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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.

A half smile curved his lips, a shaft of sunlight hitting his face, that single moment displaying the breathtaking quality he possessed to its very best effect.

She certainly felt as if her breath had been taken. Ripped straight from her lungs. Why did he have to be so hot? More to the point, why did she have to suddenly care how hot he was?

She looked back down at her iPad, at the picture of Victoria Calder. And for the first time ever, she felt her stomach curl in with jealousy in connection with a client.

It was the first and last time it would happen. She couldn’t afford it. Not financially, and most especially not emotionally.

She’d already had everything drained from her in that department. She would never put herself through it again.

CHAPTER THREE

JESSICA tried not to die of despair as she watched one of her favorite potential brides, Dominique Lanphier, standing by the buffet table looking like a deer in the headlights. She was sort of fidgeting, looking as if she was ready to dart away from the table at a moment’s notice and grab Stavros from Corinthia, the petite redhead he was currently engaging in approved conversation with.

This wasn’t her best idea. She could see that now. It was just a pity she was realizing it far too late to change anything. Her prospective brides, normally so well-behaved, were a bit giddy over the chance to compete for a prince and all of the good manners that had been bred into them seemed to have been knocked from their heads the moment they’d entered the palace.

Jessica was sweating. Actually sweating. And trying not to look like anything more than a guest. Which, in the grand ballroom, filled to maximum capacity with nearly one thousand people, shouldn’t be too hard.

Victoria, her best hope for Stavros, had been unavailable for the wedding, which had forced her to bring in Dominique as a last-minute replacement. Something she was bitterly regretting.

“Just stay there,” she whispered, begging Dominique to go with the program, hoping the other woman would absorb the command from across the room.

It just seemed to be getting hotter in the ballroom now, and she could swear the sweetheart neckline of her flirty cocktail dress was about to slip and go from sexy to burlesque. And that would draw far more attention to herself than she wanted.

She gripped the sides of the bodice and tugged at it slightly. Feeling, for a moment, every inch the unsophisticated North Dakota girl she was on the inside. Feeling her persona start to slip.

No. You are not unsophisticated. You are a businesswoman. You are in a castle. Own your inner princess!

Yes. Inner princess. She was sure she had one of those.

She took a deep breath and felt a bit of her anxiety ease as Stavros checked his watch and disengaged Corinthia right on time. Any longer and there would be speculation. And now, he would go to the buffet and it would be Dominique’s turn.

This sort of brief, public meeting, was, in her experience, the perfect way to open. To see people interact in a social situation, to prevent a feeling of enhanced intimacy too quickly.

She had to remind herself of all the reasons it was a good idea now, since she was on the verge of panicking and eating her weight in wedding cake to try and stave off the anxiety. This was what she did. This was her one area of confidence, of expertise. And watching it go very much not according to plan was crazy-making.

The transition went smoothly and she watched Stavros engage Dominique in conversation. So casual it could have been accidental. He was good.

She watched as he leaned in, his body language indicating interest, the smile on his face warm. Genuine. Her throat tightened a bit, and cut off the flow of air entirely when he brushed Dominique’s arm with his hand.

Such a brief touch. And yet, it spoke of attraction.

He hadn’t touched her. Not more than a handshake. And that brief touch at the restaurant. She shouldn’t have a list of the times his skin had made contact with hers. It shouldn’t matter that he was touching someone else.

It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t. She was here to try and match him with one of these women. This choking jealousy had no place in it. Jealousy was an awful emotion. Consuming. It brought out the worst in people, in her particularly.

When she’d found out Gil was getting married again. When she’d found out his wife was pregnant.

A prickle of shame spread from her scalp through her body.

She shouldn’t be jealous of Gil’s wife. Of her ability to give birth. It was small and petty. If he couldn’t find happiness with her, he should be free to find it with someone else.

The thing that sucked was that he’d found the happiness she’d wanted. He’d been able to move on and get all of the hopes and dreams they’d built their marriage on. He’d been able to leave her.

She couldn’t leave herself.

Her body was her body. Her limitations wouldn’t change with a new partner. Moving on for her meant something very different than it had for her ex. Moving on meant rebuilding, finding new dreams. She was happy. She had a successful business. She was financially solvent and she was matchmaking for a prince, for heaven’s sake.

A prince she should have no feelings for at all. And certainly not any kind of longing type feelings.

Crazy was what it was. Crazy.

Stavros’s time with Dominique closed and he made a polite exit, not lingering for a moment longer. Which suggested he couldn’t have gotten too lost in her eyes or anything.

She should not feel satisfied by that.

She felt her stomach free-fall when Stavros changed course suddenly and started walking toward her. His movements easy, his manner approachable. And several people did approach him. He managed to make everyone feel he’d expended attention on them without actually taking much time, barely halting his movement. Every so often, his dark eyes would land on her, leaving her in no doubt that she was his destination.

And, well, he was a prince, and he was a client. So she wasn’t going to dodge him.

She stood, rooted to the spot, until Stavros stopped in front of her. “I’d love a word with you in private,” he said.

She looked around. “As long as we don’t draw attention. I’m hardly the most recognizable face in the world but …”

“Come,” he said. Taking her hand and striding toward the ballroom’s exit, his gait much more purposeful than it had been a moment ago.

She snagged a glass of champagne off of a passing waiter’s tray and followed him out. “Wait. I’m in heels,” she said, taking quick, tottering steps out into the corridor. She flashed a passing guest a smile and tried to match Stavros’s pace. “Hey, Tarzan. Me not Jane. You no drag me out by the hair.”

He ignored her, continuing to walk down the hall until he came to an ornate wood door that she recognized as the entrance to his office. She never would have found it by herself. Not in the maze of halls the Kyonosian palace boasted. He released her hand, entered in a code and pushed the door open. “Come in,” he said.

She shot him a look and walked into the room, wiping her hand on the tulle skirt of her gown, trying to get rid of the heated feeling that his touch had left behind. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, pushed her cleavage up into prominence, then thought better of it when she realized just how prominent it was.

She put her hands on her hips. “What’s up?”

“None of them were acceptable,” he said.

“None?”

“No.”

“But … but …” she sputtered. “What about Dominique? You touched her arm.”

He shrugged. “I know how to flirt.”

“Well, yeah, I know, I yelled at you for it a while back. But why flirt if you aren’t going to follow up?”

He frowned. “Did you just imply that I am a … tease?”

“Yeah. A marriage tease. Why feign interest if you don’t feel any?”

“I’m not seeking to hurt anyone’s feelings,” he said dryly. “I could hardly stand there and act bored. And anyway, that begs the question why you would send me such dull women.”

“Dull? Dominique is a beauty queen, Corinthia is a doctor, for heaven’s sake, and Samantha …”

“Had the most annoying laugh.”

“All right. Yes, her laugh is kind of annoying. But it’s sort of endearing.”

“No. It’s not.”

“You’re being unkind.”

“Maybe. But I don’t have forever to find a wife, and you were supposed to be the best.”

“I am,” she said. “I can find you a wife. Anyway, I didn’t think your personal preferences came into it.”

“I don’t want to be … irritated into an early grave by a woman who laughs at all my jokes, even when they aren’t funny, or by one who can’t seem to make conversation about anything other than the weather.”

“That’s called small talk. It’s how people get to know each other,” she said.

“Boring.” He waved a hand as if dismissing the concept. “Talk about world events. Something other than the ‘balmy evening.’”

“So marriage is more to you than you said. Glad to hear it.”

“I am not glad that you presented me with unacceptable candidates. This is not about … meaning, or emotions. This is about … I have to be able to stand the woman I marry.”

“You really are being ridiculous. They weren’t unacceptable. What’s the problem? You didn’t find them attractive?”

“They were attractive. But I was not attracted to any of them.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is,” he said, whirling around to face her. His dark gaze slid down to her breasts and her own followed.

She looked back up at him. “Elaborate,” she said, teeth gritted.

“You expect that you can show up in that dress, and I can focus on other women?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” She gripped the full, tulle skirt reflexively.

“Other than the fact that you’re showing off much more of your breasts than any straight man could be expected to ignore? It also shows your legs. This was a formal wedding. Every other woman, including the ones I was speaking to, had on long gowns. You … you …”

“This dress comes to my knees. And I didn’t realize you were a fourteen-year-old boy masquerading as a prince.”

The insult rolled off her tongue, because what he was saying felt far too good. She wanted to turn it over in her mind, to savor it. To pretend that it was for her and that it mattered. To bask in being seen as pretty instead of broken.

The thought made her so annoyed with herself she wanted to scream.

He took a step toward her, and she sucked in a breath, holding her ground. He leaned in, his face close to hers, dark eyes intense. “I can assure you, I am not a boy.”

She swallowed, fought the urge to put her hand on his cheek and see if the faint, dark shadow there was rough yet. “I believe it.”

“Then do not test me.” His eyes held hers, her heart threatening to beat clean through her chest. She pulled away, her breathing shallow.

Stavros turned away from her. She stood in the middle of his office as he paced, each movement languid and deadly. Her heart was pounding, her body shaking. She’d known that he couldn’t possibly be so easy, so relaxed. Beneath that charm lurked the soul of a predator. The deadliest sort, because he knew how to portray an air of complete and utter harmlessness.

Stavros Drakos was anything but harmless. How had she not seen it? How had she assumed he was all flirtation and ease?

And had he … had he really just confessed to finding her cleavage distracting? She looked down again and felt a small flush of pride creep into her cheeks. It had been a long time since she’d been able to feel anything overly positive in connection with her body.

It was nice to have a man look at her and simply see a woman.

It might be a facade, a trick, but it didn’t really matter. Stavros would never have to get closer. Would never have to know the truth, or deal with the fallout of it.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy it. Just for a moment.

“I wasn’t intending to,” she said.

He stopped moving. “You cannot be ignorant of how you look. You outshone the bride.”

She couldn’t believe that. Not seriously. Princess Evangelina was a great beauty. Olive skin, long dark hair and a slender figure. In her wedding gown, she was unsurpassable. Plus, the princess was only twenty-one. She didn’t have the years Jessica had on her body. Didn’t have the scars.

“I doubt that,” she said.

“My eyes were on you most of the time.”

Heat rushed up her neck and into her face, then spread down over her breasts. “We should not be having this conversation.”

“We should. Because if you’re going to be present at all of my meetings with potential fiancées, you need to dress more suitably.”

“I will dress how I please, Prince Stavros,” she said, feeling her hackles rise. She really didn’t do backed into a corner well, and, at the moment, she felt backed into a corner.

Stavros felt his pulse pounding in his neck, all of his blood rushing south of his belt. He’d been fighting to urge to go and pull Jessica into his arms and kiss her lips, kiss the swells of her breasts where they rose up over that gown. That ridiculous gown that made her look like every man’s midnight fantasy.

He’d tried to focus on the women, the bridal candidates. But they’d seemed … insipid. Young. They hadn’t interested him. They certainly hadn’t stirred his body. Not in the way Jessica did. And that was not part of tonight’s plan.

But when she’d walked into the ballroom tonight, it was as though a switch had flipped inside of him.

Lust had ignited in him like fire, the need to see her curves, those gorgeous curves, without a dress covering them. It made him want to press her against the wall and push all that frilly netting aside. To make her scream with the kind of desire that seemed to be actively trying to eat him alive every time she was around.

He was better than this. He mastered his desires. He directed them where he wanted, when he wanted to express them.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are very stubborn?” he growled.

“It’s probably been said to me as many times as it’s been said to you. Actually, I imagine I’ve heard it more, since people probably don’t stand up to you very often.”

That much was true. But she stood up to him, and she did it without compunction. Yes, she had a reputation for being this bullheaded, but he hadn’t expected she would truly treat him in the same way she did every other client.

His expectation had been wrong.

“Fair enough then,” he said. “But I do expect you to do as I ask.”

“Then I expect you might find yourself disappointed.”

“You are supposed to be working for me,” he said, not sure where this urge to push her was coming from. But that was what he was doing. Pushing her. Daring her.

“If that’s how you feel, you can hunt for your own wife. But we both know you don’t want that.”

“I’m not sure I want this.” The closest he’d ever come to voicing the truth to anyone.

“But you will.” She was so certain. And she was right. Emotion had no place in this. It had no place in him.

He crossed his arms. “You have other candidates?”

“You still haven’t met Victoria. And there are others.”

She shifted and so did her cleavage. A flame licked at his body, igniting desire. Arousal.

“We can discuss it further later. Shall we go back to the wedding?”

“Yes.”

She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. “And will you be civilized?”

A loaded question, and one he was certain applied to more than just tonight. An answer he wasn’t certain of. “I suppose you’ll have to take your chances. Are you willing to do that?”

He extended his arm and she didn’t move for a beat. Then she took a step to him and looped her arm through his. “You don’t worry me too much, Stavros.”

He felt a kick in his gut, a purely masculine part of himself taking her words as a challenge. He stopped, turning to face her. Her green eyes widened, lips parting.

“You trust me?” he asked, his heart thundering.

Her eyes drifted to his mouth before raising up to meet his. “Yes.”

“Ah, but, Ms. Carter, I’m not certain I trust myself. You certainly shouldn’t be putting any trust in me.”

It was nothing. Just a little lust. Nothing deeper than any other attraction he’d felt. It was a direct result of his long bout of celibacy. He would meet more women. Find the one he was supposed to marry, and then he could focus all of his desire on her.

But Theos help him if he could think of marriage without feeling like he was choking. The attraction to Jessica at least made him feel … well, he could breathe.

“I’m going to be in Greece for the next few weeks and I want you to arrange my meetings with prospective brides there. I have business to attend to.” Flexible business, but he needed to get out of Kyonos. Now.

Jessica blinked. “I … I can do that. But I have other clients and I …”

“Not right now you don’t. I need you to put everything else on hold. I need you with me, organizing meetings and whatever else I might need so we can simply get this done.”

“What will people think if we just up and go to Greece the day after your sister’s wedding?”

“Perhaps that we’re embarking on a wild affair?” The idea made his body harden. The idea certainly had merit. Merit he might have to seriously consider. Just the idea of lowering her dress, revealing those luscious breasts …

She laughed. “Oh, I doubt that. More than likely they’ll wonder if you’re looking for a Greek wife.”

“I’m not opposed.” Not any more opposed than he was to the whole idea.

“I guess it doesn’t matter if we operate from Greece or Kyonos.”

“Good. Then we’ll leave for Greece first thing tomorrow.” He opened his office door and held it for her. Tomorrow he would get out of Kyonos, get his head on straight.

For now, he was determined to go back to the reception and enjoy the happiest day of his sister’s life.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHAT did one wear on a private jet headed to Greece? With a prince as cabin-mate. That last part was important.

That had been the first question in her mind that morning, and it was still plaguing her even as she boarded the private jet, decked out in a yellow halter-top sundress and a matching wide-brimmed hat.

Because seriously, dwelling on anything more important than that might make her head explode. And she didn’t want to risk it. Aside from the fact that the interior was far too swanky to chance getting brain matter on it, she had too much work to do and she couldn’t function without said organ.

Stavros was already on the plane, lounging in one of the spacious leather seats, hands behind his head. It was like his go-to mess-with-her-composure position. Exposed bulge at the apex of his thighs? Check. Hard, muscular chest on display? Check. Washboard abs on show? Double check.

He was going to drive her insane.

And what would you do about it? Even if you could act on your attraction to him?

Nothing. The answer was an absolutely nothing, because while attraction, flirtation and sexual desire were all fine and fun, going any further than that would only result in pain. Emotional pain if not physical pain.

Probably both.

“Good morning,” she said.

He stood, his posture straight as she moved into the cabin and sat down in a chair that was positioned as far from his as was polite. He didn’t sit until she had settled herself.

“I like that,” she said. “Very chivalrous.”

“Etiquette is, of course, important for a prince to learn,” he said, humor lacing his tone.

“It’s a dying art form these days, trust me. With both men and women.”

“I imagine you would have a greater insight into that than most.” He buckled his seat belt and she followed suit as the plane readied for take-off.

“Probably. I deal with people on a pretty regular basis. And I have to ask a lot of … intimate questions. But people also tend to be on their best behavior when they’re looking for a relationship, or just beginning one. So I see a lot of the polished squeaky clean veneer, too.”

He nodded. “I suppose I do, too.”

“I’ll bet not many people let loose in front of royalty.”

“You don’t seem that bothered by my position.”

The plane started down the runway and a bubble of excitement burst in her stomach. It had taken a while, but she liked flying now. She liked how free it made her feel. If she wasn’t happy where she was, she could hop a plane and escape for a while.

It was liberating; providing some of the few real moments of freedom she felt. It was superhuman to fly, and it took her mind off the fact that she really was just human. With all kinds of shortcomings.

“Well, unlike my clients, I don’t see the point in hiding who I am.” Lies. She absolutely hid who she was. Behind a suit of armor that was a lot tougher than she was. But what was the point of armor if you admitted you had it on?

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said, his dark eyes far too perceptive for her liking.

What was he? A mind reader? “Why is that?”

“Because you have secrets. You won’t tell me why you’re prickly.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I told you not to flirt with me.”

“You tell me that when I start to get close to things you don’t want to talk about,” he said, leaning over slightly. He was still across the aisle from her, but she felt the move. Felt the increased closeness.

She shifted the opposite direction. “Having secrets is normal. I imagine you have them.”

“Not one. Every detail of my life is published in the archives and kept in my father’s office. My more public exploits are in the news, in tabloids, on royalty stalker websites.”

“So that’s it then, you’re an open book?”

“I have nothing to hide. More to the point, I can’t have anything to hide. If I did, it would be put out in the public eye. I’m a public commodity,” he ground out, a bitterness tingeing his words. “I exercise discretion in certain areas of my life, naturally. I don’t announce when I take a lover, for example, though all tabloids will imply it. You, on the other hand—you have secrets.”

“You think you have me figured out?”

A smile curved his lips. Wicked. Dangerous. “No. Not at all.”

“Well, that’s good. I would hate to be thought of as predictable.”

“You aren’t predictable in the least. Not down to what you’ll wear on a given day,” he said, his eyes on her hat.

“That makes you interesting. It makes me wonder.” His eyes met hers and she felt a jolt in her system. “It makes me want to discover all of your secrets.”

His made goose bumps break out on her arms. Low and husky, with the kind of accent usually only found in her late-night fantasies. And his eyes … dark and rich, like chocolate. A bitter, intense sort of chocolate.

Her favorite.

She swallowed and tried to slow the beating of her heart. “I live in North Dakota when I’m not traveling, as you already know. I don’t own pets. I like clothes. And I do a really dorky celebration dance when I beat my own high scores on computer games.” She tried to smile. “Open book.”

“I would like to see the dance. But I also don’t believe you.”

“I do the dance. But I won’t do it for you.”

“No, I believe you do it.” His eyes locked with hers, the perception in them, the sudden seriousness, unnerving her. “I just don’t believe you’re an open book.”

“And I can’t believe you care. You don’t have time to worry about me or my idiosyncrasies, Prince Stavros, you have a wife to find.”

“No, you have a wife to find. Deliver her to me when you do.”

She laughed, trying to dispel the tension. “That’s the plan. Although, I have to do a bit more than deliver. You have to agree with my selection.”

“I admit I liked the look of … Victoria, was that her name?”

“Um … yes.” She bent down and picked her purse up, hunting for her iPad.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to get her picture out. I remember.”

Was that jealousy? That hot, burning sensation in her stomach? Yes. It very likely was. Ridiculous. She wanted him to like Victoria. Victoria was a fabulous candidate. “Victoria would probably like to meet you here in Greece. She was disappointed that work conflicted with the wedding.”

“What happened to your speed-dating idea?”

“I’ll get a couple of other girls out as well, just to keep the pressure off. But if I—and by I, I mean you—fly them to Greece they deserve more than fifteen minutes of your time.”

“Agreed.”

“When will you have time?” She looked back down at her bag.

“Get it out if you have to,” he said, his tone grudging.

She leaned down and took her tablet out of her purse and opened the flap on the cover. She opened up the calendar and sat poised with her finger at the ready.

“In the evenings. Dinner dates will do.”

She typed in a quick note. “Would you like to see photographs of the other women I’ll be asking?”

“Not especially.”

She let out an exasperated breath. “If I don’t show them to you, you’ll only accuse me of picking women who aren’t attractive again.”

“You can’t hear a laugh in a picture. And that laugh was unforgivable.”

The look she shot him would have been fatal to a lesser man. “You really are being unkind about the laugh.”

“She sounded like a nervous mouse. And she even lifted her hands up and wiggled her fingers. Like she was waiting for cheese.”

Jessica tried, and failed to suppress a laugh. “That … you … well.”

“I’m right.”

“You’re mean!”

“I’m not mean. It’s one of those things that would eat at me. Day in and day out until one day I divorced her over her laugh and that would be a much bigger unkindness than just not pursuing things from the get go.”

She expelled a breath. “Fine. I won’t push the laugh issue again. You’re entitled to your judgmental opinion.”

“I am,” he said, lowering his hands so that they were gripping the armrests on his chair. He had such big hands. Very big. Oh … dear. What was her problem?

She lowered her head and focused on her computer. “Anyway, I was thinking of asking Cherry Carlisle and Amy Sutton over.” She looked at Stavros, who was affecting a bored expression and staring out the window. “Cherry is a brunette. Amy is a redhead. And Victoria’s a blonde.” He kept his gaze off of her. “It’s actually pretty good because it’s like the setup to your own, personal joke. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead go to Greece.”

He looked at her, the corners of his mouth tipped upward. “To marry the prince. You really are selling this well.”

“I try. Once we land in Greece I’ll coordinate with them and hopefully we can get them there ASAP.”

“You like speaking in acronyms, don’t you?”

She shrugged. “It’s faster.”

“Speaking of, by my very fast math, you’ll be involving six women in this so far. And while I’m under no illusion that we’ll keep the press out of this entirely, I wonder what might happen if one of them ends up feeling … jilted.”

“Oh, they’ve signed a gag order.”

“A gag order?”

“I take my business very seriously and yes, this is tabloid bait. Serious, serious tabloid bait. And I have no interest in feeding you, or me, to the wolves. So I’ve taken pretty big precautions.”

He leaned forward, his interest obviously piqued now. “And what are the consequences if they break the gag order?”

“Their firstborn child. All right, not quite but there are some monetary fees.”

“You are quite deceptive, Ms. Carter.”

“Am I?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

“Yes. You seem so sunny. Soft,” he said, his dark eyes settling on her breasts. “And yet … you are cynical. More so even than I am, I think. Which is really quite something.”

She swallowed and angled her face away from him. She could still feel him looking at her. “Call it cynical if you like, I call it realism. Human nature is what human nature is. No matter how much someone thinks they love you, if being with you starts to conflict with their ultimate goals … well, it won’t take much for them to start believing that they don’t love you anymore. That’s why I work to find people who have united goals and interests. Things that are concrete. Much more concrete than love. Whatever that is. I’m a realist, that’s all.”

“Cynic. Realist. Whatever the case, you certainly aren’t soft.”

She shook her head. “No. Being soft hurts too much.”

She had no idea why she was telling him so much. What was inspiring her to give away any of her tightly guarded self to this man. She only knew that it was easier to talk around him than to hold it in. That was new. Strange.