by Noelle Adams
Christmas with a Prince
Rothman Royals, Book Four
Noelle Adams
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About Christmas with a Prince
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Epilogue
About Noelle Adams
About Christmas with a Prince
I MIGHT BE A FORMER party girl and the over-indulged daughter of a multi-millionaire, but for the last few years I've been trying to be work hard and be good. I have enough right now to deal with—graduate school, my community literacy program, preparations for Christmas, and my dad's constant attempts to find me a husband. I definitely don't want to put up with Henry always hanging around, acting obnoxious and looking far too sexy.
My boss forced me to take on Henry as a literacy volunteer for the month of December. I don't know anything about him except he's from somewhere in Europe, and he's spoiled, entitled, arrogant, stubborn... and incredibly hot. He's the kind of guy I've been trying to stay away from. Plus he's got a secret—something he's hiding from me.
Now I can't think of anything but him, and I'm stuck with him until Christmas is over.
One
THE FIRST TIME I SAW Prince Henry of Villemont, I knew he was trouble.
I didn’t know he was a prince then, and there was no reason I would have recognized him. Villemont is a microstate in the Alps that most people in the US have never heard of. I might have learned the name of the tiny country in a long-ago geography class, but I’d never given it a second thought in my life.
I lived in downtown Minneapolis, after all. I certainly wouldn’t assume some random guy in blue jeans and about two weeks’ growth of beard was a member of a European royal family.
I knew he looked like trouble, however, as he sat on the floor with a circle of kids in my community literacy program, holding a children’s book open on his lap. He had dark blond hair and steel-gray eyes and very fine shoulders. His shoes were Italian and expensive.
He also had a little smirk on his face when he glanced up and saw me staring at him.
No matter how unimpressive he was trying to appear, I could immediately see that he was the kind of spoiled rich boy I’d been trying to stay away from for the past three years.
He was trouble. No doubt about it.
I am April Northam, and I guess my life is kind of clichéd. My father is a multimillionaire, and I’m his only daughter. My mother took off shortly after I was born, and my father spent every waking hour at work and didn’t know what to do with a daughter. So he threw money at me and let my nanny raise me.
I did what almost every overindulged, neglected child of wealth does.
I misbehaved.
When I was thirteen, I had my first drink at a wild party in a classmate’s penthouse.
When I was fourteen, I lost my virginity in the back of a limo.
When I was fifteen, I got arrested for drug possession, although my dad made sure the charges were dropped and nothing ended up on my record. I wasn’t even taking the drugs—just holding on to them for my boyfriend.
When I was sixteen, I crashed the pretty red car I’d gotten for my birthday.
When I was seventeen, I went to rehab for the first time—an ultraexclusive center that was more like a resort.
I went back two more times before I was twenty-one.
When I was twenty-two, I made all the tabloids for dancing naked on the yacht of a hot young movie star. There were photos and everything. The whole world saw them.
When I was twenty-three, my father almost died from a heart attack, and I finally turned my life around. I went to a different rehab center—one less like a resort—and this time it finally clicked.
I stopped drinking. I stopped partying. I stayed out of the tabloids. I finally finished college, started graduate school in philosophy, and spent the rest of my time on volunteer work, trying to give back in any way I could. For three years, I actively avoided anyone who might drag me back into my old lifestyle.
All this to explain why trouble in the form of a hot, entitled stranger was the last thing I needed.
For one thing, he wasn’t even supposed to be here right now. For two hours on weekday afternoons, the community center building was used for the after-school literacy program I managed, and I approved and supervised all the volunteers. This guy wasn’t one of them. That was reason enough for me to walk over and ask who he was.
My tone was firm but scrupulously polite, which was how I always dealt with situations like this. “I’m sorry, but what are you doing here?”
He looked up to where I was standing above him, and his eyes ran up and down my body in a way that made me shiver.
The shiver was annoying, and it wasn’t like me at all—at least not for the past three years. Falling under the sway of good-looking guys who paid me much-needed attention was how all my trouble started as a teenager. I knew what kind of thoughts had flickered through this one’s mind as he gave me that leisurely once-over.
I’m not a beauty queen, but I guess I’m pretty enough—small and slim with big brown eyes and long chestnut-brown hair I always wear in one long braid down my back. I have no problem with a man appreciating my body in appropriate contexts, but this guy was leering at me instead of answering my question.
“I’m a volunteer,” he said at last.
“You’re not an approved volunteer, so you aren’t allowed to be here. I have to ask you to leave.”
Before you start to think I was being rude to him for no reason, you have to understand that all our volunteers went through strenuous background checks. We couldn’t take any chances with these kids, and any random man entering the premises without authorization would immediately be dealt with, no matter who he was or what he looked like.
Predators can be young and good-looking, and I wasn’t going to let a creep anywhere close to my kids.
Plus this guy scared me—tempted me in a way I hadn’t been tempted in a really long time.
“All right, boys and girls,” I said in a different tone, smiling at the circle of six kids who were watching our conversation with interest. “Why don’t you head to the kitchen and see what Jenny is making for snack today?”
This was a compelling enough suggestion that the children in the circle all ran into the kitchen without argument.
The guy stood up and smiled at me. “I’m Henry.” He had perfect teeth and adorable little creases at the corners of his mouth when he smiled. He needed to shave, and he needed a haircut, but he was still almost unbearably good-looking.
“I don’t really care who you are. If you don’t leave now, you’ll be escorted out.” I nodded toward where Stan, the security guard, stood at the entrance. He was watching me as if waiting to see if I needed help.
“I’m supposed to be here.”
“No, you’re really not.” I was frowning at him, wishing with everything inside me that his smile didn’t make me want to smile back.
“Are you always this bossy?”
I paused as I realized for the first time that he wasn’t an American. He spoke English perfectly, but I could catch a trace of a European accent. I wasn’t any sort of an expert o
n accents, but I knew it wasn’t British. Maybe French?
Then I remembered it made absolutely no difference what country this guy was from. “I’m bossy when I’m the boss. And this is the last time I’m going to ask you to leave.”
His eyes were still warm and almost amused as they rested on my face. “I truly am supposed to be here.”
Truly. No American guy of my acquaintance would have said truly even though it was perfectly correct in this context.
I was about to summon Stan over when I saw Marcus Winter come out of the office just then. Marcus was the director of the community center and my boss. He must have been looking for me because he waved me over when he saw me. Then he made a gesture toward Stan, who had started to walk toward the stranger.
The gesture was clear. Stan was to leave Henry alone.
Which gave me a sinking feeling in my gut as I approached Marcus.
Damn it.
This obnoxious guy was going to win this encounter after all.
“What is he doing here?” I asked, glancing back at Henry, who was still standing in the middle of the floor like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“I’m sorry,” Marcus said. He was an attractive, middle-aged black man, and when I first started working for the community center two years ago, I had the biggest crush on him. “I would have told you earlier, but you were already out doing errands. He’s going to work as a volunteer this week. I’ve approved him.”
“But why?”
“It’s a long story. Sometimes we have to accommodate the needs of those who fund us. This is one of those times.”
Marcus was being careful, and he looked genuinely sympathetic, but I understood what was underlying his words.
Someone rich and influential had reached out on this guy’s behalf, and so now we had to work with him or the community center would suffer.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s disruptive to have people come and go like that, and I haven’t even run the normal checks on this guy. We don’t know anything about him.”
“I know about him. I’ve seen his background check, and he’ll be fine. I promise he’ll be fine with the kids.”
I liked and trusted Marcus, so I had no reason to doubt that was true. But it didn’t make me any happier about being stuck with some strange guy for a week. “All right. But why does he have this sudden need to volunteer with us? Does he need it for a résumé or...” I trailed off. “Shit, he’s not doing some sort of required community service, is he?”
I prayed this wasn’t true, even as I wondered what kind of misbehavior had required enforced community service.
“Uh, er, yeah... something like that.” Marcus’s face twisted as if he was very uncomfortable with the conversation.
I sighed. “Okay. Fine. I can see you don’t have a choice. If you say he’s all right, then I’ll have to trust you. But I don’t have to be happy about it. It’s just a week?”
“That’s what I was told.”
“All right. I’ll deal with it.”
“Thanks, April,” Marcus said, his face relaxing into a smile.
I rolled my eyes and then almost groaned aloud when I glanced over at Henry and saw he was giving me that little smirk again, like he knew he’d won.
I suppressed my urge to slap that expression off his face and walked back over to him. “All right,” I said with a fake, polite smile. “It looks like you’ll be working with us for the week. We can find you plenty to do, but you can’t lead one of the reading circles. The kids need more continuity than that. It’s disruptive for the leaders to keep changing. You can help out with odd jobs and housekeeping-type work.”
Henry’s eyebrows arched. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. You didn’t expect to just lounge around and read children’s books all week, did you?”
He was smiling again. “I’m not sure what I expected.”
“If you’re going to be here, you’re going to do some work.”
“I’ll do anything you want me to do.” His voice went just a little husky with those words, and it made me shiver again.
I really didn’t need that.
It was bad enough to get stuck with an entitled asshole for the week. I wasn’t going to be attracted to him too.
I’d done so well for the past three years. I wasn’t going to get dragged back down to where I used to be.
If only he didn’t have such a good body—with those broad shoulders, lean hips, long legs, and flat abdomen. If only those creases at the corners of his mouth weren’t quite so adorable.
I gave myself a silent lecture as I glared at him coolly. Finally I remembered we were in the middle of a conversation and said, “You can help Jenny in the kitchen for now. There’s always a lot of cleanup to do after snack.”
“Whatever you say.”
I didn’t like the sound of his tone. It was too smooth, too amused, too... flirtatious.
I reminded myself I’d be rid of him next week and swallowed over my annoyance and rising nerves.
I gave him another fake smile, but it just made him chuckle.
And, damn it, even that laugh made me think about sex.
Only one week. I could be polite for a week. And then I would be safe again.
I could go back to the life I’d worked so hard to build for myself and never have to see this guy again.
I HAD A NICE APARTMENT in downtown Minneapolis. It was a big, airy one-bedroom with gorgeous city views. My dad gave it to me as a high school graduation gift, and back then I’d suspected he just wanted to get me and all my baggage out of his place. For a few years, all the other residents of the building hated me. I had loud parties and visitors at all hours of the night.
For the past three years, I’d had no visitors at all. I had a few female friends who weren’t associated with my old life. I went shopping with them or met them for lunch. They never came over to my place though, and I only dated occasionally. I never brought guys back to my apartment.
I’d just started my master’s in philosophy that fall, and the only guys in the program were married or gay. But men occasionally asked me out around campus, and my father would sometimes try to fix me up. But that was the extent of my social life now.
I’d found it was safer to avoid situations where I was tempted to do something stupid. Maybe my life was kind of boring now, but at least it was good.
And safe.
I’d just got home that evening and had taken off my shoes and collapsed on the couch when my phone rang.
My father.
“Hey, Dad,” I said with a smile in my voice.
Three years ago, his heart attack had woken him up the way it had me. The whole time I was growing up, he’d worked at least fourteen hours a day. I only ever saw him on weekends, and even then it was only cursory.
But after his heart attack, he’d cut way back on his work schedule and tried to reconnect with me. He was still a busy man, but he called me every day and we got together at least a couple of times a week for lunch or dinner.
His apartment was in the high rise across the street from me.
“Hi, princess. How was your day?”
He’d always called me his princess, ever since I was three years old.
“It was okay. Class was good. I got stuck with an annoying new volunteer at work, but I guess I’ll be able to deal with him.”
“Why did you get stuck with him? I thought you were responsible for hiring volunteers.”
“I am. But this was over my head. It was over Marcus’s head too. You know how it goes.”
“Yeah. I do. What’s wrong with him?”
“He just has an attitude.”
“You’re good at dealing with attitudes. Just make sure he knows who’s the boss.”
“Yep. That’s my plan.” I smiled at my empty apartment. A few years ago, I never would have dreamed I could have a real conversation with my father this way. The most I’d ever been able to hope for was a few words a week about
my classes or complaints about how skimpy my outfits were.
“Hey, listen. I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
“Dad—”
“No, don’t start arguing already. This is a good one.”
I groaned. One of the unfortunate side effects of his new interest in my life was that my father was now always trying to find me a husband.
It was ridiculous.
He’d tried to match me up with the sons or brothers of eight of his business associates so far. The first few times, I’d actually gone out with the guys until I realized I wasn’t going to like any of them. Since then, I’d always said no.
He still tried though.
“Dad, we’ve talked about it. I’m not going to do it again.”
“But wait until you hear who this—”
“No. I’m sorry, but no. I don’t want to hear about him. Believe it or not, I’m capable of finding a man on my own.”
“So are you dating anyone now?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There’s no one I want to date.”
“Have you really tried?”
I suppressed another groan. “I’m only twenty-five, Dad. Do I really have to find a husband right now? I’ve got graduate school and my work at the community center and plenty of friends. I’m fine. I promise I am.”
“I know you’re fine. But maybe you could be better. And this guy isn’t just a little spoiled asshole. He’s literally a—”
“No! Please don’t tell me. I don’t want to be fixed up.” My voice broke slightly when I didn’t mean it to. “I really don’t.”
My dad was silent for longer than usual. Then he asked softly, “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “I’m fine. And I know you’re just trying to do what’s best for me. But this constant search for a husband for me makes it feel like you don’t really think I’m okay the way I am. There’s nothing wrong with being single. And believe it or not, girls can be just fine on their own.”
“I know they can. I know you can. I didn’t mean for you to think otherwise.”