Crown Prince's Chosen Bride Read online

  She stopped for him to catch up. Her eyes narrowed. ‘I hope you didn’t let me win on purpose in some chivalrous gesture?’

  ‘No. You are a fast swimmer. It was a fair race.’

  He was very competitive in the sports he played. Being bested by a woman was something new, and he respected her skill. But how could a Montovian, raised in a country where the snow-fed lakes were cold even in midsummer, compete with someone who’d grown up in a beachside city like Sydney?

  ‘I used to race at school—but that was a long time ago. Now I swim for fun and exercise. And relaxation.’ She looked at him as if she knew very well that he was not used to being beaten. ‘You’d probably beat me at skiing.’

  ‘I’m sure you’d challenge me,’ he said. ‘Weren’t both your parents ski instructors?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve only ever skied in Australia and New Zealand. Skiing in Europe is on my wish list—if I ever get enough time away from Party Queens to get there, that is.’

  Tristan uttered something non-committal in reply instead of the invitation he wished he could make. There was nothing he would like better than to take her skiing with him. Show her the family chalet, share his favourite runs on his favourite mountains, help her unwind après-ski in front of a seductively warm log fire... But next winter, and the chance of sharing it with Gemma, seemed far, far away.

  The sand was warm underfoot as he walked along the beach with her, close enough for their shoulders to nudge against each other occasionally. Her skin was cool and smooth against his and he found it difficult to concentrate on anything but her, difficult to clear his mind of how much he wanted her—and could not have her.

  He forced himself to look around him. She’d brought him to an idyllic spot. The vegetation that grew up to the sand was full of birdlife. He saw flashes of multi-coloured parrots as they flew through the trees, heard birdsong he couldn’t identify.

  ‘How could you say Sydney is not like living in a resort when a place like this is on your doorstep?’ he asked.

  ‘I guess you would feel like you were on vacation if you lived around here,’ she said. She waved her hand at the southern end of the beach. ‘Manly, which seems more like a town than a suburb, is just around the bay. You can hire a two-man kayak there and paddle around to here with a picnic. It would be fun to do that sometime.’

  But not with him. He would be far away in Montovia, doing his duty, honouring his family and his country. No longer master of his own life. ‘That would be fun,’ he echoed. He could not bear the thought of her kayaking to this beach with another man.

  She sat down on the sand, hugging her knees to her chest. He sat down next to her, his legs stretched out ahead. The sun was warm on his back, but a slight breeze kept him cool.

  ‘Did you wonder why this beach is called Store Beach?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really. But I think you are going to tell me.’

  ‘How did you get to know me so quickly?’ she asked, her head tilted to one side in the manner he already found endearing.

  ‘Just observant, I guess,’ he said. And because he was so attracted to her. He wanted to know every little thing about her.

  ‘There must be a tour guide inside me, fighting to get out,’ she joked.

  ‘Set her free to tell me all about the beach,’ he said. This sea nymph had bewitched him so thoroughly that sitting on a beach listening to the sound of her voice seemed like heaven.

  ‘If you insist,’ she said with a sideways smile. ‘Behind us, up top, is an isolation hospital known as the Quarantine Station. Stores for the station were landed here. For the early settlers from Europe it was an arduous trip of many months by sailing ship. By the time some of them got here, they had come down with contagious illnesses like smallpox. They were kept here—away from the rest of Sydney. Some got better...many died.’

  Tristan shuddered. ‘That’s a gruesome topic for a sunny day.’

  ‘The Quarantine Station closed after one hundred and fifty years. They hold ghost tours there at night. I went on one—it was really spooky.’

  Her story reminded Tristan of what a very long way away from home he was. Even a straightforward flight was twenty-two hours. Any kind of relationship would be difficult to maintain from this distance—even if it were permitted.

  ‘If I had time I would like to go on the ghost tour, but I fear that will not be possible,’ he said.

  Had he been here as tourist Tristan Marco, executive of a nebulous company that might or might not produce chocolate, he would have added, Next time I’ll do the ghost tour with you. But he could not in all fairness talk about ‘next time’ or ‘tomorrow.’ Not with a woman to whom he couldn’t offer any kind of relationship beyond a no-strings fling because she had not been born into the ‘right’ type of family.

  ‘We should be heading back to the boat for lunch,’ she said. ‘I’m looking forward to being a guest for the awesome menu I planned. Swimming always makes me hungry.’

  He stood up and offered her his hand to help her. She hesitated, then took it and he pulled her to her feet. She stood very close to him. Tristan took a step to bring her even closer. Her hair was still damp from the sea and fell in tendrils around her face. He smoothed a wayward strand from her cheek and tucked it around her ear. He heard her quick intake of breath at his touch before she went very still.

  She looked up at him without saying a word. Laughter danced in her eyes and lifted the corners of her lovely mouth. He kept his hand on her shoulder, and she swayed towards him in what he took as an invitation. There was nothing he wanted more than to kiss her. He could not resist a second longer.

  He kissed her—first on her adorable dimples, one after the other, as he had longed to do from the get go. Then on her mouth—her exquisitely sensual mouth that felt as wonderful as it looked, warm and welcoming under his. With a little murmur that sent excitement shooting through him, she parted her lips. He deepened the kiss. She tasted of chocolate and salt and her own sweet taste. Her skin was cool and silky against his, her curves pressed enticingly against his body.

  All the time he was kissing her Tristan, knew he was doing so under false pretences. He was not used to deception, had always prided himself on his honesty. He wanted more—wanted more than kisses—from this beautiful woman he held in his arms. But he could not deceive her any longer about who he really was—and what the truth meant to them.

  * * *

  Tristan was kissing her—seriously kissing her—and it was even more wonderful than Gemma had anticipated. She had wanted him, wanted this, from the time she had first seen him in her kitchen. Her heart thudded in double-quick time, and pleasure thrummed through her body.

  But she was shocked at how quickly the kiss turned from something tender into something so passionate that it ignited in her an urgent hunger to be closer to him. Close, closer...as close as she could be.

  She had never felt this wondrous sense of connection and certainty. That time was somehow standing still. That she was meant to be here with him. That this was the start of something life-changing.

  They explored with lips and tongues. Her thoughts, dazed with desire, started to race in a direction she had not let them until now. Could there be a tomorrow for her and Tristan? Why had she thought it so impossible? He wasn’t flying back to the moon, after all. Long distance could work. Differences could be overcome.

  Stray thoughts flew around her brain, barely coherent, in between the waves of pleasure pulsing through her body.

  Tristan gently bit her bottom lip. She let out a little sound of pleasure that was almost a whimper.

  He broke away from the kiss, chest heaving as he gasped for breath. She realised he was as shocked as she was at the passion that had erupted between them. Shocked and...and shaken.

  Gemma wound her arms around his neck, not wanting him to stop but glad th
ey were on a public beach so that there would be no temptation to sink down on the sand together and go further than kisses. She gave her frantic antennae their marching orders. This. To be with him. It was all she wanted.

  ‘Tristan...’ she breathed. ‘I feel like I’m in some wonderful dream. I...I don’t want this day to end.’

  Then she froze as she saw the dismay in his eyes, felt the tension in his body, heard his low groan. She unwound her arms from around his neck, crossed them in front of her chest. She bit her lip to stop her mouth from trembling. Had she totally misread the situation?

  ‘You might not think that when you hear what I have to say to you.’ The hoarse words rushed out as if they’d been dammed up inside him and he could not hold on to them any longer.

  She couldn’t find the words to reply.

  ‘Gemma. We have to talk.’

  Did any conversation ever go well when it started like that? Why did those four words, grouped together in that way, sound so ominous?

  ‘I’m listening,’ she said.

  ‘I have not been completely honest with you.’

  Gemma’s heart sank to the level of the sand beneath her bare feet. Here it came. He was married. He had a girlfriend back home. Or good old I’m not looking for commitment.

  Those antennae were now flopped over her forehead, weary and defeated from trying to save her from her own self-defeating behaviour.

  She braced herself in readiness.

  A pulse throbbed under the smooth olive skin at his temple. ‘My family business I told you about...?’

  ‘Yes?’ she said, puzzled at the direction he was taking.

  ‘It isn’t so much a business as such...’

  Her stomach clenched. The wealth. The mystery. Her sense that he was being evasive. ‘You mean it’s a...a criminal enterprise? Like the mafia or—?’

  He looked so shocked she would have laughed at his expression if she’d had the slightest inclination to laugh. Or even to smile.

  ‘No. Not that. You’ve got it completely wrong.’

  She swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. ‘Are you...are you a spy? From your country’s intelligence service? If so, I don’t know what you’re doing with me. I don’t know anything. I—’

  The shock on his face told her she’d got that wrong, too.

  ‘No, Gemma, nothing like that.’

  He paused, as if gathering the strength to speak, and then his words came out in a rush.

  ‘My family is the royal family of Montovia. My parents are the king and queen.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  GEMMA FELT AS if all the breath had been knocked out of her by a blow to the chest. She stared at him in total disbelief. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

  ‘I’m afraid I am not. King Gerard and Queen Truda of Montovia are my parents.’

  ‘And...and you?’

  ‘I am the crown prince—heir to the throne.’

  Gemma felt suddenly light-headed and had to take in a few short, shallow breaths to steady herself. Strangely, she didn’t doubt him. Those blue eyes burned with sincerity and a desperate appeal for her to believe him.

  ‘A...a prince? A real-life prince? You?’

  That little hint of a bow she’d thought she’d detected previously now manifested itself in a full-on bow to her. A formal bow—from a prince who wore swim shorts and had bare feet covered in sand.

  ‘And...and your family business is—?’

  ‘Ruling the country...as we have done for centuries.’

  It fitted. Beyond all belief, it fitted. All the little discrepancies in what he’d said fell into place.

  ‘So...what is a prince doing with a party planner?’ Hurt shafted her that she’d been so willingly made a fool of. ‘Slumming it?’

  Despite all her resolutions, she’d slid back into her old ways. Back at the dating starting gates, she’d bolted straight for the same mistake. She’d fallen for a good-looking man who had lied to her from the beginning about who he was. Lied big-time.

  She backed away from him on the sand. Stared at him as if he were a total stranger, her hands balled by her sides. Her disappointment made her want to lash out at him in the most primitive way. But she would not be so uncivilised.

  Her voice was cold with suppressed fury, and when she spoke it was as if her words had frozen into shards of ice to stab and wound him. ‘You’ve lied to me from the get go. About who you are—what you are. You lied to get me onto the boat. I don’t like liars.’

  And she didn’t want to hear any more lies.

  Frantically, she looked around her. Impenetrable bushland behind her. A long ocean swim to Manly in front of her. And she in a swimsuit and bare feet.

  Tristan put out a hand. ‘Gemma. I—’

  She raised both hands to ward him off. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she spat.

  Tristan’s face contorted with an emotion she couldn’t at first identify. Anger? Anger at her?

  No—anger at himself.

  ‘Don’t say that, Gemma. I...I liked you so much. You did not know who I was. I wanted to get to know you as Tristan, not as Crown Prince Tristan. It was perhaps wrong of me.’

  ‘Isn’t honesty one of the customs of your country? Or are princes exempt from telling the truth?’

  His jaw clenched. ‘Of course not. I’m furious at myself for not telling you the truth earlier. I am truly sorry. But I had to see you again—and I saw no way around it. If you had known the truth, would you have relaxed around me?’

  She crossed her arms firmly against her chest. But the sincerity of his words was trickling through her hostility, slowly dripping on the fire of her anger.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said. She would have been freaking out, uncertain of how to behave in front of royalty. As she was now.

  ‘Please. Forgive me. Believe the sincerity of my motives.’

  The appeal in his blue eyes seemed genuine. Or was she kidding herself? How she wanted to believe him.

  ‘So...no more lies? You promise every word you say to me from now on will be the truth?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Is there any truth in what you’ve told me about you? About your country? You really are a prince?’

  ‘I am Tristan, Crown Prince of Montovia.’

  ‘Prince Tristan...’ She slowly breathed out the words, scarcely able to comprehend the truth of it. Of all the impossible men, she’d had to go and fall for a prince.

  ‘And everything else you told me?’

  ‘All true.’

  ‘Your brother?’

  The pain in his eyes let her know that what he’d told her about his brother’s death was only too true.

  ‘Carl was crown prince, heir to the throne, and he trained for it from the day he was born. I was the second in line.’

  ‘The heir and the spare?’ she said.

  ‘As the “spare,” I had a lot more freedom to live life the way I wanted to. I rebelled against the rules that governed the way we perform our royal duties. Then everything changed.’

  ‘Because of the accident? You said it’s your brother’s job you are stepping up to in the “family business,” didn’t you? The job of becoming the next king?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  Gemma put her hands to her temples to try and contain the explosion of thoughts. ‘This is surreal. I’m talking to a prince, here. A guy who’s one day going to be king of a country and have absolute power over the lives of millions people.’

  ‘Not so many millions—we are a small country.’

  She put down her hands so she could face him. ‘But still... You’re a prince. One day you’ll be a king.’

  ‘When you put it like that, it sounds surreal to me, too. To be the king was always my brother’s rol
e.’

  Her thoughts still reeled. ‘You don’t just live near the castle, do you?’

  ‘The castle has been home to the royal family for many hundreds of years.’

  ‘And you probably own the town of Montovia—and the chocolate shop with the tea room where you went as a little boy?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It has always been so.’

  ‘What about the chocolate?’

  ‘Every business in Montovia is, strictly speaking, our business. But businesses are, of course, owned by individuals. They pay taxes for the privilege. The chocolate has been made by the same family for many years.’

  ‘Was your little nephew a prince, too?’

  ‘He...little Rudolph...was a prince. As son of the crown prince, he was next in line to the throne. He was only two when he died with his mother and father.’

  ‘Truly...truly a tragedy for your family.’

  ‘For our country, too. My brother would have been a fine ruler.’

  She shook her head, maintained her distance from him. ‘It’s a lot to take in. How were you allowed to come to Australia on your own if you’re the heir? After what happened to your brother?’

  ‘I insisted that I be allowed this time on my own before I take up my new duties. Duties that will, once I return, consume my life.’

  ‘You’re a very important person,’ she said slowly.

  ‘In Montovia, yes.’

  ‘I would have thought you would be surrounded by bodyguards.’

  Tristan looked out to sea and pointed to where a small white cruiser was anchored. ‘You might not have noticed, but the Argus was discreetly followed by that boat. My two Montovian bodyguards are on it. My parents insisted on me being under their surveillance twenty-four hours a day while I was in a foreign country.’

  ‘You mean there are two guys there who watch you all the time? Did they see us kissing?’ She felt nauseous at the thought of being observed for the entire time—both on the boat and on the beach.

  ‘Most likely. I am so used to eyes being on me I do not think about it.’

  ‘You didn’t think you could have trusted me with the truth?’