It was a temporary agreement…

But their wedding date has already been set!

Princess Alexa’s strategy was simple: avoid an unwanted union by finding a short-term fiancé. Notoriously untamable Prince Rafaele seems her safest bet…until the king demands they marry for real!

Suddenly Alexa is in over her royal head! Because their electrifying connection complicates everything. Rafa’s charisma thrills her, his boldness challenges her and the pleasures of their marriage bed give duty-bound Alexa the confidence to ask for more. Can Alexa persuade Rafa to rewrite the terms of their convenient bargain?

With two university degrees and a variety of false career starts under her belt, MICHELLE CONDER decided to satisfy her lifelong desire to write and finally found her dream job. She currently lives in Melbourne, Australia, with one super-indulgent husband, three self-indulgent but exquisite children, a menagerie of over-indulged pets, and the intention of doing some form of exercise daily. She loves to hear from her readers at michelleconder.com.

Also by Michelle Conder

Living the Charade

Duty at What Cost?

The Most Expensive Lie of All

Prince Nadir’s Secret Heir

Hidden in the Sheikh’s Harem

Defying the Billionaire’s Command

The Italian’s Virgin Acquisition

Bound to Her Desert Captor

The Billionaire’s Virgin Temptation

The Chatsfield collection

Russian’s Ruthless Demand

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Their Royal Wedding Bargain

Michelle Conder

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09788-8

THEIR ROYAL WEDDING BARGAIN

© 2019 Michelle Conder

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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To Heather—

for years of love and friendship and for always

being in my corner. I’ll always be in yours too.

And to my dad. There just wasn’t enough time

in the end. I miss you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

TONIGHT WAS GOING to be a total disaster. Alexa could feel it.

The Annual Santarian Children’s Charity ball, one of the most prestigious events on the international calendar, would commence in under an hour, and she felt sick with apprehension.

‘He’s here, Your Highness,’ Nasrin, her assistant-cum-lady’s-maid-cum-devoted-companion, murmured as she closed the bedroom door, a ripple of excitement evident in her quick steps as she returned to Alexa. ‘One of the chambermaids confirmed that the Prince of Santara has just entered the Summer Palace.’

Retrieving the hairbrush from the old-fashioned vanity unit, Nasrin picked up a skein of Alexa’s long dark hair and met her wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. ‘This is so exciting. I can’t believe you’re actually going to do it.’

Alexa couldn’t either; releasing a measured breath at the thought of what she intended to do, followed swiftly by the seizing of her stomach.

Known for her cool, unflappable poise under pressure, she felt as if she was about to throw up the grilled cheese sandwich she’d had for lunch all over her custom-made designer gown.

He was here. He was really here.

Prince Rafaele of Santara, the King’s younger brother, had actually arrived. There had been whispers that he might not attend tonight, given that he’d created a scandal at this very event last year, embarrassing the King. But apparently nothing stopped the Rebel Prince of Santara from following his own path, and that was a trait that could work in her favour tonight so she should see it as a positive. Being a determined rule follower, she found that somewhat difficult, adding to her massive sense of self-doubt.

How was she going to do it? How was she going to ask a prince with the reputation as a consummate playboy to marry her, even if she was a princess herself? Because that was what she intended to do. What she had to do if she wanted to appease her father.

She and Nasrin had hatched the crazy eleventh-hour plan to propose a fake marriage—or engagement because, as she would explain to the Prince, she had no intention of actually going through with the wedding—two weeks ago when she had realised that her father was deadly serious about seeing her married as soon as possible.

Of course she’d tried to argue with him. Tell him that she wasn’t ready, that she needed more time, but he had shaken his head and informed her that nothing she said would change his mind. As the Crown Princess of Berenia, and only remaining heir, he would not rest until she was settled.

To be fair he had given her six months to create a list of possible marriageable contenders, but Alexa had dragged her feet, hoping he would forget all about it. On the night he’d told her he hadn’t forgotten at all, she and Nasrin had sat down to commiserate over a glass of Sauterne and a completely unrealistic rom-com at the end of a long working day.

According to Nasrin the main actor looked like the dreamy Santarian Prince, his character replete with arrogant, bad boy tendencies and a super-hot body, and the idea had been born. In the film the hero had not wanted to marry the heroine, but love had won out in the end.

Alexa knew from past experience that love rarely won out in the end, but fortunately that wasn’t what she required from the Prince.

‘It’s going to be fine, Princess Alexa; he’ll do it,’ Nasrin murmured, accurately reading the panic in her eyes for what it was. ‘Then you’ll have everything your heart desires.’

Everything her heart desired?

What she desired the most was time to make her own marriage match, and for her older brother to still be alive.

Sol had been the true heir to the Berenian throne but since his tragic death three years ago that duty had fallen to her. And she wasn’t up to it, not yet anyway, and deep down she wondered if her father believed that she wasn’t up to it either, especially after the serious lapse in judgement she’d made when she was seventeen. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he was pushing so hard for her to marry right now. Why he was so determined to have it done.

That, and to remove the stink of shame that still hovered over her after the King of Santara had abruptly ended their betrothal twelve months earlier. The ink hadn’t even dried on their marriage contract before he had pulled out and immediately married another woman—an outsider, no less—his actions stirring up centuries-old animosity between their nations and giving the BLF—the Berenian Liberation Front—just the excuse they needed to re-engage in hostilities with Santara.

Her and King Jaeger’s brief, ill-fated betrothal hadn’t been a love-match by any stretch, but his rejection had still felt like yet another kick in the teeth for Alexa because she had liked him. She’d developed a massive crush on King Jaeger when he had saved her from an embarrassing experience on her first official engagement as her father’s consort. At thirteen, she’d been so nervous, decked out in a white tulle gown that had made her feel like a beautiful fairy, that she’d accidentally upended a full jug of cranberry juice all over herself. She’d frozen to the spot as the cold, sticky red liquid had drenched the front of her beautiful gown and chilled her skin. Before she’d been able to respond the newly crowned King of Santara had stepped in behind her and enveloped her in his jacket and whispered that everything would be okay.

Mortified, Alexa had buried her scalding cheeks against his chest, allowing him to draw her from the room without anyone really noticing them. He’d instructed a servant to find her lady’s maid and then melted back into the party. Alexa hadn’t drunk cranberry juice since, and nor had she forgotten the King’s kindness. As she’d matured he’d become the epitome of her dream man: kind, loyal, compassionate and strong.

His brother, by contrast, couldn’t be more different. The consummate good-time guy, Prince Rafaele moved from one lissom blonde to the next as if he was doing nothing more important than choosing a new tie to wear with his suit.

‘Having your hair up was a good choice,’ Nasrin said as she twisted the last of Alexa’s waist-length tresses into place. ‘It shows off the sheer panelling at the back of your dress to perfection.’

‘It’s not too revealing, is it?’ Alexa murmured, twisting on her padded stool to get a better view. She’d chosen her nude-coloured off-the-shoulder gown to attract as much attention as she dared, but she wasn’t used to wearing clothing that revealed so much skin.

‘Not at all. It’s perfect.’

Alexa stared at her carefully made-up face with critical indifference. Perfect would be to have the task ahead of her put behind her and sorted to her satisfaction.

‘And you’re sure he doesn’t want to get married?’ she asked, her outward calm slipping ever so slightly. One of the things that made the Prince so perfect was his reported disinclination to marry. If he didn’t want to marry he would never want to make their union permanent and interfere with her chance to do things her way.

‘Absolutely.’ Nasrin nodded. ‘He’s been on record as saying he never intends to marry. Not that the women seem to be listening. They throw themselves at him like lemmings off a cliff, hoping to be the one to change his mind.’

So why did she feel so sick?

Probably because actually attracting the attention of a man like the Prince was completely foreign to her, thanks to her father’s strict rules and regulations, and her own sense of inadequacy with men. Not that she’d always felt that way. Once, when she was seventeen, she’d believed a man—Stefano—had found her beautiful. But what he’d really found was that she was gullible. Gullible enough to be seduced by a man who was more interested in her title than her as a woman. The mistake had hit her budding confidence hard, pushing her to focus on her degree in business management, and her royal duties, to the exclusion of all else.

Not that she wanted to attract Prince Rafaele. No, she only wanted his cooperation in a scheme that, in the end, would serve him as equally as it would her by restoring cordial relations between their two nations. A scheme that had seemed a lot easier to follow through on when she’d gone over it late at night in her bed than in the cold light of day.

Trying to remain positive, Alexa slipped on her heels and smoothed her hands down her bespoke gown, ignoring how the clever creation made her feel both elegant and naked—which, according to her exuberant assistant, was the whole point of the design.

‘You will feel sexy and alluring,’ Nasrin had assured her when she’d first set eyes on the dress. ‘And every man in the room will look at you and want you.’

Right now she felt as sexy and alluring as a tree. And she didn’t want every man in the room looking at her. She was nervous enough thinking about one man looking at her.

She picked up the dossier Nasrin had put together on Prince Rafaele last week, rifling through photo after photo of him attending parties and movie premieres every other week. Vastly wealthy in his own right, he owned an empire of nightclubs and bars across Europe that, once opened, became the only place to be seen. ‘Dens of iniquity, her father had once disparaged.

An unwanted shiver shot through her as she gazed at a shirtless photo of the Prince holding onto a sail line on the deck of a yacht. His white trousers were flattened against his muscular thighs by the breeze, his dark shoulder-length hair streaming out behind him, his broad chest deeply tanned to the colour of the teak deck. His face was turned towards the camera and the lens had lovingly captured his perfect wide smile, hawkish features and startling blue eyes as he laughed at something in the distance.

The caption underneath read: The Rebel Prince in search of sun, fun and adventure.

Alexa studied his image. Despite his relaxed pose there was something about the way he held himself that said Danger…beware. A jaded slant to his lips that indicated that he had seen everything there was to see in life, and was surprised by none of it. Which would be a good thing if he went along with her plan because their break-up would seem inevitable: the Playboy Prince and the shrinking violet could never have lasted. Not that she was a shrinking violet. She just chose not to make waves if she didn’t have to.

‘Hot, isn’t he?’ Nasrin said as she glanced at the photo before running a practised eye over Alexa. ‘You look stunning, Your Highness. The Prince won’t be able to resist you.’

While Alexa appreciated Nasrin’s optimism, she knew from personal experience that men found her all too easy to resist. ‘More likely he’ll laugh in my face.’ She closed the file. ‘And if he’s that opposed to marriage he might not even go for a temporary engagement.’

‘But you have an ace up your sleeve. If he agrees, it could help settle all the bad blood between our nations. Of course he’ll go for that. And the engagement would only be temporary. Unless…’ Nasrin’s pretty eyes sparkled mischievously ‘…you fall in love with each other.’

Alexa shook her head. Nasrin had a romantic nature that no amount of rational conversation could extinguish. And while Alexa might have once craved love and a happy-ever-after too, she’d been disappointed enough in the past not to wait around for it.

Love wasn’t as important as dignity. Self-respect. Objectivity. And imagining the Prince of Santara falling in love with her, or her with him, was frankly hilarious.

‘That’s as likely to happen as the moon is to turn blue,’ she said dryly.

‘If you wish hard enough, Your Highness, you’ll get whatever you ask for.’

Alexa knew that rarely happened either.

‘Fortunately, I don’t want the Prince’s love. Just his co-operation.’

‘Then go get it,’ Nasrin urged with a flourish.

Alexa smiled. Nasrin had been like a gift when she’d come to work for her after Sol had died, organising her life and making her smile again with her chatty, easy nature. Everything else had felt so oppressive at the time, oppressive and overwhelming, during those dark days.

Not that she begrudged her role as the future Queen of Berenia. She didn’t because she loved her country, and her countrymen, and she wanted to do the best job for them in Sol’s stead. She wanted to make her father proud. And if the Prince went along with her plan she could do that. She could help rebuild relations between Berenia and Santara, and buy herself the necessary time to make a marriage that not only pleased her father but herself as well.

The decider would be whether or not she could implement a plan that had seemed perfectly logical at inception, but now felt desperately naive.

But if the Prince turned her down she’d just have to find someone else. Because the alternative—marrying the man who was on top of her father’s list of eligible suitors—didn’t bear thinking about.

Rafe gazed around the ballroom of the Santarian Summer Palace, a place he’d spent many formative years, with mixed emotions. As a general rule he tried not to return here very often, not only because it didn’t hold the best memories, but because when he’d left Santara as a disaffected teenager he’d cut all ties with his nation.

And he wasn’t sorry that he had. He didn’t miss the life here. He didn’t miss the sun that was hot enough most of the year to blister paint, and he didn’t miss the endless round of lacklustre royal duties his father had expected him to carry out as the second son of Santara. The less important son. He didn’t miss having his ideas shot down in flames by a man who had never understood his drive and ambition to forge his own path in life.

‘It’s lucky you’re a prince, sibi,’ his father had often snarled. ‘You’d amount to nothing if you weren’t.’

Hard-nosed and narrow-minded, his father had treated opposing opinions as little more than ripples on a quiet pond.

Rafe had learned not to care, disconnecting from his father, and rubbing his nose in it any chance that he got. And despite—or perhaps because of—his father’s convictions that he wouldn’t amount to anything he’d made a success of his life.

He’d broken free of the constraints of royal duty and lived life on his own terms. Not that his father was around to see it. His death when Rafe had been eighteen was the very thing that had set him free. Or rather his brother had set him free when he’d stepped into the role of King at nineteen and given Rafe permission to spread his wings.

Returning from studying in the US at the time, Rafe knew that Jag could have used his insider knowledge and support, and it was only now, looking back, that he understood the sacrifice his brother had made for him, shouldering the burden of a troubled nation on his own and never asking anything of Rafe in return.

Once sharing what he would have said was an unbreakable bond, their relationship had grown strained with distance and Rafe was never sure how to bridge the gulf without losing himself in the process. Still, he owed Jag a debt of gratitude, even if his brother didn’t think so.

Catching the direction of his thoughts before they progressed any further, Rafe shook them off with well-practised ease. This was partly the reason he hated returning home. The memories, the choked feeling of constraint and the heaviness that came over him that wasn’t a part of the life that he lived now. A life based on unsurpassed pleasure, beauty and freedom. A life he lived predominantly in England, where he’d used a stellar investment in technology while attending Cambridge to purchase his first bar and nightclub. He had ‘the touch’ some said, an innate ability to tap into what his clientele wanted and to transform any venue he took over into the hottest place in town.

Which often made him the hottest property in town, pursued again and again by women looking to change his mind about remaining single. Something he had no intention of doing. Ever. In his experience the novelty factor rarely lasted beyond the bedroom and, even if it did, his parents’ tumultuous relationship had cured him of ever thinking marriage was an institution he wanted to be part of.

Much better to have fun while it lasted, and move on before anyone got hurt. And if the tabloids wanted to paint him as a playboy prince to get foot traffic on their websites, that was hardly his problem. Something Jag didn’t understand.

But then Jag was still a little aggrieved about the whole French heiress debacle at this event last year. Having grown bored early on in the night, Rafe had taken her to his hot tub upstairs, only to have her post photos of the two of them to her social media account. If he’d known Jag was in the middle of important negotiations with her father at the time he would have insisted that she leave her phone downstairs.

An oversight that had led him to promise his brother that he would stay out of trouble this evening. Which wasn’t exactly fair because Rafe rarely went looking for trouble any more. More often than not it found him.

As if on cue, he saw his sister making a beeline for him as she wound her way through the throng of impeccably groomed guests at the ball.

‘I take it the ostrich lost?’ he teased, his eyes going to the brightly coloured feathers covering her skirt. ‘Or do you have plans to return the outfit to the poor creature at the end of the night?’

‘Laugh all you want,’ Milena challenged with narrowed eyes. ‘But I love the dress and every feather had already been shed before it was collected. Is that what you were grinning at before? Or was it something else? I swear you had that glint in your eye that said you were up to no good.’

‘Just remembering a certain French heiress I met at about this time last year.’

‘Oh, please.’ Milena rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t let Jag hear you say the words “French” and “heiress” together in a sentence; he’ll blow a gasket.’

‘He needs to loosen up. He got the deal with her father through in the end so it was a win-win for both of us.’

‘No thanks to you,’ she retorted. ‘When are you going to start dating women you respect and want to—’

‘Don’t say it.’ Rafe shuddered. ‘I like to imagine that you’re still innocent of such matters. And anyway, I promised our esteemed brother that I’d be on my best behaviour tonight, so don’t worry.’

He gave his sister his trademark grin, knowing that it wouldn’t work one bit. She might be six years younger than his thirty years but she’d always had his measure.

‘That only makes me worry more.’ She groaned. ‘And, speaking of Jag, you need to cut him some slack. He’s got a lot on his plate right now.’

‘Like?’

‘The Berenian thing.’

‘Still?’ Rafe arched a brow. He knew Berenia was causing problems but he’d thought that would have died down by now. ‘So he didn’t marry their revered Princess last year. They need to move on and get over it.’

‘There’s more to it than that. Santara has advanced much further on the world stage than Berenia, which brings its own set of resentments.’

‘Yes, but still their incompetence can hardly be our problem.’

‘I don’t know the ins and outs of it but… Oh, there’s Jag, looking for us. I was supposed to find you so we can get the official photos out of the way.’

‘Lead on,’ Rafe said with amusement. He’d smile and play nice so his brother would have nothing to grumble about at the end of the night. Then tomorrow he’d fly home and resume his normal life, which wasn’t dictated by pomp or protocol.

‘Rafa.’ Jag greeted him with a hint of stiffness. ‘I wasn’t sure you were going to make it this year.’

‘Never miss it. Especially if there’s a French heiress to be had.’

‘Rafa!’ Milena scolded under her breath. ‘You promised.’

Rafe laughed. ‘Don’t worry. Jag knows I’m joking.’

‘Jag hopes you’re joking,’ his brother muttered. ‘And just because you made a career out of annoying our father don’t feel that you have to carry the tradition on with me because I’m King.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Rafe grinned. ‘I hear you’re having some issues with the Berenians.’

‘Don’t mention that word. I swear they’re the most stubborn people on earth.’

A photographer stopped in front of them. ‘The lighting is probably better over by the far column, Your Majesty; do you mind moving in that direction?’

‘Not at all,’ Jag said, casting his eyes across the sea of chattering guests until he spotted what he was looking for. He crooked his finger, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth, softening his face in a way Rafe had rarely seen before. Following his line of sight, he watched as Jag’s new wife made her way towards them. Clearly pregnant, in a slim-fitting gown, she looked beautiful and only had eyes for his brother.

When she reached his side, Rafe could have sworn the rest of the room dissolved for both of them. Bemused, he wondered what it felt like to want someone that much, and then decided he didn’t want to know.

‘Good evening, Your Majesty,’ Rafe greeted his new Queen. ‘You’re looking as beautiful as ever.’ He took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Should you ever tire of my stiff-necked brother, you only have to—’

‘Rafa—’ Jag began warningly.

Queen Regan laughed softy and placed her hand on his brother’s arm. ‘Always the devil, Rafaele.’ She smiled at him. ‘It’s a skill to make a pregnant woman blush. But where is your date tonight? I understand you’re seeing a Spanish supermodel. Ella? Or Esme?’

‘Estela,’ Rafe corrected.

‘My apologies.’ She glanced around curiously. ‘Did you bring her with you?’

‘Unfortunately, we had a difference in priorities and parted ways.’

‘And you’re clearly crestfallen.’ Regan arched a brow, a playful glow in her eyes. ‘Do I want to know what those priorities were?’

‘If you two are quite finished flirting,’ Jag said with an edge of menace in his voice, ‘the photographer is waiting.’

‘Sorry.’ Regan threaded her arm through his. ‘But I’m a married woman now. I have to live vicariously and Rafaele always has such interesting stories.’

‘I’ll give you an interesting story later on,’ Jag promised throatily. ‘For now just smile and imagine it.’

‘Whatever they have, I don’t want it,’ Rafe grouched, lining up on the other side of his sister.

‘It’s called love,’ Milena said impishly. ‘And I can’t wait to experience it.’

‘Just don’t fall in love with anyone I haven’t checked out first,’ Rafe warned sternly.

‘Oh, fiddle.’ She waved him away. ‘You and Jag are as bad as each other. You’re more alike than you might think.’

She was wrong. It had always been easier to be the bad to Jag’s good. But he didn’t offer an objection. Instead he pasted a smile on his face and pinched his sister’s side just as the photographer clicked the shutter. Milena kicked his ankle in return and it was their usual game on to see who could make the other break first.

Two hours later, bored to the bone, Rafe thought about heading to his hot tub—alone—when he saw her. A vision who appeared to be nude at first glance but who, unfortunately, wasn’t. But she was breathtaking, with her dark hair, smooth caramel skin and elegant cameo-like profile. Her delicate features were complemented by slender curves and long legs.

They’d fit, he realised with a jolt, somehow already knowing just how good they would be together though he’d never even spoken to her. Instantly intrigued by the notion that he wanted to know the colour of her eyes and the taste of her lips under his. He wanted to feel her warm silken skin and feast his eyes on her sweet curves as he stripped that clever gown from her body with aching slowness for the very first time.

As if sensing the heat of his thoughts, she turned her head, her eyes instantly finding his.

She blinked, as if she felt the caress of the erotic images coursing through his brain, a flush touching her high cheekbones. Or was that just his imagination going overboard? It certainly couldn’t be because of the fool standing in front of her. Count Kushnir wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like that if he had a set of instructions and an accompanying magnifying glass.

Rafe let a slow grin curve the corners of his lips, noting the way her eyes widened with alarm as if she too already knew that they were destined to become lovers.

Because they would become lovers. Tonight, tomorrow night—for Rafe it was already a forgone conclusion. He only hoped she wasn’t one of those women who liked to play hard to get, imagining that if he had to work for it he’d be more interested. He wouldn’t. Because he couldn’t be more interested in this woman if he tried.

CHAPTER TWO

ALEXA FELT PRINCE RAFAELE’S gaze on her as if it were a tractor beam.

This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. The moment he’d notice her so that they would meet and she could introduce herself. Not that she’d probably need to do that because he would surely know who she was but still, it was the polite thing to do. She’d introduce herself, make small talk and…and…

‘Choo-choo…choo-choo!’

‘I’m sorry?’ Forcing her attention back to the man in front of her, with a noble Russian lineage dating back before Peter the Great, she tried to smile. ‘I don’t think I heard you right?’

At least she hoped she hadn’t. But no…there it was again. An obnoxious, high-pitched noise as he mimicked the sound his toy steam engine made as it trundled around an apparently life-sized track. It reminded her of the stories of sybaritic kings of old who set up lifelike warships in large lakes and watched them battle for supremacy. If she had thought this man might be a possible candidate for a fake engagement should Prince Rafaele turn her down, he’d just convinced her to look elsewhere. The only thing she could fake in this man’s company was a smile. And even that was growing old.

‘May I interrupt?’ A smooth deep voice beside her thankfully broke off the man’s description of yet another steam engine.

Expecting the voice to belong to Prince Rafaele, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief intermingled with disappointment when it wasn’t. Immediately her eyes cut to the place she had last seen him but he wasn’t there any more.

‘Your Royal Highness?’

Somewhat perplexed that the Prince had simply walked away after staring at her so openly, Alexa smiled at the newcomer beside her. What had he asked her? To dance? ‘Yes. Thank you.’

She didn’t actually want to dance but maybe movement would help settle her suddenly jangled nerves.

It had been the look the Prince had given her. That all-encompassing male glance that had raked her from head to toe and then pierced her with heat. It had completely thrown her. Of course she’d known he was good-looking. The mouth-watering photos Nasrin had dredged up on the Internet were demonstration enough of that, but in the flesh… In the flesh he was something more. More charismatic. More powerful. More sensual. More physical.

Taller than those around him, he’d been wide-shouldered and lean-hipped, his body exuding the kind of animal grace that drew the eye of anyone in his vicinity and held it. His dark brown hair was cut in longer layers, framing his chiselled jaw and well-shaped lips to perfection.

In many ways he’d reminded her of King Jaeger but this man had a laconic, laidback sense to him that was powerfully sexy, and strangely she’d never once thought of the King as sexy.

Powerful, yes. Intimidating and regal, yes. But she’d never looked at him and felt her blood pump faster through her veins, as had happened from one long, wicked look from Prince Rafaele.

Feeling guilty that she was completely ignoring the man who was currently holding her at a respectful distance on the dance floor, she tried to dredge up something interesting to say to break the silence between them. God knew she had years of banal small talk rolling around inside her head but, for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to recall any of it, her brain stuck on the strange lethargy that had entered her body at Prince Rafaele’s heated stare.

‘I hate to cut in, Lord Stanton, but you need to contact your office. Something about a paternity test being carried out with your name on it.’

‘Pardon?’ Her dance partner instantly dropped her hand and frowned at the man she’d been waiting all night to ‘run into’ with horror. ‘That can’t be true.’

Prince Rafaele gave an indolent shrug of one wide shoulder. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’

Alexa frowned as Lord Stanton mumbled an apology and carved a purposeful path through the crowded dance floor as if the devil was on his trail.

‘Allow me,’ the Prince said, taking her into his arms and holding her much closer than Lord Stanton had done.

It took her only a moment to realise that he’d done that deliberately, and that there was probably no paternity test in the works at all.

‘Was any of that true?’

‘Not a word.’

Alexa didn’t know whether to laugh or frown at his candour. ‘That wasn’t very nice. I think you really scared poor Lord Stanton.’

‘Only because it’s happened to poor Lord Stanton before.’

‘It has?’ She blinked at him. ‘How do you know that? Is he a friend of yours?’

‘I know everything. But no, he isn’t a friend. Not even close.’

‘He’s not going to be happy when he finds out you lied.’

‘Probably not.’ The Prince raised an eyebrow as if to say he couldn’t care less, his gaze skimming her face. ‘But first things first. That soft accent I can hear in your voice isn’t French, is it?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’ Before she could think too much about his question he manoeuvred her closer, distracting her. ‘Now I can just enjoy how good you feel in my arms.’

Incredibly aware of the warm male chest mere inches from hers, Alexa’s breath caught. One of his hard thighs was pressed ever so slightly between her legs, keeping her slightly off balance, so that she had to grip onto his hand to stay upright. Aware that she’d never felt such a powerful response to anyone like this before, she automatically drew back, her reaction causing a slow masculine grin to curve his lips. ‘Too fast for you?’

‘I…’ Completely unprepared to be meeting him like this, let alone be plastered up against his hard body, Alexa frowned. ‘Yes. I don’t like being crowded.’

Truth be told, she wasn’t used to being touched like this. Her father had never been overly tactile and, as her mother had died giving birth to her, she’d been raised by a procession of nannies, each one leaving before she or Sol could become attached to them. It had been her father’s way of training any neediness out of them, his methods intended to instil in them both a sense of objectivity and distance befitting a monarch of their realm.

She still remembered the day her beloved Mrs Halstead had left. At five, Alexa had cried herself into a stupor, thus proving her father’s point. After a while she had stopped crying when people left but, given the mistake she’d made with Stefano, the lesson in objectivity had taken much longer to master. And sometimes she worried that she still hadn’t got it. Especially now, when she was struggling to remain objective in this man’s arms.

‘By all means I can do slow,’ he said with a grin, his mesmerising eyes flicking over her with sensual intent.

Even though she had dressed to attract attention she was so unused to men flirting with her it took Alexa a moment to assimilate his meaning. When she did, heat curved up the side of her neck. She hadn’t fully worked out what she was going to say to him when they finally met so she found herself at a loss for words. It was only her love for her country, and a desire to placate her father, that had her still considering going ahead with her plan.

Because ordinarily she wouldn’t go near a man like the Prince. And not just because of his bad boy reputation but because he was too big and too male—his level of testosterone swamping her and making her way too aware of him. It was like being confronted by an enormous, sated wolf; even though you knew it was well fed you still couldn’t relax in its presence for fear that it might pounce just for the fun of it.

The orchestra music changed tempo and she realised that the Prince danced very well, his movements fluid and graceful as he moved her in time with the beat. Wondering how to gain control of the situation and suggest a place for them to sit down and talk, she was completely unprepared for his enticing all-male scent to swamp her as he leaned in closer.

‘You’re exceptionally beautiful,’ he murmured, bringing her left hand up to his lips in one smooth move, smiling against her fingertips. ‘And unmarried. Two of my favourite attributes in a woman.’

His earlier question about her being French came back to her and she pulled back to stare up at him.

Did he not know who she was?

She’d received so many sympathetic glances during the night from those who knew her to be the jilted Princess of Berenia that her teeth had wanted to grind together.

For him not to recognise her… It didn’t seem possible but…perhaps it was. After all, he’d been off doing his own thing for a decade now, where her life had remained incredibly small by comparison. A bolt of inspiration shot through her. If he didn’t know who she was it would give her a chance to find out how amenable he would be to her plan without having to embarrass herself by asking outright.

His eyes watched her, confident and direct. Sapphire blue surrounded by inky black lashes, they drew her in with the promise of delights she had probably never even dreamed of, drew her in as if he could read every one of her secret wishes and desires and had the power to answer them all. The notion was both terrifying and utterly irresistible.

The prince’s heavy-lidded gaze held an amused glint as if he knew exactly how he was affecting her. Only she didn’t plan to become one of his worshippers so it was best to set the scene early.

‘Are you always this direct?’ she asked, meeting fire with fire.

‘I’m not one to waste time on trivialities.’ His fingers brushed the inside of her wrist, sending an unexpected trail of goosebumps along her arm. She fought off another tremor as she thought about what those fingers would feel like stroking other, more intimate, parts of her body. ‘State what you want and go after it has always been my motto.’

She didn’t doubt it.

But ever since her brother had died her life had been mapped out for her and stripped of any real choice so she rarely, if ever, stated what she wanted, or went after it.

He swung her in a tight circle, the hand at the base of her spine covering the small of her back. ‘It hasn’t failed me yet.’ The smile he gave her was one hundred per cent lupine in nature. ‘I hope it’s not about to.’

‘Are you propositioning me?’

The words were out before she could stop them and she only just managed to stop herself from cringing. No doubt none of the sophisticated beauties he was frequently photographed with would need to ask such a gauche question.

Even white teeth were revealed by a frankly amused smile. ‘I do believe I am.’

‘But you don’t even know me.’

‘I don’t need to know you to know that I want you.’ His tone lowered to a sexual purr. ‘But if names make you feel more at ease I am Prince Rafaele al-Hadrid. Rafe to my intimates, Rafa to my family.’

‘I know who you are,’ she said, blinking hard to defuse the sensual spell he was effortlessly weaving around her. ‘And I also know of your reputation.’

His smile widened. ‘Which one?’

Not sure how to handle the fact that he seemed completely unperturbed by her revelation, Alexa pushed on with her plan to gain information about him. ‘The one that says that you’re not marriage material.’

‘Very true,’ he drawled. ‘I am good at many things but being a husband would not be one of them. And I believe in playing to my strengths.’

So did she. ‘Why wouldn’t you be a good husband?’

‘According to many of the women I’ve seen, I’m emotionally stunted, closed off from genuine affection, afraid of true intimacy and utterly selfish.’ His eyes twinkled down at her with amusement. ‘I did take exception to the “closed off from genuine affection” comment as I happen to think I’m very affectionate when the mood strikes.’

‘I’m sure she was way off base.’ Alexa laughed despite herself.

‘I’m glad you agree.’ He grinned charmingly. ‘But you haven’t introduced yourself,’ he reminded her softly.

‘No, I haven’t.’

His dark brow arched with quicksilver interest. ‘And you’re not going to,’ he surmised accurately. ‘Do you want me to guess?’ His gaze roamed her face, heating her up as it went. ‘You do seem vaguely familiar. Should I know you?’

‘I would say so.’

‘Have we ever—’

‘No.’ She stumbled as his meaning became clear, causing him to bring her into direct contact with his warm body again. Heat that had been simmering away inside her exploded low in her pelvis.

Sensual amusement curved his lips as if he had her right where he wanted her.

Danger, her brain signalled once more, only stronger this time, with the added instruction to retreat. Only she couldn’t because she couldn’t remember why she should. Not with those intense blue eyes lingering on her lips and turning her mouth so dry she had to fight not to moisten it. Her heart felt like a trapped bird trying to break out of its cage, her whole body assailed with a kind of sweet lethargy she’d never felt before.

The drawn-out notes from a violin signalled the end of the musical score they’d been dancing to, and then someone on the end of a microphone announced that the silent auction was about to take place.

Clusters of murmuring guests started making their way towards one of the anterooms, and Alexa was startled to find that she hadn’t moved an inch out of the Prince’s arms. Scrambling to get her brain back on line, it took her a moment to realise that he had taken her hand and was leading her in the opposite direction to everyone else.

‘Where are you taking me?’ She pulled up, digging her spindly heels into the marble floor and gaining no traction at all.

‘Somewhere we can talk.’ The Prince’s enigmatic gaze swept her from head to toe. ‘I made a promise that I wouldn’t cause any scandals this evening and I’m very close to breaking it.’

He steered her through a set of open doors and along a wide corridor before she had the wherewithal to stop him once more. ‘Wait.’

Instantly coming to a halt, he looked back at her.

Alexa blinked as she tried to regulate her thoughts—and her breathing. At some point she would need to get him alone to go over her proposition with him but, with her body sending a whole host of mixed messages to her brain, she knew she wasn’t ready for that now. Plus, he wasn’t taking her anywhere for them to talk. She might be relatively inexperienced when it came to men, but she already knew that they could be unscrupulous when it came to getting what they wanted.

He looked down at her, amusement lighting his eyes as she gently tugged her hand free of his.

‘I’m not going to kiss you.’ The bold statement slipped out before it had fully formed in her mind and she knew she’d never felt as tempted to do exactly what she said she wouldn’t in her life before.

His sinful lips curved into that devilish smile and a blush stained her cheeks. ‘You don’t like kissing?’

Not particularly, but that wasn’t the point, was it? ‘I don’t kiss strangers.’

‘But I’m not the stranger here; you are,’ he pointed out. ‘And fortunately I have no such reservations.’

His tone was teasing but she sensed his hunger in the coiled strength of his body and the heat that radiated from every pore. The earlier image of a wolf about to pounce returned. This time it was definitely hungry and she was in its crosshairs. Rather than scare her as it probably should, it sent another thrill of sensation down her spine. She shuddered with unexpected anticipation and of course he noticed, his blue eyes darkening, his nostrils flaring slightly with his next breath.

Something exciting and wickedly enticing wound between them.

‘Come with me,’ he invited huskily. ‘I get the impression that your life could do with a little excitement in it.’

She wanted to deny it but his assessment was so accurate she couldn’t. Every hour of her day was usually accounted for with paperwork or meetings and she rarely took time out to just have fun. A roar of laughter from nearby guests broke into her reverie as if to drive the point home.

Those serious doubts she’d had about going ahead with her plan returned tenfold.

Prince Rafaele was much more lethally male and charismatic than she had anticipated, and the blatantly sexual way he looked at her awoke every one of her senses. She hadn’t expected him to have such an uncontrollable edge beneath the civility of his custom-made tuxedo but it was there—primal and dangerous and totally untameable.

‘Come,’ he coaxed once more, his hand raised towards her. ‘Take my hand.’

It was more command than invitation, the silken gravel of his tone making her forget that her future was on the line this weekend. Making her forget how much she had at stake: the ability to fulfil her royal duty to Berenia her way.

Against all rational thought, Alexa gave into temptation and placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her through a solid door and into a beautiful, softly lit reading room. Glancing around, she noted that it was empty, the soft furnishings and gauzy curtains in the windows giving the room an odd sense of intimacy that was heightened when she heard the door click closed behind her.

‘I’m not sure this is wise,’ she said, knowing by the wild hammering of her heart that it definitely wasn’t.

He grinned with mischievous intent. ‘Probably not.’

Completely absorbed by the animal grace of his stride as he pushed away from the door and came towards her, Alexa was unprepared for him to invade her personal space and bumped the low table behind her as she unconsciously retreated.

Fortunately, he caught her around the waist, his fingertips spanning her hipbones with blatant possession.

‘Your Highness!’ Alexa exclaimed on a breathless rush, her mind as unbalanced as her body. ‘I told you I’m not—’

‘Kissing me. I know.’ His head lowered to hers, the warmth of his lips ghosting across the line of her jaw as he inhaled her scent deep into his lungs.

A shiver of awareness bolted down Alexa’s spine, turning her knees to water. Her hands flattened against his hard chest as if to hold herself steady, her senses logging the hard heat of his body and the strong beat of his heart through the thick fabric of his jacket.

Despite her four-inch heels, their height difference put her only at eye level with his chiselled mouth and she couldn’t look away, her fingers curling of their own accord into his dinner jacket.

The prince’s hands firmed on her hips. ‘You’ve got exactly three seconds to step out of my arms before I kiss you properly.’

His tone was low and husky with need and Alexa flushed as an answering need flooded her lower body with silken heat. Completely out of her depth, her knees almost too weak to hold her upright, she leant against him in a move that perfectly signalled her desires to a man well versed in reading the play.

‘I’m pretty sure that’s five,’ he murmured, his head bending as his mouth found hers. This kiss was firm, warm, his lips capturing hers with consummate skill and drawing a response from her she didn’t even know she had in her to give.

When she didn’t resist a soft groan left his mouth and one of his hands rose to cup the nape of her neck, his body moulding to hers as he took control of her very will.

Alexa knew she shouldn’t be doing this but she couldn’t seem to organise her thoughts when the desire to taste him was so strong. The prince’s heat and scent surrounded her and soaked into her, his mouth driving out any thought of resisting.

‘That’s it, sweetheart,’ he whispered, ‘open for me.’

Having never been kissed with such carnal expertise, Alexa felt a rush of burning heat as his tongue entered her mouth and licked at her own. The unexpected eroticism of the move made her hands grip his shoulders, her body arching towards his, seeking more. Craving more.

The sensations were so wickedly enticing that when his fingers curved around one of her breasts she moaned, no longer concerned with what she was here to do. This was all that mattered. This man’s mouth fused with hers, his hands caressing her all over and making her burn.

She slid her fingers into his hair, tugging him closer, and he groaned again, his hands moving lower to cup her bottom and bring her in closer against his body, his callused palms snagging on the tiny crystals covering her dress.

‘You taste like honey and nectar,’ he murmured, his lips trailing a heated line along her jaw towards her ear.

‘You taste like heat and mint,’ she panted, her neck arching to accommodate his lips, her nipples painfully tight against the fabric of her dress.

He laughed huskily as if she delighted him. It was quite the aphrodisiac after her previous sexual encounter had obliterated her burgeoning self-confidence.

‘Come upstairs with me.’ The Prince’s kisses continued down her neck and she felt him shudder as he gently bit down on the tendons that joined her shoulder. ‘I can’t take you here; we’ll get caught.’

Alexa didn’t know which part of that statement permeated her stunned senses more, but suddenly her hands were firm on the hard balls of his biceps as she pushed him back. Memories of her teenage mistake tumbled into the space between them, tripping up her thoughts as she fought to draw oxygen into her lungs and clear the haze from her brain. ‘We can’t… I’m not… Let me go!’

As soon as the words were out he released her, his chest heaving like bellows as his breath rasped in and out of his lungs.

His dark hair was in disarray around his shoulders and she realised with a mortified groan that her fingers must have done that.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘What’s wrong?’ Her eyes widened at his ridiculous question. ‘We nearly… I just… I didn’t come in here for that.’

Struggling to even out his breathing as much as she was, the Prince’s brows drew together. ‘Why did you come in here then?’

Still experiencing the drugging after-effects of being in his arms, Alexa blurted out the first thing that came into her head. ‘I came in here to ask you to marry me.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU SHOULD HAVE gone with that as your opening line, sweetheart,’ Prince Rafaele drawled. ‘It would have smothered the chemistry between us faster than a Santarian sandstorm.’

Unsure how to handle him as well as her rioting emotions, Alexa frowned. ‘I didn’t expect you to pounce on me as soon as we got here.’

‘Pounce?’ He gave an amused look. ‘I gave you a chance to pull back.’

‘Three seconds?’

His grin deepened. ‘It ended up being five.’

‘You don’t even know my name,’ she said, flabbergasted that he could so quickly switch from arousal to amusement when she was still struggling for composure.

‘I’ve never found that to be all that important when I want a woman.’

Well, that stung. No woman wanted to be just another notch on a man’s bedpost. But what had she expected? This was the exalted Rebel Prince who had attempted to seduce her. Attempted and nearly succeeded! ‘Why?’ she felt compelled to ask. ‘Because you don’t plan on seeing the woman again?’ she challenged.

‘Now that depends on the night. And the woman.’ His eyes narrowed on her face as if he was trying to work something out. ‘So who are you? Because I have to admit you’re damned familiar, although I know I’ve never touched you before.’

She didn’t know whether to be flattered by that statement or not and went with not. ‘My name is Alexa, Crown Princess of the House of Berenia.’ She gave her tone just the right amount of haughtiness to signal her displeasure with him, and was pleased when his eyes widened.

He raked a hand through his hair. ‘You might have mentioned that sooner as well.’

‘I did plan to when we got inside the room, but you kissed me before I could come out with it.’

Rafe’s gaze dropped to her lips and he cursed under his breath. She was right. He’d never acted on his attraction for a woman faster. His only excuse being that he’d felt her hunger run as deep as his own and he’d been unable to resist testing that hunger when they were alone. And he’d been right. She’d gone off like a firecracker in his arms. Another few minutes and they both would have been naked and horizontal.

Thank God he’d had enough sense to suggest they go to his room, and the restraint to release her when she’d asked. But he hadn’t wanted to. The inferno that she had lit inside him had been ready to explode. It still was, but this time partly with recrimination. He should probably apologise for pouncing on her as she had accused him of doing. It wasn’t his usual style, which leant itself to more finesse and a small measure of self-control!

And she was his brother’s cast-off, dammit, the daughter of the man who was currently making his brother’s life hell. Jag would just love it if he had witnessed this near blunder. It had been one thing to piss his father off deliberately, but he’d never do that to his brother.

‘Well, I’m not kissing you now, Princess, so I suggest we leave and forget this ever happened.’

If he could. He had a feeling he’d be dreaming about the taste of her mouth and those soft kittenish sounds she’d made as he’d cupped her bottom in his hands for a few nights yet. Even now he wanted to reach for her again.

‘But I was serious about what I said before.’ She drew in a long breath, her lovely breasts straining against the fabric of her gown. ‘And I’d really like to make a time to speak with you about it.’

Rafe sent his mind back and focused on what she’d said that had halted him in his tracks. ‘Marriage?’

‘Well, engaged more than married.’

He shook his head gently, unable to believe that she was actually serious. ‘I don’t do marriage. You’ll have to find someone else to fulfil that fantasy.’

‘I know you don’t do marriage. That’s the point. I don’t either.’

He frowned at her earnest expression. She was either crazy or… ‘How much have you had to drink, Princess, because you’re not making any sense?’

‘I’ve hardly had anything to drink,’ she retorted as if he’d insulted her. ‘I’m perfectly sober.’

‘Then that response before was all you?’ He gave her a lazy smile as her cheeks coloured. ‘Good to know.’

‘I’d rather not talk about that.’ Her lips pinched together. ‘And, given what just happened, now probably isn’t the best time to discuss my proposal. Could we meet tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow isn’t going to change my mind. Neither will the day after.’

‘Look…’ she held her hands up as if to placate him ‘…I’m not talking about a real marriage. I’m talking about a temporary engagement that works for us both. We won’t even have to spend that much time together. We just need to put out a joint statement, go to a couple of events together and break up amicably at a time that suits us both.’

‘As far as proposals go, this one is definitely novel, but marriage—sorry, engagement—doesn’t work for me at all. Temporary or not.’

‘I know.’ She gave a heavy sigh, tucking a strand of thick silky hair that had come loose back behind her ear. She looked gloriously mussed from where his hands had been and that reminded him of how much he’d like to put them there again. Unwind all that magnificent hair and find out how long it was.

As if they had a will of their own, his eyes followed her as she paced the mahogany-decked reading room, her gown hugging her heavenly curves as she moved. ‘That’s why I chose you.’

‘Chose me?’ He blinked to get his brain back on line.

‘Yes,’ she said with the patience of a mother speaking to a recalcitrant child. ‘I need to get married—or at least engaged—and you have all the attributes I want in a fiancé.’

Curious, Rafe found himself extending the conversation, if only for the amusement factor. ‘Such as?’

‘You follow your own rules, you’re completely disinterested in marriage, and your values in life are questionable.’

‘Questionable?’

‘According to everything that’s said about you, you’re quite the hedonist.’

Rafe leant against the back of a sofa. ‘Really?’

‘I’m paraphrasing. But the point is we’re completely incompatible so it won’t surprise anyone when we don’t go through with the marriage, and no one will be blamed for it not working out.’ Unlike when his brother had called off their engagement and everyone had thought it was her fault. That she hadn’t been woman enough for the King of Santara. ‘It will just seem obvious.’

‘I have to confess,’ Rafe drawled, ‘I’ve never had those reasons put forward by a woman wanting me to put a ring on her finger before. Usually it’s more along the lines of: You’re rich, powerful and a prince.’

‘Oh, the prince part is important to me too. At least that you’re from Santara.’ She frowned as she perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘Women actually say that to you?’

‘I was paraphrasing.’ His eyes glinted mockingly. ‘So why is my being a Santarian prince important to you? I would have thought it was the last thing you would want.’

‘My father is convinced that seeing me happily settled will ease the current tension between Santara and Berenia and help our people move forward from your brother breaking our betrothal. He gave me six months to find someone, but I didn’t realise he was serious. Now he’s planning to take matters into his own hands and arrange a marriage that I don’t want.’

‘Ah, I’m beginning to see the picture.’

She let out a slow breath, her narrow shoulders slumping slightly forward. ‘When my father is like this he’s immovable, and I need more time.’

‘Hmm…’ Feeling a little sorry for her, Rafe offered up the only solution he could think of. ‘You know you could always say no.’

‘No isn’t a word my father understands.’

‘Is doormat a word you understand?’

Her eyes flashed up at him like deep pools of jade backlit by fire. ‘Are you implying that I’m a doormat?’

Rafe shrugged, enjoying her display of defiance. ‘If the shoe fits.’

‘The shoe does not fit,’ she said a little too vehemently. ‘The fact is my father has been through a lot in recent years and I’m not going to add to his problems. And this is partly your brother’s fault. If he had gone ahead with our marriage as he had agreed to do then none of this would be an issue right now.’

‘But nor would you have got to kiss me quite so passionately, so there is that.’

Her feathers well and truly ruffled, the Princess pushed to her feet. ‘You either have a colossal ego or you’re making fun of me.’

‘Let’s go with the ego theory. A lot less volatile.’ Rafe crossed to the booze cabinet between two arched bookcases and poured himself a whisky. ‘Drink?’ he asked, holding the crystal decanter up for her to see.

She set her top teeth into her plush bottom lip, reminding him of how exquisite her mouth had felt under his, and surprised him with a terse nod.

‘Dutiful does not equal doormat, you know.’ She moved towards him, careful not to touch his fingers as she took the glass. He gave her a small smile that said he knew exactly how nervous he made her and watched her chin come up in response. ‘Not that I expect you to understand that.’

‘I understand it,’ he said curtly. ‘I just don’t adhere to it.’

‘Well, you’re lucky. I don’t have that choice.’

Rafe clinked the ice in his glass, wondering what it was about her he found so enthralling. Because he did find her enthralling—from the way she moved to the feminine lilt in her voice, and definitely in the sexy lines of her body. He suspected that she took life far too seriously, and for some reason he wanted to change that.

‘You’re an intelligent, beautiful woman,’ he began, watching her closely. ‘And a future queen. How hard can it be to find a husband?’

‘It’s not hard at all.’ She sighed. ‘But finding the right husband is.’

‘Do I even want to know what the right husband looks like?’

‘Someone kind, compassionate, caring.’ She took a delicate sip of his brother’s hundred-year-old Scotch, shuddering delicately as it hit the back of her throat. ‘Someone I can respect and who will put Berenia first. Someone who has a similar outlook to me.’

‘Not looking for someone with a sense of humour?’ he enquired lightly.

Alexa frowned. ‘That would go under “similar outlook to me”.’

‘So none then.’ He grinned as her eyes widened. ‘What about love?’

‘I have a sense of humour, thank you very much,’ she defended hotly. ‘And love is not essential.’

Rafe’s eyes widened at that. ‘I think you’re the first woman I’ve ever heard admit that.’

‘Love complicates things and who even knows if it exists? I think it’s made up by Hollywood executives and songwriters trying to make money.’

‘And I thought I was cynical.’ Her brow furrowed and his grin widened. ‘That was a compliment, by the way. But what about passion? Surely that’s on your list.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Not essential either. I’m not the most passionate person on the planet, and respect far outweighs passion.’

Contemplating what had put her off passion when his body still throbbed at the memory of her mouth opening under his, Rafe gave her a smile that was pure sex. ‘You felt pretty passionate to me before.’

She moved to sit again on the sofa, unable to meet his gaze. ‘That wasn’t me. I don’t know who that person was.’

‘Whoever she was, she was intoxicating.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘So will you consider it? I’m not sure how long I have before my father takes the decision completely out of my hands. And, frankly, I’m desperate.’

‘I can see that.’ He was actually sorry he had to turn her offer down. If life hadn’t taught him that he needed to steer clear of matrimonial entanglements at all costs he might even have considered it. But marriage had the potential to inflict pain on the unwary and the innocent. Why would any man deliberately buy into that? Temporary or not. ‘Sorry, Princess, but I’m not that desperate.’

‘You won’t even consider it to help improve relations between our nations?’

Rafe blinked away the dark memories of his past and found himself pinned by a pair of gorgeous green eyes that, if he wasn’t careful, had the potential to suck him in deep and never let him go. ‘See, the problem with that part of your argument is that I don’t care about the issues between Santara and Berenia.’

She blinked as if he’d just said Down with world peace. ‘But how can you not?’

‘I live in London and have done for a decade. I have as little to do with Santara as I can.’

‘Then what about to improve your reputation? Being engaged to me would stop some of the gossip. For a while at least.’

Princess Alexa, he realised, was a real fighter. He liked that. Not enough to agree with her hare-brained scheme, but enough to find that he was enjoying her company. A lot.

‘Who said I wanted the gossip to stop?’

‘But surely some of the things written about you must bother you.’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Why is that?’ Her brow pleated as if his attitude was something she couldn’t contemplate. ‘Because it’s all true?’

Rafe wondered which particular piece of gossip had widened her eyes to the size of dinner plates. Hardly any of it was true but denying the many claims made about him would only give them energy so he rarely bothered. Still, he knew that Alexa didn’t think much of his supposedly ‘hedonistic’ lifestyle and he couldn’t help teasing her a little. ‘Only the really bad ones.’

Watching the wings of colour heat her cheeks almost made him want to rescind his words so that she’d think better of him. Then he wondered why he cared and remained silent. He didn’t like that he’d already delayed this conversation for the pure pleasure of listening to her speak. Adding to his uncharacteristic behaviour would only make things worse.

‘So your answer is no?’

‘My answer is no.’

She blew out a breath and set her glass on the table abutting the sofa. ‘Then there’s nothing more to say.’

There was plenty more to say, starting with enquiring which room she had been allocated so they could revisit that kiss, the sensations of which were still echoing inside his veins. But instead he said, ‘What are you going to do now?’

She raised her chin and gave him a look he imagined she gave international dignitaries she had no further use for. ‘Find someone else, of course.’

Find someone else? Rafe scowled at his fogged-up reflection as he stepped from the shower the following morning. Just how many men did she plan to approach with her absurd proposal? And, more importantly, had she found someone who had taken her up on her offer last night?

He didn’t want that question running through his head but he was unable to banish it. After she had walked away from him he’d spent another hour at the party looking for her, to no avail. Presumably she’d gone to bed, so he had done the same, thinking about her all night as he’d known he would.

Even though he had no intention of countenancing her proposal himself, he knew that someone would eventually agree to it. What sane man wouldn’t? With that face and body…

Rafe dropped his towel on the floor and padded back to his room to dress. He’d turned her down, hadn’t he, and he was a sane man.

Yes, but he was sane and smart. Smart enough to know that her problems were none of his business and that he should let it go.

And he would. As of now.

His jet was waiting to fly him back to London and he planned to stop downstairs long enough to grab an espresso, wish his sister-in-law well in her pregnancy and tell his siblings he’d see them some time in the future.

What he wouldn’t do was think about the beguiling Alexa any more today.

Pleased to be back on track, he pulled a clean shirt over his head, stepped into his jeans and shoved his feet into his boots.

Women just shouldn’t go around proposing to men who were basically strangers and expect that it would all work out exactly as they wanted it to. Especially not future queens who looked like cover girls. Alexa was asking for trouble.

Trouble that had nothing to do with him.

And why was she back in his head again? So she’d surprised him when so few people did any more—so what? At the end of the day she was just a beautiful woman he’d wanted to take to bed. And she’d wanted to be there too. The way she’d caught fire in his arms…her response to his touch… Grinding his teeth, he zipped his overnight bag closed. What she’d done was drive all rational thought from his head, and kept him up way too long last night.

But it wasn’t just the chemistry that had kept him awake. It was the puzzle she represented. She’d gone up like a flame in his arms but then claimed that she didn’t have a passionate nature, dismissing the desire between them as an anomaly. And what about her belief that love might not exist? Presumably something, or someone, had put that in her head and he’d like to know who or what. Not that he disagreed with her. He didn’t. He didn’t believe in love either, but something about the way she’d said it made him think that she was either lying to him, or lying to herself. And yet she’d seemed so honest…so sincere…

Scowling at the procession of questions that wouldn’t say die, Rafe grabbed his phone. Time to push Princess Alexa from his mind and think about something else. Because thinking about her made no sense. She wasn’t someone he planned to pursue—not with marriage on her mind—and added to that she was his brother’s ex, for God’s sake.

Assailed by a sudden wave of jealousy he’d never before felt for his brother, Rafe nearly put a hole in his pocket shoving his phone into it. He didn’t share his women. Ever.

And since when is a woman yours after one kiss?

Leaving that ridiculous question unanswered, he slammed out of his room and made his way to breakfast. He needed coffee before his mood deteriorated any further.

Refusing to wonder if he’d meet up with the beguiling Alexa, he heard a message arrive on his phone and homed in on it like a drowning man reaching for a life vest. Unfortunately, it was only a stock commodity update and he was in the process of closing it when he nearly barrelled into Jag as he rounded the corner of his private hallway.

Instantly alerted by his brother’s taut, exhausted expression, Rafe frowned. ‘What is it? Is there something wrong with Regan?’

Rafe might not have much to do with his brother any more but he could still read him and he couldn’t think of anything else that might put that ragged look on his brother’s face other than his wife, or all-out war.

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