COWBOY ROMANCE: Justin (Western Contemporary Alpha Male Bride Romance) (The Steele Brothers Book 1) (156 page)

Chapter Five

              Valente had no intention of making another movie for Merska.  As wretched as he felt about what they’d had to do, all he saw on Ashley’s face was calm, cool resolve. 

He took her clothes from the guard holding them and brought them over to help her dress.  “We can jump over the side if they take us up on deck,” he murmured to her.  “How well can you swim?”

“Very well, actually, but I have another idea.”  She shifted away from him and pulled her dress over her head.  As she tugged it down, she pretended to slip and fell against one of the guards.  “Sorry.”

She moved back to Valente, but once she was close, she curled her hand around his neck and made a whimpering sound.  At the same time, he felt her tuck a gun into the waistband of his cutoffs.

Valente pulled on his shirt, leaving the bottom untucked to hide the weapon.  As the guards escorted them out of the hold and into the narrow corridor, he clasped her hand, and felt her squeeze his fingers.  Once they were out on deck, he planned on shooting the guards and every man between them and the speedboat.

He never got the chance. 

Ashley slipped the weapon from under his shirt, pressed the barrel against the first guard’s knee and fired.  She did the same to the other guard so fast Valente barely saw it.

“Get their guns,” she told him as she pistol-whipped one and then the other, knocking them out cold.

Valente grabbed the weapons and then stared at her.  “What are you doing?”

“My job.”  She gave him a regretful look before she went to the top of the stairs and looked out.  “Right.  The speedboat is moored directly across from this door.  Go to the side, climb down, and start the engines.”

He heard the authority in her voice, and it made him frown.  “And what will you be doing?”

She took the guns he’d collected and checked the clips.   “Covering you.  Ready?”       

Valente nodded, and quickly darted out the door.  Ashley followed, shooting with guns in both hands as she followed him.  Still firing, she stood guard at the rope ladder as he climbed down.  When she heard him start the engine, she vaulted over the side, landing in the boat.

“Go,” she told him, watching the side of the boat and lifting the guns to fire again.

Valente opened up the throttle and sped off, ignoring the whine of bullets streaking around them.  Only when he put enough distance between them and the ship did he slow and turn to look at Ashley.

“I am not a travel writer,” she said softly.  “I was assigned to protect you, Mr. Valente.  We didn’t know they would seize the yacht, or I would have moved you to another location.”

“I see.”  So much whirled in his head he could barely think.  “Do you work for Interpol?” he asked.

She grimaced.  “MI-6.”

Valente didn’t know what to say to her, so he focused on getting them back to the yacht.  Fortunately the speedboat had a tracking beacon that homed in on the bigger boat and led them directly to it.  Once he drew close, he throttled back the engines and peered through the dark at the big vessel.  His crew were no longer tied to the railings, but there were uniformed officers standing over all the hijackers, who were now in restraints.

Valente drove alongside the yacht and looked up to see Paolo gazing down at him.  “Are you safe?”

“Yes, Master.”  He opened the hatch for the internal basin.  “Thank God you and the young lady are all right.”

Valente drove in through the hatch and shut off the engines.  “Ashley, we need to talk, quite a bit.  But now I must see to my people.”

“I understand.”  She smiled.  “Go.”

Valente hurried up to the top deck, where he met the coast guard officers who had saved his crew and taken the hijackers into custody.  He kissed his valet’s bald head, shook hands with his captain, and hugged Carlo until he thought his ribs would crack.

“No one was hurt,” his chef assured him.  “Paolo was able to text the coast guard from his smart phone when they let him use the head.”

              “I told them to untie me so I would not pee on my shoes,” his valet said with a sniff.  “And they did, the idiots.”

              Valente chuckled, and then went still as he heard the sound of the speedboat’s engines.  He looked over the side as Ashley expertly steered the launch back out of the hatch.  She glanced up at him, touched her fingers to her lips, and raised her hand toward him.  He found himself doing the same.

The speedboat turned as she throttled up, and flew over the water until she disappeared into the night.

#

              A week later Valente sat at his cousin’s dinner table sipping wine while her husband delivered the latest news.

“Merska and his entire crew are in prison now,” Leon said as he dug into a thin slice of spumoni cheesecake.  “As are the rest of the villains who hijacked your yacht.  I will see to it that they stay there until they are very old, harmless men.”

“I think you should move them to that awful prison down in the south,” his wife said.  “You know how the Mafioso are in that place.  They’ll be murdered in their sleep – or could you arrange something like that, darling?”

“You are too blood-thirsty,” Leon said.  “But perhaps I should appoint you to run the prisons.  They would emptied in a month.” 

“Any word on Ashley?” Valente couldn’t help asking.

Before Leon answered, Chiara reached over and touched Valente’s hand.  “She has likely been reassigned, my dear.”  As he stared at her, she nodded.  “I knew.  They came to me and explained how much danger you were in, and what could I do?  I have tried to reach her, but they say it is not permitted.”

“It’s all right.”  He set down his cup.  “If she wishes to see me again, she will find me.”

The door to the dining room flung open, and a tall, refined-looking man with a red face stalked in.  “Valente.  So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

He stood and got between the British man and Chiara, and then saw the color of the man’s eyes.  They were the same grass-green color that haunted his dreams.  “You are Ashley’s father?”

“Bloody right I am.  How could you do those things to my daughter?  And let them film it?”  He lunged.

Valente grabbed him, took a few punches to the head and then thrust him away.  “You know they would have killed her if I hadn’t.  How did you see the video?”

“Everyone is seeing it.”  Ashley’s father dropped into the chair next to Chiara and tossed his mobile onto the table.  “It’s on every Internet porn video site now.  Can I have some of that wine?”

              “Yes, of course.”  As if fist fights were an everyday occurrence at her table, Chiara beckoned to one of the maids clearing the buffet table.

Valente picked up the mobile and did a search, watching himself assault Ashley for two seconds before he shut it off. 

“What am I going to do now?” Ashley’s father said to Chiara.  “It was bad enough when she was just a spy.  Now she’s the new James Bondage Girl of the month.  No one will marry her.  Her mother and I will have to go live on Riviera.”

“Oh, I still have some prospects, Father,” the maid said as she finished filling his wine glass, and then removed her dark wig.  “I’ve had tons of e-mail proposals since the video went live.  Not all of them were lewd or lascivious.”  

              Valente blinked.  “Ashley?”

              “Hello, darling.”  She came over to take his hands.  “Sorry about the fisticuffs.  Take a walk with me?”

              “And, of course, they’re in love.”  Her father made a rude sound.  “Keep your clothes on this time, young lady.”

                Valente followed Ashley out into the courtyard garden, where she walked to the sparkling fountain and trailed her fingers in the bubbling water.

              “I’m sorry I lied to you about who I am,” she said as she sat down on the bench across from the basin.  “I didn’t want to leave you, either, but I had to take Merska into custody.  Unfortunately he sent the video of us to his cohorts just before we arrived.”

              “You left me to go back?”  Valente dropped down beside her.  “Ashley.  You could have been killed.”

              “It was my job, darling.  I’m very well-trained, as no doubt you saw.”  She took his hands in hers.  “I usually worked in a very small office in London, where I coordinated missions for other field operatives.  I rather liked my job, too.”

              He caught one of her curls and wound it around his finger.  “They sent you to protect me because they knew I would be attracted to you.”  He frowned.  “Wait.  Liked?”

              “They’ve given me the sack.  Can’t be a spy if you’re on every naughty video site on the Internet.”  She wrinkled her nose.  “Now, before I go on the dole I should tell you how I feel.  I realize that you may be on the fence about the whole thing, or only want me for sex, or hate me, or wish me dead—”

              “Do you know what I want to do to you right now?” he asked softly.  When she nodded, he glanced at the villa.  “Your father may see us.”

              “I don’t care.”  She cradled his face between her hands.  “I’ve been waiting for this for so long, Gio.  All my life.  The life you saved.  The life I want to spend with you.  I love you.”

              “Bella, there is only one thing I can do about that.”  Tenderly he pulled her close, and touched his lips to hers, and kissed her.

              They were still kissing when Chiara, Leon and Ashley’s father came out into the courtyard.

              “Will he marry her, do you think?” Ashley’s father asked, sounding hopeful.

              Chiara smiled at him.  “If he doesn’t, I will.”  She peered at her husband.  “Would you like another wife, darling?”

THE END

Bound to the Alpha Billionaire

Book 8

(Can be read as a standalone book)

By: Lucy Wynand

The Prince’s Possession

Chapter One

              “Your Majesty, I’ve never seen so handsome a prince,” a mellow Irish voice said.  “If I were a ponce, I’d be tossing myself at your feet.”

Geoffrey Wells looked up from the file he was studying to frown at the slim, curly-haired valet.  “You
are
a ponce, Chalen.  It’s why they hired you to make me into a prince.”

“Aye.”  The valet motioned for him to stand up.  “So let’s have a look, then.”

Spending most of the flight secluded in the royal jet’s private quarters had left Geoff’s temper straining at the bit.  Since leaving London he’d spent hours reviewing again all the available data on Prince Jarek, Crown Prince of Aslandia.  Thirty-two years old, British-educated, and thoroughly spoiled, Jarek had been the only son of Aslandia’s King Baran.  Since Baran had died suddenly last week, everyone believed Jarek was coming home to inherit his father’s throne, and rule over the tiny but immensely wealthy kingdom known among Europeans as “the country built by casinos.”

Only a handful of high-ranking MI-6 officials knew that Jarek had been secretly murdered ten years ago, probably by his own father. 

Geoff hadn’t known anything about the prince until last Monday, when he’d been pulled off his desk and marched upstairs to be inspected by the director.  The real shock had been seeing a photo of the black-haired, blue-eyed prince, which had been like looking into a mirror.  From there the days blurred into one long marathon session of being groomed and tutored and otherwise transformed from an intelligence officer with no fortune or family into a billionaire playboy who had everything.

Now he stood up and held out his arms.  “Well?  Will I pass?”

“You’re the image of King Baran’s bloody brat, to be sure, but your jacket’s already wrinkled.”  Chalen Blackstone, a four-generation royal valet, cast a critical eye over him.  “Can’t have that.” 

Geoff glanced down.  “I don’t see any wrinkles.”

“You couldn’t, unless you grow eyes in the back of your skull.”  The valet stepped back.  “Your posture’s still for shite when you’re not thinking about it.  Shoulders back, chin up, gaze down the nose.  Don’t smile.  Look bored.” 

Geoff smothered a yawn.  “That I don’t have to fake.”

“Sorry becoming a royal billionaire is so tiresome.”  He circled around Geoff once.  “You also need to work on your resting expressions.  Come on, me lad.  Give us a proper heir to a dirty little kingdom sneer.”

Geoffrey allowed his upper lip to curl.  “Shut it, or I’ll have my guards haul you off to the gallows.”

“It’s silence, not shut it, and they don’t hang anyone in Aslandia, you dolt.”  Chalen plucked at Geoff’s silk cravat.  “Bullet to the brainpan, or a very short, unhappy life being worked to death in a hellhole mine prison.”

Geoff sighed.  “Come to Aslandia, gamble away all your money, and end up in an unmarked grave.  I’m so happy I’m this man’s identical twin.”   

“Everyone has one.  I’ve always hoped mine would be married to a Playboy bunny.”  Chalen brushed at his sleeve.  “Now, what do you say when someone important asks where you’ve been all these years, Prince Jarek?”

Geoffrey looked down his nose.  “How are you with a rock hammer?”

“Perfection.  Off with the jacket.  I’ll have to steam it before you meet your adoring subjects.  Royals are never, ever wrinkled.”  When Geoff shrugged out of the hand-tailored garment Chalen draped it over his arm.  “Now, how do you behave with the great buggered unwashed masses?”

“Like an ass,” Geoff said dutifully.

“Always.  Stay behind your bodyguards.  No one approaches, touches or speaks to you unless you first give the nod.  You remember, we practiced that one for two days.  If you don’t know an answer, look annoyed and say nothing.  You would not believe how effective the brooding silence can be.”  As Geoff reached for a glass of water Chalen slapped his wrist.  “You don’t eat or drink in front of anyone.”

Geoff sighed.  “Right, I forgot.  I’m an inbred, overdressed idiot air plant of a man – with facial paralysis.”

“Botox, actually.  Welcome to the monarchy.”  Chalen checked his watch.  “We’ll be touching down at Aslandia International in ten minutes.  I’ve got to see to the luggage now, and we won’t be able to talk again until tonight.  You’re on your own until then, so clear your head, me lad.  As the Americans say, it’s show time.”

Once the valet left Geoff used the in-jet phone to place a call to the London desk for his final check-in, and was immediately transferred to the director’s office.

“We’ve confirmed that the cartel has put someone inside the palace,” the director said.  “We believe it’s this American woman, Meri Madison, who is scheduled to photograph Jarek.  Turning this mole to work for us is top priority, so get on it at once.”

“Yes, sir.”  Geoff felt the jet beginning to descend.  “Any particular approach I should use?”

“The only one that will work for a royal,” the director said.  “Wine and dine, and then seduce and control.  You should have little difficulty.  She’s said to be as lovely as she is dangerous.”

#

“Do you even realize how much danger you’re in?” Paula Lawson demanded over the phone.  “These people are not messing around, Meri.  Come home before you get your throat cut.”

“I will.  I just need the cherry on top,” Meri Madison told her editor.  She smiled as she saw a gleaming jet descend from the clouds.  “And he’s about to land.  Gotta go.  Bye, Paulie.”

Meri walked out of the terminal and onto the red-carpeted tarmac.  The reception party from the palace stood at elegant attention as they watched Prince Jarek’s jet touch down.  Meri went to stand beside the royal press secretary, a sleep-deprived spin doctor named Saral.

“You look very pretty today, Meri,” Saral said, his benign smile not even flirting with his beady eyes.  “Hoping to get lucky?”

“Aren’t we all, Chosef?”  Surreptitiously she straightened the placket of her ivory lace blouse.  Too tall and lanky to wear most dresses well, Meri had opted for the very feminine top over her favorite black trousers.  She’d also coiled her long blonde hair into a pale crown, and applied some strategic makeup to enhance her delicate features. 

Meri knew she looked good enough to attract the playboy Prince’s attention; holding onto it would be the trick.

It frustrated her that they knew so little about Jarek.  He hadn’t been photographed since leaving Aslandia ten years ago to retreat in some sort of sulky seclusion.  The royal heir had often quarreled with his father, the late King Baran, and there had been rumors that after one huge blow-up, Jarek had been deliberately exiled. 

Still, Meri had no doubt the prince had languishing on some private palatial estate where a battalion of servants had provided him with an endless supply of nymphomaniac supermodels, designer drugs, and gold-dusted peacock tongues or whatever the royals nibbled on these days.

“God, I already hate him,” Meri muttered under her breath.

“What’s that, my dear?” Saral asked.

She forced a smile.  “I said I can’t wait to meet him.”

              One the jet taxied to a stop Prince Jarek’s entourage disembarked, and then the heir himself stepped out into the sunlight.  Tall and dark like most Aslandians, he had a piercing gaze that seemed to take in everything at once.

Meri found herself holding her breath as the prince walked down to the red carpet and strolled toward the reception party.  Jarek moved like some large, predatory feline, effortless but intent.  He had the same brilliant blue eyes as his father, but his seemed to glitter with more fire than Baran’s infamous glacial star.  Naturally he had the perfect grooming all royals seemed to pull off, right down to the manicured nails.  On him, however, it looked more like a disguise.  Beneath it Meri sensed power and purpose that a spoiled playboy shouldn’t have possessed, much less concealed.

              Just who was this guy, anyway?

Jarek stopped as his father’s chief advisor offered a low bow and gave the nod.  The advisor instantly offered his condolences, which he deftly turned into a flowery welcome speech.

“Yes, it is good to be home,” Jarek said in his deep British-accented voice, cutting short the advisor’s fawning outpourings.  “I will go to the palace now.”

Meri jumped as the prince’s gaze met hers, and he beckoned.  She moved quickly to present herself, dipping into the expected curtsey.  When he nodded, she said, “Welcome home, Your Majesty.”

“You are American.”  He gave her the once-over.  “Pretty hair.  This blouse does not suit you.  What is your name?”

“Meri Madison, Your Majesty.”  She felt flattered and insulted, all at once.  “I’m here to interview and photograph you for World Times Magazine.”   

“Is that all you want to do?”  Before she could reply Jarek turned to the chief advisor.  “She will ride with me to the palace.”