The King's Bought Bride (Royal House of Leone Book 1)

by Jennifer Lewis

  What?

  Face taut with emotion, he continued. “I love you with every ounce of my being. I love you in ways I never dreamed myself capable of loving anyone. I love you so much that living without you would drive me insane. I know you can never love me after the way I’ve used you, then seduced you. I don’t ask for your love. But I promise you from this day on I will do the best I can to be a kind and loving and loyal and truly faithful husband to you if you’ll only agree to stay with me, and perhaps in time you can grow to love me the way people did in the old days when they were forced into arranged marriages.”

  Emma’s brain was spinning so fast she could hardly made sense of his words. He loved her and didn’t think she loved him? It seemed impossible.

  She had been so, so careful never to let him know that she loved him. So sure that it would upset him or drive him away.

  A tear did roll down over his hard cheek as he got down on one knee. “I never did propose to you, Emma. Not in any way a decent man would propose. But if you would do me the honor of being my wife, I’d be the happiest man alive.”

  She couldn’t find words. “I’m already your wife.”

  “Legally, yes. But one day, with enough time, I hope to win your heart and make you truly mine.”

  A sob rose in her throat. Did he really not know that she loved him? “I love you.” The words emerged as a choked whisper.

  “I know I don’t deserve a woman as good as you, but on my honor I will try my best to become a husband worthy of you, if you’ll only agree to stay with me.”

  “I love you.” This time she managed to make the words more audible. “I do want to stay with you.” She could hardly believe this. Maybe she’d been knocked unconscious by the kidnappers, and this was some kind of feverish fantasy taking place in her injured brain. She used a recently freed hand to pinch herself.

  I’m awake.

  “Did you say you love me?” Darias looked stunned.

  “Yes. I do love you. I’ve loved you for weeks now.”

  He blinked. “All this time, and you never—?” He frowned. “Why would you say anything to me? I was being an ass. Trying to preserve my freedom”—he spat the word—“illusory freedom that means nothing to me.”

  He took her hands and held them tight, then drew them to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “I don’t want to be free, of either my duty to my country or my marriage to you. I love you so much, Emma Leone.”

  Tears fell so hard and fast that she couldn’t even see his expression. He took her in his arms and kissed her, and she kissed him back even harder and they embraced and held each other until her tears started to slow.

  A man cleared his throat.

  They both looked up. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.” It was Gibran. “The prisoners will be taken in for questioning. His wound will be treated, of course.”

  “They’re likely the murderers, no matter what they say,” said Darias, showing far more presence of mind than Emma still had.

  “Indeed. They will be treated as such.” Then a smile creased Gibran’s stern, sun-weathered face. “Congratulations, sir.”

  Darias grinned. “Much appreciated.”

  Back at the castle, a small group of reporters had already gathered outside in the dark as they walked in, flanked by security. “Did you catch the murderers?” “Will they be hanged?” “Is it true that she’s a bride for hire?”

  Emma cringed under the last question. How did word get out so quickly? Was every word they said being recorded and leaked somehow? Or was it someone inside the family?

  Darias stopped and turned to face them. “This woman is the love of my life. Our marriage may have started out as a convenient arrangement like those of my ancestors, but I promise you that no man—king or otherwise—ever loved a woman more than I love Emma.” His soft kiss on her cheek led to a flurry of camera clicks and flashes, and a hot surge of emotion that threatened to choke her.

  Still, Emma was self-conscious enough to hope she didn’t look too awful after having her face slapped repeatedly.

  “And do you love him, too, miss?” one older reporter called.

  “I do.” She smiled at Darias.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the castle doors. “They’ll keep us out here all night if we let them, and I can’t have that happen. I have my own plans for you.”

  They showered together, soaping and caressing each other, unafraid of their own desire and with nothing to hide. Then they made love with passion and intensity she would never have dared to express before tonight.

  “I love you,” she breathed at the moment of release, thrilled that she could finally say the words dancing on the tip of her tongue for weeks.

  “I love you, too, Mrs. Leone.” Darias nuzzled her cheek. “I think I started loving you the first night we met, but I’m very slow on the uptake sometimes.”

  “Probably all the royal inbreeding,” she teased.

  “No doubt.” He nibbled her ear gently, sparking a rush of arousal. “All the more reason to marry a sexy commoner from New Jersey.”

  “You can pretend you planned it that way all along.”

  “No way.” He pulled back enough to gaze at her with a look that stole her breath. “No more pretense, no more lies. We’ll tell the truth and let everyone enjoy—or laugh at—the king whose best-laid plans to stay single led to him falling head over heels in love.”

  THE END

  If you liked this story, please leave a review and let other readers know what you enjoyed.

  Read more stories about the royal Leones in upcoming books in the series. Visit www.jenlewis.com for more details and to join the new release mailing list.

  Read on for the short story about Darias’ brother Sandro’s whirlwind romance in A Prince for Christmas.

  Royal House of Leone

  A PRINCE FOR CHRISTMAS

  By Jennifer Lewis

  Royal House of Leone

  The Leone family has ruled the remote and picturesque nation of Altaleone since the days of Charlemagne. When the elderly queen and her son are found dead in mysterious circumstances, the royal family is thrown into crisis.

  A Prince for Christmas

  Lifestyle guru Serena Raines can’t face her family at Christmas after her engagement falls apart. She goes into hiding at a rented beach house, unaware that a big storm is heading her way.

  European royal Sandro Leone refuses to let his friends spend Christmas alone, so he borrows a house for them to share—winter storm be damned—and finds a strange and lovely woman already there.

  Serena is embarrassed to be alone and unloved at Christmas and fights her attraction to the warm and charming playboy prince. Things get worse when the storm prevents his friends from arriving and leaves them stranded—and in danger—together.

  Read more stories about the royal Leones in upcoming books in the series. Visit www.jenlewis.com for more details and to join the new release mailing list.

  CHAPTER ONE

  A scraping sound woke Serena from a deep sleep, and she sat up in total darkness, heart pounding. “Who’s there?”

  She hoped like heck that the answer was no one.

  She’d rented this big beach house to get away from everyone and lick her wounds in private. Suddenly, being all alone in the middle of nowhere didn’t seem like such a brilliant idea. Groping around, she realized she’d fallen asleep on the living room sofa and dropped her ereader on the floor.

  Boom. Boom-boom.

  Someone was banging on the door. Terror streaked along her veins.

  No one knew she was here. There weren’t even any neighbors that she’d noticed. The remote property was surrounded by dunes and woods.

  A serial killer?

  Pulse racing, Serena sprang off the sofa and fumbled for her phone on the nearby coffee table. Hiding the glow of the screen with her hand, she dialed 911 and crept into a corner while listening for the ring.

  Just outside the room, she heard the front door cr
eak open.

  Her blood froze. The call wasn’t connecting. Why? She fought the urge to wail in desperation. She had no bars because the cell service here on the Georgia sea islands absolutely sucked.

  I’m all alone in the dark, miles from civilization, with a home invader. She’d thought it bad that her heart was broken and she’d have to be alone for Christmas. Now, to top it off, she was going to die.

  Not if I can help it.

  Her eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness enough for her to see an orchid nearby in a tall vase. She tipped the orchid out—it was fake—and gripped the vase in her hand like a club. Staying low she scuttled across the carpet to hide beside the arched entrance to the foyer. She rose up, praying her knees wouldn’t creak, and gingerly lifted the heavy vase high over her head. She could hear footfalls on the carpet. If he came this way…

  A big shoe landed right in front of her, and she brought the vase down on his head with every ounce of force she could muster.

  “What the—?” The man crumpled to the floor as chunks of ceramic scattered. Quick as a flash he was on his feet again, big hands gripping her upper arms.

  She screamed and beat him with her fists. “Get your hands off me! I’ll call the police.” Her useless phone had fallen to the floor.

  “Who are you?” he asked coolly, deep voice rough.

  “None of your damn business. Get out of my house this instant!” Adrenaline surged through her and she struggled to free herself, but his hands were too strong.

  “Your house? This house belongs to my friend Zadir.”

  Zadir Al Kilanjar. That was the owner’s name on the short lease she’d signed. She stopped struggling. Maybe this man wasn’t a crazed killer. “I rented it from him for two weeks.”

  “I saw a light upstairs. That’s why I knocked. Zadir told me it was empty and that I could have the place over Christmas.”

  “Clearly he was wrong. I’m here, and I have a signed lease. You need to leave.” Her terror was starting to subside into irritation at being scared out of her wits in the middle of the night. And embarrassment at the realization that she might have overreacted.

  He took one hand off her long enough to switch on a nearby light. A blinding burst of light revealed that in addition to his impressive strength, the intruder was tall and broad with a bold handsome face.

  Where a trickle of blood flowed from one temple.

  Maybe news of that would get him to let go of her. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have smashed my friend’s china on me.” His dark eyes glittered a challenge. His grip didn’t soften. “That’s assault.”

  She could almost swear she saw a hint of amusement in his expression.

  She felt her dander rising. “I rented this house legally, and you have invaded in the night and scared at least five years off my life. Unhand me, sir!” She hoped the formal command would get his attention.

  It worked. Slowly, and with apparent reluctance, he pulled his fingers from her arms. His gaze rested coolly on her face for a moment, then dropped to appraise her body.

  Extreme self-consciousness washed over her. What was she even wearing? She refused to look down. He was elegantly dressed in dark pants and a subtly checked shirt, the sleeves rolled up over muscular, tanned arms.

  They’re just arms, Serena. She wasn’t attracted to him anyway. His looks were too flashy. She preferred someone more…subdued. Like Howard.

  Ouch. It had been almost three weeks since Howard dumped her, and it hurt like he’d just told her five minutes ago.

  “Are you okay?” His brow furrowed with concern.

  “I should be asking you that. Don’t get blood on your friend’s carpet.” Her heart rate slowed. Now that the threat of gruesome death was subsiding, she started to relax. “You really should go.”

  “But I have friends meeting me here tomorrow.”

  “Then you’ll have to get in touch and tell them to meet you somewhere else.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Which reminded her that she had on a college sweatshirt over her blue-striped pajamas.

  Cringe.

  At least he didn’t know who she was. Probably no one would even recognize her from her publicity pictures right now.

  “It’s three A.M.” He cocked his head and rested his dark gaze on her face. “And now I’ve been assaulted. Can I at least have a cup of coffee first?”

  “No.” She wanted to get him out of there before he could figure out she was alone. Since her twelve-week stint on Good Morning, people were way too curious about her personal life, and so far she’d managed to keep her humiliating breakup out of the public eye. “Please leave.”

  He reached a finger up to his injured temple. “A Band-Aid, perhaps?”

  “I don’t know where they are.” Who did this guy think he was? “It’s not a bad injury.” With an attitude like his, he deserved to get blood on his expensive-looking shirt.

  “I’ll call and ask Zadir.”

  “Never mind.” She didn’t want anyone else in on this. “I’ll check the bathroom.”

  She could swear a slightly wolfish smile of triumph tugged at one side of his broad mouth.

  Which made her want to hurl another vase at him.

  She turned and walked toward the powder room off the foyer, sure she could feel his eyes on her. Probably laughing at her pajamas. Heck, it was nighttime! She should be in pj’s. He was lucky she didn’t sleep in the buff.

  She pulled open the cabinet under the painted porcelain sink. “You’re in luck. There’s a first aid kit down here.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. Zadir is one of those people who have people who think of everything.”

  “Except double booking his beach house.” She handed him the gray plastic box, careful not to touch his fingertips. He had big hands, with long, strong fingers.

  “Most likely his very capable staff booked it to you, and he just offered it to me without checking with them.” He opened the box and pulled out some gauze and a tiny brown bottle of peroxide.

  “Which means that I have the legal right to be here and you need to leave.”

  He looked up, and his dark eyes flashed. “Impossible.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sandro moved in front of the mirror and applied peroxide to a small cut near his hairline. He winced as the wound smarted. The beautiful, angry woman still stood in the small powder room with him, and he suddenly realized something. “I don’t know your name.”

  He frowned as he fiddled with the Band-Aid, trying to get the paper strips off. His fingers were too big “I am Sandro Leone.” He put down the bandage and extended his hand.

  She didn’t lift her hand. “What do you mean impossible? Of course you have to leave. I have the rental until January seventh.”

  “I have two friends meeting me here tomorrow. It’ll be Christmas Eve.” It had been hard enough to convince them to come in the first place. Any hint of chaos and they’d both cancel and be on their own.

  “Go to a hotel.” Her big dark eyes gleamed with determination. Which sparked a flare of heat in his gut. He liked a woman with fire. And the way she’d attacked him suggested that she had more than a few sparks.

  “There aren’t any. And who wants to stay in a hotel over Christmas?” He softened his voice. “It’s a big house—ten bedrooms—how many are there in your party?”

  She stiffened and pushed an imaginary strand of hair off her forehead. “I’m here on a sabbatical. To write a book.”

  “Over Christmas?” He couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. “You can’t be alone on Christmas.”

  “I can be alone whenever I want, thank you very much.” She crossed her arms over her chest—which threw it into tempting relief. She was pretty, with a high forehead, big dark eyes with long lashes, a proud mouth and smooth brown skin.

  And she was here all alone? Over Christmas? He snuck a glance at her ring finger—empty.

  Interesting.

  And sad. She wa
s far too lovely to be alone. And though she wore a baggy sweatshirt and what looked like men’s pajamas, he had enough experience with women to predict that she had the kind of body that would stop traffic.

  “Since it’s such a big house perhaps myself and my friends—there are just two of them—could take over the third floor. The more the merrier, right?”

  She lifted her chin. “The third floor has the best view.”

  He felt like he was making headway. “Okay, then you have the third floor and we’ll have the second-floor bedrooms.”

  “Wait a second, I didn’t say you could have any bedrooms. Call Zadir and tell him he made a mistake. Let him find somewhere else for you.” She handed him another Band-Aid. He took it, deliberately brushing his fingertips against hers. Heat flashed between them—as he suspected it would. From the way she snatched her hand back, he could tell she felt it, too.

  “He’s in Ubar. It’s in the Middle East, and there’s a big time difference.”

  “That’s a plus. It’s the dead of the night here.”

  “And it’s right before Christmas. I’m sure he has his hands full with family and other obligations.”

  “Since when do they celebrate Christmas in the Middle East?” This woman seemed remarkable unsusceptible to his usually robust charms.

  But he didn’t give up easily. He made another attempt to peel the paper backing off the bandage. These things were made for people with tiny, delicate fingers.

  “They had the Christmas party of the century last year. I was there. I know, how about if I pay your rent, so your stay here is free?”

  Her eyes sparkled with indignation. “I don’t need your money, thank you.” She picked up the Band-Aid he’d discarded, deftly peeled off the paper and stuck it to his forehead, then pulled her hand back with lightning speed before he could enjoy the heat of her fingers. “What I need is peace and quiet.”