Tempting the Prince (Sexy Misadventures of Royals)

by Christi Barth

  “Well, you won’t have to talk to all of them.” After he stared at her blankly, Kelsey continued. “Remember your bet with Mallory? She’s deep into due diligence to weed out the ‘undesirables.’”

  “Parliament sent five representatives to work on the guest list. Believe me when I say the women in here have been vetted and are all considered officially desirable.”

  “For Parliament, maybe. But not for you, my favorite brother.” She squeezed the arm of his tailcoat. “Going to the right schools and knowing archery and skiing and speaking three languages isn’t nearly enough to earn a spot on your potential bride list. You know why?”

  “No. And I’d love it if you’d share your answer with all the royal advisors.” Because they certainly didn’t listen when Christian tried to explain that he didn’t know what he wanted in a queen-to-be, but it wasn’t on any of the lists they kept shoving at him.

  “I’m sure they, you know, tried. But you need to look past the résumé. Weed out the snobs, the skanks, the title-chasers, and the bores.” Kelsey lifted a lock of hair to reveal an earbud. “I can hear everything she says. It’s…illuminating.”

  For a second, his head spun in shock. “That’s what Mallory’s doing right now?” Christian didn’t think she’d take his bet seriously. He’d only suggested it as a way to pressure her into attending.

  Because he thought she’d look amazing in a ball gown.

  Because she deserved a fun night of champagne and fantasy.

  Because he wanted her at the ball with him. Period.

  “Yep.” She cocked her head to the side, listening. Then made a fast grab for her tiara to be sure it didn’t slide off. “Did you know that there’s a pool?”

  “The oddsmakers have been adjusting that betting pool for the last ten years.” Christian slid a finger under his collar to try and loosen the pressure. “When I’ll propose. Who I’ll propose to. If she’ll say yes.”

  “No, those are the official ones.” Kelsey’s eyes widened. “There’s an underground pool about who’ll sleep with you. Tonight.”

  He turned away to dart his gaze around the crowded room. Noted the obvious stares—and not a few less than veiled licking of lips—in his direction. “Fuck. Did you know about this, Genny?”

  “Of course. It happens every year, every ball and gala. You do have a reputation for…I don’t know…” She leaned in closer. “Getting off on getting women out of ball gowns?” Then she and Kelsey burst into giggles.

  “For Christ’s sake. These balls are deadly dull. Hooking up’s my reward for getting through the evening.”

  After tsking, Kelsey said solemnly, “Women are neither cookies nor medals, Christian.”

  “I know that. Believe me, every one of them was ready to hand me a medal for exemplary service by the time we finished. Nobody was used. And no promises were made.”

  Genevieve patted his arm. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but those days are over. Too many eyes are on you. Everything you do is laden with expectation now.”

  It was the same line his advisors repeated endlessly. He just hadn’t anticipated hearing it from his sister. “Didn’t I just hear you say ‘screw it’ to expectations?”

  “Yes. But I’m not the one currently acting as king. Things are drastically different now. Papa’s actions have caused a need for you to react. To step up. To stop stalling in your bride search.”

  He cut to the chase. “To stop having fun.”

  “With women? I think so.” She kissed him on the cheek, then whispered, “I’m sorry,” in his ear.

  The Prince and Princess of Monaco tapped in at that point, eager to be introduced to Kelsey. Christian knew the rules. The royal family wasn’t allowed to clump together. They had to divide and conquer. So he left his sisters and started making the rounds.

  A two-minute conversation with one cluster of guests, followed by a three-minute dance. And…repeat.

  Again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Christian did enjoy a brief respite chatting with the admiral of the Royal Navy. He even managed five whole minutes with Elias, introducing Theo to more of their friends. After spending much of his life abroad, the man had decided to stay in Moncriano, with Genny. Although it was obvious Theo was head over heels for his sister, Christian wanted to stack the deck to make sure he didn’t regret his decision to stay.

  Then Sir Kai handed him a glass of champagne and discreetly murmured that Lady Francine was looking forward to dancing with him. Back to duty.

  Others looked at the ball as fun, as the social event of the season.

  For Christian, it was work. For the most part, he genuinely enjoyed the chance to talk with everyone. To catch up, to get a read on their subjects, to offer help and sympathy, or share a laugh and congratulations. That was the good part.

  But he didn’t have to look in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that lined one wall to know that everyone was watching him. Because Genny had been right. Tonight was the official kickoff of the serious search for his bride.

  And that was the part of the evening that was fucking miserable.

  An hour later, he’d made it to the opposite end of the room. The crisp flatness of an American accent hit his ears from behind. It was as refreshing as if he’d been transported to the bow of a ship, wind in his face.

  Finally, a woman he wanted to talk to. A woman with zero expectations, who wanted nothing from him.

  But, oh, the things he wanted from her. Instead of turning around, he just listened for a moment, to see if Kelsey had been exaggerating.

  In a dismissive tone, Mallory said, “You can’t believe what you read on the internet about the prince. That’s all spin. His publicity people trying to beef up his image. Believe me, I know the real story. He’s like my brother, after all.”

  “What sort of things do you know?”

  “He puts jam on his scrambled eggs. He has the palate of a toddler. He won’t touch champagne—the waiters give him glasses filled with seltzer. Oh, and you know what he does to relax? Not watch rom-coms. Not action flicks. The man reads those Japanese comic books…anime? He even has a cosplay costume for it in his closet. I’ve seen it. A giant sea monster with three tails.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “You’re getting the real inside scoop. If you spend the night? I’ve heard he reads the comics out loud to his dates.”

  The world’s fastest, weakest excuse was made as the other woman quickly took her leave. Only then did Christian turn around.

  Immediately, he clenched his hands into fists to keep from reaching out to touch her. Because Mallory was a vision. Her dress was a sleek column of satin with rippling wings dripping off it that almost formed a cape. It clung to every generous dip and curve of her body. The deep, burnished orange set off her hair, topped with a gold, diamond and ruby tiara.

  Just looking at her lit a fire in his veins. Touching her would no doubt ignite it.

  And yet, he intended to do just that.

  …

  Mallory froze as Prince Christian faced her. Because this entire night was surreal, and his…royal studliness was the topper.

  The enormous ballroom with gilded everything, elaborate paintings on the ceiling and candelabras at both ends—it was like she’d stepped through time. Or onto a movie set. Or into the pages of an honest-to-goodness fairy tale. There were oodles of beautiful people bowing and curtsying, all in formal wear and dripping with sashes, medals, and priceless jewels. An orchestra played in a loft above, so the old-fashioned music literally rained down on everyone.

  And now, Prince Charming—exquisitely handsome in white tie and tails, bisected by a lavender sash covered in ribbons and medals—was crowding up on her so much that she took several steps backward.

  His dark-blond brows drew together into a stern line. “Lady Ma
llory, you’re maligning my character.”

  Well, she might be bowled over by the night and his handsomeness, but she wasn’t a pushover. She shook off her shock at being overheard and lifted her chin. “I feel it’s my duty.”

  “In what possible way?”

  “You charged me with finding you a worthy potential bride. That requires…a backdoor approach.”

  Hands behind his back, which somehow made him even more princely, Christian moved in close on her again. “Telling outrageous lies about me?”

  “First of all, they’re obviously outrageous and unbelievable.” Which was the brilliance of her plan. “I’m not saying anything that a reasonable person would fall for, like, oh, you have to take seasickness pills when you’re doing your navy rotation.”

  His voice was low, and the slight accent that was mostly British but with the rolled Rs of Italy raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “Do you expect thanks for that?”

  Darn straight she did. “Look, if a rumor starts floating around that matches anything I said tonight, you’ll know where it came from. And you’ll know that woman isn’t trustworthy enough to be with you. I’ve been keeping a list.”

  His violet eyes raked up and down her body. Slowly. So slowly that Mallory swore she felt the track of them like a caress through the satin of her dress. “Where?”

  Another two steps backward took her into the alcove where her purse and phone sat on a narrow table. Next to her champagne. Because, c’mon, what woman wouldn’t drink champagne at her first ball? The sparkles in her glass needed to match the sparkles in the OMG tiara with its Grecian key design that Duchess Mathilde loaned her.

  Mallory pointed. “On my phone.” Then she managed to pretend to pat her hair into place while pressing the tiny button that turned her earbud off. Nobody else needed to hear the, ah, familiarity between herself and the prince.

  Christian propped a hand on the arch overhead. Not only did he fill the space, but it felt like his movement cut them off from the rest of the ballroom. “That’s quite savvy of you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a bob of a curtsy. “I planted misinformation with the ones who immediately asked about life in the palace. The less than bright ones I confused. Oh, and the slutty ones who were all about your looks? I told them that Parliament made you take a vow of celibacy that would last until the royal wedding.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Did you?”

  “Your bride can’t just want you for your body. Hotness doesn’t last, Your Highness, not even for royalty. She’s got to want the man on the inside of this amazing physique.” Mallory waved a hand up and down his body.

  And though it was barely discernible, she could tell that underneath the layers of formal wear, Christian stiffened. Froze? Was he surprised by her assertion, or the compliment? Was she supposed to pretend that their night together never happened?

  He reached out, as though to touch her arm, but course-corrected to merely rub the ruffle that flowed off her shoulder between his fingers. “Do you mean that?”

  “Of course. Marriage is a partnership. And it’s forever, so you’d better choose the right partner.”

  After a long moment—long enough to notice the Strauss waltz playing, just discernible over the din of laughter and chitchat—Christian leaned in until the lapels of his jacket brushed against her shoulder. Then Mallory heard a click and felt the cool air as the door behind her to the garden opened.

  “Come with me,” Christian commanded, crooking his arm in invitation.

  And while yes, a part of her thrilled at the low, intimate order, Mallory had spent weeks prepping for and learning the import of the centuries-old traditions of the Persephone Ball. The crown prince had a very specific role. To be front and center all night, available to everyone. To be the shining, golden personification of Moncriano’s success, stability, and prosperity.

  Tentatively, she asked, “Are you allowed to leave the ball?”

  A vein pulsed at his temple. “Do you see anyone here who outranks me to stop me?”

  Ah.

  His father wasn’t here. Another one of those thousand cuts Christian absorbed every time he had to step in for King Julian.

  Mallory could remind him that his father’s absence made it all the more vital that he stay in the spotlight. But “official minder” was her role with Kelsey. With Christian…well, she didn’t know what her role was. Like a sister, but definitely not. Friend seemed too casual for the complex relationship that tied them together.

  Maybe if she followed him, she’d find out.

  She curled her gloved hand around his forearm. They slipped sideways through the barely cracked door. Outside, on the cusp of October, the air was cool. The noise from the ballroom quickly receded as their shoes snicked against the crushed oyster shells of the path. Torches staked amid the ruthlessly trimmed hedgerows burned above their heads. Their orange glow cast dramatic shadows from the towering pines that bordered the garden.

  Christian led them wordlessly away from the music, the light, and the people. Two abrupt turns took them off the main path to a row of alternating marble statues and urns that delineated the break between the formal garden and the wild forest surrounding the palace grounds. He stopped abruptly, pulling her around what was probably a representation of a long-dead relative.

  “I brought you out here to thank you properly, Mallory.”

  “For what?”

  And what constituted “proper” thanks from a prince? He’d already given her a title, for crying out loud.

  “For looking out for me. Not the crown prince of Moncriano, just Christian. I’m used to people prioritizing the title. Not the man.” He skimmed his big, warm hand down her jawline. “So I very much appreciate you doing just that. Thank you.”

  Oh my goodness. That shouldn’t require thanks.

  Six months ago, she would’ve laughed at him for suggesting it. But living in Alcarsa Palace, she’d seen the royal family be treated as living figureheads over and over again. Which made Mallory so sad, because they were all amazing, interesting people in their own right, completely separate from the accident of birth that made them royal.

  “I, ah, was only following your request. The bet you made to lure me into attending the ball?” Because yes, she’d seen right through that ploy.

  Christian shook his head, and a thick lock of blond hair fell onto his forehead. It made him look younger, more earnest. More approachable. “I made that bet with you in jest. But you took it to heart. You’re honestly trying to flush out a worthy bride.”

  “Well, if you hadn’t noticed, I’m rather competitive. I won’t ever turn down a bet.”

  A ghost of a smile flirted with the corners of his mouth. “Nor will I.”

  Mallory took a deep breath. Yes, she was probably about to cross a line. But the grand duchess had labeled her family. Wasn’t family who you could trust to tell the truths that you needed to hear?

  Plus, watching Christian stoically try to ignore the potential awfulness of his future just clawed at her heartstrings. Made her want to hug him, and stroke his head soothingly, and bake him some über-comforting double chocolate Irish cream brownies.

  “I also think it’s important to state for the record that you’ve inherited a crappy deal. Being told who you’re allowed to marry. Like you’re handed a prix fixe dinner menu, and you simply don’t have a taste for the three choices.” Mallory slowly shook her head, mindful of the weight of the tiara. “It’s not fair. You’re giving your whole life to this country. You deserve happiness.”

  “I haven’t done anything to deserve it. But I do want it.” Christian lifted her hand, pressed a kiss to the backs of her knuckles. Half bent, looking up at her from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, he could be a movie poster of Prince Charming. “I want you.”

  It was a moment—another one—she’d remember for the rest
of her life. The stars, the softness of an oversize tree fern against her arm, the sweet scent of a night-blooming something, and the handsome prince giving her the most knee-melting of looks.

  Why did she have to be the party pooper? The adult in the room? Why couldn’t she turn off her responsibility-meter? “Oh, no. I mean, wow, but, we can’t.”

  “I can’t not want you, Mallory.”

  Well, she couldn’t lie to the man. Her good midwestern ethics wouldn’t allow it. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, either. I keep trying. I think that’s why I tried so hard tonight to find someone appropriate for you.”

  “Appropriate? That sounds like a balanced diet with kale three times a week and no pasta. Like that menu you mentioned. Not at all what I want. So screw appropriate. I want you.” Christian surged forward. He locked an arm around her waist, splayed a palm across her nape, and kissed her.

  His tongue immediately entwined with hers. Because there was no polite, warm-up peck. From the heat of his kiss, Christian had been as…affected…by their coupling at the bar as Mallory. And he’d been lusting for more, exactly as she had. A week’s worth of pent-up lust packed quite a punch.

  It was grappling to see who could lick more, taste more. It was sloppy, wanton, wet proof of how much they wanted each other. It was a battle with no losers.

  It was perfection.

  Except for Christian’s formal armor. Mallory got her hand under his coat, but the vest had such a snug fit that she couldn’t get down another layer. She could only content herself by sliding her palm down to his high, tight ass and squeezing through the wool of his pants. Every squeeze flapped his tails against her hand, like a shower curtain that kept returning every time you batted it out of the way.

  “Mallory.” He moved his mouth to her ear, where his breath fanned all the tiny hairs and raced goose bumps down her neck. “You are stunningly beautiful tonight.”

  “Several thousand dollars of diamonds will turn any woman beautiful,” she joked.

  Christian pivoted them more behind the base of the statue. He kept his face so close to hers that even in the moonlight, it was possible to see the long, thick lashes framing his sexy violet eyes. “Mallory. Every woman in there is dripping diamonds and wearing couture. And you outshine them all. By far. Because of who you are on the inside. Because I see you. Because you see me.”