s go home.’

Maddie stiffened, suppressing another wince.

Even with her limited French, she understood the endearment. In all the time they’d been playing pretence Jules had never called her that. Nor had he invited her to his place. Their routine once they left a club or restaurant and the paparazzi lost interest was for one of his bodyguards to put her in a taxi.

Before she could respond, the stranger shook his head.

‘It’s 2:00 a.m. You’ve partied enough for one night. Go home. I’ll see to it that Miss Myers makes it to wherever she’s going safely.’

Jules’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘You’re assuming she isn’t going back to my place. You’re assuming she’s not my live-in girlfriend.’

‘Is she?’ Without waiting for an answer he turned sharply to her, silver eyes pinning her to the spot. ‘Are you?’

The two words were bullet-sharp.

‘That’s not the point,’ Jules interjected aggressively.

‘Either she is or she isn’t. Answer the question,’ he demanded, without taking his eyes off her.

Very much aware that she had no clue what was going on, Maddie went with the truth. ‘No, we’re not living together.’

Jules’s jaw clenched, but she shrugged it off. If he wanted to give the impression that they were more serious he should have told her. She was uncomfortable enough about the subterfuge as it was.

‘Your driver will take you to your hotel, Jules,’ the stranger said, glancing pointedly at the hand Jules had on her arm.

Jules muttered a very rude, very French curse. One he intended the man to hear. One that produced a flash of anger in his silver eyes before his expression was ruthlessly blanked.

Without warning Jules yanked her close, cupped the back of her head before slamming his mouth down on hers.

The kiss was over in seconds, but the shocking violation kept Maddie frozen for longer. Stunned, and more than a little incensed, she watched Jules leave without a backward glance, strongly resisting the urge to swipe her hand across her mouth.

She knew he’d kissed her for effect, to annoy the domineering man standing before her, whose gaze was now a darker silver as it swept over cheeks gone pale before returning to her mouth. And she knew, despite the burning urge to rub off the last trace of that kiss, it would be a dead giveaway that might cost her a lot in the long run.

So she raised her chin, met eyes that blazed with a fierce light she couldn’t fathom.

‘Come,’ he said abruptly. Then, like Jules, he turned and walked out.

Maddie shook her head once to clear it. When nothing altered the sensation of having just experienced a furious electric storm, she stumbled back on shaky legs to her seat.

She had no intention of following that arrogant, dangerously compelling man anywhere. The only place she was headed was home, to the flat she shared with her father. To the safety and discomfort of her single bed.

Excited chatter and camera phones aimed her way hastened her movements. She still had no clear idea what had transpired a few minutes ago, but she wasn’t sticking around to be the cynosure of all eyes.

She’d have enough to deal with come morning anyway. For one, she had to ensure her father got through another day without succumbing to the addiction that had decimated not just his life but the relatively carefree family life she’d taken for granted.

She pushed harrowing thoughts of her father’s addiction and her mother’s desertion aside, stood up—and was met with a wall of muscle.

‘Miss? Come with me, please.’

It was one of the superior bodyguards. Far from assuming the stranger had accepted she had no intention of following, he’d left a minder behind to ensure she obeyed his command.

The chatter was rising. Curious looks and pointing fingers were aimed at her as she scrambled to find a way around her dilemma.

Stay here and deal with the gossip-hungry pack, or go outside and deal with the even more dangerous predator who had made every nerve in her body zing to life?

‘Oh, my God, did you actually see him?’

‘He’s like...a god!’

‘I could actually drop dead from how drop-dead gorgeous he is!’

‘Who is she, anyway?’

That last question propelled her feet forward, fuelled by the distinct impression that the bodyguard wasn’t above physically bundling her up and delivering her to his master.

Outside, the sleekest, shiniest black limousine idled at the kerb. The shiver that lanced through her when she spotted it had nothing to do with the chilled late-March air.

As she drew closer the driver, standing to attention, swung the back door open.

The interior light was off, so all Maddie saw with the aid of the streetlights were long, trouser-clad masculine legs and polished shoes.

‘Get in, Miss Myers.’ The instruction was deep, resolute and throbbed with impatience.

She was a few dozen yards from Soho’s bustling main street. Her legs were strong enough to outrun the bodyguards...

‘Take my advice and don’t bother.’ The suggestion was an arrogant drawl, wrapped in steel.

With every fibre of her being Maddie wanted to refuse. But she knew it would be futile. Whoever he was, unmistakable power and authority oozed from him. Plus, his bodyguards were in prime condition.

So, with a snatched breath, she climbed in. The earlier she got this over and done with, the quicker she could go home, she told herself. She needed to be at work in a few short hours.

The moment she slid into the car, the door shut behind her.

For tense seconds she withstood those eerie eyes glinting at her, withstood the need to glance at him and pretended interest in the luxury interior and the long, soft leather bench seat. But inevitably her gaze was drawn to him, like an unwitting moth to a flame. Again his gaze dropped to her mouth before rising to meet hers, leaving her shaky and tingling all over again.

Enough of this.

‘Who are you and how do you know who I am?’ she demanded, when it became clear he was just going to stare at her with those electric eyes.

The question seemed to startle him. Then his head went back in a manner that could only be termed exceptionally regal.

‘My name is Remirez Alexander Montegova, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Montegova. I know who you are because I have an excellent team of private investigators who make it their job to furnish me with that kind of information. Now you will tell me how much it will take for you walk away from my brother.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOUR BROTHER?’ MADDIE cringed at the squeak in her voice.

‘Technically, half-brother. We share the same father.’ His voice was coated in dark ice.

She shook her head, confused. ‘But...but his name is Jules Montagne. And he’s French.’

Whereas this man’s accent was an enthralling mix of Italian, French and Spanish.

Crown Prince Remirez...oh, my God...shrugged one rugged shoulder. ‘He’s French on his mother’s side. And the name he uses is a ruse, I suspect, to throw people off the scent.’

‘Off the scent of what?’ she asked, grappling with the alarming disclosure and the fact that everything about the man lounging like a resting panther finally made sense. As did the fact that the resemblance she’d noted was to Jules.

He remained silent, then a tiny interior light was illuminated above his head. Once again he was bathed in golden light. He seemed even larger against the dark backdrop of the car, his jet-black hair glinting, the shoulders beneath his bespoke suit broader and even more imposing.

‘Off the scent of his true identity. Off the scent of gold-diggers, con artists and hangers-on,’ he replied with icy-cold condemnation.

There was little doubt the accusation was aimed at her. And it deeply irked Maddie that even that couldn’t stop her body’s hyper-awareness of him. Couldn’t stop her noticing her clammy hands or the elevated temperature between her thighs.

‘Right. I see.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ he replied wryly.

She leaned closer to the window and flinched as her arm protested. She dragged her gaze from the view of Waterloo Bridge. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Where I said I would deliver you. To your home,’ he answered simply. ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’

‘Excuse me?’

His gaze dropped.

She followed it and realised she was rubbing her lower arm. She hastily dropped her hand. ‘Nothing. I’m fine. You know where I live?’

His gaze stayed on her arm for another handful of seconds before he replied, ‘Yes. I also know where you work, where you went to school and who your dentist is.’

Apprehension fizzled inside her. ‘Is that some sort of threat?’

‘I’ve merely armed myself with knowledge. After all, it is power, is it not? Did you not get into this car to do the same?’

‘I got into this car because you sent your supersized bodyguard after me.’

‘He didn’t touch you.’ The finality behind the words indicated she hadn’t been touched because he’d wished it to be so.

She forced a laugh, despite the surge of energy thrumming through her belly. ‘Oh, wow, I’ll consider myself lucky, then.’

He knew everything about her. Did he know about her father? Her mother? Greg? Was he aware of the shameful secret that dogged her every wakeful moment and followed her into her nightmares?

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he said.

She swallowed the pulse of anger in her throat. ‘And I’m not going to. It’s insulting. I don’t know you from Adam and yet you think you can just throw money at me and I’ll do your bidding?’

He didn’t respond immediately. Not until the limo stopped at a set of traffic lights a mile from her flat. ‘I haven’t done any throwing since you haven’t given me your price. How long have you known Jules?’

Unease ramped up the vibrations in her belly. ‘I don’t see how that’s relevant—’

‘You’ve known him a little over a week. You’ve been out with him almost every night and yet you’ve never returned to his apartment with him.’

The depth of his knowledge sent a sheet of ice gliding over her skin. ‘That doesn’t mean anything.’

‘On the contrary, that leads me to conclude you’re holding out for something. What is it, Miss Myers?’

She smiled. ‘Sex, drugs and rock and roll—what else?’

Her dripping sarcasm went straight over his head as he threw a disdainful glance out of the window.

‘Jules wouldn’t be caught dead in this neighbourhood. So, unless you’ve been copulating somewhere other than his apartment, I highly doubt it’s sex. And I know for a fact that it’s not drugs.’

‘That’s ridiculous. How would you know that?’ she threw back.

Slightly narrowed eyes were the only indication that he found her questioning insolent. ‘Because it’s a condition of his remaining in my royal bursar’s good graces that he stays clean. In return for his generous allowance, he’s tested for drugs on a regular basis.’

Although the information allayed her earlier fears, Maddie was still disturbed by the revelations. ‘Tested? You’re saying that you pay him to stay off drugs?’

Prince Remirez’s lashes swept down. ‘Among many other things,’ he murmured.

Curiosity ramped high. ‘Really? Like what?’ she asked, telling herself it really was time she found out more about the man who’d promised to pay her to pretend to be his girlfriend.

‘Like things that are none of your concern,’ Prince Remirez returned chillingly. ‘And, just in case you’re inclined to peddle what I’ve just told you, know that I’ll sue you for everything you own if any of this makes it into tomorrow’s papers.’

‘Yeah, good luck with that,’ she replied waspishly, before she could help herself.

‘You think my caution is idle?’ he mused coolly, his stance relaxed in a way that said he found her in no way threatening.

She shook her head, smiling with more than a little relief when the limo pulled into her street.

‘Not at all. I meant good luck finding anything of value to sue me for.’

The moment the words left her lips she wanted to snatch them back. But it was too late.

Eyes like laser beams latched onto the truth. ‘You’re destitute,’ he declared after a taut pause.

Shame crawled over Maddie’s skin. Followed instantaneously by searing anger. ‘What I am is none of your business. We’re strangers to one another. So I won’t jump to the conclusion that you’re a rich, pompous royal bastard who looks down his aristocratic nose at the less fortunate, if you don’t assume I’m some worthless gold-digger who’s just itching to jump straight out of your car and into a paparazzo’s pocket.’

‘I don’t have proof that you’re a worthless gold-digger, but I’m growing certain that you’re a shameless exhibitionist,’ he replied in that charismatically accented voice that threw her for a second before his meaning sank in.

‘Excuse me? What gives you the right—?’ She glanced down sharply and gasped as flames of embarrassment shot into her face.

Oh, God.

The hem of her dress had crept up almost to her crotch, and somehow one creamy slope of a breast was exposed in the gaping neckline of her halter top. The wardrobe Jules had provided for their outings was one of the many things she’d baulked at. One of the many things he’d stated were deal-breakers.

‘I suggest you pull yourself together before that notion becomes concrete,’ he advised, with a new husk in his voice and a banked blaze in his eyes that directed the flamed inward, singeing low in her belly and then lower, in places she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She hurriedly pulled down her hem and adjusted her neckline, aware that his gaze tracked her every movement. Aware she’d been judged and found severely lacking.

When she was as adequately covered as she could be, she fixed her eyes on the door handle. ‘Are we done here?’

He sat back, master of everything he surveyed—which eerily felt as if it included her—and crossed one leg over the other. ‘That depends,’ he drawled.

‘On what?’ she asked, still unable to look him in the eye.

He didn’t respond.

More than a little unnerved at the racing of her heart, she lifted her gaze to his. ‘On what?’ she repeated.

A slow, predatory smile lifted the corners of his lips. Beneath the light his eyes gleamed, taking on an unnerving, hypnotising colour that made her believe he could see right to the heart of her. To the sensual vibrations stroking her nerve-endings. To the unsettling licks of fire in her belly.

Her fingers tightened around her bag, and she was about to demand he answer her when he gave a brisk nod to someone out of sight. The door immediately sprang open.

‘You’ll find out in due course. Goodnight, Miss Myers.’

* * *

Maddie’s nights since she had been forced to abandon her child psychology courses at university and return home to care for her father had been plagued with worrying about finding a way to keep the roof over their heads and her father from the pit of addiction. Sleeplessness had become the norm, the creaking of the cheap slats beneath her mattress the discordant accompaniment to her anxiety.

Tonight, however, other thoughts and images reeled through her mind, and agitation drove her fingers into her worn duvet as a plethora of emotions eroded any hope of sleep.

Disbelief—she’d met a true-life, drop-dead gorgeous crown prince who might have stepped off the silver screen.

Anger—he’d blatantly stated that he was threatening her because he suspected she was after something from his brother. Technically true, but still...

Arousal? No, she wasn’t going to touch that.

And anxiety—‘You will find out in due course.’

Did he mean the agreement she’d made with Jules? If so, how?

It was clear he held a great deal of sway over his younger half-brother, despite Jules’s defiant attitude. Would he stoop to denying her what Jules had promised her?

That last thought kept her awake for the rest of the night until, giving up on sleep, she dragged herself out of bed just before her alarm went off at six.

Her father was already up, although not dressed, when she reached the kitchen. Maddie paused in the doorway, breath held, and examined him. His gauntness was even more pronounced than it had been a month ago—the result of his failing kidneys on top of the strong painkillers he’d become addicted to when his thriving property business had failed in the crash a decade ago.

He’d hidden his addiction for years, in a misguided attempt to keep up appearances and hang on to a wife who had made no bones about the fact that she expected to live a certain lifestyle and demanded her husband provide it.

A near overdose had brought everything to light three years ago, showing the shocking damage Henry Myers had done to his body. It had also been the start of many promises to get clean that had resulted time and again in relapse, and the raiding of their meagre finances to seek help for him that had pulled them deeper into destitution.

Eventually the fall from affluent lifestyle to nursing an addict in a tiny flat in one of the poorest neighbourhoods in London had become too much for her mother.

Once upon a time her father had been healthy, outgoing, a pillar of a man his peers had looked up to. Maddie’s childhood had been pampered and carefree, if a little emotionally unrewarding. She’d learned not to complain early on, when she’d realised her father loved her but was always busy and her mother was more preoccupied with retail therapy than her daughter’s emotional well-being. Even when the distance between her and her mother had widened, Maddie had been secure in her father’s abstract affection.

All of that had ended with Priscilla Myers’s three-minute phone call to Maddie at university. She’d had enough. Maddie needed to come home and take care of her father because she wasn’t prepared to live in poverty and disgrace. Any guilt about abandoning the husband she’d promised to stand by in sickness and in health hadn’t been reflected in her voice. She’d walked away without a backward glance or a forwarding address.

Maddie bottled up the still ravaging anguish now as she fully entered the kitchen. ‘You’re up early.’ She kept her voice light and airy.

Her father shrugged half-heartedly. ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ he muttered.

‘Do you want breakfast? Toast and tea?’ she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry. Maybe later.’

He was avoiding her gaze—a sure sign that the demons of addiction were snapping at his heels again. Her heart dropped. Had she owned more than the couple of hundred pounds she kept for emergencies in her bank account she would have taken the day off and stayed home to offer the support he baulked at but clearly needed.

Pushing back the despair, she pinned a smile on her face. ‘Mrs Jennings will look in on you later. She’ll fix you lunch if you’re hungry. There’s food in the fridge.’

His mouth compressed but he didn’t reply. Maddie pushed past the bite of guilt. Although her father suspected it, she hadn’t confirmed that desperation had driven her to pay their next-door neighbour a small sum to look in on him a few times a day.

After he had been bumped from the transplant list twice after relapsing, she’d resorted to desperate ways of keeping an eye on him. The last barrage of tests had revealed he was weeks away from full renal failure.

The doctors had advised that they wouldn’t sanction her father’s operation unless he remained clean for at least six months. He’d waved away her worries when she’d talked to him about it but so far he’d stayed clean.

All she needed to do was come through with the funds required for his operation. Funds entirely dependent on whether she finished her stint with Jules Montagne. Correction: Jules Montegova. Half-brother to Crown Prince Remirez Alexander Montegova.

The latter’s image rose up, large and imposing, dragging a small shiver down her spine as she finished her breakfast.

By the time she was done with the morning rush hour customers at the café where she worked near Oxford Street, the seed of worry that had taken root in the small hours had grown into a bramble bush.

Jules normally sent her a text in the early hours before he went to bed, telling her where and when to meet for their next ‘date’. When midday came and went without a word from him, her worry escalated to full-blown anxiety.

She didn’t want to waste her precious phone minutes calling him, but the inkling that something was wrong wouldn’t ease. Too much hinged on finishing what she’d started with Jules for her to prevaricate about this. She decided she would call him during her break.

The café was quieter, but still half full. Besides her, two other waitresses were busy delivering dishes to customers, with a third, Di, cleaning the table next to where Maddie was sorting cutlery.

‘Holy cow, it’s Prince Remirez!’ Di screeched.

Maddie almost jumped out of her skin, nearly dropping the two dozen forks in her hands. ‘What?’

Di pointed, wide-eyed, at the window.

Heart slamming against her ribs, Maddie turned and watched the man she’d spent far too many precious hours thinking about examining the café sign and the pavement with the same dripping disdain he’d shown for her neighbourhood last night.

The late March sun burst through the clouds in that moment, outlining his upturned haughty face in jaw-dropping relief.

Last night, in the dark nightclub and darker limo, she’d thought his breathtaking male beauty too good to be true. Now, with the sun caressing every spectacular feature, Maddie was left in no doubt that from head to toe the man next in line to the throne of Montegova was a magnificent male specimen.

She managed to drag her gaze from that rugged jaw and captivating face long enough to glance at her colleague. ‘You know who he is?’

Di rolled her eyes. ‘Duh! Every female with a pulse over the age of fourteen knows who he is. His brother Zak is equally hot. I wonder what the Crown Prince is doing here, though. I would’ve thought Bond Street was more his speed if he’s shopping. Hey, don’t royals have minions to do that sort of—? Oh, my God, he’s coming in here!’

Maddie turned away, praying Di was wrong. He wasn’t here for her. He couldn’t be. In the dark of a nightclub, in the midst of minor celebrities and royalty, it was easy to explain away a crown prince’s fleeting interest in her—even to herself.

Here, among the cheap plastic furniture and even cheaper food of a street corner café, it was difficult to rationalise why the hottest man alive would seek her out.

But what were the chances that he was here on some other mission?

Di continued to chatter away. Maddie kept her back to the door, despite the mocking voice that said she was burying her head in the sand.

Moments later she heard the hush in the café, heard the firm, confident footfalls of a man who believed he owned the very ground he walked on—right before she felt the mildly earth-shaking vibrations of his presence behind her.

‘Miss Myers.’

Dear God, she hadn’t imagined the impact of that voice. Nor had she imagined its pulse-destroying effect on her.

She tried fruitlessly to fight the shivers coursing through her as she turned around. And promptly lost her grip on the forks in her hand.

The clatter was astounding.

Face flaming, Maddie dropped to her knees, furiously scrambling for the forks. Before her, a pair of polished hand-stitched shoes remained planted. Unmoving. She refused to look up, refused to acknowledge the existence of the man clad in an expensive, dark navy pinstriped suit that probably cost more than her year’s salary. She crawled around him, snatching up the utensils as her face grew hotter. When she had them all she sat back on her heels, prepared to rise.

‘Miss Myers?’

Maddie bit her lip, knowing she couldn’t avoid looking at him. She tilted her head, her breath strangling all over again when her eyes clashed with his silver-grey ones. They were ferociously intense, even as one eyebrow slowly lifted mockingly and he examined her flushed face.

‘Um...yes?’ She was sure embarrassment was what had rendered her voice a husky mess, not the charged volts shooting through her pelvis and the stinging awareness that she was at eye level with his crotch.

She blinked, her brain emptying of everything but one single, breath-stealing erotic image.

‘You missed one.’

A throat cleared. Hastily she glanced down, saw one cheap scratched fork held between his long, neatly tapered fingers.

She snatched it from him. ‘Thank you.’

Still on her knees, she placed the forks on the nearest table, then froze when Prince Remirez extended one elegant hand towards her.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she considered the many ways she could refuse his assistance without causing offence.

There were none.

So she placed her hand in his, felt his fingers glide across her palm on their way to gripping hers. She’d once read a novel in which the heroine described feeling pure electricity when she touched the man of her dreams. Maddie had rolled her eyes then.

Now she sent a silent apology to the maligned character.

Crown Prince Remirez would never be the man of her dreams, and she wasn’t going to waste her time counting the many ways why, but the reality that singed and branded and claimed that small portion of her body promised that she would never shake another hand without remembering this captivating moment.

Her insides liquefied as he tightened his grip and tugged her to her feet. The slight tautening of his face and the flare in his eyes told her he wasn’t completely unaffected by what was happening. Nor did he miss her wince as her arm twinged in pain.

The moment she felt steady on her feet she tried to snatch her hand from his. He kept hold of her for a moment longer before he released her.

When she could breathe again Maddie threw a furtive glance around her. As suspected, every single gaze in the café was fixed on her, including her boss’s—although his curiosity was beginning to dissolve into annoyance.

‘Would...would you like a table, um... Your Highness?’ Was that the correct form of address? Or was it Your Grace? ‘You can pick any one you like. I’ll be with you as soon as I finish putting—’

‘I’m not here to dine, Miss Myers.’ He cut across her, not bothering to keep his voice down. Or the disdain out of it.

She reminded herself that she needed this job and therefore couldn’t afford to be rude to patrons or non-patrons. ‘In that case I can’t really help you, since I’m working. Maybe we can—’

‘It’s in your interest to make time. Now.’

About to refuse, because her heart rate didn’t seem interested in slowing down, and because he really was a little too potent to her senses, she paused. Something in his voice warned her against it.

Belatedly she remembered that he’d summoned Jules to breakfast this morning. Had Jules divulged their connection? Was that why he was here?

She searched his face and came away with nothing but further evidence of his heart-stopping gorgeousness.

A quick glance at the clock showed it was a quarter past eleven. The lunchtime rush hour wouldn’t start for another half hour. ‘Jim, can I take my break now? I’ll make it up later.’

The head chef, who also happened to be the café’s owner, glanced from her to Prince Remirez and then, barely hiding his irritation, nodded. ‘I s’pose so.’

She flashed him a grateful smile, then dived into the small cubicle that doubled up as a changing and break room to get her bag. Slinging it crossways over her shoulder, she hurried through the café and out onto the pavement.

Where a small crowd had gathered, their camera phones ready to capture the image of the most captivating man on earth.

‘We’ll have more privacy in the car,’ Prince Remirez pronounced smoothly, a second before his hand arrived at her waist and nudged her firmly in the direction of the open back door of a limo.

Maddie entered, immediately noting the different configuration of the seats from last night’s car. There was no bench seat on the far side behind the driver. Which left her no choice but shuffle along the seat as Prince Remirez slid in after her.

The door shut behind him and instantly the atmosphere closed in around them. The push of air wrapped his scent around her, triggering that insane urge to bury her face in his neck and drown herself in his scent.

Whether it came from a bottle or it was a specially branded scent, it was lethal enough to be seriously addictive to women.

Addictive.

The word brought her up short, flinging her foolish ruminations into harsh reality. ‘Okay, Your Highness. You have fifteen minutes.’

He adjusted his cuffs, rested his elegant hands on his thighs before fixing his ferocious eyes on her. ‘Your business with Jules is over,’ he stated bluntly.

Maddie tried not to panic, but fear raced up her spine and threatened to paralyse her all the same.

After forcing herself to take a few slow, rib-bruising breaths, she pulled her phone from her pocket. ‘With all due respect, I want to hear it from him.’

Prince Remirez glanced at her phone. ‘He’s already on a plane to Montegova. You won’t see him or talk to him again. Your number has been blocked from his phone permanently so save yourself the trouble.’

A cold shiver ploughed through her. ‘Why are you doing this?’

He reached into his breast pocket and extracted a dark burgundy card with sleek gold numbers embossed on the front and back. ‘I came here to tell you that if you wish to salvage anything from this I am prepared to hear you out.’ He nodded at the card. ‘My address and private number are on the back. You have twenty-four hours to use it. Then I too will be out of your reach.’

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