The Princess and The SEAL

by Alana Albertson

  She gave a bitter, mirthless laugh. “No. I’m not a singer.”

  “I’m lost, babe. Are you famous or something?”

  “Yes, you could say that. I’m the Crown Princess of Santa Cariña.”

  Chapter 2

  Giselle

  “YOU’RE A FUCKING PRINCESS? Are you kidding me?”

  “Yes, indeed, I am. Could you please lower your voice? And I would appreciate it if you would refrain from swearing at me. I find it very jarring.”

  His eyes widened. “I’ll talk however I want. This is my vacation, and I’m not one of your subjects.” He scratched a hand along his full dark beard, highlighted by the silvery moon. “You’re royalty, and you’re traveling without protection? Not a good idea, Princess.”

  He obviously had a point. My father had warned me against going alone, insisting I travel with security, but for once in my sheltered life, I’d stood up to him. I told him that if I was old enough to get married, I was old enough to travel alone. But he’d been right. Clearly, I had been unable to take care of myself. Just the thought of calling the palace to tell my father I’d been mugged was worse than being cursed at by this foulmouthed stranger.

  Make that an incredibly sexy foulmouthed stranger. Ryan was the complete opposite of my blue-blooded fiancé.

  He typed something on his phone. I leaned over; he was staring at my official photo. Ugh, I hated that photo. It was so airbrushed that I looked like I was made out of plastic.

  His eyes darted between his phone and my face.

  “Yup, that’s you. Wow, I thought you were lying.”

  “I never lie.” To other people, that was. I only lied to myself.

  I could see his eyes reading over my Wikipedia page. I cringed—my public relations team made me sound like a perfect, prim prude of a princess. Mentioning that I was the spokesperson of True Love Waits, which promotes abstinence until marriage, didn’t exactly say sexy. I closed my eyes and prayed that he didn’t read that, and if he did, he didn’t know what it meant. I might as well have the word virgin tattooed on my forehead.

  I stammered, at a loss to explain myself.

  What should I say?

  As if he could sense my uneasiness, he put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m impressed.” He then bowed dramatically in front of me. “Let’s go, Your Majesty. Your royal escort awaits.”

  Great, now he would treat me differently. For once, I’d wanted to be seen as just a normal girl. I hadn’t planned to tell him I was a princess until after dinner, hoping he would get to know me first. But that photographer forced my confession.

  We arrived at a bistro with a red awning and neon lights. A chalkboard outside listed the specials, and the scent of rosemary, thyme, and bay leaves made me salivate.

  “Is this place nice enough for you, Princess?”

  I was used to restaurants with three Michelin stars, but I never enjoyed them. The food was always excellent, but I found the atmosphere pretentious.

  “It’s lovely.”

  Ryan spoke to the maître d’. “Table for two.”

  The man attempted to store our luggage, but Ryan stopped him and asked if we could keep the bags near us. I almost laughed and accused Ryan of being paranoid—I seriously doubted the maître d’ would steal anything, but clearly, Ryan was overly cautious. The maître d’ agreed reluctantly and then seated us at a table in the back of the restaurant. The lights were dim, and I was grateful that the bistro had very few customers.

  I felt a flutter in my stomach. What if someone recognized me? But the other patrons didn’t even seem to glance at us, so I studied the menu and tried to relax.

  Now that I could see Ryan better, I was taken aback by how handsome he was. His brown hair was longer than I figured men in the military would have, and his soulfully deep brown eyes were accented by long black eyelashes.

  Ryan ordered a bottle of Bordeaux. I quickly glanced at the wine list—he had chosen the most expensive bottle in the restaurant.

  Was he trying to impress me? My skin heated up—was it hot in here, or was I just a nervous wreck? This was starting to feel like I was on a blind date.

  Was this a date?

  “You really don’t have to do this. I can pay you back tomorrow.”

  He shot me an intense glare. “I got this. I don’t need your money. I’ve never been out to dinner with a princess. Let’s just have a good time tonight.”

  He relaxed those broad shoulders back into the chair, his gaze lighter than before. “So, tell me, why are you traveling alone? Must need a break from all your tough work of attending balls and kissing frogs.”

  What a jerk. I bit my lip. “I’m taking a solo trip before I have to get married. And for your information, I do full-time charity work. I help ill children, refugees, and the elderly. It’s immensely gratifying. I’m truly blessed.”

  He licked his bottom lip. “You’re a regular Princess Di. That’s cool. Where’s your fiancé? How would he feel if he knew you were on a romantic date with a dangerous man like me?”

  Romantic date? Excitement swirled with fear low in my belly. What were his intentions toward me? How was tonight going to end?

  I hadn’t missed how he’d paused over the word “dangerous.” But I didn’t fear being with him because he’d beaten up my mugger. Maybe my blind trust was foolish, but I hated to admit that I was more scared of being alone tonight than of being with this handsome stranger.

  “He would be displeased. Not because he cares about me, but because it would make him look bad. Honestly, I don’t know him very well. We’ve only met a few times. We’ve never even kissed.” I quickly covered my mouth and winced. Why had I just admitted that?

  Ryan shook his head as if in disbelief. “Wow. Some love story.”

  Explaining my engagement out loud made me realize just how truly ridiculous my predicament was. Why couldn’t I just stand up to my father and say no?

  “It’s embarrassing. I don’t even know where he is at the moment, though I’ve heard he is out—how do you Americans say it—sowing his royal oats . . . before the wedding.” And that was true. The tabloids had picture after picture of my betrothed partying with every society girl in town.

  Meanwhile, I was portrayed as a pathetic, lovelorn princess. At first, I’d hoped we would someday grow to love each other as my parents had before my mom’s tragic death. But my royal wedding would be nothing like their love story—mine would be more like a funeral. A funeral for my psyche.

  Ryan’s eyes traveled over me from head to toe. “What a douche. Why would he want to be with anyone else when he has you? If you were my woman, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

  Warmth spread through me like wildfire. His compliments came off as sincere like they weren’t just lines. What would it be like to be this self-proclaimed dangerous man’s woman?

  Sadly, I would never find out.

  I attempted to change the subject.

  “What about you? Tell me about your family.”

  He gazed over my head. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “There is always something to tell. What state are you from? Do you have any brothers or sisters? What do your parents do?”

  I detected a hint of sadness in his eyes but was probably overanalyzing the situation.

  Before he answered me, the waiter came to take our order. Ryan chose the beef daube, and I requested the salmon with lentils.

  I looked at him expectantly, but he ignored my earlier questions about his family and took a sip of wine. “Why are you marrying him? This isn’t the fourteen hundreds. Prince Arthur married his college sweetheart Elizabeth by choice.”

  Why did everyone always bring up Art? As young royals, Arthur and I had practically grown up together, though these days, I spent more time with his younger brother, Prince Douglas. “Arthur is the future King of England. He can do what he wants. I’m the princess of a very tiny principality. Our income is mostly from tourism. We don’t even have our own military. We rely
on other countries for support, defense, and trade.”

  He let out a loud laugh.

  I scowled at him. “Something funny, Ryan?”

  “No wonder you travel without security. That’s sad that you don’t even have your own military, but not shocking.”

  Breathe, Giselle, breathe. Calm, cool, collected.

  “Is that so? As I said, we are very small. What would you suggest, Mr. Navy SEAL?”

  He licked his lips. “Hire me. I could fix the military problem.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “You could, could you? You could fund thousands of people to form an army, go to war with France to emancipate us, and provide aid to a town that is virtually landlocked by the entirety of Europe?” Who did he think he was? God? “The truth is, we love our neighboring countries. But that doesn’t mean we can stop being strategic.”

  “And the strategy is to marry some random guy?”

  “Hardly random. Our parents arranged us as children. My fiancé’s name is Miguel. He’s from Quintana, a small country near Spain. He’s been pleasant enough the handful of times we have interacted, but I don’t know him well.”

  Ryan’s eyes widened. “You’re actually going to marry some guy you barely know? I love my country—hell, I’d die for her—but I wouldn’t commit myself to a loveless marriage. What if he’s horrible in bed?”

  Of course he went there. I scowled at him. “Is that all you men think about? Sex? There’s more to a marriage than intercourse.”

  He grinned and then gave me a wink. A wink that slayed me. Mischievous, sexual, dangerous. He reached his hand across the table and took mine. “Trust me, baby. Sex is the most important aspect of a marriage. It’s the glue that binds you together and makes your relationship different from your relationship with anyone else in the world. My buddies love their wives so much, they would do anything to get back to them. Their sexual connection is the reason they last through long separations. Without that chemical attraction, that lust, that hunger, you have nothing.”

  His words hit me like a bolt to my chest. What if he was right? What if I was repulsed when Miguel touched me? Or what if Miguel didn’t enjoy sleeping with me? What then? Would I just wait at home while he found pleasure with other women, knowing full well we would never be granted a divorce?

  I pushed that image out of my head. “Then why aren’t you married?”

  “Because that life’s not for me. I don’t want to be tied down to anyone. I want to be free to come and go as I please. All I care about is being a SEAL. Nothing else matters.”

  “Well, that’s depressing. At least I’m giving love a chance. Your life sounds lonelier than mine.”

  He bared his teeth at me but didn’t speak, instead downing his glass of wine like it was a shot of whiskey.

  Gotcha. This bad boy Navy SEAL was just as messed up as I was.

  The waiter brought our meals, and we ate together in tense silence.

  This was ridiculous. What had I been thinking when I’d agreed to go to dinner with this man? Our worlds couldn’t be more different.

  Despite the awkwardness, we shared a delicious dessert of figs, pralines, and ice cream. When the bill came, Ryan quickly paid, I thanked him, and we exited the restaurant.

  We walked a few blocks, the moonlight guiding our steps. For a second, I pretended this wasn’t a pity date, and we were madly in love newlyweds on our honeymoon. What would that be like? To marry someone I was truly crazy about, who couldn’t keep his hands off me?

  I would never know.

  The wine had relaxed me, and I forced myself to live in the moment. I turned to him under the stars. “Thank you for dinner.”

  “It was my pleasure. I find you fascinating.”

  My heart raced. “How so?”

  “You lead an interesting life. You’re nothing like the women I’ve met before.”

  I was pretty sure that was a compliment, but he had been so hot and cold with me that I had to make sure. “Oh, really? How am I different, other than the ‘I’m a princess’ thing?”

  He brushed a stray lock of hair back off my face. “You’re beautiful, classy, and sweet.”

  Woozy from his words, I pulled back from him. I had to end this night before I did something I would regret.

  “That’s very kind of you to say. I had a great time, as well. You are very . . . dynamic. You really didn’t have to wine and dine me. I’m sorry I put you in the middle of this situation.”

  He took my hand, and heat filled my core. “Don’t apologize. I could stare at you all night.”

  He pulled me to him. His wine-spiked breath blew hot on my neck, and my pulse quickened.

  What was he doing? Was he going to kiss me?

  My legs wobbled. Our faces were so close. There was a burn mark on the side of his neck, possibly from a cigarette. Who had left that mark on him? When? Was it during a battle? Somewhere else? Had he been tortured?

  What type of life had this handsome stranger lived? I wanted to know everything about his past, but for now . . . all I wanted was to be kissed by this man.

  Just when I didn’t think I could stand the suspense of being this close to him for another minute, his hand cupped my face, and his lips took mine.

  His mouth was rough, not soft like those of the boys I’d fantasized about in my youth. His other hand traveled farther down my back, landing on my bottom as adrenaline spiked through my body. I pressed my palm against his chest, feeling his hard pecs, imagining seeing him with his shirt off.

  Was he trying to seduce me? Did I want him to?

  All I knew was that I wanted this kiss to last forever.

  But seconds later, he pulled away, a sly look on his face.

  I caught my breath. “What was that for?”

  He laughed. “You’re a princess. I’m a frogman. I thought if I kissed you, I’d turn into a prince.”

  Chapter 3

  Ryan

  HER DELICATE AND MANICURED hand swiftly smacked my jaw. “So much for that theory, Ryan. You will never be a prince. You’re still just a vulgar SEAL.”

  My face stung after she slapped me, but it was okay—I deserved it. Hell, I enjoyed it. Damn, if she had that fire in the bedroom… A bolt of electricity shot to my cock. I imagined tying up this princess, talking dirty to her, and fucking her hard until she could do nothing but come and come for me.

  But before I could seduce her, I needed to get her to agree to stay with me. Yes, I wanted her, but also, I wanted her to feel safe.

  Her sweet taste lingered on my tongue. I meant everything I’d said to her earlier. I couldn’t stop staring at her angelic face and banging body. Giselle was a bombshell. She was unlike any girl I’d ever met. Well, that was the understatement of the year. She was a fucking princess.

  My princess.

  The princess and the SEAL. I liked the sound of that.

  I had spent the past seven months looking forward to this vacation. Dreams of sex, sins, and sunsets had filled my fantasies. I had wanted nothing more than a string of hedonistic indulgences with any women who caught my fancy. And when it was over, I’d planned to return home and go back to my normal, familiar life. Alone.

  But after one date with Giselle, I wanted something a little different.

  I wanted to spend my entire trip with this princess.

  I embraced the challenge she presented. I’d seduce her, make her fall for me, and leave her with the lasting memory of how important sex was. Then maybe someday she’d find the courage to leave her loser fiancé for a fulfilling life with a man who truly loved her. A man who wanted to be a husband and a father and was suitable for stuffy royal life.

  A better man than me.

  She might even find me one day and thank me.

  Time to tell her.

  “Change of plans, babe. You’re staying with me tonight.”

  A look of horror registered on her face. “What? No. I would never.”

  I knew that look of fear; I’d seen it on my enemies�
�� faces many times right before taking their lives. But I wasn’t used to seeing it on a woman.

  The last time I saw that look was on my foster sister. That night.

  I closed my eyes and forced away my past. Never go back. I was now a man, a skilled warrior, and no one could hurt me. I will never be that scared, helpless little boy again.

  I pulled myself back to the present and looked at Giselle. She was fidgeting. I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

  Fuck. I had come on too strong. I needed to dial it back. She was nothing like the women I usually met; she was clearly sheltered. I couldn’t blame her for being afraid. She knew nothing about me, and I had to admit I’d been giving her a hard time since I met her.

  Be a gentleman. It was hard to model a behavior I never saw growing up, but I’d give it a try. For Princess Giselle.

  I took her hand and kissed it, relieved when she didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Let me try again. I think it’s in your best interest to stay with me tonight.”

  She eyed me suspiciously. “You do, do you? Does every girl you meet just hop into bed with you?”

  Yes, actually, but she didn’t need the details.

  I dropped my smug smile. “I’m not trying to seduce you, Giselle,” I lied. “You’re a princess, and you have the paparazzi stalking you. Have you already forgotten that you were mugged today? You don’t have any ID or money. You’re not safe. I’ll be your bodyguard tonight until you get your affairs in order if you let me.”

  Peach blossomed across her cheeks. “That’s a very kind offer, Ryan. I do appreciate it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m engaged, as I said, so it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  Right, the lame playboy fiancé who didn’t even want to fuck this beautiful woman was cockblocking me. What was wrong with him? It would be one thing if he was gay, then I’d get it, but she herself said that he was sowing his wild oats. What a dick. It didn’t make sense.

  “You said he was hooking up with people. Why would he care if you spent the night with me?”