The Billionaire Prince’s Nanny (European Billionaire Beaus Book 1)

by Leslie North

  The royal family wanted to tamp things down more than a little.

  It was Artur who was spending exorbitant amounts of money on parties and travel and generally…being a prince. This string of arranged appearances at formal, conservative, uncontroversial benefits and galas was meant to show he could and would behave himself with proper royal dignity…at least some of the time.

  Amy had been assigned to a high-pressure position for the night of the gala. Her firm wanted someone on the ground to smooth over the conversation-level bumps in the road between participants, and that person was Amy. It was supposed to be a pretty staid affair, with a black-tie dress code and a big band playing the music, but events of that nature also had something else: an open bar.

  One minute, things were fine—the hum of the conversation underscored nicely with the music from the jazz band. People were dancing. Not many of them, but enough so that the dance floor looked lively. Amy felt good in her black dress, which was a floor-length, one-shoulder creation that neatly straddled the line between professional and sexy. She had just turned away from the bar when the fight broke out behind her.

  It was a single shout that made her turn back. Strangled, angry—not something you wanted to hear at a fancy gala, especially not if you were in charge of making things go off without a hitch. She’d spun around to see one tuxedoed man put another in a headlock.

  “You bastard,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Repeat that garbage about my wife one more time. Do it.”

  The man in the headlock did not appear to be able to answer, and the people near the bar were turning all around her to watch. If she didn’t get things in hand quickly, this would be the only thing people remembered about the event, and any chance of netting positive media attention for the prince would be ruined. It wouldn’t matter that he wasn’t involved in the fight—the anti-royalist press in his country would be sure to use it as an example of how he caused chaos wherever he went.

  What was she going to do?

  Both of the men looked strong, and much larger than she was. Still, it was her responsibility to intervene. Should she offer them more drinks? No. Clearly, they didn’t need any more alcohol. She took one decisive step forward. She could figure out what to say when she got closer to them.

  Then another figure in black appeared at her shoulder, rushing in the same direction. She didn’t pay him any attention at first, and then—

  “Gentlemen!” The voice that boomed out beside her turned her head. It was none other than Prince Artur. He was tall, lean, muscled in his tuxedo, with auburn hair and a wide smile that betrayed no anxiety at the scene in front of him. “There’s plenty to drink for everyone.”

  He came up to the two men, clapping the one in the headlock on the back and offering him a hand up as if he’d tripped on the floor. The angrier man, still sputtering, tightened his grip on his enemy.

  Prince Artur leaned in closer. “You’re making a fool of yourself, and there are going to be more cameras here in a minute. Settle the dispute the civilized way, hmm? Place a bet. A round of cards. Something other than what you’re doing.”

  The man hesitated, but after a long moment released his enemy.

  Amy caught sight of a uniformed waiter holding a silver tray high above the fray. Thank god—he was carrying a full tray of cream puffs. She grabbed two of them, and just as the media photographers caught up to the incident, stepped over to where the three men stood and offered up cream puffs to the man who was still red-faced and furious, eyes narrowed at his counterpart, who was rubbing at his throat and clearly looking for a way to escape.

  “They’re delicious,” she said with a big, encouraging smile. “Come on. Have a bite.” She handed one to the formerly headlocked man, then turned back to the people surrounding them. “Everyone, cream puffs! Over here. If you haven’t had one already, you’re missing out.” Heads turned, and several ladies stepped up to the waiter as if they had never noticed the cream puffs before. The attacked man took that moment to slip away.

  Prince Artur tried his best to get the angry man’s attention, but he was staring in the direction the other man had gone. Amy could see him trying to decide whether or not to follow. “See? All’s right with the world. Your next round is on me.” Amy grimaced, worried that more alcohol would make things worse, but the prince winked at her. “Some coffee, perhaps? There’s a station set up right over there. Nothing like coffee to clear the head, right?” Then he’d pointed a finger at Amy. “But none for you, you gorgeous creature. You didn’t bring me a cream puff.”

  She knew the prince was, technically, a client, but that hadn’t stopped the heat from rising to her face. He was hot. Okay? She could admit it. The proportions of his body were…perfect.

  What had happened after that? The man’s anger still boiled under the surface, so Amy found him a new venue: the bar. She had turned up the charm to several hundred megawatts, put a drink in his hand, and gently reminded the man that it was a benefit gala, after all, with a prize auction at the end. Soon, she had him convinced that everyone would remember him if he donated more, and a bit more, until by the end of the evening he was the most boisterous participant.

  The press had loved it. Loved. It.

  So when the prince offered her a celebratory round of champagne at the end of the night, she said yes. It had been such a success, right?

  But it didn’t end with one glass of champagne. There was another, and some laughing, and he teased her again about that cream puff in a voice that was somehow sultry and smooth even when it was talking about cream puffs…

  There had been a car, a driver, a trip through the New York City streets. A grand staircase leading to a bank of private elevators. And—

  “I’ve decided the celebration can’t be over.”

  Amy turned away from the window to find Artur coming back into the living room, skirting the overstuffed sofa with a silver tray in his hands. Balanced on the tray was another bottle of champagne and an arrangement of little chocolates and delicate strawberry slices.

  He put the tray down on a side table and Amy opened her mouth to make her excuses. It had gotten this far—to his private room—but she should congratulate him on a night well managed and get out of here.

  Oh, but the moment he popped the champagne his eyes were on her again, a hazel that caught the light from the fire crackling in the grate and reflected it back to her a thousandfold.

  “It’s not a party if it’s just me, Amy darling.”

  Amy darling. He’d called her that the first time when he’d brought the first round of champagne, but it didn’t sound so much like a joke anymore. It sounded like what it was—a proposition.

  And she had to admit that it felt good to have those eyes on her. Good to have the invitation to party. Something about him made her feel like the only woman on earth.

  He poured a single glass of champagne and offered it to her.

  “It’s not a party if it’s just me,” she repeated, keeping her voice low and teasing.

  “It’s rude not to offer a lady a drink.” Artur’s voice was haughty, and it made her laugh. “But I want my full faculties about me for the rest of the evening. The chocolate and the fruit, however…” He lifted the glass from the tray in one hand and one of the chocolates in the other and came toward her. “Those should serve as a delicious appetizer.”

  He was so close that Amy found herself tilting her head back to look up at him.

  “Open those pretty lips, Amy darling.”

  It felt absolutely naughty to be doing this kind of thing with a client, and the warning bells rang in her head. But they were silenced by the sheer physicality of him. He made her mouth water. She wanted him, but she’d settle for a bite of the chocolate. She opened her mouth.

  Artur stepped forward, narrowing the gap even further, and placed the chocolate in her mouth.

  It was smooth, sweet, rich, melting on her tongue, and she closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “Mmmm. That’s…
that’s so good.”

  She was deliberately baiting him with her throat exposed like that, and the next thing she knew, Artur was saying “How about this?” and she felt his lips pressed to the side of her neck, a brushing kiss that set her skin on fire and left her aching for more. “Or this?” he breathed out against the delicate skin covering her pulse and she heard the glass connect with the surface of a table. “Or this?” Then his mouth closed over hers, and Amy was lost.

  He was a tease, tempting her, licking at her bottom lip and then drawing back so she was the one who lunged forward, kissing him so fiercely it was almost a bite.

  “Yes,” she said on the next breath. “Yes, I like that…I like…” The last word turned into a moan as he ran his hands over the neckline of her dress, dipping below for a torturous moment before she was swept up in his arms.

  Artur stretched her out on the sofa and Amy had never felt more like royalty in her life. Filthy, reckless royalty. She lay there like a queen, helping only a little as he peeled off her dress, then her bra, leaving her in panties and stockings.

  “I think you’ll need to take those off, too.”

  He gave her a wicked grin. “Not quite yet. I want dessert first.”

  “Dessert?”

  Artur stepped away, retrieving the plate of chocolates and strawberries and putting it precariously on the arm of the sofa. She didn’t care, because the next thing he did was take one of those little chocolates and place it between the hollow of her breasts.

  “Now keep still,” he said seriously, then bent his head over her and licked it off her skin. He closed his eyes, swallowing. “That is wonderful chocolate. I wonder what fruit would taste like on your skin?”

  The strawberry he ate off of her next was eaten from just above her belly button.

  The next chocolate was even lower…right on her panties.

  She squirmed underneath Artur as he lingered over the chocolate, letting his breath melt the surface.

  When he took it between his teeth, Amy couldn’t take it anymore. “I hope you’re done with dessert.”

  “Not quite yet.”

  Her groan was cut off in a gasp of surprise as he pulled off her panties and stockings in one smooth movement and spread her legs. Then he was devouring her, tasting her, taking his sweet time. The pleasure built between her legs until he put his lips over her clit like it was a fine piece of chocolate and sucked her to a climax that left Amy shuddering and slightly worried that they’d done irreparable damage to the sofa.

  But Prince Artur didn’t seem to notice. He stood up and stripped, displaying a body that took Amy’s breath away. He’d looked unbelievable in a tuxedo. Now? There weren’t words.

  From one of his pockets he produced the silver foil packet of a condom, and she could hardly inhale for the anticipation.

  “Put your hands on the back of the sofa.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me.”

  His big hands on her waist guided her into the position he wanted, bent over the sofa, and Amy pushed back toward him, wanting, needing—

  He thrust into her from behind, his hand playing at her shoulder, at her throat. “I saw you looking at the skyline.” His voice was heavy, and she heard each thrust mirrored in his words. “The view’s better this way. Don’t you think?”

  There was only one word she could say, because Amy was on her way to another release that would definitely ruin the couch. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  Grab your copy of The Billionaire Prince’s Daughter

  Available June 27th, 2019

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  BLURB

  King Phillip is a real life Prince Charming. Golden haired with a Danovian accent, and a solid gold crown sitting on his head, he’s every girl’s daydream. He’s a good man and an even better king, but the one thing he’s been terrible at is choosing a royal wife -- fearing a marriage that’s more about policy than passion. But when his mother invites all the eligible maidens to The Summer House Party, Phillip is trapped in a real-life Bachelor where he won’t have the option of quietly splitting from the girl after the party is over -- he’ll be wed to her for life.

  Ella Fernstone is tired of being the family servant. After her father died, Ella was receded to the basement as her stepmother began a full court press to cultivate her own daughters. Ella’s ready to escape the hot mess of a home that she grew up in by finally pursuing her dream of competitive riding: something she’s been preparing her whole life to do. All she has to do is marry one of her step sisters off to the King of Danovar to finally find her freedom. It couldn’t be that hard right?

  That was until Ella was the first to fall for the King’s dashing good looks and an offer to ride off with him into the sunset. Ella is hesitant -- a Queen’s life was still one of servitude, but it’s hard to ignore the pull of a handwritten love letter and a skillfully delivered kiss. Phillip too is caught up in seducing what he never expected to find: an eligible woman he might just learn to love. But when the reality of a royal marriage comes crashing down, Phillip and Ella must decide if they can risk their hearts, or their freedoms, on the chance of true love.

  Grab your copy of Royal Service (Royals of Danovar, Book 1) from

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Chapter 1

  King Phillip Gregory Humbert Alcott knelt beside his favorite vintage Indian motorcycle, grease coating his hands, and wished he could stay there forever. Or better yet, finish fixing it up and then just ride off into the sunset. Unfortunately, the sun’s current angle in the mid-afternoon sky put the kibosh on that plan—not to mention the gaggle of women halfway down the drive, any one of whom he was supposed to marry.

  Phillip loosened the rear axle nut with a grunt, putting more effort into it than was strictly necessary. A strand of his long blond hair swung loose and he pushed it aside with his forearm. Fixing up his motorcycles usually brought him peace, but lately, with his thirtieth birthday looming, there was hardly any peace for him in the whole of Danovar. According to his country’s law—not to mention his mother’s insistance—he was supposed to choose his queen by the time he turned thirty. And seeing as he’d managed to successfully ignore that law for the last twenty-nine years and nine months, now he had exactly three months left to pick a bride. His mother’s way of “helping” him achieve that goal was to gather all the eligible ladies for a weeks-long party at the Summer House, so that he might pick one to marry before the impending deadline.

  The ladies had been arriving all day, and the group at the other end of the drive was among the last of the bunch. Dressed in their jewel-toned finery, they looked like a flock of peacocks, fluttering around and clucking amongst themselves while they assessed the Summer House with openly calculating gazes, not even noticing him kneeling there covered in oil and engine grease.

  His mouth twisted. One of those oblivious women might well be his future wife.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get married. In fact, he’d always been enamored with the idea of growing old with a woman he loved—but that was the problem. During this party he wasn’t so much picking a wife as he was choosing a queen, someone who was capable of ruling Danovar at his side. That meant he would never marry for love, and having seen his parents and grandparents live through loveless marriages, he knew it was nothing to look forward to. He wished there was a way for his duty and love to go hand in hand but it just wasn’t in the stars, and being king meant putting his country before his own desires.

  He allowed the rear wheel to slide in the swingarm a bit, blowing out a breath and rolling his shoulders to try to get the tension out of his muscles as he returned to his bike. It wasn’t what he wanted that mattered, he reminded himself. It was what his people needed. And if his people needed one of these scheming peacocks to be his wife, then that’s what they would damn well get.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself a bit first. Sneak off, spend a few hours o
n the road, just him and the sunset and the cherry-red bike roaring beneath him. Once he could manage to focus long enough to get the damn drive chain tightened, this beauty would ride like the wind. He’d be sure to get back in time to give the opening speech tonight, of course—shirking his duties was no way to start his search for a queen—but he just needed a little freedom, a little time to himself.

  One last limo pulled in, carrying the final load of ladies who were here to vie for the royal engagement ring. Two women who looked like sisters climbed out and stared up at the Summer House, but at least they looked more like they were appreciating its beauty than calculating how much money the crystal chandeliers and extravagant stables were worth. These two were attractive enough, he supposed, and in other circumstances he might not have minded flirting with them. In fact, maybe he could simply pretend he was his brother Eric tonight—then he could flirt with anything in a dress and it could all be fun and games, rather than the official business of the crown.

  The women’s servant was standing at the rear of the limo, efficiently unloading the designer luggage. Now with her, he’d love to do more than flirt. She was sexy as hell from behind, clad in a crisp outfit that screamed personal assistant. It also screamed I have a nice ass. Her golden hair was caught up in a bouncy ponytail, and the second he saw it he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to wrap those golden locks around his hand, tug her head back and angle her just right for a scorching-hot kiss, to run his other hand across those delicious curves and then down, down, down even further, until she was panting and trembling and neither of them could remember their own names.