A royal wager

Playboy prince Roland DeSaunters is ready to live up to his royal legacy—by betting on his future. Winning the beautiful Valora Harrington in a poker game is a scandal waiting to happen. Lucky for him, Val has no intention of getting involved with the younger brother of the man to whom she was once engaged. But after sharing an earth-shattering kiss with Val, Roland is the one swept off his feet.

An ill-fated engagement to a man she didn’t love convinced Val that finding Prince Charming wasn’t in her cards. That was before she was drawn into a passionate clandestine affair with the handsome bad boy of the reigning family. With dangerous enemies plotting the noble dynasty’s downfall, are Val and Roland ready to gamble on an uncertain future? Or could a last-minute challenge lead to the biggest surprise wedding Grand Serenity has ever seen?

“You never know what people truly think about you when all they’ve ever heard was gossip,” she admitted.

“Misjudgments,” Roland commented as his eyes seemed to search her face for something she wasn’t quite sure she possessed. “People tend to do that far too often.”

“I agree,” she said, her throat suddenly dry.

“Honesty is a beautiful thing,” he continued as he rubbed his hands down his thighs.

“It can be,” Val replied. “On the other hand, some people can’t accept the truth as well as they can a lie.”

“You want to know what’s true at this very moment?” Roland asked.

Was he leaning closer?

Val clenched the napkin she’d been holding more tightly in her hand.

“What?” she asked in response.

She didn’t really think she wanted to know what Roland was going to say next, but at the same time, she didn’t want this moment to end.

He was in fact leaning closer. He’d planted a palm on the blanket to hold himself steady as his face neared hers.

“I want you,” he whispered.

She gulped, loudly. Then as she licked her lips impulsively, his gaze lowered to her mouth.

“Yes, Valora, I definitely, unquestionably want you.”

Dear Reader,

It’s time for the big royal wedding! I so enjoyed writing Roland’s story because throughout the first two books he’s been in the background keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself. Well, Val has stepped onto the scene, and she’s brought out every feeling Roland has been desperately trying to keep at bay. I love this couple so much. Neither of them imagined they would ever find someone special, and when they do, they almost still can’t believe it. So it was very fitting to wrap up this trilogy with their love story. I hope you have enjoyed your time on Grand Serenity Island!

Happy reading,

ac

Prince Ever After

A.C. Arthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A.C. ARTHUR is an award-winning author who lives in Baltimore, Maryland, with her husband and three children. An active imagination and a love for reading encouraged her to begin writing in high school, and she hasn’t stopped since.

To all the dreamers.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

The breeze cut across his face like a million tiny pinpricks. Beneath him the engine purred like a satisfied female as the wheels smoothly took on another sharp turn on a road where there was only one lane’s worth of space.

He’d traveled this road so many times before and most times at the same rate of speed. His fingers hugged the steering wheel in an easy embrace, his back and body comfortable against the smooth leather seats of the silver-metallic Jaguar XJ220. Night had fallen over the mountains and cliffs of the island an hour ago, and he’d itched to get out of the confines of his everyday dress clothes and the formal dining room of the royal palace. It reminded him of his teenage years. Prince Roland Simon DeSaunters tossed his head back and laughed.

He’d been such a hellion back then. But eleven years ago didn’t seem that long, surely not long enough for him to mature into the prince that everyone expected him to be. He’d had too long to practice being reckless, adventurous and fearless, to bottle all that spirit and simply sit still as a member of the royal family of Grand Serenity Island. That wasn’t Roland’s speed at all.

His speed was fast. Fun. Borderline rowdy.

With that thought, he took another curve, going downhill as he headed into town. The moment he’d been able to escape the clutches of another tension-filled family dinner, Roland had climbed into his car and driven to the small house hidden in the clefts of the mountainside that he adored. It had been his first major purchase the moment he’d been old enough to spend a part of his inherited fortune without adult supervision. The house was a high school graduation gift to himself, although he hadn’t actually been able to live in it until his four years in the Royal Seaside Navy had been completed. His place was located on the southern tip of the island, where construction had not yet reached. Therefore, this part of his homeland was still flanked with dense forestation. Two of the island’s tallest mountains dubbed the Serene Mountains for their location thrust through the greenery.

Roland loved it here. The scent of the tropical air rejuvenated him. The stretch of the empty road encouraged him. This was where Roland thrived and very few people knew about it. Of course, there were guards here, he was a prince, after all. But he did not keep a formal staff, preferring to do for himself when he was there. That was the reason he drove himself tonight. He had an important appointment to keep and so he pressed harder on the gas and made yet another sharp turn, smiling into the breeze as his car handled perfectly.

Fifteen minutes later Roland pulled into a dark alley. He parked his car alongside a white stone dwelling. He got out and took the steps two at a time, until he reached a door that was painted a vibrant orange. Windows climbing up the front and back walls of the building had bright white borders and orange window boxes with flowers pouring out of each one.

A slender woman answered after he knocked on the door once. She stood quietly as Roland stepped inside. The hallway was narrowand he walked slowly, anticipation bubbling in his blood. The tips of his fingers tingled and his mind emptied of anything and everything that could be a distraction.

That included the attacks on his family that had resulted in the royal palace being on lockdown for the past six months. The palace had even stopped having guests, and any staff member who hadn’t been vetted, questioned and watched on a daily basis was dismissed.

His father’s wedding would take place in just four weeks. His father’s fiancée was one royal pain in the ass. His older brother, Kris, was married and still worried about a few accounts at their family bank. His sister, Sam, was married and glowing with love—she’d begun turning over the majority of her responsibilities on the island to Landry, his sister-in-law. And, of course, Malayka, the pain-in-the-ass soon-to-be princess.

Roland pushed all of that out of his mind. He focused instead on red and black, diamonds, hearts, clubs and spades.

“We thought you might have changed your mind.”

That was the first comment that greeted Roland after he’d cleared the steps and walked down a short hallway into a brightly lit room. The walls were painted white there, too, and were covered in framed pictures of children, teenagers and older people. All photos had been taken on Grand Serenity, all faces appeared happy and content.

The round table in the center of the room had six chairs surrounding it, one of them empty.

“Game time is at nine,” Roland replied and looked at the Harry Winston Ocean Tourbillon watch he wore. “It’s eight fifty-five.”

“In the nick of time,” a second man spoke as Roland made his way to the empty chair and took a seat.

The first man who had spoken was Nelson Magloo, a fifty-something-year-old man who favored fedora hats and gold pinkie rings. Last year, Magloo and his twenty-one-year-old wife, Isla, had built a mansion on the eastern side of the island. Magloo was an oil tycoon from Nevada who’d just recently found out he’d inherited stock in the old Chapman oil refinery on the island.

The second man to speak was Henri Jauvian, a French businessman vacationing on the island in secret with one of his many mistresses.

Also in attendance were Reece McCallum, famed NASCAR driver; Kip Sallinger, owner of the Moonlight Casino; and Hugo Harrington, one of Roland’s father’s oldest friends. The group had been assembled by invitation only and Roland was honored to join them. He would also be honored to take every dime they each brought to the table.

“Who’s dealing?” he asked when they all continued to stare at him.

“That’s right,” Reece remarked with a crooked grin. “Can’t expect the royal prince to deal the cards for us.”

“I can deal cards just fine,” Roland told him. “Just as I can take your money without a second’s hesitation.”

“Cocky bastard, ain’t he?” Kip said with a chuckle that made his rotund upper body vibrate.

“But he can’t play no better than his granddaddy could,” Hugo added and took another puff on his cigar.

Roland was used to cigar smoke. His father kept a humidor on his desk and two in his private suite. Rafferty DeSaunters loved few things in life, his children and his cigars being among them.

“Josef couldn’t play worth squat,” Hugo continued after the cards had been dealt.

Roland held his cards loosely as he sat back in the chair. “And yet, he beat your father and a much younger, healthier and cockier you, on more than one occasion.”

The others laughed and Hugo frowned. “I won plenty. My pappy, well, he was another story,” Hugo quipped. “Now pony up fools. I’m in for three.”

Reece whistled. “Three thousand dollars. Hugo, you hit the lottery or somethin’?”

“No lottery here on the island. Good ole Rafe don’t like gamblin’ too much. I was surprised as the rest of the islanders when he let you come down here and open up that big shiny casino,” Hugo said to Kip.

Roland remained silent as he continued to contemplate the cards in his hand.

He didn’t comment on the subject at hand because he knew how his father felt about gambling. Roland’s sitting there at this very moment had a lot to do with Rafe’s misgivings on the subject. The DeSaunters family history, where gambling was concerned, was no secret, no matter how much Rafe wished it were.

Josef Marquise DeSaunters was not only known for leading the revolt against Marco Vansig and thus taking control of Grand Serenity in the late 1950s, but for his luck with the cards. Before the plan to take back the island had ever entered Josef’s mind, he was a hustler. Or, at least, that’s what Roland liked to think, because a good high-stakes card game was not the only venture that his grandfather excelled at. Josef could talk a woman out of her fortune. With his root-beer-colored eyes and movie-star looks, Josef would likely have the woman naked in bed while at the same time be emptying her bank account. He was good-looking, charismatic, fun-loving and, above all, courageous. All traits Roland felt blessed to possess himself. On more than one occasion he’d wondered what it would have been like to be Josef’s son, instead of Rafe’s.

Rafferty DeSaunters walked the straight line. He made the right decisions, did the honorable thing, said the perfect words and fought the good battle. He was, in every sense of the word, born to be a prince. Roland, on the other hand, was not. Or, at least, that’s what the press said.

Roland set his cards facedown on the table, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a wad of cash. He counted until he’d matched Hugo’s amount.

“I’m in,” he said somberly and placed the remaining bills back inside his jacket.

“Yeah, I’m just feelin’ lucky tonight. Real damn lucky,” Hugo said.

Hugo held his cards tight and was grinning as if he knew he held the winning hand. Roland almost smiled at that thought. Instead, he remained silent, watching as the others studied their cards and made their moves. There had been no reason to go over the rules for this game; they’d all played at this level before. The secret, all cash, no-holds-barred level. There would also be no tell signs, Roland thought as he looked across the table to Reece, who was still studying what he’d been dealt. They were all professionals, which meant each one of them was just as good at bluffing as he was at winning. At least, four of them were.

“Fold,” Henri said grimly and pushed his cards facedown toward the deck.

Kip and Reece added their bets to the pot, and Hugo smiled giddily. “Yes sir! Lucky indeed!”

Reece put down two cards, nudging them toward the dealer so he could take two new ones. Kip took one new card. Hugo took none. Neither did Roland.

“I’ll raise the bet,” Hugo said, “to three thousand five hundred.”

Roland was amused.

Reece folded. Kip did, too.

Roland saw the bet.

Hugo continued to smile.

Roland slowly set his cards down faceup in a neat row on the table.

Hugo almost fell out of his chair he was so excited. A huge grin spread across the man’s face as he fanned himself with his cards. “Best night ever!” he said before finally dropping his cards to the table.

Roland didn’t look down to see his opponent’s cards immediately. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on Hugo Harrington. He was a short man, well below Roland’s six-foot-one-inch stature. He had a very round face with a dusky-brown complexion. When he laughed, his chins, all three of them, shook in a funny, animated way. His bugged eyes watered and the thick, bristly mustache above his top lip twitched. Something wasn’t right.

“You’re an idiot, Harrington,” Kip stated. “Your hand’s a loser.”

Reece chuckled as he reached over and spread Hugo’s cards farther apart. “Yeah, man, you lost. And His Royal Highness over here only has three of a kind. He beat you with a royal bluff.”

Roland still did not look down at the cards. He continued to stare at Hugo, who continued to laugh.

“Oh, he won, alright. He won the best prize ever!” Hugo told Roland. “See this right here?”

Hugo had reached into the money pot, sifting through the bills he’d thrown down. “This here, this little slip of paper, is a promissory note.”

“What?” Kip asked. “You put up the money for the bet. Why add a promissory note in, too? Have you been drinking, old man?”

Hugo shook his head, one tear running down his face as he continued to chuckle. “It’s fake. All of it is fake! Got it from some sailor a few months ago. Should have known the bastard was crooked from the start. Who the hell would pay all that money for one of Val’s pictures? Just ridiculous!”

“You tryin’ to cheat us old man?” Reece asked. “We play an honorable game here.”

Now Hugo was standing and nodding. “I know. I know. The prince, especially, is honest and loyal. All of the DeSaunters are. Ain’t that correct?” he asked with another nod.

Roland was feeling uneasy now. Actually, he was quite irritated.

“I got your winnings, though,” Hugo told him. “I got the payment you deserve. Don’t you worry. Come on, follow me.”

Reece and Kip looked at Roland questioningly. Roland didn’t hesitate, but stood and followed the old man down a short hall.

“I wouldn’t cheat you, Your Highness. No, not at all. I’m an honorable man, too. Just like my daddy before me and his before him. We’ve been on Grand Serenity since the beginning and we do what’s right. We keep our word,” Hugo told him. “Unlike others.”

Hugo said the last word as he turned the knob on a door at the end of the hallway.

“Your prize, Prince Roland,” Hugo said, and motioned for Roland to enter.

The scream that greeted Roland before he could even take a step was ear shattering. The curses that followed were fluent and angry.

The half-dressed woman spouting the saucy words was...for lack of a better word...impressive.

* * *

Why had she let her father borrow her car? Why had she agreed to stay at his house tonight while he went out on yet another crazy chase for fortune and fame? Why, oh why, was this her life?

Valora “Val” Harrington had asked herself these questions over and over as she reached for her bag and began to change out of the uniform she wore while working as a tour guide at the Serenade Museum. She’d worked there for the last three years in lieu of pursuing her dream to become an artist. But that was only partially true. Val was an artist. Her paintings were far better than a good number of the ones hanging in the museum. The only things she was missing were an agent and high-paying clients clamoring over them.

She’d settled for the job at the museum because it was the closest thing she had to the life she really wanted. Grand Serenity was her home. She’d been born there and had never entertained the thought of leaving the beautiful island. She could paint in the evenings in the comfort of her home, but during the day she shared the history and the artifacts of her heritage. It was a complete picture, even if deep down she wished for something more.

On the other hand, her father, Hugo Harrington, was a totally different subject, one Val had been struggling with her entire life. Her mother had died in childbirth. Val was Hugo’s only child. His only daughter. That hadn’t been Hugo’s plan. He’d wanted sons to carry on the Harrington name, to stand next to the royal family in the place he’d always thought was owed him thanks to his father’s contributions to the battle that put the DeSaunters family in the palace.

It was an old story, one that Hugo had told Val over and over while Val was growing up. It was also the reason Hugo drank and gambled more than he had ever worked to support Val. It was a good thing Val had been a cute child and that one of the women her father had fallen into bed with had worked for a beauty pageant. From the time Val was six years old until her sixteenth birthday, she and her father had lived comfortably on her winnings from being a participant in one pageant after another.

But by the time she was sixteen, Val was done. She had refused to do another pageant. That was nine years ago. Her father had continued to drink, curse, gamble and guilt-trip her ever since.

Now, he was smiling as Val held a pillow over her chest and glared at him and the man that he’d just escorted into the room. The man who was the prince of this beautiful island she called home.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going to be out tonight. Why are you...why is he...what are you doing?” she exclaimed. Hugo, who looked as proud as a peacock, dressed in an appropriately colorful shirt and ragged black jeans, grinned.

“Here’s your winnings,” Hugo replied clapping his beefy hand onto the prince’s shoulder. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? I mean, really she is. Got all the pageant prizes to say so. Now, I know what you’re thinking...”

To Val’s complete mortification, her father continued to talk, his words oddly clear even though she could smell the liquor oozing from his pores from across the room.

“Sure, she was promised to Prince Kristian. But he’s all married up now to that American. So there’s no harm, no foul here. You can have her and this’ll settle our debt,” Hugo announced with another smile.

“Dad!” Val yelled. “Are you crazy?”

He ignored her, something he’d been doing for most of her life. Despite sharing his DNA, Val never really felt like his daughter. More often than not, she was his commodity.

“Get out! I want both of you to get out!” she screamed.

The window behind her was open and a warm breeze blew in, reminding her that she only wore her work pants, shoes and a bra. The pillow in front of her was certainly large enough to keep her covered, but still, she was standing there in her bra. She was so angry her hands were beginning to shake and she thought for one instant that she might actually lose her grip on the pillow and then...what? She would be flashing the prince of Grand Serenity. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, she was wearing her old cotton bra with the broken snap in the back. Yeah, this was the perfect Friday night scenario.

“I apologize, ma’am,” the prince said before giving her a slight bow and then turning to her father. “I’ll speak to you outside, Harrington.”

The prince walked out of the room but her father stayed. “Put some clothes on and come out to meet the prince. You’re embarrassing me,” he said in what was supposed to be a whisper, but Val was certain everyone in the vicinity could hear his drunken words.

She made a sound that was animalistic, which was all that she could muster. She was so freakin’ angry. She was embarrassed as hell, too, but the anger was really trying to take over.

The minute that door closed, Val grabbed her work shirt and shoved her arms back through the openings. She buttoned it hastily and grabbed her purse and bag. When she opened that door minutes later it was, thankfully, to an empty hallway. Her feet couldn’t seem to carry her outside fast enough. A short way down the street she saw her car and hustled to it as quickly as she could. She stopped at the driver’s-side door and cursed again when she remembered her father had her car keys.

“I can drive you home.”

No, no, no, she chanted silently without turning around.

“Your father can’t find your keys. He’s looking, but I doubt he’ll be successful. At least, not until he’s a bit more sober.”

Realizing that it was rude to keep her back turned to a member of the royal family, Val turned slowly. She looked up into soft brown eyes and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him. “I’m sure this is not how you expected to spend your Friday night.”

Roland DeSaunters was known for the gambling, partying and womanizing that had earned him the Reckless Royal title. Standing on the street offering a ride to a museum worker had to be a far stretch from entertainment to him.

“I can walk home,” she told him.

“No. You cannot,” he replied. His gaze had gone down to her chest and back up to her face.

A quick glance down showed that she’d buttoned her shirt wrong, so that the material was now lopsided with a gap that proudly displayed a good swatch of her sensible white bra.

Groaning, Val turned away from him. “I can. I will. And I’ll be fine. Thank you and good night, Your Highness.”

His hand on her arm was a shock—first, because he was the prince and all that royal business. But second, because the quick jolt of heat that had moved from her wrist up to her arm quickly spread across her chest.

“I cannot let you walk home at this time of night,” he said when he came around to once again stand in front of her. “My car is just up the hill. I’ll carry your bag while we walk and then I’ll take you home.”

When Val opened her mouth to speak, he simply shook his head.

“Do you really want to add to your father’s embarrassing circumstances by refusing the prince?”

She did not. So Val clamped her lips shut and let him slide the bag from her shoulder. She folded her arms and walked beside him, hating every mortifying step she had to take because of her father.

Chapter 2

Second only to the royal palace, the Serenade Museum on Grand Serenity Island was a work of art all by itself. No matter how many times Val walked through the corridors of the ensemble of buildings set apart from the island’s Main Street by a stone bridge and its own surrounding water, she marveled at its intricate beauty.

“The Sunset is the largest of the four buildings that make up the Serenade Museum.” Val spoke to a group of twenty-five tourists. “Each building, as well as the main idea for the museum were designed by Princess Vivienne DeSaunters. These domed ceilings and the circular layout were incorporated after Vivienne had taken a trip to Berlin and became in awe of their museum island.”

One of the guests raised her hand and stated, “She was from Sugar Land, Texas. My family lives just down the road from the house where her grandparents and parents once lived.”

Val smiled and quietly acknowledged the woman’s heavy accent as she spoke proudly.

“Yes, the late Princess Vivienne was from America. She was very proud of her heritage and wanted to bring that same pride to the people of Grand Serenity by showcasing pieces of art that told the story of our island’s beginnings,” Val informed them.

“As we continue to this area,” she continued while leading the group through an arched opening. “We’ll see the Numismatic Collection which consists of coins that were pulled from the depths of the Caribbean Sea. In the late 1600s, after this island was acquired by the Netherlands, they were plagued by pirates and thus had to defend the island before life here could really begin to flourish. These coins,” she said as she motioned toward the glass-encased counters, “were actually part of several pirates’ booty. They pay homage to the Golden Age of Piracy which lasted from 1690 to 1730.”

“Will the new princess continue to approve funding for the museum?”

Val turned quickly at the odd question and looked up to see it had come from the same woman with the accent.

“Rumors back in the States say she has a plan to completely overhaul and update this island,” the woman continued while keeping eye contact with Val.

It was like a challenge, Val thought. Or was it? She didn’t know because she’d never been faced with a tourist who knew more than she did about any topic in this museum. To be completely fair, Malayka Sampson was not a topic at the museum. At least, not until she was actually married to Prince Rafferty. With that in mind, Val decided to proceed with caution. The last thing she wanted to be accused of doing was adding to gossip about a soon-to-be member of the royal family.

“We are all anticipating the royal wedding,” Val told them.

She smiled and was just about to walk to another display, which held more coins, when another tourist spoke up.

“There have been two royal weddings within months of each other. I would say love is definitely in the air here on Grand Serenity,” the much younger woman with a brilliant smile said as she elbowed the handsome guy next to her.

Val nodded. “I think you could say that. Prince Kristian and Princess Landry are very happy and the new princess is making astounding contributions to the island already. As for Princess Samantha and her husband, Gary, they continue to dedicate their time and talents to the island, as well. The DeSaunters family has always been loyal and dedicated to Grand Serenity.”

“Do you think the Reckless Royal will ever marry?” the now-familiar woman with the accent asked.

A man chuckled. “Hell, no! Not if he knows what’s good for him. He’s gonna get way more play from the ladies as a single prince than if he ties himself down with one woman.”

“Huh! I doubt that,” the younger woman argued. “Ever heard of gold diggers and home wreckers?”

Murmurs came from the crowd. More opinions, Val supposed, that didn’t involve the museum or her job. Her head was beginning to hurt. After three earlier tours, this was the last one of the day and she really wanted it to be over with so she could go home, take a hot bath and settle in for the night. She did not want to stand there and fend off rumors or make assumptions about the royal family, or anyone else, for that matter.

“Ever heard of falling in love? Cherishing your wife? Respecting the covenant of marriage?” Yet another woman asked. “I swear, all young people think about these days are one-night stands and monetary compensation for time served in a relationship.”

“The woman that puts up with Roland DeSaunters’s gambling and philandering should damn well be compensated big-time! Did you see how much money he lost in a poker game just last month? And then the two women he was seen coming out of that hotel in Dubai with?” This woman shook her head in disgust. “He’s gonna be a slippery snake to tame.”

“Awww, come on. I wouldn’t say all that.”

Val’s head shot up at the sound of his voice. She had to come up on tiptoes to see over the heads of the people in her group. Seconds after he spoke, the crowd parted like the royal horns were blowing to signal a procession. And there he stood, amidst people who had paid seventy-five dollars per person to tour the island’s famed museums. Prince Roland DeSaunters was dressed in a black suit and a white collarless shirt. A colorful reflection bounced off the silver watch at his wrist, thanks to the sun’s vibrant rays drifting through the large arched windows.

When nobody spoke again, he walked down the aisle the people had created, coming to a stop beside Val. She had swallowed a number of times in an attempt to find her voice. As the tour guide, she should say something. That was a given. But what exactly was she supposed to say? It wasn’t every day that the prince appeared and inserted himself into a tour.

“The present is always a juicier topic of discussion than the past,” the prince said to the crowd. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Harrington?”

“That’s it!” the first woman with all the questions about Malayka shouted. “I knew I recognized your face from somewhere. You’re Valora Harrington. You were engaged to Prince Kristian before he dumped you for an American.”

And now her mortification was complete.

Not only had seeing Roland again brought back the infuriating memories of last night and her father’s foolish bet, now this woman was touching on yet another embarrassing subject for her. Would it ever end?

“The prince and I were never engaged,” Val stated evenly. “As the time for arranged marriages has long since come and gone here, the union that was envisioned by my father was highly overrated.”

“In other words,” Roland added with his standard drop-the-panties smile, “my brother was never committed to any relationship with this woman and therefore could not have been so foolish as to dump her for someone else.”

Val felt the heat rising immediately. It crept up her neck and filled her face until she almost gasped with the thought that she was actually blushing.

“Now,” Roland continued with a snap of his fingers. “Let’s move on to more exciting stories. Like the time I found one of these doubloons in an old trunk at the palace. It was quite a find, and my siblings were sick with jealousy because I found it instead of them.”

He talked so easily as he walked casually through the marble-floored rooms. The tourists, thankfully, jumped right into his tale of treasure discoveries in the royal palace and the possibility of more being left about the island. Val wondered if he knew he had a natural gift for storytelling. That was what he was doing, she thought about twenty minutes later when they were finishing the tour and Roland was coming to a grand finish complete with a tattered map that was said to have belonged to the infamous pirate Blackbeard.

There had been no need for her to say a word since Roland had covered not only The Sunset building, but The Starlight building, as well. For the latter, he had woven a bit of romantic intrigue into his story, while highlighting some pieces from the antiquities collection and the island’s early history collections.

Now they were once again coming to stand beneath the domed ceiling in the front entryway. It was about half an hour before closing, so there were other customers milling about this area, as well. When she overheard a member of the group asking if the tour was over, Val remembered she was actually supposed to be working and cleared her throat.

“Let’s give Prince Roland a hand for the wonderful tour he’s hosted for us this afternoon,” she said and began clapping so that the group members would follow suit.

Roland looked at her and then back to the crowd, but Val did not continue to stare at him. Instead, she moved through her closing soliloquy.

“The gift shop is open for one hour after the museum actually closes, so please feel free to head in that direction. As it’s nearing dinnertime, may I suggest taking the island trolley over to the northern side of the island where restaurants and other nightlife spots are open and waiting to serve and entertain you. If you’re staying on the island for a few days, there’s a candlelight dinner boat ride at the port tomorrow evening. And, for younger guests, there will be face painting and a magic show on Main Street beginning tomorrow at noon. We thank you and appreciate your visit to Grand Serenity Island.”

This was when the crowd usually departed. But there’d been nothing normal about this tour so far, so Val should have known better than to expect that.

The woman with the Southern drawl came up first, asking for an autograph and picture from Roland. He smiled and obliged. And then repeated that task for the next seven women who did the same. Val watched as he easily slipped his arm around each woman’s shoulders, leaning in so as to make each picture look personal, intimate, even. The women were glowing, their smiles big and bright—even the ones that were with their husbands—which amused Val, but probably annoyed their men. Roland also talked to each one of them, asking where they were from, how long they were staying on the island and what they liked most about Grand Serenity. The most intriguing part of that was that Val was certain he actually listened to each woman’s reply.

The great womanizer was being attentive and patient, and looking damn good in the process.

And she was being silly.

With a shake of her head she moved a little closer and announced that the picture Roland had just smiled for was the last one. Of course she received irritated stares, but she didn’t mind. Adults never liked being told what to do and when to do it. She knew that because she’d hated when her father had done the same. But this was different. This was work. It was her job to have this foyer clear within ten minutes of closing time. If they moved down toward the gift shop, that was fine, as it was a separate building and the exhibit halls could be locked off while the store stayed open.

“Thank you, everyone, for visiting Grand Serenity,” Roland said, backing up her statement that the museum was closing.

“We hope you enjoy your time here,” Val added.

She said this to every group after every tour, but this time she knew they’d enjoyed the tour. If nothing else on this island pleased them, this would have been enough.

When the last person was through the archway, Val walked to the circular desk closest to the door. It was white marble, and black letters on the wall behind it read Tour Information. That’s where she worked. It was where the tours were booked and started. In a safe behind that desk were her purse and jacket. She bent down to work the combination lock and retrieve them.

“Let’s get some dinner,” he said the moment she stood.

“What—excuse me?” she asked, and then cleared her throat. “I mean—”

“Dinner. You know, the last meal of the day. You sit down and eat and think of all the right and wrong things you may have said or done over the last twelve hours.”

He was leaning on the desk now, the darkness of his suit in contrast to the crisp white decor. He wasn’t giving her the full Reckless Royal smile, just a slight lift of his lips in the right corner. But that was enough. She reacted even as she wished she hadn’t. Her cheeks warmed, just as they had earlier, and she licked her lips nervously.

“I’m sure you have better things to do, Your Highness,” Val answered. Willing her fingers not to shake as she pushed her arms into her jacket, she cleared her throat and continued. “Or was there a reason you came to the museum today? I probably should have asked this before, but should I get the manager? I’m sure he’s still here. I can just—”

She came around the desk and attempted to walk across the foyer once more to head toward the staff offices on the other side, but he touched her elbow again to stop her. Maybe it was just this particular spot...she’d never have guessed her elbow would be an erogenous zone...but each time he touched her there—

“I came to ask you to dinner so that we can clear the air,” Roland told her, cutting off her thoughts.

Val shook her head. “There’s no need,” she insisted and moved her arm slowly out of his grasp.

He looked down, watching as she slipped her purse onto her shoulder. “I’m fine. You’re fine. We should just go our separate ways.”

Roland seemed to contemplate her words—for much longer than Val thought was necessary—before finally giving a little nod.

“I’ll agree that we’re both fine. But I’m hungry and after being on your feet all day, I’m sure you are, too. So let’s just get something to eat and get that part of the evening out of the way.”

It occurred to her to refuse again. Yes, she thought, that was the best thing to do. Her father could be a mean drunk whose debts were far larger than his bank account, and for that Val had endured her share of pitying looks and uninvited advice from the citizens of Grand Serenity. The deal her father had supposedly made for her to marry Prince Kristian was another source of contention where Val and the good people of Grand Serenity were concerned. They’d whispered about her and the prince all her life, and when the prince finally announced that there was nothing between them and that he would be marrying another woman, the whispers turned into vicious gossip. The poor little town girl trying to get into the palace.

Val didn’t know which situation she despised more. What she did know was that she was sick and tired of it, and she definitely did not want to do anything to spark any more stares or whispers or gossip about herself. So she should tell Prince Roland no. She could have dinner on her own, as she had planned.

“Come on, don’t be afraid,” Roland told her. “I’m hungry, but I won’t bite. I promise.”

The expertly cut goatee went a long way to giving him a mature and masculine vibe. But it was that devilish grin, the twinkle in his rich brown eyes and the divine way in which that damn suit fit his toned and muscular frame, that were the deal breakers.

“I’m not afraid of you,” was her reply. “And I’m in the mood for pasta.”

Chapter 3

It rarely rained on Grand Serenity, less than twenty-five inches were received a year.

This evening, it was raining.

Roland could see the splatter of drops on the window as they sat in the corner booth at Jacobi Pearson’s restaurant by the sea. It was an old-world place with its peeling yellow paint and the frayed faux-straw umbrellas over the tables on the outside. The inside walls were painted a muted brown, the room had cement floors and there were booth seats with splitting upholstery. It was the last place on this island that a prince should be seen having dinner, yet Roland found himself there at least once a week when he was home.

“It’s the best spicy shrimp pasta I’ve ever had.” He spoke after being lost in his thoughts for a few moments.

She hadn’t seemed to mind him not talking, as she appeared engrossed in her meal and her own thoughts, as well. Originally he’d intended to watch her, something Roland had yet to figure out why he was doing in the first place. Valora Harrington was no doubt an attractive woman, but she was far from the blatantly sexy, worldly women Roland was used to passing the time with. Case in point, the last woman Roland had shared a meal with was Delayna Loray Montoya, a Brazilian heiress who hated her father but loved his money. She was gorgeous and rich and almost as reckless with her life and her finances as Roland was reputed to be. They’d spent a whirlwind weekend together in Rio where Roland could scarcely remember leaving the hotel room. Then, on Monday morning, he’d been on a jet headed to Milan where he played poker for the next two days and took an important meeting on the third. That had been three months ago. Roland hadn’t seen or spoken to Delayna since then, and they were both completely fine with that fact.

Valora Harrington was homegrown. She represented everything that Grand Serenity was—at least, how Roland saw the island through his mother’s eyes. Hope. Perseverance. Dignity. Those three words were printed just beneath the Grand Serenity emblem on everything a tourist could possibly purchase from the island. To Roland, they’d been ingrained in his mind. Today, he thought, was the first time he’d seen them in a person.

“It is definitely amazing,” she replied as she finished another bite and took a sip from her wineglass. “Thank you, Your Highness, for suggesting this. I haven’t had time to visit some of our local treasures in a while.”

“You’re a tour guide. Surely you recommend this place to our tourists,” he commented while tearing off a piece of the crusty, still-warm bread that was served with their meal.

She had been a lot neater with her bread, breaking off a little piece and buttering it with the small knife. If he were at the palace in the formal dining room, or attending some dinner party or royal meeting, Roland would have taken more care about the crumbs, how he was sitting and who was watching. At Pearson’s he was relaxed, almost as if this were the place he actually belonged, instead of some stuffy and overly formal event.

“That’s all I do, is refer places on the island for visitors to see and enjoy. I’m at the museum for at least ten hours a day, six days a week. The one day I have off I usually don’t spend getting around the island.”

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘all work and no play’?” he asked, intrigued by what she’d just shared with him.

She tilted her head as she stared at him for a moment before replying. “You’ve never wondered where your next meal would come from. Never had to choose between paying the rent or the power bill.”

Her lips clamped shut quickly, then she shook her head.

“I apologize. I meant no disrespect, Your Highness,” she continued. “I was simply attempting to answer your inquiry.”

She’d spoken the words, but she was anything but sorry, Roland thought. She was honest and there was a mole just beneath her left eye. At the edge where her eyes tilted just slightly. It was small, but dark, and he’d stared at it a bit longer than he probably should have.

“No offense taken,” he replied. “You are correct. I have never wondered about those things. I understand it must have been tough with only you and your father.”

She shrugged. “It is my life,” was the somber reply.

“You don’t sound too happy about that fact,” Roland said, as he finished chewing the piece of bread he’d slipped into his mouth. It wasn’t because he was still hungry, but more because he’d needed something to do with his hands. Anything to quell the urge to reach out and touch her.

She had slim fingers and wore no rings. Her nails were short but had a sheen to them, as if coated with clear polish. She wore no jewelry, he thought, except for tiny pearl earrings. Her slim neck was bare, the collar of her white polo shirt resting against skin that appeared to be warm, soft, touchable.

“I’ve learned that life isn’t all about happiness,” she replied. “Yet I believe that everyone has their own path to walk. Along that path will be things that make that person feel happy or sad, complete and fulfilled. Different scenarios strike different people in an array of ways. We handle them the best we can and continue on.”

She was good at continuing on, Roland thought. He’d noticed that at the museum when the woman had brought up Valora’s previous engagement to his brother. Regretting that his appearance had sparked the memory for the woman and possibly embarrassed Valora, he’d taken over and Valora had simply continued on. She’d walked with the group as if she were the tourist instead of the guide for the remainder of the tour. When she’d really wanted to get away from him and the memory as fast as she could, she’d hesitantly agreed to join him for dinner. Yes, Valora was certainly used to continuing on.

“Well,” he said, picking up his napkin to wipe his hands. “Everyone deserves some happiness. I believe that’s a requirement.”

“It’s easier said than done for some.” She finished her glass of wine. “Which reminds me that I should really be going. The food and the company was a really nice gesture. Thank you again, Your Highness.”

He was going to get tired real quick of the stilted way in which she addressed him. The immediate answer to that would have been to take her home, drop her off and be on his way. There was really no need for him to see or speak to Valora Harrington again.

Seeing her today had been sort of impromptu. He’d had a meeting at one of the hotels in town. From the window of the hotel he was able to see the museum. It had been a few weeks since he’d attended the opening of the new Renaissance exhibit there, and even longer since he’d walked through the hall dedicated to the royal family. It was there that one of the first portraits of his parents and their young children hung. Kris had been five and already distinguished looking in his white pants and navy blue jacket with its bright gold buttons, standing by their father’s right side.

Roland wore the same outfit, but he was only three and so his jacket appeared a little big and his pants hung over his shoes as he held on to his father’s leg. His mother was seated, holding a barely one-year-old Samantha, dressed in a white dress and bonnet, on her lap. That picture never failed to make Roland feel a combination of happy and sad. Homesick, he thought. Even though it was in the museum his mother had founded, on the island he’d called home all his life. He always looked at that portrait and longed for that moment in time.

So, stumbling across Valora and her group had absolutely been unplanned, but the moment he saw her he’d felt the urge to clear the air. To make sure there were no hard feelings or even bruised ones from the previous night.

“I settled things with your father,” he told her, as if the thought had just popped into his head. “I also expressed my utter disappointment in the fact that he would use you as a source of repayment.”

She dropped her napkin on the table and sat back against the cushioned seat.

“I feel like I’ve been apologizing for him all my life,” she told him with a sigh. “He doesn’t really mean any harm. He’s just searching for a life that’s not meant to be.”

“His search should not embarrass you,” Roland stated evenly. “He should, however, stop drinking and gambling. He’s not good at either.”

She gave a quick chuckle and ran one hand through the short strands of hair just above her right ear. “I’ve been telling him that for much longer than I care to admit.”

Roland knew Valora had been her father’s caretaker when it should have been the other way around. He was certain he didn’t like that fact.

“Anyway, thanks again,” she said and stood to leave. “Dinner was wonderful.”

“Yes, it was,” he told her. “And not just because of the food. I thoroughly enjoyed the company, as well.”

“Oh, ah, thank you again,” she replied.

He noted how shocked she looked at his words. Possibly more shocked than he was for saying them. Quiet public dinners weren’t normally what he would call a nice time with a woman. Private meetings in hotel rooms or meals in secluded parts of a restaurant, from which he and his date could eventually be whisked off into the backseat of a car and driven to a hotel, were more to his liking.

“I’ll take you home,” he told her when he thought she might try to walk out of the restaurant as if she had her own means of transportation here.

“Thank you again, Your Highness.”

She spoke politely and had even given a respectful nod of her head. Everything this woman had done so far had been cordial. There seemed to be no ill feelings toward him or even her father after the odd events of the previous night. So Roland’s job was done. He could take her home and be done with the matter entirely.

The sudden urge for something more was strange and disconcerting. So he tried ignoring those thoughts.

* * *

Val was officially tired of thanking him. She knew she must sound like a complete idiot, with nothing better to say than “thank you.” It was pathetic.

So, during the ride back through town, she’d opted to keep quiet. That was, until the car came to a stop in an area she knew was fifteen minutes from her house. The rain had been coming down at a pretty steady pace when they’d run to Roland’s car and jumped inside. He drove a sporty little vehicle, which did not surprise her at all. The car fit his personality perfectly. Sleek and controlled with a bold hint of danger. What did not fit was that he was driving himself around instead of having a driver like the rest of the royal family. She’d noticed this last night, as well, but wasn’t going to ask the prince about it.

The fact that she’d just had dinner with the prince—the Reckless Royal, at that—was not lost on her. It had been a surreal experience, one that should have had her giddy with excitement. Except she’d known it was his pity gift to her. Val hated pity, almost more than she hated the situation her father had created for them. She’d seen how the waitress looked at her when she’d brought their meal. While the woman had remained silent, Val knew very well who she was and what she was thinking.

Her name was Idelle Masoya and she lived a block over from Val. Idelle was friends with Cora Sorenza, a woman who had slept with Val’s father years ago. Hugo and Cora had been an item for about six months, during which time Cora swore that Hugo stole money from her and gambled it away. She’d also accused Hugo of tearing up her house one night when he was in a drunken rage. After that night, their love affair was over.

No formal charges were filed against Hugo for destruction of property or stealing from Cora, but the damage was done. Cora spent the following years telling anyone within earshot about Hugo Harrington and his nefarious ways. By default, Cora disliked Val. She had spread it around town that Val was an enabler and just as foolhardy as her father, claiming it was the reason Prince Kristian severed ties with her. It was a sordid tale that contained more fabricated details each time it was retold. Val figured the retelling had taken place at least a thousand times in the past few months.

Val knew that at this very moment Idelle was likely in the back room of that restaurant, huddled in a corner with her cell phone to her ear, replaying to Cora everything she’d just seen—completely exaggerated. By tomorrow morning the story would have spread the couple of blocks that made up the Old Serenity neighborhood where they still lived. From there, it would only take another day or so to travel around the island.

With a sigh at the inevitable, Val turned to ask the prince, “Why are we stopping?”

“I had a question for you,” he said.

They were too close, only a console and gear shift separating them in the front seat of the car. With this in mind, Val turned to the side to face him. Part of her back was now pressed against the door. She figured that was about as far away as she could to manage to get.

“Okay,” she replied, even though she was thinking that he could have continued driving while he asked her a question.

“When’s the last time you danced?”

“What?”

“Danced,” he repeated. “When is the last time you forgot about everything around you? Every person. Every situation. Everything but the space where you could let go and simply dance?”

“I know you’re not drunk because you only had one glass of wine,” she said, and then quickly bit her own tongue for being so flippant with the prince.

It was just that he wasn’t acting very prince-like at the moment. His question was odd. The way he was looking at her was disconcerting. The pitter-patter of rain against the windows was rhythmic, almost romantic, if she were inclined to think along those lines. Val assured herself she definitely was not.

“No,” Roland chuckled. “I am not drunk. Not from alcohol, anyway. But there’s nothing wrong with being drunk or high off life. Sometimes, no matter what’s going on, I have to remind myself of that fact. You only get one life, Val, you should be sure to live every minute of it.”

“I do,” she replied after tilting her head to stare more closely at him. “The last time I danced was at the Ambassador’s Ball. With you.”

The words seemed quiet in the interior of the car. Spoken slowly, as if she were afraid he wouldn’t remember. Roland DeSaunters only recalled the women who had done something memorable in his life. Dancing with her so that Kristian could dance with the woman he was in love with was in no way memorable. Still, he was looking at her strangely and it was making Val uncomfortable.

He didn’t seem out of his mind. Actually, Roland had always been reported to be the most down-to-earth of the royal children. He’d been photographed playing tennis with budding young athletes at a training camp he’d visited in Europe, toasting a couple who had just been married in a hotel in Scotland where he’d been staying, and at a restaurant at the theme park in the United States, sharing a breakfast table with an adorable three-year-old girl who was elated to finally meet a real-life prince. That had happened just a few months ago, which was why it was so fresh in Val’s mind. She wasn’t about to admit that she kept close tabs on the royal family, all of them. That would be like owning up to a dream she’d convinced herself was foolish and childish to have.

“Your idea of living life is by working all day at the museum and then returning home by yourself?” he asked, but he was shaking his head as if already replying to her answer. “That’s not living at all.”

“It’s my life to do with as I please,” she replied.

How many times had she recited those words to herself? Far too many to be normal.

“We should all be so lucky,” was his quick retort. “I feel like dancing.”

“There’s no music,” she quipped, and this time she looked out the window.

It had grown dark outside, the clouds helping nightfall to arrive earlier. Heavy drops came down with a steady rhythm, moving in rivulets over the car windows.

“There’s always music in your heart,” he answered.

His voice sounded wistful that time, and Val couldn’t stop herself from turning to stare at him. He was looking out the front windshield, no doubt seeing nothing but the water raining down.

“My mother used to say that,” he told her, and then smiled as he looked at her. “She loved to dance and swore she never needed a record playing to do so.”

“I have no memories of my mother,” Val admitted, again without being able to stop herself, or at least monitor what she was saying. “She died when I was born.”

“They may be gone from this spiritual plane, but they’re always with us,” Roland said as he reached a hand over to rest on hers.

For a few stilted moments Val could only stare down at their hands. His skin was a shade darker than her butter-toned complexion. He had manicured nails. There were no rings on his right hand or on her left. They were still, and yet, deep inside, Val could swear she felt something moving, shifting, changing.

“We cannot dance in the car,” she said, and then cleared her throat because she thought her voice sounded rough.

“Then we’ll get out,” he told her, and with his free hand he pushed a button somewhere that had the door locks releasing with a loud click.

“It’s raining,” she announced.

“It’s fine,” he countered.

“No. It’s not.”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked. “What do you think will happen if you do something unorthodox for once in your life?”

“N-n othing,” she stammered. “I mean, I don’t know. I never thought about dancing in the rain.”

“That’s it right there.”

He gripped her fingers at that point, squeezing until she looked up at him.

“You don’t think. You just do. Open the car door, step out and dance!” he told her. “I dare you to simply let go of all those thoughts and just do it.”

Val didn’t like to be dared. She didn’t like people to think she was afraid of anything, either. Fear led to vulnerability and she never wanted to be vulnerable to anyone, ever. She was sliding her hand from his grip before her thoughts could catch up with her motions. Her other hand was on the door handle when she looked up at him.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she announced. “Especially not a dare from you.”

“Prove it,” he demanded, and then he smiled. The full grin in his deep brown eyes reached simultaneously into her chest to squeeze her heart, just lightly enough that her breath caught.

Val pulled on the handle and pushed the door open. She didn’t think as she stepped out and felt the cool rain pelting against her face. Moving away from the car, she stretched her arms out wide and turned in a circle. Giddiness rose from the pit of her stomach and she laughed before spinning around again. The next spin was with her head held back, eyes wide-open to the drops that fell, dripping into her mouth and sliding down her face.

It was cool and refreshing and, in a sense, liberating. She didn’t care who saw her, hadn’t even thought of who might come along this part of the road and find her there. Her own laughter had filled her mind so she could no longer hear thoughts that might tell her she was insane or acting foolish. When the spinning had her becoming dizzy she stopped, but continued to move her feet.

With this motion Val hummed a tune she’d heard her father play late some nights. It was slow and sad—a love song, Val was certain. Still, she danced to it, moving her feet and then her hips and upper body. She danced and imagined the song was happier and that hearing it made two people feel safe and loved. It joined them and held them close together through all eternity.

Yes, she thought, it was their song. Her parents had a song and it had made them happy at one time. Val continued to move, continued to sway with the music that only she could hear.

She was so in tune with herself and her thoughts and the brimming emotions, she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone. That was, until his hands slipped around her waist and she felt herself being turned around.

Val opened her eyes and looked up at him. Rain drops were heavy on her lids and she blinked quickly, still able to see him as clearly as if they were back sitting in the car. His face was as wet as hers, drops of rain falling on his lips. They weren’t too thick, but just thick enough, she thought, and then wondered why she was thinking about his mouth at all.

His fingers splayed at her lower back as he gathered her closer. Their bodies were touching, wet shirt against wet shirt, so close they were now heartbeat to heartbeat. Her arms were still in the air from her dancing, and she brought them down slowly, letting her hands rest on the soaked material of his suit jacket. She heard thunder.

No, that was the incessant beat of her heart as she realized with a start that he was leaning in closer. His head was moving down, toward hers. She tilted hers back a little, not sure what to expect but wanting to be ready. Yes, she definitely wanted to be ready.

“You should do this more often,” he whispered, his breath warm against her rain-chilled nose.

“Do what?” she asked, more than a little confused at the moment. Was she supposed to be following her mind or her body?

Her mind said she was chilly and getting soaked, now that she’d stopped dancing. Her body, on the other hand said, he was keeping her warm.

“This,” he said in the barest whisper, just before his lips touched hers.

She didn’t say a word. Instead, Val pressed into him, tilting her head to the side to slant her lips over his. Warmth continued to spread throughout her body, even before he parted his lips just enough so that his tongue could slip out. Her lips had been wet from the rain but now they were moist from the touch of his tongue. Her lips parted, exactly what her body—and now, her mind—wanted them to do.

His hands moved farther up her back, holding her tightly as his tongue plunged deeper, exploring in a steady and persistent fashion. Val did some studying of her own. The feel of his arms around her was pleasurable. The scent of his cologne as she inhaled was dreamy. The touch of his tongue was damn—the only word she could come up with at the moment to describe what she felt.

At that moment a big splash of water hit her and Val instinctively pulled back from him. He was frowning and they both looked over to see that a car had just whizzed past them. It had obviously driven through a puddle and spattered the two people who were—no doubt, strangely—standing on the side of the road.

“Guess we should get going,” Roland said.

“Yeah, I guess we should,” Val replied quickly.

They walked back to the car without touching, but Val’s thoughts remained fixated on their kiss. Even as she slipped into the passenger seat, thankful for the leather interior, she thought about the kiss and then she thought about the man.

Prince Roland Simon DeSaunters had kissed her.

She’d been kissed by a prince. Deliciously.

Chapter 4

Two days later Roland stood in front of the windows that stretched the entire side of the house, rubbing a finger over his lips. He didn’t know how many hours he’d spent in this very spot, thinking the same thought since he’d come in out of the rain that night.

Why had he kissed Valora Harrington?

Because she’d looked...how had she looked?

He didn’t even need to close his eyes to recall, the vision was still so clear in his mind. The black pants and white shirt that made up the museum staff uniform was ordinary on everyone else who worked there. But the way the pants fit the curves of Val’s hips and bottom was not ordinary at all. Extraordinary would be more like it, he thought, as he recalled seeing her walking with her guests. He didn’t need to look at the top half of her body again; he’d seen that pretty clearly Friday night at her father’s house, so he knew she had full breasts. He also figured those breasts would fit nicely in the palms of his hands. Actually, he thought with a twitching in his pants, they might overflow his palms.

His mouth watered at that moment. Not because he was thinking about palming her breasts or even rubbing his hand over her plump backside. This reaction was solely a result of the kiss. The memory was never far from his mind, no matter what task Roland might be doing. She’d tasted sweet, even though they’d just had the spicy pasta. Her lips had been warm, even as they’d stood outside in the chilly rain. And when she’d leaned in to him, Roland had felt the strangest thing. He’d felt needed.

Now, there was no doubt in Roland’s mind that each time he’d been with a woman, that woman had needed something from him. Sex was the top need and want in his dealings with women because that was all Roland had ever intended to give any of them. Did Val need sex? Roland shook his head. That thought didn’t sit well with him, even though it had his erection hardening almost to the point of distraction.

The doorbell ringing pulled him from his thoughts, and Roland dropped his arms to his sides and walked through the living room toward the front door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone. Then again, he never expected anyone to visit him, because nobody knew about his private home except his family.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Kris said the moment Roland opened the door.

“I live here,” Roland replied as he stepped aside while his brother walked in.

At the end of the driveway was a white Mercedes. Roland lifted a hand to wave at Tajeo, Kris’s driver. The man honked the horn in response and Roland smiled as he closed the door behind himself.

“What brings you here, brother dear?” Roland asked as he followed Kris into the living room.

Roland avoided the windows and took a seat on the ultrasoft leather couch. It was a deep burgundy color, almost like a red wine, and melded to his body each and every time he sat on it. The amount he’d paid the designer in Milan meant nothing compared to the comfort.

“You haven’t been at dinner the last couple of nights, and Sam was certain you hadn’t left the island, so I figured this was where you were,” Kris stated solemnly.

Actually, it wasn’t really solemn, it was Kris’s usual tone. His older brother was a serious man. An important man, a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. It may have only the weight of the people of Grand Serenity, but still, Roland imagined that had to feel like the whole world. He didn’t really know, since he was the second born. The only way Roland would ever rule this island would be if his father and brother died. A thought he never in all his life had entertained. Not simply because he did not want to rule the island, but because he didn’t know how he would live without either man in his life.

“What’s going on?” he asked Kris. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind.

Kris unbuttoned his suit jacket and gathered his pants slightly before taking a seat on the matching love seat across from where Roland sat.

“More like having too many somethings on my mind,” Kris replied, and released a sigh.

His brother sat back and let his shoulders relax. They had oftentimes been as close as twins. It was like that with all three of them. As royal children, finding sincere and trustworthy friends wasn’t always easy. As such, the DeSaunters siblings had opted to depend on and confide in each other.

“Wife, father, work or mom-to-be?” Roland asked with a raised brow.

“All of the above, except Malayka will never be my mother. I don’t care how many rings Dad puts on her finger,” Kris said, and ran his hands over his thighs.

Roland watched Kris’s motions. Tension surrounded him like a dark cloud. On another man, worry might have furrowed his brow, but not Kris. His facial features were set, so that he looked just as he did in a photograph taken months ago in the paper, or even years ago in their last family photo. There was no change. Ever. There couldn’t be.

As for Roland, he could clench his teeth and give a quick shake of his head at the monotony of it all. Being a prince wasn’t as glamorous as he was sure some thought. How many times had he said those words? How many days had he realized that same fact over and over again?

“Do you think he’s in love with her?” Roland asked Kris.

“Yes,” Kris answered without hesitation. “I know he is, and so do Sam and Landry. We can all see that he loves her and that he’s never loved any other woman since Mom. That’s the hardest part of this situation.”

“I agree,” Roland said.

It was hard to accept that his father was in love with someone other than his mother. Sure, years had passed since her death, but that didn’t mean Roland was ready to see another woman standing beside his father wearing that crown.

“He comes first,” Kris continued. “Dad’s safety, his happiness, it all comes before any feelings we have toward her or this marriage.”

“I know that,” Roland agreed. “Any word on Amari Taylor’s escape?”

“Gary hasn’t found him yet,” Kris said as he clasped his fingers together. “At the jail, his cell door was simply unlocked and the guy just walked out. We’re sure that means someone on the inside helped him, and since nobody confessed to being the culprit, every officer that was working the night of the escape has been fired.”

Roland shook his head. “You fired all of them?”

“Yes,” Kris stated. “I’m not going to play games with my family’s lives. If there’s no allegiance to the monarch or to justice, then they do not belong on the police force.”

He heard his brother’s words and, to an extent, understood them perfectly. Still, a part of Roland thought about innocent officers who may now be out of work because of this incident. On the other hand, his father could have lost his life in a car crash and Sam could have been killed when Kendon Arnold, the man they suspected of working for Amari, took shots at her. That was in addition to how many lives could have been lost during that explosion at the palace. In the end, Roland knew Kris was right, there was no more time to play or second-guess. This situation was dire.

“Sam says she misses her husband and longs for a normal life,” Kris continued.

“Don’t we all,” Roland quipped.

“No. We don’t.”

His brother’s response was quick and curt.

“This is my life,” Kris continued. “Now, with Landry by my side, I feel like it’s finally complete. Like she was meant to be there to help me through this journey. I have no doubt that I was meant to rule Grand Serenity one day and that Landry will help me with that. We’ll have a family and we’ll be happy here. One day.”

“Wow,” Roland replied with a sigh. “I wish my future was that clear.”

It was the truth, he thought, as he sat back in his chair. He did wish that he knew what he wanted for his future. He wished there was a plan for him, a goal, a woman...

“Brunson said you played poker with the casino owner a few nights ago.”

Kris’s words were a cool statement, one filled with judgment. But Roland wasn’t offended. He was used to being judged by people, even his family. They’d done so all his life.

“It was an interesting game,” he replied.

Interesting seemed like a good word for what had happened that night. As for how Roland had spent the next evening, well, he was still trying to figure out how to describe that. Luckily, he didn’t have to, not to Kris, anyway.

“You won,” Kris said, a semblance of a smile forming. “That’s my brother.”

Roland grinned. “Winning is always preferred.”

Kris chuckled then. “Dad said Grandpa always told him that.”

“Really? Dad never mentioned that to me.”

“Maybe because you don’t talk to him as much as Sam and I do.”

“I don’t please him as much as you and Sam do,” Roland quickly corrected. “But that’s not what I want to talk about. Let’s try going over why you have one of the guards reporting my every move to you. Am I a suspect in what’s been going on now?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kris countered. “Of course you’re not a suspect. But you are a part of this mess. If they’re gunning for one of us, all of us are affected. The guards are there to protect you and the rest of the family.”

“Are they reporting on what Sam does? Who she sees? How long she stays out?”

“Sam isn’t playing poker with people who do business within our country. And she’s not at the museum telling tourists that there may be buried treasure in the castle.”

So he knew that Roland had gone to the museum, as well. Roland wondered when, or if, Kris was going to ask the million-dollar question.

“Sam is living her life. She married the man of her dreams. She’s continuing her work with the children here, and now in the United States, which will soon be her second home. Everything she does is rooted in who she is and what she’s always wanted to become. Me, I’m doing the same thing.”

Kris shook his head.

“You’re stalling,” Kris told him. “That’s what you’ve always done. But one of these days, Ro, you’re going to have to grow up. When you do, you’ll have to decide who the adult Roland DeSaunters is going to be. A professional poker player? A womanizer? Whatever it is, you’ll have to decide for yourself and stand by it. Are you ready to do that?”

“I don’t have to answer that,” Roland countered.

He was slowly becoming agitated. He did not like that feeling, so he stood. Moving cleared his mind. It reminded him that not only was he alive, but that he was in control. He could decide where he went, what he did, how he did it. Everything was his decision and no one else’s.

Kris stood as well. “You’re right, Ro. You don’t have to answer to me. Or to Dad or to any one of those reporters that love to write stories about you and your frequent escapades. There’s only one person you’ll ever have to answer to, and that’s yourself. Just make sure that when you do, you can be honest about everything you’re doing. Everything you’re saying or promising.”

Roland stared at his brother and waited, because he knew it was coming.

“I was never engaged to marry Valora Harrington,” Kris said. “We both know that. She knows that. Her father believes differently. And you kissing her on the side of the road will only confuse matters for her and for the people of Grand Serenity.”

“I’m an adult and so is she,” Roland instantly countered. “It’s nobody’s business what we do or where we do it. Nobody’s!”

Kris shook his head. “You’re wrong about that, Ro. Because, whether you like it or not, you’re a prince. That’s not just a title, it’s a responsibility. Even for the Reckless Royal.”

Roland turned away then because he wanted to curse. He actually wanted to throw something. But not at Kris. He knew his brother was just doing his job. As always. He had to come and say something to his younger brother. He had to correct the wrongs before they could affect the country. Roland knew that. He hated it, but he knew it.

“She’s been through enough, man. Just leave her alone. We’ve got enough going on to keep us occupied. Don’t start unnecessary rumors or make her another notch in your belt. It’s not fair to her. None of this has ever been fair to her.”

Roland didn’t move, not even when he heard his front door open and close. He stood there staring out at his mountain, wondering how soon he could be packed and get off this island.

Chapter 5

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