Royal Protocol
Accomplished Admiral Harrison Monteque deemed lady-in-waiting Gwendolyn Corbin an ice maiden. Until the two worked closely to search for a missing prince and her warmth began to melt his hard-edged heart. However, the eye-catching admiral feared that the tender beauty would want more than one night of passion.Raised to fight for his country and as the handsome head of the Royal Navy, Harrison had a protocol to follow–don't get involved emotionally. But rules were made to be broken, and the strapping soldier slowly discovered that while he could lead an army into battle, Gwendolyn's grace and grandeur only made him want to surrender his soul to her.
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Be sure to catch the next segment in the Crown and Glory series, Her Royal Husband by Cara Colter.
Harrison wasnât sure he was a man of honor himself.
Not at the moment. Heâd had no intention of touching her. Heâd deliberately kept himself from it, in fact. Yet, he could feel the taunting fullness of her soft lips beneath his fingers. Her warm breath trembled against his skin.
It would be so easy to slip his hand around the back of her neck, lower his mouth to hers and find out what it was about her that tested his control. But now wasnât the time to cave in to temptation.
She stepped back, looking very much as if she didnât know why she hadnât moved before now. He confused her. But he figured that made them even. She was confusing the daylights out of him.
To all the wonderful ladies who helped create Penwyck.
Thanks!
Chris
CHRISTINE FLYNN
admits to being interested in just about everything, which is why she considers herself fortunate to have turned her interest in writing into a career. She feels that a writer gets to explore it all and, to her, exploring relationshipsâespecially the intense, bittersweet or even lighthearted relationships between men and womenâis fascinating.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter One
A dmiral Harrison Monteque moved with the silent aggression of a nuclear submarine as he strode down the gilded main hall of the royal residence. Uniformed guards snapped to attention in his wake, doors opening to allow him entry without question as he moved toward the queenâs private apartments.
Not one of those young guards made eye contact with him. A fair number held their breath. No one wanted to draw his attention for fear they werenât standing smartly enough, werenât looking alert enough. He wasnât even their commander. Not directly, anyway. Yet every one of them knew that the formidable man in the impressively decorated navy-blue uniform held the respect of every officer in the military and that he demanded the best of anyone who served the crown.
The best was nothing compared to what he demanded of himself. Rumor had it that he constantly pushed his own limits, asking even more of himself than he did of others.
Lately heâd been pushing himself more than many would have thought humanly possibleâhad they known the pressures and responsibilities he and a handful of his peers had secretly undertaken.
For nearly two months he had lived on four hours of sleep each night. Five at best. He spent his nights poring through reams of diplomatic communiqués, stacks of ministerial requests and reports usually meant only for the eyes of the kingâall to keep the government running smoothly and protect the interests of the kingdom of Penwyckâs citizens.
He spent his days in briefings with his three counterparts on the kingâs Royal Elite Teamâeach of whom had spent the night with piles of paper of his ownâand overseeing the fleets of ships, the aircraft and the fifty thousand sailors under his command.
His caffeine consumption had doubled.
So had his intake of antacids.
If heâd still smoked, he didnât doubt that heâd be up to a couple of packs a day by now. If not before, then certainly after this morning.
Prince Owen, one of the king and queen of Penwyckâs twenty-three-year-old twin sons and a possible heir to the throne, had been kidnapped.
A note to that effect had been delivered to the royal offices two hours ago. The princeâs absence, along with the signs of struggle the guards had found in the princeâs bedroom, proved the note hadnât been a hoax.
Harrison had been in an intelligence meeting when heâd received the call. As head of the Royal Elite Team, he had immediately ordered full security for the rest of the royal family. Those he could find, anyway. Prince Owenâs vagabond twin, Prince Dylan, was still off trekking Europe, deliberately ignoring the need for security for someone of his stature. Or perhaps escaping it. But Harrison had taken full measures to protect those he could. Heâd then had the kingâs personal secretary break the news of the princeâs kidnapping to the queen.
He would have told Queen Marissa himself, but there had been other security measures to implement, questions to ask, answers to demand. Aside from that, he never did well when it came to breaking upsetting news to a woman. Where females were concerned, he definitely lacked training when it came to offering emotional support.
He had no choice but to speak with her now. As he understood it, Her Majesty had been at breakfast with two of her three daughters, the Princesses Megan and Anastasia, when the note had been received. Security precautions demanded they be separated. The princesses had been escorted to their rooms on the second floor of the east wing. The queen had retired to her chamber.
The thud of Harrisonâs polished black shoes echoed off the marble floor as he approached a set of carved double doors. His only hope was that she would remain as calm and serene as she always appeared to be.
