The Prince's Fake Fiancée

by Leah Ashton

  His princess for keeps

  Playboy Prince Marko’s rebellious past hides a wealth of pain, but he’s neglected his royal duties for too long. And now that his brother and country need him, he’ll do anything to prove he’s changed—starting with a fake fiancée!

  Elite bodyguard Jasmine Gallagher was hired to protect the prince, not get swept into his glamorous world, but she can’t help falling for the man behind the crown. Marko’s found a way into Jas’s guarded heart, but will he claim her as more than just his convenient princess?

  “You want to kiss me? Right here, in front of hundreds of people?”

  He just smiled at her. And looked at her—right into those lovely hazel eyes.

  He supposed, in theory, it was a ‘don’t stress about it’ type kiss. At least, that was his intention.

  He was playing the role of the loving, supportive fiancé, after all.

  But also—yes, he wanted to kiss her. If he was honest with himself, he’d wanted to kiss Jas ever since she’d told him off in that briefing.

  She closed her eyes, and he watched as she took a deep breath.

  When she opened them, she nodded.

  And then he kissed her.

  Her lips were soft and fleetingly cool beneath his own. They were chastely closed, of course—but they shifted against the pressure of his mouth, as if she’d open her mouth for him if only he were to ask.

  It was shockingly, unexpectedly sexy—a simple kiss that felt like a promise of so much more. It wasn’t just about the touch of their lips or the mingling of their breathing but of the subtle movement of their bodies, the way they leaned toward each other while still only joined by their laced fingers.

  Marko was no longer aware of their audience, or of the ballroom, or even why he’d kissed her in the first place.

  All that mattered was the way her mouth fit so perfectly against his.

  Dear Reader,

  Over the years I’ve written a movie star, a world-class athlete, a soldier, heiresses and lots of very successful businesspeople (heroes and heroines). But I’ve never written a prince (or any royal!), and I’ve definitely never created my own fictional island nation!

  So this book—my eighth—was something very different for me. It was so much fun exploring my own Croatian heritage (Vela Ada is “located” off the coast of Croatia) and I loved researching everything to do with European castles!

  But the glamorous setting and the devilishly handsome Prince Marko deserve a pretty amazing heroine, and I really hope I’ve achieved that with Jasmine. I’ve always loved bodyguard romances, but I don’t think I’ve read one where the heroine is the one protecting the hero—and so decided to write one myself.

  I so hope you enjoy Jas and Marko’s story. It’s always daunting trying something new, but I must say that Jas and Marko’s story is now one of my favorites.

  Please let me know what you think!

  Leah xx

  PS: Come say hello (or let me know if I should write more royal romances) at Facebook.com/leahashtonauthor.

  THE PRINCE'S FAKE FIANCÉE

  Leah Ashton

  RITA® award-winning author Leah Ashton never expected to write books. She grew up reading everything she could lay her hands on—from pony books to the backs of cereal boxes at breakfast. One day she discovered the page-turning, happy-sigh-inducing world of romance novels...and one day, much later, wondered if maybe she could write one, too.

  Leah now lives in Perth, Western Australia, and writes happily-ever-afters for heroines who definitely don’t need saving. She has a gorgeous husband, two amazing daughters and the best intentions to plan meals and maintain an effortlessly tidy home. When she’s not writing, Leah loves all-day breakfast, rambling conversations and laughing until she cries. She really hates cucumber. And scary movies. You can visit Leah at leah-ashton.com or Facebook.com/leahashtonauthor.

  Books by Leah Ashton

  Harlequin Romance

  Secrets and Speed Dating

  A Girl Less Ordinary

  Why Resist a Rebel?

  Nine-Month Countdown

  The Billionaire from Her Past

  Behind the Billionaire’s Guarded Heart

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002

  For my grandmother, Marica—who inspired this story.

  Not just with her homeland of Vela Luka, but also with her sixty-five-year romance with Rafé, which was the kind of love that dreams—and romance novels—are made of.

  Thank you for all your help with this book. Thank you also for your food, your garden and all your love.

  Hvala, Nana.

  Praise for

  Leah Ashton

  “Sensitively written, wonderfully engrossing and a joy from start to finish, The Billionaire from Her Past will make readers laugh and cry as they get swept up in this emotional, feel-good and stirring romantic tale.”

  —Goodreads

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Tempted by Her Greek Tycoon by Katrina Cudmore

  Chapter One

  JASMINE GALLAGHER SAT in the back seat of a sleek, dark sedan, silently observing the passing countryside behind windows tinted almost black.

  The road hugged the very edge of the island of Vela Ada, almost touching the perfect blue of the Adriatic Sea. It was late afternoon, and the ocean glittered beneath the glorious summer sun, the azure surface interrupted only by the occasional tall-masted boat with sails in blinding white.

  Jasmine’s car was the third of three identical vehicles. Leading the small convoy were two of Jas’s team: Scott—who was ex–Special Forces—and Heather—who, like Jas, was ex-Australian National Police. Next in line was what was called the ‘principal’s’ car—the person that Gallagher Personal Protection Services had been tasked with protecting. In Jas’s career she had provided close personal protection services—what most people outside the industry would call a ‘bodyguard’—to a wide range of people: prime ministers, ambassadors, religious leaders, CEOs, celebrities—but this job was a first for her, and a first for her company.

  From today—and for the next three months—she was looking after a prince.

  Jasmine smiled. Royalty.

  This was the opportunity of a lifetime for a girl who’d grown up in public housing on the outskirts of Canberra. And further confirmation that those naysayers who told her a woman couldn’t be the face of a protection services company were clueless.

  Not that Jasmine had ever doubted herself.

  The dense forest that faced the harbour thinned as the convoy approached the city. At a predetermined landmark—a distinctive cast-iron lamp just over a kilometre from the palace—Jas picked up her phone.

  ‘We’re approaching,’ she said.

  As Jasmine ended the call the
woman seated beside her shifted in her seat.

  ‘Can you quiz me again?’ she asked, her voice just slightly high-pitched. Jas met the gaze of their driver, Simon—a retired SAS Commando—in the rear-view mirror, and knew he was smiling. Felicity had been asking for help with her script and backstory ever since they’d picked her up from Dubrovnik airport, and then over the several hours it had taken to drive and then ferry to Vela Ada.

  ‘You’ve got this,’ Jasmine reassured her. ‘But we can run through it one more time if you like.’

  Felicity nodded. ‘Thank you. I know I’m being ridiculous. I know, I know this, it’s just...’ she paused, pushing her long, perfectly curled blonde hair behind her ears ‘...this isn’t a normal acting job, is it? And Marko... I mean, you’ve met him, right? Prince Marko...? He’s pretty distracting.’

  Jasmine laughed. ‘I can’t say I personally feel that way, but guess I can imagine why that would be.’

  If you were the type to find tall, dark, broad-shouldered Mediterranean princes distracting. Which Jasmine was not. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by something as irrelevant as attractiveness in her job.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Felicity said, narrowing her eyes. ‘You’re not that much older than me, and you’re not dead, so don’t pretend you haven’t noticed he’s totally hot. And that accent. Honestly, he could read a dictionary and make it sound sexy. Why don’t Aussie guys sound like that?’

  She flopped back into her leather seat, and now Simon—also Australian—was quietly laughing as the car slowed to a crawl to navigate the narrow cobblestone streets of the city.

  ‘So, I met Marko in Rome six months ago, during a break, while he completed a secondment with the Italian Army and while I was on holiday. It was terrifically romantic...’

  Jasmine nodded as Felicity spoke. Jasmine had, of course, been briefed on this rather unusual arrangement—although she didn’t know every detail that Felicity was running through now. But she wasn’t worried—Felicity was whip-smart, and very well prepared. Ivan—the Prince’s valet—had told her of Felicity’s exceptional improvisation skills as well, so she was clearly an excellent choice. Plus she certainly looked the part—even now, just slightly anxious, the blonde woman oozed class and polish.

  The perfect princess. Or rather, princess-to-be.

  ‘And he took me on a picnic to propose—at the Pavlovic Estate.’ Felicity paused. ‘I mean, can you imagine if that actually happened? If Prince Marko actually proposed to me for real?’ She sighed, and closed her eyes as if imagining the moment herself. ‘Princess Felicity!’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, well, best enjoy it while it lasts. And do my best to make it believable that Europe’s most notorious playboy would actually settle down.’

  ‘You’ve got this,’ Jas repeated, but then added, more seriously, ‘But remember, your engagement might be fake, but no one else knows that. Your security is real. We don’t have any intel that suggests Prince Marko is under threat, but if he was—to any potential bad guys, you are his fiancée, and you will be a princess. So it’s important for your own safety that you follow my instructions tonight, and over the next few months. Okay?’

  Felicity nodded. ‘Of course,’ she said.

  Jas watched as Felicity straightened her shoulders and adjusted her expression. No longer did even a hint of the actress remain—she was every inch the mysterious fiancée who Marko would be introducing to Vela Ada at tonight’s ball.

  The car slid to a stop at the security checkpoint at the palace gate.

  Now in range, Jas activated her earpiece. ‘We’re here.’

  * * *

  Marko sank back into the linen fabric of his couch, and rubbed his temples.

  He had a cracking headache, right on top of the fuzzy cloak of fatigue he’d been wearing all week.

  Across from him, in separate plush single armchairs, sat his valet, and the head of his new security detail—Jasmine Gallagher. Beyond that pair was a massive window, framed with heavy brocade curtains and so sparkling clean as to appear invisible. Through that—if he looked—he could see the entire east side of the island—a stunning view but also rather useful when the palace had also played the role of military lookout several centuries ago. Built at the island’s highest point, Palace Vela Ada had three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of the tiny island nation—of its single undulating city of red-roofed stone houses, of the tiny towns dotted amongst the vineyards and market gardens that spoke of its rich agricultural industry, and of the boats and yachts that bobbed in the ocean and brought in as many tourist dollars now as the fish.

  But Marko wasn’t looking at the view, because he didn’t really want to be here at all.

  He wanted to be back in Italy, he wanted to be the man who had just been promoted to Pukovnik—Lieutenant Colonel—and who had been thrilled at his progress in strengthening ties between the minuscule Vela Adian army and their allies in neighbouring Croatia and Italy. He also wanted to be the man who—much of the time—managed to ignore the reality of being a prince.

  Sure, he was treated differently in the army—but it was subtle, now, after years of his adamant refusal to be coddled and protected or elevated to a rank he hadn’t earned. He’d earned the respect of his peers through hard work and later through tours of duty. He was Lieutenant Colonel Marko Pavlovic first; Prince Marko only really made an appearance at official royal events, and even that was rare, as his brother—King Lukas—seriously had that all in hand.

  It was the greatest stroke of luck that Lukas had been born two years before Marko, rather than the other way around, as Lukas had been the perfect king-in-training since birth. He was everything a king should be, leading Vela Ada through the last few years of political unrest as the Vela Adian parliament had been rocked by scandal and corruption.

  Now the dust had—almost—settled, but then Lukas had been diagnosed with cancer.

  In the week since Lukas had called him, Marko had been in a fog. He was labelling it fatigue, but it was different from that, really. More a heavy weight of uncertainty and fear.

  Lukas—and the royal doctor—had assured Marko and the royal family that Lukas’s form of cancer was highly treatable, and that his prospects of making a full recovery were extremely good. He’d also gone to great lengths to stress that Lukas’s cancer was unrelated to the cancer that had killed their father, the late King Josip.

  But Marko couldn’t imagine life without his brother. They might be as different as night and day, but there was no one on this planet Marko respected more than Lukas. Nobody.

  Marko couldn’t say for sure that was how Lukas felt about him—but that didn’t really matter. Especially not now.

  ‘I need you to step up for me, Marko,’ Lukas had said. ‘The island can’t cope with any more turmoil. My people need to feel safe, they need to trust our government and know that we—the heads of state—are in control and incorruptible. You need to be—for once in your life—respectful of your position. Respectful of your responsibilities. You can’t run away any longer.’

  Marko had bristled—despite his concern for Lukas he was unable to leave that comment unchallenged. ‘No one would ever dare question my commitment to our military,’ he’d said, his tone hard-edged.

  ‘Your commitment to training all over the world, you mean?’ Lukas had said. ‘Italy, Australia, the US, France...’

  His brother had sighed.

  ‘Look, I’m incredibly proud of what you’ve achieved in your career, and what you’ve done for our defence alliances—but would it have killed you to spend a bit more time in Vela Ada? To actually be visible to your people? To support them in a way that is tangible to them? Especially over the past few years? Instead, all they see of you is photos in glossy magazines. What was the last article on you? Something about top ten royals in their swimwear... I mean, well done on being number one and all...’ Lukas’s tone had been desert dry ‘...but honest
ly—you were with a different woman in every single photo. How do you think that looks to our people?’

  ‘It’s none of their business,’ Marko said firmly.

  ‘That’s the point,’ Lukas had said—for the first time sounding as tired and unwell as he really was. ‘You’re a prince. Their Prince. It is their business that you’d rather spend your time anywhere but here and with a different woman every week.’

  The phone had been silent for long moments.

  ‘This isn’t going to work, is it?’ said Lukas. ‘I know you’re capable of caretaking my role, but perception is the problem. If people don’t believe in you, they won’t feel safe. And I can’t have that. We’ve worked too hard to prosecute Senator Božić and his allies and rid Vela Ada of this scourge. Look, I know the label’s not entirely accurate, but will they believe in the Playboy Prince? Maybe I can still be active, in between treatments. Try and downplay my illness, and don’t mention it’s cancer...’

  His brother was talking faster and faster.

  ‘Stop,’ Marko said. ‘I’m not the Playboy Prince. Not any more.’ He’d paused, trying to work out what he could say to reassure his brother. He hated hearing his usually impeccably calm and measured brother so anxious. He also hated—as he’d always hated—the way his personal life was even relevant to Vela Adians—and that his brother bought into it too. Surely his years of military service outweighed a selection of photos of him with bikini-clad women? But this wasn’t the time for that argument. ‘I’m engaged,’ he blurted out the moment the idea even partially formed in his brain. ‘I wanted to tell you in person. So you needn’t worry. The Playboy Prince is no more.’

  ‘Really?’ Lukas had been stunned. ‘That’s perfect. I mean—congratulations!’

  ‘Thank you,’ Marko had said, his lips quirking upwards.

  ‘Who is she? I didn’t know you were dating anyone.’

  Because, of course, he hadn’t been. Marko searched his mind and the room for some titbit about this mystery woman he could share with his brother. On the wall of the small hotel room was an aged map of the world, and his gaze fell to the right-hand corner. ‘She’s Australian,’ he said, thinking fast. ‘I met her six months ago. How about she comes with me to Vela Ada, next week, so you can meet her?’