by Dani Collins
He was angry. The moment his coal-black gaze landed on her, he grew angrier still.
‘Oh.’ His frown slipped from surly all the way down to thunderous. ‘You’re the secretary.’
Not for the first time Hester found herself in the position of not being who or what had been hoped for. But she was too practised at masking emotion to flinch. No matter what, she never let anyone see they’d struck a nerve. And being the source of irritation for a spoilt playboy prince? Didn’t bother her in the least.
‘Your Highness.’ She nodded, but her knees had locked too tight to perform a curtsey. ‘Unfortunately Princess Fiorella isn’t here.’
‘I can see that.’ He ground his teeth. ‘Where is she?’
She kept her hands at her sides, refusing to curl them into fists and reveal any anxiety. It was her job to protect Princess Fiorella from unwanted interruption, only Prince Alek wasn’t just higher up the ladder than most of the people she shielded the Princess from, he was at the very top. The apex predator himself.
‘At a bio lab,’ Hester drew breath and answered. ‘She should be back in about half an hour unless she decides to go for a coffee instead of coming back here right away.’
‘Damn.’ Another stormy emotion flashed across his face and he turned to pace across the room. ‘She’s with people?’
Hester nodded.
‘And no phone?’
‘Her bodyguard has one but the Princess prefers to be able to concentrate in class without interruption. Would you like me to message—?’
‘No,’ he snapped. ‘I need to see her alone. I’ll wait for her here.’
He still looked so fierce that Hester was tempted to send a quick message regardless. Except blatantly disobeying his order didn’t seem wise.
She watched warily as he paced, brusquely sidestepping Hester’s scrupulously clean desk.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ She was annoyed with how nervous her query sounded. She was never nervous dealing with Princess Fiorella. But she wasn’t quite sure how to handle this man. Any man, actually.
He paused and regarded her, seeming to see her properly for the first time. She stared back, acutely aware of his coal-black bottomless gaze. Whether those beautiful eyes were soulful or soulless, she wasn’t sure. She only knew she couldn’t tear her own away.
With slow-dawning horror she realised the inanity of her question. As if she could ever help him? He was Prince Alek—the Prince of Night, of Sin…of Scandal.
His phone buzzed and he answered it impatiently. ‘I’ve already said no,’ he snapped after a moment.
Even from across the room Hester heard the pleading tones of someone remonstrating.
‘I will not do that,’ the Prince said firmly. ‘I’ve already stated there will be no damn marriage. I have no desire to—’ He broke off and looked grim as he listened. ‘Then we will find another way. I will not—’ He broke off again with a smothered curse and then launched into a volley of Italian.
Hester stared at the top of her desk and wished she could disappear. Clearly he wasn’t concerned enough by her presence to bother remaining polite or care that she could hear him berating the ancient laws of his own lands.
The world had been waiting for him to be crowned since his father’s death ten months ago, but he hadn’t because ‘Playboy Prince Alek’ had so far shown little interest in acquiring the wife necessary for his coronation to occur. None of those billion Ten Best Possible Brides lists scattered across the world’s media had apparently inspired him. Nor had the growing impatience of his people.
Perhaps he’d been taking time to get over his father’s passing. Hester had seen Princess Fiorella’s bereft grief and had tried to alleviate any stresses on the younger woman as best she could because she knew how devastating and how incredibly isolating it was to become an orphan. She’d been pleased to see the Princess had begun spending more time with friends recently. But Prince Alek hadn’t retreated from his social life—in fact he’d accelerated it. In the last month he’d been photographed with a different woman every other night as if he were flaunting his refusal to do as that old law decreed and settle down.
Now the Prince growled and shoved his phone back into his pocket, turning to face her. As she desperately tried to think of something innocuous to say a muffled thud echoed from the bedroom she’d stepped out of. Hester maintained her dispassionate expression but it was too much to hope he hadn’t heard it.
‘What was that?’ He cocked his head, looking just like that predator whose acute hearing had picked up the unmistakable sounds of nearby prey. ‘Why won’t you let me into her room?’
‘Nothing—’
‘I’m her brother. What are you hiding? Is she in there with a man or something?’
Before she could move, the Prince strode past her and opened the door as if he owned the place.
‘Of course you would think that,’ she muttered crossly, running after him.
He’d halted just inside the doorway. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘A terrified cat, no thanks to you.’ She pushed past him and carefully crept forward so as not to frighten the hissing half-wild thing any more than it already was.
‘What’s it doing in here?’
‘Having dinner.’ She gingerly picked it up and opened the window. ‘Or at least, it was.’
‘I can’t believe Fi owns that cat.’ He stared at the creature with curling cynicism. ‘Not exactly a thoroughbred Prussian Blue, is she?’
Hester’s anger smoked. Of course he wouldn’t see past the exterior of the grey and greyer, mangled-eared, all but feral cat. ‘He might not be handsome, but he’s lonely and vulnerable. He eats in here every day.’ She set him down on the narrow ledge.
‘How on earth does he get down?’ He walked to the window and watched beside her as the cat carefully climbed down to the last available fire escape rung before practically flying the last ten feet to the ground. ‘Impressive.’
‘He knows how to survive.’ But as Hester glared at the Prince her nose tingled. She blinked rapidly but couldn’t hold back her usual reaction.
‘Did you just sneeze?’ Prince Alek turned that unfathomable stare on her. ‘Are you allergic to cats?’
‘Well, why should he starve just because I’m a bad fit for him?’ She plucked a tissue from the packet on the bedside table and blew her nose pointedly.
But apparently the Prince had lost interest already, because he was now studying the narrow bedroom with a scowl.
‘I’d no idea Fi read so many thrillers.’ He picked up the tome next to the tissues. ‘I thought she was all animals. And how does she even move in this space?’
Hester awkwardly watched, trying to see the room through his eyes. A narrow white box with a narrow white bed. A neat pile of books. An occasional cat. A complete cliché.
‘Where’s she put all her stuff?’ He frowned, running a finger over the small wooden box that was the only decorative item in the room.
Hester stilled and faced the wretched moment. ‘This isn’t Princess Fiorella’s bedroom.’ She gritted her teeth for a second and then continued. ‘It’s mine.’
He froze then shot her a look of fury and chagrin combined, snatching his finger from tracing the carved grooves in the lid of the box. ‘Why didn’t you say so sooner?’
‘You stormed in here before I had the chance. I guess you’re used to doing anything you want,’ she snapped, embarrassed by the invasion of privacy and her own failure to speak up sooner.
But then she realised what she’d said and she couldn’t suck it back. She clasped her hands in front of her but kept her head high and her features calm.
Never show them you’re afraid.
She’d learned long ago how to act around people with power over her, how to behave in the hope bullies would get bored and leave her alone. With
stillness and calm—on the outside at least.
Prince Alek stared at her for a long moment in stunned silence. But then his expression transformed, a low rumble of laughter sounded and suddenly Hester was the one stunned.
Dimples. On a grown man. And they were gorgeous.
Her jaw dropped as his mood flipped from frustrated to good-humoured in a lightning flash.
‘You think I’m spoilt?’ he asked as his laughter ebbed.
‘Aren’t you?’ she answered before thinking.
His smile was everything. A wide slash across that perfect face that somehow elevated it beyond angelically beautiful, to warm and human. Even with those perfectly straight white teeth he looked roguish. That twist of his full lips was a touch lopsided and the cute creases in his cheeks appearing and disappearing like a playful cupid’s wink.
‘I wouldn’t think that being forced to find a bride is in the definition of being spoiled,’ he said lazily.
‘You mean for your coronation?’ She could hardly pretend not to know about it when she’d overheard half that phone call.
‘Yes. My coronation,’ he echoed dryly, leaving her room with that leisurely, relaxed manner that belied the speed and strength of him. ‘They won’t change that stupid law.’
‘Are you finding the democratic process a bitter pill to swallow?’ she asked, oddly pleased that the man didn’t get everything his own way. ‘Won’t all the old boys do what you want them to?’
He turned to stare at her coolly, the dimples dispelled, but she gazed back limpidly.
‘It’s an archaic law,’ he said quietly. ‘It ought to have been changed years ago.’
‘It’s tradition,’ she replied, walking past him into the centre of the too-small living room. ‘Perhaps there’s something appealing about stability.’
‘Stability?’
There was something impish in his echo that caused her to swiftly glance back. She caught him eyeing her rear end. A startling wave of heat rose within—exasperating her. She knew he wasn’t interested, he was just so highly sexed he couldn’t help himself assessing any passing woman. Her just-smoking anger sizzled.
‘Of having a monarch who’s not distracted and chasing skirt all the time,’ she said pointedly.
His lips curled. ‘Not all the time. I like to rest on Thursdays.’ He leaned against the doorframe to her bedroom.
‘So it’s a rest day today?’
‘Of course.’ His gaze glanced down her body in a swift assessment but then returned to her face and all trace of humour was gone. ‘Do you truly think it’s okay to force someone to get married before they can do the job they’ve spent their life training for?’
There was a throb of tension despite the light way he asked the question. He cocked his head, daring her to answer honestly. ‘You think I should sacrifice my personal life for my country?’
Actually she thought nothing of the sort but she’d backed herself into a corner by arguing with him. ‘I think there could be benefits in an arranged union.’
‘Benefits?’ His eyebrows lifted, scepticism oozing from his perfect pores. ‘What possible benefits could there be?’
Oh, he really didn’t want his continuous smorgasbord of women curtailed in any way, did he?
‘What if you have the right contract with the right bride?’ she argued emotionlessly. ‘You both know what you’re heading into. It’s a cool, logical decision for the betterment of your nation.’
‘Cool and logical?’ His eyebrows arched. ‘What are you, an android?’
Right now, she rather wished she were. It was maddening that she found him attractive—especially when she knew what a player he was. Doubtless this was how every woman who came within a hundred feet of him felt, which was exactly why he was able to play as hard and as frequently as he did. When a man was that blessed by the good-looks gods, mere mortals like her had little defence against him.
‘Perhaps when you’re King you can lobby for the change.’ She shrugged, wanting to close the conversation she never should have started.
‘Indeed. But apparently in order to become King I must marry.’
‘It’s quite the conundrum for you,’ she said lightly.
‘It has no bearing on my ability to do my job. It’s an anachronism.’
‘Then why not just make an arrangement with one of your many “friends”?’ she muttered with frustration. ‘I’m sure they’d all be willing to bear the burden of being your bride.’
He laughed and a gleam flickered in his eyes. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. Problem is they’d all take it too seriously and assume it was going to be happily ever after.’
‘Yes, I imagine that would be a problem.’ She nodded, primly sarcastic.
He straightened from the doorway and stepped closer. ‘Not for someone like you, though.’
‘Pardon?’
‘You’d understand the arrangement perfectly well and I get the impression the last thing you’d want is happily ever after with me.’
Too stunned—and somehow hurt—to stop, she answered back sharply. ‘I just don’t imagine it would be possible.’
Those eyebrows arched again. ‘With anyone or only with me?’
She suddenly remembered who it was she’d just insulted. ‘Sorry.’ She clamped her lips together.
‘Don’t be, you’re quite right,’ he said with another low laugh. ‘The difficulty I have is finding someone who understands the situation, its limitations, and who has the discretion to pull it off.’
‘Quite a tall order.’ She wished he’d leave. Or let her leave. Because somehow this was dangerous. He was dangerous.
He eyed her for another long moment before glancing to survey the neat desk she’d retreated behind. ‘You’re the epitome of discretion.’
‘Because my desk is tidy?’
‘Because you’re smart enough to understand such an arrangement.’ He lifted his chin and arrogantly speared her with his mesmerising gaze. ‘And we have no romantic history to get tangled in,’ he drawled. ‘In fact, I think you might be my perfect bride.’
There was a look on his face—a mischievous delight tempting her to smile and join the joke. But this wasn’t funny.
So she sent him a dismissive glance before turning to stare at her desk. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’ The humour dropped from his voice and left only cool calculation.
Definitely dangerous. Definitely more ruthless than his careless façade suggested.
‘You’re not serious,’ she said.
‘Actually, I rather think I am.’
‘No,’ she repeated, but her voice faded. She forced her arms across her waist to stop herself moving restlessly, to stop that insidious heat from rising, to stop temptation escaping her control.
She never felt temptation. She never felt. She’d been too busy trying to simply survive for so long…but now?
His gaze didn’t leave her face. ‘Why not take a moment to think about it?’
‘What is there to think about?’ she asked with exaggerated disbelief. ‘It’s preposterous.’
And it was. He’d walked in less than five minutes ago and was now proposing. He was certifiable.
‘I don’t think so,’ he countered calmly. ‘I think it could work very well.’
He made it seem easy, as if it were nothing.
‘You don’t think you should take this a little more seriously instead of proposing to the first woman you see today?’
‘Why shouldn’t I propose to you?’
Hester breathed slowly, struggling to slow her building anger. ‘No one would ever believe you’d want to marry me.’
‘Why?’
She mentally begged for mercy. ‘Because I’m nothing like the women you normally date.’
His gaze skidded down her in that cool and y
et hot assessing way again. ‘I disagree.’
She gritted her teeth. She didn’t need him to start telling her she was attractive in a false show of charm.
‘It’s just clothes and make-up.’ He stole the wind from her sails. ‘Fancy packaging.’
‘Smoke and mirrors?’ She swallowed the bitterness that rose within her because she just knew how little the world thought of her ‘packaging’. ‘I meant I’m not from your level of society. I’m not a princess.’
‘So? These “levels” shouldn’t matter.’ He shrugged carelessly.
‘I’m not even from your country,’ she continued, ignoring his interruption. ‘It’s not what’s expected of you.’
He glanced beyond her, seeming to study some speck on the wall behind her. ‘I’ll do as they dictate, but they don’t get to dictate everything. I don’t want to marry anyone, certainly not a princess. I’ll choose who I want.’ His gaze flicked back to her, that arrogant amusement gleaming again. ‘It would be quite the fairy tale.’
‘It would be quite unbelievable,’ she countered acerbically. She couldn’t believe he was even continuing this conversation.
‘Why would it, though?’ he pondered. ‘You’ve been working for Fi for how long?’
‘Twelve months.’
‘But you knew her before that.’
‘For three months before, yes.’
Hester had been assigned as Princess Fiorella’s roommate when the Princess came to America to study. Hester was four years older and already into her graduate studies so it had been more of a study support role. It turned out that Fiorella was smart as, and hadn’t needed much tutoring, but it hadn’t been long before Hester had begun helping her with her mountains of correspondence, to the point that Fiorella had asked her to work for her on a formal basis. It had enabled Hester to reduce her other varsity tutoring, she’d finished her thesis and now focused on her voluntary work at the drop-in centre in the city.