His gaze turned incendiary. “You lost your chance to set the rules of the game when you elected to keep your pregnancy from me, Sofía.”

He knew. She swallowed hard and forced herself to stay calm. “I was going to tell you. This week.”

“This week?” Nikandros yelled the words, his iron control snapping. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

Her insides flip-flopped. “Of course I do. Which is why I haven’t said anything yet. Because I knew you would appear just like you have now and start making decisions. And I need to understand how I feel about this first. What I want to do.”

His gaze narrowed on her. “What you want to do?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean that. Of course I’m having this baby. It’s the logistics I’m not sure of.”

“Logistics we should have discussed days ago.”

She stared at Nikandros. Did he think this was any more convenient for her, with her lifestyle? Any less than a disaster for her than it was for him?

Her chin dipped. “We can talk about this over the phone.”

He caught her jaw in his fingers, the rage burning in his eyes making her heart pound.

“We aren’t talking about it on the phone. Akathinian law says this child we have conceived will succeed me to the throne. It’s a huge problem, Sofía. One we will solve now.”

Jennifer Hayward invites you into a world of …

Kingdoms & Crowns

Young royals in reckless pursuit of passion!

When a centuries-old battle between the kingdoms of Akathinia and Carnelia is reignited the nation’s young royals find themselves on the brink of war. But their kingdoms aren’t the only thing at stake …

Soon these young monarchs are facing an unexpected royal baby, the appearance of a lost princess and an alliance with the enemy.

Can love conquer all?

Find out in:

King Nikandros and Sofía Ramirez’s story

Carrying the King’s Pride March 2016

Look for:

Princess Alexandra and Aristos Nicolades’s story

and

King Kostas and Princess Stella’s story

Coming soon from Mills & Boon Modern Romance!

Carrying the

King’s Pride

Jennifer Hayward

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CARRYING THE KING’S PRIDE

© 2016 Jennifer Hayward

Published in Great Britain 2016

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.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Source ISBN: 9780263915952

Ebook Edition © MARCH 2016 ISBN: 9781474043533

Version: 2016-05-09

JENNIFER HAYWARD has been a fan of romance since filching her sister’s novels to escape her teenage angst. Her career in journalism and PR—including years of working alongside powerful, charismatic CEOs and travelling the world—has provided her with perfect fodder for the fast-paced, sexy stories she likes to write—always with a touch of humour. A native of Canada’s east coast, Jennifer lives in Toronto with her Viking husband and young Viking-in-training.

For my mother, who is quite simply the best person I know. Your spirit and love of philosophy inspired this book. Your belief in me has always been such a big part of how I get to ‘The End’.

And for Stella, for your help and for being one of those people you meet once and know it can’t be for the last time.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Kingdoms & Crowns

Title Page

Copyright

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

SOFÍ A RAMIREZ PUT a Manolo Blahnik–clad toe out of the classic yellow Manhattan taxi, her shoe meeting pavement still radiating heat from a sultry, steamy New York summer day.

She followed up the iconic shoe with a slim leg that caused a tuxedo-clad male on the sidewalk to turn and watch, a champagne-colored, beaded cocktail dress that accentuated her voluptuous figure without flaunting it and a Kate Spade clutch a shade deeper than her dress.

Suitably assembled on the sidewalk, she paid the driver, ran a palm over her sleek French twist to make sure it was intact and made her way toward the entrance of the glimmering, stately Metropolitan Museum of Art.

As the co-owner of one of Manhattan’s trendiest fashion boutiques, she knew the importance of dressing for the occasion. Overdress in this city and you looked as if you were trying too hard. Underdress and you would be talked about all night by the highbrow crowd.

She thought she’d gotten it just right as she swished through the front doors of the museum, where one of her most important clients was hosting a benefit for the arts. But could any outfit ever really prepare a woman for her other, perhaps more important, task of the evening—saying thanks, but no thanks, to her relationship with one of Manhattan’s most powerful men?

Not just a man. A prince. The sexy, charismatic second in line to the throne of his tiny Mediterranean kingdom, Akathinia, Prince Nikandros Constantinides, in attendance tonight. The untamable one, as the women who had dated him were wont to say in quick sound bites to the press, the slight hint of bitterness to their tone the only outward sign they were in any way chastened at being yet another of his castoffs.

For didn’t they all know their time with the prince was limited to the length of his attention span? That once his interest wandered, the clock was on?

She had known it. And what had she done? Waited for him to call when he’d come back from Mexico, his much-lauded free trade deal in hand, obsessively checking her phone for a message from him every fifteen minutes only to find nothing until tonight when he’d known they would be at the same party.

Her stomach curled with a fresh burst of nerves as she handed her invitation to the greeters at the door of the Egyptian-themed Temple of Dendur exhibit. Getting herself into a state over a man, even one as gorgeous as Nik, was something she’d sworn she’d never do. Couldn’t allow herself to do. So she was going to do what any smart, sensible woman would in her situation.

End it. Cut it off before he broke her heart. Before he made her want things she couldn’t have. Things she’d long ago determined weren’t attainable for her.

Her attendance verified, she wound her way through the glitzy, bejeweled crowd to look for her hostess, Natalia Graham, a well-respected philanthropist who came from one of Manhattan’s historic, moneyed families. Business first, heart-pounding personal matter later.

The Temple of Dendur, a gift to the United States from Egypt in the late 1960s, then bequeathed to the Met, was lit up this evening as the centerpiece of the event. Harkening back to the age of the pharaohs and the gods they worshipped, it was breathtaking.

Several acquaintances stopped her to talk, all of them clients. She spent a few moments with each, summoning the polite small talk she had studiously taught herself over the years, because when you came from the opposite side of town these people did, where this world had once only been a dream in your daily existence, you weren’t equipped with those skills.

“Sofía.” Natalia found her moments later, drawing her into a warm embrace. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“I’m sorry I’m late. It was a crazy day.”

“And you probably want off your feet.” Natalia drew her toward the bar. “No Katharine tonight?”

She shook her head at the mention of her partner. “Her father is in town.”

“And no gorgeous man to escort you?” Natalia gave her a wry look. “I would have thought the men would be lining up to date you. Unless,” her friend said slyly, “the rumors of you and the prince are true?”

“I don’t have time to date,” she said smoothly, sliding onto a bar stool. “You know I’m always working.”

“Mmm.” Natalia gave her a speculative look. “Martini?”

“Please.” A healthy shot of potent alcohol might go a long way toward the liquid courage she needed at the moment.

She and Natalia caught up, working their way around to the joint endeavor they had been planning, a fashion show in support of one of Natalia’s charities. They were discussing the details when the philanthropist’s gaze sharpened on the crowd behind them.

“Speaking of the prince,” she drawled, “he just sat down behind you.”

Her pulse picked up, thrumming a steady beat in her throat. A prickly sensation slid up her back. She didn’t need to turn around to know Nik had spotted her. She could feel the heat of his gaze, eating her up as it always did.

“Well, I guess that answers my question,” Natalia murmured.

Sofía took a sip of her martini. She and Nik had managed to keep their relationship out of the tabloids after they’d met at a hospital fund-raiser, but rumors had been circulating of late. Since their relationship would be dead after tonight, she saw no reason to confirm it to Natalia.

“It’s nothing.” She shrugged. “You know what he’s like.”

Natalia lifted a brow. “If that’s his it’s nothing look, I’d like to see the something one.”

She dug her teeth into her lip. Unable to resist, she swiveled on the stool, directing her gaze toward the group of men populating the lounge area behind them. It didn’t take her long to locate Nik. Tall, dark and swarthy-skinned in a nod to his Mediterranean heritage, he looked...breathtaking.

The jacket of his silver-gray suit lay discarded on the back of his seat as per the jackets of the other men at the table, his white shirt open at the throat, his every physical cue as he lounged, long legs spread out in front of him, that of supreme confidence.

Her stomach twisted, her agitation intensifying. He looked like sex poured into an exquisitely made suit. Lethally powerful. Dangerous.

She lifted her gaze to his light, magnetic one that contrasted so vividly with his olive skin. Blue, an icy blue, it was focused on her in a not-so-discreet perusal, full of a sensual promise that took her breath away.

A wave of heat consumed her. He was just that virile.

Turning around, she reached for her glass and took a long sip with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. Remember how discarded, how vulnerable you felt waiting for him to call this week. That had to be her armor tonight.

You are going to do this, Sofía. You are not going to back out again. Muster your willpower.

* * *

“Bar bill says she will.”

“You’re on.”

Nik pulled his attention away from Sofía and frowned at his two closest friends. “What’s the wager for?”

“You.” Harry, his best friend since college, flicked him an amused smile. “I bet the bar bill the eye candy over there breaks your self-imposed slump. Jake says she doesn’t.”

Nik could have told him she already had. That he and Sofía had been seeing each other for a couple of months. But he liked things the way they were. Private. Uncomplicated. Sizzling hot.

He took a sip of his whiskey, savoring the smoky flavor of the spirit before pointing his glass at Harry. “I’ve spent the past six months negotiating a free trade deal. A landmark free trade deal, I might add. It’s not a slump. It’s a lack of bandwidth.”

Harry gave him a speculative look. “Still, you’ve been off. Your head isn’t here. What gives?”

He wished he knew. Hadn’t been sure what had been eating at him for a long time. All he was conscious of was that he wasn’t himself, had been consumed by a restless craving for something he couldn’t put his finger on.

What should have been the peak of his career, negotiating a free trade deal between his country and Mexico, a deal the critics had said couldn’t be done, hadn’t brought with it its usual adrenaline rush. Instead it had left him flat. Empty. Uninspired. A bit dead inside if he were to be honest.

But to try to explain that to his high-flying friends, still deeply immersed in the highs of their ultrasuccessful legal and banking careers, seemed pointless. That he, manager of a multibillion-dollar portfolio for his nation, a prince with unquestionable influence who could flick his fingers and have his heart’s desire at a moment’s notice, was having an identity crisis.

For what else could it be? Surely he was too young to be experiencing a midlife crisis?

He downed the last of his whiskey as their hostess slid off the stool beside Sofía, resisting the urge to delve too deeply into his head, because it never ended well, these ruminations of his. Thinking too much could make a man crazy.

“Maybe I need some inspiration,” he murmured, getting to his feet.

“Yesss!” Harry held up a hand in victory. “I knew it.”

Nik headed for Sofía, ignoring the group of women who had been sending unsubtle signals to their table for the past half hour. The closer he got, the more spectacular his lover became. Eschewing the rake-thin trend that always seemed de rigueur in Manhattan, Sofía had an hourglass figure that harkened back to the Hollywood starlets of the ’50s and ’60s. Curves that actually gave a man something to hold on to when he made love to her.

Her dark hair was up tonight, a fact that would have to change. It was the only accessory, he knew, she would need in his bed.

She was twirling a lock of her hair that had escaped her updo around a finger as he dropped down on the stool beside her, an uncharacteristically fidgety move for his ultracomposed lover. Her face was as spectacular as the rest of her as she turned to look at him: lush lips, a delicate nose and those startlingly beautiful long-lashed dark eyes.

“Your Highness,” she greeted him huskily.

His mouth twisted at the game they played. “You know,” he said, leaning toward her and lowering his voice, “you get punished when you call me that.”

Anticipation would usually have sparked in her beautiful eyes at the exchange. Instead they darkened with an emotion he couldn’t identify.

He frowned. “What’s wrong? Bad sales day?”

She shook her head. “It was great. I—” She pushed her martini glass away. “Can we get out of here?”

He’d been on his way to suggesting the same thing, but there was something about her demeanor he didn’t like. Those walls he’d broken down were back up.

He took out his wallet, threw some bills on the bar to cover the tab and stood up. “Meet me at the Eightieth Street entrance. Carlos will be waiting.”

* * *

Sofía made a discreet exit while Nik bade good-night to his friends. A chill, at odds with the sultry heat, slid through her as she exited the building and walked toward the Bentley Carlos was pulling to a halt at the curb. He got out, greeted her by name and held the door open.

She slid into the car, its sleek leather interior filling her head with the scent of privilege and luxury. Her head swirled in a million directions as she waited for Nik. Should she tell him it was over here in the car? Short and sweet, no big scenes, which Nik would hate, then he could take her home? Or should she wait until they were at his place?

Nik joined her in the car minutes later. Instructing Carlos to take them to his penthouse on Central Park West, he lowered the privacy screen between them and the driver and sat back in his seat, his gaze scouring her face.

“What’s wrong, Sofía?”

She swallowed hard. Decided the car was not where she wanted this discussion to take place. “Can it wait until we’re at the penthouse?”

He inclined his head. “Kala.” Fine.

She breathed an inward sigh of relief and sat back against the seat. Nik sank his hands into her waist, dragged her onto his lap and captured her jaw in his fingers. “You haven’t properly said hello.”

A wave of heat blanketed her. “We’re in the car...”

“It’s never bothered you before. “ He lowered his head, his firm beautiful mouth brushing against hers. “And it’s only a kiss.”

And yet a kiss from Nik could be disastrous. Her lashes lowered as he captured her mouth in the most persuasive of caresses. Gentle, insistent, he claimed her again and again until her traitorous body responded, lighting up for him as it always did. Her lips clung to his, seeking closer contact.

Gathering her to him, Nik deepened the kiss, his fingers at her jaw holding her captive as he explored the softness of her lips, the recesses of her mouth. All of her.

A soft sound left her throat, her fingers curling in the thick hair at the base of his neck. Nik lifted his mouth from hers, a satisfied glitter in his eyes. “Now you don’t look like a cardboard cutout. You look insanely beautiful tonight, Sofía.”

“Efharisto.” Thank you. A word he had taught her in his language. “And you,” she murmured, “had your usual throng of fans.”

His eyes glittered. “Jealous? Is that what has you off center for once? If so, I like it.”

The taunt knocked some common sense into her head. She pushed a hand against his chest and forced him to let her go. Sliding off his lap, she took her seat back and straightened her hair. Searched desperately for a source of innocuous conversation to fill the space.

“Congratulations on your big deal. The analysts half expected it to fall through.”

He inclined his head. “I thought it might at one point. But making the impossible happen is my forte.”

She smiled. No ego there. But why wouldn’t there be? First in his class at Harvard, a genius with numbers and forging high-stakes deals, the Wizard of Wall Street as he was known, he had turned his tiny Mediterranean island of Akathinia, a glittering former colonial jewel that hosted much of the world’s glitterati, into a thriving, modern economy over the past decade, his reckless, some would say suicidal, deal making paying off with deep dividends for his country. It was the envy of the Mediterranean.

She shook her head. “Your need to win is insatiable, Nik.”

“Yes,” he said deliberately, his gaze trained on her. “It is.”

A flush heated her cheeks. He had set out to win her after her initial resistance to his invitation to dinner and succeeded. Not a fair game, really, when she’d discovered the reckless, rebel prince had far more layers than anyone thought. Brilliant and deep with a philosophical side few knew about, he was undeniably fascinating.

She leaned her head back against the seat and eyed him. “What happens when winning isn’t enough anymore?”

His lashes lowered in that sleepy, half-awake big cat look he did so well, when he was anything but. “I think I’m in the process of finding that out.”

She blinked. It was the first deeply personal insight he’d given her. To have it come tonight of all nights was confusing. Tangled her up in a knot.

Carlos dropped them off. They rode the elevator, reserved exclusively for the penthouses, to the fifty-seventh floor and Nik’s palatial abode.

Sofía kicked off her shoes while Nik opened a bottle of Prosecco and walked through to the salon with its magnificent views of the park, the floor-to-ceiling windows encasing the luxurious space offering a bird’s-eye view of the Empire State Building and the sweep of the city with its breathtaking 360-degree perspective.

A light throb pulsed at her temples as she stood in front of the windows and took in the view. Lights blazed across the smoky, steamy New York skyline, as if a million falling stars had been embraced by the sweeping skyscrapers.

Nik’s spicy aftershave filled her senses just before he materialized by her side with two glasses of sparkling wine. Tipping her glass toward him in the European-style version of the toast he preferred, her eyes on his, she drank.

Finding Nik’s seeking gaze far too perceptive, she looked back at the view, following a jet as it made its way across the sky, silhouetted against the skyscrapers. It reminded her of what tomorrow was. Had her wondering if that was why she had chosen tonight to end this. Because it had reminded her of her priorities.

“You’re thinking about your father.”

“Yes. Tomorrow is the twentieth anniversary of his death.”

“Has it gotten any easier?”

Did it ever get any easier when your father’s plane dropped from the air into the Atlantic Ocean because of faulty mechanics that, properly addressed, could have saved his life? When it had cost her the guiding force of her life?

“You learn to let it go,” she said huskily. “Accept that things don’t always make sense in life. Sometimes they just happen. If I had allowed my anger, my sadness, my bitterness at the unfairness of it all to rule me, it’s I who would have lost.”

“An inherently philosophical way to look at it. But you were only eight when it happened, Sofía. It must have affected you deeply.”

That seemed too slight a description for what had unraveled after that phone call in the middle of the night—her mother in her grief—her childhood ripped away in the space of a few hours with one parent gone and the other so emotionally vacant she might as well have been, too.

“I have an understanding of what it’s like to lose something precious.” She moved her gaze back to his. “It makes you aware of how easily it can all fall apart.”

“And yet sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes you go on to make something of yourself. Create and run a successful business...”

Her mouth twisted. “Which could also fall apart if the market changes.”

“Any business could fall apart if the market changes. It’s the reality of being in the game. You don’t anticipate failure, you believe in your vision.”

She absorbed the verbal hand slap.

“How did you fund the business?” he asked. “You never did tell me.”

“The airline was at fault for my father’s accident. Faulty mechanics. The settlement was held in trust for me until I turned twenty-one. I put myself through design school on a scholarship in the meantime.”

“What was the ultimate intention? The business or the designing?”

“Both. My first love is designing, but I put that on hold when we started the business. We needed to get the store in the black, pay off some investments. Now I finally feel like we’re getting to the point where we can hire some staff and I can work on a line for the store.”

“How many years have you been open now?”

“Six.”

“Six years is a long time to wait on a dream, Sofía.”

Heat singed her cheeks. “These things don’t happen overnight. Interviewing is time-consuming, not to mention finding someone I can trust my baby with.”

“Perhaps it’s you you don’t trust.” Nik’s softly worded challenge brought her chin up. “When you want something badly enough, you make it happen. There are no can’ts in life, only barriers we create for ourselves.”

“I’m getting there.” She hated the defensive note in her voice. “We don’t all cut a swath through our lives like you do, Nik, impervious to anything or anyone but the end goal.”

His gaze sharpened on her face. “Is that how you see me?”

“Isn’t it true?”

He studied her silently for a moment. She looked away, his criticisms broaching an uncomfortable truth, one she’d been avoiding examining too closely. Putting off the designing had been practicality in the beginning when establishing Carlotta and finding a steady clientele had been a matter of survival. The problem was the longer she put it off, the harder it was to pick up her sketch pad again. Doubt had crept in as to whether she had what it took.

“You know what I think?” Nik said finally. “I think you’re scared. I think you talk a good game, Sofía, but you aren’t nearly as tough as you make yourself out to be. I think you’re scared of investing yourself in something you care so much about because there’s a chance you might fail. And it’s personal, isn’t it, designing for you? You’re putting yourself out there. What if you do and New York rejects you? What if it all falls apart?”

She blinked at how scarily accurate that was. “I think that’s a bit of a stretch.”

“I don’t.” He stepped closer and reached up to trace a finger down her cheek, an electric charge zigzagging its way through her. “I know how easily it can all fall apart. Your words, not mine.”

“Philosophical musings,” she denied.

His fingers dropped to her mouth, tracing the line of her bottom lip. “I think my first impression of you at that benefit that night was right. You don’t fully engage with life, you hold a part of yourself back so you won’t get hurt. So there’s no chance it will fall apart. But that’s a delusion you feed yourself. Nothing can prevent a tragedy or a failure or someone walking away because it isn’t right. To reap the reward you have to take the risk.”

She had no answer for that because she was afraid it was true. All of it. But if it was true about her, it was equally, if not more so, true about him.

“And what about you?” she countered. “You hide yourself under this smooth veneer, Nik. No one ever really gets to know the real you. What you dream of. What you hope for. Tonight, what you said about winning, about not knowing what happens when it isn’t enough anymore, it was the first time you’ve admitted anything truly intimate about yourself to me. And soon, my time will be up, won’t it? You’ll decide I’m getting too close, your attention span will wane and I’ll receive a very nice piece of jewelry to kiss off and fade into the sunset.”

His gaze darkened. “I never promised you more, Sofía. It’s the way I am. You knew that.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I did. We are two birds of a feather. Unwilling or unable to be intimate with someone else. Which is why I think we should end it now while it’s still good. While we still like each other. So it doesn’t get drawn out and bitter. We did promise ourselves that, after all, didn’t we?”

His eyes widened, then narrowed. “You arranged to meet me tonight to end things between us?”

She forced herself to nod. “Be honest. You were going to do it soon, weren’t you? Your silence this week was your way of demonstrating to me I can’t depend on you.”

His mouth tightened. “I was swamped this week, Sofía. But yes, I did think we should end it soon. I was waiting for the chemistry to burn its natural course.”

Which it hadn’t. She had a feeling it would be a long, long time before that happened. But it was about more than that for her now, more about who Nik was and how they connected on a deeper level. She’d thought it might be more for him, too, sometimes she could swear that it was, but apparently she’d been wrong.

She lifted her chin, her chest tight. She’d wanted to be different from the rest. Realized that’s what tonight had been about. Wanting him to say they were different. And now she knew her delusion had been complete.

Nik closed the distance between them. There was a dark glitter of emotion in his eyes she couldn’t even come close to identifying. “It was good, Sofía.”

“Yes,” she agreed, shocked at how steady and resolute her voice was. “We were.”

His gaze held hers—probing, searching. “Is this how you want to end us?”

“No.” She stepped closer and lifted up on tiptoe, her eyes on his as she cupped the hard line of his jaw. “I wanted to end it like this.”

CHAPTER TWO

HEAT FLARED IN Nik’s gaze, wiping out the cool blue perusal that was his default expression and replacing it with a banked fire she knew preceded extreme pleasure.

He kissed her then, his lips parting hers with none of his earlier gentle coaxing. This time he demanded her acquiescence, insisted she give in to the electricity between them, and despite her better sense, she wanted this. She had known it would end like this, known it would have to end like this between them because their chemistry had always been beyond compare.

She sank into the kiss, gave herself permission to taste the lush depths of his mouth. The familiar, intoxicating flavor of him, enhanced by the wine, was deadly to her senses. She slid her arms around his waist to rest against the smooth fabric of his shirt. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, every bone in her body going liquid at the sensation of being back in his arms.

He released her lips to explore the curve of her jaw with butterfly kisses. She arched her neck to give him better access, sighing as he found the ultrasensitive spot between neck and shoulder. His fingers found the zipper of her dress and pulled it down, his palms sliding beneath the fabric, the heat of his fingers on her skin a brand she craved.

She pressed closer as his hands shifted lower to shape her hips against him. The heavy, potent force of his arousal imprinted itself on her; stirred a sweet, deep ache low in her abdomen.

“Nik...”

He pulled away from her and reached up to tug his tie loose. “Take off the dress.”

She eyed him. “Was that an order?”

“What do you think?”

She couldn’t deny the command was a turn-on. Power and his outrageous sex appeal were a lethal combination.

Electing to acquiesce, she slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Nik stripped the tie off and reached for the buttons of his shirt. His eyes never left hers as he worked his way methodically down the row.

She stepped out of the dress. He crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”

“I like these orders.” She closed the distance between them. “You do the prince thing so well.”

His mouth tipped up at one corner. He closed his fingers around hers and brought them to his unbuttoned shirt. “Take the rest off.”

She slid the shirt off his broad shoulders, the anticipation of exploring all that masculine power making her feel all tied up inside. Her breath jammed in her throat as she dropped the shirt to the floor. He was so beautiful: powerful biceps and forearms honed at a Manhattan gym with a world-class boxer as a sparring partner every morning, his chest a work of art with its deep ridges defining rock-hard muscle. The sexy V that forged his lower abdomen drew her eyes to the potent masculinity straining against his trousers.

The low-grade intensity of his stare as she flicked the button of his pants open and lowered his zipper made her stomach clench. Swallowing past her fervent anticipation, she tunneled her fingers underneath the waistband of his pants, bent and pushed them off his hips to the floor. Her position kneeling before him was undeniably provocative. As if she had been summoned to satisfy the prince’s desire.

She found the thick, rigid evidence of his lust for her and freed it from his close-fitting black boxers. He was silky and mind-numbingly virile as she took him in her hands and ran her fingers from the base of him to the tip.

His hands curled in her hair. “In your mouth, Sofía. Take me in your mouth.”

The rasp in his voice heated her blood. He had always loved it when she did this for him. It made him crazy. Desperate. But she didn’t give him what he wanted, not right away. She teased him with her tongue first, tracing the throbbing veins that etched his shaft, exploring each one until his muffled curse filled the air. Only then did she take him deep into the heat of her mouth, again and again until his fists bunched tight in her hair and his patience failed.

“Enough.”

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her to her feet. A heady satisfaction filled her as he slid an arm beneath her knees and picked her up in a thrilling display of strength and carried her through to his bedroom. Dark and masculine it was dominated by an enormous four-poster bed. She landed on the whisper-soft silk bedspread. Nik stripped off his boxers and came down beside her.

Bracing himself on an elbow, he ran a finger across her bottom lip. “I have been craving this wicked mouth for weeks. On me, under me...”

Her heart slammed into her chest. She reached for him, curving her hands around his muscular torso. He caught her mouth in a kiss that was a blatant seduction, his tongue stroking the length of hers in a long, slow caress that made her shiver. The slide of his thumbs over her nipples deepened her shudder. They were already hard from wanting him, but his expert touch brought them to a rigid tautness that made her stomach curl, her insides ache. It had been too long since she’d had him and her body was crying out for release.

He broke the kiss, reached underneath her and unhooked her bra. The heat of his gaze on her turgid flesh made her tremble. He pushed himself upright to come down over her, his palms cupping her breasts. “I have missed these, too, glykeia mou.”

She closed her eyes as he took a rigid peak in his mouth. His tongue and teeth worked her nipple, the hard suction he applied intensifying the sweet ache inside of her. She moaned his name as he transferred his attention to her other nipple, his thumb teasing the damp, throbbing peak he’d left behind.

It was too much. Too much.

“Nik...”

His mouth still at her breast, he nudged her legs apart and slid his palm up her thigh. She trembled at the pleasure she knew he could give her, spreading wide for him. A guttural sound of approval left him. Her flesh was moist, ready for him as he pushed her panties aside and traced the line of her most intimate part.

God. She pressed her head back against the bed as he brought his thumb to the hard nub at the center of her at the same time he slid one of his long, masculine fingers inside of her. Her body tightened around him, missing him, aching for his touch. Nik knew how to work a woman until she begged; always made sure she was never anything less than fully aroused before he took her. Made her wild for him.

His eyes were hot on her face now, watching her reactions, absorbing every sound of pleasure she made. Slowly, deliberately, he brought her higher, until her hips were writhing against his hand. Then he added another finger and filled her so exquisitely, her vision glazed over. Her hands clenched the silk coverlet as the pleasure built and built until she was drowning in it.

Eyes glittering, he brought his mouth down to hers, their breath mingling. “Come for me, Sofía. Now.”

His sexy command pushed her over the edge. The insistent caress of his thumb against her nerve endings strung tight with tension sent her spiraling into a white-hot release that curled her toes. A release only Nik could give her.

His mouth closed over hers as he kissed her through every mind-numbing second of it, murmuring his husky approval of her response against her lips. She shuddered and grasped his powerful biceps to ground herself as the aftershocks tore through her.

He lifted himself off her, ready to retrieve a condom. The magnificence of his virility in full arousal was heart-stopping. Indescribable. “No,” she said, curling her fingers around his arm, wanting, needing the intimacy of them together, just them, this last night. “I’m protected. You know that. Can’t it just be us?”

He hesitated, his hand midway to the bedside table drawer, then he came back to her, settling his hard body between her thighs. “Nai,” he murmured, bringing his mouth down to hers. “I want that, too.”

In bed, out of it, in the elevator to his penthouse, their lovemaking had not lacked in creativity. But tonight, he palmed her thigh and brought it around his waist in the most traditional of positions.

“So I can watch your face,” he murmured, reading her expression. “I want to see you as I take you apart, Sofía.”

The dark emotion in his eyes marked him angry. Angry that she was ending it, not he. He would ensure she thought of nothing but this in the future and she was sure, in turn, he would be right.

He notched himself into her slick opening and slid into her welcoming body. She gasped as he buried himself to the hilt, pressing an openmouthed kiss against her throat as he stayed motionless deep inside her. She felt him everywhere, stimulating every nerve ending, making her entire body feel alive.

He withdrew and took her again and again, the silky sensation of his body sliding against hers incredible, imprinting itself on her mind in a possession that claimed every last piece of her. She blinked, holding back the emotion storming through her. Nik brought his mouth to her ear telling her how sexy she was, how good she felt, refusing to take his own release until she came again with him.

When she cried out against his mouth and he stiffened and allowed himself to join her in a powerful orgasm that shook them both, she had never experienced anything so exquisitely intimate as the sensation of Nik joining his body with hers without reservation.

She collapsed on his chest, catching her breath as Nik smoothed a hand over her hair. Long moments passed, moments that felt suspended in time. She should go, she told herself when their breath evened out in the shadows of the silent room. Tonight was not the night to linger. Not when it felt as if Nik had taken all the control she’d walked in here with and decimated it.

She slid out of bed, found the beautiful champagne-colored dress, slipped it and her underwear on, then found her shoes in the salon. Nik followed her, watching her silently as he leaned against the wall in the entranceway, clad only in boxers. She slipped her shoes on, pulled the last of the pins from her hair, long since having lost its updo, and smoothed a hand over it.

“Regrets?” Nik asked as she came to stand in front of him.

“No.” She stood on tiptoe to brush a kiss against his cheek. “No regrets.”

She left before the conversation could drag on into something painful and awkward. Carlos was waiting for her downstairs, that same pleasant smile fixed on his face as had been there earlier. She slid into the back of the car, unable to summon a smile in return, and rested her head against the back of the seat as Carlos climbed in and set the car into motion.

A raw, achy feeling invaded her. She wrapped her arms around her chest to ward it off. She’d lied to Nik upstairs, perhaps to save face. Because if this was what taking risks felt like, she didn’t need them in her life. She’d rather feel empty than feel any more pain.

* * *

Fully awake and unable to sleep after Sofía left, Nik pulled on shorts and a faded Harvard T-shirt and took a glass of Prosecco into the salon.

Ending things with Sofía had been the right thing to do. She had been starting to get attached. He could see the signs; they were unmistakable for a man who’d spent his life avoiding commitment. And perhaps he’d already let it go on for too long, because hadn’t he always known Sofía was different from the rest of the sycophants he’d dated? Tough with a vulnerable underside... Content to keep their affair between the two of them because she didn’t care about the rest.

Content to keep it uncomplicated. And yet tonight it had gotten complicated. He had hurt her.

His insides twisted. His rule never to allow a woman too close, to trust anyone in his position, was based on experience. He was a target for fame seekers, for those who sought to use him to further their own agendas. Charlotte, his ex-girlfriend, who’d sold her story to the tabloids and almost destroyed his family’s reputation was a prime example.

Not that he put Sofía in that category. She was different. He had trusted her. He thought, perhaps, he was more angry than anything. Angry she’d broken things off first. Angry because he’d thought their relationship still had legs—the sexual part of it that is. It was the first time a woman had initiated an end to a mutually beneficial relationship. He couldn’t deny it stung.

A wry smile curved his lips. Perhaps he’d had that one coming for a long time.

He pulled out his laptop, deciding to work through a few emails he’d left earlier to attend the event. His personal aide, Abram, who must have seen the light, knocked and entered from the adjoining staff quarters.

Equal parts friend, butler and highly trained fixer, Abram was sometimes dour, frequently circumspect, but never flustered. And yet, right now, in the heart of the Manhattan night, he looked distinctly agitated.

“What is it now?” Nik asked. “Don’t tell me—King Idas has somehow managed to put my brother’s nose out of joint with yet another expulsion of hot air.”

Abram fixed his faded green gaze on him. The tumultuous light he saw there made his heart skip a beat. “Crown Prince Athamos has been in an accident, Your Highness. He is dead.”

The room dissolved around him. He rested a palm against the sofa, his head spinning. “An accident,” he repeated. “It’s not possible. I just spoke with Athamos last night.”

Abram dipped his head. “I’m so sorry, sir. It happened last evening in Carnelia. It’s taken time to verify the reports.”

His blood turned to ice. His mind raced as he attempted to process what his aide had just told him. His brother had been raging about Akathinia’s overly amorous suitor last night, its sister island Carnelia and its king, Idas, who wanted to annex Akathinia back into the Catharian Islands to which it had once belonged over a century ago. Insanity in this age of democracy, but there were enough examples around the world to put everyone on edge.

Nik had talked his brother off the ledge. What the hell had happened after that?

“What was he doing in Carnelia?”

“The facts are thin at the moment. There was an argument of some sort over a woman. Prince Athamos and Crown Prince Kostas of Carnelia decided to settle it with a car race through the mountains, the same route the ancient horse race used to take.” His aide paused. “An onlooker said Prince Athamos took a curve too steeply. His car plunged off the cliff and into the ocean.”

An argument? Over a woman? His brother was as levelheaded as Nik was passionate and reckless. And yet he had gotten into his car and raced his arch nemesis through the suicidal cliffs of Carnelia? His enemy’s domain? A man known to have as much fire in his veins as his hotheaded, tyrannical father...

He worked to free his throat from the paralysis that claimed it. “Are they sure...?”

“That he is dead?” Abram nodded. “I’m sorry, sir. Witnesses say there is no possibility a man could have emerged alive from that drop. They are working to recover his body now.”

“And Kostas,” Nik grated. “He survived?”

Abram nodded. “He was a car length behind. He saw the whole thing happen.”

A red rage blurred his vision, mixing with the agony that gripped his insides to form a deadly, potent storm. He got up and walked blindly to the windows, the spectacular skyline of Manhattan unfolding in front of him.

All he could see was red.

The clink of crystal sounded behind him. Abram came to stand beside him and pressed a glass of whiskey into his hand. Nik raised it to his mouth and took a long swig. When he had emptied half the glass, his aide cleared his throat. “There is more.”

More? How could there be more?

“Your father took the news of the accident badly. He has suffered a severe heart attack. The doctors are holding out hope he will survive, but it’s touch and go.”

A complete sense of unreality enveloped him. His fingers gripped the glass tighter. “What is his condition?”

“He is in surgery now. We’ll know more in a few hours.”

He lifted the tumbler to his lips with a jerky movement and downed another long swallow. The fire the potent liquor lit in his insides wasn’t enough to make the reality of losing both his father and his brother in one day in any way conceivable. His father was too strong, too vigorous to let such a thing fell him. It could not happen. Not when their estrangement ate at his insides like a slow-moving disease.

He flicked a look at his aide. “The jet is ready?”

Abram nodded. “Carlos is waiting downstairs to drive you to the airfield. I thought you might want to gather some things. I will stay behind and take care of the outstanding details, cancel your commitments, then join you in Akathinia.”

Nik nodded. Abram melted into the shadows.

Alone at the window, Nik looked out at Manhattan sprawled in front of him, his brother’s voice, crystal clear on the phone the night before, filling his head. Athamos had sounded vital, belligerent. Alive. Despite the different philosophical viewpoints he and his brother had held, despite the wedges that had been driven between them in the past few years as Athamos had prepared to take over from his father as king, they had loved each other deeply.

It was inconceivable he was dead.

The sense of unreality blanketing him thickened into a dark fog with only one thought breaking through. He was now heir to the throne. He would be king.

It was a role he had never expected to have, never wanted. He had been happy to allow Athamos to take the spotlight while he did his part in New York to make Akathinia the thriving, successful nation that it was. Happy to keep his distance from the wounds of the past.

But fate had other plans for him and his brother...

Sorrow and rage gripped his heart, engulfing him like the inescapable gale force winds of the meltemia that ravaged the Akathinian shores without warning or mercy. His hand tightened around the glass as the storm swept over him, immersing him in its turbulent fury until all he could see was red.

Abram’s horrified gasp split the air. He followed his aide’s gaze down to his bleeding hand, the shattered remains of the glass strewn across the carpet. The dark splatter that seeped into the plush cream carpet seemed like the stain on his heart that would never be removed.

* * *

Nik reached his father’s bedside at noon the following day. Exhausted from an overnight trip during which he hadn’t slept, worry for his father consuming him, he pulled a chair up to the king’s bedside in the sterilized white hospital room and closed the fingers of his unbandaged hand around his father’s gnarled, wrinkled one.

The king’s shock of white hair contrasted vividly with his olive skin, but his complexion was far too pale for Nik’s liking.

“Pateras.”

Light blue eyes, identical to his own, opened to focus on him.

“Nikandros.”

He squeezed his father’s hand as the king opened his mouth and then closed it. A tear escaped his father’s eyes and slid down his weathered cheek. The weight of a thousand disagreements, a thousand regrets crowded Nik’s heart.

He bent and pressed his lips to his father’s leathery cheek. “I know.”

King Gregorios shut his eyes. When he opened them again, a fierce determination burned in their depths. “Idas will never get what he wants.”

An answering fury stirred to life inside of him. “He will never take Akathinia. But if he is behind Athamos’s death, he will pay for it.”

“It was no accident,” his father bit out. “Idas and his son want to provoke us into a conflict so they can use it as an excuse to swallow us up to cover their own inadequacies.”

He was well aware of the reason Carnelia wanted Akathinia back in the fold, but he sought to keep a rational head. “The grudge between Athamos and Kostas has been going on for years. We need the facts.”

The king’s mouth curled. “Kostas is his father’s errand boy.”

Nik raked a hand through his hair. “The Carnelian military is twice the size of ours. Akathinia is prospering, but we cannot match what they have built up, even to defend ourselves.”

His father nodded. “We have made an economic alliance with the Agiero family to acquire the resources we need. Athamos was to marry the Countess of Agiero to tie the two families together. The announcement was imminent.”

His head reeled. A marriage had been in the works while Athamos had been carrying on an affair with another woman? Why had his brother not mentioned it to him?

His father fixed his steely blue gaze on him. “I will never rule again. You will marry the countess once you are coronated king. Cement the alliance.”

He swallowed hard, all of it too much to process. His father’s gaze sharpened on his face. “You must be a leader now, Nikandros. As strong as your brother was. The time has come to step up to your responsibilities.”

His responsibilities? Hadn’t he been bankrolling this nation with his work in New York? Hadn’t he made Akathinia the talk of the Mediterranean—the place to visit—where almost every one of his people had a job? Antagonism heated his skin. What had it taken, five, six sentences for his father to start drawing comparisons between him and his brother? Unfavorable comparisons.

His father and Athamos had always been in lockstep, their philosophies on life and ruling at polar opposites of his own. He was progressive, rooted in his experiences abroad; they remained stuck in the past, preferring to cling to outdated tradition.

He had always been the afterthought. The prince embedded in New York, quietly building the fortunes of his country while his father and brother took the credit.

His desire to make peace with his father faded on a surge of antagonism. Always it was like this.

The machine at the side of the bed started beeping. Nik lifted a wary eye to it. “You must rest,” he told his father. “You are weak. You need to recuperate.”

His father sank back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Nik released his hand and stood up. To battle the enemy was one thing. Locking horns with his father another campaign entirely. The latter could prove to be a far more stubborn, drawn-out war of wills.

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