by Leslie Kelly
He grabbed her by the arms and hauled her against his chest, burying his face in her hair. His voice thick with emotion, he muttered, “I’m sorry, Princess. I was going to tell you, long before I brought you here.”
“Yeah, yeah, I figured that much out already.” She cooed a little as he ran his big, strong hands down her body, touching her all over as if he wanted to make sure she hadn’t been hurt since they’d last been together.
She hadn’t been. Not physically. Her heart? That had hurt for a little while, until she’d put it all in perspective. Still, she wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily.
“Tell me how you feel about me,” she ordered.
He pulled back to stare down at her, the handsome, rugged face looking haggard, as if he hadn’t slept or eaten. “What?”
She lifted a hand to his cheek, scraping her fingertips across the rough stubble. “How do you feel about me, Lucas?”
He shrugged and answered as if it were the most simple question in the world. “I want you for my own, for the rest of my life, Penny. I don’t know what to call these feelings you bring forth in me, other than a certainty in my soul that we are meant to be together. And that if I were to lose you, I would never feel whole or happy again.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Because some words were just better than I love you. Some vows more binding, some emotions more deep.
“All right then,” she murmured, smiling at him, happier than she’d ever felt in her life. “You’d better help me get down from here so we can make our getaway before morning!”
He shook his head and pushed her back down into the pillows, nuzzling at her neck. “I don’t think so.”
“Lucas,” she groaned, “we don’t have time.”
He ran his tongue along the lobe of her ear, nibbling, blowing at the sensitive skin. “There’s always time for this.”
She sighed, pressing up and parting her arms and legs in welcome. “Maybe a quickie…”
“Huh-uh. You draping yourself over my Harley was as much of a quickie as my heart can take this week. We’re going slow.”
His words were both a threat and a promise. And he proceeded to make good on them, kissing and caressing her until she could think of nothing but him. His warmth, his touch.
When she urged him on, he forced her to wait, each stroke deeper than the last, each touch more erotic, yet infinitely tender.
He worshipped her body, showed the kind of restraint she didn’t think any man could ever have. He also showed her that even though she loved him driving into her in a frenzy, a slow, gentle penetration was pretty damn fantastic, too.
With arms and legs entwined, mouths exchanging kiss after kiss, they rocked together on the top of the crazy bed, swaying and loving until she started to cry at how lovely it was. How beautiful and perfect.
“I’m going to love you all the days of my life,” she whispered against his neck, knowing the confession ran counter to every rational thought she’d ever had.
She also knew it was true.
Finally, after he’d taken her flying far beyond the confines of this one room again and again, Penny felt him give himself over to his own climax. He shuddered as he came inside her, and she held him tight, feeling their hearts pound as one for several long moments. Then he rolled to his side, taking her with him, holding her as if he would never let her go.
Penny burrowed her face in his neck. “That was wonderful.”
“I know.”
Arrogant man.
“But we don’t have much time to figure out this test.”
“What?”
“I mean, I need to know what, exactly, I’m being tested on.”
He let out a bark of laughter. “Good grief, woman, you really don’t know your fairy tales, do you? This one is a classic. Everybody knows it.”
“Okay, so explain, Mr. H. C. Andersen.”
He did, telling her exactly what was going on in a few words, which left her gaping in shock.
“You’re telling me there’s a pea, one single pea, way down at the bottom of this bed, and I’m supposed to be so tender-skinned and delicate, it’s gonna keep me up all night?”
He nodded once, his chest rumbling with laughter.
“I think I’m gonna barf. I hate princesses.”
“I don’t,” he admitted, tugging her tighter against him. “At least, not all of them.”
She kissed his lips quickly, then said, “Okay, babe, time to hit it. We have to get out of here. Otherwise, I’m going to be stuck trying to pretend I had a blissful night’s sleep when really, I was up all night being thoroughly done by the big bad wolf.”
He swept a possessive, proud hand down her body. Then, as if realizing what she’d said, he drew back to look at her closely. “Why would you need to do that?”
“So I can fail, of course.” At his confused expression, she added, “I’m not going to marry Prince Ruprecht!”
“Of course you’re not. You’re going to marry me.”
Not exactly a standard proposal. But she’d take it. She’d definitely take it. “Right, but I have to get out from under Queen Witchy Poo first.”
“Ahh.” He drew away from her a little to sit up. “I have to tell you something. I’ve been doing some research. Asking a lot of questions. I even went to an ancient monastery to get some answers from the wise men this afternoon.”
She tilted her head, waiting.
“Penny, do you know what a matriline is?”
“No.”
“It’s a monarchy in which the title and power passes only through the female line of descendants.”
“Like in ancient Egypt?”
“Yes.” He took her hand. “And in Riverdale.”
She began to see where he was going.
“There is always a Queen of Riverdale, but never a King. Only a consort, like your father.”
“Meaning Prince Ruprecht…”
“Can never be King of Riverdale. The power is entirely yours.”
“I’m liking this concept,” she admitted. Nibbling her bottom lip, she asked, “But are you okay with it? I mean, can you stand me being your boss?”
He laughed deeply, throwing his head back. “Sweetheart, you can boss around the entire world, but behind our closed bedroom door, we’ll both know exactly how things stand.”
She shivered a little, seeing that sexy, predatory gleam in his eyes. She might claim a kingdom. But every night, her wicked wolf would claim the queen.
Suddenly growing serious, he added, “Are you certain you want to deal with the stigma of being with a Wolf?”
She rolled her eyes and grunted, tempted to punch him again. “I think prejudice is going to be one of the first things we tackle once we get things back on track.” Grinning impishly, she added, “That and indoor plumbing.”
“One of the best aspects of your world,” he agreed, kissing her temple. “To make it clear, once you are acknowledged as the true Mayfair princess, nobody can force you to do anything, ever again.”
Including Queen Verona.
“So all I have to do is get her to acknowledge me as a true princess in front of the court? Then I can tell her to kiss my…”
“Yes.”
Penny smiled, seeing exactly how to proceed.
Leaning toward the foot of the bed, Lucas grabbed a small backpack he’d dropped there. She hadn’t even noticed it. “I thought you might need this.” He reached inside it and withdrew her mother’s crown.
Penny took it from him but didn’t put it on her head. Not yet. She’d have it on in the morning when she climbed down to claim her kingdom.
And from that moment on, she’d fill the crown with her own lovely thoughts, wishes and dreams. Images of her loving husband, her beautiful children. Her happy life.
All of which she would have with Lucas Wolf.
EPILOGUE
THE COURT was agog.
Never had they seen such a pure, vulnerable, tender-skinned princess
. For when Penelope Mayfair descended from her tower of mattresses the morning after her ordeal, she looked frail, pained and weak. Her brilliant purple eyes—so like all the Mayfair women’s—were luminous and moist, the dark circles beneath them telling the tale of her long, miserable night.
While she had appeared foreign and different on her arrival, now everyone looked and saw only the true, rightful daughter of the late Queen Lenore. The long-lost, but well-remembered crown on her beautiful head underscored that point.
Those closest to the damsel felt their hearts twist as they noted the redness of her skin, the faint marks on her throat and her shoulders. She walked carefully, as if her poor limbs were weak.
All those who hailed from Riverdale felt a stirring of anger at the treatment of their princess.
“Poor little thing,” they whispered, all wanting to wrap her in the softest silk and comfort her.
The girl slowly made her way across the ballroom, members of the court melting away to let her pass, offering bows and murmured blessings.
Finally, she drew within a few feet of the queen, who was unable to take her eyes off the famous Mayfair crown.
“Queen Verona,” Penelope exclaimed in a loud voice, “what have I done to offend you? How could you treat me like this?”
The queen froze.
“I never imagined that I, the last remaining member of the royal family of Riverdale, would be treated in such a way. Asked to sleep upon a bed stuffed with boulders? I don’t know that I shall ever recover.”
Every bit of color disappeared from the queen’s face. The court held its breath, knowing what this meant.
The princess had passed the test.
The two women eyed one another, and those present that day later swore they could almost feel an imperceptible shift of power. An acknowledgement by the old queen that she had been bested. The gauntlet thrown by the young one, letting everyone know she was a new force to be reckoned with.
At last, Queen Verona bowed her head briefly and murmured, “My deepest apologies.”
The dark-haired girl smiled beneficently. “Ahh, well, I’m sure with the friendship between our two countries, it was nothing but a misunderstanding. When you visit us at our castle at Riverdale, we will assuredly offer you the finest of beds.”
Queen Verona hesitated, appearing confused. Finally, though, she could deny the girl’s heritage no longer. She was caught in a princess-test trap of her own making.
“I look forward to many such visits between our realms…uh…Princess Penelope.”
And it was done. The greatest queen in Elatyria had acknowledged Penelope Mayfair as the true Princess of Riverdale. Its future queen. None could ever naysay her again.
The older woman, still appearing shaken, beckoned forth her son, the frowning Prince Ruprecht.
Princess Penelope, however, held up a hand before either of them could speak. “I must tell you now. There will be no betrothal,” she said. “Where I grew up, people decide who they want to marry and such affairs of the heart are best left to the two people involved.”
“Hear, hear,” mumbled the prince.
“Ruprecht, you have my hand in friendship for as long as you desire it,” she said, before turning her attention back to the queen. “Now, I must depart. My kingdom has awaited my attention long enough, though, of course, I thank you for overseeing it during my absence.”
A ripple of laughter slid through the crowd as Queen Verona’s skin turned a mottled red. It grew when Prince Ruprecht chuckled, seeming well-pleased by the turn of events. Only those closest heard him lean over to Princess Penelope and prattle something about longing to set off to find a bridge of gold and a parade of rainbows.
And then, as legend tells, the graceful, gracious young princess turned and nodded to the court. Every person dropped in a bow or a curtsey, watching while she strode toward the exit, looking every inch the royal being she was.
She paused only once. There, with a whisper, she took the arm of a dark, handsome man whose eyes blazed with devotion. He was a stranger, recognized by only a few at court, but obviously very well known by their princess.
The unquestionably beautiful couple smiled at one another. Exchanged an intimate glance. A brief touch.
Then the two of them walked out of the castle into the bright sun dawning over another glorious Elatyria day.
A PRINCE OF A GUY
Leslie Kelly
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
ONCE UPON A TIME, there lived a handsome prince who would much rather have been born a princess. He hated jousting and war, preferring to be fought over than to fight. He liked tiaras more than crowns and was better at disco dancing than the waltz.
One day, after hearing of a city that boasted a bridge with golden gates, and a rainbow parade, he made his way to a wondrous place called San Francisco and found his heart’s true desire.
The club scene.
Unfortunately, his mother, the wicked queen, was determined that her son should come home and be crowned king. So she sent for the most powerful Amazon warrior in the land. Surely such a woman, trained from childhood in the art of war, would have no trouble finding the prince and forcing him to return. Nor would she fall prey to any feminine weaknesses and develop any personal feelings for a fussy runaway.
But his super-sexy double?
Well, that was a whole other story….
CHAPTER 1
HAVING BEEN TRAINED to believe it was her duty, and a great honor, to die protecting a member of the royal family, Olivia Vanderbrook tried very hard not to dislike her queen.
The bitch didn’t make it easy.
Queen Verona, the dowager who had ruled the kingdom of Grand Falls for sixteen years, since the death of her husband, was the most unpleasant person Olivia had ever known. The jewels dripping from every pudgy finger might sparkle, but the woman’s true personality couldn’t be brightened with all the gold in Elatyria.
Verona—once called Fair Verona—was petty and vain. Greedy and hungry for wealth. Impatient and capricious, she would hold a grudge for a hundred years after she was put in her grave.
To top it all off, she had truly awful taste in clothes. Olivia might always wear a simple black-leather uniform, designed for free movement in battle, but she knew a really bad dress when she saw one. Made with yards of heavy fabric and gaudy trimmings, the queen’s ugly gowns would look better on that nudist emperor who liked prancing about his kingdom without a stitch on.
Despite all that, Olivia knew she should admire the woman. In this man’s world, Verona had managed to defeat enemies who wanted to wrest the kingdom away from her young son, heir to the throne. She had become renowned for her shrewd dealings and her ruthless nature. Though not loved, Verona was feared and respected by all her subjects. Well, feared, anyway.
So as the captain of the all-female, Amazonian Royal Guard, Olivia should have been down with all of that. Women-supreme, chicks rule. Power to the va-jay-jay.
But no. As she stood in one of the queen’s private receiving rooms, her head slightly bowed, feet apart, the butt of her longbow braced between them, she could only think it was a shame the king had died all those years ago, rather than his spiteful wife.
Olivia’s father and the late king had been close friends. She remembered the former ruler as a kind man who had never ordered the head lopped off even the most saucy peasant. Renowned for his merry nature, he’d had a deep belly laugh and blew huge smoke rings from his pipe. He’d enjoyed playing chase-the-chambermaid, and so loved to dance that he kept a trio of fiddlers on call at all times.
Looking on him as an uncle, Olivia remembered anxiously awaiting his royal visits to her family’s estate. He’
d always brought wonderful presents for the Vanderbrook children. Frilly dolls and bows for her sisters. Books for her studious brother.
And weapons and miniaturized suits of armor for Olivia.
When she’d been but a child, the king had recognized in Olivia the same fighting spirit her most famous ancestor—her great-great-great-grandmother—had, a woman who’d been the leader of the last free-roaming Amazon band. The king had encouraged Olivia to join the Guard, and urged her parents to let her.
Considering they had several other daughters to marry off, and one studious, serious son who showed no interest in soldiering, Olivia’s parents hadn’t fought the idea. Every family needed a warrior—theirs would just be their second-oldest girl rather than their only boy. That she would be giving up a normal life—husband, family and everything else—hadn’t bothered her, or them, one bit. Because nobody had ever assumed she’d wanted them.
Everyone had known her destiny, and none had been surprised she’d risen through the ranks to achieve the highest rank—Captain of the Guard—by her twenty-eighth year. Her only regret was that the old king, who’d so encouraged her, hadn’t lived to see it.
Oh, yes, if he were still her monarch, the idea of laying down her life would be a whole lot easier to swallow.
For Queen Verona, though? Not so much.
“Ahh, there you are, Captain,” the queen said, imperious as she swept into the private chamber where Olivia had been kept waiting at attention for nearly an hour.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Olivia said, her head still down. Nobody looked the queen directly in the eye unless invited.
The queen draped herself across a chaise lounge, spreading out the skirt of her puce-colored brocade gown. Plucking off a piece of lint, she behaved like she had not a care in the world.
Olivia wasn’t fooled. The queen was upset—the bulging veins in her neck and the ham-hock fisting of her hands made it clear. Knowing better than to speak until addressed, she didn’t ask why.
