The double doors swing open, and the sound of my father’s deep laughter spills out before I see him clapping Izak on the shoulder and looking at him with what I can only describe as great fondness.
“Welcome to the family, son, you’re going to fit right in.”
My jaw unhinges in the most unladylike of ways, and I can’t stop staring at whatever miracle is before me.
Dad catches sight of me and frowns. “Darling, close your mouth, you look like a fish.”
My teeth clap shut, but words still escape me. Luckily, Izak hasn’t been rendered mute as well. “Thank you again, sir. I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice.”
“Please, I’m the one who is grateful. You’ve put an old man’s mind at ease,” Dad says with a wide grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to deliver some bad news to a duke and send him off with a fruit basket or some other consolation gift. I’ll see the both of you at dinner.”
Kissing me on the forehead, my father gently squeezes my arms, silently communicating so many things I don’t understand, then walks down the corridor with a little bounce in his step.
“What kind of spell did you cast on the Duke of Geneva?” I ask Izak, only half-joking. “Are you a warlock who practices black magic? Because I have literally no idea what just happened.”
Izak chuckles and pulls me into his arms for a quick embrace, then holds my hand and starts off in the direction of my room. “No magic was necessary, black or otherwise. I simply told him that I was madly in love with his eldest daughter and stated my intentions to marry her and spend the rest of my days making her happy. Your father is a very reasonable man.”
“No, Izak, he’s not,” I say with a shake of my head. “Not about this, he isn’t. He made my mum a promise on her deathbed. He would never break that promise unless…”
I look up at him and study his intense hazel eyes, the strong set of his jaw, the full lips that kick up on one side in that jaunty way of his that ties my stomach in knots. It’s then I realize that for as much as I know who Izak is as a man and, after this weekend, know every gorgeous inch of his body, his entire past remains a mystery. Any time I asked him questions about where he grew up or about his family, he somehow managed to steer the conversation back to me.
“Unless he thought a marriage to you was keeping his promise.”
He nods. “It’s true. He didn’t warm up to my proposal for your hand until I told him I was a prince of Danataria. And since prince trumps duke, he was all too anxious to give us his blessing.”
Again, my jaw drops. “You told him you were a prince. And he believed you?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Izak shrugs a muscular shoulder under his tailored suit jacket. “It’s the truth.”
“Izak, everyone knows the royal family name in Danataria is Atland, including my father.”
“Also true, Duchess, very good,” he says as we reach my bedroom and he holds the door open for me to enter. “But everyone also knows that Blackstone is my mother’s maiden name.”
Perching on my settee, I point to the spot beside me. “Sit. Explain. Now.”
Grinning, he sits. “As you wish, your grace.”
He then proceeds to give me a quick rundown of his family’s tradition of sending the adult children out anonymously to gain real world experience for an entire year before they’re allowed to come home and take on their royal responsibilities to the people. He chose to apply for a security job in Geneva to better understand how royal security worked since he’ll be the one to oversee their royal guard once returning home.
“But when my year was up,” he says with his arm draped over the backrest and his fingers toying with a section of my hair, “I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing you every day. I contemplated telling you the truth and formally courting you, but nothing about you is formal, and it didn’t feel right. But it did feel right to be head of your security team and personal bodyguard; knowing I was the one keeping you safe.”
I bite my lip and peer up at him shyly. “I did rather like the feeling of you taking care of me. Even if you could be a grumpy asshole about it.”
Izak chuckles, then grows serious again. The pad of his thumb lightly sweeps across my cheek. “Everything in me wants to take care of you, Duchess. Whether I’m dominating you sexually or making you breakfast or walking in the garden, I will always take care of you and love you with every fiber of my being. I swear on my honor as Prince of Danataria.”
With tears in my eyes, I lunge forward and kiss him until we’re both breathless. Pulling back, I gaze into his eyes and grin so big my cheeks hurt. “So, my bodyguard is actually a prince in disguise. What a lucky girl I am.”
He gathers me closer. “I suppose you are. I’m not first in line to the throne, though. You’d have to marry my older brother, Preston, for that honor.”
“An older brother, you say?”
A low growl rumbles in his chest, and I suddenly find myself astride his lap with his slacks-clad erection nestled into the apex of my thighs. Exactly where he belongs.
“Don’t even think of it, Duchess. You’re mine.”
“Is that so?” I say, giving him my signature arched brow. “Prove it.”
Gripping my bare ass, he toys with my G-string and smiles wickedly. “That a challenge, your grace?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, your highness,” I reply, using the proper way to address him. “It’s a double-dog dare.”
* * *
Thank you for reading KIDNAPPING THE DUCHESS!
Are you ready to meet Izak’s older brother, the sexy crown prince of Danataria?
When Preston Atland, crown prince of Danataria, meets his new attendant aboard his superyacht, he makes it his mission to get to know the charming woman better—clothing optional—until he realizes he knew her back when she still wore pigtails. Now he needs to behave and keep his hands to himself. But that’s damn hard to do when she’s begging him to be bad.
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All-American jock, Devin Adler, spent the second semester of his senior year fantasizing about sexy substitute, Miriam Fox. Now his post-graduation goals start with the seduction of one Ms. Fox. He has so much to teach her…in the bedroom. One week, no strings, anything goes.
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Turn the page for the full first chapter of CHARMING THE PRINCE…
CHAPTER ONE
“Good morning, your highness. Lovely day for a cruise.”
I glance up from my phone as I descend the steps of my palatial home and offer my chauffeur, Arthur Hammond, a half-hearted smile. “It’d be even lovelier if it wasn’t a trip to attend yet another charity event I don’t have time for.”
Opening the back door of the town car, the older gentleman who’s
been with my family since before I was born gives me a stern fatherly look. “How many times have I told you to take some time off for yourself?”
I smirk and slide into the car. “At least several times a week.”
“That’s because you work too hard, young Preston. You need a vacation.”
“I’m no longer young at twenty-eight, Art, and there’s no such thing as a vacation, only business trips. Just ask the king.”
Arthur harrumphs. “The king is the last person you should take recreational advice from, your highness.”
I chuckle as he shuts the door on me. He’s not wrong. My father is the original workaholic. But where his duties are running our small, powerful country of Danataria, I spend roughly eighteen hours a day running my own company. The other six are divided between mandatory royal appearances and whatever sleep I can grab. It’s safe to say “workaholic” runs in my blood, which is why I started my company to begin with. I wasn’t content merely being an ornamental figurehead. I needed a purpose, a challenge.
As such, I was the first Atland royal to run my own company and work outside the palace. Some think it’s refreshing and admirable, others think it’s an insult to the crown. But I’ve always had my family’s support—on the condition that I happily take my father’s place on the throne when the time comes. Theirs are the only opinions that matter to me.
Well, theirs and Arthur’s. He’s been like a second father to me and my younger brother, Izak—or as much as one can be while maintaining a mostly professional relationship with one’s princes.
Which reminds me, I need to talk with Izak about the security detail for an upcoming company event. Since returning from his three-year sabbatical living anonymously and acting as the personal bodyguard to the wild Duchess of Geneva in our neighboring country of Malvenia, he’s taken on overseeing our royal guard and acting as head of security.
To say my little brother both surprised and impressed me is an understatement. When he didn’t return after the requisite twelve months for the Real-World Test—our Atland family tradition of kicking the adult royal children out of the nest to live incognito among the people and work a normal job—we weren’t sure what to think.
But once he returned with the lovely Daria Copeland on his arm and announced their engagement, his reason for staying away for so long made perfect sense. I’m happy for Izak and Daria, and I love that their pending nuptials gets my mother off my back about doing the same for a while. Lord knows I don’t have time to date, much less fall in love.
By the time Art slides behind the wheel, I’ve already returned to my phone. My inbox is flooded with emails marked URGENT, demanding my immediate attention. When you’re the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar tech empire, there’s always a fire or ten that needs putting out.
Today is a ten-fire day.
As we pull away from the palace, I absently ask Arthur how his family’s doing. I know his wife, Annie, extremely well; she’s a primary school teacher and accompanies her husband to all the palace events. They have three daughters—Jessica, Andrea, and Maggie. The first two are a few years older than me, but Maggie was an unexpected blessing that arrived almost ten years after the other girls.
I can picture little Maggie bouncing around the gardens when our mothers got together, but by the time she hit her gangly teen years, I was off on my own RWT, then away at university, and finally starting my company after that. Now that I think of it, I can’t even remember the last time I saw any of Art’s girls. I should mention something to Mum about that; I’m sure she’d love an excuse to throw a garden party.
It isn’t until we pull to a stop in front of my Superyacht, the Prince At-Sea (a clever play on my name that amuses me), that I realize I only retained snippets of what Art was saying between responding to emails and texts. I immediately feel like an asshole and make a mental note to keep my phone in my pocket until after we’ve chatted in the future.
He opens my door with an almost sheepish grin, which I don’t understand the context of because I was too distracted to listen properly. “I don’t know who was more nervous for her first day, her or me,” he says with a self-conscious chuckle. “I know it’s only a summer job, but I hope she does well all the same.”
Oh, right. He said something about Maggie getting a job somewhere before her final year of university starts. “Of course she’ll do well. She’s a Hammond,” I say as I climb out and clap a friendly hand on his shoulder. “See you on Sunday. We should dock early afternoon, but I’ll let you know.”
“Very good, your highness. And if I may offer a small piece of advice, try not to let the paparazzi take shots of you catching flies this time.”
The smartass is referring to the last charity event I attended. As usual, I was running on little to no sleep and got caught yawning like a Danatarian bear preparing for winter hibernation. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say wryly, then leave him to coordinate getting my things onboard with Rolf, the best bodyguard-slash-personal assistant in the kingdom, who’s been waiting for us to arrive. I’d take my bags myself, but I learned long ago that Arthur and Rolf get pissy if I don’t let them do their jobs.
Composing emails in my head that need to be sent out, I head straight to my room, offering friendly hellos to the crew I see along the way. Since I have to wait for my laptop to catch up with me, I pass through the sitting area and ignore the desk to settle on my bed against the plush pillows and upholstered headboard.
Twenty minutes later, I’m hanging up from a call with my CFO when my door suddenly bursts open like our Special Forces kicked it in.
But there are no armed men in bullet-proof vests like I expect. Just a woman in a steward uniform fighting with my luggage.
It’s not that I brought a lot for a weekend trip, but she doesn’t have them fit together as they were designed. Instead, the laptop bag is strapped across her body, the garment bag is fully extended and hanging from the hand she’s holding up as high as it goes, and her other hand is tugging the rolling suitcase behind her. And all of that while trying to prop the door open long enough to get herself and the luggage into the room is apparently one too many demands on her limited coordination skills.
“Fuck a dilly-duck!”
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline, and I press a fist against my mouth to hide the smile I can’t hold back. People generally don’t curse in my presence, and I can’t recall a time when I’ve heard such a ridiculous phrase. I wonder if she has any other colorful expressions.
“Here, let me help you,” I finally say, my gentlemanly upbringing cringing at the idea of leaving her to do it herself like Art and Rolf insist. The petite blond yelps, dropping the garment bag and suitcase to clutch at her heart. I stop and put my hands up in surrender. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you didn’t see me. You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” she says with a light chuckle, sagging in relief…for all of two seconds before snapping to attention with a horrified expression on her face. “Oh my God, you’re here.”
Again, I find it hard not to smile, but I somehow manage a dignified nod. “I am here, yes.”
“Oh, God, I didn’t even knock. I’m so sorry, your highness! They told me you always stand on the deck and enjoy a whisky as we depart so I thought—”
“Hold on, there,” I glance at the gold nametag pinned on her shirt, “Marguerite. It’s quite all right. I’m not nearly the hardass my father is about formalities, and it’s not like you burst into my cabin while I was naked.”
She sucks in a shocked breath as her golden-brown eyes settle on the fly of my tan slacks. This time I don’t bother hiding my lopsided grin. I’ve never encountered a woman so unaware of proper royal etiquette. She’s either brand new or transferred from another position that didn’t deal with me or my parents directly. Either way, I find her semi-oblivious demeanor charming as hell.
But then she licks her lips, and my amusement goes up in a puff of smoke.
I’m sure it’s purely innocent, but
my sex-deprived brain spins it into something much more wicked. Like she’s imagining her mouth wrapped around my cock and salivating at the thought of my salty come coating her tongue and sliding down the back of her throat…
Fucking Christ. I’ll end up with a sexual harassment suit for pitching a tent in front of my cabin attendant if I don’t get myself under control. Clearing my throat brings her gaze back up where it can’t do any further damage. It also makes her flush with embarrassment. Remembering her reason for being here, she retrieves my bags from the floor and begins apologizing again while barreling her way into the room, presumably to put my things away.
“Marguerite, please stop.” That has her halting mid-step and facing me with wide, worried eyes. “There’s no need to apologize or do anything more with my cumbersome luggage. I can take it from here, I assure you.”
She nods and reluctantly hands it all over. After I set the laptop on the desk and drape the garment bag over the chair, I offer a reassuring smile. “Thank you, I appreciate you bringing these to me, especially my laptop. I have a long day of work ahead of me.”
“My pleasure, your highness. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes, you can call me Preston.”
“Oh, no, I could never do that. It wouldn’t be proper, your highness. Besides that, I’d lose my job if anyone heard me being so familiar with the crown prince, not to mention my employer.”
I don’t mention the obvious, that as said prince-slash-employer, I could easily override any such ruling about her position. It’s clear she’s not the type to be comfortable with receiving special treatment; another trait in her favor.
“Then we’ll compromise,” I insist, still determined to get my way. “When others are around, you address me formally as expected. Otherwise, I’m Preston. How does that sound?”
Kidnapping the Duchess: A Hot Bodyguard with Secret Identity Romance, Racy Royals #1 Page 6
