Betrothed to the Prince. Raye Morgan

she was, paralyzed. A woman who prided herself on her levelheaded attitude toward life, she was not one to be bowled over by a handsome hunk, but this was, without a doubt, the most stunning man she’d ever seen, and now that he was upright, he looked even better than he had a few minutes earlier.

      Her trained photographer’s eye told her she was looking at a masterpiece. His physical beauty shone through despite the fact that his golden hair needed cutting and he’d changed his clothes into something more casual. Dressed in a pair of snug jeans and a cotton shirt left carelessly open to display that breathtakingly muscular chest, he was absolutely spectacular in a young-god-straddling-the-universe sort of way. She might have taken him for the prince himself if she hadn’t already heard the prince was gone.

      But no. The few princes she’d met over the years had mostly been effete and purposeless, dried husks of the men of power they might once have been. This man was too earthy, too vital, to be a prince. He looked more like a warrior. A warrior who’d had too much to drink recently.

      “Haven’t we met somewhere?” he asked, gazing at her through narrowed eyes, as though the room was too bright for him.

      “You might say that,” she said crisply, determined he wouldn’t know how attractive she found him. “You could be having trouble remembering, since you were lying down at the time.”

      “Oh yes. The girl of my dreams.” His crooked smile was a knock-out, but it was fleeting. In seconds he was putting his hand to his head again and wincing. “Sorry to present myself in such a state of disrepair,” he added. “I’m recovering from a rather late night.”

      “So I see.”

      “Ouch. Your tone has the definite sting of disapproval.” He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a hangover, have you, Red Riding Hood?”

      “Never.”

      “No. I didn’t think so. You’re one of the wise ones. It’s written all over you.” He sighed. “I think I’ve finally learned that lesson myself. I know I’m never going to touch alcohol again.” He looked around the kitchen as though he’d lost something. “What do you know about making Bloody Marys?” he added hopefully.

      “Nothing.”

      She made her tone as scornful as possible, but she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. If she’d known a magic potion to make him feel better, she’d have conjured it up in a flash. As it was she just stood there, watching him, holding the baby to her chest. She’d always known pure beauty could be fascinating, but she’d never experienced it in the form of a man before.

      He nodded, accepting fate for what it was, and rummaged in a cabinet, finding a remedy for himself. Tearing open a package, he poured the contents into a glass and filled it with water from the faucet in the huge stainless steel sink, then downed most of it, making a face as he set the glass back down on the counter.

      “Not quite as satisfying as the hair of the dog,” he murmured as he made his way painfully toward the kitchen table. “But probably more effective.”

      Slumping into a chair, he threw his head back and closed his eyes and wondered, and not for the first time, why he put himself through this sort of punishment. Admittedly, it had been a good long time since he’d tied one on like he had the night before. At one time it had actually seemed like fun. As the years went on, it had become rather dreary, and he’d pretty much given up the party scene. But last night…

      He wasn’t kidding anyone. He knew why he’d tried to drown himself in a bottle the night before. The anniversary of his parents’ murder was a tough thing to get past, and last night had been the twentieth one. Hopefully by next year this time he’d be too busy in Nabotavia to go through this yearly ritual.

      He opened his eyes and found himself staring right into the steady green gaze of the young woman gently pacing back and forth in front of him. Suddenly he was almost embarrassed by his condition. She was so young and bright and clean-looking. He felt shopworn and seedy in contrast. He sat up a bit straighter.

      “What have you got there?” he asked, noting the bundle she carried close to her chest.

      She cuddled it closer, pressing a kiss to the tiny head. “A baby,” she replied, gazing at him over the top of the blanket.

      Suddenly he was wide-awake. “A baby?” He sat up even straighter as the implications became clear to him. “Your baby?”

      “No.” She glanced at him, then away again. “Someone left her out in the yard. I just brought her in out of the rain.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      That hardly seemed likely. Now he was guarded. He tried to remember if she’d been carrying the baby when he’d first seen her in the gazebo, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly enough at the time to notice much of anything. He frowned, focusing. Had he ever seen her before? No, he didn’t think so. He would have remembered. And she wasn’t claiming any previous relationship at this point.

      “I know nothing about babies,” he said, as though merely making conversation. “I’ve heard they have something to do with human beings, in much the same way the acorn magically transforms itself into the mighty oak, but I have a hard time believing it.”

      She wasn’t paying any attention to his jesting declaration. Her face was bent down to the little one and she was murmuring soft sounds to it. He frowned. She did seem inordinately attached to a baby she’d only just met. He couldn’t help but be suspicious.

      One thing he’d been scrupulously careful about all his adult life was to make sure there would never be a woman who could claim her baby was his. There had been a few who had tried that scam, but the claims had never held up. Still, it had happened often enough to make him very wary.

      He’d learned very young that his special station in life meant there weren’t many people he could trust. Everybody seemed to want something from him, whether it was influence or favors or just the extra prestige of being able to say they had been hanging out with the prince. He didn’t often let his guard down. The few times he’d done that had led to pain and disaster. His carefully maintained image of vaguely good-natured cynicism was real in part, but it also served to hide an inner vulnerability he wouldn’t ever risk again.

      “So what’s it doing here?” he asked.

      She looked at him as though she was beginning to doubt his intelligence. “It’s a baby,” she said carefully.

      “But not yours.”

      “No, I found it in the yard.”

      “So you said.” His mouth turned down at the corners. “So whose is it really?”

      She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know, but your gate was unattended. Almost anyone could have sauntered in.”

      “True.” He wasn’t convinced, but then, it didn’t really matter. He didn’t have much interest in babies anyway. But he did like the look of the woman who held it. “So you think things are a little lax around here, do you?”

      “That’s putting it mildly,” she said without bothering to soften her judgment. “This place is run like a public park.”

      “Oh. I suppose you think you could do a better job.”

      She gave a short laugh. “I know I could.” He liked her attitude. It was refreshing to meet an attractive woman who didn’t seem to be bowled over by just being in his presence. “Really. If you took over management, what would you do to improve it?”

      She gave him a sideways look and went back to rocking the baby in her arms. “My first item of business would probably be to fire you.”

      “Fire me?” He stared at her for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed.

      “Absolutely.” She followed up her assertion with a scathing glance that went up and down the long, muscular length of him, and was meant to convey disapproval, but ended up feeling