Her Prince's Secret Son. Линда Гуднайт

am here as executor of the contest, Miss Presley. Since you have not yet called to claim your prize, the owner of the spa felt an official visit was in order to assure you that everything is in order and that our staff eagerly awaits your arrival.”

      Sara looked from the man to Penny. Her friend’s eyes were as round as saucers.

      “Are you serious?” Sara gestured to the letter. “This is for real?”

      “Indeed.” The man moved into the small space behind the cluttered counter and offered Sara a manila envelope. “Inside you will find a brochure detailing the prize, a round-trip ticket and your cash prize.”

      “Cash?” Sara squeaked. “Ticket?”

      With hands now trembling, she removed the items from the envelope one by one. Penny leaned over her shoulder. “That stuff’s real, Sara.”

      “I can’t believe this.” She read over the brochure and saw photos of pampered women getting massages and facials, of a fabulous castle standing proud and ancient by a perfect blue sea, of rooms so beautiful they stole her breath. She checked the airline ticket. Her stomach jumped into her throat. “First class?”

      “A vacation unrivaled by any other awaits you, miss, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” The man tilted his head. “Do you believe it now?”

      “I’m beginning to.”

      “Excellent. I will tell the owner of Castle-by-the-Sea to expect you. He will be delighted to greet you on Thursday.”

      Sara trailed him as he moved toward the door. “Thursday? This coming Thursday? That’s only two days away.”

      “Why, yes, madam. Is that a problem?”

      Penny popped up behind them and gave Sara a little whack on the shoulder. “No problem at all. She’ll be there.”

      Two days later Sara was still in delighted shock as she waved goodbye to a jubilant Penny and boarded a plane for London. Once there, she was whisked aboard a private jet that took her to Castle-by-the-Sea.

      As she disembarked, she breathed in the scent of sea spray, warm and salty and so different from the landlocked aroma of Kansas.

      At the bottom of the steps, a line of attendants waited, tidy and professional in red uniforms. The castle itself sprawled before her, a stunning old stone structure complete with spires and cupolas and towers that had no doubt once housed European royalty. In the distance, below the hill was a blue sea that would have provided protection for the castle inhabitants. Today a handful of people reclined on the white sand or cavorted in the crystal waters.

      The butterflies in her belly fluttered. “This must be a resort for the rich and famous.”

      She pinched herself. Surely there was a mistake. She was a nobody. Surely she would be sent packing by nightfall.

      But that was not the case. She was escorted to a private suite high in one wing of the castle, and for the rest of the afternoon she was fed and massaged, pampered and waited upon so that when night came she fell asleep in the canopied bed with a smile on her face. Maybe her run of bad luck was finally over.

      “Miss Presley. Miss Presley.” A woman’s accented voice penetrated the fog in Sara’s brain.

      “I’m Sara. Just Sara,” she muttered, though her throat was froggy with sleep. She snuggled deeper into the smooth, silken sheets and pulled the down comforter up to her ears. She’d been having the loveliest dream ever.

      “Well, ‘Just Sara.’ The intruding voice sounded amused. “I take it you slept well.”

      Sara sat up straight and stared around the luxurious room and then at the young woman whom she recognized as Antonia, her personal attendant. “I wasn’t dreaming. This is real.”

      “Yes, miss. Very real. Would you care for breakfast before we begin the day?”

      “Coffee please.”

      From a pretty tray, the round-figured Antonia poured the fragrant coffee and handed it to Sara. “Not a very healthy beginning to a busy day. Some melon perhaps? Or strawberries and cream? That seems to be a favorite with our guests. We grow our own, you see.”

      “The strawberries or the cream?”

      “Both.” The young woman giggled.

      Feeling a little like Cinderella, Sara laughed with her. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

      Something shifted through Antonia’s soft brown eyes. Sara noticed the slight hesitation and wondered. But before her thoughts could wander too far, the attendant smiled and the expression disappeared. “A very special treat awaits you. The owner of Castle-by-the-Sea wishes to see you.”

      “I was hoping you’d say that. I really want to thank him.”

      Antonia gazed at her a second longer before turning away.

      Within the hour Sara was dressed and standing outside an enormous pair of ornate double doors inside a palace of such breathtaking beauty, it must be a tourist attraction. From the looks of this particular wing—one of many from what she’d observed so far—and the scurry of suit-clad men and women going in and out of offices, this was the business section of the spa. Apparently behind these white and gilded doors fit for a king was the owner himself.

      A nervous jitter danced down her arms.

      One of the doors opened inward. A butler uniformed in red and gold gave a slight bow. His perfect posture made her want to stand up straighter. “Miss Presley, Prince Aleksandre will see you now.”

      Sara started to follow the man, then stopped. “Prince? As in a real prince?”

      The butler inclined his head. “But of course.” He motioned her forward with one hand. “If you please. His Majesty is waiting.”

      His Majesty? Oh my gosh. She was in a real castle with a real prince. Wait until Penny heard about this!

      Knees quivering and curiosity driving her, Sara stepped into the room—a very large, regal office—and got her first glimpse of her benefactor.

      The dark-haired man was standing with his back to her, gazing out at a panorama of green land and aqua sea. Legs spread, hands clasped at his back below a trim waist, his posture was as stiff as the butler’s, his shoulders wide and exuding strength. Though he didn’t appear much older than herself, an air of authority and power emanated from him. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, something about his well-honed physique looked eerily familiar.

      The butler cleared his throat. If such a thing was possible, the servant’s carriage grew more erect and perfect as he snapped to attention. “Your Majesty, may I present Miss Sara Presley. Miss Presley, His Majesty Prince Aleksandre d’Gabriel.”

      The name struck a chord of alarm in Sara as the prince turned and leveled an empty stare in her direction.

      “So Sara,” he said quietly. “We meet again.”

      Chapter Two

      “ALEKS!”

      The woman before him clutched her chest, her mouth open in shock. She had gone as white and still as the alabaster statues lining the palace staircase. Aleks fought down the unexpected and disturbing urge to cross the Persian rug, take her in his arms and offer reassurance. Only the stern mental reminder of her ruthlessness kept him standing rigidly behind his desk, his heart thundering in his chest. Though he had once loved her enough to give up anything to have her, that love had long since turned to loathing. She was here for one reason and one reason only. Nico.

      “You are surprised to see me.” The sentence was a statement. He knew she’d be surprised. A surprise attack on one’s enemies always worked best.

      “Aleks,” she said again and started toward him, one hand extended.

      Aleks braced himself. Was that hope flaring