Crowning His Convenient Princess (Once Upon A Seduction... Book 4) Read online

  From choosing the prince’s bride...

  To becoming his unexpected princess!

  Personal assistant Latika Bakshmi had one job—pick a suitable wife for playboy Prince Gunnar. He’s infuriating, arrogant and far too handsome, but when shadows from Latika’s past return, he’s the only man who can save her...if he agrees to her shocking proposition!

  Nothing surprises cynical Gunnar, until deliciously disapproving Latika asks him to marry her! Recognizing her desperation, he’ll protect her with all his royal power. But the biggest surprise isn’t their sizzling chemistry, but how dangerously permanent his craving for his temporary princess feels...

  “What are you doing?” Gunnar murmured.

  “I am sorry,” Latika said. “You have no idea how much. But I need you. Desperately. And I think that I will not harm your objective. I think that I will further your cause.”

  “Do you?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  “I need you to marry me,” she said. “And I need you to announce it now.”

  “Latika...”

  And then she did something truly shocking. She launched herself forward and captured his mouth with her own.

  Gunnar was a difficult man to surprise. Indeed, until this moment he would have said it was impossible.

  People were boring in their predictability.

  And up until this point, Latika had been scarcely different.

  She had bantered with him. She had brought their exchanges of wit to the edge of propriety, but she had never crossed it. And while he found her enjoyable, she had never truly shocked him.

  But in this moment she turned the whole ballroom—maybe the world—on its head.

  Maisey Yates is a New York Times bestselling author of more than seventy-five romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing, she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website, maiseyyates.com.

  Books by Maisey Yates

  Harlequin Presents

  His Forbidden Pregnant Princess

  Brides of Innocence

  The Spaniard’s Untouched Bride

  The Spaniard’s Stolen Bride

  Heirs Before Vows

  The Spaniard’s Pregnant Bride

  The Prince’s Pregnant Mistress

  The Italian’s Pregnant Virgin

  Once Upon a Seduction...

  The Prince’s Captive Virgin

  The Prince’s Stolen Virgin

  The Italian’s Pregnant Prisoner

  The Queen’s Baby Scandal

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Maisey Yates

  Crowning His Convenient Princess

  For Mr. H, my fourth- and fifth-grade teacher. I remember you teaching us about pseudonyms, and you said if we didn’t use one, you might be able to find us and read our books someday if we ever became authors. Unless we wrote romance, which you didn’t read. Now you’re mentioned in a romance. Bet you didn’t see that coming.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM CLAIMED FOR THE DESERT PRINCE'S HEIR BY HEIDI RICE

  CHAPTER ONE

  LATIKA BAKSHMI TOOK a deep breath before steeling herself to open the door. She knew exactly what she would find behind it.

  Or rather, who.

  Prince Gunnar von Bjornland, her boss’s brother, dissolute rake, and general disgrace to his country. A man she despised with every fiber of her being. And, a man who was her current project.

  Queen Astrid, who was not just her boss, but also her friend and confidant, had asked her to take on the task of reforming Gunnar, and she was going to do it.

  In a minute.

  “Stop lurking outside my door.”

  She jolted. “How did you know I was outside the door?”

  The door swung open, revealing a man who was more Viking God than mere mortal. His blond hair was pushed back from his face, a slightly darker beard covering his jaw. His light blue eyes were the color of ice, but somehow contained heat nonetheless.

  And his body.

  It was an assault to all her good sense and she hated and loved it in equal measure. She both prayed he would find some sense of decorum in himself and learn to put on a shirt whenever they might encounter one another.

  And prayed he would not.

  Ever.

  His chest was broad, and currently bare, a light dusting of hair over the toned, taut skin there. He took a breath, his well-defined abs shifting as he stepped to the side, as if allowing her entry into his bedchamber.

  “How did you know I was out here?” She asked again, not making the move toward entering.

  “I could feel the tension radiating through the door. And only you give off tension quite like that, Latika.”

  “Ah, yes,” she said, giving a slight nod of her head. “You’re very funny.”

  “I can hear you. You do not wear sensible shoes, like my sister. You wear those hard, spiky heels, and they make a very particular sound on the marble. I suppose, were I given to any great sense of shame, I would be concerned that sound can travel so freely through my bedroom door. One assumes then the sound can travel out just as well.”

  “A grave concern for you,” she said, clipped. “I can only imagine.”

  He shrugged a broad shoulder, making all the muscles in his body shift and bunch. “It isn’t really.”

  “It should be.” She looked around the room. There were no signs of recent debauchery, at least. By that she meant, there wasn’t a redhead or a blonde lying sprawled out in his bed, or anything quite like that.

  However, the bed was unmade, and he had clearly just arisen from it, and likely just pulled the jeans he was wearing on.

  It made her wonder if there was anything underneath.

  She gritted her teeth, angry with herself without thought. “Astrid has asked me...”

  “I would like you to find me a wife,” he said, cutting her off and silencing her effectively.

  “You... What?”

  “I would like you to find me a wife. I understand that my reputation has become of some concern to Astrid. She’s married, had a child, and our nation is on the brink of a great and modern future the likes of which would probably make my father rotate in his grave were he not so busy burning in hell.”

  “Astrid has asked me to help you reform,” she finished.

  “I know,” he said. “And I think there’s only one way to do that.”

  She had expected resistance. She had expected him to balk. To banter. To use excessive double entendre. She had not expected him to see her coming, to anticipate her words, and raise her.

  “Why? Why are you suddenly interested in marriage?”

  “I didn’t say I was suddenly interested in marriage. But
I do know that a fairytale is the quickest way to capture the hearts of the people. Is it not?”

  “Well, judging by your sister’s experience, I would say you are correct enough.”

  “I am not the heir. That is something that has always sat comfortably with me, but the burden that Astrid carries does not. And for my part, if I can alleviate some of what she carries, then I will do it. I can see that the simplest way will be for me to find a wife.”

  “A bizarre leap in logic.”

  “I know you don’t respect me, Latika, and I have never asked you to. Moreover, I’ve never behaved in a way that might invite you to. Oddly, though it may seem to you, I’m not overly concerned with your approval. But, I do wish to make Astrid happy, and I do wish to bolster the standing of my country in the world. So, you must help me find a wife.”

  “Is there a particular brand name you are drawn to?” she asked, her tone caustic.

  “Yes,” he said, not missing a beat. “I would prefer a philanthropist. I do not require that she be in mint condition, so to speak.”

  It took her a moment to catch his meaning. “You do not expect a virgin? How progressive of you.”

  “Well,” he said. “As I myself am not a virgin, it seems a bit of a double standard to demand my wife come to me untouched.”

  She tried to keep the flush out of her face, and tried to keep her tone sharp. “You are not untouched?”

  The corner of his wicked mouth turned up. “I’ve been touched one or two times.”

  “Shocking,” she returned.

  “I expect that you possess ample channels through which you might find a woman interested in marrying me.”

  The very idea of arranging marriages didn’t sit very well with Latika. Not given her experience surrounding such things. Of course, Gunnar didn’t know anything about her real life. Or her real identity. Fishing around in the sorts of circles that might require him to find a wife in might present a problem for her as well.

  Considering she was technically in hiding.

  But then, she could find ways to be discreet. Find ways to make sure that she avoided any places that might be problematic.

  Just one grim corner of Europe, and the East Coast of the United States. She imagined that Gunnar wouldn’t mind her fishing around for an English debutante, rather than looking on the Upper Eastside of New York City.

  “Blonde? Redheaded? Brunette? Do you have a preference?”

  “None,” he said.

  “You don’t have a type?” she pressed.

  “Female covers it.”

  She fought against rolling her eyes. Instead, she made a very officious note on her clipboard. Then treated him to a smile. “A female philanthropist. Hymen not required.”

  “In fact, I would prefer that there were no hymen present at all,” he said. “I’m not a patient man. I’d rather not have to instruct a woman on how to please me.”

  “Indeed,” she said flatly. And she managed to hold back: that rules me out handily then.

  As if she would ever, in a million years, with flying pigs in the sky, consider being Gunnar’s bride.

  He turned away from her, his broad back filling her vision. His muscles moved in very interesting ways and she attempted to study the ceiling, rather than his skin.

  But it was hard, because his skin was so much more compelling.

  And he began to move around the room. He opened up a dresser, pulled out a T-shirt, and shrugged it over his body.

  Something about the flex of those muscles caused an answering flex between her thighs, and she did her best to ignore it.

  Her emotions were so very charged in his presence, always. And it was her preference to play off the heat as anger. And to pretend that there was no other layer to it.

  That there was no part of her—not even a tiny part—that wished to bite down on that insolent mouth of his.

  And then bite his chest.

  And then lick it.

  No. No part of her at all.

  She forced a smile. “Anything else?”

  “No. I believe that covers it.”

  “Then I shall begin putting out inquiries, Your Highness. And very soon, I will have found a wife for you.”

  “It may also bear mentioning,” he said, “That I am the owner of my own multibillion-dollar company.”

  Latika froze. “You... You’re what?”

  “Yes. I suppose it’s about time that came out.”

  “How... How did you keep that a secret?”

  “No one is looking for that bit of dirt. Honestly, it isn’t dirt. Why would anyone care? My company has a name, obviously, and my name is buried beneath it. But the only thing anyone is ever interested in is who I’m sleeping with. Not the fact that I am the CEO of a multibillion-dollar corporation that deals in green building.”

  “I...”

  “It’s part of revamping my reputation, Latika. These things must be made public. I assume you’re the person to speak to about the press release regarding that as well.”

  “I will take care of it,” she said, blinking.

  “See that you do.”

  Those blue eyes caught hers and held for a moment, and Latika did her best not to pay attention to the slight shift she felt in her stomach. Did her best to ignore the fact that suddenly the air felt a little bit thicker.

  And she really tried not to examine what any of this new information—that he was not going into any of this kicking and screaming, that he had an endeavor that went somewhere beyond gambling and whoring—made her feel.

  She was much more comfortable when she disdained Gunnar.

  Anything else was unacceptable.

  Prince Gunnar von Bjornland had settled into debauchery for far too long. He was at an end with it.

  It had been one thing to engage in it when his father was living, and indeed it was something that he had enjoyed.

  To throw in the face of his father, even as the old man attempted to sabotage Astrid. Their father was a relic of the highest order. A man who had not been able to fathom that a woman could possibly do a good job of running the country, regardless of the fact that there were many examples that proved they could, and just fine thank you.

  No, his father had never gotten over the fact that his heir was a woman. And the fact that his only son had refused to take his side and engage in a coup, overthrowing his twin had been something that the old man could not accept even in the end.

  Gunnar had never risen to his father’s bait, and to the contrary, had taken a perverse kind of delight in behaving in every way that Astrid did not.

  As his sister had lived a serious and contemplative life, dedicating herself to service, Gunnar had waged an all-out war against propriety.

  He had taken every sacred tradition and broken it at least once, had taken delight in running roughshod over deeply revered customs, and in general putting Bjornland on the world stage in the context of his behavior.

  He had imagined that if nothing else he would be a rather colorful footnote in history.

  But of course, it had never been enough for his mind. Hence the secret business endeavor.

  But now that Astrid was Queen, and now that various and sundry accusations were being thrown at him as the narrative around his country shifted, he could see that it was time for a change.

  This latest debacle had only served to highlight it.

  A woman had come forward alleging that he was the father of her child. And no matter that Gunnar had never seen the woman before, there had also been a seed of doubt in him. He always used protection. But condoms weren’t entirely reliable, and he’d had to concede that there was a possibility the child could be his, no matter that he was always as responsible as a man could be while being indiscriminate.

  The headlines had been scathing, the very fact that a pat
ernity test had been conducted had been cause for scorn among the people.

  And now the conversation had become that Astrid could not control her wayward brother. That her own brother despised every value held dear by the country. And when that had been aimed at his father, Gunnar had been happy enough.

  But his entire reason for his behavior, his entire reason for being, had been to protect Astrid. Astrid was a strong woman, and always had been, but there had been a war waging beneath the surface of the polished exterior of the palace that she’d had no idea existed.

  A war that Gunnar had been on the frontlines of.

  He had always protected her. And if protecting his sister now demanded he behave differently, so he would.

  And if it meant employing the use of his sister’s delectable, and irritating, assistant, then he would do so.

  Latika might be delectable, but she was also as stiff as a plank of wood and no less bland.

  She was beautiful. There was no argument to be had about that.

  In fact, she was uncommonly lovely, and he had always found it a strange thing that a woman of such brilliant beauty be relegated to such a beige sort of job.

  Though, he imagined a great many people would not find being personal assistant to a queen a beige sort of job. But in his world it certainly was.

  A woman like her should be wrapped in silk, should be in jewels.

  She should spend hours soaking in perfumed baths, readying herself for a lover.

  She should not spend hours contemplating the merit of clipboards. Though, he had a feeling that was how she spent much of her time.

  Her beauty was, in the end, a terrible farce anyway. She looked like a woman built for such things, with her generous mouth and beautiful curves, but she was through and through a woman of practicality and severity.

  And he did his very best not to think about how much he would like to test that severity.

  He did his very best not to think about just how satisfying it would be to tease that mouth out of that firm unnatural line she kept it in, and torment her until it became a soft “O” of pleasure.

  Yes, he did his best not to ponder that.

 
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