The Irresistible Prince

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“On the contrary, it’s perfectly logical, Your Highness,” she countered calmly. “I’m not asking you to renounce the throne or anything. Just to do without your title for a while. Tell me, do you have a surname? I’ve only ever heard you referred to as Prince Lucas.”

He was still looking at her as if she had taken leave of her good sense. “It’s Hansson. By custom it is not used.”

“Good,” she said. “You can be here as Luke Hansson, ordinary man, instead of as Prince Lucas, ruler of the Constellation Isles and wife hunter.”

“But being a prince is who I am,” he pointed out.

“A part of who you are. You’re also a man, a man who says he’s looking for an ordinary, small-town woman. I say she’ll be easier to find if you get rid of the trappings of royalty.”

“But—”

“Trust me, your odds of success will greatly increase. It will scare off the prince groupies, and it will ensure that women act like themselves around you.”

He thought about that. Bizarre as it seemed, what she was saying made sense. Personal experience confirmed that when it came to marrying a prince, a woman would say or do or promise or pretend just about anything.

“Doing it this way will also save time,” she added. “It will allow us to dispense with a lot of formalities. That deadline of yours is awfully tight.”

Didn’t he know it. That was the kicker. “I’ll have to think about it,” he heard himself say.

He went down the steps to the wine cellar. What was he saying? Think about it! His intellect told him he’d have to be insane even to consider it. But the lesson he’d learned the hard way told him otherwise.

He was still thinking when he returned to the kitchen with the bottle he had chosen. Glad to have something to do with his hands, he opened it up and filled two glasses. Annah turned around from the stove as he carried them over, her cheeks flushed from cooking, and for a moment he felt an odd thrill of warmth that he couldn’t quite attribute to the fire.

“Dinner is—”

“Something smells—”

They both stopped and smiled at each other. Even that slight stretching of his cheeks under his beard felt unfamiliar, making him realize how little he had done that lately.

“Delicious,” he finished.

“Want to see whether it tastes as good as it smells?” she asked, holding up a spoonful of some kind of stew to his lips. He was genuinely taken aback. None of the chefs on his staff would ever dream of taking such an outrageous liberty with him, even if he had given them the opportunity by being in the kitchen. When he opened his mouth to demur, she popped the spoon inside.

He had commanded his own utensils since he had first been able. The last time anyone had spoon-fed him anything was far beyond his memory. He was her captive, standing there with a wineglass in each hand. A sensual shiver ran through him as she pulled the spoon back out, slowly, as if the better to let him savor the taste of the food. It tasted like a spoonful of heaven—with a generous helping of the fires of hell thrown in.

With a forbearance that was second nature to him, he handed her a glass of wine and lifted his own in salute. While she returned the gesture and took a sip, he took a healthy swig of his.

She noticed. “Uh-oh. Is the chili too spicy?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he said, which would have been the polite response that a formal dinner guest who had the audacity to ask such a question would have gotten from him. But to her he added, “Not if one had been forewarned that it was chili.”

Her eyes and mouth went round. “I’m so sorry! I thought you knew. No wonder you looked...taken by surprise.”

Too much about this woman surprised him, Lucas decided as they took their seats at the big table. He had met people the world over, from all walks of life, but he had never met anyone quite like her before.

“Want some shredded cheese to go with that chili?” she asked him, interrupting his thoughts.

He looked down at the steaming bowl that she had placed on the table in front of him. “Yes, thank you,” he said. She passed the cheese to him and started in on her salad, looking as if enjoying this meal was the only thing she had on her mind.

His mind was on other things, but he did notice when her glass was empty. Remembering that he was the host, he poured for her and asked, “Is there anything else you want?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I want to know how you like the chili,” she said, gesturing toward the food that he had forgotten. In the flickering light of the fire, he saw that a teasing smile played across those luscious lips of hers. “I really do. It’s a new recipe.”

“And I’m your guinea pig,” he said dryly. He took a spoonful of chili, ready for the bite this time. He took his time chewing and swallowing, aware that she was looking at him expectantly. It was good—rich and flavorful. “I like it,” he said.

She seemed pleased. “So the recipe’s a keeper?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I think so, too. Chili is bound to be a big seller at lunchtime, especially this time of year.”

He turned his attention back to his chili. It really did have just the right amount of oomph. He preferred it to most of the dainty delicacies that the palace chefs served. It was hot and hearty, a real man’s dish. If Annah served this up along with her sweet smile at lunchtime, her tiny little coffee shop would be packed.

As if on cue, she took his empty bowl away, ladled it full and set it down in front of him again. He looked down at it, then back at her. “I didn’t ask for a refill.”

“I know,” she said with a smile. “But you wanted one, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?” he asked, starting to dig in. “Do all of us ordinary guys want seconds?”

Annah laughed. She toyed with the stern of her wineglass while he finished eating. “It’s nice to know you have a sense of humor, Your Highness,” she said. “It will come in handy for my plan.”

“I haven’t agreed to it yet.”

“Well, while you’re thinking about it, why don’t you give me a little better idea of what you’re looking for in a bride?”

Fair enough. And very simple. “I’m looking for compatibility,” he said. “I want a woman I have enough in common with to share my life with, someone who wants what I want.”

“Go on,” Annah said encouragingly, pleased at how he was opening up. As he talked, the bond that she had first felt that afternoon seemed to strengthen. “Is there anything specific that is important to you?”

He answered without hesitation. “Above all, she has to love children and want to have them.”

Annah felt each word fall on her heart like a hammer stroke. Reminding herself that she had asked for this by getting involved didn’t soften the blows.

At her silence he went on to clarify. “I’m not talking about procreating to fulfill the duty of providing heirs for the succession to the throne. What I really want is a woman who will be a good and loving mother to our children,” he said softly. “That’s the most important thing of all.”

Lucas looked away abruptly, this unaccustomed confession leaving him feeling as if he had just run a marathon. He took a sip of wine and steeled himself for more, but surprisingly she didn’t follow up with another question. He looked over, only to see her gazing into the fire, looking stricken. He wondered what was wrong with his answer.

Trying not to sound defensive, he said, “I don’t see why this should be a problem.” Again, he thought, frowning. “I thought women were supposed to want to have children.”

She pulled her gaze back to him, but her smile looked forced. “Most do,” she said, her voice oddly strained.

Something about the way she said it made him ask, “Don’t you?”

“Me? I...uh—” She shrugged. “Babies aren’t my thing.”

That explained her strange reaction. But it surprised him, given what he had seen of her. A small-town, matchmaking girl with a warm smile and a talent for dispensing cheer, hope and nourishment seemed like the maternal type to him. But then again, why should he be surprised that he had misread her so thoroughly? If he had been good at spotting that sort of thing he wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Not every woman wanted babies; that concept had long been a fact of his life. The ones that didn’t had their reasons. He didn’t care to ask what hers were, but he supposed Annah was more interested in her businesses. As strong as the issue was for him, he was fairminded enough to see that she could still help him, despite her personal preferences on that matter. He just wanted to be sure that she understood his. He leaned his hands on the kitchen table. “The woman I’m looking for, babies will most definitely be her ‘thing,”’ he said flatly.

She nodded.

“And if I have to go undercover to find her...”

She looked up at him. “You’ll go along with my plan, then?”

“First tell me precisely what you have in mind.”

“Okay,” she said briskly. “First of all we’d have to get you out of this castle, the sooner the better. An ordinary guy would have no reason to live here.”

“True. Are there any hotels in town?”

“A couple of bed-and-breakfasts, but they’re closed this time of year. Besides, if you want a hometown girl, you have to be a hometown guy. You can stay at my house,” she offered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I think you should move in with me.”

She sounded so casual about it! He knew what an invitation like that meant in his homeland—if he slept one night under the same roof as a single woman, they’d be married by morning! He knew what an invitation like that meant from a jaded veteran of the ultrachic international circles, too. But he had no idea in the world it meant from a woman like her, in a place like Anders Point. “Move in with you?” he repeated.

“It’s perfectly logical. It will make it easier for us to work together, and I’ve got a spare bedroom you can have all to yourself.”

Sleeping arrangements aside, he couldn’t imagine two people living in that little dollhouse of hers—in the space that wasn’t taken up by her two businesses. Even this castle seemed small compared to his palace in the Constellation Isles. “I couldn’t possibly impose like that,” he said.

“Nonsense,” she said. “I want you to.”

Strange as it sounded, he believed her, and realized that he had just found out for himself what people meant when they talked about American hospitality.

“Your staying with me would also give us a reason for you to be in town,” she went on. “We’ll pass you off as Luke Hansson, an old friend of mine, while I get you together with women around here.”

He still wasn’t convinced it would be that easy. “Even with a different name, won’t I be recognizable?”

She had an answer for that, too. “You would be, if we didn’t change your appearance.”

“Change my appearance? How?”

“There’s only one way that a face that appears with such regularity on newsstands the world over is going to gain any kind of anonymity, even in a place like Anders Point,” she said seriously. “And I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Neither did he, whatever it was. “What is it?” he asked cautiously.

“Well, the way I see it, the one thing that would work is if you get rid of your most recognizable feature. Your trademark.”

He leaned his forearms on the table. “Miss Lane—”

“Annah.”

“Are you suggesting that I shave my beard?”

“Oh no, I’m more than suggesting. I’m insisting.”

He pushed his chair back from the table. “Unthinkable,” he said with finality.

She crossed her arms. “If you don’t, you’ll never get away with this. Especially around women.”

“No.”

The word hung in the air between them for several minutes, while they faced off. “Then you’ll just have to come up with another plan on your own,” she said finally. “This is the only plan I have, and the only way it will work.”

Getting up from the table, he put another log on the fire and watched as the flames engulfed it. He lingered there long after he needed to for the sake of fire building, thinking about what she had said.

Annah watched the flickering light play across his brooding features while she cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. She was tempted to break the silence, but there was really nothing more to say. It was up to him now.

When she was finished, she could see that he was still weighing her plan in his mind. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I’m going home now, so you can finish thinking this over. But you need to make a decision tonight.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the castle is supposed to be empty.” Whit and Drew were honeymooning, and the caretaker was on vacation. “I can explain away the lights here this evening, because I’ve got a set of keys and a strong need to borrow an industrial-size coffeepot,” she said. “But if you’re here in the morning, the jig is up. You’ll be Prince Lucas, princess hunting in Anders Point.”

He registered that without a word, then disappeared while she was packing up her bags. A few minutes later, he came back with her jacket. He helped her put it on, then carried the big coffee urn for her.

Outside, her car was running. She looked at him.

“I thought I’d get it warmed up for you,” he said.

She found herself speechless at his thoughtfulness. He must have noticed her putting the keys in her jacket pocket when she arrived.

He opened the door for her. “Get in,” he said gruffly. “You must be freezing out here.”

No one was ever that concerned with her comfort. Obediently she slid behind the wheel, and he closed the door behind her. When he was halfway up the steps again, she rolled down the window. “Luke,” she called out softly. He stopped for a moment before turning around and coming back to the car.

“What is it?”

He was leaning over, his face right next to hers. Another wave of warmth washed over her, in defiance of the weather. “I really think this will work,” she said. “I’ll keep the back door unlocked for you. Your bedroom is the one at the top of the stairs.”

Chapter Three

His Highness, Prince Lucas of the Constellation Isles wiped off a corner of the steamed-up mirror in Annah’s tiny bathroom and glared at his reflection. All of a sudden this hot idea was looking mighty lukewarm. He turned away from the mirror, stripped down and got into the shower.

The steamy water sluicing over him washed away his temporary misgivings. Late last night he had gone to bed feeling optimistic for the first time since he had been handed a wedding deadline. He was a man of action, and it had gone against the grain to waste ten months spinning his wheels on the slick, dating fast track. Now, thanks to Annah, he finally had a game plan, a strategy that was going to help him find the right woman to be his bride. With her plan she had given him a changed identity, a place to stay and something more. Something less tangible but far more important—hope.

He was overwhelmed by her willingness to help him, which even extended to welcoming him into her home. However else he felt about it, there was no doubt that his being Annah’s houseguest was the perfect cover. Even if someone thought they recognized him, they would discount entirely the possibility it could really be he. Why would a prince do such a thing? Somehow it gave him a real lift, knowing that he was anonymous for a change. He had sent his bodyguard away, reasoning that if he wasn’t going to be a prince, he didn’t need one. This was an adventure. What man wouldn’t thrill to the chance of going undercover? And there would be absolutely no danger of a woman falling for him—or pretending to fall for him—because he was a prince.

Only Annah knew. But she was his partner, not a potential bride, and he was glad to have her on his side. He owed Whit and Erik for sending him to her. Not only was she helping him, the fact was he liked Annah; though at times he didn’t understand her at all, and at others it seemed as if there was enough friction between them to start a fire. She loved to tease him, too, and funny thing was he didn’t really mind it. Maybe because she had plenty of sugar to go with her spice.

But even Annah couldn’t sugarcoat this, he thought, when he came out of the shower and faced the mirror again. Thanks to her, the major part of his beard was lying in the trash can, instead of being on his face where it belonged, the badge of manhood he had worn proudly since he was first able to grow it. He had hacked it off with a ridiculously tiny pair of scissors he had found in the medicine cabinet, one of those fearsome, feminine instruments women did God knows what with. As a result, he looked like he had fallen into the clutches of a demented barber—but he knew he would have been demented himself to try to shave his thick beard without thinning it a little first. Now, with his face warm and wet from the steamy shower, he could take the final step.