* * *
She was beautiful. But he had been prepared for that. When his brother had told him that it was finally time for him to make good on a promise given to him by Robert King ten years ago, Prince Javier de la Cruz had held back a litany of questions for his lord and master. He wondered why his brother wished to collect the debt now. And why he wished to collect it at all, at least in the form of this woman.
She was conspicuous. And she was everything his brother was not. Modern. Painfully so in contrast with the near medieval landscape of Monte Blanco. Yes, the kingdom had come a long way under his brother’s rule during the last two years, but there was still a long way to go to bring it out of the Dark Ages their father had preferred. If a woman such as Violet King would be something so foreign to their people, then imagining her his queen was impossible.
But then, on some level, Javier imagined that was his brother’s aim. Still, it was not Javier’s position to question. Javier was as he had ever been. The greatest weapon Monte Blanco possessed. For years, he had undermined his father, kept the nation from going to war, kept his people safe. Had freed prisoners when they were wrongfully withheld. Had done all that he could to ensure that his father’s impact on their people was as minimal as possible. And he had done so all under the oversight of his older brother, who—when he had taken control—had immediately begun to revive the country, using the money that he had earned with his business acumen. The Tycoon King, he was called.
And this—this deal with Robert King—had been one of those bargains he’d struck in secret. Apparently this deal had been made long ago, over drinks in a casino in Monte Carlo. A bet the other man had lost.
Javier was surprised his brother would hold a man to a drunken bargain.
And yet, here he was.
But Matteo was not a thoroughly modern man, whatever moves he was making to reform the country, and this sort of medieval bargain was just the type he knew his brother might favor.
Still...
Looking at her now, Javier could not imagine it.
She was wearing a white suit. A crisp jacket and loose-fitting pants. Her makeup was like a mask in his estimation. Eyelashes that seemed impossibly long, full lips played up by the gloss that she wore on her mouth. A severe sort of contour created in her cheeks by whatever color she had brushed onto them.
Her dark hair was in a low ponytail, sleek and held back away from her face.
She was stunningly beautiful. And very young. The direct opposite of their poor mother, who had been so pale and defeated by the end of her life. And perhaps that was the point.
Still, forcing a woman into marriage was possibly not the best way to go about proving your modernity.
But again. He was not in a position to argue.
What mattered most was his brother’s vision for the country, and he would see it done.
He was a blunt instrument. Not a strategist.
Something he was comfortable with. There was an honesty to it. His brother had to feign diplomacy. Had to hide his agenda to make the world comfortable.
Javier had to do no such thing.
“I don’t know who you are. And I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
He made his way over to the door, entered in the code and it unlocked.
Her father had given him all that information. Because he knew that there was no other choice.
She backed against her desk, her eyes wide with fear.
“What are you doing?”
“This is growing tiresome. I’m Prince Javier de la Cruz, of Monte Blanco. And you, Violet King, are my brother’s chosen bride.”
“What?” She did something he did not expect at all. She guffawed. It was the most unladylike sound he had ever heard. “I am nobody’s chosen bride.”
“You are. Your father owes my brother a debt. Apparently, he ran out of capital at a gambling table and was quite...in his cups, so to speak. He offered you. And I have come to collect you.”
“My father would not do such a thing. He would not...gamble me away. My brother, on the other hand, might play a prank on me that was this ridiculous. Are there cameras somewhere? Am I on camera?”
“You are not on camera,” he said.
She laughed again. “I must be. If this is your attempt to get a viral video or something, you better try again. My father is one of the most modern men that I have ever known. He would never, ever sell one of his daughters into marriage. You know my sister came home from studying abroad with a baby, and he didn’t even ask where the baby came from. He just kind of let her bring it into his house. He does not treat his daughters like commodities, and he does not act like he can sell us to the highest bidder.”
“Well, then perhaps you need to speak to him.”
“I don’t need to speak to him, because this is ridiculous.”
“If you say so.”
And so he closed the distance between them, lifted her up off the ground and threw her over his shoulder. He was running low on time and patience, and he didn’t have time to stand around being laughed at by some silly girl. That earned him a yelp and a sharp kick to his chest. Followed by another one, and then another.
Pain was only pain. It did not bother him.
He ignored her.
He ignored her until he had successfully transported her out of the building, which was conveniently empty, and down to the parking lot where his limo was waiting. Only then, when he had her inside with the doors closed and locked, did she actually stare at him with fear. Did she actually look like she might believe him?
“Violet King, I am taking you back to my country. Where you are to be Queen.”
Copyright © 2020 by Millie Adams
Love Harlequin romance?
DISCOVER.
Be the first to find out about promotions, news and exclusive content!
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
Instagram.com/HarlequinBooks
Pinterest.com/HarlequinBooks
ReaderService.com
EXPLORE.
Sign up for the Harlequin e-newsletter and download a free book from any series at
TryHarlequin.com
CONNECT.
Join our Harlequin community to share your thoughts and connect with other romance readers!
Facebook.com/groups/HarlequinConnection
ISBN-13: 9781488068683
Their Impossible Desert Match
Copyright © 2020 by Clare Connelly
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at [email protected].
Harlequin Enterprises ULC
22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor
Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada
www.Harlequin.com
Their Impossible Desert Match Page 18
