Stranded with the Prince
Experience the thrill of life on the edge and set your adrenalin pumping! These gripping stories see heroic characters fight for survival and find love in the face of danger.One royal bachelor, one meddlesome matchmaker…can they survive the toughest night of their lives together?Prince Lazlo knew he’d been tricked when he got stranded on a remote island with a nosy “marriage consultant” who’d been hired to find him the perfect princess bride. And the worst part was, she was the one woman who’d ever refused him, claiming she never fell for a client.But the squabbling stopped once Lazlo realised they weren’t alone, and in order to elude the desperate killers stalking them, they’d have to work together. Lazlo also discovered that, out of her element, Milda lets her hair – and her guard – down. Now if only she’d break her number one matchmaking rule…
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A drop of wild honey still glistened on her lips.
Nobody was more surprised than he when he leaned in.
He barely brushed his lips across hers, but he felt the impact all the way to his toes.
For a moment so brief that he might have imagined it, she went with the flow. Then she was pushing against him. He pulled away, searching her stunned face, trying to gather his scattered thoughts.
And with the symbolic distance between them, whatever craziness had possessed him disappeared. He didnât know where it had come from, but he did know one thing for sure: under no circumstances would he ever touch this woman again. She was nothing but trouble.
âWe shouldnât be doing this. You areââ She paused. âI amââ She made a soft noise of frustration. âWe canât do this again.â
His gaze strayed to those ruby lips that were pressed into a severe, angry line. Then, instead of agreeing, he flashed the woman his most wicked grin and said, âI think weâre definitely going to do this again.â
About the Author
DANA MARTON is the author of more than a dozen fast-paced, action-adventure romantic suspense novels and a winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence. She loves writing books of international intrigue, filled with dangerous plots that try her tough-as-nails heroes and the special women they fall in love with. Her books have been published in seven languages in eleven countries around the world. When not writing or reading, she loves to browse antiques shops and enjoys working in her sizable flower garden where she searches for âbadâ bugs with the skills of a superspy and vanquishes them with the agility of a commando soldier. Every day in her garden is a thriller. To find more information on her books, please visit www.danamarton.com. She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached via e-mail at [email protected].
With many thanks to Allison Lyons
Chapter One
Sagro Prison island, Italy
Boots slapped on the concrete floor, keeping a regular rhythm. The night security lights were on, enough to see the guard who was texting on his phone as he strode out of sight, a sly grin on his pockmarked face. A minute went by, then another. The steel door opened then closed at the end of the cell block.
The 2:00 a.m. check was complete. Nobody would be by again until morning.
Roberto, fully dressed, slid out of bed, making no more noise than his shadow as it moved across the floor. He laid his pillow lengthwise on the bare mattress then draped the bed with his blanket, creating a bulky form.
His sheets had been ripped, twisted into rope and wrapped around his waist before heâd gone to bed. Now he bent and squatted one more time to make sure the cumbersome arrangement wouldnât limit his movement. He adjusted a tight strip under his left armpit before he stole to the door and pressed the top part of the lock hard.
Click. The sound was so soft even he barely heard it.
José had fixed the locks. The oldest of the team, José had been a locksmith before a drive-by took out his family in the godforsaken backstreets of Bogotá. With nothing to live for, heâd signed up for the rival gang. José understood revenge.
So did Roberto. It pushed him forward as he stole down the hallway, moving fast in a crouch. He listened to the snoring of the other inmates. A bed creaked now and then as someone turned over in his sleep. He listened for any indication that someone noticed him, not trustingâdespite substantial bribes and dire threatsâthat they wouldnât betray him and sound the alarm.
José was waiting for him at the water block, along with Marco, the third member of the team.
âAny trouble?â Roberto kept his voice to a low whisper.
Marco shook his head. He was young and sullen, still not over the fact that theyâd been imprisoned. That here, on the other side of the ocean, the boss couldnât protect them. He was ready to go, but didnât think it fair that they had to orchestrate the escape themselves. Heâd griped and whined through the preparations. Which better stop right now, right here. Roberto flashed him a sharp look that warned him to be on his best behavior.
The young thugs coming out of the slums these days were too hotheaded, only after the glory, and rarely willing to put enough effort into a job to get it done right. They wanted the fastest car and the biggest gun, wanted to build reputations overnight, which led to too much senseless killing.
âAllâs according to plan,â José was saying.
Exactly what Roberto wanted to hear. His sticker, a spoon handle sharpened into a knife, waited stashed inside a showerhead. He retrieved the makeshift tool then went to work on removing a wall panel.
A hundred years ago, Sagro Prison had been the hunting castle of some Italian king. When theyâd rebuilt it into a prison in the fifties, they changed just about everything. Security had been upgraded several times since, but the prisonâs waste and sewer system still connected to the old castleâs cistern.
