Out of the shadows...

As the illegitimate secret daughter of royalty, Cat’s life has been far from luxurious. After years of bullying, she’s set against a return to her childhood home. But her princess half sister has mysteriously disappeared ahead of her engagement to charismatic King Alexander.

...into the bed of the king!

Cat agrees to stand in for her—but she didn’t agree to the electric attraction between her and Alex! He might have no idea who she really is—but when their insatiable desire threatens to strip away every boundary between them, Cat cannot hold back from the temptation of Alex’s caress...

With Alex’s hand still cupping her face, his eyes twinkling and his long, lean body hemming her in, Cat felt a ripple of longing. Not for a royal marriage, but for this man who awoke desires she’d sublimated for too long.

Move away. Break his hold. Say something.

His touch tightened and need quivered through her. What she felt was real and strong. Pure and true as the swell of the sea on the pristine beach nearby.

‘Tell me you understand.’

His breath warmed her lips. His thumb stroked back and forth across her cheek.

Cat nodded. ‘You don’t want to marry.’

‘I’ve got too much to do. I haven’t got time for a wife. I’m not ready to be a father.’

Yet Alex didn’t draw back. If anything, he seemed closer.

‘If I wanted a bride it would be different.’ His voice was husky.

Cat didn’t trust herself to speak. His expression held her spellbound, though logic screamed that she needed to put distance between them.

‘If I wanted a bride I couldn’t go past those big green eyes. Or those lips. I’d be suggesting we got to know each other much better.’

His thumb dipped from her cheek to her mouth, pressing her lower lip and dragging it down. Cat exhaled, lungs tight, as his thumb stroked her lip once, twice, till she couldn’t resist and tasted him with the tip of her tongue. He was salt and spice and frighteningly addictive.

The Princess Seductions

Driven by duty—destined for desire!

A dynastic marriage is planned between Princess Amelie of St Galla and King Alexander of Bengaria. They are meant to be meeting for the first time—but Amelie has disappeared!

Someone must stand in until Amelie returns—and who better than her secret half-sister Cat Dubois?

But when Amelie embarks on a sizzling forbidden affair will she ever want to return?

Find out what happens in

His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

Available now

The Greek’s Forbidden Princess

Coming soon

His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love-lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Books by Annie West

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter Imprisoned by a Vow

Wedlocked!

The Desert King’s Captive Bride

Secret Heirs of Billionaires

The Desert King’s Secret Heir

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

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Dedication

This is my 30th book for Harlequin Mills & Boon! Thirty stories would not have been possible without the support of my fabulous editorial team in London and all the other staff who work hard to ensure my published books are the best they can be. My family, who are gracious and supportive despite my mind often being elsewhere. My writing friends, who know how to celebrate and motivate and make even the tough days fun.

And above all you, my readers, who enjoy the books and encourage me to keep dreaming.

Thank you so very much!

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the first of my two The Princess Seductions stories. I had such fun writing His Majesty’s Temporary Bride!

This story came about because Princess Amelie of St Galla went missing. You’ll find out why in The Greek’s Forbidden Princess. A missing princess…just when her Prince Charming is due to arrive and woo her… Of course there are complications.

Enter Cat, a sporty, sassy professional bodyguard, who seems to have nothing in common with the Princess but their uncannily similar looks. She hates pretending to be someone she’s not even more than she hates high heels and royal protocol. But she’s been made an offer she can’t refuse and finds herself pretending to be Amelie.

I had a ball with this Cinderella story. Cat has a zest for life and an innate honesty that appealed to me and to Alex, the Prince who visits St Galla. Unfortunately he really believes she is the Princess—at least in the beginning.

It’s a situation to make your average prince run for the hills—especially when he begins falling for her. Fortunately Alex is a man who can deal with just about anything. Isn’t that a wonderful trait in a man? The fraught situation challenges Cat and Alex to the max, and it brings out the best in them too.

I was so happy when this pair, who got off to such a rocky start, found their happy ending. I hope you are too!

Warmest regards,

Annie

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

The Princess Seductions

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Dear Reader

PROLOGUE

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

Copyright

PROLOGUE

CAT VAULTED OVER the low wall, her blood singing at the sheer joy of running parcours. Her breathing was fast but her movements measured as she and Paolo raced through the abandoned warehouse.

She vaulted, then made a tic-tac of her feet on a wall as she built momentum and leapt, grabbing the edge of an empty skylight. Swinging, Cat hauled herself up and over the edge. It was there Paolo passed her. She was fast and agile but he beat her hands-down in upper body strength.

With a whoop he was away, across the roof to clatter down an empty stairwell while she raced to draw close. Bounding off stairs, walls and a balustrade, she’d almost caught him when they reached the perimeter fence.

‘Mine today,’ he gasped.

Cat nodded, bracing hands on knees. Her ponytail swung over her shoulder as she breathed deep. ‘That passe muraille of yours was faultless.’

He grinned. ‘Something for you to aim for?’

She punched his arm. ‘Almost up to my standard.’

They headed for the exit. ‘Same time next week?’

‘I may have a job out of town. I’ll call.’

He nodded and unlocked his car. ‘You need a lift?’

Cat shook her head. ‘No. I’m heading to the gym.’ The outwardly dilapidated but excellent gym they used was around the corner. She wanted to check on the kids she’d been coaching after school. They were troubled teens, like she’d been. But they showed promise and while she was between jobs she enjoyed being with them.

She turned into the dog-leg alley shortcut, head full of teenagers and their prickly pride. Which was no excuse for the few seconds it took to scope danger. The shiny limo was out of place in this part of New York. But it was the tall guy with the bulge under his jacket, peeling away from the wall, she should have noticed instantly.

He moved fast as a professional. But so was she. When he reached for her she ducked, grabbed his wrist and used his forward momentum to crash him to the ground. Knee between his shoulder blades, she took his gun.

‘Ms Dubois!’

She turned, hearing the man beneath her groan as her knee swivelled. Standing in the doorway of the limo was a slim man in a dark suit, eyes wide.

‘Ms Dubois, please. I only want to talk.’ The air expelled from her lungs in a rush. Because the man didn’t speak English but the distinctive patois of her native tongue—a modified version of French. Alarm bells rang, leaving her more rather than less alert.

‘Who are you?’ She eased back, giving the guy beneath her room to breathe, keeping a hand locked on his wrist.

The man at the limo stepped closer. ‘I’m the St Gallan ambassador to the US. I’m here with a job offer. If I may show you my credentials?’ Slowly he approached and Cat read his ID. It was genuine.

Tucking the gun into her waistband, she rose. ‘If you want to talk, why send him?’ She gestured to the big man clambering to his feet.

The ambassador grimaced. ‘I was told you might not welcome an approach from St Galla and I needed to be sure you’d listen. His instructions were to bring you to the car so we could talk.’

His bodyguard straightened, rolling his shoulder to test it and nodded. ‘Tactical mistake. I knew you were one of us but I didn’t expect...’ He shrugged, then winced.

‘I’m not interested in a job in St Galla.’ She’d left her island home at eighteen after her mother’s funeral. The place held nothing for her after she lost the one person who’d ever loved her, the only one she’d loved.

The ambassador nodded. ‘There’s someone who could change your mind. The Prime Minister is waiting.’

Cat’s eyes darted to the limo’s tinted windows.

‘A long-distance call. Allow me to offer you the privacy of my car while you talk.’

Angry and confused, Cat was in no mood to comply. But curiosity won and she found herself alone in the vehicle, looking at a screen and the thin, clever face of the St Gallan Prime Minister, Monsieur Barthe. He looked shocked.

‘By God, you are like her! I saw the photos but...’

Cat’s skin crawled. That feeling of a thousand ants swarming. She hadn’t felt it in years but it was back with a vengeance, dredging a lifetime’s painful memories.

‘Who are you talking about?’ As if she didn’t know.

‘Princess Amelie.’ He shook his head. ‘The similarity is astonishing.’

Cat remained silent. She’d learned there was nothing she could say. As a kid, the taunts and snide accusations had grown unbearable. She’d tried turning the other cheek, ignoring them, even fighting back when the bullies got physical. All that had got her was more trouble. On the upside it led to an interest in martial arts that had eventually been her key to escape.

She set her jaw, hating the feeling of powerlessness after all these years and a continent of distance. It was as if ten years had vanished in an instant, all she’d achieved a mirage.

‘Ms Dubois, I have an important, confidential assignment for you.’

‘I’m always discreet.’ As a bodyguard to the famous it was a necessity. ‘But I’m not interested.’

‘This is for your country.’

Her country could go hang. She hadn’t been able to shake its dust soon enough. Her first eighteen years had been torment, defending herself and her mother’s reputation endlessly in public. Then at home, watching the man she’d had to call father grind her mother down.

‘I’m still not interested.’

‘Even though Lambis Evangelos recommended you?’

Lambis? He was the best in the business. His company ran the best in the business. They’d met in Chicago when she worked with Afra, the superstar singer. Cat had been pleased at his interest, his offer of an open door if ever she wanted work.

But to work in St Galla? She shuddered. ‘I suggest you find someone else.’

Shrewd eyes surveyed her. The next question would be why she wouldn’t return to her homeland. As if she’d share that with anyone. The only people who’d known the truth about her were dead. She wasn’t about to let anyone else in on her sordid secret.

‘There are plenty of other bodyguards.’ Though she prided herself that those who employed her asked for her again and again, particularly women who felt more comfortable with a female shadowing them.

His voice dropped. ‘We need your special...attributes. Mr Evangelos suggested you if we ever needed a body double for Princess Amelie.’

Cat sat back, pulse racing. ‘She’s in danger?’ Her voice was inexplicably husky. She’d never met the Princess yet still she felt a connection.

‘Not...danger. Though the situation is delicate.’

‘What situation?’

‘The Princess is...away.’ He paused as if choosing his words. ‘We’re not sure when she’ll return. Meantime it’s vital she appear at a small palace reception. This event must go ahead, for the nation and the Princess herself.’

Cat stared. ‘You want me to impersonate Princess Amelie? You can’t be serious!’ She’d grown up being compared with the Princess. The woman was charming, elegant, graceful, accomplished in ways Cat wasn’t. She wore jewels and formal gowns. Cat was allergic to high heels and had never worn a full-length dress in her life.

‘Deadly serious.’ His tone chilled her and again that shiver of preternatural connection, of anxiety, passed through her. ‘You wouldn’t have to face anyone who knows the Princess well. All you have to do is make an appearance, chat a little, then withdraw.’

‘It’s not possible.’

‘Not even for a very generous settlement?’ Monsieur Barthe named a sum that made her goggle.

‘You can’t be serious.’ Shock stretched her voice.

His mouth tightened. ‘Completely. Money is no object.’

Cat blinked. With that money she could achieve her dream. Bodyguard work had been good to her but she couldn’t do it for ever. Already she wondered how long her knee would hold up long-term. Last year she’d been injured saving Afra from a car driven by a crazed stalker. It had been a long slog to get back to something like her previous fitness.

Cat had no other qualifications, no career path. But working with kids, diverting their negative energy into physical endeavours and a positive outlook—that she could do. Developing a centre either in the wilderness or in a city gym devoted specifically to kids—she’d give so much to achieve that. For the kids and herself.

‘Half the money in advance and half on completion.’

She jerked her head up, meeting steely eyes that had read her momentary lapse.

Cat shook her head. ‘I might look superficially like her, but I’m no princess. Everyone would know.’

‘Not a problem. You’d stay at the palace in advance of the event to be tutored in everything you need to know.’ He paused, surveying her set features. ‘Look on it as your chance to see how the other half lives.’

Cat stared as the words insinuated themselves into her brain. How often in childhood had she wondered what it was like to be Amelie? To live the cosseted life of a rich, beloved child, adored by her father and the nation? It had been a fantasy she’d retreated to when reality grew unbearable. She’d put it behind her years ago, yet to her amazement shreds of that yearning still lingered.

‘I’ll double the fee.’

Cat goggled. The amount was ridiculously huge. What on earth was going on?

‘The Princess...is she safe?’ Again, that sixth sense niggle of concern.

‘I’m not in a position to say. But you’ll help her enormously by doing this.’

Cat didn’t need Princess Amelie’s gratitude. She could get by without the money, even though it represented more than she’d earn in the next several years. It shouldn’t matter if it brought her dream to reality.

Returning to the country of her birth would betray the vow she’d made at eighteen never to look back.

Yet something stopped her refusal. The possibility that Amelie genuinely needed her? Or that the bastard half-sister finally had a chance to discover what life would have been like if she’d been born legitimate? To experience the life she might have had?

No, it was far more than that. This wasn’t curiosity to see how the other half lived. It was a desire, deep down in her secret self, to connect with the family she’d never known. To find a way to meet her sibling. For years she’d told herself no good could come of connecting with her royal relations, yet still that yearning remained. To belong.

Cat cleared her throat, hating the tug of emotion turning her voice hoarse. Hating the neediness. She’d thought she’d conquered it years ago.

Maybe this is your chance to do that.

And still that snaking anxiety for the half-sister she’d never met. ‘Send me a contract to consider.’

His smile told her he knew he’d won. ‘You won’t regret it, Ms Dubois.’

She already did. But she had to do this and silence once and for all the voices of her murky past.

CHAPTER ONE

ALEX STRETCHED, STARING out over the azure depths of the Mediterranean.

He hadn’t wanted to come. If he’d been able to avoid the celebration in St Galla he’d have done it, especially as his mother had stitched up a half-baked proposal that Princess Amelie would make him the perfect bride.

He was only thirty-two, had only been King for three years. He had more important things to grapple with than marrying, no matter what his advisers thought.

Giving up a career he loved to rule Bengaria hadn’t been in his plans. Alex’s fists clenched as he leaned on the gleaming rail of the yacht.

It should have been his cousin, Stefan, on the throne. Except for the accident that had snuffed out his life and propelled Alex’s father into his place. His late and unlamented father. The man who’d almost bankrupted Bengaria in the years he’d been Stefan’s Regent and later the King. The man whose chicanery and double-dealing had milked the nation almost to a standstill, leaving Alex to haul an economic nightmare out of the red and into the black.

No wonder everyone wanted Alex to marry Amelie. St Galla was wealthy and could help Bengaria, even though he was hopeful his country was beginning to recover now.

He sighed and forked a hand through his hair. He’d only agreed to the visit because of his mother. She’d suffered long and hard through her marriage. Alex had at least escaped his father’s control by leaving Bengaria and pursuing a career as a pilot. She’d been stuck in a loveless marriage to a despicable man.

A familiar chill rippled down his spine at the thought of his father.

In the circumstances, meeting Amelie, the daughter of his mother’s best friend, was little recompense for all she’d put up with. He’d attend the reception to commemorate five hundred years of friendship between their countries then return home and report that Amelie wasn’t the woman for him.

Now, with the early sun warming his bare back and the prospect of no civic duties, he felt a lightness he hadn’t known since he’d given up flying. These couple of days were his first vacation in three years. Even though he’d spend most of it working from his office on the yacht, it felt like freedom. Temporary but glorious.

He sauntered along the deck, contemplating a dip, when a shout rang out. He swivelled to face the shore.

Another shout. A splash.

Alex narrowed his eyes against the sun’s golden dazzle. In the distance he made out a capsized canoe and flailing arms. Another shout and a submerging head.

‘George!’ He raced along the deck. ‘Get the tender! Someone’s in trouble.’ For the people—two of them—weren’t swimming. One floated near the hull of the canoe and a second floundered mere metres from it.

Alex dived, the cool water a shock after the warmth of the sun. He surfaced and powered towards the accident.

How had they capsized in such still waters?

Why weren’t they wearing life vests? Obviously they weren’t since one was sinking.

Hauling in air, Alex forced himself to concentrate on the quick, hard rhythm of his strokes, forging through the water with a speed that might, he hoped, save a life and hopefully two.

A gurgling cry told him he was close and he stopped to discover he was only metres away.

A third head bobbed in the water but he realised with relief this woman could swim. She held a boy under the chin, propping his face above water as she sliced back through the water towards the canoe.

‘You’re okay?’ he gasped.

Her head lifted and his gaze collided with gleaming green, the colour of mountain meadows.

‘We will be,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘when he stops fighting me.’ The teenager was flailing, one long, thin arm reaching back, grabbing at her head.

Alex moved towards them but she was already disengaging the kid’s grasp, telling him firmly but calmly to lie still and let her do the work. Seeing she had things under control, he turned to the canoe where another dark head bobbed precariously low in the water.

Swearing under his breath he raced across, hauling a body up under the arms till the kid started coughing water. No hope of righting the canoe with a dead weight in his hands. Instead he shoved the kid high, so high he lay sprawled over the hull, arms flopping down its other side.

Satisfied he was safe, Alex turned and found the other swimmer had successfully brought the second boy up behind him.

‘Let me give you a hand.’

She nodded and told the kid what they were going to do, again in that clear, calm tone. Then she held the canoe steady while Alex hauled him up onto the hull beside his companion.

Alex’s chest and shoulders burned from the effort. Both teens were lanky and getting purchase in the water had taken a lot of strength. He grimaced. He needed to get out of the office a whole lot more.

‘You’ll be okay.’ He blinked and realised the woman wasn’t reassuring him but the two boys. She’d moved round to the other side of the canoe and was inspecting them.

Alex joined her, relieved to see both kids breathing, albeit in rough gasps.

In the distance he heard a motor start. ‘Help’s on its way. That’s the tender from the yacht.’

She nodded, her attention fixed on the youngsters, and Alex found his gaze dwelling on her high-cut cheekbones, straight nose and plump bow of a mouth. Mermaids were supposed to be beautiful and this one didn’t disappoint.

Abruptly she turned her head, catching his stare. Alex felt their gazes mesh, a palpable connection, and wondered if it had been so long since he’d been with a pretty woman that his brain had turned to mush in the interim.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘It will be easier to transfer them from the other side. I’ll go round and help George if you can stay here and reassure them.’

‘Of course.’ Her voice had a lilt that tugged at something deep inside and told him English wasn’t her first language. He wondered how his name would sound on her lips.

Alex swam around the canoe. First her eyes, now her voice. Had it really been so long since he’d been with a woman?

He banished the thought as George cut the engine and the pair of them worked to get the kids aboard. Once more his golden-haired mermaid proved quietly efficient, easing their burden.

‘Here.’ He beckoned her over when the others were aboard the small boat. ‘I’ll give you a boost up.’

‘No need.’ She flashed him a smile and his pulse kicked hard.

Number three. First the eyes, then the voice. But that smile surpassed the rest. It turned his cool, capable, impervious mermaid into a beckoning sea sprite. That smile was pure mischief and again he felt that draw in his belly, hard and urgent.

Before Alex knew what she intended, or George could offer her a hand, she planted her hands on the side of the tender and pulled herself up smoothly and easily.

He was treated to a view of neat breasts against a saturated T-shirt, a slim waist, baggy shorts and long, shapely legs of pale gold.

Four. Alex clutched the boat, breathing hard. Despite the cool water, this time his response wasn’t belly-deep but lower, stirring his groin. He’d always had a weakness for great legs.

‘Want some help?’ She leaned out, ready to offer a hand, that smile dancing at the edge of her lips.

In that instant Alex knew if he was still the impulsive guy he’d once been, carefree and unencumbered by a crown, he’d have curled his hand around her neck and tugged her close. He’d have kissed her till she planted those small, capable hands on his chest and begged for more.

And he’d have given it.

‘I can manage.’ He hauled himself up.

It was as her eyes rounded that he remembered he’d dived naked into the sea. With the yacht’s crew on shore leave and only he and George aboard, he hadn’t bothered dressing when he woke.

Her gaze stayed low on his body a fraction too long, making his blood surge south in response.

Her eyes flashed to his. ‘I’m guessing you weren’t expecting company.’ Her lips twitched.

Five. Most women he met these days lacked a sense of humour. He missed that. In his old life he’d been part of a close-knit team where humour made a demanding job easier.

‘I was thinking about an early morning dip, but not like this.’ He was responding way too much to the glint of humour in her bright eyes and the husky edge to her voice.

He moved further into the small boat and stood. Alex was fully aware the movement laid his back and buttocks bare to her gaze—he’d swear he could feel the prickle of her regard right now. But it was better than presenting her with what could too easily turn into a promising erection.

He hunkered down at the side of the boat, motioning for George to start the motor. One of the kids had a gash on his temple and there was a first aid kit on the yacht. To his relief though, they seemed to be improving by the minute.

By the time the five of them were on the yacht Alex knew they’d be okay. He got the first aid kit then left it in George’s capable hands while he went below to dry off and dress.

Yet as he tugged on old jeans and a shirt, Alex could recall exactly how he’d felt when the mermaid’s gaze dropped to his chest, lingered a second and then kept moving to his abdomen and groin. The prickle under his skin was a prelude to something he could not afford to give in to.

The timing was all wrong.

So was the place. The person.

Imagine the complications if he followed his instincts and pursued an affair with her right here, offshore from the palace! Especially when there were so many people in both countries promoting a royal wedding.

Alex shuddered and zipped his jeans. Marriage was not on the agenda.

* * *

‘There’s Alex now,’ George said and Cat looked up. Alex, the owner of the beautiful vintage yacht, strolled towards them. His gait was loose-hipped and easy, shoulders back as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Definitely the walk of an assured man. One too sexy for his own good.

Fire spiked in her blood as she recalled his lazy, half-lidded expression when she’d seen him naked. The devastatingly attractive way the corners of his mouth curled up, the gleam in those indigo eyes.

She liked a confident man. One assured enough not to bolster his ego at the expense of others.

He was athletic too. That tall body was strong and taut and oh-so attractive, with powerful thighs and sinewy forearms and a classic male outline that tapered from wide shoulders. She had a sudden recollection of the bunch of his rounded, perfect glutes as he’d walked away. Cat forced her attention back to the bandage she was securing.

‘There, that should do.’

‘Good work, Cat.’ George, the yacht’s captain, closed the first aid kit.

‘Cat?’ The lazy drawl was like fingertips dancing down her spine. She told herself it was the breeze cooling her ancient T-shirt against her skin but she feared it was his luscious baritone.

‘Alex, this is Cat. Cat, Alex.’

‘Nice to meet you... Cat.’

She looked up to read curiosity crinkling his broad brow. A flare of his nostrils brought that chiselled, patrician nose to life and his dark blue eyes narrowed as he surveyed her.

Was that tension in the pulse flicking beneath his squared jaw? No, she’d imagined it. His body language spoke of easy confidence. And a bone-deep, almost indolent sex appeal that played havoc with her hormones.

‘Nice to meet you, Alex.’ She kept her voice blank. The fact he’d obviously towel-dried his black hair and not bothered to comb it, leaving it appealingly dishevelled, shouldn’t make her itch to touch. As for the fact he was still barefoot, and hadn’t buttoned his shirt, which showed a tantalising strip of taut skin...

‘How are you boys feeling?’ It was easier to concentrate on them than this sudden rush of attraction.

They murmured that they were okay, one even venturing a smile. They’d be fine, now the fright wore off. But she’d feel better when a professional checked them.

Alex stopped before her. ‘Why don’t you dry off while we take care of the boys and rustle up a warm drink? Downstairs, second cabin on the left. There’s an en suite shower and I put out clean clothes you can wear till yours dry.’

Cat was about to refuse then thought better of it. George could put her ashore using the tender so she didn’t have to swim back. She’d feel better knowing she didn’t look like a drowned rat. Especially as her nipples were peaking insistently against her bra and she suspected her white T-shirt was transparent.

‘Thanks. I will.’ With a smile for George and the boys, she made her way downstairs.

The yacht was unlike any she’d seen. In her years as a bodyguard she’d been on massive, ultra-modern motor cruisers. Huge edifices several storeys high that housed not just a small boat, but a car and even a helipad. Those cruisers were built for socialising, for glamorous parties and sybaritic self-indulgence.

This yacht was nothing like that.

Cat passed through a wide cabin that was comfortable and stylish rather than look-at-me trendy, though no expense had been spared. Her hand slid down a polished teak rail as she followed the stairs into a roomy corridor. On either side were gleaming timber doors finished with brass touches. Everything was pristine yet the style belonged to an earlier, more gracious era.

She pushed open the second door and found an exquisite cabin, more wood on the walls, a deep plush carpet of dusk blue and a vast bed covered in crisp white and blue.

Wary of dripping onto the carpet, Cat moved quickly into the bathroom, where the luxury continued with marble and mirrors. It was hard to believe she was on a yacht, till she looked out the window and saw the sea and the shore bright in the early light.

Quickly she stripped and showered, tying back her hair with a band she found in the cupboard. There were clothes too. A brief black bikini and an oversized white shirt.

Cat frowned. But her shorts were sodden and she rejected the idea of putting on her wet T-shirt, knowing how it clung.

The bikini fitted surprisingly well and Cat felt a moment’s annoyance that Alex had calculated her size then raided his private store of women’s swimwear, no doubt kept especially for his lady friends.

Shoving her arms through the shirt sleeves, she rolled them up to her elbows, relieved at the way the oversized garment fell well down her thighs. Cat hadn’t missed the way Alex’s eyes had gleamed as he surveyed her.

In other circumstances she might have been interested. But not now, not here, not while she was in St Galla on the most challenging job of her life.

Not while she was impersonating her royal sister.

Cat shivered and she hugged her arms around herself, rubbing away prickling gooseflesh and grateful for the soft fabric of the shirt she sincerely hoped was George’s and not his boss’s.

She’d had a bad feeling about this contract from the first. But it was only when she was installed in an exquisite guest apartment a corridor away from Princess Amelie’s that Cat realised how completely she was out of her depth. They might share their father’s royal blood but that was all.

No one would believe she was Amelie, not for a second.

Worse was the awful ache-in-the-belly certainty that it had been a mistake returning to the country where she’d been so desperately unhappy. Or to have anything to do with her distant family. She’d never belonged to them and they’d brought her nothing but trouble.

Buttoning the shirt as high as it would go, she avoided the mirror and swivelled away, grabbing her sopping wet clothes.

She’d tell the Prime Minister she couldn’t go through with it. He could have his deposit back. She hadn’t spent a cent. He’d probably be grateful—the lady-in-waiting who’d been trying to tutor her in etiquette, deportment and the like had made it clear Cat wasn’t fit for the role.

It would be a relief to get out of this place where even the scent of the sea and the pines crowding the rocky slopes evoked painful memories.

Cat emerged on deck with a determined step but pulled up when she found it deserted.

Everyone had gone, and so had the tender, she saw when she crossed to the rear of the vessel. The shower must have masked the sound of the motor.

‘There you are.’ That deep, smooth voice tantalised, trailing along her skin like a caress. ‘Coffee or fresh juice?’

‘Neither, thanks. It’s time I left.’ She glanced at her waterproof watch. It was still early.

Racked by doubts, she’d got little sleep and had gone running through the palace’s private grounds as the first glimmers of dawn appeared.

She swung round and caught Alex’s eyes on her bare legs.

Slowly, so slowly it must be deliberate, his gaze rose from her feet to her knees, then her thighs, lingering at the hem of the shirt before surveying her body so thoroughly she knew the shirt was transparent. By the time those blue eyes collided with hers, her arms were crossed over her breasts and her mouth was pursed.

‘Do you do that to every woman?’ Her chin hiked. She chose to ignore the little shiver of excitement that stirred in her belly at his obvious appreciation. For once the attraction was mutual.

He shook his head and Cat caught the curl of his mouth at one corner. ‘Never. I’m making an exception with you.’ His lips stretched into a full smile that did devastating things to her pulse. She should be furious at such a sexist attitude but strangely her anger was hard to hang on to. ‘I’m returning the favour. You took your time looking at me.’

His stare defied her to argue and Cat clenched her jaw. She had got an eyeful of bare, some would say awesome, masculinity and she hadn’t been eager to look away. She was in no position to object that he gave as got as he got.

Except that standing here in a brief bikini and see-through shirt, she felt vulnerable in a way she hadn’t felt with any man.

Cat had spent a lifetime ensuring she was unassailable, emotionally and physically.

‘Where are the others?’

‘George is taking them to the recreation camp further up the coast. It turns out they took the canoe without permission and they started to think the staff might worry when they found it and them gone.’

‘So how do I get ashore? Is there another boat?’

Alex shook his head. ‘Just the tender. But George won’t be long. In the meantime I’ll get breakfast.’

‘I really need to get ashore.’

‘Well.’ He tilted his head, appraising her. ‘You could swim to the island. But you’d get wet all over again. Why don’t you relax and let me cook for you?’

Cat turned, calculating the distance to the shore. She’d already run ten kilometres before shucking her shoes and diving in to help the boys. But she could swim back easily.

There was no reason to remain, not when she’d made up her mind to resign and turn her back on St Galla once and for all.

It hit her with a punch of disbelief that the only reason she hesitated was the man behind her.

She’d never known such instantaneous, full-on attraction. The humour in those stunning eyes and his upfront attitude appealed as much as his hunky masculine body. Even the dark stubble shading that hard jaw made her want to touch him.

Cat had spent a lifetime learning how to keep guys at a distance, as colleagues or friends rather than lovers. This surge of awareness, the sudden feeling of connection was unique.

She turned back and found he’d moved closer, his bare footsteps silent. He was a mere arm’s length away.

Cat hauled in a sharp breath. The combination of that half smile, the hint of citrus and warm male skin in her nostrils, and the certainty he felt the spark too, froze her to the spot.

It was there in the dilation of his pupils and the widening of his nostrils. He leaned towards her as if forced by the same compulsion for nearness. Yet he didn’t touch.

The air vibrated as if an invisible cord tightened between them. Cat swallowed, her throat dry.

Abruptly he stepped back and the air emptied from her lungs in a whoosh.

‘Breakfast? I do an excellent pancake.’ His smile was easy, the intensity wiped from his expression. Yet his eyes were watchful. For all his overtly casual stance, he was alert, aware of every tiny tell-tale movement she made.

Like a predator scoping its prey.

It would be out of character but so easy for her to respond to his sexual pull. To laugh over breakfast and fall under the spell of that indigo gaze. For once in her life not to be prudent but to dive into what she knew instinctively would be a hot, steamy, thoroughly satisfying affair.

But it was out of character.

Plus she had enough on her mind with the need to escape the claustrophobic confines of the palace and the role she’d accepted. She wasn’t cut out for deceit—masquerading as her half-sister and hiding her very personal reasons for wanting to visit the palace.

As much as her suddenly active hormones protested, Cat had to focus on setting things right.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, not bothering to hide her regret. ‘But I can’t stay.’

She dropped her wet clothes and grabbed the hem of the shirt she wore, reefing it over her head then tossing it to Alex. He caught it one-handed against his chest.

His gaze didn’t drop from her face but she knew he was aware of her every contour. She was aware of him from the soles of her feet to her peaking nipples and hammering pulse. And everywhere in between.

‘I have to go.’ Forcing herself to break his gaze, she turned, raised her arms and dived into the clear depths of the azure sea.

CHAPTER TWO

LEAVING ST GALLA wasn’t as easy as Cat had hoped. How had she thought, after the lengths they’d gone to, and the money promised, they’d release her from her contract?

‘Impossible.’ The Prime Minister’s voice over the phone was severe. ‘I expect you to finish the job.’

‘I’ll return the first payment. Since arriving I’ve realised I can’t pull this off. I’m a security professional, not an actor.’

‘As a professional you’d know we wouldn’t resort to this charade unless absolutely necessary. There’s no other option.’

Silence hung between them.

‘Princess Amelie isn’t in danger, is she?’ She’d asked before but got no answer.

The nation was still mourning the death in an accident of Amelie’s younger brother, King Michel, and his wife. Cat had been stunned by the emptiness she’d felt after hearing the news, knowing she’d never have an opportunity to know her half-brother. Not that she’d anticipated ever meeting her half-siblings. Yet she’d followed the news with a fascinated dread, reading how, after the double funeral, Princess Amelie had cancelled her public appearances to spend time with her orphaned nephew, Sébastien.

Where were Amelie and the young Prince? Given the freedom Cat had to explore the beautiful Belle Époque palace and its grounds, they weren’t here.

Cat regretted never knowing her brother. That sense of loss only strengthened her longing to meet her last living relatives: Amelie and Prince Sébastien.

‘That need not concern you, Ms Dubois. Concentrate on the task for which you’ve been employed.’ He paused. ‘Remember the penalty clauses in your contract.’

Oh, she remembered. Massive financial penalties should she divulge the secret of what she was doing here. And for leaving before the requisite period was over.

But she hadn’t yet begun the masquerade. ‘Surely it’s better to pull the plug now than when people realise we’re trying to fool them? I’ve tried, but my tutor will tell you I’m a disaster in the role.’ The woman made that clear with each sniff of her thin patrician nose.

‘On the contrary, I’ve heard you’re a quick study and you’ve made good progress.’

‘Nevertheless—’

‘Let me be clear, Ms Dubois.’ Monsieur Barthe’s voice was glacial. ‘You will complete this assignment. If not, by the terms of the contract you have seven days to pay the penalty.’

Seven days to pay money she didn’t have. The penalty payment was even larger than the total she’d earn.

‘I trust you’ll see the wisdom of staying.’ He paused, but Cat couldn’t think of a thing to say. ‘Good. I’ll see you at the reception.’

The phone went dead. Cat put it down, her stomach cramping. There was no way out. She shouldn’t have agreed to take this on. Hadn’t she known it from the first?

Never had the massive chasm between herself and the siblings she’d never known seemed wider. And her little nephew. Her heart had gone out to the tiny mite she’d seen on the news. His big, troubled eyes had tugged at her, but she was crazy to think she could help either of them.

Cat shook her head. She’d let sentiment and curiosity overcome sense.

Now she had to face the consequences.

She stared out the huge arched window of her room. Beyond the manicured gardens, the pools and fountains and arbours, lay the wooded private royal reserve that encompassed the whole southernmost peninsula of the island nation. Beyond that was the sea.

Where Alex had his beautiful yacht.

For a second she let herself imagine she could simply walk out the door, swim to him and ask him to take her away. For she couldn’t shake the bone-deep fear that in coming here she’d opened a door that should have remained firmly bolted. Like Pandora opening her box and releasing forces she’d never imagined.

Cat shivered, as if someone walked over her grave.

Nonsense. She didn’t like it here because it reminded her of the father who’d rejected her before she was born. And the shame she’d been made to carry through no fault of her own.

But she was strong and capable. She’d do the job, then leave without a backward glance. Simple.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later Cat walked carefully down the long ground-floor corridor, heels tapping on the beautiful parquetry floor. At her tutor’s insistence she wore stockings, heels and a silk dress that swirled to her knees. Lady Enide had declared Cat would never convince anyone till she learned to walk in a dress.

Apparently she walked like a boy. Even if she did keep her shoulders back and her chin up.

Cat set her jaw and concentrated on balance. Teetering on stiletto heels was harder than parcours. Harder than karate. No wonder Lady Enide had left her to it, informing her crisply that they’d meet in forty minutes, by which time she expected to see Ms Dubois moving like a lady.

Cat’s mouth curved in a mirthless smile. She’d always been a tomboy, rebelling against the inevitable comparisons between her and the graceful, ultra-feminine Princess who lived at the far end of their island nation.

It was easier for tomboys to pretend not to hurt when insults and innuendos rained down. And tomboys gave as good as they got when the insults became blows.

She didn’t fancy her chances of convincing anyone she was an elegant lady.

Butterflies the size of kites twisted in her stomach. The Prime Minister had lied. Cat had just learned next week’s event wasn’t the simple affair he’d said.

Restlessly she pushed open a door and entered a grand reception room. It was white and gold, with ornate couches that looked as if they’d break if you sat on them. The mirrors were huge antiques, the chandeliers, she’d learned, brought from Versailles centuries ago. The paintings...she tried to recall which monarchs were in the paintings and failed.

Another black mark against her. She had to memorise everything about these rooms for the reception to celebrate five hundred years of amity between St Galla and distant Bengaria. It would be a glittering event.

And she’d been told minutes ago that the King of Bengaria would attend!

Her stomach cramped in horror. How did the Prime Minister expect her to fool a royal? It was madness. If she’d known she’d never have come. Which was no doubt why Monsieur Barthe hadn’t broken the news earlier. He’d even tried to convince her their royal guest wouldn’t see through her disguise since he’d never met Amelie!

As soon as she got a chance she’d look up the Bengarian King. For the first time her avoidance of all things royal worked against her. She shunned celebrity gossip about aristocratic families. She could so easily be fodder for those stories!

Cat shuddered. If she’d needed proof that this masquerade was desperately important for Amelie, this was it. Clearly Cat was covering for a crisis of some sort.

Maybe she could stand at the top of the elegantly curling staircase and wave her hand at the King without getting close? If she could keep her distance, and not talk, there was the slimmest chance she could bring off this charade.

Cat grimaced. From a distance no one would notice she was a smidgeon shorter than Amelie, her nose not quite as straight and her mouth a fraction wider. Or that she was smaller in the bust.

But to convince a king? Cat shook her head and pushed open the door to the next room.

On the threshold she stilled. Someone stood, silhouetted in the vast arched window.

A sensation, as if she rode a runaway roller coaster, plunged her stomach to the floor. Her hand clung to the door as she took in the tall figure, straight-shouldered, slim-hipped, long-legged.

Over his shoulder through the window a familiar yacht, streamlined, vintage and luxurious, lay anchored in the palace’s private cove.

‘You!’ Cat’s eyes rounded as he turned and that dark blue gaze snagged hers.

She’d told herself memory had exaggerated yesterday’s sizzle of attraction. She’d been wrong. One look and sparks flashed under her skin, igniting heat deep within.

The instant of recognition stretched out and out.

Intriguingly, he now looked like an ad for some exclusive men’s fashion house instead of a laid-back, sinfully sexy beachcomber. His dark hair was brushed back in a severe style that made her gaze linger on the sculpted perfection of his even, chiselled features. From head to toe he was suavely elegant, assured and breathtakingly male. Only the light dancing in those indigo eyes betrayed a hint of something else.

Despite her shock and instinctive caution, delight quivered through her as she read that look. He’d watched her that way yesterday. As if she were a delicacy he wanted to bite into.

‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice was stretched and too high as she stalked across the room, for once ignoring the sensation she was walking on stilts. ‘How did you get in?’

‘Through the front entrance. The butler asked me to wait here.’ He smiled, a slow curl of the lips that fed a silly little shiver under her skin.

‘I mean, why are you here?’

He lifted a hand, holding out a paper bag.

Hesitantly Cat took it and peered inside. Within lay her old running shorts. She recognised them from the frayed hem, and her ancient T-shirt, not only folded but ironed, if she wasn’t mistaken. George had washed and ironed her gear. She couldn’t imagine Alex doing anything so mundanely domestic.

Her gaze shot to his as she put the package down on the grand piano a few steps away.

‘Thank you.’ She paused, wondering how to handle this. ‘That’s very thoughtful.’ Could she get rid of him quickly? She wasn’t ready to play the part of Princess Amelie and admitting her real identity was impossible.

But how had he known where to find her? She’d said nothing about staying at the royal palace. She’d been running through the private royal reserve but assumed he’d think she’d trespassed, like the boys in the canoe who’d ventured into the palace’s private zone.

Anxiety stirred. This scenario was wrong. There’d been no reason for Alex to look for her here.

‘You don’t look pleased to see me.’ His voice was easy, low enough to hum through her bones in a way that disturbed as much as it appealed.

Cat was no pushover when it came to men. It took more than a dark velvet voice and a hint of humour to win her over. Far more than a sexy, athletic body and stunning eyes. Yet there was something about Alex that broke through a lifetime’s reserve. She didn’t like it one bit.

‘I’m...surprised.’ She drew a quick breath. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’ If circumstances had been different she’d definitely have wanted to pursue their acquaintance. But not like this.

If anyone discovered who she was the fallout would be disastrous.

Something about the lazy speculation in his eyes told her Alex saw far too much.

‘I’m afraid the palace is closed to visitors at the moment.’

‘So I gathered. The butler seemed surprised when I arrived.’ Yet Alex made no move to leave. That speculative gaze was heavy as it took her in from head to toe.

Instinctively Cat drew herself up. She’d have to usher him out the door. ‘I think it best if—’

‘Why Cat?’ He spoke at the same time.

‘Sorry?’

‘Your name. Is it a nickname because of your eyes?’ When she didn’t immediately answer he went on. ‘I’ve never seen eyes quite that colour.’

‘Cat’s eyes?’ She blinked. She’d never thought of that. People told her she had beautiful eyes but she’d never been convinced. Probably because through her early years they’d been the bane of her life. Such a distinctive colour, always commented on. Royal St Gallan it was called here because every member of the royal family for generations had inherited eyes that colour. Yet it was extraordinarily rare in the rest of the population.

When her mother had given birth to a girl only seven months after her hasty marriage to a man she’d never shown a preference for, and when that baby had eyes of Royal St Gallan green, there had been talk. People commented on how suddenly she’d left her job at the palace, and how it was whispered that the King had a roving eye despite his gorgeous wife and obviously happy family life.

‘Cat?’ He’d moved closer. The fresh scent of citrus and warm flesh invaded her nostrils. It sent tendrils of feminine pleasure curling through her.

She stiffened. This was so not good.

‘It’s what my friends call me.’ That at least was true. She’d never been Catherine except to her stepfather, the man who’d treated her mother as a drudge and her as a disgusting burden despite the largesse he’d received for giving them his name.

‘An unusual choice, but it suits.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. Even in heels she was no match for his rangy height. Cat found herself wondering why she even noticed. She worked with guys all the time, some even taller than Alex.

‘It was lovely of you to take so much trouble. Really.’ Her muscles stretched taut as she forced a smile. ‘But this isn’t really a good time.’ She stepped away, holding his gaze, inviting him to accompany her as she moved to the door.

‘I understand.’ Abruptly the hint of humour in his gaze disappeared. ‘I should have begun by saying how very sorry I am. It must have been a tough time for you.’

‘Sorry?’ Cat frowned. From the moment she’d crossed the threshold nothing had made sense. Not seeing Alex here, looking urbane and remarkably at home, nor his interest in her name, nor the trouble he’d taken to return her ratty old running gear. And now he was sorry...?

‘For your loss.’ His mouth flattened and he raked a hand back through his hair, which immediately fell back into place. ‘I’m not doing a very good job, am I? I should have offered my condolences when we met but you left so abruptly.’

The hair at Cat’s nape rose as she read the sympathy in his eyes, the sincerity in the grim expression bracketing that generous mouth.

Anxiety stirred and doom-laden foreboding.

A large hand captured hers, long fingers enfolding it, warm and reassuring. ‘You must be going through a hellish time, losing your brother and sister-in-law. You have my sympathy and my mother’s. If there’s anything I can do—’

He broke off when Cat stepped back, heart thundering, tugging her hand from his.

He thought she was Amelie.

The knowledge pressed down on her, stopping her breath, making her ears buzz and her head whirl as she stared up into that handsome, now sombre face.

Finally, hand to her sternum, she managed to gasp in air, sucking it deep and filling starved lungs.

Did he know Amelie? How well? How long before he realised Cat was an imposter?

And somewhere deep in her psyche, buried so deep she almost didn’t register it, was a part of her that wanted to reach out and grab his hand again, feel that rush of heat and fortifying strength, because, absurdly, she did feel grief for the half-brother she’d never known and would now never know. Even though she had no right to feel anything.

She’d always been an outsider. These people weren’t really her family, no matter the blood they shared.

‘I...’ She paused and forced a brittle smile. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ Her lips felt stiff and the words sounded stilted.

She wished she’d never got herself into this tangle of deceit. It went against everything she’d made of herself. Forced to hide her true identity since childhood, there’d been freedom and a welcome dignity and strength in building a life for herself that had no taint of subterfuge. Where she was simply Cat Dubois, capable, professional and open.

‘I—’ Cat broke off as the door opened behind her. Swinging round, she saw Lady Enide, immaculate as ever in a navy suit and pearls, her silver hair a testament to good taste and a personal stylist. The other woman paused on the threshold, her features morphing into a mask that even for her looked pinched and full of concern.

She stepped into the room and, to Cat’s amazement, bent deep into a curtsey. The sort of curtsey she’d tried and failed to teach Cat.

‘Your Highness. Welcome to St Galla.’ Her eyes weren’t on Cat but on Alex. Cat felt once more that enervating sensation as if her stomach had disconnected and plummeted at speed towards her toes.

‘My apologies that you weren’t greeted appropriately. The palace has only a skeleton staff during this period of mourning and we weren’t expecting you yet.’

Colder and colder, Cat’s spine froze vertebra by vertebra till it felt as if her backbone and neck were clamped in an icy vice.

Slowly she turned back to see Alex smiling. ‘No need for apologies. As you can see, Princess Amelie has made me welcome.’

Eyes of rich blue met and held hers. She read curiosity and something that might have been satisfaction there. But she was too busy revisiting their conversation, wondering if she’d betrayed herself, to interpret his thoughts.

For the issue now wasn’t merely her identity, and whether she could maintain a royal masquerade.

Worse was the fact Enide had called him ‘Highness’. That the haughtiest, most proper woman she’d ever met had practically scraped the floor with her curtsey.

Which meant Alex wasn’t merely a layabout yachtie.

Cat’s brain galloped ahead to the guests expected for the St Gallan-Bengarian celebrations. Celebrations to commemorate an old alliance between the two nations, forged when St Galla fought annexation by both its mainland neighbours, France and Italy. Celebrations which the King of Bengaria would attend.

King Alexander.

Her breath stalled and for a horrifying moment she thought she’d crumple as her knees gave way.

Cat dropped her eyes from his bright, enquiring gaze and found herself staring at a pair of glossy hand-made shoes. She kept her eyes fixed on them, forcing down the surging rush of panic.

He was King Alexander of Bengaria.

And he believed her to be Amelie.

Could it get any worse?

Cat found herself sinking into a deep, perfectly executed curtsey. The sort of curtsey that had eluded her for days.

It was amazing what adrenaline and sheer panic could achieve.

‘Welcome, Your Majesty. It’s a pleasure to have you here.’

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