This war between Kitzeh and the militant faction responsible for butchering my parents had been decades in the making. Everything I’d done during my adult life had been targeted toward freeing my country from the senseless slaughter of men, women, and children by a heartless regime. I drew in a deep breath and cast aside my doubts. “Find the leak. We need to snuff out this problem before more lives are lost. And set up a call with General Bogdanov. I want to know our next moves.”
This wasn’t my first foray into politics. I’d been funding weapons for various war-torn countries, with the approval of the United States government, for more than a decade. It was a necessary evil and big business. One of the perks of being a warlord was the ability to champion my own causes.
“Have you told your new wife about your hobby?” Ivan asked, once again corralling my attention.
“No. And I’m not going to either. Not yet.” To avoid his gaze, I thumbed through a report on my desk.
“She needs to know. This situation is a hotbed of risks. If you ask me, you should not have married her. At least until this mess is over.” He stared down his long nose at me, eyes narrowing, the same way he’d done when I’d been given detention after school as a kid.
“I never ask for your opinion, and yet, you always give it to me.” I lifted an eyebrow, taunting him, trying to guide the conversation away from Rourke.
“Don’t try to minimize this. The danger is real. Especially if the situation escalates. Someone within your circle is leaking confidential information, which puts all of us at risk. Your wife deserves to know the mess she’s married into.”
His words stayed with me long after he’d left the room. By marrying Rourke, she’d become an unwitting party to my devious deeds. Maybe that was a cowardly move, but I’d built an empire by taking calculated risks. My only excuse for withholding the truth was that I loved her too much to lose her. Few things frightened me, but the idea of going through life without her turned my blood to ice. If I’d told her about the war before the wedding, she might have left me, and I would never let that happen.
I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek at Book 2 in the trilogy. You won’t believe what happens next! One-click today.
The Dirty Princess (Book 2)
The War King (Book 3)
Other books in The Exiled Prince world:
The Royal Arrangement
The Rebel Queen
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The Dirty Princess
Blurb
A personal assistant marries her exiled prince boss and learns that happily-ever-after only exists in fairy tales.
* * *
When Roman Menshikov asks Rourke to marry him, she doesn’t think twice. Once the ring is on her finger, she finds out he’s not the man she thought he was. He’s darker and more dangerous than she suspected. His involvement in an international war might kill them both.
* * *
With wealth and power comes great responsibility for Roman. He’s determined to save his country from ruin but will he sacrifice his new wife in the process?
* * *
Passions ignite when the truth about Roman’s business comes to light. Lives will be lost, hearts will be broken, and a new kingdom is about to be built.
* * *
***This is book 2 of the Royal Secrets Series, is intended to be read following The Exiled Prince, and includes a cliffhanger ending.
1
Rourke
On the day following my marriage to the exiled prince, Roman Menshikov, I awoke in a bed adorned with silk sheets and fluffy down pillows, but no prince. The golden February sunrise glowed behind the heavy velvet drapes of our Park Place penthouse. I wrapped the top sheet around my naked body, wincing at the soreness between my legs, and tiptoed into the adjoining bathroom. My new husband stood in front of the sink, straight razor in hand, shirtless. Stripes of white shaving cream covered his square jaw and contrasted with the bronze of his skin. I paused to take in the sight of him, imposing, impossibly male, and all mine.
“Good morning, Mrs. Menshikov.” The smooth vibration of his voice stirred butterflies in my belly. His eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Good morning.” I hovered in the doorway. Shyness overtook my usual confidence. We’d lived together before our marriage, first as employer and employee then as a couple, yet he still had that effect on me. With my thumb, I twirled the band on the third finger of my left hand. Mrs. Menshikov. My pulse skipped and leaped at the new title.
“Did you sleep well?” His gaze went back to his reflection. He scraped the razor along the flat plane of his regal cheekbone.
“I didn’t sleep. Someone kept me up all night.” The sheet slipped to reveal the top of my breasts. I hitched it higher. His mouth twitched in the smuggest of grins.
“If I didn’t have a meeting this morning, I’d have you flat on your back with your legs in the air for the rest of the day.” As he spoke, his gaze drifted over my body. The blue of his eyes darkened to navy. There was no mistaking the direction of his thoughts.
“You can have me any way you want for the rest of our lives.” My confidence began to return under his heated stare. I let the sheet whisper to the floor and stood naked in front of him.
“Don’t tempt me.” In a heartbeat, he wrapped one arm around my waist and took a handful of my rear end with the other. My breasts flattened against his hard pectorals. The wiry hairs on his chest tickled my bare skin, renewing the ache of desire between my legs. He glanced at his watch. “I have ten minutes.” My knees went weak at the thought of having him inside me one more time before we started our day. “I should bend you over this counter and—” The household intercom buzzed, interrupting the end of his sentence. With a growl, he pressed the speaker button, keeping one hand on my bottom. “What?”
“Mr. Menshikov, your car is ready.”
“Damn. Alright. I’ll be down in five.” Roman released my posterior and put distance between us, snapping into business mode. I hadn’t grown used to his abrupt mood swings, but he no longer frightened me the way he had in the beginning. He dropped a kiss on my lips, his gaze softening for the briefest of moments. “Don’t forget we’re meeting with the party planner at three.”
“Not likely since I’m the one who scheduled the appointment.” Excitement fizzed in my belly. Roman had decided to let me take over the final arrangements for the Masquerade de Marquis. This was my first official assignment as his wife. I retrieved the sheet and draped it around my shoulders like a toga. The masquerade held a special meaning for us. We’d met at the event last year.
“There’s always a first time.” On his way through the door, he paused to trail a fingertip along the notch of my collarbone. His wicked grin tore my thoughts from work. I followed him into his dressing room.
“Have I told you lately that you’re an overbearing control freak?” While I spoke, I removed his dress shirt from its hanger and helped him slide into the starched linen.
“Not today, but I’m sure you’ll get around to it.”
The cocky smirk on his handsome face did crazy things to my insides. Would it always be like this between us or would we become one of those complacent married couples? I hoped not.
He buttoned up the front and fastened his cufflinks as I retrieved his tie. His dark head bent to watch me knot the length of ice blue silk around his neck. “I know we’re busy this week, but I’ve asked Julie to set up interviews right away.”
“For what?” I held up his navy suit jacket. Once he’d slid his arms into the sleeves, I smoothed the fabric over his broad shoulders, admiring the V of his torso. No man wore a suit like Roman Menshikov.
“For your replacement.”
I halted. “You’re firing me?” We’d gone to city hall on a whim, at his urging. His impromptu request had swept me off my feet, and I’d happily agreed. Neither of us had discussed the particulars of our future. Hearing his request brought the heat of anger to simmer in my veins.
“Of course not.” Turning his back, he strode into the bedroom. “My wife can’t be my personal assistant.”
“Why not?” I trotted on his heels, tripping over the long bedsheet.
“You’re the wife of a billionaire and a former prince. You don’t work.” As he spoke, he slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket then gave his reflection a final check in the mirror beside the door. Even though he’d tweaked my temper, I still longed to caress his smooth, square jaw.
“That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard,” I snapped. “This isn’t the Victorian age.” No man, not even my husband, had the right to order me around. Work meant everything to me, and I had no intention of giving it up. “No one is better qualified to take care of you than your wife. Nothing has changed, Roman.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. The minute you put my ring on your finger, you started a new life. You’re Mrs. Menshikov now.” When I crossed my arms over my chest, he paused to study me. “Are we having our first fight?”
“Yes. We are. We need to talk about this.”
“And we will. Later.” He opened the door, signaling the end of our conversation. “Right now, I’ve got to get to the other side of the city. Where’s my briefcase?”
“It’s downstairs by the door, where it always is.” My bare feet slapped on the hall floor. “You’re seriously leaving?”
At the top of the stairs, he took my chin in his hand. His gaze trapped mine, sending a shiver of need into my center, made more potent by the fire in my belly, a fire that burned for him and him alone. The tone of his voice gentled. “I said later, Rourke.”
From the landing, I watched him descend the stairs. He moved with easy confidence, a study of power and strength, barely contained by custom-tailored linen and silk. I drew in a deep breath and tried to soothe my temper. Rash words and tantrums had no effect on Roman. I lifted my chin before heading back to the bedroom. He might have ended the conversation, but the discussion was far from closed. With a little persuasion, he’d come around to my way of thinking.
After a quick shower, I headed downtown. As the Manhattan cityscape flashed by the car windows, my annoyance returned. When Roman had proposed, I’d been so caught up in the fantasy of life with my dream guy that I’d failed to contemplate the reality of marriage to one of the world’s wealthiest men. The glow of our union faded in the bright daylight. We’d known each other less than a year, had dated for a few months, and leaped into matrimony. My love for him hadn’t wavered, but I hadn’t considered the many ways our lives might change by tying the knot. Questions and uncertainties threatened to explode in my head. Thankfully, Everly had agreed to meet me for lunch at our favorite downtown restaurant. I needed her cool reason and level-headed advice.
“Hey.” She greeted me with a peck on the cheek. The scent of Chanel clung to her black pantsuit. The instant we parted, she grabbed my hand and lifted it into the air between us, her gaze homing in on my ring finger. Sixteen round brilliant diamonds sparkled at her from their setting of platinum and gold. “Oh. My. God. What’s this?”
“Right. About that—”
“You got married?” Her angry squeal echoed through the restaurant. The clatter of silverware and hum of chatter ceased. Dozens of curious eyes turned to look at us.
“Shhhh. You don’t have to tell the entire world.” I grabbed her sleeve and tugged her into the chair next to me. “We haven’t formally announced anything yet. Roman wants to keep it quiet for now.”
“I’m your best friend, and you didn’t invite me. How could you?” Her slender nose crinkled. “Not only did you rob me of the opportunity to be your maid of honor, you stole our chance to have a killer bachelorette party.”
“I tell you I’m married, and this is your concern?” I lifted an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at her indignation. “No congratulations?”
“Oh, honey, you know I’m happy for you.” In true Everly fashion, she shoved aside her dismay and wrapped both arms around my shoulders. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” An uncontrollable smile stretched my mouth. I was grinning like an idiot but couldn’t help it.
“Just so you know, I’m seriously annoyed. You were my maid of honor. I tell you everything. Everything.” The symmetry of her features changed as she pouted. Despite her overtures, I knew she was thrilled for me by the excited sparkle in her eyes. “I demand an apology.”
“I’m sorry. I should have called you, but it was kind of spur-of-the-moment.”
“Okay. Let’s calm down a second.” With a melodramatic sigh, she placed a hand on her bosom and drew in two deep breaths. “First, Roman Menshikov never does anything without thinking through every aspect of his actions, and second, you’re now one of the wealthiest women in the world. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.” Honestly, I hadn’t thought about the money at all. My greatest concern had been pledging myself to the man I loved for eternity. Hearing her words made my palms sweat. “I swear it’s not going to change me.”
Everly’s laughter brought a flush of heat to my cheeks. “Honey, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s already changed you. There’s an iceberg on your ring finger, and you’ve got minions now.” She nodded toward two imposing men dressed in similar black suits, standing against the wall across from our table. I’d assumed they were restaurant security. Lance, my personal bodyguard, who accompanied me everywhere, hovered within shouting distance, blending into the surroundings.
“I don’t know them. They must be here with someone else.”
“No. I’m pretty sure they’re here for you,” she said.
I tapped a quick text into my phone, and ten seconds later, Lance materialized at my elbow. A casual polo shirt and khaki pants couldn’t hide his soldier posture. He bent down to catch my words. “Lance, do you know those men?”
“Yes, ma’am. They’re part of your team.” At my scowl, he straightened and lifted his chin. “And there are two more outside. Ivan and Mr. Menshikov insisted.”
“Do you think they could be a little less conspicuous?” I tried to curb the irritation in my voice. It wasn’t Lance’s fault. If Ivan and Roman felt I needed additional protection, I didn’t have a problem with it. I did, however, take issue with the fact that no one had bothered to tell me.
“I’ll have a word with them, ma’am.” Within seconds of my request, the minions had vanished, but I felt their gazes on me.
“See? Told you so.” Everly unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap with an assertive snap. “So, tell me all about the wedding. How did it happen?”
The memory rushed back, replacing my irritation with a tingle of excitement. The huge grin returned. “Yesterday, I thought we were going to lunch, but the limousine pulled up to the courthouse steps instead. He took my hand in his and said, ‘I can’t wait any longer. I have to make you mine. Let’s get married. Now. Today.’ Just like that.” I snapped my fingers to represent the abruptness of our decision. Embarrassment scalded my face at the memory of all the wicked things he’d done to me in
the back of the car afterward.
“Wow.” She fanned her face with a manicured hand. “That’s hot.” Our conversation paused when the waiter arrived to take our order. When he’d gone, she continued. “What about the honeymoon? Is he taking you somewhere special?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t really talk about it. He’s got a lot going on right now. Some secret business deal.” Her questions illuminated the gaps in communication between me and my husband. “We’ve got our whole lives to vacation.”
“True.” She nibbled on the edge of a complimentary breadstick before shoving it aside. “Ugh, I’m starving, and carbs are not on my diet. What are you going to do now that you’re fabulously wealthy? Summers in the Riviera? Fashion shows in Milan?” A young gentleman passed by our table and flashed a smile at her. She smiled back, eyes brightening at his flirtation.
You’re the wife of a billionaire and a former prince. You don’t work. Roman’s directive replayed through my head, sparking my irritation. It was going to be a long day if I couldn’t get my temper under control. “I’m keeping my job as Roman’s personal assistant. He wants me to hire a replacement, but I don’t want to quit.”
“He’s right. You can’t be his personal assistant.”
“Not you, too.” I bristled at her words. “Why not?”
“Because you’re Mrs. Menshikov. He’s a powerhouse. You should be out spreading your awesomeness among high society and having beautiful babies.” When my frown deepened, she laughed. “Goodness, your face! You look terrified. Let me hook you up. First thing we need to do is get you a consultation with Christian. You’re going to need a new wardrobe—ball gowns, business suits, dresses, casual outfits, something for the yacht, and shoes. Lots and lots of shoes.” As she spoke, she tapped out a text message on her phone to her stylist and our mutual friend. “There, all done. He can see you tomorrow at nine. And you’re going to need a personal assistant of your own while you’re at it. Have you thought about the charities you’ll want to align with? What about Roman’s other homes? I assume he’ll want you to take over their management.”
The Exiled Prince Trilogy Page 21