The Rebel King

Then he emerged from the car,and Jazmine heard the death knellof her plans before she’d evenbeen introduced to the Prince.

Oh, he was handsome—dark, lean, and oozing hot sensuality. But he was no storybook prince come to win a princess’s heart, and—her heart sank—she doubted he ever would be.

Thick curls cropped short, dark eyes, and the same regal nose as his sister—but on him it didn’t achieve elegance. In a charcoal Savile Row suit supplied for him on the jet, with a white shirt and sky-blue tie, he didn’t look suave, he looked turbulent. Every inch of him was lean and muscled, big and fit… Buff, her friends from Oxford would have said. She might have herself, if she wasn’t a princess.

And if he weren’t Crown Prince, she’d call him hostile.

He looked as regal as a lion, ready to attack; and as frighteningly compelling as a wind-tossed storm cloud about to unleash a torrent.

Yes, that was it exactly. God help her, she was engaged to a wild beast set to pounce. And the windstorm was about to break right over her head.

Melissa James is a mother of three, living in a beach suburb in New South Wales, Australia. A former nurse, waitress, shop assistant, perfume and chocolate demonstrator—among other things—she believes in taking on new jobs for the fun experience. She’ll try anything at least once, to see what it feels like—a fact that scares her family on regular occasions. She fell into writing by accident, when her husband brought home an article stating how much a famous romance author earned, and she thought, I can do that! She can be found most mornings walking and swimming at her local beach with her husband, or every afternoon running around to her kids’ sporting hobbies, while dreaming of flying, scuba diving, belaying down a cave or over a cliff—anywhere her characters are at the time!

BY

MELISSA JAMES

This book is dedicated to Rachel Robinson, for going above and beyond, and who made Charlie the hero he became.

Thanks to Robbie and Barb also, and to Emily Ruston for excellent revision suggestions.

Sydney, Australia

BY THE time the crew truck screeched up the footpath, the bottom storey of the house was engulfed in flame. Roof tiles at one end had already buckled and were smouldering. The wailing siren of the fire truck seemed obscenely loud over the terrified confusion of people racing around. The night sky was alight, the tinsel of the Christmas decorations in the windows had turned to blazing flame, warming the faces of the onlookers—and seeing the avid interest on so many faces didn’t make things better.

That’s the job. Charlie Costa faced it as he’d done for years. He’d store the jumbled mass of emotions for later.

‘We have a five-to-ten-minute window. Winder, Costa, gear up and go in,’ Leopard, the captain, yelled for Charlie and his partner, Toby. ‘Do a sweep for any signs of life. The rest of you, douse the house and grounds, and watch those trees. We have to keep the monster from leapfrogging to the surrounding homes.’

‘The monster’ was the name ‘firies’ gave the enemy. Charlie remembered the cold shiver that had raced through him the first time he’d heard it. Now it was a battle cry against the hungry destroyer that was the fireman’s daily enemy.

‘Dissect your internal conundrums later, Rip,’ a deep, growling voice came from beside him. ‘For now, we fight the Great Destroyer.’

‘I’ll ask how I can do all those things you said later on, O Grizz, Lord of the Dictionary.’ Charlie grinned at Toby Winder, his closest friend. The joking camaraderie they shared in life-and-death situations—such as calling Charlie ‘Rip’, a nickname due to his legendary temper, and Toby ‘Grizz’, due to his six-foot-five, muscular frame— helped to defuse the tension.

‘Let’s rock and roll.’ Charlie threw on the mask and strapped on survival gear. Covered by the guys shooting a storm of water and fire-retardant chemicals, he and Toby charged in. They didn’t use the axe to break down the door, but shut what was left of it behind them. The other guys would find and close any open windows, and board up those that had already exploded. The less oxygen in here, the better chances for any survivors of this inferno, and reports had come in that there was a young family still trapped inside.

‘It’s a kitchen fire,’ Toby reported into the two-way radio as he bolted through the smoke-filled living room. ‘It looks like the gas oven wasn’t turned off. It shot straight up through the ceiling to the second floor before it took hold down here.’ He wasn’t spouting his favourite polysyllables now; he was too worried. ‘I’ll go upstairs, Rip can take downstairs.’

‘No,’ Charlie yelled, following Toby to the stairs. ‘If anyone was downstairs they’d be outside already. We go up together, and find the kids first, parents after.’

What he didn’t say was that pairs had a greater chance of survival. With the risk of the floor buckling under Toby’s bigger frame, no way in hell was Charlie letting Toby go up alone. For some reason he’d never understand, his being there to balance the weight usually kept the floor from going a little longer.