At His Majesty's Request Read online

  “Like most people.”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  “I did two years in the U.K., two in the U.S.”

  She nodded. “You would be best suited to a woman who’s well traveled, who understands a variety of cultures. Probably someone multilingual.”

  “Because I’m clearly so cultured?” he asked, raising his bottle. He relaxed his posture, his arm over draped over the back of his seat. There was something so inviting about the pose. The perfect spot for a partner to sit and snuggle against him …

  She blinked. “Well, yes, you have to be able to communicate with your spouse. Connect with them on a cerebral level.”

  “Most of the women I’ve dated have only connected with me on one level, but it’s a level I’ve found to be very important.” The suggestive tone of his voice left no doubt as to just what level he was referring to.

  She cleared her throat and tried to banish the heat in her cheeks. For heaven’s sake. Talking about sex was normal in her job. It was part of the job, because it was part of relationships. It never made her … blush. She was actually blushing. Really and truly. Like a schoolgirl. Ridiculous.

  After enough invasive doctor visits for three lifetimes she thought she’d lost the ability to do that years ago.

  “And I consider that important, too,” she said, knowing she sounded stiff and a little bit prudish, and she absolutely wasn’t either thing, so she had no idea why. “But you will be expected to see each other outside of the bedroom.”

  “Of course,” he said. “But as I said, I have my priorities. Even sexual attraction takes a backseat to a spotless reputation and the ability to produce heirs.”

  “Right. And how do we establish for certain if she can … produce heirs?”

  “Most women can, I assume.” He said it with such throwaway carelessness. As though the idea of a woman not being able to have children was almost ridiculous.

  She pursed her lips. “And some can’t.” Why did the subject always make her feel sick? Why did it always make her feel like a failure?

  Well, discussing the ability to bear children as an essential trait of a queen, a wife, was never going to be easy, no matter how much peace she imagined she’d made with her lot in life.

  “As we get closer to choosing someone, we’ll have to undergo a medical screening.”

  “You’ll be required to do the same,” she said.

  “Will I?”

  “Well, yes, I’m not allowing any of the women I might find for you to sleep with you until I establish that you have a clean bill of health.”

  “You need me to get tested for STDs?”

  “Yes. I do. You’re planning on having children with the woman who marries you, which means unprotected sex. And that means a risk to the health of your wife.”

  “I assume the women will be undergoing the same tests?”

  “All of the women who come to me, all of the women and men in my file, are required to submit those test results to me.”

  “As it happens, I just got tested. Clean. You can have the results if you like.”

  “I would like them. And I assume you won’t be taking on any more sexual partners while we undergo this process?” She felt her cheeks heating again. The topic of sex and Stavros, in the close proximity of the limo, was just a bit too much.

  His eyes flickered over her, leaving heat behind. “Naturally not,” he said, the words coming slowly. Unconvincingly. “And I haven’t had one in quite a while.”

  “Good. Also, you will not sleep with the women I introduce to you. They know the rules. I don’t allow sex between my clients.”

  “You don’t?” he asked, an incredulous laugh in his voice.

  “Not until a match is set and I’m not longer involved. Clearly, the relationship can still dissolve, but I’m not a pimp. I’m not prostituting anyone, and I’m not allowing them to prostitute themselves. This is about creating a relationship, a real lasting relationship, not about helping people hook up casually.”

  “I suppose, running it as a business, you would have to be careful of that,” he said.

  “Very. When I was starting the business I was really excited, and then I realized what it could quickly turn into if I didn’t lay the rules out. Men … well, and women … could use it to find suitable people to … use. And that’s not what I want.”

  “So, you’re not a big one for romance, and yet, this is what you choose to do for a living? Why is that?”

  She looked out the window, at the crystalline sea and white sand blurring into a wash of color. “It was what I was doing anyway, though not on this level. But after … when I made some changes in life and started my own business, I knew that somehow … I knew relationships could work.”

  “So you went looking for the formula.”

  “Yes. And I don’t have the only method, though mine has proven highly successful, but I think the way I go about it works. It also helps to have a disinterested party involved who doesn’t have their heart in it. That’s me. I help people think things through rationally. I set rules so that physical lust doesn’t cloud everything else, doesn’t create a false euphoria.”

  “And why don’t you apply it to yourself?”

  She laughed. “Because. First of all, I can’t be my own disinterested party. Second, I don’t have the energy or the desire to do it again. I had one big white wedding and I do not intend to do it again.”

  “Yet you watch other people do it. Get married, I mean.”

  “Yes. But I find that it … helps. It’s restored my faith in humanity a little bit.”

  The corner of his lip lifted in a sneer. “Was your ex that bad?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Sometimes people change, and they change together. Sometimes one person changes. And the other person can’t handle it.”

  It had been her. She’d changed. Her body had changed. And it had altered everything the marriage was built on. Their dreams for the future. It had been too much.

  “You’re selling the institution so well,” he said dryly. He punched the intercom button on the limo divider. “Stop us at Gio’s.” He let up on the button.

  “I’m not trying to sell you the institution. You have to get married.”

  “True.”

  “And most people who come to me want marriage, or need it for some reason. My personal story, just one of a sad, all too common statistic, will hardly dissuade them. And I’ll admit, most of them don’t bother to ask about my personal life.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” he said, as the limo slowed and turned onto a narrow road that wound up a hillside.

  “Do you?”

  “You’re interesting. Your clothes for example—interesting. The things that come out of your mouth, also interesting. You beg to have questions asked of you.”

  “You would be in the minority in that opinion.”

  “Again, I find it hard to believe.”

  “I’m very boring. I have a house in North Dakota. I grew up there. Obviously, I don’t work with many billionaires, royalty or socialites in North Dakota. I do a lot of work online, and I travel a lot. I’d say my house is empty at least eight months out of the year. I live alone. Can’t have a cat because … well, the traveling. So that’s me.”

  “You skipped a lot.”

  “Did I?”

  He leaned in, his head turned to the side. Sort of like how a man looked right before he kissed a woman. If she could even remember back that far, to when she’d experienced anything close to it. “You didn’t tell me why you’re so prickly.”

  She leaned in a fraction. “And I don’t intend to. Stop flirting with me.”

  “Am I flirting with you?”

  “I think so.” If he wasn’t that was just too horrifying.

  “I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

  She swallowed. “Look, I know women melt at your feet and all, but I have a job to do, so best you leave me unmelted, okay?”

  He leane
d back, his lips curving into a smile. “But you’re in danger of melting.”

  She was afraid she might be. “No. Sorry.”

  He chuckled and settled back in his seat.

  The limo stopped in front of a small, whitewashed building that was set into the side of a mountain. The building was tiny, but the deck was expansive, filled with round tables, most occupied by diners. The tables overlooked the beach, with strings of white lights running overhead.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded and put her beer in a cupholder. He got out of the car before her and opened her door. “Isn’t your driver supposed to do that?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I always open the door when I accompany a woman.”

  “Another one for your file,” she said.

  “I’m not sure whether I’m nervous or aroused at the talk of this file. Makes me feel like I’m in trouble, which leads to the same conflicting feelings.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, her stomach. “That’s inappropriate.”

  “You’re the only one who can make jokes?”

  “No … but I didn’t make any that were that bad.”

  “BA? Bedroom Activities?”

  “That was serious!” she sputtered as they walked into the restaurant.

  “Prince Stavros.” A maître d’ walked to the door quickly, her willingness to serve the prince obvious, as was the blush staining her cheeks. “I wasn’t aware you were coming today.”

  He winked. “I’m being spontaneous.”

  “Of course,” the woman said. “Your usual table is available. Shall I bring you your usual dinner? For … two?”

  Jessica opened her mouth to correct the woman’s assumption, but Stavros cut her off.

  “That will do nicely. I can show us to my table.”

  He led the way through the indoor dining area, and heads turned as they passed. Stavros had a sort of effortless charisma that poured from him, touching everyone who saw him. She could imagine, so easily, the kind of woman he would need.

  One who could match his ease. His strength. Someone to create the perfect image for Kyonos. Someone to carry on the bloodline and keep it strong.

  She swallowed a strange, unexpected lump in her throat.

  They exited the dining room through two glass doors that led out to the deck. There were only a few scattered tables out there, each partly shrouded by draping fabric hung from a wooden frame built over the porch.

  Stavros held her chair out for her and she sat, looking out at the view of the ocean, because it was much safer than looking at the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t sure why. She had meetings with male clients, and very often they were lunch or dinner meetings, in very nice restaurants.

  But being with them didn’t evoke this same strange faux-date feel that being with Stavros did. It was that darned attraction.

  She opened her purse and pulled out her iPad. “So, I know we were going to talk about specific women to have come to your sister’s wedding.”

  “Were we? Now?” He curled his hands into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. It was hard for her to look away from his hands, from the obvious strain. His face remained passive, easy, but his manner betrayed him.

  “Well, no, but I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow, so … no. But we can talk about it now. I’ve had a chance to think about what you’ve told me and I’ve been through my system. I also called two of the three women I’m thinking of and if you’re agreeable to them, they’re willing to come for consideration.”

  “This is like an old-fashioned marriage mart.”

  “Well, these sorts of marriages are,” she said. Strangely, she felt like comforting him. She didn’t know why. “Granted, you’re the first actual prince I’ve worked with. But I’ve dealt with lesser royals. Billionaires with an interest in preserving their fortunes. Women with family money who wanted an alliance with businessmen who could help them make the most of their assets. People have all kinds of reasons for choosing to go about things this way. Some of these women have money, but no title, while others have a title but are … low on funds.”

  “Ah. A title, but no money and a need for a husband with wealth.”

  “Some of them. Though this one …” She pulled up a picture of a smiling blonde. “Victoria Calder. She’s English, from a very well-to-do family. She’s not titled but she’s wealthy. She’s been to the best schools. She has her own money and she donates a lot of it to charities. As far as my research has taken me, and it took me to the far and seedy recesses of the internet, her reputation is as spotless as a sacrificial lamb. So if a prominent title isn’t important …”

  “As long as you think she would be suitable to the position, she can be considered.”

  “So basically fertile and scandal-free. And able to handle public appearances with grace and poise, of course.”

  Stavros took the tablet from Jessica’s hand and looked at the photo of the woman on the screen. She was beautiful. More than beautiful, really. He couldn’t find fault with her features. A small, pert nose, pretty, well-shaped lips, rosy cheeks, pale blue eyes.

  Yet she did nothing for him. She didn’t stir his blood. She didn’t interest him. More than that, just looking at her made his throat feel like it was tightening. The impression of a noose.

  He preferred Jessica’s face. Her longer nose, fuller lips, cat green eyes that tilted at the corners. And her figure … she was like a pin-up girl.

  He wondered, not too briefly, if she favored old-fashioned undergarments to go with her vintage dresses. Stockings and garters.

  That caused a surge of blood to pump south of his belt. She was a distraction. A temptation. A welcome one, in many ways.

  “Yes.” He shouldn’t be allowing distraction now. He had to focus on finding his bride.

  Though, Ms. Jessica Carter would make an intriguing lover. She was all soft curves and pale skin. But her eyes … they showed a fire he imagined she set free in the bedroom. She was spicy, her tongue always ready to flay the skin cleanly off the bone if necessary.

  Just as she’d pronounced his commanding personality a plus in bedroom activities, he imagined her sharp mind and bold tongue would earn her points in her own BA category.

  It would be so sweet. So good. And a welcome distraction from the marriage talk.

  “Anyway,” Jessica continued, pulling him from his fantasy, “she’s one I would like to invite to your sister’s wedding.”

  “And she’s aware of just what she’ll be invited for?”

  Jessica nodded. “Yes. All of the women I’m working with have come to me, seeking out husbands that are suitable to their backgrounds and financial level, just the same as you.”

  “I see. So invariably my future wife will be after a title and wealth—” he looked at the photo of the blonde again “—just as I am.”

  “Fair is fair. You both know just what you’re getting into. No false expectations. Not if I can help it.”

  “No false expectations? Then can I assume you’re including a list of my faults in the file you’ll be sending on to the women involved?”

  “Only if they make it past a certain point in the process. Discretion,” she said.

  “Of course.” He looked at her face, illuminated and washed gold by the afternoon sun. She was beautiful. Not due to perfection of features, or from the expertly applied makeup, though. Her features were beautiful, and her makeup was expertly done. But it was something more. Something deeper.

  She was captivating. Different.

  Sexy.

  His stomach tightened. “And the first wave of the process begins at my sister’s wedding.”

  “That’s right. Is that okay? Or do you feel it will detract from—”

  “It’s fine,” he interrupted. It was strange to think of Evangelina married. To think of her as a woman rather than a little girl. “My sister is in love,” he said.

  “That’s good. Since she’s getting married.”

/>   He gave her a look. “But you know that’s not really how things work around here. Not necessarily.”

  “True.”

  “She was meant to marry for the good of Kyonos. She is marrying her bodyguard instead.”

  “Are you angry about it?” she asked, her eyes meeting his, the glittering green light in them far too perceptive.

  “Not in the least. Anger is a completely unproductive emotion.” As were most emotions. He’s witnessed it firsthand. He made sure he didn’t have time for them.

  “But that leaves only you.”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I can do it.”

  “And your brother …”

  “Might as well be dead. He doesn’t care for his country. He doesn’t care for his family, his people. He might as well have died with our mother.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue and he wished he had some ouzo to wash it out with. Bitterness wasn’t helpful, either.

  As if on command, a waiter appeared with a tray, laden with food and drinks, and set them down on their table. Stavros took the drink first, while Jessica picked up a stuffed grape leaf and turned it in her fingers.

  He took a quick hit of the strong alcohol. “I’m happy for Eva. And her husband does bring a lot to the country in terms of assets and security. Mak is a billionaire several times over. She’s hardly marrying beneath herself, even if he isn’t royalty.”

  Beneath Stavros’s casual manner, Jessica could sense his dark mood. He was very good at playing smooth, very good at coming across as the genial prince. Ready to smile for a photograph. Never caught scowling by a scandal-hungry public, who would latch onto the salacious headline declaring one grumpy expression proof of some sort of national crisis.

  And yet, she could feel that something wasn’t right. That there was something beneath it.

  He was the last man standing. The anchor. How could he not feel it? Of course he would. His sister had abandoned her duty for love, his brother had abandoned it for selfish, personal pleasure. It was only Stavros now.

  She felt added pressure. She couldn’t imagine that he didn’t.

  “Well, we’ll find you a royal bride who suits the needs of Kyonos, and you, perfectly,” she said, injecting a confidence and enthusiasm into her voice she wasn’t sure she felt.