CHAPTER ONE
‘FI?’
Hester Moss heard the front door slam and froze.
‘Fifi? Damn it, where the hell are you?’
Fifi?
Hester gaped as it dawned on her just who the owner of that voice was. As Princess Fiorella’s assistant while she was studying in Boston, Hester had met a few of the important people the Princess consorted with, but she’d been in the Princess’s brother’s presence only once. That one time there’d been many present and she certainly hadn’t spoken to him. But, like everyone, she knew he was outrageous, arrogant and entitled. Not surprising given he ruled the stunning Mediterranean island kingdom that was the world’s favourite playground.
She’d had no idea he was coming to visit his sister. It wasn’t in the immaculate schedule she kept for the Princess, nor in any correspondence. Surely it would have been all in caps, bold, underlined and highlighted if it had been planned? Perhaps he was trying to fly beneath the radar—after all, he attracted huge publicity wherever he went. But if that were the case, why was he shouting?
‘Fifi?’
No one spoke with such familiarity to the Princess, or with such audible impatience. For a split second Hester considered staying silent and hiding, but she suspected it was only a matter of seconds before he stormed into her bedroom. With a cautious glance at the corner Hester sped to the door and quickly stepped out into their living room.
And there he was. Prince Alek Salustri of Triscari, currently turning the lounge she and the Princess shared into a Lilliputian-sized container—one that was far too small to hold a man like him. Not just a prince. Not just powerful. He was lithe, honed perfection and for a moment all Hester could do was stare—inhaling the way his jet-black suit covered his lean muscled frame. The black shirt beneath the superbly tailored jacket was teamed with a sleek, matte-black tie and he held his dark-lensed aviator sunglasses in his hand, totally exuding impatience and danger. It was more than the bespoke clothing and luxurious style. He was so at ease in his place in the world—monstrously self-assured and confident because he just owned it. Everything. Except right now?
He was angry. The moment his coal-black gaze landed on her, he grew angrier still.
‘Oh.’ His frown slipped from surly all the way down to thunderous. ‘You’re the secretary.’
Not for the first time Hester found herself in the position of not being who or what had been hoped for. But she was too practised at masking emotion to flinch. No matter what, she never let anyone see they’d struck a nerve. And being the source of irritation for a spoilt playboy prince? Didn’t bother her in the least.
‘Your Highness.’ She nodded, but her knees had locked too tight to perform a curtsey. ‘Unfortunately Princess Fiorella isn
’t here.’
‘I can see that.’ He ground his teeth. ‘Where is she?’
She kept her hands at her sides, refusing to curl them into fists and reveal any anxiety. It was her job to protect Princess Fiorella from unwanted interruption, only Prince Alek wasn’t just higher up the ladder than most of the people she shielded the Princess from, he was at the very top. The apex predator himself.
‘At a bio lab,’ Hester drew breath and answered. ‘She should be back in about half an hour unless she decides to go for a coffee instead of coming back here right away.’
‘Damn.’ Another stormy emotion flashed across his face and he turned to pace across the room. ‘She’s with people?’
Hester nodded.
‘And no phone?’
‘Her bodyguard has one but the Princess prefers to be able to concentrate in class without interruption. Would you like me to message—?’
‘No,’ he snapped. ‘I need to see her alone. I’ll wait for her here.’
He still looked so fierce that Hester was tempted to send a quick message regardless. Except blatantly disobeying his order didn’t seem wise.
She watched warily as he paced, brusquely sidestepping Hester’s scrupulously clean desk.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ She was annoyed with how nervous her query sounded. She was never nervous dealing with Princess Fiorella. But she wasn’t quite sure how to handle this man. Any man, actually.
He paused and regarded her, seeming to see her properly for the first time. She stared back, acutely aware of his coal-black bottomless gaze. Whether those beautiful eyes were soulful or soulless, she wasn’t sure. She only knew she couldn’t tear her own away.
With slow-dawning horror she realised the inanity of her question. As if she could ever help him? He was Prince Alek—the Prince of Night, of Sin...of Scandal.
His phone buzzed and he answered it impatiently. ‘I’ve already said no,’ he snapped after a moment.
Even from across the room Hester heard the pleading tones of someone remonstrating.
‘I will not do that,’ the Prince said firmly. ‘I’ve already stated there will be no damn marriage. I have no desire to—’ He broke off and looked grim as he listened. ‘Then we will find another way. I will not—’ He broke off again with a smothered curse and then launched into a volley of Italian.
Hester stared at the top of her desk and wished she could disappear. Clearly he wasn’t concerned enough by her presence to bother remaining polite or care that she could hear him berating the ancient laws of his own lands.
The world had been waiting for him to be crowned since his father’s death ten months ago, but he hadn’t because ‘Playboy Prince Alek’ had so far shown little interest in acquiring the wife necessary for his coronation to occur. None of those billion Ten Best Possible Brides lists scattered across the world’s media had apparently inspired him. Nor had the growing impatience of his people.
Perhaps he’d been taking time to get over his father’s passing. Hester had seen Princess Fiorella’s bereft grief and had tried to alleviate any stresses on the younger woman as best she could because she knew how devastating and how incredibly isolating it was to become an orphan. She’d been pleased to see the Princess had begun spending more time with friends recently. But Prince Alek hadn’t retreated from his social life—in fact he’d accelerated it. In the last month he’d been photographed with a different woman every other night as if he were flaunting his refusal to do as that old law decreed and settle down.
Now the Prince growled and shoved his phone back into his pocket, turning to face her. As she desperately tried to think of something innocuous to say a muffled thud echoed from the bedroom she’d stepped out of. Hester maintained her dispassionate expression but it was too much to hope he hadn’t heard it.
‘What was that?’ He cocked his head, looking just like that predator whose acute hearing had picked up the unmistakable sounds of nearby prey. ‘Why won’t you let me into her room?’
‘Nothing—’
‘I’m her brother. What are you hiding? Is she in there with a man or something?’
Before she could move, the Prince strode past her and opened the door as if he owned the place.
‘Of course you would think that,’ she muttered crossly, running after him.
He’d halted just inside the doorway. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘A terrified cat, no thanks to you.’ She pushed past him and carefully crept forward so as not to frighten the hissing half-wild thing any more than it already was.
‘What’s it doing in here?’
‘Having dinner.’ She gingerly picked it up and opened the window. ‘Or at least, it was.’
‘I can’t believe Fi owns that cat.’ He stared at the creature with curling cynicism. ‘Not exactly a thoroughbred Prussian Blue, is she?’
Hester’s anger smoked. Of course he wouldn’t see past the exterior of the grey and greyer, mangled-eared, all but feral cat. ‘He might not be handsome, but he’s lonely and vulnerable. He eats in here every day.’ She set him down on the narrow ledge.
‘How on earth does he get down?’ He walked to the window and watched beside her as the cat carefully climbed down to the last available fire escape rung before practically flying the last ten feet to the ground. ‘Impressive.’
‘He knows how to survive.’ But as Hester glared at the Prince her nose tingled. She blinked rapidly but couldn’t hold back her usual reaction.
‘Did you just sneeze?’ Prince Alek turned that unfathomable stare on her. ‘Are you allergic to cats?’
‘Well, why should he starve just because I’m a bad fit for him?’ She plucked a tissue from the packet on the bedside table and blew her nose pointedly.
But apparently the Prince had lost interest already, because he was now studying the narrow bedroom with a scowl.
‘I’d no idea Fi read so many thrillers.’ He picked up the tome next to the tissues. ‘I thought she was all animals. And how does she even move in this space?’
Hester awkwardly watched, trying to see the room through his eyes. A narrow white box with a narrow white bed. A neat pile of books. An occasional cat. A complete cliché.
‘Where’s she put all her stuff?’ He frowned, running a finger over the small wooden box that was the only decorative item in the room.
Hester stilled and faced the wretched moment. ‘This isn’t Princess Fiorella’s bedroom.’ She gritted her teeth for a second and then continued. ‘It’s mine.’
He froze then shot her a look of fury and chagrin combined, snatching his finger from tracing the carved grooves in the lid of the box. ‘Why didn’t you say so sooner?’
‘You stormed in here before I had the chance. I guess you’re used to doing anything you want,’ she snapped, embarrassed by the invasion of privacy and her own failure to speak up sooner.
But then she realised what she’d said and she couldn’t suck it back. She clasped her hands in front of her but kept her head high and her features calm.
Never show them you’re afraid.
She’d learned long ago how to act around people with power over her, how to behave in the hope bullies would get bored and leave her alone. With stillness and calm—on the outside at least.
Prince Alek stared at her for a long moment in stunned silence. But then his expression transformed, a low rumble of laughter sounded and suddenly Hester was the one stunned.
Dimples. On a grown man. And they were gorgeous.
Her jaw dropped as his mood flipped from frustrated to good-humoured in a lightning flash.
‘You think I’m spoilt?’ he asked as his laughter ebbed.
‘Aren’t you?’ she answered before thinking.
His smile was everything. A wide slash across that perfect face that somehow elevated it beyond angelically beautiful, to
warm and human. Even with those perfectly straight white teeth he looked roguish. That twist of his full lips was a touch lopsided and the cute creases in his cheeks appearing and disappearing like a playful cupid’s wink.
‘I wouldn’t think that being forced to find a bride is in the definition of being spoiled,’ he said lazily.
‘You mean for your coronation?’ She could hardly pretend not to know about it when she’d overheard half that phone call.
‘Yes. My coronation,’ he echoed dryly, leaving her room with that leisurely, relaxed manner that belied the speed and strength of him. ‘They won’t change that stupid law.’
‘Are you finding the democratic process a bitter pill to swallow?’ she asked, oddly pleased that the man didn’t get everything his own way. ‘Won’t all the old boys do what you want them to?’
He turned to stare at her coolly, the dimples dispelled, but she gazed back limpidly.
‘It’s an archaic law,’ he said quietly. ‘It ought to have been changed years ago.’
‘It’s tradition,’ she replied, walking past him into the centre of the too-small living room. ‘Perhaps there’s something appealing about stability.’
‘Stability?’
There was something impish in his echo that caused her to swiftly glance back. She caught him eyeing her rear end. A startling wave of heat rose within—exasperating her. She knew he wasn’t interested, he was just so highly sexed he couldn’t help himself assessing any passing woman. Her just-smoking anger sizzled.
‘Of having a monarch who’s not distracted and chasing skirt all the time,’ she said pointedly.
His lips curled. ‘Not all the time. I like to rest on Thursdays.’ He leaned against the doorframe to her bedroom.
‘So it’s a rest day today?’
‘Of course.’ His gaze glanced down her body in a swift assessment but then returned to her face and all trace of humour was gone. ‘Do you truly think it’s okay to force someone to get married before they can do the job they’ve spent their life training for?’