Affairs of State

The level of desire in his blood climbed a few notches higher.

Alarm bells were ringing in his head. Sexual attraction was usually accompanied by danger of some sort. Every girl he even pecked on the cheek was immediately investigated by the media as a future princess. There was no question of having sex with them unless the utmost secrecy was maintained. His military background helped in matters of subterfuge, but the fact remained that usually when he wanted to kiss, or sleep with, a beautiful and intriguing woman, he had to tell himself no.

On the rare occasions when the stars aligned and he managed to secure total privacy, the moment was loaded and often quite magical. He’d even managed several actual relationships over the years, and had had the good luck to adore women who’d proved utterly discreet.

And here he was again, at the moment where he knew exactly what he wanted to do—climb every mountain in order to kiss Ariella Winthrop.

It was never as easy as that.

JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. She would love to hear from readers at [email protected]. Visit her website at www.jenlewis.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Charles Griemsman, editor extraordinaire, and the authors in this series who were such a pleasure to work with: Barbara Dunlop, Michelle Celmer, Robyn Grady, Rachel Bailey and Andrea Laurence.

“The prince is staring right at you.”

“Maybe he needs a refill.” Ariella Winthrop sent a text requesting another round of the salmon and caviar. The gala event that Ariella had planned was a fund-raiser for a local hospital and nearly six hundred guests were milling around the ballroom. “I’ll send a server his way.”

“You haven’t even looked at him.” Her glamorous friend Francesca Crowe was an invited guest at the party. With her long dark hair in a shiny sheet down her back and her voluptuous body encased in an expensive beaded dress, Francesca fit right in with the crowd of billionaires and their buddies. It was often awkward when friends came to Ariella’s events and wanted to chat and hang out while she needed to attend to the details. Luckily, Francesca was the kind of person she could be blunt with.

“I’m busy working.” She responded to another text from her staff about a spill near the main entrance. “And I’m sure you’re imagining things.” She didn’t glance up at the prince. Hopefully he wasn’t still looking at her. She was starting to feel self-conscious.

“Maybe he’s as intrigued as everyone else by the mysterious love child of the United States president.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. And I’m going off the idea of meeting President Morrow on your husband’s TV network.” Francesca would know she was kidding, but her heart clutched as she thought about it. Everyone was talking about her and her famous father and she’d never even met the guy.

“Go on. Look. He’s gorgeous.” Her friend’s conspiratorial tone, and the fact that she’d ignored her comment about the TV special entirely, made Ariella glance up in spite of herself.

Her eyes locked with a tall man halfway across the room. His short-cropped dirty blond hair contrasted with his black tuxedo. A jolt of energy charged through the air as he started walking toward her. “Uh-oh, he’s coming this way.”

“I told you he was looking at you.” Francesca smiled and stared right at him. “And he doesn’t need champagne, either. Look, his glass is full.”

“I wonder what’s wrong.” Her pulse quickened and she plastered on her most helpful smile as he approached. It was never easy to know if you should introduce yourself in these situations. She was working at the event, not attending as a guest, so was it a breach of etiquette to greet a prince? She wished her business partner, Scarlet, was here. With her background as a D.C. socialite, she knew just how to handle these dilemmas.

Before she could collect her thoughts he stood right in front of her. He held out his hand, so she shook it. His handshake was predictably firm and authoritative. “Ms. Winthrop, Simon Worth.”

He knew her name? Her brain scrambled. He must have read the media stories like everyone else. “Pleased to meet you.” His eyes fixed on hers with startling intensity. A dark honey color, they seemed to see right past her studied professional façade to the woman beneath.

“I’m impressed.” His voice was deep, with a masculine gruffness that stirred something inside her. Oh dear. There was nothing good about being attracted to a royal guest. Still it was kind of him to compliment her.

“Oh, thank you. That’s sweet of you.” It wasn’t often that guests thanked the party planner personally. Or even noticed that she was alive. “We do enjoy hosting these fund-raisers.”