Platinum Cowboy. Rita Herron

      Platinum Cowboy

      Rita Herron

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

       About the Author

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 Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Epilogue

       Copyright

      Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling to kids for romance, and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write to her at PO Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, USA or visit her website at www.ritaherron.com.

      To the Diamonds and Daddies team of writers –

      you’re the greatest!

Chapter One

      His best friend, Prince Viktor Romanov, and the entire royal family had been killed.

      Grief welled in Flint McKade’s chest as he strode through the atrium to the airport bar to meet his friends and business associates, Jackson Champion and Akeem Abdul.

      Flint’s Aggie Ring winked beneath the fluorescent lights, reminding him of their college days at Texas A&M and that the four men had called themselves the Aggie Four.

      But now one of them was gone.

      Emotions clogged Flint’s throat. How could they be the Aggie Four with only three men? It wasn’t right…

      And to think that when he’d first met Viktor, he’d scoffed at his title. Hell, he’d been a poor cowboy with a bad attitude and a chip on his shoulder, a kid who’d grown up with no chance for a future.

      Unless he made it himself.

      A cowboy and prince as friends—never.

      After all, he’d never lived anywhere but on the ranch where his parents worked. Viktor had grown up as a middle-class boy in London and had gone to schools all over the world. His entire family had been exiled from their country, Rasnovia. So Viktor had gone to school on scholarships, with the goal of giving his life to his country.

      That had impressed the hell out of Flint. Seeing Viktor so determined had inspired Flint to believe that he could accomplish big goals himself. Then he’d learned that Viktor had lost his father when he was a teen, and they’d bonded over shared grief.

      Viktor had introduced him to Akeem, a sheik from Beharrian, and another unlikely friendship had formed. In their fraternity, their tight-knit brotherhood had spread to encompass Jackson, sealing the Aggie Four.

      Each of them had had to overcome almost insurmountable obstacles to achieve success. But they were driven, ambitious and determined.

      Instead of future business leaders of America, they’d vowed to become future billionaires. Self-made billionaires.

      And each had succeeded.

      Once they’d built their financial empires, they’d decided to give back by creating a nonprofit foundation to raise money for charities.

      Flint spotted his friends’ dejected faces as they sat slumped at a bar table, a pitcher of beer untouched in front of them, with three mugs waiting.

      Three, not four.

      One member of their brotherhood was missing.

      Killed, of all times and places, in a violent explosion at the palace on Rasnovian Independence Day.

      Sweat trickled down his jaw. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t have happened.

      Akeem caught his eye as he approached, the devastation on his face mirroring Flint’s. They were supposed to be celebrating their latest venture tonight, not mourning Viktor’s death. Although Flint’s five-hundredacre ranch bred and trained thoroughbreds, quarter horses and beef cattle, Akeem had convinced him to try his hand at Arabians, and he was expecting the shipment within the hour. Jackson’s company Champion Enterprises had handled the arrangements.

      Flint always met his shipments in person.

      He claimed a chair across from Akeem, with Jackson on his right. In the midst of the crowded airport terminal, the strained silence grew tense. No one wanted to speak.

      Saying the words out loud would make it all too real.

      Flint lifted the pitcher and filled the three mugs, then watched the head on the beer fizzle as he contemplated what to say.

      “I can’t believe it,” he finally said.

      Akeem scraped his hand over his chin. “The country isn’t releasing any details.”

      “Do you think the rebels in Rasnovia killed the royal family?” Jackson asked in a gravelly voice.

      Flint