Royal Holiday Bride

Was he really prepared to track down every female guest until he found a green-eyed redhead with a sexy little mole on her right hip?

Of course not, because even if he had the time or the energy for such an endeavor, the discovery of her true identity would change nothing. Because he’d known when he invited her back to his room that they could never be anything more than strangers in the night.

So why was he wishing for something different now? Why was he fantasizing about an impossible reunion with a woman he didn’t even know?

His future was already laid out for him and last night had been only a temporary and forbidden deviation from the path that had been set for him at birth. It was time to set himself back on that path and be the king his country needed.

It was time to meet his bride.

Dear Reader,

Royal Holiday Bride is my sixth title in the REIGNING MEN series, but the first that starts with a bona fide princess.

I remember reading fairy tales as a child and being captivated by the idea of finding my own prince someday. As I grew up, I was less enchanted by the prospect of meeting a real blueblood and more interested in meeting a man who embodied princely characteristics. (And not only did I meet one, but I married him!)

But for a woman who is already a princess, what does she dream about? Surprisingly, Princess Marissa Leandres of Tesoro del Mar doesn’t have great expectations—until she meets the newly crowned King of Ardena. Then the sparks start to fly and the princess begins to hope that the chemistry between them might lead to a fabulous holiday wedding … and a happily-ever-after.

I hope you enjoy their story.

Best,

Brenda Harlen

About the Author

BRENDA HARLEN grew up in a small town, surrounded by books and imaginary friends. Although she always dreamed of being a writer, she chose to follow a more traditional career path first. After two years of practicing as an attorney (including an appearance in front of the Supreme Court of Canada), she gave up her “real” job to be a mom and to try her hand at writing books. Three years, five manuscripts and another baby later, she sold her first book—an RWA Golden Heart winner—to Mills & Boon®.

Brenda lives in southern Ontario with her real-life husband/hero, two heroes-in-training and two neurotic dogs. She is still surrounded by books (too many books, according to her children) and imaginary friends, but she also enjoys communicating with real people. Readers can contact Brenda by e-mail at brendaharlen@yahoo.com.

Royal Holiday

Bride

Brenda Harlen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Sharon & Ken May~

When I created the fictional island of Tesoro del Mar

for the Reigning Men series, I was looking for a make-

believe paradise. When you invited me to Exuma,

I discovered that paradise is real

—and it’s in the Bahamas.

Thank you both so much for sharing it with me!

Chapter One

Princess Marissa Leandres of Tesoro del Mar had a plan.

If her plan seemed a little desperate, well, that was probably because she was desperate. For too many years, she’d been a good princess, behaving as was expected of her, careful not to make waves in the family or do anything that might result in a scandal. After all, her brother, Cameron, had created more than enough of those.

But time was running out and if she had any hope of taking control of her life and her future, she had to make a move. And she knew she would never have a better opportunity than tonight’s masquerade ball.

What better way for a princess to shed the restrictions inherent to her title and all of her own personal inhibitions than to be someone else—at least for one night?

Still, she couldn’t deny that she was nervous. Actually, she was more than nervous—she was terrified. But she was also determined.

She hadn’t planned to be a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. As a teenager experiencing the first stirrings of physical attraction, she’d been cautious. Not that she’d thought of her virginity as any great prize, but she hadn’t been anxious to throw it away, either—especially not with the possibility of a reporter or photographer lurking around every corner.

While a lot of her friends boasted about going “all the way,” she’d been content to wait, at least until she met someone really special. Unfortunately, that special someone never did cross her path, and now her mother was ready to offer her as a virgin sacrifice to Anthony Volpini, the Duke of Bellemoro.

Marissa shuddered at the thought. No way was she going to let that happen. She’d shared one brief kiss with Anthony a few years back, and the memory of that lip-lock was not a pleasant one. The prospect of experiencing anything more intimate with the lecherous duke made her skin crawl. So tonight, she was dressed as Juno. And the goddess knew what she wanted.

As she made her way toward the ballroom, the elegantly engraved invitation trembled in her fingers. Her first test would be at the door, where her cousin and his wife, Prince Rowan and Princess Lara, would be greeting each and every guest. If she could get past them—

No, she wouldn’t let herself think if. She had to be confident. She had to ignore the butterflies frantically winging around inside her tummy and refuse to think about all the reasons she should abort her plan—and she knew there were many. She couldn’t have second thoughts about what she was doing, because if she didn’t go through with it tonight, she would forever be a helpless pawn in her mother’s unending games.

Drawing in a slow, deep breath, she took a step forward as the line of guests advanced. She couldn’t help but smile when she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the antique mirrors that lined the halls. She’d worried that her plan would fail, that she would somehow be recognized, but as she curtsied to the prince regent and his wife and neither of them showed so much as a flicker of recognition, her butterflies began to settle.

Really, she had nothing to worry about. With the auburn wig, emerald-colored contacts and elaborate mask covering half of her face, her own mother wouldn’t be able to identify her. Not to mention that the gold sandals on her feet added a full four inches to her usually petite five-foot-four-inch frame.

The one-shoulder toga-style gown hugged her breasts, nipped in at her waist and flowed to the floor with a slit halfway up her thigh on one side. It was more suggestive than revealing, but it made her feel sexy and daring—and nothing at all like the demure and conservative Princess Marissa.

She liked sensual fabrics and bright colors, but she didn’t often wear them in public. She preferred to blend into the background, unnoticed by the paparazzi that had always shadowed her brother’s every move. She’d certainly never worn anything so vibrant and bold, and she knew there was no way she could hide in the background in this outfit. But tonight she didn’t want to hide—she wanted to be noticed. She wanted to be wanted.

Tonight, “the prim princess” was finally going to lose her virginity.

Dante Romero hated costume balls. He felt ridiculous enough in the finery he was required to wear for state functions without having to dress up and pretend to be someone else. As if being born a prince hadn’t required him to do enough role-playing on a daily basis, he was now trapped in the role of King of Ardena.

It was his birthright and his burden, and one he hadn’t expected to assume so early. Unfortunately, his father’s health had rapidly deteriorated over the past few years to the point that King Benedicto and his advisers—and especially his doctors—had agreed it would be best for the country if he passed the throne to his son. It was a position Dante had been groomed for throughout his entire life, his inescapable destiny.

Not that he was looking to escape. He acknowledged and understood his responsibilities to his family, his people and his country. But he was barely thirty-two years old and he’d always thought he’d have more time before he had to accept those responsibilities—more time to be free before he gave his people a queen.

But his father had been unrelenting. He hadn’t worried too much about his reputation as a playboy prince, but he was the king now and his country needed a queen. He needed a partner to share his life and a mother for his children—the future heirs to the throne.

That was one of the primary reasons he was in Tesoro del Mar now—not just to shake a few hands and smile for some photo ops, but to meet Princess Marissa Leandres, the only daughter of the Princess Royal and a cousin of the prince regent. His father was optimistic that he would find the princess “acceptable enough” to consider issuing a proposal of marriage, which would go a long way toward strengthening the ties between their respective countries.

It was, Dante understood, as good a reason as any for a king to choose a bride. Unlike the childhood song that claimed “first comes love, then comes marriage,” Dante knew that it was more likely “first comes coronation, then comes marriage.” The official ceremony had taken place only a few weeks earlier, and now the clock was ticking.

And so, at his father’s insistence, he’d paid a thousand dollars for a ticket to this masquerade ball to benefit the Port Augustine Children’s Hospital and dressed himself up like Jupiter, just because Benedicto was certain that Princess Marissa would be in attendance and because he had yet to figure out how to refuse anything his ailing father asked of him.

“She’s not unattractive,” his mother had informed him, although she’d seemed slightly less enthusiastic than her husband about the idea of the Tesorian princess as her son’s bride. “Just a little more conservative than the women you usually date, but she is always stylish and well put together.”

Unwilling to rely on his mother’s description, he’d done some research on his own. Finding pictures of the princess hadn’t been very difficult—though she wasn’t frequently on the covers of the tabloids, she did make public appearances for noteworthy causes. It seemed that the Port Augustine Children’s Hospital was one of her favorites.

He would agree that she wasn’t unattractive. In fact, when he studied her face more closely, he realized that she was actually quite beautiful, if not the type of woman who would ordinarily catch his eye. Medium height, average build, dark hair usually tied back in a braid or secured in a knot at the base of her neck. Her eyes were also dark, her smile as unobtrusive as the rest of her.

It shouldn’t have been too difficult to pick her out of a crowd, except when the crowd was attired in fancy costumes and elaborate masks. As Dante looked around the ballroom of the royal palace, he realized that he was surrounded by gods and goddesses and various mythological creatures, some that he recognized but many more than he did not. Even the staff were in costume: the waiters as slaves and the security guards as gladiators.

It was as if he’d stepped into another world, and he had to give credit to the decorators for their efforts. The boundary of the dance floor was marked by tall Roman-style columns wrapped in green ivy and twinkling lights. Beyond the dance floor were round tables covered in white linen with laurel wreath centerpieces. Marble pedestals topped with busts of ancient philosophers had been placed around the perimeter of the room.

Some of the guests were in formal attire and carried simple stick masks as a nod to the theme; others had elaborate costumes and face decorations that ensured they remained anonymous. For Dante, the one benefit of being unrecognizable in his costume was that he’d been able to forgo having bodyguards flanking him as he moved through the crowd.

He stepped out of Medusa’s path and fought against a smile as she turned to give a blatant once-over to a centaur. He decided that even if he didn’t manage to locate Princess Marissa, it wouldn’t be a boring night. But he wasn’t willing to give up on his mission just yet. He scanned the crowd again, looking for someone who was trying to blend into the background—an observer rather than a participant. The harder he looked, the more convinced he became that his task was futile.

And then he saw her.

The dress was of the richest emerald where it was gathered at one shoulder, with the color gradually transitioning from green to blue until it became a vivid sapphire at her ankles. Her hair spilled down her back, a luxurious cascade of silky red curls. Enormous hammered-gold earrings dangled from her ears and wide bracelets of the same style glinted at both wrists.

Her mask was an elaborate design studded with blue-and-green jewels with a fan of peacock feathers on one side; behind it, her brilliant green eyes sparkled. Her glossy lips were lush and full and curved in a tempting smile. Her skin was pale and dusted with gold. The slope of her shoulders was graceful and sexy.

Lust shot through his veins, as strong and fierce as any bolt of lightning his namesake might have thrown down from the heavens. He forgot about his mission to find the Tesorian princess and made his way across the room to her.

He bowed; she curtsied.

“Juno,” he acknowledged with a nod.

Those luscious lips curved. “Jupiter?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

She gave him a slow once-over, her emerald eyes skimming over the gold-trimmed purple toga, gold breastplate, down to the sandals on his feet. “The ruler of the gods is customarily depicted with a beard.”

“I’m a man for whom practicality trumps convention,” he told her.

“The facial hair was itchy,” she guessed.

“And you are a woman who is obviously as smart as she is beautiful.”

“I know that Jupiter had a lightning bolt. I didn’t know that he had such a glib tongue.”

“There’s probably a lot about me that you don’t know,” he told her. “But if you would do me the honor of sharing a dance, we could start to fill in some of the blanks.”

“I’d like that,” she said.

She placed her hand in his, and he felt the jolt again.

Her gaze flew to his, and he saw the same awareness—the same desire—in her eyes that was coursing through his blood.

He lifted her hand, touched his lips to the back of it.

Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened.

He drew her closer, dropped his voice. “Or we could skip the dance.”

She shook her head. “A tempting offer, but I want to dance … at least for now.”

“And later?” he queried, leading her onto the dance floor.

Her lips curved in a slow, sexy smile that made his heart pound. “We’ll figure that out as we go.”

He was a good dancer, Marissa noted. He moved easily, naturally, and it felt so good to be held in his arms, close to his body. Her heart was pounding and her blood was humming. For the first time since she’d set her plan in motion, she started to believe that she could go through with it.

If she could be with Jupiter.

That this man had chosen to come to the ball dressed as her mythological mate was nothing more than a coincidence, she knew that. And yet, in her heart, she believed it was a sign that she was doing the right thing.

Or maybe it was just her hormones, because she honestly couldn’t ever remember responding to a man as immediately and intensely as she’d responded to this one.

She tipped her head back, smiled when she met his gaze. She’d danced with a lot of men whose eyes had roamed the dance floor, looking for their next partner, their next conquest. But Jupiter seemed interested only in her, and for a woman who was used to standing on the sidelines, being the center of such focused attention was absolutely exhilarating.

Though his face was half-covered by a gold-colored mask, there was no disguising the strength or masculinity of his features. His eyes were as dark as espresso and surrounded by thick lashes, his jaw was strong and square, his lips exquisitely shaped and quick to curve.

“So why Jupiter?” she asked him now.

“Why would I choose the identity of any one god when I could be the ruler of the gods?” he countered.

“Lofty ambitions,” she mused.

For just a second, she thought she saw a shadow cross his eyes. But then he smiled, and everything inside of her quivered.

“I would expect the consort of the king to have similarly grand desires,” he noted.

She didn’t think his use of the word desires was either inadvertent or inappropriate. She had very specific plans for this night, and while she didn’t think they were particularly grand, she was determined to see them through.

“You don’t honestly expect me to confess my grandest desires to a stranger on the dance floor, do you?” she challenged.

“But I’m not a stranger,” he pointed out, leading her away from the crowd as the song ended. “I’m your mythological mate.”

He plucked two glasses of champagne from the tray of a waiter and passed one to her.

She murmured her thanks and lifted the glass to her lips to soothe her suddenly parched throat. It was easy to flirt with him on the dance floor when they were surrounded by other dancers. But now, even though there were probably five hundred people in the ballroom, she felt as if they were alone. And the nerves tying knots in her stomach were equal parts anticipation and apprehension.

She had barely finished half of her champagne when she was approached by a Minotaur. Ballroom protocol dictated that an invitation not be refused, so she let him lead her back to the dance floor. After the Minotaur, she danced with Apollo, then with a senator. Each time she made her way around the dance floor past the table where she’d left Jupiter, she saw him watching her.

She felt like the belle of the ball and she had a wonderful time dancing and chatting with all of them, more comfortable in her anonymity than she’d ever been as Princess Marissa. But all the while, she was anxious to return to Jupiter.

“I was beginning to feel neglected,” he said when she finally escaped the dance floor and made her way back to him again.

“My apologies,” she said sincerely, accepting the fresh glass of champagne he offered.

“No need to apologize,” he assured her, leading her away from the crowd and onto the balcony. “It’s understandable that every man in attendance would want a turn on the dance floor with the most beautiful woman here.”

“There’s that glib tongue again,” she noted.

He maneuvered her into the shadows. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“I believe we make our own destiny,” she said, and reminded herself that this was the destiny she had chosen. To take control of her life and her future.

“And I believe our paths were meant to cross tonight.”

She wanted to think that he sounded sincere, but even if it was nothing more than a well-worn line, even if he was just looking for a quick hookup, wasn’t that what she wanted, too? Wasn’t that what she needed to prove that she was capable of controlling her own destiny?

“And now that our paths have crossed,” she said, “where do we go from here?”

Dante wasn’t entirely sure how to answer her question, except that he knew he wasn’t going to walk away from the lovely goddess. Not just yet.

He knew nothing about her and she knew nothing about him, and maybe the anonymity was part of the attraction. He’d been born in a castle and raised from the cradle to understand that he would rule his country one day. It was a birthright that carried with it tremendous responsibility—and relentless public scrutiny. Everything he did was fodder for the tabloids. Every decision he made was documented and analyzed. Every woman he dated was subjected to background checks and media attention.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t a royal representative of Ardena. It was as if he’d completely shed that identity when he’d donned the costume of the Roman god. And then he’d spotted his goddess.

He didn’t know if he believed in destiny, but he did believe that she’d felt that same instantaneous tug of attraction he’d experienced when their eyes met across the room. And he hoped they would have a chance to explore that attraction.

So he replied to her question with one of his own. “Where do you want to go?”

She tilted her head, studying him with steady green eyes as she considered her response. “Are you married?”

“No.” His response was quick, vehement.

Her lips twitched, as if she was trying not to smile. “Engaged?”

“No,” he said again. “There’s no one.”

She continued to hold his gaze as she finished off her champagne. When the glass was empty, he set it aside and took her hands in his, noting the absence of any rings on the third finger of her left hand. “How about you? Boyfriend? Lover?”

She shook her head and her earrings glinted in the moonlight. “Completely unattached,” she assured him.

“I’m very glad to hear that,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.

Her lips were as soft as he’d suspected, and sweetly yielding. And the flavor of her lips buzzed through his veins, more potent than the champagne he’d drunk and more addictive than anything he’d ever tasted.

She neither pulled away nor moved closer, and he sensed a certain amount of both caution and curiosity in her response. He couldn’t blame her for being wary—he was a stranger and they were alone in the shadows—but he didn’t want her to be afraid. So he held his escalating desire firmly in check and forced himself to move slowly.

He touched his tongue tentatively to the seam of her lips, once, twice. The second time, her lips parted for him. When he dipped inside, she brushed his tongue with her own.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her tight against his body. He wanted to feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest, to let her feel the hard proof of his desire for her. He knew what he wanted—he wanted her. But he sensed that she was still undecided, and he was more than happy to take whatever time was needed to convince her that she wanted him, too.

Thankfully, she seemed willing to be convinced. When he released her hands and inched closer to her, she didn’t protest. When he slid his hands from her waist to her breasts, she only sighed and pressed closer to him. It was all the encouragement he needed. The fabric of her costume was almost gossamer thin, and he could clearly feel the pattern of the lace on her bra. Through the lace, he traced circles around the peaks of her nipples, felt them pucker in response to his touch.

She gasped and shuddered, but didn’t pull away. He eased his lips from hers and skimmed them along her jaw, down her throat, over the curve of her collarbone. The soft, sexy noises that sounded in her throat made his blood pound and his body ache.

Maybe this was crazy. It was certainly beyond scandalous. Anyone could wander out from the ballroom as easily as they had done, but he didn’t care. He experienced a heady sense of freedom that he’d never known before, trusting that even if someone did venture out onto the balcony, they wouldn’t catch the king of Ardena in a compromising position. Because he wasn’t the king of Ardena right now—he was Jupiter, and making love with Juno seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

He tore his mouth from hers and drew in a deep, shuddering breath to say, “Come upstairs with me.”