A Bride For The Playboy Prince: The perfect royal romance to celebrate Harry and Meghan’s wedding

But then he noticed something else. The dark shadows which were smudged beneath her eyes and the faint pinching of her lips. She looked like a woman who was short on sleep and long on worry.

Why?

He met question in her eyes. ‘I’m often in this part of town and it seemed crazy not to come in and say hello.’

‘So now you have.’

‘Now I have,’ he agreed as his mind took him off on a more dangerous tangent. He found himself remembering the silken texture of her thighs and the way he had trailed slow kisses over them. The rosy flush which used to flower above her breasts as she shuddered out her orgasm. And he wondered why he was torturing himself with memories which had kick-started his libido so that he could barely think straight.

His mouth hardened. Soon his life would follow a predictable pattern which was inevitable if you were born with royal blood. Yet some trace of the man he would never be called out to him now with a siren voice—and that siren’s name was Lisa Bailey. For this was the woman who had fulfilled him on almost every level. Who had never imposed her will on him or made demands on him as so many women tried to. Was that why the sex had been so incredible—because she had made him feel so free?

And suddenly the self-imposed hunger of his two celibate years gnawed at his senses. An appetite so long denied now threatened to overwhelm him and he didn’t feel inclined to stop it. What harm could there be in one final sweet encounter before he embraced his new life and all the responsibilities which came with it? Wouldn’t that rid him of this woman’s lingering memory once and for all?

‘I’ve just flown in from the States and I’m here for a party this weekend,’ he said. ‘And on Monday I leave for Mardovia.’

‘This is all very fascinating, Luc,’ she observed drily. ‘But I fail to see what any of this has to do with me.’

Luc gave a short laugh, for nobody had ever spoken to him as candidly as Lisa—nor regarded him quite so unflinchingly. And wasn’t that one of the things which had always intrigued him about her—that she was so damned enigmatic? No dramatic stream of emotion ever crossed her pale face. Her features were as cool as if they had been carved from marble. The only time that serene look had ever slipped was when he’d been making love to her and it was then that her defences had melted. He’d liked making her scream and call out his name. He’d liked the way she gasped as he drove deep inside her.

He smiled now, enjoying the familiar lick of sexual frisson between them. ‘And I thought I might ask you a favour,’ he said.

‘Me?’

‘Well, we’re old friends, aren’t we?’ He saw her pupils dilate in surprise and wondered how she would respond if he came right out and told her what was playing in his head.

I want to have sex with you one last time so that I can forget you. I want to bend my lips to those magnificent nipples and lick them until you are squirming. I want to guide myself into your tight heat and ride you until all my passion is spent.

His pulse pounded loudly in his ears. ‘And isn’t that what old friends do—ask each other favours?’ he murmured.

‘I guess so,’ she said, her voice uncertain, as if she was having trouble associating their relationship with the word friendship.

‘I need a date,’ he explained. ‘Someone to take to a fancy wedding with me. Not the ceremony itself—for those I avoid whenever possible—but the evening reception afterwards.’

Now he had a reaction.

‘Oh, come on, Luc,’ she said quietly. ‘You need a date? You of all people? I can’t believe you’re revisiting an old lover when there must be so many new ones out there. There must be women lining up around the block to go out with you—unless something is radically different and you’ve had a complete personality change.’

He gave an answering smile and wondered what she would say if she knew the truth. ‘I cannot deny that there are any number of women who would happily accompany me,’ he said. ‘But none of them entice me sufficiently enough to take them.’

‘So why not go on your own?’

‘Unfortunately, it is not quite that simple.’ He glanced out of the window, where he could see the shadowy shapes of his bodyguards standing beside one of the waiting limousines. ‘If I turn up without a woman, that will leave me in a somewhat vulnerable position.’

‘You? Vulnerable?’ She gave a little snort of a laugh. ‘You’re about as vulnerable as a Siberian tiger!’

‘An interesting metaphor,’ he mused. ‘Since, in my experience, weddings are a prime hunting ground for women.’

‘Hunting ground?’ she repeated, as if she’d misheard him.

‘I’m afraid so.’ He gave an unapologetic shrug. ‘Some women see the bride and want to be her and so they look around to find the most suitable candidate for themselves.’

Her eyebrows arched. ‘You being the most suitable candidate, I suppose?’

Luc looked at the tendril of hair still lying against her pale cheek and wanted to curl it around his finger. He wanted to use it like a rope and pull her towards him until their lips were mere inches apart. And then he wanted to kiss her. He shifted his weight a little. ‘I’m afraid that being a prince does rather put me in that category—certainly amongst some women.’

‘But you think you’d be safe with me?’

‘Of course I would.’ He paused. ‘Our relationship was over a long time ago, and even when it was in full swing neither of us was under any illusion that there was any kind of future in it. You were probably the only woman who truly understood that. You can protect me from the inevitable predators.’ He smiled. ‘And it might be fun to spend the evening together. Because we know each other well enough to be comfortable around each other, don’t we, Lisa?’

Lisa looked at him. Comfortable? Was he insane? Didn’t he realise that her pulse had been hammering like a piston ever since he’d stepped inside the shop? That her breasts were so swollen that it felt as if she’d suddenly gone up a bra size? Slowly, she drew in a deep breath. ‘I think it’s a bad idea,’ she said flatly. ‘A very bad idea. And now if you don’t mind—I’m about to shut up shop.’

She walked over to the door and turned the sign to Closed and it was only afterwards that she wondered if it was that gesture of finality which suddenly prompted him to try a different approach, because Luc was nothing if not persistent. Because suddenly, he began to prowl around the shop like a caged tiger. Walking over to one of the rails, he slowly ran his fingertips along the line of silk dresses, a thoughtful expression on his face as he turned around to look at her.

‘Your shop seems remarkably quiet for what should be a busy weekday afternoon,’ he observed.

She tried not to look defensive. To replicate the same cool expression he was directing at her. ‘And your point is?’

‘My point is that a society wedding would provide an excellent opportunity for you to showcase your talent.’ His blue eyes glittered. ‘There will be plenty of influential people there. You could wear one of your own designs and dazzle the other guests—isn’t that how it works? Play your cards right and I’m sure you could pick up a whole lot of new customers.’

And now Lisa really was tempted, because business hadn’t been great. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement. Business had taken a serious dive, and she wasn’t sure if it was down to the dodgy state of the economy or the more frightening possibility that her clothes had simply gone out of fashion. She’d found herself looking gloomily at magazines which featured dresses which looked a lot like hers—only for a quarter of the price. True, most of the cheaper outfits were made from viscose rather than silk, but lately she’d started wondering if women really cared about that sort of thing any more.

She kept telling herself that the dip in her profits was seasonal—a summer slump which would soon pick up with the new autumn collection, and she prayed it would. Because she had responsibilities now—big ones—which were eating into her bank account like a swarm of locusts rampaging through a field of maize. She thought about Brittany, her beloved little sister. Brittany, who’d flunked college and become a mother to the adorable Tamsin. Brittany, who was under the dominating rule of Jason, Tamsin’s father. Lisa helped out where she could, but she didn’t have a bottomless purse and the indisputable fact was that Jason wasn’t over-keen on earning money if it involved setting the alarm clock every day. Just as he seemed to have a roving eye whenever any female strayed into his line of vision. But Brittany trusted him, or so she kept saying.

A bitter taste came into Lisa’s mouth. Trust. Was there a man alive who could be trusted—and why on earth would any woman ever want to take the risk?

‘So pleased you’re giving my proposal some serious consideration,’ Luc said, his sardonic observation breaking into her thoughts. ‘Though I must say that women don’t usually take quite so long to respond to an invitation to go out with me.’

‘I’m sure they don’t.’

‘Though maybe they would if they realised how much a man enjoys being kept guessing,’ he added softly. ‘If they knew just how irresistible the unpredictable can be.’

Lisa looked at him. Instinct was telling her to refuse but the voice of common sense was suddenly stronger. It was urging her to stop acting as if millions of offers like this came her way. She thought about the kind of wedding someone like Luc would be attending and all the upmarket guests who would be there. Women with the kind of money who could afford her dresses. Women who wouldn’t dream of wearing viscose. Surely she’d be crazy to pass up such an opportunity—even if it meant spending the evening with a man who symbolised nothing but danger. She swallowed. And excitement, of course. She mustn’t forget that. But she could resist him. She had resisted him once and she could do it again.

‘Who’s getting married?’ she questioned carelessly.

He failed to hide his triumphant smile. ‘A man named Conall Devlin.’

‘The Irish property tycoon?’

‘You’ve heard of him?’

‘Hasn’t everyone? I read the papers like everyone else.’

‘He’s marrying a woman named Amber Carter.’

Lisa nodded. Yes. She’d seen pictures of Amber Carter, too—a stunning brunette and the daughter of some industrial magnate. Someone like that would be unbelievably well connected, with friends who might be interested in buying a Lisa Bailey dress. And mightn’t this wedding serve another purpose at the same time? Mightn’t it get Luc out of her system once and for all if she spent some time with him? Banish some of her dreamy recollections and reinforce some of the other reasons why she’d finished with him. It would do her good to remember his fundamental arrogance and inbuilt need to control. And while she had shared his bed for a while, she realised she didn’t really know him.

Because Luc hadn’t wanted anything deeper—she’d understood that right from the start. He’d made it clear that the personal was taboo and the reason for that was simple. He was a royal prince who could never get close to a foreigner. So there had been no secrets shared. No access to his innermost thoughts just because they’d been sleeping together. He’d said it would be a waste of their time and make their parting all the more difficult if they became more intimate than they needed to be. She had understood and she had agreed, because her own agenda had been the same—if for different reasons—and she had also been determined not to get too close. Not to him. Not to anyone. And so they had just lived in the present—a glorious present which had been all about pleasure and little else.

She returned his questioning look. ‘Where is this wedding happening?’

‘At Conall’s country house at Crewhurst, this Saturday. It’s only just over an hour out of London.’

She looked directly into his eyes. ‘So it would be possible to get there and back in an evening?’

He held her gaze and she wondered if she’d imagined another flicker of triumph in his smile. ‘Of course it would,’ he said.

CHAPTER TWO

WHY THE HELL was she here? Lisa’s fingers tightened around her clutch bag. Alone in a car with the handsome Prince as they approached a stately mansion which was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Had she been crazy to accompany Luc to the A-list wedding of two complete strangers? Especially when she wasn’t even sure about his motives for asking her. And meanwhile her own motives were becoming increasingly muddled. She was supposed to be concentrating on drumming up new business, yet during a journey which had been short on words but high on tension, all she’d been able to think about was how gorgeous Luc looked in a dark suit which hugged his powerful body and emphasised the deep olive glow of his skin.

The summer sky was not yet dark but already the flaming torches lining the driveway had been lit—sending golden flames sparking into the air and giving the wedding party a carnival feel. On an adjacent field Lisa could see a carousel and nearby a striped hut was dispensing sticks of candyfloss and boxes of popcorn. A smooth lawn lay before them—a darkening sweep of emerald, edged with flowers whose pale colours could still be seen in the fading light.

It looked like a fairy tale, Lisa thought. Like every woman’s vision of how the perfect wedding should be. And you’re not going to buy into that. Because she knew the reality of marriage. She’d witnessed her stepfather crushing her mother’s spirit, like a snail being crushed beneath a heavy boot. And even though they weren’t even married, she’d seen Brittany being influenced by Jason’s smooth banter, which had changed into a steely control once Britt had given birth to Tamsin. Lisa’s lips compressed into a determined line. And that was never going to happen to her. She was never going to be some man’s tame pet.

A valet opened the car door and out she got. One of her high-heeled sandals wobbled as she stepped onto the gravel path, and as Luc put out his hand to steady her Lisa felt an instant rush of desire. Why was it still like this? she wondered despairingly as her nipples began to harden beneath her silky dress. Why could no other man ever make her feel a fraction of what she felt for the Prince? She looked into his eyes and caught what looked like a gleam of comprehension and she wondered if he could guess at the thoughts which were racing through her head. Did he realise she was achingly aware of her body through the delicate fabric as she wondered whether he was still turned on by a woman with curves...?

‘Look. Here comes the bride,’ he said softly.

Lisa turned to see a woman running towards them, the skirt of her white dress brushing against the grass, a garland of fresh flowers on top of her long, dark hair.

‘Your Royal Highness!’ she exclaimed, dropping a graceful curtsey. ‘I’m so happy you were able to make it.’

‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ answered Luc. ‘Amber, do you know Lisa Bailey—the designer? Lisa, this is the brand-new Mrs Devlin.’

‘No.’ The bride shook her head and smiled. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met. I’ve heard of you, of course—and your dress is gorgeous.’

Lisa smiled back. ‘So is yours.’

She was introduced to Amber’s new husband Conall—a tall and striking Irishman, who could barely tear his eyes away from his wife.

‘We’re not having a formal dinner,’ Amber was saying, her fingers lacing with those of her groom as they shot each other a look which suggested they couldn’t wait to be alone. ‘We thought it much better if people could just please themselves. Have fun and mingle. Ride on the carousel, or dance and eat hot dogs. You must let me get you and Lisa a drink, Your Highness.’

But Luc gave a careless wave of his hand. ‘No, please. No formality. Not tonight,’ he said. ‘Tonight I am simply Luc. I shall fetch the drinks myself, which we will enjoy in this beautiful garden of yours, and then I think we might dance.’ His eyes glittered as he turned his head. ‘Does that idea appeal to you, chérie?’

Lisa’s heart smashed against her ribcage as his sapphire gaze burnt over her skin and the unexpected French endearment reminded her of things she would prefer to forget. Like the way he used to slide her panties down until she would almost be pleading with him to rip them off—and his arrogant smile just before he did exactly that. But those kinds of thoughts were dangerous. Much. Too. Dangerous.

‘I like the sound of looking round the garden,’ she said. ‘Not having any outside space is one of the drawbacks of living in London, and this is exquisite.’

‘Thanks,’ said Amber happily. ‘And, Luc, you must look out for my brother Rafe, who’s over from Australia and prowling around somewhere. I thought you might like to talk diamonds and gold with him.’

‘Of course,’ said Luc, removing two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress and handing one to Lisa. But he barely noticed the newly-weds walk away because all he could focus on was the woman beside him. She looked... He took a mouthful of the fizzy wine, which did nothing to ease the dryness in his throat. She looked sensational, in a silvery dress that made her resemble a gleaming fish—the kind which always slipped away, just when you thought you might have captured it. Her shoulders were tense and she was sipping her champagne, determinedly looking everywhere except in his direction.

With a hot rush of hunger he found himself wanting to reacquaint himself with that magnificent body. To press himself up against her. To jerk his hips—hard—and to lose himself inside her as he had done so many times before. He swallowed. Would it be so wrong to sow the last of his wild oats in one glorious finale, before taking up the mantle of duty and marriage which awaited him?

They moved before he had time to answer his own question, making their way across a lawn washed deep crimson by the setting sun where many of the other guests stood talking in small groups. Some of these Luc recognised instantly, for Conall moved in similarly powerful circles. There were the Irish Ambassador and several politicians, including an Englishman rumoured to be the next-but-one Prime Minister. There was a Russian oil baron and a Greek hotel magnate, and Conall’s assistant, Serena, came over with Rafe Carter, the bride’s brother—and somehow, in the midst of all the introductions, Lisa slipped away from him.

Yet even though she wasn’t next to him, Luc knew exactly where she was as he went through the mechanics of being a dutiful guest. He accepted a bite-sized canapé from a passing waitress and popped it into his mouth, the salty caviar exploding against his tongue. It was an unusual situation—for him to be doing the watching, rather than for a woman’s eyes to be fixed jealously on him. But she seemed completely oblivious to his presence as she chatted to a clutch of trust-fund babes.

He watched her long curls shimmering down over her tiny frame as she laughed at something one of the women said. He saw a man wander up to the group and say something to her, and Luc’s body grew rigid with an unexpected sense of possessiveness.

And suddenly he wanted to be alone with her. He didn’t want small talk—or, even worse, to get stuck with someone who was hell-bent on having a serious conversation about his island principality. He didn’t want to discuss Mardovia’s recent elevation to join the ranks of the world’s ten most wealthy islands, or to answer any questions about his new trade agreement with the United States. And he certainly didn’t want one of Hollywood’s hottest actresses asking quite blatantly whether he wanted her telephone number. Actually, she didn’t really put him in a position to refuse—she just fished an embellished little card from her handbag and handed it over, with a husky entreaty that he call her...soon. Not wanting to appear rude and intending to dispose of it at the earliest opportunity, Luc slipped the card into his jacket pocket before excusing himself and walking over to where Lisa stood.

There was a ripple of interest as he approached, but he pre-empted the inevitable introductions by injecting an imperious note into his voice. ‘Let’s go and explore,’ he said, taking her half-drunk champagne from her and depositing their glasses on a nearby table. ‘I can hear music playing and I want to dance with you.’

Lisa felt a flicker of frustration as he took her drink away, wondering why his suggestions always sounded like commands. Because he was a prince, that was why, and he had spent his entire life telling people what to do. Not only was he interrupting her subtle sales pitch, he also wanted to dance with her—an idea which filled her with both excitement and dread. She knew she should refuse, but what could she say? Sorry, Luc. I’m terrified you’re going to hit on me and I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist.

The trouble was that everyone was looking at her and the other women weren’t even bothering to hide their envy. Or maybe it was disbelief that such an eligible man wanted to dance with a too-small brunette with an overdeveloped pair of breasts. She wanted to make a break for it, to run towards that copse of trees at the end of the lawn and to lose herself in their darkness. But she hid her insecurity behind the serene mask she’d perfected when her mother had married her stepfather and overnight their world had changed. When she’d learnt never to let people know what you were thinking. It was the first lesson in survival. Act weak and people treated you like a weakling. Act strong and they didn’t.

‘Okay,’ she said carelessly. ‘Why not?’

‘Not the most enthusiastic response I’ve ever received,’ he murmured as they moved out of earshot. ‘Do you get some kind of kick from making me wait?’

Her eyes widened. ‘Why? Is it mandatory to answer immediately when spoken to by the Prince?’ she mocked.

He smiled. ‘Something like that.’

‘So why don’t you just enjoy the novelty of such an experience?’

‘I’m trying.’

‘Try harder, Luc.’

He laughed as they walked across the grass to the terrace and up a flight of marble steps leading into the ballroom, from where the sultry sound of jazz filtered out into the warm night air. Lisa’s chest was tight as Luc led her onto a quiet section of the dance floor, and as he drew her into his arms she was conscious of the power in his muscular body and the subtle scent of bergamot which clung to his warm skin.

It was hard not to be overwhelmed by his proximity and impossible to prevent the inevitable assault on her senses. This close he was all too real and her body began to stir in response to him. That pins-and-needles feeling spiking over her nipples. That melting tug of heat between her thighs. What chance did she have when he was holding her like this? I haven’t danced with a man in a long time, she realised—and the irony was that she’d never actually danced with Luc before. He’d never taken her to a party and held her in his arms like this because their affair had been conducted beneath the radar. And suddenly she could understand why. The hard thrust of his pelvis was achingly evocative as it brushed against her. Dancing was dangerous, she thought. It allowed their bodies to be indecently close in a public place and she guessed that Conall’s tight security was the only reason Luc was okay with that. Anywhere else and people would have been fishing out their cell phones to capture the moment on camera.

Yet somehow, despite her misgivings, she couldn’t help but enjoy the dance—at least up to the point where her throat suddenly constricted and her breathing began to grow shallow and unsteady. Had he pulled her closer? Was that why the tips of her breasts were suddenly pushing so insistently against his chest? And if she could feel her nipples hardening, maybe so could he.

‘You seem tense,’ he observed.

She moved her shoulders awkwardly. ‘Are you surprised?’

‘You don’t like dancing? Or is being this close to me again unsettling you?’

Lisa drew her head back to meet the indefinable expression in his eyes. ‘A little,’ she admitted.

‘Me, too.’

She pursed her lips together, wishing she could control the thundering of her heart. ‘But you must get to dance with hundreds of women.’