by Brill Harper
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About this Book
His mousy temptress is pure, innocent, and untouched. But not for long…
Markellan Bran, the brutishly handsome Prince of Kentigen, is used to taking what he wants, and what he wants from first sight is the plain, simple, and American Violet Havisham for his wife. He sees what most don’t when he looks at her—a curvy angel hiding an inner vixen. One who’s hot as sin and a woman complex and challenging enough to be his bride. He is confident that he can conquer anything—and Violet’s heart is next.
Violet Havisham finds everything about the brash, nearly uncivilized prince unsettling. She’s recently left the monastery and craves a quiet life. Falling for a devil of man like Prince Markellan would be a royal mistake. He’s too big, too brutish, and too darkly sensual for her. He says he wants to give her the one thing she left the cloister for—a baby. But surely she’d be better off adopting than taking her chances with a reckless, dangerous beast.
In his culture, the honeymoon comes before the wedding, and the bridegroom must convince the bride to marry him based on his honeymoon “performance.” So Prince Markellan makes her a deal—give him one week to satisfy her every need, and if she can walk away, he’ll let her go.
Author confession: If she can walk at all after a week in his palace, it will be a miracle. If you know what I mean. Did I mention that Prince Markellan’s country is a fertility culture that worships women and all things carnal? The men there spend years learning the arts of pleasing and caring for their women. And you know he’s not going to let her go with his royal baby in her belly. If you’re looking for a BBW heroine, a royal hero, beastly alpha dirty talk, and opposites attract in an instalove minute, you’re in the right place. It wouldn’t be a Brill Harper book if it wasn’t as sweet as it is filthy.
Chapter One
Twenty years ago
Prince Markellan ran through the museum and ducking and weaving around the tourists. It was his first time in New York and no way was he hanging out in a stuffy old museum all day.
He was an adventurer.
Slipping past Ranzel had been too easy. See? He was made for this. He should have been born a pirate instead of a prince.
So what if he was only ten? Lots of pirates could have started as children. Argh.
He flew through a door marked Employees Only and found himself in a corridor. Yes! At the end was an exit to the street. He wanted to see Central Park so bad. He’d find it on his own. Run the whole way if he needed to. Nobody could stop him. Heck maybe nobody would find him for days. He could eat…what did Americans call them? Hot dogs. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner. No, for dinner he’d eat cotton candy.
He was almost to the door when he heard the sound of the girl crying. He stopped and looked to his left to find a girl with long blonde, braids wearing a school uniform hugging her knees on the floor.
“Are you okay?” He dropped to the ground next to her. “Are you hurt somewhere?”
She snuffled and wiped her nose on her shirt. “I miss my mommy and daddy.”
“Are you lost?” Shoot. He was wasting seconds he needed to put space between him and Ranzel, but he couldn’t leave a crying, lost girl alone. His mother would skin him alive. The little girl was probably about three years younger than him. It was his duty to make sure she was okay.
“I’m not lost.”
“Well, then, where are your parents?”
“God took them.”
His heart fell. Oh man. He understood that. “God took my dad too.”
“What does he need them for? Doesn’t he have enough people? Why can’t he just take the old ones and leave the mommies and daddies here?”
He sat all the way down and crisscrossed his legs. This was going to take a while. “My mother told me that even though he isn’t here where I can see him, my dad is always with me.” And boy is his dad probably mad right now. What was he thinking, running away from his guard? He was going to be in so much trouble. “Who are you here with?”
“My school. We’re on a field trip. But I just got so sad and Sister Allison told me I need to be strong and not cry all the time, but I couldn’t help it. The tears just started coming, so I ran to hide until they are gone.”
Her eyes were all red and swollen, but they weren’t leaking anymore. “Well, you should go back before you get into more trouble.”
“What about you?”
“I guess I should go back too.”
“My name is Violet.”
“I’m Markellan.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out the gold Kentigen medallion his father had given him a long time ago. He always had it in his pocket. Like a good luck charm. “Here.”
“What is it?”
“So you remember when you’re sad that you have a friend named Markellan.”
She took it from him, and a little piece of his heart pinched when he parted with it. “Thank you. I’ll keep it forever.”
Sometimes, doing the right thing sucks.
“Let’s get you back to your class.”
He held her hand as they went back through the door he’d ducked through earlier. A mob of suits and even a couple nuns rushed them, and he tried to keep hold of her hand as long as he could, but the grown-ups got them separated. He’d never forget her sad eyes, the color of the sky in June, when she looked back at him one last time.
Markellan
Current Day
“Just one drink, Pieter.”
“Your Majesty, it’s too dangerous. You know that. We need advance warning to go into someplace like that. Have a drink in the suite.”
I clench my fists. It isn’t Pieter’s fault that he is right, but I do not like rules for “my safety” as if I am a man who cannot take care of himself.
I have the same training as my royal guard. I pass all the same physical tests, the psychological ones too. If I were not of royal blood, I would be on an elite team myself.
Yet I cannot complain about being a prince. I am fortunate in my birth, and it’s even better than I am the spare heir as I have no desire to rule.
But occasionally, I’d like to just be a normal man.
“Something less dangerous then,” I say.
“Your Majesty…”
When the car stops, I unlock the door and ease out. “You may follow me at a safe distance, but I am taking a walk.”
I don’t wait for Pieter to acknowledge my order and begin walking down the street. I know he is behind me, and I can feel his curses as he flings them at my back. Poor Pieter. His father had been my guard in my childhood. Ranzel retired early because of me, I’m afraid. But Pieter is a good man, and one I enjoy drinking with. He’s my best friend, though I’d never tell him that.
Ahead, I duck into a museum. I remember it from my first visit to New York. It’s quiet today. I stop at the ticket counter. “One adult please.”
“I’m sorry, sir, the museum is closing in ten minutes. It’s too late to purchase entry.” The blonde pushes my money back at me and gasps.
I am used to it. When someone recognizes me, it is either a gasp or a noise only a dog can hear.
She’s a bit plain at first glance. A shapeless sweater covers her figure, but the swell of her breasts is unmistakable. I’m all about a nice set of tits, so I keep looking.
Her blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing round glasses and no makeup. A bit pudgy, but I am a lover of women of every size, so I decide to make her day. I open my mouth to say something charming that she will tell her friends about later, but the words get stuck in my throat.
Her eyes. They are
familiar. How would I possibly know this woman? My heart picks up an unsteady pace, and it feels as if the ground is opening and I’m falling into it.
This sensation is new to me. I’m not one to get tongue tied. It’s just her eyes. They are so…blue.
It can’t be. No way. What are the chances? It’s been twenty years since I stepped foot in this museum.
“Violet?”
Chapter Two
Violet
I suck in a wet breath. Frozen.
The man is beautiful. Impossibly beautiful. Maybe even terrifyingly beautiful. I’ve never seen a man like him before. In real life, anyway. He’s like my every darkest fantasy come to life. Fantasies I didn’t even know I had. Fantasies I must have stuffed down tight, never to see the light of day until this moment.
He’s definitely more than six feet tall. Powerfully built in a perfectly tailored suit meant to make him look civilized, but not doing its job very well. He’s got firm, sensual lips on a savagely masculine face. A face shadowed with a dusting of a midnight black beard that matches the silky hair on his head.
That jaw. It’s perfectly sculpted with a muscle leaping in it as he narrows his eyes.
My name. Did he really say my name?
How does this sinfully, sexy man with danger rolling off him know my name? I’m not wearing a name tag today.
My breath starts coming in shallow pants, and I look down. I don’t have the skills for this man. I don’t think any woman does. He’s got to be a devil sent here to tempt us all right into his seductive trap.
“Violet? I can’t believe you’re really here. It’s been twenty years. Did you never leave?” I look up, startled. He’s smiling, but it makes me feel uneasy. It’s a predator’s smile, yet somehow familiar. “I used to wonder what happened to the little girl I met in the museum hall, but I never imagined she grew up in it. Do the exhibits come to life at night? Where do you sleep?”
He’s teasing me. Most men don’t even see me, and this darkly sensual man is teasing…wait. “Markellan?” The boy from the museum all those years ago?
My hand automatically goes to the round disc in the pocket of my cardigan. I’d made up wonderful stories about him, too. Ones just as fanciful as me living in a museum. In my imagination, he was a prince in the country of Kentigen, the name imprinted on the medallion he gave me all those years ago. My prince would come back and find me when he was old enough and whisk me away to his castle in the mountains. I’d become a princess and learn to ride horses and drink fancy tea and live happily ever after.
I imagined him handsome—in that sort of Prince Charming/Ken Doll way. Nothing like the gorgeous man in front of me. Oh he is handsome—in an untamed barbarian sort of way. Like you know he’s barely civilized no matter how finely tailored his suit is. My heart is hammering furiously, and heat lances me from head to toe; a kind of wild heat I’ve never felt before. I’m afraid I’m going to combust.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” I whisper.
“I’ve been back to the city several times, but never here. I don’t know what possessed me to come back today. Nostalgia, I guess. I always wondered what happened to the little girl with sad eyes.”
Not much has happened. Not much at all.
“Well, I work here,” I offer, ever the great conversationalist.
“Where we met.”
“I can’t even believe you remember me. Most people…don’t.”
A strange look passes over his face. “Of course I remember you. When I was a boy, I used to look up into the sky and wonder if you were looking up at the stars too.” He clears his throat and loosens his collar as if he is uncomfortable with sentimentality.
“I did the same thing.” Our gazes collide, and I have to dig deep for a courage I don’t feel. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by. It won’t come again. “I can’t tell you how much it meant to me, your kindness that day. It was such a painful part of my life, but I always remembered the way you took care of me when I was scared.” I must be beet red right now. It feels like my skin is on fire. I pull out the medallion, rub the familiar raised marks on it. “Do you…do you want this back? I always wondered if you regretted giving it to a stranger that day. I know it meant a great deal to you.”
I hold it out, and he stares at it like I’m holding a gun on him. “You still have it? You keep it with you?”
I nod. “Always.”
He says nothing. Just stares at the golden medallion and then at me. Right at me. I don’t think anyone has ever looked so closely at me before. Like I was a puzzle or a math problem to work out.
“Have dinner with me.” It isn’t a question or an offer. It is a command. From a man used to getting what he wants. A man so far out of my league he could be from Mars and have more in common with me that he does right now.
“I can’t. I’m…” …so very busy. Yes. I have the walk home to get to. The lonely dinner in my efficiency apartment. A book that waits for me to fall asleep reading. All so I can wake up and do the same thing tomorrow.
“Change your plans.”
This time, his arrogant demand gets under my skin. My inner-spinster takes over and I purse my lips, even as I kick myself to stop acting so prudish. I will never get used to dealing with people normally I’m afraid. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” He hasn’t taken the token out of my hand, so I slip it back into my pocket.
“Jealous boyfriend?” he asks.
I bristle. He must know I don’t have a boyfriend, jealous or otherwise. I shake my head.
“Ah. You’re afraid of me.”
“Of course not.” I’m so very afraid of him. He terrifies me. My skin feels like it’s stretched too tightly over my bones, but I don’t think that’s fear. It’s something new. A feeling I’ve never experienced before.
“I’m afraid I can’t promise you that I don’t bite. But I give you my word you won’t complain,” he tells me in that rock-tumbled voice. Gravel drug through honey. Dripping in honey.
The blood rushes too hard through my veins, and I feel woozy. “You shouldn’t…talk like that.”
“Does my flirting bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Have dinner with me.”
“Why? What would we even talk about?”
The museum security guard comes by, eying up my late customer. “It’s all clear,” he tells me, meaning he’s ready to lock the door behind me when I leave. I nod and grab my purse.
Markellan isn’t taking the hint that it’s closing time and I need to go. “We have twenty years of catching up to do. What won’t we talk about?”
“I’m boring.”
“Well, then I’ll entertain you with my wild adventures. I don’t just sneak around the back halls of museums, you know. I’ve upped my adventures over the years—I once stole my cousin’s car and went for a joyride when I was thirteen. I’ll tell you all about my childhood over the best steak in the city.”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand. I’m…”
“What? A nun?”
Oh, my face is absolutely on fire now.
A look of pure horror crosses his face as the realization dawns on him that he might have hit it in one. “No. No, you are not. Are you really a nun?”
I squeeze my eyes closed. It would be easier if I were. “Not exactly.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I think that’s one of those things like being a virgin. You are or you’re not.”
“I am…I mean I’m not…a nun. I was going to be a nun, but I left the convent.”
He opens the swinging door of my desk area like a gentleman to let me out, yet I have a feeling it’s all for show. He’s no gentleman. I walk past him but turn quickly around, not trusting him at my back.
“So you’re not a nun…but you are a virgin.”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish gulping for air.
“You admitted it.”
“I did no such thing!”
“Oh, so you’re not a virgin?”
>
“Markellan! Have you no manners?”
He sends me a wolfish grin. “Not in abundance, my lamb, no.”
The door dings, and I hear the guard mutter under his breath as two tall, muscular men rush in. “Your Majesty, we really must go.”
“Your majesty?” I ask.
“Cancel my evening appointments. I’m having dinner with an old friend,” he tells the man.
“Your majesty?” I ask again.
“Prince Markellan of Kentigen,” he says with an indolent bow toward me. “At your service, my lady.”
Chapter Three
Markellan
My lovely Violet has bewitched me.
I can think of no other reason that I’m suddenly obsessed with the perfect cupid bow of her sweet mouth.
Everything about her is lusciously plump, and I want nothing more than to taste every tantalizing inch of her body. I want to squeeze her delicate flesh. Mark her as mine.
We’re in the limo, and I’m clenching my fists to keep from touching her. It’s crazy. I know she thinks I’m crazy. I have no idea how I coaxed her into the car. Most women I’ve met would do backflips to get invited into my limousine, but not my lovely Violet. She looked at the driver holding the door for her as if he might be escorting her straight to hell. But in she went, finally. And now she’s stark white and nervously chewing her lip.
I notice she’s got my father’s medallion in her hand, rubbing it mindlessly, and it fills me with a strange new emotion. That she’s carried something of me with her all these years. That it comforts her.
She’s bewitched me I tell you.
She has none of the city polish I’m used to in this country. She’s shy, yes, but there is an earthy quality to her that makes me want to just be near her. And the idea that she didn’t even know who I was, didn’t recognize me as a prince intrigues me even more.
“I can’t believe you’re a prince.”
