At His Majesty's Request. Maisey Yates

small, whitewashed building that was set into the side of a mountain. The building was tiny, but the deck was expansive, filled with round tables, most occupied by diners. The tables overlooked the beach, with strings of white lights running overhead.

      “Ready?” he asked.

      She nodded and put her beer in a cupholder. He got out of the car before her and opened her door. “Isn’t your driver supposed to do that?” she asked.

      He shook his head. “I always open the door when I accompany a woman.”

      “Another one for your file,” she said.

      “I’m not sure whether I’m nervous or aroused at the talk of this file. Makes me feel like I’m in trouble, which leads to the same conflicting feelings.”

      Heat flooded her cheeks, her stomach. “That’s inappropriate.”

      “You’re the only one who can make jokes?”

      “No … but I didn’t make any that were that bad.”

      “BA? Bedroom Activities?”

      “That was serious!” she sputtered as they walked into the restaurant.

      “Prince Stavros.” A maître d’ walked to the door quickly, her willingness to serve the prince obvious, as was the blush staining her cheeks. “I wasn’t aware you were coming today.”

      He winked. “I’m being spontaneous.”

      “Of course,” the woman said. “Your usual table is available. Shall I bring you your usual dinner? For … two?”

      Jessica opened her mouth to correct the woman’s assumption, but Stavros cut her off.

      “That will do nicely. I can show us to my table.”

      He led the way through the indoor dining area, and heads turned as they passed. Stavros had a sort of effortless charisma that poured from him, touching everyone who saw him. She could imagine, so easily, the kind of woman he would need.

      One who could match his ease. His strength. Someone to create the perfect image for Kyonos. Someone to carry on the bloodline and keep it strong.

      She swallowed a strange, unexpected lump in her throat.

      They exited the dining room through two glass doors that led out to the deck. There were only a few scattered tables out there, each partly shrouded by draping fabric hung from a wooden frame built over the porch.

      Stavros held her chair out for her and she sat, looking out at the view of the ocean, because it was much safer than looking at the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t sure why. She had meetings with male clients, and very often they were lunch or dinner meetings, in very nice restaurants.

      But being with them didn’t evoke this same strange faux-date feel that being with Stavros did. It was that darned attraction.

      She opened her purse and pulled out her iPad. “So, I know we were going to talk about specific women to have come to your sister’s wedding.”

      “Were we? Now?” He curled his hands into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. It was hard for her to look away from his hands, from the obvious strain. His face remained passive, easy, but his manner betrayed him.

      “Well, no, but I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow, so … no. But we can talk about it now. I’ve had a chance to think about what you’ve told me and I’ve been through my system. I also called two of the three women I’m thinking of and if you’re agreeable to them, they’re willing to come for consideration.”

      “This is like an old-fashioned marriage mart.”

      “Well, these sorts of marriages are,” she said. Strangely, she felt like comforting him. She didn’t know why. “Granted, you’re the first actual prince I’ve worked with. But I’ve dealt with lesser royals. Billionaires with an interest in preserving their fortunes. Women with family money who wanted an alliance with businessmen who could help them make the most of their assets. People have all kinds of reasons for choosing to go about things this way. Some of these women have money, but no title, while others have a title but are … low on funds.”

      “Ah. A title, but no money and a need for a husband with wealth.”

      “Some of them. Though this one …” She pulled up a picture of a smiling blonde. “Victoria Calder. She’s English, from a very well-to-do family. She’s not titled but she’s wealthy. She’s been to the best schools. She has her own money and she donates a lot of it to charities. As far as my research has taken me, and it took me to the far and seedy recesses of the internet, her reputation is as spotless as a sacrificial lamb. So if a prominent title isn’t important …”

      “As long as you think she would be suitable to the position, she can be considered.”

      “So basically fertile and scandal-free. And able to handle public appearances with grace and poise, of course.”

      Stavros took the tablet from Jessica’s hand and looked at the photo of the woman on the screen. She was beautiful. More than beautiful, really. He couldn’t find fault with her features. A small, pert nose, pretty, well-shaped lips, rosy cheeks, pale blue eyes.

      Yet she did nothing for him. She didn’t stir his blood. She didn’t interest him. More than that, just looking at her made his throat feel like it was tightening. The impression of a noose.

      He preferred Jessica’s face. Her longer nose, fuller lips, cat green eyes that tilted at the corners. And her figure … she was like a pin-up girl.

      He wondered, not too briefly, if she favored old-fashioned undergarments to go with her vintage dresses. Stockings and garters.

      That caused a surge of blood to pump south of his belt. She was a distraction. A temptation. A welcome one, in many ways.

      “Yes.” He shouldn’t be allowing distraction now. He had to focus on finding his bride.

      Though, Ms. Jessica Carter would make an intriguing lover. She was all soft curves and pale skin. But her eyes … they showed a fire he imagined she set free in the bedroom. She was spicy, her tongue always ready to flay the skin cleanly off the bone if necessary.

      Just as she’d pronounced his commanding personality a plus in bedroom activities, he imagined her sharp mind and bold tongue would earn her points in her own BA category.

      It would be so sweet. So good. And a welcome distraction from the marriage talk.

      “Anyway,” Jessica continued, pulling him from his fantasy, “she’s one I would like to invite to your sister’s wedding.”

      “And she’s aware of just what she’ll be invited for?”

      Jessica nodded. “Yes. All of the women I’m working with have come to me, seeking out husbands that are suitable to their backgrounds and financial level, just the same as you.”

      “I see. So invariably my future wife will be after a title and wealth—” he looked at the photo of the blonde again “—just as I am.”

      “Fair is fair. You both know just what you’re getting into. No false expectations. Not if I can help it.”

      “No false expectations? Then can I assume you’re including a list of my faults in the file you’ll be sending on to the women involved?”

      “Only if they make it past a certain point in the process. Discretion,” she said.

      “Of course.” He looked at her face, illuminated and washed gold by the afternoon sun. She was beautiful. Not due to perfection of features, or from the expertly applied makeup, though. Her features were beautiful, and her makeup was expertly done. But it was something more. Something deeper.

      She was captivating. Different.

      Sexy.

      His stomach tightened. “And the first wave of