To Marry a Prince

by A. C. Arthur

  They were both naked now. Him standing in front of her, looking down at the dark circles of her nipples, and her looking at him. His chest, his waist, his thighs, his arousal. She perused every part of him, making Kris feel not only naked, but vulnerable to her as well. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, not one that he was certain he knew how to handle, but that was okay. Or at least that’s what she’d told him.

  “Condoms,” she whispered.

  “Huh?” he asked, his mind still flip-flopping between being so aroused it was near painful and being afraid that even with his title, he may somehow be lacking to her.

  She smiled, running a finger along his lower abs. “Where are your condoms?”

  Kris smiled in return as reality slapped him soundly in the face. He moved away from her—even though her touch had been doing something else to him, something sinfully delicious—and retrieved a wooden box from his nightstand drawer. He kept it full of condoms even though he’d never brought a woman there. After setting the box on the nightstand and removing one, he walked to her and on impulse gave her the foil packet.

  She opened it immediately and reached for him. Kris groaned inwardly as he stepped closer to her, his body tense with need as he watched her fingers close around him. She stroked him once, twice, and the last edges of his control slipped. Kris sighed and closed his eyes.

  Again she stroked him, this time touching his sac lightly. It was enough to have him cursing and gritting his teeth as she did it again and again, until he was thrusting in her hand like a horny teenager about to find his release.

  “Enough!” Kris finally managed. His heart was pounding so hard he wasn’t sure it was healthy.

  She slid the condom on him then and moved back on the bed when she was finished. When he thought she would hold her arms out and welcome him, she did not. Instead she leaned back on her elbows, with her legs partially spread and waited.

  “If you don’t want this, I need you to say so right now,” she said to him, repeating what he’d asked of her not too long ago.

  “I want it,” he said without preamble. “Damn it all to hell, but I want it.”

  * * *

  Relief rippled through Landry like waves at the ocean. She didn’t speak, or show it in any way—at least she hoped she hadn’t—but her legs trembled as he touched them. She licked her bottom lip and tried to hold his gaze as he moved over her. That was a task since she’d never been more aroused by a man touching her thighs than she was with him. There was just something about his strong, aristocratic fingers clutching her skin. It made her feel sexier than she’d ever imagined, especially since her thighs and her stomach had always been the parts of her body Landry hated most.

  No, she wasn’t a slim girl by the world’s standards, nor was she technically a thick girl. Somewhere in between was where she’d found herself in her senior year of high school, fluctuating between a size twelve and fourteen. She had a butt and thighs and her waist could use a good cincher, or maybe liposuction, even though she’d never seriously considered either. Now, even though she purchased more size twelves and fit them all perfectly, Landry still loved her curves and dressed to fit her confident and vivacious personality, nothing more and nothing less.

  Still, every woman had insecurities about their body, she surmised. Even her smallest client who wore a size two hated her breasts because she thought they were too small. It was a never-ending cycle for women and Landry gave it the time it required. No less than seconds each day.

  Tonight, she was in heaven as Kris’s gaze was nothing but appreciative of every part of her body. He’d held her D cup breasts in his palms as if he were holding something as precious as the finest china. Then he’d suckled them like he was tasting the best wine ever. But it was when he touched her thighs, when his fingers were on the inside, moving close to her center that she’d known she was done. It was over, whatever resistance there might be in her mind, her body was down for this and whatever else was about to come.

  Still, she’d needed the verbal acquiescence, just as he had moments ago.

  His fingers were past her thighs now, parting her folds to touch the moistness he’d evoked. Landry sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly as he moved a finger up and down, stirring her juices until she wanted to scream with excitement.

  “I wanted to go slow,” he said, his voice husky and strained. “We should. I mean, it’s the first time, so it should be memorable and...”

  “Please,” Landry said, cutting him off.

  She lay back on the bed and spread her legs wider. Her body humming with desire as his finger continued to move over her tender flesh. She lifted her hips in an effort to guide him.

  “Now,” she finally whispered. “Right. Now.”

  He did not hesitate, but sank a finger, plus another, inside her. Landry grabbed the smooth, cool comforter beneath her and resisted the urge to call out. He pumped his fingers in and out of her until she was squirming beneath him.

  “Now,” he whispered. “Right. Now.”

  He was over her in seconds, the thick tip of his erection replacing his fingers, stretching her in a move that was so wonderful she could do nothing but sigh. He pumped easily, pressing into her in excruciatingly slow movements.

  If there was such a thing as perfection Landry thought this was definitely it. He was filling her. It was tight and warm and so good, her arms trembled as she lifted them to wrap around his shoulders when he leaned forward. He came down on his elbows that he’d planted on either side of her head. His face was close to hers, his body deeply embedded inside hers.

  Landry opened her eyes to see him staring down at her. The sadness she’d seen earlier when he’d been talking about his mother had been clouded over by desire. He desired her. The Caribbean prince desired the American stylist. She couldn’t believe it and yet, instinctively, Landry felt like it meant so much more. He continued to watch her as he moved. When she lifted her legs, locking them behind his back, he leaned in closer to kiss her lips and Landry knew in that instant, that this was definitely more.

  * * *

  It was just before dawn when Landry managed to move unnoticed from beneath Kris’s arm and slip out of his bed. Collecting her clothes wasn’t easy, but she’d managed without tripping over anything.

  Sometime during the night his blinds had closed partially so that the light that came with a burgeoning sunrise now filtered into the space. It was a very large space, and this was just the bedroom portion. She remembered walking into a full-fledged living room last night and entering through the double doors of his massive room. His bed was huge, sitting back against a side wall of the room on a two-foot-high platform. The bed faced a wall of windows that Landry took a couple of seconds to stand closer to.

  This view was phenomenal with a breathtaking drop down the cliffs to where the water crashed and rolled against the rocks. She had more of a beach view in her room, but this right here was simply spectacular. Too bad she did not have time to dawdle. She needed to be out of there before anyone in the house awakened to see her leaving this room. And of course, before Kristian awoke.

  Tiptoeing out into the living room where she dressed quickly, Landry barely looked around at the leather furniture and plush rugs. There was a huge desk and chair, a television on another wall, a fireplace and bookshelves. That gave her pause as she wondered what type of books a man like Kristian read. She didn’t stay to find out, but moved faster until she made it to the door that she knew would take her out into the hallway. The door had been locked even though she had no recollection of Kristian doing so when they’d come in last night. She unlocked it and slipped slowly out into the hallway.

  It was a long walk to her room, so Landry decided to run. Yes, she held her shoes in her hand and ran all the way to her room, not stopping until she was safe behind the door. Then she breathed a sigh of relief about two s
econds before a sound scared the crap out of her.

  Chapter 9

  “You wanna tell me what you think you’re doing?”

  Kris stopped the moment he walked out of his bedroom to see Roland leaning against the wall, arms folded, face frowning.

  “I’d like an answer to that question as well,” Sam chimed in from where she sat in one of the reclining chairs in the center of his living room.

  A unified attack, Kris thought as he straightened his tie and walked past the both of them, heading toward the minibar in the corner. “Good morning to you both,” he muttered.

  “It almost wasn’t a good morning,” Roland continued. “When were you going to tell us that you didn’t think Igor’s running off the road was an accident?”

  “I’m still waiting for a call from my brother to tell me that the car my father was supposed to be riding in was in an accident. But not to worry because my father is safe and sound,” Sam added.

  If he were actively paying attention to them Kris’s neck would have been sore from volleying back and forth between his brother and sister. As it stood, he wanted his usual cup of steaming-hot black coffee, before he actually began talking to either of them.

  He was wearing a blue suit today, the usual white shirt and a pink-and-blue tie. He had yet to button his jacket, but knew that the creases in his pants were perfect and the light starch order on his shirt had been well done. He looked the part of the ambitious prince ready for the workday, even if, on the inside, he didn’t feel like it.

  His coffee—which was already in the pot awaiting him as per the automatic setting—was hot and bitter. It had almost spilled down the front of his pristine white shirt when his brother yelled.

  “Dammit, Kris! Don’t stand there with your stoic expression and just ignore us!” Roland had pushed away from the wall and now stood beside the chair where Sam sat.

  “First,” Kris spoke as he set his cup on the counter. “It’s too early in the morning for yelling. And furthermore, it’s not necessary. I hear both of your complaints and I apologize.”

  He’d looked up at them. “I should have called you yesterday to tell you about Dad. By the time I returned to the palace he was already in the infirmary with Dr. Beaumont. I checked on him and on Igor and then I went straight to the garage to check on the maintenance reports for the cars. The police wanted a copy, but I wanted to read them first.”

  Roland nodded. “You wanted to see them so you could deal with whatever was on them. Just like you talked to the police and you talked to Dad. What about us, Kris? When were you going to talk to us?”

  “When did you get back in town, Roland?” Kris asked as he came to stand a few feet away from his brother. “Because the last time I checked...oh no, wait a minute, I usually can’t check on you because you don’t have enough consideration to put all your globe-trotting trips on the joint calendar.”

  “Don’t do that,” Roland snapped back. “Don’t try to make this about me, when we’re talking about you trying to control everything.”

  “So you want to talk about me doing my job now? Since when did that interest you at all?” Kris countered. He was beginning to become irritated with being questioned by someone who rarely ever wanted to hear any palace business at all.

  “That’s enough, you two,” Sam interjected. “I think what he’s trying to say, Kris, is that you should have kept us in the loop.”

  Kris turned and was about to respond but Sam lifted a hand to stop him.

  “You didn’t and you have your reasons, but we’re a part of this family too. If you think there was some type of sabotage afoot, we have a right to know.”

  Kris took another sip of his coffee. He knew they were right. He should have told them, but he hadn’t. After seeing his father and speaking to the police all Kris had wanted to do was find Landry. When he had, nothing else seemed to matter. His father was safe and he planned to deal with whatever had happened out there on that road at another time. Landry was with him and he’d focused his attention on her, something he’d never done before.

  “You’re right and I apologize,” he said slowly. That too was something he hadn’t done much of in the past.

  Weary after the last couple of hours and with a headache brewing, Kris took a seat on the black Biltmore Chesterfield leather couch and set his cup on the side table.

  “The brakes were tampered with. The car was never meant to stop. That’s what the cops said. Igor’s got a bump on his head the size of an egg and says Rex is the only one with keys to the car. The extra set stays in a lockbox in Rex’s office. The car is always parked right outside of Rex’s room door, not in the garage. Rex corroborated all of this and said he gave Igor the keys yesterday morning when he came to his room.”

  “Why aren’t all the keys kept in the garage with the others?” Sam asked.

  “Because Rex likes to be ready whenever Dad calls,” Roland answered. “He doesn’t like taking the time to get to the garage and risk the car being blocked in by another one. He’s the supervisor so he can make that call.”

  Sam shook her head. “All the cars are the same. What difference does it make which one he uses?”

  Kris looked at Roland, unable to hide his surprise that his brother knew that much about their drivers.

  “Dad likes his car. He picked it out and then ordered the fleet,” Kris told Sam.

  “And we all know that whatever Prince Rafferty wants, he gets,” Roland continued, the light tone failing so that he still sounded irritated.

  His brother let out a breath and shook his head. “So if somebody messed with that car in particular, there’s a good chance they knew it was Dad’s car.”

  “You’re saying someone snuck onto the palace grounds just to tamper with the brakes on Dad’s car?” Sam asked, clearly not believing what she was hearing.

  “It seems that way,” Kris stated. “But the palace gates are locked tighter than any prison system I know of. It’s almost impossible for anyone who doesn’t belong here to get in.”

  “So that means the person that messed with Dad’s car belongs here, or at least she acts as if she does,” Roland added.

  A hush fell over the room.

  “You’re saying that Malayka tried to kill Dad?” Sam shook her head again. “I don’t believe that.”

  “And I don’t trust her,” Roland stated. “She’s an opportunist of the highest quality. I did some checking into her background—”

  “I already ran a background check on her,” Kris interrupted.

  “That was a legal check, I’m sure,” Roland told them. “I, on the other hand, am not compelled to use the same approved channels as you are for a thorough search into a person’s background.”

  “What did you find?” Sam asked before Kris could question his brother further.

  “I found,” Roland started then paused to fold his arms over his chest and look directly at Kris, “that there is no record of Malayka Sampson living in Beverly Hills before two years ago.”

  “Her birth certificate says she was born in Tallahassee, Florida. She graduated from high school there and then moved,” Kris stated, recalling what the report he’d had rushed to him on Malayka had said.

  Roland nodded. “Moved where? She’s thirty-seven years old. Where has she been since she was seventeen? My guy can find anybody, anywhere, at any time. He has access to the United States’ top security networks—FBI and CIA. He also has contacts in the division formerly known as the KGB. He knows everything there is to know and then some. So why can’t he find anything on her?”

  Kris didn’t have an answer to that question. He didn’t like that realization.

  “Dad was satisfied with the records from Florida,” Kris told them.

  Sam sat back and ran her fingers through her hair. “He told me that she was fr
om Florida and traveled for years after she graduated with a cheerleading squad. He said she ended up living in Paris for some time, modeling and writing a book. She just returned to the States two years ago.”

  Roland nodded. Kris frowned.

  “Does that sound strange to anyone but me?” Roland asked.

  “Yes,” Kris answered. He’d heard that same story from his father, after he’d shared the private investigator’s report with him. Rafe hadn’t seemed fazed by Kris’s questions, so he’d stopped asking them. He hadn’t, however, stopped wondering.

  “Can your guy dig deeper?” he asked Roland. “If we can get the exact name of the cheerleading squad and trace where they were over the years, maybe get Malayka to tell us exactly where she lived in Paris, maybe we can get more information.”

  “That’s just it,” Roland told them. “He can get information on anyone, providing that person actually exists. I don’t think Malayka Sampson does.”

  “You mean she’s using a fake name?” Sam asked.

  “Wait a minute,” Kris interrupted. “Let’s just take a second to be really clear about what we’re saying.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Dad is planning to marry this woman. She’s soon to become the princess of this island. She will be the second-highest ruling party in this palace. That’s a lot of power.”

  “A lot of power,” Roland conceded.

  “She definitely likes power,” Sam added.

  Kris knew his duty. He knew he was expected to not only lead the citizens on this island, but also everyone in this palace. His mother had always told him to look after Roland and Sam, that she trusted him to do what was necessary for them throughout their lives. Vivienne trusted him. Kris tried hard to feel as if he’d earned that trust, even when he knew deep down that he hadn’t. Still, it was on him, this conversation, this moment, and what the three of them did or said from this moment on, was solely on him.

  “Nobody will say a word about this new investigation. It’s between the three of us. And you tell your man I want this done pronto. No matter how much it costs I want to know who she is, where she’s from and why the hell she’s on this island.”