Possessing Beauty

by Madison Faye

  But that’s where it’d stopped.

  Claire D’Claire. I’ll grant, it was a bizarre name, but I couldn’t have given a fuck what her name was after I’d seen her that day. I’d been on the balcony of my penthouse suite, gazing down at the beach and the pool below when I’d spotted her. Ibiza wasn’t really my scene — even for a party-guy like myself. But I’d started to try and take the business holdings I ran a bit more seriously, and since I did own that resort, I’d taken an impromptu trip down to the Spanish Island to take stock of how things were running.

  But then I’d seen her, and every bit of me trying to be rational and responsible went dashing away.

  Because holy fuck.

  The red hair caught my attention first, and the rest had just drawn me in. Gorgeous red locks, tucked up under that big sun-hat she wore. Porcelain skin, and a body that had my cock hard in seconds. Curves in all the right places, freckles, an ass I could sink my teeth into - all wrapped up in a tiny little powder blue bikini.

  I’d known right then and there that she’d be mine. After all, most women were, when I wanted them. But I wanted her harder than anything I could even remember. I wanted her so bad I actually felt my head spin and my heart skip a beat. And hell, I couldn’t even see her eyes behind those shades.

  This being my hotel, it didn’t take more than a phone call to get her name, to find out she was staying down the hall in one of the other penthouse suites, and that “why yes, Your Highness, a manager with a keycard will be right up.”

  Easy as pie.

  The plan was simple. Wait, show her the part of my body that seemed to attract chicks like a magnet, and let the good times happen. I’d always had the reputation, and the rumors had always flown, but lately, my rep had gone to new heights, after that tabloid had published a “tell all” from some duchess I’d had a fling with a few months back decided to talk to the media.

  After that, what I was packing between my legs wasn’t just rumor — it was headline news. “Prince Magnum,” they’d called me. I’d had a good laugh, enjoyed the rolled eyes and claps on the back from my buddies, and even enjoyed the extra attention the female population bestowed upon me.

  But after that, it’d just gotten annoying.

  But the plan that night in Ibiza had been simple: let myself into her room, wait, and when she walked in, greet her with my… package. After that, I’d had a pretty good feeling I’d be busy for the next day or so.

  The first parts had gone off perfectly. I’d stripped down and stroked my cock to full-mast thinking about stripping that tight little body of hers out of that bikini with my teeth. I’d laid on her bed, nursing a scotch, and I’d grinned when I heard the keycard in the door. Claire had walked in, her face had gone redder than her hair, her pouty lips had parted in a big O shape, and those big green eyes had dropped right to my dick.

  But then, the plan had fallen apart. Instead of jumping me and begging me to take her any way I pleased, like I’d imagined, she’d done just the opposite.

  She’d run the fuck away.

  Literally no woman had ever done that to me.

  I tried to shake it off. I’d gone back to my own room and collected myself, frowning as I dressed to go out. I’d hit the clubs, and I’d tried to lose myself in the eager, willing women who surrounded me, but it’d been useless.

  Something was broken in me. I had no interest in the girls draping themselves all over me, willing to bend over backwards to get just a taste of me. It suddenly seemed cheap, and boring. Fuck, I wasn’t even hard.

  I’d gone home alone that night. And the night after. And the one after that.

  I’ll skip to the end: I’d gone home alone for the last four weeks, ever since I’d laid eyes on Claire.

  She’d possessed me somehow. She’d captivated me, and hooked me deep like I didn’t think I could be hooked. After all, there were a lot of willing women in the world, and I had ten solid inches for each of them.

  Not anymore, apparently. Because apparently, my magnum only got hard at the thought of one woman now.

  Oh, right, and she didn’t exist. The reason Claire D’Claire sounded like too weird of a name for someone to have was because it was too weird of a name for someone to have. The name was bullshit, and the room had been paid for via an encrypted online transfer that even I couldn’t glimpse at.

  All I had was a fake name, a memory of her burning into my head, and the few things she’d left in the room when she’d run — some clothes, her orange blossom scented shampoo, and her high-heels. Well, one of them at least. I had one shoe of hers, as if this was some sort of fucking fairytale.

  Of course, a fairytale wouldn’t involve me wrapping the pair of panties she’d left behind around my cock and stroking myself until I’d emptied my balls at the memory of her.

  I’d done it about two dozen times since that night.

  I shook my head as I followed my friends up the front steps to the palace.

  Of course, I had a reputation to uphold, especially to my three best friends. Hell, I was Prince Magnum. I dropped panties left and right, and I bedded a different woman nightly. The fact that I’d been lying to by best friends about this for weeks, and literally making up fake hook-ups was depressing, not to mention sad. But I couldn’t tell them the truth. I couldn’t tell them I was hung up on some mystery girl I’d never even slept with — one who’d left me a fake name, a few pairs of panties, shampoo, and a shoe.

  This night was going to suck. I was going to have to fuck around and pretend I was trying to get into the panties of a bunch of random princesses. I didn’t really pay attention to the latest who’s who of the royalty in the world, and though I knew of King Lucian of course, I knew his daughters mostly stayed out of the limelight, and certainly out of the tabloids.

  Wonderful. I was going to have to dance and flirt with a cloud of prudish, plain-jane, shut-in princesses all night, all while my head and my heart was stuck on my mystery Claire.

  The storm clouds around my head only darkened, my mood only souring as we stepped down the lavish hallways of the palace towards the sounds of the crowd in King Lucian’s enormous ballroom. I grabbed two champagnes off a waiter’s tray, slugging back one and keeping the second as I took a deep breath and stepped in. Time to put on my mask, act the part, and —

  And whoa.

  My heart jumped in my chest. My head spun. My whole world stopped for a second. My cock throbbed rock hard in my tuxedo pants.

  Impossible. It wasn't possible. She wasn’t real. She didn’t even exist, to the point where if I didn’t have her shoe and her panties, I’d assume she’d been a figment of my imagination.

  Expect here she was. Here, in Avlion, at King Lucian’s suitor’s ball, standing with some other girls, looking fucking radiant and gorgeous and sexy as hell in that green and gold dress, with her red hair falling around her shoulders and her green eyes sparkling. My mystery girl.

  Claire D’Claire.

  I was aware of slugging back the rest of my champagne, pushing away from Caspian and Cade, even though they were talking to me about something or other, and stalking right across the ballroom towards her.

  I ignored everything else. I didn’t even see anything else as I shouldered my way right through people towards her. I was a few steps away, when suddenly, she turned, and her eyes went wide.

  Oh, she remembered me alright.

  She’d run from me once, but Claire D’Claire, or whoever she really was, wasn’t getting away from me again. Tonight, she’d be mine, come hell or high water.

  “You,” I growled, stepping into her and feeling my blood run hot at the sound of the gasp from her lips.

  “Hi,” she barely whispered, her eyes wide, her cheeks rosy and pink.

  I’d ignored the tall blonde and the shorter, black-haired girl standing beside her, but the blonde cleared her throat, clearly recognizing me.

  “Um, Imogen, this is—”

  “I know who he is,” she said quickly, her lips quiv
ering as she stared at me.

  Imogen?

  I was still frowning when the blonde curtsied and put her hand out. “Welcome to Avlion, Prince Magnus. I’m Ilana, King Lucian’s eldest daughter.”

  “Hey,” I mumbled, barely glancing at her, my eyes still locked on the mystery redhead in front of me as if daring her to disappear again.

  The blonde smiled. “And this is Princess Adele White, of Berne.”

  I was half tuning her out again, when she continued, and everything went upside down.

  “And this is my sister, Princess Imogen.”

  That’s when I froze. That’s when it was my turn for my jaw to drop, and my eyes to go wide. Slowly, I turned to the blonde, recognition spreading over my face as I realized she was Princess Imogen Morningstar.

  This is my sister.

  The other shoe dropped, and slowly, I turned.

  Claire D’Claire.

  Or else better known as Princess Imogen Morningstar, one of Lucian’s three daughters, and one of the reasons for this ball. My mystery girl was one of the famously virgin princesses of Avlion, and this ball tonight was to find her a suitor for marriage.

  Something primal growled inside of me.

  She’d run from me once, but that would not be happening again. Because tonight, I was going to make this princess mine and only mine. Find her a husband, huh?

  Fuck that.

  She’d been mine the second I saw her. Tonight, I’d make sure she knew that.

  3

  Imogen

  No.

  No-no-no-no-no.

  This could not be happening.

  I knew he’d be there, of course, but I’d planned on spending the evening camped out by the wall pretending he didn’t exist and that I’d never seen what I’d seen. He, I was sure, would be camped out surrounded by giggling, flirty, slutty princesses — the kind of girls who went for guys like him. The kind of girls that somehow found filthy talking, crude, gorgeous, renowned-as-being-sex-gods type men attractive.

  I blushed.

  Yeah, jeez, who could find THAT attractive…

  I glanced up, shivering as I realized he was staring right at me. And of course, the heat pulsed through my face. The last time I’d seen this man, he’d been naked on my bed, with his cock in his hands and that grin on his face. He still had the same smug smile, though he was thankfully clothed this time.

  I wondered for a second if I really was that thankful before I mentally chastised myself.

  Of course I was.

  This night was going from bad to worse. First, this whole mess. Then, we’d arrived, and my younger sister, Isla, had immediately been pulled out onto the dance floor by Prince Logan Anders, of Torsund — a man with a reputation about as terrible as Magnus’s. Prince Logan — if you believed the rumors — was cursed. But whether you believed nonsense like that or not, you only had to look in the tabloids to see the way the once charming, upbeat, heartthrob of a prince had turned into, well, what they called him now.

  The beast.

  So, great. My secret shame was undressing me with his eyes from across the ballroom, my younger sister was off being eaten or whatever by Prince Logan the beast, and here I was, just wishing I could get through this night.

  “Evening, Princess.”

  That voice.

  My eyes snapped up from their gaze at the floor to see him standing right in front of me, that damn smirk on his face, those blue eyes flashing fire.

  “Prince Magnus,” I said curtly.

  “My close friends call me Magnum, actually,” he purred, moving closer to me — way too close, as if we were at some pick-up bar and not a royal function at my father’s palace. I moved back, only to find the ballroom wall at my back.

  Damnit.

  “I’ll have to remember that,” I said icily. “Magnus,” I added, pointedly.

  Ilana coughed beside us, clearing , or at least trying to clear the tension between us.

  “Do you two, um—”

  “Nope,” I said quickly.

  Crap, too quickly. I felt my oldest sister’s eyes on me. Yep, I’d be getting interrogated on that one later.

  “Are you sure?” he said with that damn grin on his face. “You do look awfully familiar. I feel like we’ve met somewhere.”

  “I doubt that, and I look familiar because you know my father.”

  “No, no, that’s not it,” he said with this big elaborately mimed thinking face. “No, I think it was… hmm, where was it that we met?”

  “No where,” I said icily.

  Ilana cleared her throat again. “So, I’m going to go get some, uh, punch or something.”

  Yeah, I wasn’t hiding my disdain for Magnus or the awkwardness of this meet in the slightest bit, and she’d caught on.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Actually,” his hand shot out, grabbing my bare arm. I shivered at the sudden electric shock that traveled right through my body. It centered on that touch and fizzled through every single inch of me. I whirled back at him, my breath catching as those stunning blue eyes caught mine.

  “I’d love a dance.”

  I frowned. “Excuse me?”

  Magnus grinned. “It is a ball, right?”

  ““It is, but I’d rather—”

  “Oh, go dance,” Ilana nudged me.

  I glared daggers at her that said “I’ll kill you later,” but she either didn’t catch it or ignored it.

  “Chester will be here soon, and—”

  I gasped as I suddenly felt Magnus just pull me away, marching us towards the dance floor.

  “Get your hands off of— oh!”

  I gasped as he suddenly spun me, and before I knew it, his arm was around my waist and pulling me right against him. I gasped again as my palms hit his thickly muscled chest through his tuxedo, my eyes going wide as they flicked up to his.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I almost shrieked as he suddenly spun us and dipped me low. My heart leapt into my throat, and I felt a tingling sensation flicker through parts of my body it shouldn’t have.

  “Dancing,” he growled, yanking me back up, his lips by my ear. “That is what people do at a ball, right?”

  “Some people, maybe, not us,” I hissed back.

  “I beg to differ.” He chuckled, spinning me and dipping me once again, grinning as I flushed and gasped again.

  “You do that a lot.”

  “What?”

  “Act scandalized.”

  “You are scandalizing. You’re scandal personified, if the tabloids are to be believed,” I said icily.

  “And are they? To be believed? Can't trust everything you read, Princess.”

  I instantly flushed, thinking about the enormous appendage thrusting up from his body lying in my bed back at the hotel. Apparently, you could believe some things in the tabloids.

  “What are you doing here,” I muttered, trying to swallow the heat from my face.

  “Looking for a bride. A soulmate,” he said with a grin.

  I rolled my eyes. “Please, you?”

  “Yep.”

  He said it flatly, without a hint of sarcasm, and I bit my lip as my eyes narrowed at him.

  “What are you really doing here?”

  “Honestly?”

  “I asked.”

  “I came here because I had to. Because it was expected of me,” he said quietly, turning us in time to the string quartet in the corner of the ballroom. “And then I found Claire.”

  I blushed.

  “And here’s the thing, Princess,” he growled, suddenly pulling me tight against him and making my pulse skip a beat.

  “I’ve been thinking about Claire for four solid weeks now. In fact, I can’t think of anything else. Or anyone else. She consumes me,” he growled. “She’s taken over my mind.”

  “Pity she doesn’t exist,” I said flatly. “She’s not real.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  I gasped as I felt hi
s hand grab my ass — right there on the dance floor.

  “I think she’s very real.”

  I gasped, jerking away from him and knocking his hand away.

  “Are you insane?”

  He smirked. “Maybe?”

  “You do not touch a princess like that!”

  “Oh, so you’re not Claire D’Claire?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I suppose I could ask your father why you use that name when you stop by Ibiza.”

  I quickly shook my head, and he grinned at my paling face.

  “Oh now, what’s this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Let me guess, fake name means Daddy didn’t know you were there?”

  I blushed.

  “Naughty little girl,” he purred.

  Heat bloomed between my legs at his words, and I quickly took a breath of air as I stepped away from him.

  “We have to stop dancing now.”

  “They’re still playing.”

  “Well, I’m waiting for someone.”

  I saw his eyes flash fire. “Who,” he growled, as if this was offending him.

  “My boyfriend.”

  His jaw tightened. “Boyfriend.”

  I nodded, swallowing and hoping the lie wasn’t so obvious on my face. Chester was not my boyfriend, at all. We’d only spoken once or twice, actually, and in large formal functions.

  I didn’t even know why I said it.

  “Who,” Magnus growled.

  I chewed my lip. “Prince Chester, of—”

  Magnus laughed, loudly.

  “Montagne?” He chuckled.

  I scowled at him. “Yes.”

  “His name rhymes with molester.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “There’s no way a girl like you is dating a guy like that.”

  I frowned. “Pardon me?!”

  He just grinned.

  “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means Chester is a fucking dork, and you’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen, and if you’re dating that fucking guy, the world is out of fucking balance, Princess.”

  I blushed, looking away.

  “Dance with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ve seen me naked.”