Misplaced Princess (Foreign Affairs, Book One)

by Couper, Lexxie

  Misplaced Princess

  Mari Carr & Lexxie Couper

  Foreign Affairs, Book One

  Annie Prince has impetuously flown halfway ’round the world to visit a sexy cowboy she met online—only to find herself stranded in Sydney. Seems she and Dylan crossed wires, and he’s on his way to New York. His twin, Hunter, saves the day and whisks her back to the family cattle station. Hunter’s as easy on the eyes as Dylan, and even easier to talk to. Annie might have flown to Oz to meet one brother, but soon sparks are flying with the other.

  Hunter considered Dylan a dumb arse for jetting off to America for some stranger—until he met Annie. Turns out the New Yorker is a smart, funny, hard-working jillaroo…and hotter than the Aussie desert. Hunter’s not normally one to poach his brother’s women, but he can’t keep his hands, lips, tongue and other body parts off this sexy city girl.

  When raging lust leads to emotional attachment, where does that leave Annie and Hunter when her vacation comes to an end—or when Dylan finds out?

  Misplaced Princess

  Mari Carr & Lexxie Couper

  Prologue

  Annie: Mornin’ sunshine!

  Dylan: G’day, love. How’re things in your neck of the woods this evening?

  Annie: Long-ass day. Started with rain. Ended with rain. The middle bit was filled with my boss calling me Princess in a staff meeting. Grrrrr. I may end up killing him soon.

  Dylan: Don’t kill him. I’m too far away to bail you out.

  Annie: LOL. Thanks for the offer, but Monet’s already promised to have my back with the bail money.

  Dylan: I think I like this Monet.

  Annie: Yeah. She rocks. Actually, she might be the only thing rocking in my world these days.

  Dylan: That doesn’t sound good.

  Annie: It’s not. You ever been sick of your life, Dylan?

  Dylan: Me? Sick of life? Nope. Sick of Hunter at times. The bloody bastard’s been giving me a hard time about chatting with a woman in America again. I told him if he says another word, he’s dead.

  Annie: Careful. I’m too far away to bail you out. Snort! Sometimes I wish we lived closer.

  Dylan: Me too, love. But let’s be serious, a city girl wouldn’t last a day in the Outback.

  Annie: What? You must be joking. I’d last a hell of a lot longer on your little ranch than you would in my big city.

  Dylan: Station, Annie. Station. We don’t own ranches Down Under. Do you reckon you’d handle the snakes in the loo?

  Annie: I deal with the rats in the sewers just fine.

  Dylan: I’ll accept your offer of rats in the sewers and give back crocs in the river and spiders on the toilet seat. How’s that sound?

  Annie: Deal.

  Dylan: Two days. I’d give you two days before you were on a plane heading back to New York. Me, of course, well…I’d make one hell of a city boy. Blend in like I was born and bred there.

  Annie: You wouldn’t last a New York minute, tough guy.

  Dylan: I tell you what. Let’s see who outlasts the other. A Yank in the Outback or an Aussie in New York. Next week. Game?

  Annie: Game on.

  Dylan: Let me take a look at the flights online.

  Annie: LMAO. Are we seriously doing this?

  Dylan: I’ve never been more serious in my life. Okay. I’ll see you in four days, city girl. This Saturday. Qantas. Sydney International. One p.m.

  Chapter One

  Annie Prince sank on to one of the hard plastic seats at Sydney Airport, giving in to exhaustion. She looked down at her very wet, now defunct iPhone—she vowed she’d never text on the toilet again—and decided this trip had been cursed from the word go.

  In the past twenty-four hours she’d run the gamut of emotions—anger, frustration, annoyance, disappointment, excitement, happiness, sheer panic and now…nothing but numbness.

  She studied the hubbub of the airport again. How the hell did she get here?

  She’d roamed the International Arrivals area for nearly an hour before giving in to the realization he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Dylan wasn’t waiting for her.

  When she’d replayed this scenario in her mind three thousand, four hundred and twenty-seven times—it had been a long-ass flight to Sydney—she’d always seen him standing in front of the crowd of families and friends waiting to welcome loved ones home. In her mind’s eye, he’d been smiling widely, holding flowers, maybe even a balloon. She’d imagined he’d give a true cowboy woot when she stepped through the doors and every woman around them would watch with jealousy as he rushed over to pick her up, spin her around and kiss her.

  Instead, she’d watched all her fellow travelers receive those warm welcomes while she stood completely alone, in a foreign country.

  How the hell did I get here?

  She closed her eyes wearily, thinking of that fateful night when she’d met Dylan online, the night that had set her on this misguided, insane path.

  It was all Monet’s fault.

  “I can’t tell you how much better I feel. Thanks for coming over, Monet.”

  “Wine cures everything,” Monet announced. “You know that.”

  She and Monet had been neighbors in their high-rise Manhattan apartment building for nearly a year. They’d met on the elevator the day Monet moved in, and had clicked. Their friendship had flourished through numerous nights of drinking, broken hearts and, “oh my God, I just had awesome sex” chats.

  “It cured my lousy day.”

  Monet topped up her wineglass. Annie winced when she noticed it was empty. Hadn’t she just filled it up a few minutes ago?

  “Damn.” Monet squinted at the bottle. “That one went fast. Should we go for broke and make it a three-bottle night?”

  Annie giggled. “Sure. Why not? My hangover is pretty much guaranteed at this point.”

  “So what’s wrong?”

  “My boss skipped over me for another big assignment, the paparazzi were out in full-force this afternoon and I dumped Joel.”

  Monet reared back. “That’s a lot of shit for one day. Let’s tackle this one at a time. Your boss is a prick. Why are you still working there?”

  “Because it’s one of the few magazines in New York my father doesn’t own. You know how I feel about making it without his help.”

  “Pardon me, Annie, but you’re not ‘making it’. That asshole boss of yours is working against you.”

  Annie sighed. “I know.”

  “What’s the deal with the paparazzi? Thought they’d become bored with you lately.”

  “That’s actually connected to my breakup. Joel did a tell-all interview with People magazine where he casually hinted there may be wedding bells in our future. What the fuck is that about? We’ve been dating five months and I have zero intention of locking myself in wedded hell with anybody right now. He knows that.”

  Monet took a sip of wine and looked at her sympathetically. “You think he was trying to force your hand?”

  Annie was too familiar with the Joels of the world. Unfortunately, she also sucked at recognizing them until after they’d screwed her—figuratively and literally. “He wants a piece of the Prince pie. I’m freaking done with men.”

  Monet rolled her eyes. “No, you’re not. You enjoy sex too much.”

  “I’ll hire a paid escort.”

  Monet laughed. “You’re a romantic at heart and it’s pretty obvious that’s never going to change. If all your asshole exes haven’t beaten that out of you, we can assume it’s a character flaw that will stick.”

  “Great. So I’m destined for life as an old maid because every man in America wants
my family’s money a hell of a lot more than they want me.”

  “So broaden the search.” Monet leaned over and grabbed her laptop from the coffee table.

  “What are you doing?”

  Monet didn’t answer. Instead, she quickly tapped several keys on the computer then turned the screen around so Annie could see it.

  “An online dating service? Be serious.”

  Monet raised an eyebrow. “I’m one-hundred-percent serious. I never joke around about getting laid. Let’s assume that every man in the United States knows your family’s name.”

  “Prince Incorporated has large holdings in Europe and Asia too,” Annie pointed out. Her buzz was now full force. “So unless that service can find me a man on Mars, this is a waste of time.”

  Monet kept typing. “So we’ll go extreme.” Her eyes widened as her gaze landed on something on the screen. “Ooo la la. What do we have here?”

  Annie tried to peer at the laptop, but Monet turned it away from her.

  “What is it?”

  Monet grinned. “What’s your stance on a sexy Australian cowboy?”

  “Jesus. They have those on there? Sign me up.”

  Monet giggled—and then she did just that.

  Annie sighed and glanced around the airport once again. Sitting and sulking was accomplishing nothing. There were a thousand possible scenarios for why Dylan wasn’t here. Maybe something had come up at the ranch.

  Crap. Station. She’d never remember that.

  Or maybe he was stuck in traffic, his car broken down. Maybe he’d gotten a nasty stomach flu. She’d walked by a customer service desk at least a dozen times during her trips around the terminal searching for her cowboy. She’d ask them to do an all-call over the intercom. She needed to determine Dylan truly wasn’t here before she tried to figure out her next move.

  As she waited in line to speak to the representative, she remembered the morning after her impulsive, drunken decision to join the world of international online dating. She’d woken up bleary-eyed, with a pounding headache, and had decided to call in sick to work. Annie had never taken a sick day, but her boss’s determination to treat her like a nonentity and her queasy stomach made the choice to remain home an easy one.

  She walked toward the kitchen for a handful of saltines, stopping to power up her laptop on the way. When she returned to her desk, she discovered an email from someone she didn’t know. Dylan Sullivan. Her hand hovered over the button that would send Mr. Sullivan straight to the trash, but something stopped her. Some niggling memory from the previous night.

  She and Monet had drunk way too much and stayed up far too late. Monet had consoled her over work and Joel.

  Oh fuck! The online dating gag. Monet had signed her up and then…

  Some Aussie cowboy had expressed interest. Monet had talked her into sharing her personal information.

  Annie rubbed her aching head. How could she have been so stupid? If the tabloids caught wind of the “practical Prince sister” soliciting for dates online, they’d be ruthless. She might as well give up any hope of avoiding the limelight. Maybe she should just pack it in and join her ditzy sisters’ ridiculous reality show, Life with the Princesses. It’s not like she’d ever be taken seriously after this little tidbit leaked out.

  Her hand hovered over the mouse, and then she quickly clicked to open the email. She’d gone this far. She might as well see what she was risking her reputation for. She read Dylan’s message.

  His email was nice, well written and humorous. It also seemed pretty clear he had no idea who Annie Prince was.

  Feeling like she’d dodged a bullet, Annie responded, explaining nicely that she’d been tipsy when her friend talked her into signing up for the service. She let him down as gently as she could, turned off the computer and crawled back into bed with a couple of aspirin and a tall glass of ice water.

  When she awoke later that afternoon, she was surprised to find a very funny response from her would-be Aussie suitor. Dylan had taken her rejection with good grace and he’d even sent her a list of ingredients for the Sullivan family hangover cure. Against her better judgment, Annie tried the hangover recipe, which worked, and then wrote Dylan again, thanking him.

  After that, they’d fallen into a pattern of emailing every day. If anyone asked her to list her three closest friends at the moment, Dylan would be included on the list. For the past few months, they’d talked about anything and everything. She’d even taken a huge leap of faith and told Dylan about her family and their money. Monet had been correct. Australians—at least those in Dylan’s neck of the woods—didn’t have a clue who the Prince family was.

  “May I help you, miss?”

  Annie glanced up and discovered she was next in line. “Yes. I was hoping you could page someone for me. My friend was supposed to pick me up about an hour ago, but I can’t find him.”

  The airport employee nodded and gave her what looked like a pitying smile. “Of course. What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Dylan Sullivan.”

  “I’ll page him right away. Should I have him meet you here?”

  Annie murmured a quiet “yes, thanks,” then stepped away from the desk to wait as Dylan’s name was broadcast throughout the airport.

  Please God, let him hear it. Let him be here.

  Not only was her sex life depending on him being the good guy she believed him to be—she’d foolishly hitched the success of her career to Dylan’s wagon as well.

  Miraculously, she’d managed to convince her editor, Mr. Lennon, to let her write a four-part series for the magazine about life on an Australian cattle station. It was the only way she’d managed to swing the trip across the ocean and the time away from work on such short notice. He’d only agreed because his boss saw the picture of Dylan that she’d attached to the proposal. Apparently the editor-in-chief had a thing for Aussie cowboys too. She’d demanded Lennon give Annie the assignment, and he’d begrudgingly complied.

  There was no way she could go home without the articles and expect to keep her lousy job.

  “Come on, Dylan,” she muttered. “Where the hell are you?”

  * * * * *

  Hunter ran his finger down the pretty blonde’s arm, enjoying the flirting and easy banter. He’d hit the bar after seeing his idiot brother off at his gate. They’d flown the station helicopter to Sydney, leaving so early this morning it had still been dark. Hunter had a couple of hours to kill while he waited for the flight mechanic to refuel the chopper and clear him for takeoff.

  “So you live on a cattle station?” the blonde asked. He’d forgotten her name the second she’d said it. One of these days he was going to have to learn to pay attention to details like that.

  “Yep. Farpoint Creek. My family’s owned it forever. Established it back in the 1800s.”

  The woman feigned interest, but Hunter could see the disdain in her eyes. She was clearly a city girl and the idea of living out whoop whoop in the Outback was less than appealing to her. Lucky for both of them, he wasn’t considering taking this game of slap and tickle out of the airport.

  She leaned closer, accidentally brushing the side of his arm with her breast. They’d started their flirting at different tables. Then he’d joined her. After a few minutes of sexual innuendoes, he’d given up his seat across the table and moved over to share her side of the booth.

  “You know, I’m a member of the Qantas Club.”

  “Is that right?” he asked.

  “I was actually thinking of heading over there and freshening up before my flight. They have showers in the lounge.”

  “Showers, eh? Bit bloody fancy.”

  She dragged her hand along his leg, starting at his knee and working her way up. He liked a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to grab it. His dick twitched when her hand crept closer.

  “Wish I had someone to wash my back,” she purred.

  He started to offer his sudsy services, but something on the PA caught his at
tention. “What did she say?”

  “What did who say?”

  The PA announcement was repeated. Dylan Sullivan, please meet your party at the customer service desk located at terminal one.

  What the hell? Dylan wasn’t here. At least, he bloody well shouldn’t be.

  Hunter reluctantly pushed the woman away while silently cursing his brother. “Sorry, love, but I gotta go do something.” Dylan would pay dearly for costing him a shower with this beauty in the high flyer’s club. He retrieved his hat from the table and put it back on his head.

  “You’re leaving?”

  Hunter nodded regretfully. “Yeah. Afraid it can’t be helped.” He threw enough cash on the table to cover both of their drinks and a generous tip for the waitress. “Sorry.”

  He walked toward terminal one, trying to figure out why Dylan wasn’t jetting away from Sydney, getting closer to making one of the dumbest mistakes of his life. He’d loaded his brother on a plane headed for New York over an hour ago.

  Hunter had spent most of their morning trek to Sydney trying to convince Dylan that taking off halfway around the world to hook up with some broad he’d met on one of those stupid online dating services made him look pretty desperate.

  He’d also pointed out that precious little could come of this trip, besides getting a piece of New York tail. Dylan lived and worked on Farpoint Creek cattle station. In Australia. Trying to hook up with some American chick wasn’t exactly practical.

  Dylan, ever the romantic idiot, seemed to think Annie had the potential to be his soul mate. Jesus, his brother had actually used those words—soul mate—and was supposed to be headed to New York to prove that asinine fact.

  Had Dylan missed his plane? Hunter couldn’t figure out how. They’d made it to the departure gate in plenty of time. And if so, why would he page himself rather than ask the customer service rep to page Hunter? Maybe Dylan had given his own name as well and the lady had fucked it up.

  He glanced at the crowd standing around the service desk as he walked toward the terminal. He and Dylan weren’t lacking in the height department. If his dickhead brother was around, he sure as hell wasn’t standing up; he’d tower over these people. Add the fact he and Dylan hardly ever took off their bloody hats and Hunter should be able to spot him a mile away.