Abby and the Playboy Prince

“You will have to marry some time,” Abby said. “And have children. As you say, that’s part of your job as a royal. And…”

Mychale made a sound low in his throat, but she went on. “I want you to know that you had a very nice touch with the baby yesterday. I think you’ll be a great dad.”

He stared at her. He wanted to kiss her.

The feeling came over him like a warm tropical breeze. Her mouth looked hot and delicious, with its rosy lips and the way her upper teeth caught hold of her lower lip when she was thinking. For just a moment he imagined his mouth taking hers, hard, as he pulled her lush body up tight against his.

His body reacted with a strong, sensual aching he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Dear Reader

ABBY AND THE PLAYBOY PRINCE is about finding love in unexpected places, but it’s also about something else, though it may not seem like it on the surface—adoption.

The adoption of a child is a heroic act. It’s easy to love the children we give birth to. It’s natural. But to take in a little stranger and make that child a part of a family— people who are willing to do that are taking a step outside the norm, taking a chance, giving something of themselves, and they ought to be celebrated. They usually get ample rewards for their heroism—giving love means getting it back in spades. And they are also saving the world in their own small way—one adopted child at a time.

Abby has taken her sister’s baby to her heart with no hesitation. With Prince Mychale it is going to take a little longer, and begins as a package deal for getting Abby in his life. Will he learn to love baby Brianna as though she were his own baby?

Well—read the book and see!

Raye Morgan

BY

RAYE MORGAN

To E.M. for your limitless support.

You brighten the lives of all around you!

CHAPTER ONE

PRINCE MYCHALE of the royal house of Montenevada came fully awake, staring into the darkness. He’d been dreaming again. His body was tight as a fist. Even in sleep, he couldn’t relax.

Groaning, he rolled out of bed and headed to the attached bathroom as thunder rumbled nearby. He reached automatically for the light switch, then swore softly when it didn’t work and he remembered the electricity probably hadn’t been on in this vacation chalet for months. As though in answer to his wishes, a flash of lightning lit the room and he saw himself in the mirror for two seconds.

He looked like hell. But what did he expect? He hadn’t slept for days. He’d walked right off the yacht in Cannes where some film star whose name he couldn’t remember had thrown him a party, jumped into his Lamborghini, peeled out of the marina parking lot and kept on going. He’d driven into the dawn, and then through the next day, crossing borders, ignoring speed limits, until he was home.

Home, the center of his support—the focus of his discontent. His home was in the tiny country of Carnethia, where he was third in line for the throne. Instead of heading for the palace, he’d turned his car toward this remote mountain retreat, which was empty now, but had been his family’s refuge during the recent war. He needed time to clear his mind and decide what he was going to do. Time alone.

He turned on the water and was grateful to get a gush out of the faucet. At least that was still on. He would have to ignite the pilot on the water heater as soon as it was light. Then he could wash away Stephanie’s smell. Her perfume lingered like a bad dream. Stripping off his shirt, he dropped it to the floor, then reached to cup his hands under the water and wash his face.

“Ouch.”

He drew back quickly. The water was hot.

“What the hell?”

That wasn’t right. No one would have closed up the house and left the pilot on. Strange.

But he was too tired to deal with that now. He adjusted the water, washed his face and slouched back to throw himself on the bed. Despite the thunderstorm approaching, he was instantly asleep.

Abby Donair crept silently to the door of the prince’s bedroom and listened intently. She couldn’t hear a thing. Was he still in there? She had to know. But more than that, she had to have the ring of keys he’d picked up in the butler’s entry and taken into the bedroom with him. Without those keys, she couldn’t get to the supplies, and there was something in the locked pantry that she needed badly.

What bad luck to have the prince show up like this. She’d known this château since she was a child and knew from experience how to get inside, even though the place had been empty since the restoration of the monarchy earlier that year. So when she was looking for somewhere to hide, the royal chalet had seemed a natural. She’d thought it would give her a sanctuary and a respite, a place to catch her breath and prepare for what she had to do next. And now this.