Promoted To His Princess (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal House of Axios, Book 1)

by Jackie Ashenden

  A smile should not have the power to make her feel this hot. It shouldn’t. And maybe he wasn’t just any prince, but she wasn’t just any soldier.

  She was the daughter of the captain of the guard, the first woman to be appointed to the royal guard, and she had a duty to uphold. A point to prove and a promotion to earn. And no prince, no matter how gorgeous he was, would be getting in her way.

  There had been an incident once, back when she’d first signed up, where some male recruits had teased her and she’d let her temper get the better of her. She’d ended up weeping tears of rage like the stupid, weak little girl she’d thought she’d left behind the day her mother had walked out. That incident had given her a reputation for being overly emotional—always a bad thing in the army—which meant she had to try extra hard to be impervious.

  She couldn’t have any more slips. Couldn’t let her disapproval show. Couldn’t let anything show. Her father had been very clear: good soldiers never let their emotions rule them and they always obeyed their commanding officer no matter what.

  Clearly she needed to try harder.

  The prince laid the blue silk gown over the black velvet quilt on his bed, and glanced at her. ‘This one first, if you please. Aimee and I will let you get changed—’

  ‘No need.’ Calista strode towards the bed, ignoring the fact that she’d just interrupted a prince. ‘I’ll get changed here.’

  She didn’t wait for him to reply, lifting a hand to undo the buttons of her jacket and pulling it open. She had no hang-ups about her body. Military training had stripped away any self-consciousness she might have had about it. Her body was a machine that did her bidding, that required fuel to keep it running and exercise to keep it performing in top condition, but that was all.

  You’re not at all trying to prove something to him.

  Of course not. He wanted her to try on a ridiculous gown and so she would. All she was demonstrating was her obedience. It didn’t matter that the gowns reminded her of the times her mother would let Calista try on her dresses, smiling as she pirouetted and turned in front of the mirror, telling her how beautiful she was and what a heartbreaker she’d grow up to be. Those memories no longer had the power to hurt her, especially now she’d turned herself into something better than a useless, pretty creature who broke men’s hearts. Something better than her mother.

  She had turned herself into a hardened soldier. She could kill men instead.

  Tossing her jacket down onto the bed, Calista then kicked off her boots. Unfastening the buttons on her black trousers, she pushed them down, stepped out of them and put them on the bed, too. Someone—the designer probably—made an inarticulate sound, but Calista ignored her. She unbuckled the body armour she wore under her jacket and quickly pulled off the tight-fitting black T-shirt that was under that.

  Then, standing in nothing but a pair of black briefs and a black sports bra, she turned and faced the prince head-on. ‘I’m ready, Your Highness.’

  He said nothing, and if she hadn’t known better she would have said it was shock that flickered over his ridiculously handsome features. Shock that disappeared almost as soon as she’d seen it, to be replaced by what looked oddly like anger. Which was strange. What did he have to be angry about?

  The gold flecks in his eyes gleamed brightly as he stared at her and her breath caught, unfamiliar self-consciousness creeping over her. Making her aware that no matter how hard she tried, she was still a woman. And he was very much a man...

  ‘Out,’ he ordered in a low voice.

  It took a moment for Calista to realise that he was talking to the designer, not her.

  The woman scurried off, but Calista wasn’t watching, held captive by the prince’s dark gaze as it raked over her. The self-consciousness intensified, but she fought it, standing straighter, taller.

  She wasn’t a coward and there was no reason for her to be self-conscious. Her body was only a machine, and his looking at it didn’t mean anything. She was a soldier, impervious to emotion.

  And physical excitement.

  ‘Excuse me,’ the prince enquired silkily, ‘but what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  Calista didn’t know what was annoying him so much, especially when she was only doing what he’d asked her to do. ‘I’m obeying your orders, Your Highness.’ Turning, she picked up the blue silk gown that he’d laid across the quilt and gingerly began to pull it on. The fabric felt fragile in her hands. She’d probably rip it the second she stepped into it.

  He made an irritated sound as she clumsily tried to put the gown on, striding over and taking hold of the material himself.

  ‘Let go,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll hold it for you.’

  She did as she was told, shocked as he crouched down in one fluid motion, holding out the gown so she could step into it.

  Royalty was not supposed to be at her feet. She was supposed to be at his.

  He looked up at her and a pulse of heat shot through her. ‘Put your hands on my shoulders.’

  Calista caught her breath. ‘I’ll be fine—’

  ‘The gown is very expensive and I’ll be very unhappy if you tear it.’ Iron edged his voice. ‘So put your hands on my shoulders. That’s an order, soldier.’

  Her hands itched and she wasn’t sure why. Touching royalty was forbidden, yet he’d ordered her to, which meant she had to obey, didn’t she?

  You didn’t have to take your uniform off though.

  No, she hadn’t. She could have waited until he and the designer had left the room. She hadn’t needed to strip down in front of him.

  What are you trying to prove?

  Nothing. Well, maybe her obedience. Plus, he’d threatened to tell her father, which had flat out made her angry. It had been one minute slip, nothing more, but her father would definitely have something to say about it if he found out. She couldn’t have that.

  Ignoring the voice in her head, Calista shoved away the tension snapping and crackling in the air around them and followed orders, putting her hands on his broad shoulders to balance herself.

  His bare shoulders.

  His skin was hot—hotter than she’d expected—and very smooth. Velvety almost, and she could feel the shift of hard muscle beneath her palms. As if he’d tensed as she touched him.

  And she realised she was staring down at him, looking into his dark eyes, watching the gold burn bright, like treasure at the bottom of a dark river. She’d put her hands on men before, of course, in training and on missions. But it had never felt like this, as if she wanted to run her fingers over him, stroke him...

  One corner of Xerxes’ mouth curled. ‘I wouldn’t look at me like that, if I were you. Not if you don’t want me to start getting ideas.’

  Her jaw tightened, a flood of embarrassment washing through her. Getting ideas? How ridiculous. Presumably he was talking about sex, but she was a guard and he was a prince and about to be engaged, so why would he say that?

  ‘Apologies, Your Highness,’ she said stiffly, trying for her usual flat monotone. ‘I wasn’t aware I was looking at you like anything. But I won’t do it again.’

  ‘Perhaps not taking your clothes off would be a start.’ He said it lightly, but there was a certain tension in the words. ‘I was going to offer to leave the room like a gentleman, but you didn’t give me time.’

  Calista ignored the velvety skin beneath her palms and stepped into the circle of blue fabric he was holding out. ‘Again, apologies, Your Highness,’ she repeated, staring at his glossy black hair, since there wasn’t anywhere else safe to look. ‘You seemed impatient.’

  Slowly, he rose to his feet, pulling the gown up with him. ‘Hold out your arms.’

  She did so and he carefully tugged the sleeves over her hands, sliding them up her arms to her shoulders. His fingers didn’t touch her bare skin, not once, and she was profoundly conscious t
hat he hadn’t. It made her skin feel overly sensitive, as if it craved the brush of his fingers.

  But no, that wasn’t right. She didn’t wish that. He was her ultimate superior and her job was to protect him, even though her position was largely ceremonial and she disapproved of him. And besides, despite his thoroughly deserved reputation, there had never been any hint of impropriety since he’d returned to Axios, and certainly not with his staff.

  What a pity.

  Calista pretended she hadn’t had that particular thought.

  ‘You should be more circumspect, soldier,’ the prince murmured, settling the gown on her shoulders. ‘You must be aware of my reputation. Taking your clothes off in front of a man like me will only cause gossip. Not exactly what either of us wants on the eve of my engagement.’

  Calista stilled, an icy feeling creeping through her. Oh, she really hadn’t thought of that and she should have. What was happening to her? She was always calm and controlled, and she never let her emotions get the better of her. Never.

  You must do better.

  Gritting her teeth, she looked him in the eye. ‘I’m sorry, Your Highness. I hadn’t considered that.’

  He was very close. His hands had dropped to his sides but he didn’t step back. And he was looking down at her, his dark gaze unreadable. She was a tall woman, but next to his height and broad, muscular strength she felt small. Dainty almost.

  Almost female.

  ‘You’re full of apologies.’ He adjusted one sleeve of the gown. ‘But words are empty.’ He tweaked a bit of fabric on the other sleeve. ‘It’s action that matters. Or, at least, that’s what I learned when I was in the army.’

  She stared. Somehow, the fact that he’d once served as a common soldier had slipped her mind, though it shouldn’t have.

  ‘You look surprised,’ he said when she didn’t speak. ‘All princes of Axios are required to do military service.’ His mouth curved in one of his practised smiles. ‘Me? I prefer words. They’re so much less painful than bullets and they don’t tend to kill you.’

  Bitterness had crept into his voice, a note so very slight that if she hadn’t been staring straight at him she might not have heard it at all.

  Curiosity gripped her and before she could stop herself a question slipped out. ‘You didn’t enjoy your service? Why was that?’

  His eyes widened as if the question had taken him by surprise, then something else flickered across his beautiful face. Something that she thought looked like pain. But it was gone so fast she wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all.

  Of course he didn’t enjoy it. He was disinherited and exiled for rank cowardice.

  There were many theories about why he might have been banished, but no one knew for sure. King Xenophon had never given a reason and after he’d exiled his son he’d never spoken of him again.

  But Xerxes only gave another smile, practised and empty, the gold in his eyes taking on a sharp glint. ‘Because there were no pretty women in the barracks, of course.’ He stepped back and circled around behind her. ‘No flirting, no drinking. No sex. Not my thing at all.’

  Calista began to turn around to face him again, because he was lying. That wasn’t the reason.

  Except he murmured, ‘Keep still.’

  She froze, very conscious of his warmth at her back, of the bare skin of his chest so close to her own. The scent of pine forests and hot sun surrounded her, reminding her strangely of her childhood, of the games she’d used to play in the woods behind her house before her mother had left, of being a princess rescued by a knight from a dragon.

  Now she was the knight. And she did her own rescuing.

  The gown tugged as he slowly drew up the zip, the fabric closing her in its silken grip. His breath was warm on her shoulders and she didn’t know why she was noticing it.

  You know why. You’re attracted to him.

  She took a soft, silent breath. Surely not. She’d never been attracted to a man before and there was no reason she should be now. The army was her life and she thought the army would end up being her husband, too, and that was what she wanted. As a teenager she’d given up parties and boyfriends and hanging out with friends in favour of school work and the hard, physical discipline her father had insisted on. And when she’d enlisted at eighteen, she hadn’t looked back.

  The military was her vocation. It was her religion.

  And there was no room in there for an inappropriate reaction to the prince she served, especially a prince such as him, a living refutation of everything the Axian army stood for.

  A living refutation of everything Axios stood for as a country.

  Calista straightened, squaring her shoulders, coming to attention. She couldn’t forget herself. He kept calling her a soldier and that was exactly what she was.

  ‘Hmm,’ the prince murmured. ‘Coming to attention in a gown. You’re a soldier to your core, aren’t you?’

  That he’d recognised what she was doing felt exposing in a way she didn’t like, but she couldn’t hide what she was so she didn’t bother. ‘Yes. A soldier is all I wanted to be. Ever since I was a girl.’

  ‘Is that so?’ His fingers were doing something with the back of the gown, the fabric tightening around her. They were disconcertingly soft. ‘You know what I always wanted to be?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A rubbish-truck driver.’

  Calista blinked, forgetting all about the gown for a second. ‘You did?’ she asked in surprise, unwillingly charmed by the thought of Xerxes, a prince of Axios, driving a rubbish truck.

  ‘Yes.’ The warmth at her back increased, his breath ghosting over the back of her neck like a ray of sunshine. ‘But don’t tell anyone. It’s a state secret. And one only you know.’

  Really? Only her? But before Calista had time to process that, his hand settled at the small of her back and he was turning her around, propelling her towards the bank of mirrors that lined one wall of the bedroom.

  ‘Come on, Cinderella,’ he said. ‘Time to see what magic your fairy godmother has done.’

  Calista stared at herself in the mirror and this time there was no hiding the shock that spread itself over her strong features. She’d said she’d always wanted to be a soldier—had she ever even seen herself in a dress? If not, no wonder she was shocked.

  Because she was beautiful.

  The blue silk hugged her statuesque figure, showing off the delicious golden skin of her shoulders and arms, while skimming the full curves of her breasts and hips. Then it flared out, swirling around her thighs before falling in a pool of silk to her feet.

  It was a simple gown, designed to highlight the beauty of the woman wearing it, and highlight Calista’s it certainly did.

  It’s not supposed to be for her, remember?

  Of course not. It was for Eleni, and he hadn’t forgotten. But it was good to get a general impression first, and it seemed that gown fitted her beautifully, no adjustment needed.

  He frowned at the thick black straps of her sports bra. They ruined the look.

  ‘May I?’ He met her gaze in the mirror, lifting his hands to indicate the straps.

  ‘What?’ Her face had gone pale, highlighting little freckles that he somehow hadn’t seen before, a scattering of gold dust on her cheeks. There was no ‘Your Highness’ this time. It was as if she’d forgotten who he was.

  He found he didn’t mind that. ‘The bra straps interfere,’ he said. ‘I want to move them.’

  ‘Oh. Uh...yes.’

  The uncertainty in her voice made him narrow his gaze at her reflection in the mirror. Why was she so pale?

  Why do you care?

  He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was that curiosity of his. Or perhaps it was only because she was female. He hadn’t been this curious about his male guards and, after all, he was a simple man. There was also this physical attractio
n, which, though surprising, couldn’t be denied.

  Yes, perhaps it was merely chemistry. And maybe he cared more than he should or ought to, about the impending engagement. He’d told himself it didn’t bother him that he was tying himself to someone he didn’t want or even like for the rest of his life, but it seemed that he had more feelings about it than he’d anticipated.

  The whole situation reeked of the kind of virtuous self-denial and sacrifice his father had so often espoused, reminding him of the cage he’d escaped during his exile. The cage of responsibilities and expectations from which his banishment had set him free.

  Yes, he’d chosen to come back and take up the royal mantle once again, but only because his brother had asked. If it had been left up to him, he’d have happily continued sleeping his way around Europe and wasting his life.

  Liar. You weren’t happy.

  Xerxes ignored that thought, concentrating on the woman in front of him.

  It didn’t escape him that she would make a particularly sweet last rebellion.

  She was beautiful. Strong. And there were those tantalising glimpses of spirit in her eyes, signs of a passionate yet hidden nature. He’d always found that fascinating, and add to that a period of enforced celibacy and, perhaps most of all, the forbidden element...

  Oh, she was perfect.

  But... He’d promised his brother that he’d be good. That he’d leave his life of indulgence and pleasing no one but himself behind. The role of Defender was one he’d been born to and one he’d desperately wanted to fulfil when he’d been younger, before his father had tainted it. He couldn’t let Adonis down for one night of completely inappropriate pleasure, no matter how perfect it might turn out to be.

  Ignoring the rush of heat flooding through him, he settled his fingertips lightly on the straps of her bra, easing the fabric off her shoulders and tucking each strap beneath the sleeves of the gown, hiding them.