Dynasties

January 2020

Dynasties: The Jarrods

February 2020

Dynasties: The Ashtons

March 2020

Dynasties: The Danforths

April 2020

Dynasties: The Barones

May 2020

Dynasties: The Lassiters

June 2020

Dynasties: The Montoros

About the Author

ANDREA LAURENCE is an award-winning contemporary author who has been a lover of books and writing stories since she learned to read. A dedicated West Coast girl transplanted into the Deep South, she’s constantly trying to develop a taste for sweet tea and grits while caring for her boyfriend and her old bulldog. You can contact Andrea at her website: http://www.andrealaurence.com

Seduced by the Spare Heir

Caitlin Crews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-00328-5

SEDUCED BY THE SPARE HEIR

2015 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2020

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.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

About the Publisher

To my fellow authors in the Montoros series — Janice, Katherine, Kat, Jules and Charlene It was a joy working with all of you. Thanks for tolerating my 80 million questions on the loop.

And to our editor Charles — You’re awesome, as always. I look forward to working with you again.

One

This party was lame. And it was his party. How could his own party be lame?

Normally parties were Gabriel Montoro’s thing. Much to the chagrin of his family, he’d earned quite the reputation as “Good Time Gabriel.” Music, alcohol, dim lighting, superficial conversation… He was the king of the party domain. But now that Gabriel had been tapped as the new king of Alma, everything had changed.

Gabriel gripped his flute of champagne and looked around the ballroom at his family’s Coral Gables estate. Their tropical retreat seemed incredibly stuffy tonight. There wasn’t a single flip-flop in the room, much less one of the feral parrots that lived on their property and flew in the occasional open door. His family had always had money, but they hadn’t been pretentious.

But things had changed for the Montoro family since the tiny European island nation of Alma decided to restore their monarchy. Suddenly he was Prince Gabriel, third in line to the throne. And before he could adjust to the idea of that, his father and his older brother were taken out of the running. His parents had divorced without an annulment, making his father ineligible. Then, his ever-responsible brother abdicated and ran off with a bartender. Suddenly he was on the verge of being King Gabriel, and everyone expected him to change with the title.

This suffocating soiree was just the beginning and he knew it. Next, he’d have to trade in his South Beach penthouse for a foreign palace and his one-night stands for a queen with a pedigree. Everything from his clothes to his speech would be up for public critique by “his people.” People he’d never seen, living on an island he’d only visited once. But his coronation was only a month or two away. He left for Alma in a week.

That was why they were having this party, if you could even call it that. The music was classical, the drinks were elegant and the women were wearing far too much clothing. He got a sinking feeling in his stomach when he realized this was how it was going to be from now on. Boring parties with boring people he didn’t even know kissing his ass.

There were two hundred people in the room, but there were more strangers than anything else. He found that terribly ironic. People had come out of the woodwork since his brother, Rafe, abdicated and Gabriel was thrust into the spotlight. Suddenly he wasn’t just the vice president of South American Operations, cast into the Southern Hemisphere where he couldn’t embarrass the family; he was the hot ticket in town.

Him! Gabriel—the middle child whom no one paid any attention to, the one dismissed by his family’s society friends as the bad boy, the spare heir and nothing more. Now that he was about to be king, he had strangers at every turn fighting to be his new best friends.

He hated to break it to them, but Gabriel didn’t have friends. Not real ones. That required a level of trust in other people that he just didn’t have. He’d learned far too young that you can’t trust anyone. Even family could let you down when you need them the most.

Speak of the devil.

From across the room, his cousin Juan Carlos spied him and started in his direction. He was frowning. Nothing new there. Ever serious, Juan Carlos never seemed to have any fun. He was always having business discussions, working, being responsible. He was the kind of man who should be the king of Alma—not Gabriel. After hundreds of years, why hadn’t people figured out that bloodlines were not the best indicator of leadership potential?

“You’re not talking to anyone,” Juan Carlos noted with a disapproving scowl as he loomed over his cousin. At several inches over six feet, he had a bad habit of hovering over people. Gabriel was never quite sure if his cousin deliberately tried to intimidate with his size or if he was unaware how much it bothered people when he did that.

Gabriel wasn’t about to let his cousin’s posture or his frown get to him. He tended not to worry too much about what his cousin thought, or what anyone thought, really. When it came down to it, Juan Carlos was serious enough for them both. “No one is talking to me,” he corrected.

“That’s because you’re hiding in the corner sulking.”

Gabriel scoffed at his blunt observation. “I am not sulking.”

His cousin sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then what would you call it?”

“Surveying my domain. That sounds kingly, right?”

Juan Carlos groaned and rolled his eyes. “Quit it. Don’t even pretend you care about any of this, because I know you don’t. You and I both know you’d much rather be in South Beach tonight chasing tail. Pretending otherwise is insulting to your family and insulting to your country.”

Gabriel would be lying if he said the neon lights weren’t beckoning him. There was nothing like the surge of alcohol through his veins and the thumping bass of music as he pressed against a woman on the dance floor. It was the only thing that could help him forget what a mess he was in, but after the drama with Rafe, he’d been on a short leash. The family couldn’t take another scandal.

That didn’t mean he felt like apologizing for who he was. He wasn’t raised to be king. The Alman dictatorship had held strong for nearly seventy years. Who would’ve thought that when democracy was restored, they’d want their old royal family back? They hadn’t anticipated this summons and he certainly hadn’t anticipated his brother, the rightful king, would run off with a Key West bartender and send Gabriel’s life into a tailspin. “I’m sorry if that offends your sensibilities, J.C., but I didn’t ask to be king.”

“I know you didn’t ask to be king. It is plainly obvious to every person in this room that you don’t want the honor. But guess what? The crown has landed in your lap and you’ve got to step up and grow up.” Juan Carlos sipped his wine and glared at Gabriel over the rim. “And what have I told you about calling me that?” he added.

That made Gabriel smile. Annoying his cousin was one of his favorite pastimes since childhood. The smile was short-lived, though.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been told to grow up. What his family failed to realize was that Gabriel had grown up a long time ago. They all liked to pretend it didn’t happen, but in a dark room with thick rope cutting into his wrists, he’d left his childhood and innocence behind with his captors. If his family had wanted him to act responsibly, they should’ve done more to rescue him. He’d survived because of his own quick thinking and his first choice as an adult was to live the life he wanted and not care what anyone else thought about it.

Grow up, indeed. Gabriel took a large swallow of his champagne and sighed. The days of living his life as he chose were numbered. He could feel it. Soon it wouldn’t just be his father and cousin trying to tell him what to do.

“Always good talking with you, cuz. Don’t you have someone to schmooze?”

Juan Carlos didn’t respond. Instead he turned on his heel and walked over to the dessert table. Within seconds, he was chatting with someone influential, whose name Gabriel had forgotten, over silver platters of chocolate truffles and cream puffs.

Gabriel turned away, noticing the side door that led out to the patio and garden pavilion. Hopefully he could make it out there before someone noticed.

Glancing around quickly, he spied his father with his back to him. His sister was chatting with a group of ladies in the corner. This was his chance. He moved toward the door and surged through it as fast as he could.

Gabriel was immediately rewarded with the oppressive wave of heat that July in Miami was known for. The humid blast hit him like a tsunami after the air-conditioned comfort of the ballroom, but he didn’t care. He moved away from the door and out into the dark recesses of the patio.

There were some tables and chairs set up outside in case guests wanted to come out. They were draped with linens and topped with centerpieces of candles and roses. All the seats were empty. Gabriel was certain none of the ladies were interested in getting overheated in their fancy clothes with their meticulously styled hair and makeup.

Glancing over at the far end of the semicircular patio, he spied someone looking out into the gardens. The figure was tall, but slender, with the moonlight casting a silver silhouette that highlighted the bare shoulders and silk-hugging curves. She turned her head to watch a bird fly through the trees and he was rewarded with a glimpse of the cheekbones that had made her famous.

Serafia.

The realization sent a hot spike of need down his spine and the blood sped through his veins as his heart beat double-time. Serafia Espina was his childhood crush and the fantasy woman of every red-blooded man who had ever achieved puberty. Eight years ago, Serafia had been one of the biggest supermodels in the industry. Like all the greats, she’d been known by only her first name, strutting down catwalks in Paris, New York and Milan wearing all the finest designers’ clothes.

And she’d looked damn good in them, too.

Gabriel didn’t know much about what had happened, but for health reasons, Serafia had suddenly given up modeling and started her own business of some kind. But judging by the way that red dress clung to her curves, the years hadn’t dulled her appeal. She could walk the catwalk right now and not miss a beat.

He hadn’t spoken to Serafia in years. When his family was overthrown by the Tantaberras, they had fled to the United States and the Espinas moved to Switzerland. In the 1980s, they’d moved to Spain and their families renewed their friendship. When Gabriel and Serafia were children, their families vacationed together on the Spanish Riviera. Back then, he’d been a shy, quiet little boy of ten or eleven and she was the beautiful, unobtainable older woman. She was sixteen and he was invisible.

This was a fortunate encounter. They weren’t children anymore and as the future king of their home country, he was anything but invisible. As Mel Brooks famously said, “It’s good to be the king.”

Serafia felt the familiar, niggling sensation of someone’s eyes on her. It was something she’d become keenly attuned to working in the modeling business. Like a sixth sense, she could feel a gaze like a touch raking over her skin. Judging. Critiquing.

She turned to look behind her and found the man of the evening standing a few feet away. Gabriel had certainly grown up a lot since she saw him last. He was looking at her the way most men did—with unmasked desire. She supposed she should be flattered to catch the eye of the future king, but he was in his twenties, just a baby. He didn’t need to get involved with an older, has-been model with enough baggage to pack for a long vacation.

“Your Majesty,” she replied with a polite bow of her head.

Gabriel narrowed his gaze at her. “Are you being sarcastic?” he asked.

Serafia’s mouth dropped open with surprise, her response momentarily stolen. That wasn’t what she was expecting him to say. “Not at all. Did it come out that way? If it did, I sincerely apologize.”

Gabriel shook his head dismissively and walked toward her. He didn’t look like any king she’d ever seen before. He exuded a combination of beauty and danger, like a great white shark, gliding gracefully across the stone patio in a tailored black suit and dress shirt. His tie was bloodred and his gaze was fixed on her as if she were prey.

She felt her chest tighten as he came closer and she breathed in the scent of his cologne mingling with the warm smell of the garden’s exotic flowers. Her fight-or-flight instincts were at the ready, even as she felt herself get drawn closer to him.

He didn’t pounce. Instead he leaned down, rested his elbows on the concrete railing and looked out into the dark recesses of the tropical foliage. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he said. “I still haven’t quite adjusted to the idea of all this royalty nonsense.”

Royalty nonsense. Wow. Serafia’s libido was doused with cold water at his thoughtless words. That wasn’t exactly what the people of Alma wanted to hear from their new king. After the collapse of the dictatorship, restoring the monarchy seemed like the best way to stabilize the country. The wealthy Alma elite would get a little more than they bargained for with Gabriel Montoro wearing the crown. He didn’t really seem to care about Alma or the monarchy. He hadn’t grown up there, but neither had she. Her parents had raised her to value her heritage and her homeland, regardless.

Perhaps it was just his youth. Serafia knew how hard it was to have the spotlight on you at such a young age. She’d been discovered by a modeling agency when she was only sixteen. Whisked away from her family, she was making six figures a year when most teenagers were just getting their driver’s licenses. By the time she was old enough to drink, she was a household name. The pressure was suffocating, pushing her to her personal limits and very nearly destroying her. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to be the ruler of a country and have over a million people depending on her.

“I think you’ll get used to it pretty quickly,” she said, leaning her hip against the stone railing. She picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. “All that power will go to your head in no time.”

Gabriel’s bitter laugh was unexpected. “I doubt that. While I may be king, my family will ensure that I’m not an embarrassment to them.”

“I thought a king can do what he likes.”

“If that was true, my father or my brother would still be in line for the crown. In the end, even a king has a mama to answer to.” Gabriel looked at her with a charming smile, running his fingers through his too-long light brown hair.

It was shaggy and unkempt, a style popular with men his age, but decidedly unkingly. The moonlight highlighted the streaks of blond that he’d probably earned on the beach. She couldn’t tell here in the dark, but from the pictures she’d seen of him in the papers and online, he had the tanned skin to match. Even in his immaculate and well-tailored suit, he looked more like a famous soccer player than a king.

“And I know your mama,” she noted. Señora Adela was a beautiful and fierce woman who lived and loved with passion. She’d also been one to give the lecture of a lifetime while she pulled you down the hallway by your ear. “I’d behave if I were you.”

“I’ll try. So, how have you been?” he asked, shifting the conversation away from his situation. “I haven’t seen you since you became a famous supermodel and forgot about all of us little people.”

Serafia smiled, looking for the right answer. She knew people didn’t really want to know how she was doing; they were just being polite. “I’ve been well. I started my own consulting business since I left modeling and the work has kept me fairly busy.”

“What kind of consulting?”

“Image and etiquette, mostly. I traveled so extensively as a model that I found I could help companies branch out into unfamiliar foreign markets by teaching them the customs and societal norms of the new country. Other times I help wealthy families groom their daughters into elegant ladies.”

Although families mostly paid her to teach etiquette and poise and give makeovers, she also spent a lot of time trying to teach those same girls that being pretty wasn’t all they had to offer the world. It was an uphill battle and one that had earned her the label “hypocrite” more than a time or two. Sure, it was easy for a supermodel to say that beauty wasn’t everything.

“Do me a favor and don’t mention your consulting business around my father or Juan Carlos,” Gabriel said.

Serafia’s dark eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why is that? Do they have daughters in need of a makeover?” Bella certainly didn’t need any help from her. The youngest Montoro was looking lovely tonight in a beaded blue gown with her golden hair in elegantly twisted curls.

Serafia had heard rumors that the Montoro heirs had been allowed to run wild in America, but from what she had seen, they were no different from the youths of any other royal family. They wanted to have fun, find love and shirk their responsibilities every now and then. Until those desires interfered with the crown, as Rafe’s abdication had, there was no harm done.

Gabriel shook his head and took a large sip of his champagne. “No daughters. They’ve just got me. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d jump at the chance to have you make me over. I don’t really blame them. I’m about to be the most unsuitable king ever to sit upon the throne of Alma. The bad boy…the backup plan…the worst possible choice…”

Her eyes widened with every unpleasant description. “Is that their opinion or just your own?”

He shrugged. “I think it’s everyone’s opinion, including mine.”

“I think you’re exaggerating a little bit. I’m not sure about what your family thinks behind closed doors, but I haven’t heard anything about you being unsuitable. Everyone is surprised about Rafe abdicating, of course, but I just came from Alma and the people are very excited to have you come home and serve as their monarch.”

She hadn’t originally planned on visiting Alma, but she’d gotten a call from a potential client there. She was already coming to Florida to consult with a company in Orlando, so she made a stop in Alma on the way. She was glad she had. It was inspiring to see an entire country buzzing with hope for the future. She wished she saw some of that same excitement in Gabriel.

He narrowed his gaze, seemingly searching her expression for the truth in her words, but he didn’t appear to find it. “That won’t last long. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d start begging for the dictatorship to come back within a year of my reign beginning.”

And Serafia had thought she was the only one around here with miserably low self-esteem. “The people of Alma fought long and hard to be free of the Tantaberras. You would have to be a wicked, bloodthirsty tyrant for them to wish his return. Is that what you have planned? A reign of terror for your people?”

“No. I guess that changes things,” he said with a bright smile that seemed fake. “I didn’t realize they had such low expectations for their king. As long as I don’t decapitate all my enemies and force my subjects to cower in fear, I’ll be a success! Thanks for letting me know that. I feel a lot better about the whole thing now.”

Gabriel was leaving for Alma in a week, and that attitude was going to be a problem. Before she could curb her tongue, Serafia leaned in to him and plucked the champagne glass from his hand. “The citizens of Alma have been through a lot over the last seventy years. While the wealthy upper class could afford to flee, most of the people were trapped there to suffer at the hands of Tantaberra and his sons. They’re finally free, some of them having waited their whole lives to wake up in the morning without the oppressive hand of a despot controlling them. These people have chosen to restore your family to the throne to help them rebuild Alma. They can probably do without your sarcasm and self-pity.”

Gabriel looked at her with surprise lighting his eyes. He might not be comfortable with the authority and responsibility of being king, but he seemed shocked that she would take that tone of voice with him. She didn’t care. She had lived in Spain her whole life. She wasn’t one of his subjects and she wasn’t about to grovel at his feet when he was being like this.

She waited for him to speak, watching as the surprise faded to heat. At first she thought it was anger building up inside him, but when his gaze flicked over her skin, she could feel her cheeks start to burn with the flush of sexual awareness. She might have been too bold and said too much, but he seemed to like it for some reason.

At last, he took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re absolutely right.”

That was not what she’d expected to hear at all. She had braced herself for an argument or maybe even a come-on line to change the subject, but she certainly didn’t think he would agree with her. Perhaps he wasn’t doomed to failure if he could see reason in her words. She returned his glass of champagne and looked out into the garden to avoid his intense stare and hide her blush. “I apologize for being so blunt, but it needed to be said.”

“No, please. Thank you. I have spent the days since my brother’s announcement worried about how it will impact me and my life. I’ve never given full consideration to the lives of all the people in Alma and how they feel. They have suffered, miserably, for so long. They deserve a king they can be proud of. I’m just afraid I’m not that man.”

“You can be,” Serafia said, and as she spoke the words, she believed them. She had no real reason to be so certain about the success of the Montoro Bad Boy. She hadn’t spoken to him in years and he was just a boy then. Now there were only the rumors she’d heard floating across the Atlantic—stories of womanizing, fast cars and dangerous living. But she felt the truth deep in her heart.

“It might take time and practice, but you can get there. A lesser man wouldn’t give a second thought to whether he was the right person for the job. You’re genuinely concerned and I think that bodes well for your future in Alma.”

Gabriel looked at her and for the first time, she noticed the signs of strain lining his eyes. They didn’t entirely mesh with the image that had been painted of the rebellious heir to the throne. He seemed adept at covering his worry with humor and charming smiles, but in that moment it all fell away to reveal a man genuinely concerned that he was going to fail his country. “Do you really believe that?”

Serafia reached out and covered his hand with her own. She felt a warm prickle dance across her palm as her skin touched his. The heat of it traveled up her arm, causing goose bumps to rise across her flesh despite the oppressive Miami summer heat. His gaze remained pinned on her own, an intensity there that made her wonder if he was feeling the same thing. She was startled by her reaction, losing the words of comfort she’d intended to say, but she couldn’t pull away from him.

“Yes,” she finally managed to say in a hoarse whisper.

He nodded, his jaw flexing as he seemed to consider her response. After a moment, he slipped his hand out from beneath hers. Instead of pulling away, he scooped up her hand in his, lifting it as though he was going to kiss her knuckles. Her breath caught in her throat, her tongue snaking out across her suddenly dry lips.

“Serafia, can I ask you something?”

She nodded, worried that she was about to agree to something she shouldn’t, but powerless to stop herself in that moment. The candlelight flickering in his eyes was intoxicating. She could barely think, barely breathe when he touched her like that.

“Will you…” He hesitated. “…help me become the kind of king Alma deserves?”

Two

Gabriel watched as Serafia’s expression collapsed for a moment in disappointment before she pulled herself back together. He couldn’t understand why he saw those emotions in her dark eyes. He thought she would be excited that he wanted to step up and be a better person for the job. Wasn’t that what she’d just lectured him about?

Then he looked down at her hand clutched in his own, here in the candlelight, on the dark, secluded patio, and realized he had a pretty solid seduction in progress without even trying. That might be the problem. He’d been too distracted by their conversation to realize it.

He had to admit he was pleased to know she responded to him. In the back of his mind, he’d considered Serafia unobtainable, a childhood fantasy. The moment she’d turned to look at him tonight, he felt his heart stutter in his chest as if he’d been shocked by a defibrillator. Her stunning red silk gown, rubies and diamonds dangling at her throat and ears, crimson lipstick against the flawless gold of her skin…it was as though she’d walked out of a magazine spread and onto his patio.

She was poised, elegant and untouchable. And bold. With a razor-sharp tongue, she’d cut him down to size, sending a surprising surge of desire through him instead of anger. She didn’t care that he was the crown prince; she was going to tell it the way it was. With everything ahead of him, he was beginning to think he needed a woman like that in his life. Gabriel was already surrounded by too many yes-men or needling family members.

Serafia was a firecracker—beautiful, alluring and capable of burning him. A woman like that didn’t exist in real life, and if she did, she wouldn’t want anything to do with a man like Gabriel. Or so he’d always thought. The disappointment in her dark eyes led him to believe that perhaps he was wrong about that.

He wasn’t entirely sure that a haircut and a new suit would make him a better king, but he was willing to give it a try. It certainly couldn’t hurt. Working with a professional image consultant would get his father and Juan Carlos off his back. And if nothing else, it would keep this beautiful, sexy woman from disappearing from his life for at least two more weeks. It sounded like a win-win for Gabriel.

“A makeover?” she said after the initial shock seemed to fade from her face. She pulled her fingers from his grasp and rubbed her hands together for a moment as if to erase his touch. Serafia didn’t seem to think his plan was the perfect solution he’d envisioned. “For you?”

“Why not? That’s what you do, right?”

Her nose wrinkled and her brow furrowed. “I teach teenage girls how to walk in high heels and behave themselves in various social situations.”

“How is what I’m proposing any different? Obviously I don’t need the lesson on heels, but I’m about to face a lot of new social situations. With the way my family has been nagging at me, there seem to be a lot of land mines ahead of me. I could use help on how I should dress and what I should say. And I think you’re the right person for the job.”

Serafia’s dark eyes widened and she sputtered for a moment as she struggled for words to argue with him. “I thought you didn’t want a makeover,” she said at last.

Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t want my family to force me into one. There’s a difference. But you’ve convinced me that it’s needed if I’m going to be the kind of king Alma needs.”

“I don’t know, Gabriel.” She turned back to the gardens, avoiding his gaze. She seemed very hesitant to agree to it and he wasn’t sure why. She’d pretty much dressed him down and chastised him for being a self-centered brat. Her words were bold and passionate. But then, when he asked for her help, she didn’t want to be the one to change him. He didn’t get it. Was he a lost cause?

“Come on, Serafia. It’s perfect. I need a makeover, but I don’t want everyone to know it. You’re a friend of the family, so no one will think twice of you traveling with me or being seen with me. No one outside of the family even needs to know why you’re here. We can come up with some cover story. I’ve got a week to prepare before I leave for Alma and another week of welcome activities once I arrive before things start to settle down. I’m not sure I can get through all that without help. Without your help.”

“I can’t just drop everything and run to your side, Gabriel.”

“I’ll pay you double.”

She turned back to him, a crimson frown lining her face. Even that didn’t make her classic features unattractive. “I don’t need the money. I have plenty of that. I don’t even have to work, but I was tired of sitting around with my own thoughts.”

He wasn’t sure what kind of thoughts would haunt a young, successful woman like Serafia, but he didn’t feel that he should ask. “Donate it all to charity, then. I don’t care. It’s good for your business.”

“How? I’d be doing this in secret. That won’t earn me any exposure for my company.”

“Not directly, but having you by my side in all the pictures will get your name in the papers. After you’re seen with royalty, maybe your services will be more in demand because you have connections.”

Serafia sighed. She was losing this battle and she knew it.

Gabriel looked at her, suppressing a smile as he prepared to turn her own argument against her and end the fight. “If for no other reason, do it for the people of Alma. You yourself just said how much these people have suffered. Do your part and help me be the best king I can possibly be.”

She tensed up and started biting her lower lip. Picking up her wineglass, she took a sip and looked out at the moon hovering over the tree line. At last, her head dropped in defeat. The long, graceful line of her neck was exposed by the one-shoulder cut of her gown and the style of her hair. The dark, thick strands were twisted up into an elegant chignon, leaving her flawless, honey-colored skin exposed.

He wanted to press a kiss to the back of her neck and wrap his arms around her waist to comfort her. His lips tingled as he imagined doing just that, but he knew that would be pushing his luck. If she agreed to work with him over the next few weeks, there might be time for kisses and caresses later. It couldn’t take every hour of the day to make him suitable. But if she left now, he’d never have the chance.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out and nodded. “Okay. We start tomorrow morning. I will be here at nine for breakfast and we’ll begin with table manners.”

“Nine?” He winced. Most Saturday mornings, he didn’t crawl out of bed until closer to noon. Of course, he wouldn’t be closing down the bars tonight. If he left the family compound, they’d likely release the hounds to track him down.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice taking the same tone as the nuns had used when he was in Catholic school. Serafia didn’t look a thing like Sister Mary Katherine, but she had the same focused expression on her face as she looked him over. The former supermodel had faded away and he was left in the presence of his new image consultant.

“Modern kings do not stay up until the wee hours of the morning and sleep until noon. They have a country to lead, meetings to attend and servants that need a reliable schedule to properly run the household. After breakfast, you’re getting a haircut.” She reached out for his hand, examining his fingernails in the dim lights. “And a manicure. I’ll have someone come in to do it. If we went to a salon, people would start talking.”

Getting up early, plus a haircut? Gabriel self-consciously ran his fingers through the long strands of his hair. He liked it long. When it was short, he looked too much like his toe-the-line brother, CEO extraordinaire Rafe. That wasn’t him. He was VP of their South American division for a reason. Since the news of Alma’s return to monarchy, he’d spent most of his time in Miami, but he preferred his time spent south of the equator. Life down there was more colorful, less regimented. He didn’t even mind the constant threat of danger edging into his daily routine there. Once you’d been kidnapped, beaten and held for ransom, there wasn’t much else to fear.

All that would end now. A new VP would take over South American Operations and Gabriel would take a jet to Alma. He’d be ruling over a country with a million citizens and dealing with all the demands that went with it.

What had he signed himself up for?

“I wish I had my tablet with me, but I’ll just have to make all my notes when I get back to my hotel. Sunday, we’re going through your wardrobe and determining what you can take with you to Alma. Monday morning, I’ll arrange for a private shopper to come to the house and we’ll fill in the gaps.”

“Now, wait a minute,” he complained, holding up his hands to halt her long list of tasks. He knew he could use some polishing, but it sounded as if Serafia was preparing to gut him and build him up from scratch. “What is wrong with my clothes? This is an expensive suit.”

“I’m sure it is. And if you were the owner of an exclusive nightclub in South Beach, it would be perfect, but you are Prince Gabriel, soon to be King Gabriel.”

He sighed. He certainly didn’t feel like royalty. He felt like a little boy being scolded for doing everything wrong. But he’d brought this pain upon himself. Spending time with his fantasy woman hadn’t exactly gone to plan. It had only been minutes since he made that decision and he was already starting to regret it.

“Are you dating anyone?”

Gabriel perked up. “Why? Are you interested?” he said with the brightest, most charming smile he could conjure.

Serafia wrinkled her nose at him and shook her head. “No. I was just wondering if I needed to work with you on dealing with any sticky romantic entanglements before you leave.”

That was disappointing. “I’m not big on relationships,” he explained. “There are plenty of women I’ve seen on and off, but there shouldn’t be any heartbroken women trying to follow me to Alma.”

“How about pregnant bartenders?” she asked pointedly.

Gabriel chuckled. His brother’s relationship drama had everyone in the family on edge. If he didn’t work out, the crown would be dumped on Bella and she was only twenty-three, barely out of college. “No pregnant bartenders that I am aware of,” he answered. “Or dancers or cocktail waitresses or coeds. I’m extremely careful about that kind of thing.”

“You always use protection? Every time?”

Gabriel stiffened. “Do we really have to talk about my sex life?”

Serafia sighed and shook her head. “You have no real idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you? From now on, your sex life is the business of a whole country. Who you’re seeing and who might be your future queen will be one of the first issues you’ll tackle as king. After that, fathering heirs and continuing the Montoro bloodline will be the chief concern of each of your subjects. Every woman you’re seen with is a candidate for queen. Every time your wife turns down a glass of wine or puts on a few pounds, there will be pregnancy rumors. Privacy has gone out the window for you, Gabriel.”

“There’s not going to be someone in the room while I father these heirs, is there?”

At that, Serafia smiled. “No. They have to draw the line somewhere.”

That offered little comfort to Gabriel in the moment. Each step he took toward being king, the more concerned he became. He wanted to be a good leader, but the level of scrutiny in every aspect of his life was suffocating. His hair, his clothes, his sex life… He could feel the pressure crushing against his chest like a pile of stones.

Serafia pointed to a pair of chairs nearby. “Why don’t we sit down for a minute. You look like you’re about to pass out and these shoes are starting to pinch.”

Gabriel pulled out a chair for her and took the one beside her. “I guess I just never thought about all this before. A few weeks ago, I was just a VP in my family company, someone with far-off ties to a country and a history most of us have forgotten all about. Then, boom, I’m a prince. And before I can adjust to that, I find out that I’m going to be king of the place. My life has taken a strange turn.”

She nodded sympathetically. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it’s just going to get worse. Once you’re in the spotlight, your life is no longer your own. But from someone who’s lived through it, know that the sooner you adjust to the idea of it, the better off you’ll be.”

Serafia hated to see Gabriel like this. He seemed like such a vibrant, fun-loving man, and the weight of his future was slowly crushing him like a bug. She was pushing him. Maybe more than she had to, at least at first, but he needed to know how things were going to be now. He would adjust to the crown much more easily if he understood the consequences of it.

“Is that what it was like for you? Is that why you gave up modeling?”

Serafia couldn’t help the pained expression she felt crossing her face. It happened every time her old career came up. She smiled and shook her head. “That was just a part of it.”

“Do you miss modeling?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said a touch too quickly, although she meant it. It wasn’t the glamorous business everyone thought it was. It was harsh, and despite how many millions she made doing it and how famous she became, there were still days where she was treated like little more than a walking coat hanger. And a fat one at that. “I’m not really interested in being in the spotlight anymore. It is both a wonderful and terrifying place to live.”

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully. “The runways and magazine covers suffer for your absence. I understand why you stopped after what happened to you on the runway, though. I can imagine it’s scary to come that close to death without any kind of warning. I mean, to go all that time without knowing you had…what was it, exactly?”

“A congenital heart defect,” she replied, the lie slipping effortlessly off her tongue after all these years.

“Yeah, that’s terrifying to think your own body is just waiting to rebel against you.”

Serafia stiffened and tried to nod in agreement. That would be frightening, although she really wouldn’t know. Her parents had done an excellent job spreading misinformation about her very public heart attack. Why else would a perfectly healthy twenty-four-year-old woman go into cardiac failure on the runway and drop to the floor with a thousand witnesses standing by in horror?

She could think of a lot of reasons, and for her, all of them were self-inflicted. Serafia had fallen victim to an industry-endorsed eating disorder, which had spiraled out of control leading up to that day. Anorexia was a serious illness, an issue that needed more visibility in the cutthroat modeling industry, but her family wanted to keep the truth out of the papers for her own protection. At the time, she had been in no condition to argue with them on that point.

Instead the word was that she’d retired from the modeling business to get treatment for her “heart condition” and no one ever questioned it. Instead of surgeries, her actual treatment had included nearly a year of intensive rehabilitation. She had to slowly put on thirty pounds so she didn’t strain her heart. Then she learned to eat properly, how to exercise correctly and most important how to recognize the signs in herself that she was slipping into bad habits again.

“Are you better now?” he asked.

That was debatable. With an eating disorder, every day was a challenge. It wasn’t like being an alcoholic or a drug user, where you could avoid the substance of choice. She had to eat. Every day. She needed to exercise. Just not too much. She had to maintain her weight and not swing wildly one way or another, or she’d put too much strain on her damaged heart. But she was managing. One day at a time, she reminded herself. “Yes,” she said instead. “The doctors got me all fixed up. But you’re right, I couldn’t face the catwalk again after that. After nearly dying, I realized I wanted to do something else with my life. I’m much happier with what I’m doing now.”

“Gabriel Alejandro Montoro!” a sharp voice shouted through the doorway to the patio. It was followed by several loud steps across the stone and a moment later, the figure of his younger sister, Bella, appeared.

“There you are. Everyone has been looking for you.”

Gabriel shrugged, unaffected by his sister’s exasperation. “I’ve been right here the whole time. And since when do you get to call me by my full name? Only Mama gets to do that.”

“And if Mama were here, she’d haul you back into the house by your ear.”

Serafia chuckled. Her memories of Adela were spot-on. “I’m sorry to monopolize Gabriel’s time,” she said, hoping to draw down some of his sister’s ire. “We were discussing the plans for his royal transformation.”

Bella eyed Serafia suspiciously, then turned to look at Gabriel. “Good luck with that. Either way, Father wants you inside, and now. He’s wanting to do some kind of toast and then he wants to see you out on the dance floor. The press wants a shot of you dancing.”

Gabriel stood with a reluctant sigh, reaching out his hand to help Serafia up. “And so it begins. Would you care to join me inside?”

“Absolutely.” Serafia slipped her arm through his and they walked back into the house together.

There were even more people in the room now than there were when she’d decided it was too crowded and gone outside. Nothing she could do about it, though. She stayed by his side as they cut through the crowd in search of his father. They found him standing by the bar with Gabriel’s cousin, Juan Carlos.

Serafia had never had much contact with the Salazar branch of the Montoro family, but she had heard good things about Juan Carlos. He had a good head on his shoulders. He was responsible and thoughtful. To hear some people talk, he was Gabriel’s polar opposite and a better choice for king. She would never tell Gabriel that, though; he had enough worries. Perhaps Juan Carlos would accept a post as the king’s counsel. He would make an excellent adviser for Gabriel or royal liaison to Alma’s prime minister.

“There you are,” Rafael said once he spied them. “Where have you…” He paused when his gaze flicked over Serafia. “Ah. Never mind. Now I know what has occupied your time,” he said with a smile.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said, returning his grin and leaning in to hug her father’s oldest friend.

“Too long!” Rafael exclaimed. “But now that some of us will be back in Alma, that will not be the case. Your father tells me he’s considering moving back if the monarchy is stable.”

“He told me that, as well.” Her dad had mentioned it, but the Espina family was a little gun-shy when it came to their home country. Their quick departure from Alma in the 1940s had been a messy one. There were rumors and accusations thrown at anyone who fled before Tantaberra rose to power, and her family was not immune. Serafia knew they would move slowly on that front and some might never return. Spain was all she had ever known and she had fallen in love with Barcelona. It would take a lot to lure her away from her hacienda with beachfront views of the Mediterranean.

Rafael clapped his son on the back. “Now that you’re here, I want to make a small speech, do a toast, and then maybe you can take a spin around the dance floor and encourage others to join you. The party is getting dull.”

Gabriel nodded and Juan Carlos went over to silence the band and bring Rafael the microphone. The music stopped as Rafael stepped onto the riser with the band and raised his hand to get the crowd’s attention. He had such a commanding presence; the whole room went deathly silent in a moment. He would’ve made a good king, too. Alma’s archaic succession laws needed to be changed.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Rafael began. “I want to thank all of you for coming here tonight. Our family has waited seventy years for a night like this, when we could finally see the monarchy restored to Alma. With it, we hope to see peace, prosperity and hope restored for the people of Alma, as well. I’m thrilled to be able to stand up here and join all of you in wishing my son and future king, Prince Gabriel, all the success in the world as he returns to our homeland.”

Several of the people in the crowd cheered and applauded Rafael’s statement. Gabriel stood stiff at Serafia’s side, his jaw tight and his muscles tense. He didn’t seem to be as excited as everyone else. After their discussion outside, she understood his hesitation. Still clinging to his arm, she squeezed it reassuringly and smiled at him.

“I ask everyone here to raise their glass to the future king of Alma, Gabriel the First! Long live the king!”

“Long live the king!” everyone shouted as they held up their glasses and took a sip. Serafia raised her glass as well, drinking the last of her wine.

“Now I would like to ask Gabriel to step out onto the dance floor and show us a few moves. Everyone, please, join us.”

“Looks like I have to ask a lady to join me on the dance floor.” Gabriel leaned in closer to her, a sly smile curling his full lips. “Have your doctors cleared you for vigorous physical activity?”

Serafia smiled at Gabriel and nodded. “Oh yes, I’ve got a clean bill of health. I could go all night on the dance floor if you can keep up with me.”

Gabriel took her hand and led her out into the center of the room. As the band started playing an upbeat salsa tune, his hand went to her waist and tugged her body tight against his. “Is that a challenge?” he asked.

The contact of his hard body against hers sent a shock wave through her system that she had little time to recover from. He was no longer the mop-topped little boy she remembered running up and down the beach with his kite. Now his green eyes glittered with attraction and a flash of danger. And he was dangerous. She might not have finished high school, but she read enough history to know that getting involved with a king never ended well.

Before she could answer him they started moving in time with the music. It had been a long time since she’d danced, but the movement came easily with his strong lead. She almost seemed to float across the wooden floors, the rhythm of the music pulsing through their bodies. The crowds and the cameras around them faded away as they moved as one.

Soon other couples joined them on the dance floor and she didn’t feel so exposed. The people around her made her feel better about the prying eyes, but being in Gabriel’s arms was still a precarious place to be. The way he held her, the way he looked at her… The next two weeks were going to be a challenge to her patience and her self-control. Gabriel wanted more from her than just a makeover, and when he held her, she felt the same way. She never should’ve accepted the job, and she knew that now.

This was no teenage girl or Spanish businessman she was dealing with here. Gabriel Montoro was a sexy, rebellious handful and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to get in way over her head.

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