My Prince

Readers love

A
NNA
M
ARTIN

Devil’s Food at Dusk

“I loved
Devil’s Food at Dusk
. It’s sweet, funny, and charming with many breaks for the smexy times.”

—Joyfully Jay

“If sweet romance and a fast moving story is what you are after, you will not go wrong picking up a copy of
Devil’s Food At Dusk
. It is a delightful way to escape into fantasy for a few hours.”

—The Novel Approach

“I loved this story. It’s sweet and sassy and full of warmth as well as the inevitable angst.”

—Prism Book Alliance

Signs

“What a lovely, hopeful, uplifting read! BEAUTIFUL!”

—My Fiction Nook

“Wow! This is an amazing book… I can’t praise this high enough! 6 of 5 hearts!”

—The Kimi-chan Experience

Les faits accomplis

“…the love story gets so beautiful once the guys connect… Good book!”

—It’s About The Book

“This book was freaking frackin’ good. Holy Heck.”

—Boys in Our Books

By
A
NNA
M
ARTIN

Cricket

Cuddling (Dreamspinner Anthology)

Dr. Feelgood (Dreamspinner Anthology)

Jurassic Heart

Kid Gloves

Les faits accomplish

My Prince

Signs

With Tia Fielding
: Solitude

Summer Son

Tattoos & Teacups

Two Tickets to Paradise (Dreamspinner Anthology)

A
NOTHER
W
AY

Another Way

Of Being Yours

To Say I Love You

With M.J. O’Shea

J
UST
D
ESSERTS

Macarons at Midnight

Soufflés at Sunrise

Devil’s Food at Dusk

Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Copyright

Published by

D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS

5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

My Prince

© 2015 Anna Martin.

Cover Art

© 2015 Kellie Dennis at Book Cover By Design.

http://www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

ISBN: 978-1-63476-650-0

Digital ISBN: 978-1-63476-651-7

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015945179

First Edition October 2015

Printed in the United States of America

This paper meets the requirements of

ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

Dedicated to the people with whom I build Paradise every year.

It was about time I set a novel here.

And to Katie. Because I love you.

Chapter One

T
HE
CLUB
was nothing special.

In any major city around the world, there would be gay clubs like this: lights flashing, people dancing, men doing tequila shots—wearing eyeshadow, wearing leather, wearing… very little, George thought, as a kid walked past in a jockstrap and nothing else.

He shook his head, knocked back the Jack and Coke, and edged onto the dance floor to dance some more.

It wasn’t a bad club, not really. Just nothing special.

George had started going to the clubs back home in Manchester when he was fifteen, back in the day when bouncers didn’t check IDs at the door, and bar staff didn’t check them either. So if you knew someone who was legitimately old enough to buy your drinks, then you could get away with having “forgotten” your driver’s license and still have a good night out.

Those days were long over; now twenty-eight, he swore he got asked for ID more these days than he ever did at fifteen. He only came out to these types of clubs for one reason. And that reason was eluding him tonight.

While he danced, grinding up on a different guy every other song, his eyes roamed the club, looking for a hookup. He hadn’t had sex in about six weeks, not that he was keeping count, but that was a long time for him, and he was ready to get laid. Some kids stood over by the bar—well, he called them kids, but they were likely the same age as him—drinking champagne from the bottle, looking…
rich
. George purposefully looked away.

Fuck that.

He found some tall, slim guy with dark, dark hair to dance with, and the guy was hot. George snogged him for a while, until it became painfully clear this kid had no idea what he was doing when it came to
kissing
. George wasn’t about to let a mouth like that anywhere near his cock.

He moved away, giving the kid a wink to let him down gently, and went back to the bar.

The music was loud, and he was sweaty, slightly sticky, and feeling like he should maybe go back to the other club where his friends were and give up on the idea of getting his dick sucked tonight. Maybe next weekend.

And wasn’t that always the way? As soon as you give up on the idea of dick sucking, the opportunity presents itself.

“Hey,” the guy said.

George looked closer. It was one of the kids who had been drinking Moët from the bottle earlier.

“Buy you a drink?” he offered.

George gave him an even look. “Sure.”

“What’s your name?”

Because he could, and because he knew what happened when he did, George paused before answering and tucked his tongue in his cheek, shooting the guy a cocky look.

“George. You?”

“Alex. Nice to meet you, George.”

George wasn’t sure what sort of signal Alex had given to the bartender, but now another bottle of expensive champagne appeared on the shiny black bar, along with two slim glasses.

“I’m more of a beer kinda guy…,” he said slowly, and Alex grinned.

“Live a little.”

The cork had been freshly popped, and fizzy smoke drifted from the top of the perfectly chilled bottle. Alex abandoned the glasses, grabbed the neck of the bottle, and wrapped his fingers around George’s wrist to lead him back onto the dance floor. Alex tipped the bottle up and drank straight from it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the champagne over to George, who copied his movement.

“That’s not a Scottish accent,” Alex said, tapping George lightly on the nose. He took back the bottle, wrapped one arm around George’s waist, and started to rock their bodies together.

“Neither is yours,” George said. When no more information came from Alex, he said, “Manchester,” and left it at that.

Alex cocked his head to one side. “By way of London.”

“What does that mean?”

“Doesn’t matter. You wanna get out of here?”

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” George paused again. “Sure.”

“We can’t go back to my place. I have family staying.”

“I have eleven housemates.”

“Seriously?”

“No, but it feels like it sometimes.”

“Okay, hang on. Take this.” Alex thrust the bottle into George’s hand. “Stay here. Or, even better, meet me at the door in ten minutes.”

George laughed, once, hard, not quite believing this guy. They hadn’t even kissed. That was a strange thought. They hadn’t even kissed.

Alex slinked off into the mess of people, his phone already to his ear. George took another swig of the champagne, passed it to one of the fit young things in a jockstrap, squeezed his bare ass for good measure, then headed to the men’s to take a leak.

George hurried through the entrance hall of the club, where the biting Edinburgh wind swept in, and he shivered. Alex was there, waiting like he said he’d be, with George’s coat over his arm.

“How did you—” George started, but Alex cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Come on.”

A black cab was waiting, and Alex held the door, letting George slide in first. He’d apparently told the driver where to go, because the cab immediately pulled away from the side of the road and made its way from Canongate onto North Bridge.

“Where are we going?” George asked.

Alex squeezed his knee.

Maybe three minutes later, the cab stopped.

“Here all right?” the driver asked, his voice a thick Scottish drawl.

“Fine, thanks,” Alex called and slipped a twenty through the gap.