The Prince's Fake Fiancée
Playboy Prince Marko’s rebellious past hides a wealth of pain but he’s neglected his royal duties for too long.And now that his brother and country need him, he’ll do anything to prove he’s changed – starting with making Jasmine Gallagher his convenient fiancée!
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His princess for keeps
Playboy Prince Marko’s rebellious past hides a wealth of pain, but he’s neglected his royal duties for too long. And now that his brother and country need him, he’ll do anything to prove he’s changed—starting with a fake fiancée!
Elite bodyguard Jasmine Gallagher was hired to protect the prince, not get swept into his glamorous world, but she can’t help falling for the man behind the crown. Marko’s found a way into Jas’s guarded heart, but will he claim her as more than just his convenient princess?
“You want to kiss me? Right here, in front of hundreds of people?”
He just smiled at her. And looked at her—right into those lovely hazel eyes.
He supposed, in theory, it was a ‘don’t stress about it’ type kiss. At least, that was his intention.
He was playing the role of the loving, supportive fiancé, after all.
But also—yes, he wanted to kiss her. If he was honest with himself, he’d wanted to kiss Jas ever since she’d told him off in that briefing.
She closed her eyes, and he watched as she took a deep breath.
When she opened them, she nodded. And then he kissed her.
Her lips were soft and fleetingly cool beneath his own. They were chastely closed, of course—but they shifted against the pressure of his mouth, as if she’d open her mouth for him if only he were to ask.
It was shockingly, unexpectedly sexy—a simple kiss that felt like a promise of so much more. It wasn’t just about the touch of their lips or the mingling of their breathing but of the subtle movement of their bodies, the way they leaned toward each other while still only joined by their laced fingers.
Marko was no longer aware of their audience, or of the ballroom, or even why he’d kissed her in the first place.
All that mattered was the way her mouth fit so perfectly against his.
RITA® award-winning author LEAH ASHTON never expected to write books. She grew up reading everything she could lay her hands on—from pony books to the backs of cereal boxes at breakfast. One day she discovered the page-turning, happy-sigh-inducing world of romance novels...and one day, much later, wondered if maybe she could write one, too.
Leah now lives in Perth, Western Australia, and writes happily-ever-afters for heroines who definitely don’t need saving. She has a gorgeous husband, two amazing daughters and the best intentions to plan meals and maintain an effortlessly tidy home. When she’s not writing, Leah loves all-day breakfast, rambling conversations and laughing until she cries. She really hates cucumber. And scary movies. You can visit Leah at www.leah-ashton.com or Facebook.com/leahashtonauthor.
For my grandmother, Marica—who inspired this story.
Not just with her homeland of Vela Luka, but also with her sixty-five-year romance with Rafé, which was the kind of love that dreams—and romance novels—are made of.
Thank you for all your help with this book. Thank you also for your food, your garden and all your love.
Hvala, Nana.
Contents
JASMINE GALLAGHER SAT in the back seat of a sleek, dark sedan, silently observing the passing countryside behind windows tinted almost black.
The road hugged the very edge of the island of Vela Ada, almost touching the perfect blue of the Adriatic Sea. It was late afternoon, and the ocean glittered beneath the glorious summer sun, the azure surface interrupted only by the occasional tall-masted boat with sails in blinding white.
Jasmine’s car was the third of three identical vehicles. Leading the small convoy were two of Jas’s team: Scott—who was ex–Special Forces—and Heather—who, like Jas, was ex-Australian National Police. Next in line was what was called the ‘principal’s’ car—the person that Gallagher Personal Protection Services had been tasked with protecting. In Jas’s career she had provided close personal protection services—what most people outside the industry would call a ‘bodyguard’—to a wide range of people: prime ministers, ambassadors, religious leaders, CEOs, celebrities—but this job was a first for her, and a first for her company.
From today—and for the next three months—she was looking after a prince.
Jasmine smiled. Royalty.
This was the opportunity of a lifetime for a girl who’d grown up in public housing on the outskirts of Canberra. And further confirmation that those naysayers who told her a woman couldn’t be the face of a protection services company were clueless.
Not that Jasmine had ever doubted herself.
The dense forest that faced the harbour thinned as the convoy approached the city. At a predetermined landmark—a distinctive cast-iron lamp just over a kilometre from the palace—Jas picked up her phone.
‘We’re approaching,’ she said.
