Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Tara Wylde

  I scan the room. Everyone’s eyes are fastened on either me, or the guy steadily creeping up on Joe. Everyone knows what’s about to happen. I can practically see them deciding whose side to take when the first blow inevitably falls.

  The reporter dances around the table, continuing to pepper – no, needle – me with questions. “So, if you do get married, is it going to be a long-term wedding – or something that makes Kim Kardashian’s wedding to the basketball player look like a life-time commitment?”

  I need to get out of here, the sooner the better. Like all good athletes, I know my limitations. Put a sword in my hand and I’m brilliant, but when it comes to brawling, I’m at a total loss.

  I should duck out the nearest entrance and tell my driver to take off. My feet start to twist, ready to do what I’ve always done in similar situations, but then Alexis’s catches my eye.

  She’s still standing on the stage. She doesn’t look like she has the faintest idea what’s going on or what she should do about it. I wouldn’t be completely surprised if she didn’t tell a bad joke the first time someone aimed a punch in her direction.

  If I leave her here and this thing turns into a brawl, she’s liable to get caught up in the middle of it.

  Hell, considering how things are currently going, she'll probably be arrested – and wouldn’t the paparazzi have a field day with that particular story.

  I do what I always do when things get sticky. I form an on the spot plan and throw myself into it headfirst. Without bothering to think about the consequences.

  I drag my checkbook from my pocket and bend over the table, and quickly fill in the blanks. The ginger reporter darts past Brock and swoops in close to me.

  “Well,” he demands – pausing for just a second before he’s forced to dance out of Brock’s enormous grasp. “Is any of it true?”

  I grind my teeth. I’d love to tell this guy to bugger off, but doing so only adds fuel to the fire. As long as I keep my mouth shut, he can’t misquote me or put words in my mouth, not without facing a slander lawsuit.

  A quick survey of the room reveals that Roderick and Tim have not only slunk away, but are almost to the entrance.

  Roderick sends a longing glance at the area set aside for the auction, I know he’s weighing the pros and cons of staying and placing a bid on one of the girls. God only knows why. It’s not like he’s wanting for female companionship.

  His net value might pale in comparison to mine, but the combination of his looks, personality, and title is enough to have nubile actresses and models swarming all over him everywhere he goes.

  Tim grabs Roderick’s upper arm, tugging him closer to the exit. Good old Tim. As usual, the only one of us to be trustworthy in a crisis. I wouldn't want to count the number of scrapes Tim had extracted us from over the years.

  The crowd gasps.

  I turn just in time to watch the suited guy Joe bumped into reach out and grab my massive bodyguard.

  As Joe turns, the guy hauls back and sends his fist flying into Joes gut.

  My bodyguard grunts and absorbs the blow before reaching out and wrapping one ham-sized hand around the suited guy’s neck and propelling him, none too gently, to towards the check-in desk.

  Great, now the cops will show up and want statements from everyone. They know me – of course – and won’t detain me for long, but since it’s my bodyguard who was involved, they'll no doubt want to grill me. They can’t be seen to go too easy on royalty, after all.

  Meanwhile Brock patiently stalks my ginger reporter around the table. The reporter’s good and manages to stay one jump ahead, but it’s only a matter of time before Brock nabs him.

  There’s nothing I can do to aid with either situation.

  Settling on option three, I hurry through the crowd which parts for me. I ignore the spray of questions the reporter aims in my direction and stop in front of the charity table that’s set-up close to the make-shift stage.

  I feel Alexis’s eyes boring into me.

  “Here,” I pass the check to the older woman sitting on the right side of the table. “It’s my bid for Ms. Thane. I want to spend the evening with her.”

  One look at the check and the woman’s eyes bug out of her head. “But your highness,” she whispers. “This is far too much. You must have made a mistake.”

  I lean closer to look at the check. “Nope, that’s the amount I intended to bid. Is it too low, because I’ll happily add another zero – if that’s what it takes to spend an evening with the delectable Ms. Thane?”

  “It’s more money than we expected the entire evening to generate,” the woman says, pressing her fingers to her throat with shock before she passes the check to her companion.

  “Good.” I angle a smug glance at the stage where both Alexis and the auctioneer stare at me with wide eyes. “Then you’ll agree that the bidding on this particular young lady is officially closed.”

  Without waiting for her to respond, I leap onto the stage with a single bound. Bending, I wrap one arm around Alexis’s shoulders and slide the other behind her knees and lift her into my arms. She’s lighter than she looks.

  With her secure against my chest, I jump off the stage and hurry out of the lobby. Just before I make it to the door, the auctioneer announces that Alexis has been “sold” for a whopping fifty-thousand-dollar bid.

  And I allow myself a smile.

  249

  Alexis

  $50,000.

  The number rattles around my head. Warm night air that smells of dry pavement and dust washes over me as Lucas carries me out of the hotel and into the city. He pauses for a split second before turning right and strolling down the sidewalk.

  $50,000. The figure rings out in my head once again, like a tolling bell.

  I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous. In all the years, I’ve been helping with Tessa’s charity auctions no one has made such a large bid. Not even close. The highest I can remember was the two grand a sweetheart of a guy who bid on his long-time girlfriend as part of an elaborate proposal.

  It was one of the most romantic things I’d ever experienced.

  Until now.

  I angle my head and look up at Prince Lucas’s face. His expression is set in the same hard, determined lines I saw the earlier that day when I met him. Not a single sign of romance, humor, or love.

  And my heart sinks.

  This is all about winning that stupid bet and Lucas' complete belief that he’s entitled to anything he wants. Since I didn’t jump into his arms voluntarily when he suggested, no ordered, me to marry him, he’d decided he’d simply take me.

  Even money says he doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong.

  “Your highness?”

  I peek over my shoulder. Lucas has stopped beside a gleaming black limousine. A driver, the same one who delivered me to the castle this morning, stands by an open black door. Lucas deposits me on the leather seat while addressing the driver in their native tongue.

  I slide across the seat, silk whispering against leather, and try the other door. Locked. I chew my lip with indecision.

  Lucas settles onto the seat and the driver closes the door, sealing us in. With the privacy window in place and only a few dim lights, it feels like we’ve left the real world, with all its noise and confusion behind and slipped into our own little dimension.

  I wet my lips and direct my attention to the issue at hand. “This is kidnapping.”

  “Depends on your point of view.” Lucas opens the mini bar and removes a few small bottles. “You’re a vodka martini girl, right?”

  “What else can it possibly be called!”

  “An intense desire to spend some quiet time with the beautiful woman I intend to wed.” There’s something dark and seductive in Lucas’s tone that my body responds to.

  I accept the drink though I probably shouldn’t. I’m a tad dizzy from the earlier incarnations.

  “I’m not going to marry you. Ever.”

  “I disagr
ee,” Lucas says smoothly.

  I swallow the entire martini in order to resist the impulse to pour it over his head.

  “Not only would it have to be a cold day in Hell, but you’d have to be the last man on the entire planet before I’d even consider pairing off with you.”

  Lucas cocks a brow and slides smoothly across the seat, pinning me between his body and the door. “Your little scenario means a lonely life. Besides, I think you’d find it doesn’t take long to grow bored with celibacy.”

  I almost make a comment but decide to swallow it. I cross my arms over my chest and lean back against the door. Lucas leans closer, invading my personal space until the sight and smell of him fills my senses.

  I don’t know if it’s him or the vodka that’s suddenly making it so hard to think.

  “You might be the heir to Moravia’s throne, but you have limits, you can’t force me to marry you if I don’t wish to.”

  “Absolutely correct,” Lucas confirms, he reaches out and uses his index finger to trace the line of my collar bone. My skin comes alive beneath touch and little lightning bolts of sensation shoot directly to my breasts. My nipples swell. It takes all my will-power to remain still and not lean into him.

  “But there are ways I can convince you to take me up on my offer.”

  “Never.” I’ve never heard my voice sound so low, so breathless.

  “I don’t think you’ve really considered all the angles.” Lucas edges closer. His rock-hard thigh presses against mine. Our breaths mingle.

  His finger makes another sweep across my collar bone and my thoughts flee.

  “What do you want.”

  Lucas’s mouth finds my ear lobe. He takes it into his mouth, the teeth scrape against the delicate skin. “I want to change your mind. I want to marry you. Tonight. The sooner the better.”

  “Why me?” Heat dances along my nerve endings and pools between my thighs.

  Lucas shifts his position. His hand moves from my throat to my left breast. He cups the mound, his touch burning my flesh. His teeth release my ear lobe and he sprinkles light kisses.

  “Because you’re available.”

  250

  Alexis

  The words are as effective as a cold bucket of water. I shove against his chest, forcing him away from me.

  “I want out of the car. Now.”

  Lucas blinks and at least has the good grace to look confused. He peers out the tinted windows.

  “We’re in a bad part of town.”

  “I don’t care. Anyone or anything I encounter out there has got to be better than your company. Let me out of the car now.”

  Lucas keys the intercom on and issues a command in his native tongue. The car drifts to the curb and stops.

  I reach for the door handle but Lucas leans across from me and captures my hand in his.

  “Please wait.”

  “Why, so you can insult me some more. Fat chance.”

  I jerk my arm but can’t break his grip. “Word of advice,” I growl, feeling unaccountably slighted. “The next time you ask a woman to marry you just so you can win a bet, try more romance and less honesty. You’ll get further.”

  “Alexis, I’m sorry.”

  “So the fact I’m available and you have a deadline hanging over your head had nothing to do with your sudden desire to marry me.”

  “It’s true, all of it – that you’re available and that I really want to win this bet.”

  I take a deep breath in preparation for letting him know my thoughts, but he places a gentle finger on my lips and stares deep into my eyes, silencing me.

  “But there’s lots of available women. Before you appeared at the castle, I’d made up my mind to marry my mother’s assistant.”

  “I think I remember her. Tall chick, looks like she lives by eating paper rather than real food. Is surgically attached to her phone?”

  And a drop dead, stunning beauty. I don’t say that bit, of course. But it preys on my mind.

  “She would have said yes. What’s that saying you American’s use…” Lucas snaps his fingers.

  “A New York minute. Yes, that’s it. She’d have agreed in a New York minute and had a complete royal wedding arranged within an hour or two.”

  “So why didn’t you ask her to marry you?” I mutter sourly. “I’m sure you’d both be very happy together.”

  “Because since meeting you, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about any other woman. You fill my thoughts. All day long, I’ve can’t stop wondering about what you taste like, what you look like under this beautiful dress. How you’ll feel when you surround my cock. There’s something about you. I want to make you mine in ways that I’ve never wanted before. I don’t just want to sleep with you, it’s deeper than that. I want you to burn for me.”

  Holy Crap!

  Heat burns my face. I require all my resolve to remain passive beneath his steady gaze. No one has ever said anything like that to me before. I’m not the kind of person who inspires that kind of reaction.

  I spit out the first thought that comes to mind. “Do you know what the difference is between an "Oooh!" and an "Aaah!"?

  Lucas shakes his head but his expression doesn’t change. Not even a trace of humor or spark of curiosity.

  “Just three inches.”

  “Well then,” he takes my hand and guides it to his lap. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  His pants do nothing to hide his size or his desire. Moving on their own violation, my fingers stroke his length, measuring it. Lucas closes his eyes and groans. Beneath the material, I feel it pulse and grow beneath my touch.

  My body responds with a fresh wave of heat. My muscles soften and a touch of dampness soaks my panties in an instant.

  “I do this to you?”

  “Mmm,” Lucas confirms between ground teeth.

  I run my fingers up and down his cock, thrilling each time it twitches. It’s strange, I can’t explain it, but knowing I have this effect on him makes me feel powerful.

  Primal.

  Lucas' head rests against the back of the limo seat and his free hand is clenched in a tight fist. His nostrils flare and his mouth is parted. He’s enjoying this.

  “What would it be like?”

  His eyes open and he looks at me, confused. “Pardon.”

  “Our … marriage. What would it be like?”

  I can’t believe I’m considering this.

  “Oh,” Lucas take a few deep breaths. “I haven’t thought about that and,” he removes my hand from his lap and clasps it between both of his. His fingers stroke my skin, the touch rocketing through my entire body, “I can’t think with your hand there.”

  He releases my hand and reaches for the liquor cabinet. He mixes my drink before pouring himself a large scotch.

  “To fulfill the terms of the bet, it must last six months. During that time, you’ll attend formal functions as my wife. You can spend the rest of the time working on my mother’s museum.”

  “Oh.” I say, settling back into the leather seat with a touch of – I don’t know – perhaps disappointment.

  Lucas tosses back his drink and turns to look directly into my eyes. “You should know that although there’s a timeline, while we’re married, I expect this to be a real marriage. You’ll share my bed.”

  My body hums at the thought, though I suppose that could be a result of the vodka. “Okay.”

  “And you have my word that I’ll remain true for as long as we’re married. I’ll invite no other woman to my bed. I won’t so much as think of another woman.”

  What would it be like, I wonder, to have this man all to myself. Yes, he is infuriating and frustrating beyond all measure. And yes, I’d probably spend most of the time wanting to strangle him.

  But there would also be passion and glamour, and a chance to further my career. I doubt we’ll ever fall in love. We’re too fundamentally different for that, but maybe, if I try really hard, I can teach him how to laugh.

  A
t least, that’s the lie I tell myself. That logic is driving this. That I’m thinking about this rationally. That my brain is in charge, instead of…

  Something else.

  “Okay.”

  Lucas floats a brow. “Okay?”

  “Okay, let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

  251

  Alexis

  I do, I do, I do.

  The words flash, in cornea-burning neon, against my closed eyelids. Each burst of unwelcome neon is accompanied by a painful throb that encompasses my entire brain.

  I shift on the cool sheets and instantly regret the action as a fresh burst of pain seizes my head until I’m convinced my skull’s about to explode.

  At least the bed is comfortable, though it’s not familiar and the room feels larger and airier than the hotel rooms I generally occupy.

  Laying very still, I slowly shift through my memory, plucking at different files in search of the one that will provide information about where I am and how I got here.

  I call up an image of a kindly man with dark skin and the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen standing, smiling, in front of me. He’s dressed in ornate robes and is surrounded by candlelight.

  My stomach twists. I’m certain I no longer want to go through with this trip down memory lane, but now that I’ve started, I’ve no choice but to complete it.

  Another memory, not visual but a tactile one. I’m standing in what feels like a large, cavernous room. Someone’s pressed close to my side, their fingers laced with mine. I smell their spicy cologne, feel their lips brushing my hair. Close by, someone is talking, well not talking so much as reciting a speech, in an unfamiliar language.

  The person holding my hand, whispers a translation in my ear and prompting my response.

  The knot in my stomach tightens.

  Now a glass full of golden champagne appears before my mind’s eye. I recall how sweet it tastes and how much the bubbles tickling my nose delight me.