Day Leclaire’s The Royals Bundle

by Day Leclaire

  “Why do you call it the Lion’s Den?” Curiosity compelled her to ask.

  He shrugged. “Prince Lander is the Lion of Mt. Roche.”

  “So you call the palace the Lion’s Den?”

  He acknowledged her amusement with an answering grin. “Well…perhaps not to His Highness’s face.”

  “No, I imagine not.”

  With a quick word of thanks, she added a generous tip to the fare and exited the cab. She could practically hear the clock ticking a frantic warning that time was passing, but she refused to rush, choosing instead to soak in the beauty of her surroundings. Normally she wouldn’t have dared attend an affair like this. But she was in Verdonia, a small European country that rarely gained media attention, and far—she hoped—from the intrusive focus of the paparazzi. No one knew her real name here, that she was an Arnaud. Instead, she’d been using her first and middle name. She was just Juliana Rose, charity worker, invited to the ball as a generous afterthought.

  Tonight she had an opportunity she’d never experienced before. Tonight, she’d be able to cut loose from her conservative image and allow a tiny piece of her natural personality to take over. To shine as hot and brightly as she dared without worrying about who was watching or taking note of every word she spoke, or dress she wore, or man who danced with her.

  Tonight she could be herself and damn the consequences.

  Footmen lined the great hall, unobtrusively directing her along the corridor. As she suspected, she was the only guest not yet in the ballroom. The spiked heels of her sandals fired off a rapid tattoo against the endless expanse of marble flooring. With every step she felt more and more like Cinderella, though if she were fortunate her Elie Saab gown wouldn’t dissolve into rags on the stroke of midnight any more than the cab she arrived in would revert to a pumpkin with a mouse for a driver.

  Passing between huge Doric columns she found herself on a large curved landing overlooking the gathering. A majordomo guarded the wide staircase that led downward into the mass of glittering partygoers. She paused to absorb it all, to savor every single aspect of this moment out of time. Flowers of endless variety and hue overflowed urns and vases, filling the room with a lush, heady scent. Elegant French doors were thrown wide, allowing a soft warm breeze laden with the advent of summer to filter through the throng, and causing the candles that lit the room to flicker and dance. Eventually her attention drifted to the staircase leading downward. And that’s when she saw him, positioned at the foot of the steps as though he’d been waiting for her.

  He was tall. Even standing a full story above him she could tell his height was impressive. He wore his black tux with casual ease, his chest and shoulders a virtual wall of immovable masculinity. Thick, wavy hair swept back from his face, streaks of sun-bleached blond competing for supremacy over the rich nut brown.

  She could see his chiseled features were striking, with high arcing cheekbones and a strong, square jaw that warned of a stubborn nature. But it was his mouth that fascinated her the most. It sat at odds with the hard, forbidding lines of his face and jaw. That mouth betrayed him, the lips full and sensuous and perfectly designed to give a woman pleasure. There was a volcano of passion brewing beneath that mountain of calm control, passion requiring only a single spark to ignite an explosion. The knowledge stirred a secret smile, one that faded the instant she realized he was watching her.

  While she’d been studying him, curious and unguarded and exposed, he’d been busy returning the favor. Their gazes locked and held for an endless moment. Heat pooled low in her belly, lapping outward in ever-increasing demand. Never in all her twenty-five years had she experienced anything quite like it. She’d heard of women who’d been struck by that sort of sexual lightning bolt, had even scoffed at the possibility, but she’d never believed it possible.

  Until now.

  Now, she was faced with an urgent demand she could no more restrain than deny. She knew this man. Oh, they’d never met. But somehow she recognized him. Connected with him on some primal, instinctive level. For instance, she knew with every fiber of her being that he was a strong man. Powerful. A leader. And she knew that he’d taken one look at her and decided he would have her. He wanted her, wanted to sweep her into his arms and carry her off to his own private lair. To lock her away and possess her body, heart and soul until he’d had his fill of her.

  The knowledge almost had her stumbling backward. Pride kept her locked in place. He wasn’t the first of his kind she’d had to sort out. She’d spent her entire life dealing with strong, powerful men. They were nothing but trouble. They demanded full control and considered everyone and everything within their world a challenge to either conquer, absorb or destroy.

  She also knew that if she were smart she’d turn around and flee the palace. The safest recourse open to her was to hail a cab and return to her apartment where she could hide herself in precious anonymity. There was only one problem.

  She wanted him, too.

  Flight or confrontation? Rationality or insanity? She hesitated for a telling second before lifting her chin. To hell with it. She’d never before thrown discretion to the winds. Tonight would be her one chance and she intended to seize it with both hands. Gathering up her silk chiffon skirting, Juliana started down the steps and toward whatever fate the gods decreed.

  Prince Lander Montgomery stood at the bottom of the staircase leading to the ballroom and stared at the vision standing, still as a statue, in the shadows on the landing above. She was absolutely magnificent—statuesque, with the sort of figure capable of making grown men weep. Her skin rivaled the color and beauty of the white lilies that dotted the floral displays, and set off hair that at first appeared brunette. But then she stepped into the light, and flames erupted from the darkness, smoldering like hot ruby coals. It reminded him of the fire that hid in the richest of Verdonia’s world-renowned amethysts, the spark of hidden red that would heat the blue and purple to a blistering inferno and had made the unusual gems some of the most coveted in Europe.

  She wore an elegant silver gown, the low-cut corsetted bodice and capped sleeves forming a triangle that framed her neck, shoulders and breasts. Her gaze drifted across the ballroom and a smile broke free, chasing the aloof expression from her face and completely altering her appearance. In the space of a heartbeat she went from cool and regal to warm and vibrant. And then she glanced in his direction.

  Heaven help him, it was one of the most intimate looks he’d ever received—open and direct, and as arousing as a lover’s caress. A matching hunger consumed him, a ravenous need. One look and he knew he had to have her. It didn’t matter why. It didn’t matter how. He’d never felt such urgency before, had never felt on the bitter edge of control. Not over a woman. He’d always been the one in charge, the one to set the terms. It was his right and one he’d taken full advantage of.

  Until now.

  She handed her invitation to the majordomo and then swept down the staircase toward him, crystal beads glittering with every movement. Lander found himself blessing whichever designer god had created her gown, mesmerized by the way the silver material clung to her shapely hips before flaring outward. Layer after layer of tissue-thin skirting lifted and fluttered to show off a spectacular pair of legs.

  It was like a scene straight out of Cinderella. Except this prince had no intention of falling madly in love. In lust, perhaps. Hell, definitely. But love belonged right where Cinderella found it—in a fairy tale.

  Reaching the final step, she hesitated. She continued to stare straight at him, her eyes the color of gold-flecked honey. He read barely suppressed excitement there combined with an inner fire that burned so fiercely he could feel the scorching heat from where he stood. It drew him, stirring an uncontrollable desire. It also roused the predator in him. He wanted to have her focus that iridescent gaze on him and only him, to discover the cause of her suppressed excitement. Free it. Just as he wanted to free her inner fire and bask in its searing intensity.

&n
bsp; A ripple lapped outward among the nearby guests, warning of gathering interest. Verdonia was a small country, the people attending tonight’s charity gala familiar with one another. This was the first ball since his father’s death, a traditional affair Lander had known his father would have wanted them to hold, despite being in mourning. And into the darkness this exotic stranger had appeared, cutting through their grief with fiery brilliance. It wouldn’t be long before one of the unattached males—or even a few of the attached ones—approached her.

  Before that could happen, Lander closed the distance between them. She was tall. In her four-inch heels she easily hit six feet. “Welcome,” he said simply. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Wariness clouded her eyes and she retreated a pace. “Do you know me?”

  Odd question. Did she think they could have met in the past and not remember each other? Not a chance. “No, I don’t know you. But I hope to change that.”

  Her relief was palpable, a fact he found intriguing. “My mistake,” she murmured. Her husky accent held the unmistakable sultriness of the American south and tugged at something visceral deep inside him. “I thought perhaps we’d met and I’d somehow forgotten.”

  “No. It was my rusty attempt at a pickup line.” Lander’s mouth twisted. “It would appear I’m seriously out of practice.”

  For some reason his admission succeeded where the line hadn’t. “In that case, you can practice on me. I promise I’ll go easy on you.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I wasn’t certain they’d let me in if the royals had already arrived. I don’t suppose you know the proper protocol? Is there someone I should speak to? Apologize to?”

  As a pickup line it worked far better than his had. “Prince Lander, for instance?” he suggested with a teasing smile.

  To his surprise, alarm flared. “Definitely not him. I’m just here for the party, not to hobnob with any luminaries. In fact, the first one I see will be the last, because I’ll be out the door in two seconds flat.”

  He fought to keep his face expressionless. How interesting. Unless she were the best liar he’d ever met, she didn’t recognize him. That had to be a first. Nor did she want to know him, which meant keeping her far from anyone who might give his identity away.

  “As it happens, I do know the proper protocol,” he responded in a grave voice. “You’ve missed the receiving line. Fortunate, since it’s damn boring. But it’s a serious lapse in etiquette to arrive so late. You’d be smart to get onto the dance floor as quickly as possible before someone notices and has you removed.”

  Alarm flitted across her face before she caught the wicked gleam in his eyes. Her smile flashed, filling her expression with a sweetness as unexpected as it was appealing. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone here who knows how to dance?”

  He made a show of looking around before shaking his head. “I’ve seen these men in action. It’s not worth the risk. Considering how late you are, it’s either me or the dungeon.”

  Her eyes widened and she managed to appear suitably shocked. “The dungeon, huh?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He shrugged. “Blame it on Prince Lander. He takes this whole I-am-lion-hear-me-roar stuff pretty seriously.”

  “So it’s either dance with you or be dragged off to the dungeon. Tough choice.” She pretended to consider. “I suppose I’d be safer in the dungeon.”

  “True.” He held out his hand. “But safe isn’t always as much fun.”

  “And rarely does it give us our heart’s desire.” She came to a swift decision. “I’ll dance with you.”

  With that, she accepted the hand he offered. The instant they touched it was as if time slowed to a crawl. Outside of their tiny world, sound grew muffled. Light dimmed. Movement paused. Her fingers were long and supple within his, revealing both strength and softness. He found he didn’t want to release her, didn’t want to sever the connection between them. Rather he wanted to draw her closer, to taste her, inhale her, touch far more than just her hand.

  Her breath quickened as he continued to stare, the pulse leaping at the base of her throat. Her lips parted in anticipation and in that twilight of stillness he could feel the heady rush of scented air as she swayed toward him. It was all the agreement he needed, the most subtle of feminine signals giving him permission to take what he wanted. He tugged her into his arms, and just like that, time clicked back into its normal rhythm. He had enough self-possession—barely enough—to turn his actions into the first steps of the waltz the orchestra was performing.

  Sweeping her onto the dance floor, he circled the room. She fit beautifully within his hold, her height making her a perfect match. He kept the dance simple and basic. She followed him without hesitation and he increased the intricacy of his movements, delighted when she matched him step for step.

  Her scent tantalized him, and he drew it deep into his lungs. “What’s the perfume you’re wearing? I don’t recognize it.”

  “You wouldn’t. It was a gift from—” She broke off self-consciously. “It’s a special blend, number 1794A.”

  He couldn’t help but wonder who had given it to her. A former husband? A current lover? Aw, hell. The fact that he cared was a bad sign. A very bad sign. He gritted his teeth, searching for something to say that would distract him from the futile path his thoughts were taking. “What have you named it?”

  She tilted her head to stare at him blankly. “Named it?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Okay, now he was distracted. “You have a perfume blended just for you and you haven’t named it?”

  She shrugged, disconcerted. “Was I supposed to? I didn’t realize.”

  “Most women would have.” Hell, most women would have named the perfume after themselves.

  “I’m not most women.”

  “So I’m discovering.” And he found that fact fascinating. “I just realized we never introduced ourselves. Tell me your name.”

  “Juliana Rose.” The mischievous expression in her eyes accentuated the burnished gold flecks. “And shall I call you Prince Charming?”

  He shot her a swift, suspicious look, but couldn’t detect so much as a hint of guile. “There are those who’d disagree,” he replied, sidestepping the question.

  “That’s because you threaten your partner with the dungeon if she refuses to dance with you. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a tour of the palace?”

  “I could show you the gardens. But the rest will have to wait for another night.”

  Her smile flashed. “In other words, we’re allowed in the gardens but the main part of the palace is off-limits.”

  “Something like that.”

  “And here I thought you were an influential man with unlimited power.”

  He stiffened. “What makes you say that?”

  “Instinct.”

  “Do you know me?” he demanded, throwing her earlier words back at her.

  In response, she eased away from him, distancing herself. A wash of cold air cut between them, while wariness stole the open warmth from her expression. “Should I?”

  “Verdonia is a small country.”

  “I’m not Verdonian.”

  “No. American, if I’m not mistaken. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Okay, fine. Yes, I’m American.” It wasn’t what he’d asked, and she damn well knew it. The contest of wills was brief. It took a strong person to stand up to him. And though he believed Juliana possessed unusual strength, it was no match for his. With an exclamation of annoyance, she conceded, “No, I don’t know you. As far as I’m concerned we’re two strangers who have the opportunity to enjoy a single evening together before going our separate ways.”

  “Instead of happily-ever-after we indulge in happy-for-one-night? Is that why you came here?” he demanded. “So you could meet a stranger and spend an evening with him? Is that the current American euphemism for a one-night stand?”

  Instead of reacting in anger she grew more remote, more r
egal. “I came because I received an invitation to the ball,” she said with devastating simplicity. “And I have to settle for a single evening because that’s all I’ve been given. After tonight I return to real life. You see, I discovered long ago there’s no such thing as a happily-ever-after ending. One night at a royal ball won’t change that.”

  “Then I suggest we make the most of the one night we have together. Have you ever been to a ball before?”

  “No.” Her voice dropped, the wistful quality underscoring her words hitting him low and hard. “At least, not to anything like this.”

  “I’m surprised.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because you look like you belong. You act like it.”

  “I don’t,” she replied shortly.

  “I’m not so certain. You’re wearing a couture gown. Your shoes are handmade and would have cost the average citizen a month’s pay.” He could sense her dismay and wondered at it. “Shall I continue?”

  “If you must.”

  “You walked into the palace as though you were a Verdonian princess. Proud. Confident. At ease with your surroundings. It tells me that even if you’ve never been to a royal ball, you’re accustomed to elegant affairs.”

  “I may have been to one or two,” she conceded.

  She’d aroused his curiosity. “Why is it so difficult for you to acknowledge that fact?”

  “Because it’s in my past. This gown?” She swept her hand over the silk chiffon skirt. “The shoes? Even my invitation are all gifts. If they hadn’t been I wouldn’t be here. It’s not a lifestyle I enjoy. Not any longer.”

  Lander didn’t have a single doubt there was a man involved in that decision. Had she been some wealthy man’s mistress? A plaything for the rich and powerful? Any man would have been delighted to have such a woman gracing his arm, not to mention his bed. The thought infuriated him, rousing a primitive possessiveness he’d never before experienced and one he fought to restrain. What did it matter who or how many men she’d been with? Right now she was in his arms. And if he were extremely fortunate, later tonight would find her in his bed.