скачать книгу бесплатно
The Prince's Love-Child
Sharon Kendrick
DEAR READER LETTER
By Sharon Kendrick
Dear Reader (#ubde2bfc0-ad63-5ed2-ba60-0c34f30e9d78),
One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.
There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.
I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100
story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”
So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?
I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.
Love,
Sharon Kendrick
The Prince's Love-Child
Sharon Kendrick
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.
SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…
CONTENTS
Cover (#udf5097c7-1be1-5755-bd50-8e9807186c94)
Dear Reader
About the Author
Title page (#uc1201c22-e90a-5df2-9e44-8b32d596298a)
Dedication (#ud3eecf87-9f37-59f5-b386-5dc492f42210)
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
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ubde2bfc0-ad63-5ed2-ba60-0c34f30e9d78)
GUIDO glanced at his watch and a flicker of displeasure briefly spoiled the sensual perfection of his lips.
She was late!
But his irritation gave way to a soft smile as he anticipated the heady delights to come. Lucy could not be blamed for the lateness of her plane—indeed, she did not even know he was going to be there.
Guido found himself wondering what her reaction would be when she discovered that he was, for she was that rare species among women—someone who constantly surprised him.
His eyes flickered to the arrivals board. The plane had landed and soon the flight attendants would be making their way through to the lounge…
Guido was aware of being watched, and his brilliant eyes widened slightly as he saw a woman looking as if she would like to leap on him and devour him. Predictability was so tedious, he decided, turning his head to see the faintest flash of red-brown as a woman with glorious Titian hair sashayed towards the gate. Most of it was hidden beneath a chic little hat, worn at a jaunty angle, but the colour was enough to mark her out, as was the unconscious grace with which she moved.
She was dressed in a sleek navy uniform, her long legs encased in pale silk that he knew would be stockings, not pantyhose. Was it stockings which made a woman walk differently? Guido wondered. Did the feel of cool air on her thighs make her aware of her sexuality? Or was that just something inherent in Lucy’s nature?
No. She was a contrast—a maddening and exciting contrast of looks and attitude. Her hair was lit with fire, but her expression was cool, and she seemed oblivious to the men who stood to let her pass and then just carried on standing there, following the sexy sway of her hips with hungry eyes.
He felt the leaping of desire tensing his body but he didn’t move. She couldn’t yet see him, and he wanted to watch her reaction when she did…
Ahead of her, Lucy could see the jostle of crowds, and the air-conditioning was as cool as ice-water on her skin as she walked through the busy airport. This city held all kinds of associations for her—some good, and some just dangerously good. Hello, New York, she thought.
‘Are you coming straight back to the hotel?’ Kitty asked.
Lucy turned. Her fellow stewardess was applying a coat of lipstick without the use of a mirror, and Lucy made a silent gesture to indicate that she had smudged it. ‘Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Well, I wasn’t sure…’ Kitty gave a mischievous grin as she wiped away the errant trace of pink gloss. ‘Whether or not you’d be seeing your Prince.’
This emphasis on the word was commonplace, and Lucy had grown used to the teasing by now, even though at first she hadn’t quite known how to react. It had been a peculiar situation—not just for the rest of the cabin crew, but for her, too. Ordinary girls didn’t date princes! And yet it seemed that they did. In fact, they—
But her thoughts were frozen and her steps very nearly followed. Some governing sense of instinct kept her moving forward, forward…because for a minute there she had almost thought she’d seen Guido.
‘Isn’t that him?’ asked Kitty curiously, following the direction of Lucy’s stare.
Thank God they were far enough away for him not to be able to see that her face had grown pale. Or at least Lucy was imagining that it had grown pale—for surely there would have to be some physical manifestation of the dizzy sensation she was experiencing. As if all the blood had left her veins, leaving her limbs dry and ready to crumple. Keep walking, she told herself. Just keep walking.
‘It is!’ breathed Kitty. ‘Oh, my God—it’s him! He’s come to meet you! How romantic is that?’
Lucy let her brows slide up beneath the russet curtain of her fringe. ‘I don’t hear you sounding so surprised when other people’s boyfriends come to meet them,’ she observed drily.
‘That’s because other people don’t go out with princes,’ chided Kitty.
Lucy shook her head. ‘He’s just a man,’ she contradicted faintly, but she knew that her words lacked conviction.
Because he wasn’t.
She let her gaze drift over him as she walked towards the brilliant black eyes which had her spotlighted in their sight. Prince or no prince, he was the kind of man most women didn’t happen across—not even once in a lifetime.
There was something about the way he carried himself which drew the eye, something about an air of arrogant assurance coupled with a lazy kind of supremacy. Had royal blood and upbringing given him those qualities which seemed to make him stand head and shoulders above the crowd, or would he have had them anyway?
He was standing beside a pillar, half in the shadows, for she knew that he would have sought shelter from prying eyes. Guido had rejected princely life, but its legacy meant that he could never quite shake it off. People were fascinated by the title, but more usually they were fascinated by him—and who could blame them?
Over and over again Lucy had watched as they fawned over him and hung on his every word—men and women, but especially women. They drank in the dark, imposing looks, and the sexy, accented drawl, and the careless sensuality which came as naturally to him as breathing.
He was a man in a million—and Lucy still wasn’t quite sure what he saw in her. Sometimes she felt as though she was living in a bubble, and that one of these days it was going to burst and she would be left with the dull and rather stark reality of life without Guido.
Don’t make it into more than it is, she reminded herself savagely. A casual love affair—nothing more and nothing less. And if, by nature of who he is, he provides a fairytale aspect to the affair—then just enjoy it and don’t build it up.
Her half-smile staying in place as though it had been painted on, she waved a quick goodbye to Kitty and walked over to where he waited, a dark and brooding image in cool, expensive linen. The ecstatic clamour of her heart was deafening her, but she gave him a look as steady as any she would give to one of her passengers in First Class who was asking for a glass of champagne.
‘Hello, Guido,’ she said, in a low, clear voice. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here.’
He might have felt admiration if he hadn’t been overwhelmed by frustration. Did nothing affect her bar sex itself? For it was then—and only then—that she let go completely. Looking at the serene smile which seemed to make a mockery of her schoolgirl freckles, he found it hard to imagine her whispering his name, or screaming it, or shuddering with helpless, racking moans against his shoulder.
Guido felt the quickening of his heart, knowing that his instincts were fighting a battle with his reason. Had it not been her ice-coolness which had set her apart and made him determined to possess her? Had he somehow imagined that he would melt it away completely, leaving her in his thrall—like all the others—so that he could happily walk away?
‘Perhaps I would not have bothered if I had known you would give me such a lukewarm welcome,’ he parried silkily.
She saw the glitter from his black eyes—recognising now, as she had recognised from the very start, that here was a man who was used to lavish displays of affection and would be bored by them. So she had not given them. From an early age Lucy had learnt to do what people wanted—some might call it people-pleasing; she would define it as making sure she got on with folks.
‘So, what would you like me to do?’ she murmured. ‘Fling my arms around your neck and scream with delight?’
‘You can save that for later. In bed,’ he returned mockingly, and was rewarded with a faint flush of colour which crept over her pale, freckle-splattered skin.
A blush might be beyond her control, but the flashing light of challenge which sparked from her eyes was not. She lifted her chin and mocked him back. ‘Maybe I’m tired and need my sleep.’
‘And maybe you don’t.’ He lifted his hand to her face and slowly drifted a fingertip down over her flushed face, finishing with a deliberately erotic tracing of her lips, which made them tremble slightly and open. He wanted to bend his head to kiss them, but of course he didn’t.
He could just imagine the headlines. An erotic and public kiss in newspaper-speak meant only one thing—impending wedding bells.
But if he was cool, then Lucy was cooler still—and his eyes glittered as their gazes mingled.
‘Give me your bag,’ he said steadily. ‘I have the car waiting.’
She had played her part. The necessary part. Not thrown herself into his arms. Hardly even a shiver of pleasure when he had touched her—but enough was enough and Lucy wanted him. Badly. She let him take her small case and allowed herself the luxury of a smile.
‘Lovely. Are you driving?’
Lovely? Suddenly he was filled with the need to shatter her icy composure. ‘No,’ he said softly, as they made their way through the hall, oblivious to the curious glances they attracted. ‘I have a chauffeur hidden behind dark glass, so he will be unable to see when I begin to kiss you. The glass is soundproof, too—so that when your breathing begins to quicken as I put my hand up your skirt he will not hear it.’
Her mouth had dried unbearably. ‘Oh, Guido, don’t,’ she whispered.
He felt the exquisite hardness and knew that he must stop this. But not quite yet.
‘Nor will he notice when I slide your panties down and pull you onto my lap…’
‘Guido—’
‘Hard down onto my lap.’
‘G-Guido—’
He moved his lips to her ear, speaking in a silken whisper as he inhaled her fragrance. ‘And I will move you up and down, up and down—filling you completely, until you gasp—’
‘Guido!’ She was gasping now, her head light, her pulse-rate frantic.
He saw the way her steps had begun to falter, and he caught her by the arm just as a black limousine purred to a halt beside them. In French, he bit out some terse instructions to the driver, and then he propelled her onto the back seat, sliding in beside her and slamming the door shut behind them, imprisoning them in a luxurious, dimly-lit world of their own as he imprisoned her in the warm circle of his arms.
She was so hot with wanting that she could barely speak his name as he pushed her down onto the seat and her hat fell from her head. ‘Guido—’
But there was no reply other than the sweet pressure of his mouth as he began to kiss her, transporting her to that place where nothing mattered other than the feel and taste and smell and touch of him. She threaded her fingers luxuriously in the rich ebony satin of his hair and moved her body restlessly against his. And froze in excited horror as she felt his hand on her knee and remembered his words.
Surely he didn’t mean to—?
But he was moving his hand, and she was writhing in response to the direction it was taking, her hips belying the words which she forced herself to say.
‘No, we can’t,’ she protested, her voice slurred with wanting. ‘We mustn’t. Not here.’
‘Why not? The thought of it turned you on. You know it did.’ He touched her above the stocking-top, where the bare flesh was a tantalising contrast of cool silk with warm blood pulsing beneath. ‘I could read it in your eyes.’
‘It may…Oh, God…’ Her eyes closed and her head fell back against the soft leather upholstery as his fingertips skated tantalisingly close to where heat seared at her so frustratingly. ‘It…it may have turned me on. It doesn’t mean it’s right.’
