The Prince Brothers: Satisfaction Guaranteed!: Prince's Passion / Prince's Pleasure / Prince's Love-Child

The Prince Brothers: Satisfaction Guaranteed!

Three red-hot brothers… Three sizzling Hollywood affairs…

Three glitzy, glamorous romances from

reader-favourite Carole Mortimer!

In October 2009 Mills & Boon bring you two classic collections, each featuring three favourite romances by our bestselling authors

CHOSEN BY THE GREEK TYCOON The Antonakos Marriage by Kate Walker At the Greek Tycoon’s Bidding by Cathy Williams The Greek’s Bridal Purchase by Susan Stephens

THE PRINCE BROTHERS: SATISFACTION GUARANTEED! by Carole Mortimer Prince’s Passion Prince’s Pleasure Prince’s Love-Child

The Prince Brothers:

Satisfaction

Guaranteed!

CAROLE MORTIMER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Carole Mortimer was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and forty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon. Carole has six sons, Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Don’t miss Carole Mortimer’s exciting new novel, The Infamous Italian’s Secret Baby, available November 2009 from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

PROLOGUE

‘SO WHAT did your elusive author have to say to my offer this time?’ Nik prompted the publisher as the two men faced each other across the other man’s desk, his American accent muted with deceptive boredom.

Deceptive, because Nik was anything but bored when it came to acquiring the movie rights to J. I. Watson’s emotive book…

James Stephens looked uncomfortable. A man in his mid-fifties, head of Stephens Publishing since his father had retired over twenty years ago, James had obviously seen it all when it came to the often unpredictable temperaments of the authors who wrote for him.

But Nik’s assessing gaze beneath lowered lids could see that the other man was as baffled by the attitude of the author J. I. Watson as Nik was himself.

What was so difficult about him wanting to acquire the movie rights to the book that had taken the publishing world by storm six months ago? Surely it was every author’s dream to have their book turned into a movie? A movie—and even if Nik did say this himself!—to be produced and directed by none other than the Oscar-winning Nikolas Prince?

But no, of the four letters sent to the author in the last two months, the first two had gone unanswered, the third one had resulted in a polite but terse refusal of the proposal, and Nik had yet to hear a response after the fourth. But from the resigned look on James Stephens’s face, it was yet another refusal.

To be truthful, Nik had found the last two months of waiting to meet J. I. Watson increasingly frustrating. A month ago he had even wined and dined the female senior editor here who dealt with the author in the hopes that he could bypass James Stephens altogether and get straight to the author himself. After several dinners Jane Morrow had become relaxed enough in his company to confide in him, after making him promise not to reveal his source, that the author’s real name was Nixon. But she had gone on to admit that this little nugget of information wouldn’t be too much of a help to him, because the publishers always corresponded with the author through a PO box.

‘He turned my offer down again,’ Nik guessed grimly now.

‘Yes,’ James confirmed, obviously relieved not to have to say the words himself.

‘What’s wrong with the man?’ Nik stood up forcefully, a big man, well over six feet tall, his dark hair overlong and slightly unkempt, glittering grey eyes dominating his hard-hewn features. ‘Does he want more money? Is that it?’ he speculated. ‘I’ll give him whatever he wants. Within reason.’

James sighed, a slightly built man with receding brown hair, only the shrewd light in his blue eyes to belie his otherwise amiable appearance. ‘Perhaps if I show you the latest letter we’ve received…?’ He opened a file on his desk, picking up the top sheet of paper to hand it to Nik.

There was only a single line printed on the paper: ‘Not even if Nik Prince were to ask me himself!’

Succinct. To the point. An unmistakable refusal.

And yet, irritating as it certainly was, it wasn’t that one-line refusal that caught and held Nik’s attention as he continued to look at the letter. For printed at the top of the letter was the PO box number Jane had mentioned, and it was right here in London, of all places. A fact that James Stephens had probably forgotten when he’d offered to let Nik look at the letter…

Nik looked up at the publisher, silver gaze narrowed as he handed back the letter without comment; he had no doubts that James Stephens was an honourable man, that if he realized he had breached his author’s anonymity by letting Nik see the place of the PO box, he would most likely contact the man immediately and get him to change their point of contact.

‘Have you tried talking to the man face to face—no?’ He frowned as James shook his head.

James sighed heavily. ‘I’ve never met him—’

‘Never?’ Nik echoed incredulously; this was turning into something of a farce. James had stonewalled him from the beginning concerning meeting J. I. Watson, but Nik couldn’t have guessed that that was because the other man had never met the author, either!

The publisher grimaced. ‘Never met him. Never seen him. Never spoken to him,’ he rasped. ‘No telephone number ever supplied, you see. In fact, our contact has only ever been through the mail.’

‘I don’t believe this!’ Nik dropped back down into the chair facing the desk, totally bemused by what he had just learnt. Thanks to Jane Morrow he knew about the PO box, but he had thought that point of contact had been set up after meetings between the author and publisher. ‘All this time I’ve assumed this reclusive thing was just a publishers’ publicity stunt!’

‘I wish!’ James muttered frustratedly. ‘But the truth is we received the unsolicited manuscript almost eighteen months ago. A junior editor eventually read it, quickly passing it on to a more senior colleague once she realized the quality of writing and storyline. The manuscript finally arrived on the senior editor’s desk after being inhouse for almost three months—that’s actually not bad!’ he defended as Nik gave him a scathing glance.

‘If you say so,’ Nik murmured, still stunned by the knowledge that no one at this prestigious publishing house had ever met the author who had made millions for them, as well as for himself, over the last six months.

Jane Morrow certainly hadn’t chosen to confide that important snippet of information to him!

‘I do say so.’ James sat up straighter in his high-backed leather chair. ‘We have, of course, asked to meet Mr Watson on several occasions, but all to no avail,’ he continued firmly as Nik would have made another scathing comment. ‘Every approach has been met with a firm refusal.’

Nik shook his head. No wonder he was having such difficulty trying to do a deal with the author if the man refused to even meet with his own publishing house!

‘It’s true,’ James Stephens assured him, obviously misunderstanding the reason for the shake of Nik’s head. ‘The contract, editorial suggestions—although I have to admit there weren’t too many of those,’ he acknowledged admiringly. ‘Everything was done through the post.’

‘But what do you do about fan mail, things like that? Do you send all that off through the mail, too?’ Nik asked.

James shook his head, pulling another file on his desk towards him, a file filled to overflowing. ‘We send him a selection every now and then, just so that he knows how his public feels about the book. But none of the nastier ones, of course; those are all dealt with in-house.’

‘Nastier ones?’ Nik raised an eyebrow.

‘The insulting ones.’ James shrugged. ‘Death threats,’ he clarified. ‘This much overnight success tends to bring out the worst in some people.’

Oh, Nik could believe that; he had received more than his own fair share of nasty letters over the years. ‘The contract.’ He picked up on the one point in James’s earlier statement that might have relevance to his own needs. ‘Surely—’

‘The clause concerning film and television rights was taken out,’ James cut in as he easily guessed Nik’s next question. ‘At the author’s request, of course.’ Blue eyes twinkled merrily.

‘Of course.’ Nik scowled; why shouldn’t the other man’s eyes glitter with laugher—after all, Stephens Publishing was already laughing all the way to the bank!

James grinned unrepentantly. ‘We wanted the book, under any terms we could get it.’

Nik felt sure that a book like No Ordinary Boy only came along once in a publishing lifetime, so he couldn’t blame the other man for grabbing the manuscript, regardless of any terms the author cared to make. If he hadn’t, then another publishing house certainly would have done.

Not that any of that was of help to Nik now; he wanted to make a movie of the book, and without the author’s cooperation there was no way he was going to be able to do that.

‘You think you feel frustrated?’ James shook his head. ‘Can you imagine the mileage we’ve lost by not being able to produce the author, to provide personal interviews, book signings, things like that? Watson’s reclusive attitude has probably lost us millions in sales.’

‘But you’ve made millions, anyway,’ Nik drawled knowingly. ‘And I don’t suppose my acquiring the movie rights would do you any harm, either.’

‘No,’ the other man acknowledged with a smile. ‘But as you aren’t going to acquire the movie rights—’

‘Who says I’m not?’ Nik cut in ruthlessly, his expression once again grim as he stood up.

James looked up at him curiously. ‘What makes you think you’ll be successful in meeting and talking to the man when we’ve been trying for months to no avail?’

‘That’s easy.’ Nik smiled confidently. ‘I don’t play by the same rules as you do, James.’ And now that he had the PO box number, and its point of origin, he had every intention of pursuing J. I. Watson—or should he say Nixon?—in any way open to him. ‘Watson’s claim “not even if Nik Prince were to ask me himself” is shortly going to become fact,’ he assured James grimly. ‘And, I should warn you, I never take no for an answer!’ Nik added harshly.

Neither did he intend doing so this time. As J. I. Watson was shortly going to find out!

CHAPTER ONE

‘THANKS for inviting me, Susan.’ Jinx smiled brightly at the other woman as she opened the door to her, the sound of a party audible in the background.

The two women had been at school together, and Susan was now married to a partner of an accountancy firm, their two small children safely asleep upstairs. Or, if they weren’t, the live-in nanny would make sure they didn’t interrupt the party being given to celebrate their parents’ fifth wedding anniversary.

Susan gave a disbelieving snort. ‘Don’t give me that, Jinx; you and I both know you would much rather be at home with a good book, that I had to practically twist your arm at lunch earlier this week to get you to agree to come tonight! But thanks, anyway; it simply wouldn’t have been the same without the presence of our one and only bridesmaid.’ She moved to kiss Jinx warmly on the cheek before standing back and looking at her frowningly. Jinx was small and slender, the black dress she wore perfect with her long, flowing, fiery red hair. ‘Tell me, how is it that you seem to get younger every year and I just get more matronly?’

‘Flatterer,’ Jinx scoffed, handing her friend the peach-coloured roses she had brought with her as a present; the same colour roses that had adorned Susan’s bouquet at her wedding five years ago.

‘Oh, Jinx, they’re beautiful!’ Susan beamed. ‘But tell me, how’s Jack?’

Jinx’s smile didn’t falter, although her eyes shadowed a little. ‘About the same.’ She shrugged. ‘But where’s your handsome husband?’ she prompted mischievously, deciding the subject of her father was something better not discussed at her friend’s celebration party.

‘Here I am,’ Leo announced happily, moving past Susan to easily sweep the diminutive Jinx up into his arms and kiss her firmly on her lips. ‘It’s still not too late for us to run away together, you know,’ he told her sotto voce, blue eyes twinkling merrily as he received a playful punch on the arm from his grinning wife.

‘Sounds like a good party.’ Jinx nodded in the direction of Susan and Leo’s drawing-room where the sound of chatter and laughter, the chinking of glasses, could easily be heard.

‘We have a surprise guest,’ her friend told her excitedly as she linked her arm with Jinx’s to walk down the plushly carpeted hallway in the direction of the noisy enjoyment. ‘You know we had Stazy Hunter design our drawing-room last year?’ she prompted as Jinx did her best to look interested; as Susan knew only too well this sort of scene really wasn’t her idea of fun.

As the decoration of the now-beautiful gold and terracotta room had been Susan’s main topic of conversation six months ago, of course Jinx was aware that the famous Stazy Hunter had been the designer.

Susan nodded, not really requiring an answer. ‘Well, we’ve stayed friends, so of course I invited Stazy, and her husband Jordan, to join us this evening, and then an hour ago Stazy telephoned to ask if she could possibly bring her brother with her as he had arrived unexpectedly, and of course I said yes, and you’ll never guess who Stazy’s brother turned out to be—’

‘She’ll pause for breath in a minute,’ Leo reassured Jinx dryly as he fell into step beside them, draping his arm affectionately across his wife’s shoulders. ‘But you know Jinx isn’t interested in that sort of thing, Susan. Now if this chap were a university professor or an archaeologist, something like that, then she might be more interested, but as he’s only a—’

‘Leo is only being so negative because the man’s gorgeous,’ Susan huffed. ‘Absolutely gorgeous,’ she repeated enthusiastically. ‘Six foot three of pure sexual magnetism—’

‘And what am I?’ Leo interrupted.

‘Oh, you’re gorgeous too, darling,’ Susan assured him distractedly.

‘Just not as gorgeous—or sexually magnetic!—as our esteemed guest,’ he acknowledged ruefully.

‘Well…I’m married to you.’ Susan pouted. ‘It isn’t the same.’

‘No, I can see that it isn’t.’ Leo grimaced. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to run away with me, Jinx?’

Jinx gave the expected dismissive laugh. ‘You know as well as I do that you love Susan to distraction!’

Leo shook his head. ‘That could change if she’s going to go around enthusing about famous film directors!’

Jinx’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Stazy Hunter’s brother is a film director?’

‘Yes, he’s—sorry.’ Susan gave a rueful smile as the doorbell rang again. ‘Catch up with you later.’ She squeezed Jinx’s arms before grabbing her husband’s hand and dragging him off to answer the door with her.

Jinx turned to enter the drawing-room—and instantly found herself face to face with what she was pretty sure was Susan’s ‘six foot three of pure sexual magnetism’!

Well…not exactly face to face—she was only five feet one inch in her stockinged feet, the two-inch heels on her shoes still making her a foot shorter than the man who returned her gaze with compelling silver-grey eyes, his mouth hard and unsmiling.

A man she easily recognized as Nik Prince. One-time actor, now an extremely successful film director, the eldest of the three brothers who owned PrinceMovies, one of America’s most prestigious film companies.

A shutter came down over her eyes of violet-blue, that curious shade between blue and purple, her pointed chin rising challengingly as Nik Prince looked down at her with an assessment that was totally male. And for that brief moment, a mere matter of seconds, it was as if the two of them were the only people in the room, the noisy chatter, the laughter, the background music all fading away as steely silver-grey clashed with violet-blue.

Jinx became very conscious of the flowing red hair down her back, the perfect fit of her knee-length black dress above long, silky legs. But most of all the man’s size, the sheer animal magnetism emanating from him despite the civilized attire of black evening suit and snowy white shirt, made her aware of each nerve and pulse in her own body, every part of her seeming to tingle with awareness, her breasts rising pert and aroused beneath the silky material of her dress.

As if drawn by a magnet, that intent grey gaze dropped down to the level of her breasts, lingering, as tangible as any caress, as if the man had reached out and physically touched her there.

But it was the amusement that glimmered in those hard grey eyes, the knowing smile that curved the perfect symmetry of that cynical mouth, as if completely aware of the effect he was having on her—and why shouldn’t he be? This man was almost forty years old, obviously experienced, his affairs over the years with his leading ladies legendary! That was what enabled Jinx to break the force of his gaze, her own mouth curving derisively now.

‘Well?’ she challenged him.

Dark brows rose. ‘Well, what?’ The voice was low and husky, the American drawl giving it a sexy quality that made a nonsense of the actual words he said—his tone said ‘let’s go to bed’, so sensual was its inflexion.

Jinx’s direct gaze didn’t falter for a second. ‘Do you like what you see?’

He smiled fully now, showing even white teeth, lines etched beside his eyes and mouth. ‘Wouldn’t any man?’ he taunted her.

‘I wasn’t asking “any man”,’ Jinx snapped. ‘I was asking you.’

Nik Prince took a step towards her, bringing him dangerously close, so close she could feel the heat from his body, smell the tangy aroma of his aftershave. ‘Yes, I like what I see,’ he murmured huskily. ‘But, then, you already knew that,’ he added. ‘How would you feel about the two of us making our excuses and getting out of here?’

Jinx blinked, the only sign she gave—she hoped!—that she was stunned by his suggestion. It would be surprising coming from any man on such short acquaintance, but Nik Prince was no ordinary man!

She usually made a point of avoiding parties like this one, had only made the effort to come this evening because she was so fond of Susan and Leo. But if Nik Prince thought she was the sort of party girl who allowed herself to be picked up by men like him, then he was in for a disappointment.

‘Wouldn’t that be rather rude to Susan and Leo?’ she retorted critically.

‘Are they our host and hostess?’ he asked with an uninterested glance in their direction as they stood further down the hallway greeting yet more guests. ‘I don’t know them and they don’t know me; why should it bother me what they think?’

Why, indeed? In fact, from what she had heard of this man, he tended to be a law unto himself, was reputed to be an uncompromising film director, an inflexible head of his family of two younger brothers and a sister, his relationships with women, be they beautiful actresses or otherwise, always short-lived.

In fact, he wasn’t Jinx’s type at all. If she had a type. It had been so long since there had been anyone in her life in a romantic way that she had forgotten!

She gave a shrug of slender shoulders. ‘Because they were gracious enough to extend their hospitality to you on very short notice might be one way of looking at it, don’t you think?’ she rebuked.

He gave a mocking inclination of his head. ‘I stand corrected,’ he drawled, grey eyes warm as he smiled down at her.

That genuine smile, when it came, was well worth waiting for. In fact, Jinx felt slightly breathless and not a little shaky at the knees. Not a very sensible response given the circumstances!

‘Good,’ she bit out with more force than she had intended, deliberately turning away from him as she took a step back, once again widening the distance between them. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, Mr Prince—’ She broke off abruptly as he reached out a hand to lightly grasp her arm, his fingers long and strong, their warmth seeming to penetrate her silky skin.

‘You obviously know my name, but I don’t know yours,’ he said huskily as she looked up at him enquiringly.

Jinx felt shaken by the effect of his touch, a surge like electricity having coursed through her. Her breathing suddenly became shallow and uneven, and her eyes widened with surprise at her own response.

Nik Prince tilted his head to one side. ‘Let’s see…You don’t look like a Joan. Or a Cynthia. Or a—’

‘Tell me, does this chat-up line usually work?’ Jinx cut in, having finally come to her senses enough to know that this man was dangerous—with a capital D!

Nik Prince didn’t look too put out by her mockery; in fact, he was standing far too close again, those grey eyes gleaming with laughter. ‘Believe it or not, I don’t usually need a chat-up line.’

Oh, she believed it, all right. She was sure this man usually had women lining up to be with him rather than his having to pursue them. ‘Perhaps that’s as well,’ she told him dryly.

Grey eyes warmed as he smiled his appreciation of her deliberate put-down. ‘You’ll have to excuse me; it’s been a while,’ he conceded wryly.

Jinx wasn’t in the least interested in how long it had been. ‘If you wouldn’t mind releasing my arm…?’ she prompted, having made several unsuccessful attempts to do so herself.

‘But I do mind,’ he murmured throatily, his thumb moving in a rhythmic caress against her inner wrist now.

‘But so do I,’ she snapped. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…? I must just go over and say hello to Susan’s parents.’ Thank goodness she had just spotted their familiar faces across the room.

Nik Prince moved his hand, but only to take a proprietorial hold of her elbow instead. ‘How about you introduce me? I can say hello to them too, and then I’ll finally know your name.’

She met his gaze unblinkingly. ‘My name is Juliet.’

His eyes widened momentarily, as if that wasn’t quite what he had expected to hear—as, indeed, it probably wasn’t!—and then his considerable acting skills took over and he gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘Now that’s more like it.’

‘That hardly makes you my Romeo, Mr Prince.’

‘Pity,’ he drawled. ‘And it’s Nik.’

‘Nik,’ she accepted shortly.

‘Okay.’ He smiled his satisfaction with her compliance. ‘And what do you do, Juliet?’

‘Do?’ she delayed warily.

‘Careerwise. Or have I committed some sort of social gaffe and you don’t do anything?’

The amusement in his tone annoyed her intensely. ‘What I do, Mr—Nik,’ she corrected irritably as he gave her a reproving look, ‘is teach. History. At Cambridge University.’ She tried to keep that slight tone of pride out of her voice when she said the latter, knowing she had failed miserably as his firmly sculptured mouth twisted mockingly. ‘Although I’m in the middle of taking a year’s sabbatical at the moment,’ she enlarged.

‘And does that make you a Dr Something?’