The Prince’s Passion: A Fake Engagement Royalty Romance

by Styles, Peter

  “No. Please, join me.”

  He seemed to be a tourist, just like me. The clothes and haircut definitely identified him as European rather than American. We exchanged small talk. I suggested he order the pierogis.

  He smiled, watching me fork up the last dumpling before he leaned across the table conspiratorially. With his smile still firmly in place, he whispered so that only I heard, “Tell Ricard that if he doesn’t hold up his end of the bargain soon—money or information—bad things could happen to you, Mr. Leifsson. It wouldn’t reflect favorably on Calonia and definitely wouldn’t be healthy for you should tragedy strike a guest of the royal household.”

  With that, he stood, bowed ever so slightly, and disappeared into the crowd moving along the street.

  What the hell? I was tempted to run after him. Fortunately, sanity prevailed. The dude had threatened my life. What was I going to do? Throw my camera at him?

  I dropped several bills on the table, gathered my laptop and camera and returned to the palace. This time, I didn’t walk. I hailed a cab. The entire way back I went over the encounter in my mind. He had known my name. He had known about Ricard’s financial issues. I couldn’t afford to treat it as a joke.

  And despite my years of friendship with him, Ricard was not the one to turn to for help.

  As soon as I entered the palace, I asked to see Prince Amand.

  “He is in his study, sir,” the footman told me. “I will escort you.”

  I waved him off. “I know the way. Thanks.”

  As soon as Amand responded to my knock, I entered and shut the door behind me. Something in my demeanor must have tipped him off. He got to his feet, a frown on his handsome features, and walked around his desk toward me. As though remembering where we were and who he was, he stopped, leaning a hip against the corner of his ornate desk.

  “Daniel? What is wrong?”

  As I relayed the story, his expression darkened, concern mixed with his anger.

  “Just a moment. Let us call Ricard in on this too. Perhaps he will have some idea who it is that might have approached you.”

  He touched my arm as he said it, and once again, for an instant, our gazes locked. I looked away first, unable to bear the intensity of his dark gaze without a blush creeping into my cheeks as I recalled my musings that he had been making a pass at me last night.

  “Sit. You look shaken,” he said quietly, holding his hand out for my backpack. He poured me a glass of brandy, pressing it into my hand.

  As I sipped, he made a call to his security chief, requesting him to join us in the study. The head of security and Ricard arrived at nearly the same time.

  “Tell them what happened,” Amand said.

  I relayed the story once more. Ricard was frowning as well and shifted uneasily in his seat.

  “Do you have any idea who this man might have been, Ricard?” Amand asked him.

  Ricard shook his head. “He doesn’t fit the description of anyone with whom I have had dealings.”

  The security chief looked grave. “We cannot afford to brush this off. I must believe that there is a very real threat to Mr. Leifsson.”

  I stood, setting the empty brandy glass on the Prince’s desk. “The solution is simple enough. I can leave. I’m no threat. I’m nobody and can hardly be of any leverage, particularly if I’m no longer a guest here.”

  Amand spun away from the window where he had been staring out, a frown still fixed on his face, from what I could see of his profile. I grabbed my backpack and started for the door. I was probably violating a million rules of royal protocol, but I didn’t give a damn. I needed to get away.

  Amand halted me before I reached the door, one hand on my arm, the other at the small of my back, turning me toward him. I felt his touch as if it were a branding iron. His gaze focused on me with laser-like intensity. “Absolutely not, Daniel. You cannot go anywhere. I will not allow it.”

  Dead silence filled the room. Ricard and the security chief stared at us.

  10

  Daniel

  The speculation in Ricard’s expression and the open astonishment in the security chief’s at Amand’s words and actions were easy enough to read.

  “I need to speak with you, Your Highness,” I ground out. “Alone.”

  He stepped away from me, motioning to Ricard and the head of security to leave the room. The Prince and I faced each other silently until the door closed and we were in private.

  “We are alone as you desired, Daniel,” Amand said, his voice husky.

  I could not allow myself to be swayed by that seductive comment.

  “I will not be held prisoner in your country.”

  He arched a brow. “Prisoner? Surely that is an exaggeration. You are my guest…a very valued guest.”

  “Stop it. If I am a guest, then I should be able to come and go as I wish. I have work to do in the United States. I need to go home.”

  Amand stepped close, a thoughtful look on his face as he studied me. “What home would that be, Daniel? All your work is on your laptop, and did you not come here to find family?”

  Okay, the home comment stung. In fact, it was a hit below the belt. Despite my hurt, I tried to keep my tone light so Amand wouldn’t know, but I couldn’t help hitting back. “You’re right. I have no home to return to. How kind of you to point that out. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected any better tact from Ricard’s brother.”

  The Prince’s dark eyes flashed with fury that he firmly suppressed before ever giving vent to it. Why did he always do that? I had never seen Amand completely relaxed. It was almost as though he feared to let any other facet of his character show, yet the turmoil I often noticed in his gaze showed he was a man who felt deep emotion.

  Amand’s jaw was tight as he remarked, “You have my entire capital city and the palace at your disposal. Surely you can find something to keep you occupied while you remain—willing or not—in Calonia.”

  I gazed at him through narrowed eyes. There was more going on here than simply asking me to stay for my own protection. The question was whether it was personal or tied in with Ricard. Based on my previous experiences with Amand, I made an educated guess.

  “You’re using me as bait.”

  The slight widening of his eyes told me I had hit the mark.

  “We are taking every precaution to protect you.” He held out his hand for my backpack. “Stay with us, Daniel. Stay with me.”

  I couldn’t miss the intensity behind his words, but I was not going to allow him to lull me into acquiescence with his deep, hypnotic voice.

  “If you want me to stay, then I want to know more about what is going on, be kept in the loop. How can I get my work done if I must constantly fear who is lurking in the shadows? I have a right to know, Your Highness.”

  “Very well. Perhaps you do.” He stepped over to the bar at the side of the room, poured two glasses of wine and handed me one.

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “Amand. I think we have gone beyond the point of formality.” At my nod, he continued, “We believe someone is trying to sabotage a delicate trade deal the King, the Crown Prince, and I have been working on for some time now.”

  “I still don’t see how I fit into this.”

  “Now that a threat has been made against you, it is possible our enemies will reveal themselves.”

  “And I will be the one with the target on my back.”

  “You must have confidence that my security forces will be able to protect you. I won’t let anything happen to you, Daniel.”

  My brain fizzled at the warmth in his words. Trying to give myself some time to recover, I sipped the wine and stared out the window at the slowly setting sun before meeting Amand’s steady gaze. “I don’t need protection. What I need are more responsible friends, so I wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

  Amand regarded me over the rim of his wine glass. “I would be insulted on behalf of my brother, but truth is truth.” He shrugged and sipped
his wine, his dark gaze once again laser focused on me. “Why go to his bed, Daniel, if you didn’t trust him? That seems dangerous in this day and age.”

  Wine sloshed over my hand. “I beg your pardon? What? Ricard and I were never together. He’s not exactly my type.”

  Amand’s brow arched. “Oh? And why not? What do you look for in a man?”

  I laughed. “Well, first of all, I look for one who wants a man in his bed.”

  “Ricard has never appeared to differentiate between men and women.”

  “News to me,” I responded. “He’s still not my type. I’m enough of a rolling stone. I need someone who can make me sit still…or want to.”

  For the first time since I had met him, Amand looked slightly thrown. “You would choose someone who would douse your fire?”

  “No. But a fire is all the warmer when there is a hearth to build it in, don’t you think?”

  “You want a home,” Amand murmured, stepping closer, his gaze intent. “A master.”

  I nearly spewed the sip of wine I had taken. Not a desirable act when the Prince and I were finally on a first name basis. I coughed as I swallowed.

  “I wouldn’t go so far as the master part. Doms and dungeons aren’t exactly my style. But a firm hand, yeah. I need that…as in someone steady, responsible. My entire life has been lived on shifting sands of uncertainty.”

  I had no idea where this was heading. My heart was pounding and my skin felt flushed. And those weren’t the only parts beginning to sit up and take notice. Amand set his glass aside, took mine, and did the same.

  “I have a firm hand, Daniel,” he said, his voice dropping to an even deeper register. Our gazes held for what seemed like forever.

  “Are you offering to apply it to me?”

  Somehow, we had ended up almost close enough we could touch. His body heat warmed me, and the woody fragrance of his sandalwood cologne filled my senses.

  “Would you accept an offer if I made it?” Once again, the cautious Prince. Not wanting to take that first step into the unknown. Instead he was testing me, seeing if I would make the leap.

  “I don’t know, Amand.” We were nearly the same height, but I felt small and insignificant next to his broad shoulders and lean body, encased in yet another expertly tailored suit. This close, the contrast between his formality and my faded jeans and worn dress shirt was a pointed reminder of how different we were. “What could you possibly want from me?”

  Amand’s smile was slow and so sexy I was sure one or both of us was going to burst into flame. “I invite you to find out.”

  My fingers itched to touch him to see what he would do. Yet his inability to give me a definitive answer was odd from a man who seemed to have no trouble being decisive when it came to running the finances of an entire country.

  “Is this an offer?” I pressed.

  His eyes were hot and slightly mocking, but very, very serious. His hands bracketed my waist, drawing me so close that our lips were nearly touching. Yet he stopped shy of kissing me. My body was going wild at the feel of his hands on me, and I sensed the same turmoil in him, yet neither one of us was ready to take that final step.

  Our gazes clashed, our breaths mingled. All I needed to do was lean in and our bodies would touch from chest to thigh. Would the rest of him be as hard and chiseled as the jawline that, this close, I saw had acquired the faintest of shadows?

  “It is an exploration,” he murmured. “My solidness and respectability, your freedom and zest for life.”

  “Nice words, Amand, but what do they mean?”

  He stepped back. At last, I could breathe and let my heart settle back into a normal rhythm. He was once more cloaking himself in his aura as Prince of Calonia.

  “I should like to know you better, to spend time with you.” His tone was almost formal.

  “Like dating. What about sex?”

  He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but I saw the flare of heat. “If that’s where it leads, then yes.”

  11

  Daniel

  Dating Amand. Sex with Amand. Once again I scarcely slept that night as fantasies of taking him into my mouth and sucking him off burned through me. Yet, for all that I felt caught up in everything happening within the palace, I had not completely forgotten my primary purpose in visiting Calonia. My attempts to locate relatives actually bore fruit. One of the initial phone messages I had left, of all things

  Making a connection with that potential family member was a perfect excuse to escape the palace the next day. Maybe I shouldn’t have felt so confined, but between feeling I was the target of some mysterious bad guys, and the pressure of having a royal prince making passes, I needed a break.

  I still couldn’t figure out why Amand would even look my way. The novelty of taking an American lover? Slumming? The latter seemed far more likely. He was the epitome of an uptight aristocrat. I figured they all stayed firmly in the closet, if they ever even acknowledged they wanted to fuck another man.

  I guess he was off the hook in some ways. The Crown Prince had been the one who had to make sure he produced an heir and a spare…or three. Since Constantin had more than upheld his end of the procreation deal, maybe Amand felt freer to pursue his own interests.

  But why me? I had no money, no family. I was one failed travel book away from eviction most of the time. And my hints on frugal traveling? Those weren’t because I wanted to travel that way; they were because I had to travel on a shoestring.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. Trying to figure out what was going on in Amand’s head was giving me a headache, so I was taking the day off. I had made arrangements with my potential relative to meet at my favorite café. Maybe I was getting a little predictable, but I liked the food and the coffee, and it fit my budget which was still a factor since, unlike Ricard, I didn’t get an allowance from the Crown.

  I had asked Mr. Petrovny how I would recognize him, but he laughed and told me he would find me. With that in mind, I arrived a little earlier than scheduled, sitting at a table outside the front of the building. Coffee in hand, I watched people go by, wondering if I had at last found some roots.

  “Daniel Leifsson?” I looked up at a weathered face and bright blue eyes gazing at me from beneath the brim of a fedora.

  “Yes.” I hoped I didn’t sound too eager. As I made to stand, he waved me back to my seat, shook my hand, and took the seat facing me.

  “I am Georg Petrovny. So you are looking for family here in Calonia.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Georg, please.” When the waitress stopped, he gave her his order and turned his twinkling gaze back on me. “What makes you think we might be related?”

  “It’s a shot in the dark, really. Same last name, that kind of thing. I’m hoping more than anything else. My grandparents emigrated from here to the U.S.”

  “Anni and Vali.”

  “You knew them?” This was beyond anything I hoped.

  He shrugged. “I was apprenticing as a carpenter, but I remember meeting them a couple of times.”

  His coffee arrived, so I gave him a few minutes to dress it up as he liked and take a few sips, but it was difficult to contain my excitement. After so long feeling I was completely alone in the world, I had found roots. Georg reached into his pocket. “I brought a few photos with me of our family.”

  As he spread them out on the table between us, I recognized a shot of my grandparents, though they were much younger than I remembered them.

  “That’s them!” I pointed at the photo, and Georg laughed.

  “Look through them to your heart’s content.” He set an envelope on the table that looked like it had seen better days. “This is a letter Anni wrote to my elder sister to tell her of the birth of their daughter. I guess that would be your mother.”

  “So how, exactly, are we related?”

  He waved his hand as if it didn’t matter. Maybe not to him, but to me, it was the world. “Cousins of some sort.”

  I opene
d the letter, but my Calonian was nowhere fluent enough to read it. I stroked a finger over the yellowing, paper-thin airmail sheets. They were almost like tissue paper, they were so fine.

  “Tell me about you, Daniel. It is not often we meet up with another branch of the Petrovny family. What do you do?”

  “I’m a travel writer and photographer. My business is traveling the world and telling people about it.”

  Georg snorted. “So you have the same wanderlust in your blood as your grandparents and some of the other Petrovnys from their generation. I remember them talking about wanting more than the life mapped out for them in our small part of the world.” He shook his head. “My grandmother always told me that our people would find their way back home again.”

  He leaned back with a big grin. “And here you are. Are you staying at one of the hotels here in the capital?”

  I cleared my throat. “Actually, I’m a guest at the palace.”

  Georg raised his brows and whistled. “That would be a step up for us. We are simple tradesmen. Carpenters and masons. We make a good living, but we are not rich. How did you end up with our King and Queen?”

  I liked that he didn’t seem either overly impressed or intimidated by my revelation. No matter what his financial circumstances were, it was obvious Georg was comfortable in his own skin.

  “Their youngest son, Prince Ricard, was my roommate during graduate school in the United States.”

  Georg tapped my bicep with the flat of his hand. “Do not let those princes take advantage of you. Remember you are a Petrovny now.”

  He pulled out a pencil and a piece of paper, scribbled down an address and handed it to me. “I have promised my wife I will bring home cheese and sausage. You must join us soon. You call me or come by anytime. You are family. Welcome home.”

  This time I did stand and not only shook his hand but hugged him with a brisk slap to the back. As he waved and set off down the street, I could hardly keep the tears from my eyes.