Paris and the Prince: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (Royal Weddings Book 1) (8 page)

"Oh, yes, oh!"

"Yes, yes, oh God!"

“Ahhhh!”

Paris bucked against him in wild abandon, as she felt his cock pulse within her. She shook and convulsed, feeling sensations the likes of which she had never known. He continued thrusting within her as he came, pulling her close to him, enveloping her completely.

They collapsed into a heap against each other, fully sated, and let sleep overtake them as they clung to each other in wanton satisfaction.

P
aris woke
as the warmth of the morning sun crept gently up her body, from her toes to her flickering eyes. She smiled happily as she reached out to pull Alex in for a cuddle, but her hands found nothing when they touched the other side of the bed. She felt a brief pang of fear, but then she remembered... He's an early riser, that man.

Paris sat up in the bed and took in the view, marveling at the pristine beauty all around her. She could already make out a few sailboats idling lazily in the harbor, and she made a note to ask Alex if a boat was one of his “perks.”

Paris grabbed for a robe that was sitting out on a plush white chair, and wrapped herself in its fluffy warmth. The wood floor was cool under her bare feet as she padded across the room and down the stairs from the tower, following the distinct smell of breakfast cooking away in the kitchen. Paris poked her head around the corner and caught sight of Alex, standing in front of the kitchen bar and making fresh-squeezed orange juice. He had on a snug white t-shirt that clung to every muscle, and red plaid pajama pants. Edith Piaf hummed away in the corner of the room, as Alex sang along, his voice clear and strong.

As she watched him, hidden from his sight, her heart clenched at the realization that she was in over her head. This was supposed to be a fun fling—something frivolous and out of character before she settled down to the serious business of medical school. But as she watched Alex, Paris knew she was falling in love with him, and there was nothing she could do to stop herself now.

Moreover, she wasn’t sure she would have wanted to stop herself, even if she could have.

She didn't know how long she'd been standing in the stairwell, watching him work, bathed in sunlight, when he finally looked up and saw her there.

“Good morning, beautiful! Juice or coffee?”

Paris tilted her head sideways as she contemplated the question, really just using it as an excuse to stare at Alex a little longer. Would she ever get tired of his masculine beauty? Probably not.

“Coffee, please! How long have you been up?”

Alex smiled as he poured Paris a cup of steaming, fresh-pressed coffee.

“A while. I was actually getting the boat cleaned up. I thought that we could go out sailing today. Maybe for a swim? If you're not in a rush to get back, that is.”

“I didn’t bring a suit.” Paris gave him a laughing smile.

He winked at her. “Neither did I.”

Paris inhaled the rich aroma of the coffee. She surveyed the gorgeous ocean landscape. She smiled at the sweet anticipation on Alex's face.

No, she thought, no rush to get back at all.

A
s the wheels
of the plane touched down in Estia, Whitney felt her rage boiling over like a teapot left on the stove far too long.

She'd been trying to call her parents for the entirety of the flight, but nobody was answering at the main house, and neither of her parent's assistants were picking up their phones either. This meant one of two things: one, Leonard and Penelope were in a drunken stupor and their assistants had used the opportunity to take the day off or; two, everyone at the palace in Estia knew exactly why she was calling and they were avoiding her.

Right now, Whitney would put her money on option two.

Twenty-four hours ago, she was stomping her way back to her hotel after the disaster that was her premiere, intending to drown her sorrows in a bottle of bourbon at the hotel bar. But then, something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. A newsstand on the opposite side of the street was selling copies of newspapers in French and English, and people were gathering around the stand like it was the 1940s and they didn't have smartphones. Had war been declared?

It was just enough to draw Whitney the extra twenty feet across the road, which was no small feat in her stiletto Louboutins.

Conflicting reports from bystanders were hazy, but these were the facts as they were known. At 3:30pm Central European time, a young woman, impeccably dressed and who looked suspiciously like the Duchess of Estia, approached a crowd in the middle of Paris. The woman then grabbed a newspaper from the hand of a businessman standing at the back of crowd.

This is where reports begin to diverge, but everyone can agree that the sound of the newspaper tearing in half was followed by rack after rack of magazines and papers being tossed to the ground.

When the owner of the stand rushed out to try and stop the madwoman from destroying his livelihood, she punched him square in the jaw.

She didn't slap him.

She didn't shove him.

She punched him with the blinding left hook of a seasoned boxer. It was then that the street went deadly quiet, and the woman ran off, still clutching half of a newspaper in her fist.

Whitney was fairly confident she had broken a bone in her hand when she punched that peasant gum peddler, but the pain was giving her purpose on the flight from Paris to Estia. In between attempting calls to her parents, she'd absorbed every bit of information she could find on Alexander and this tramp he'd picked up while she was pouring out her heart and soul on the runway. There wasn't much information, but it seemed every news site and every gossip blog could agree on one thing...

Prince Alexander of Dalvana had found a new woman and things were looking pretty grim for his engagement to Whitney Bishop-St.Claire of Estia.

Whitney seethed as her assistant in Estia rushed across the runway to meet her. Someone was going to give her some answers, and she didn't care what bones she had to break to get them.

Or who she had to destroy in the process.

E
ven wrapped
in the silk scarf she had pilfered from a drawer in the bedroom, the salty sea air whipped through Paris' hair in a way that she knew would be hell to deal with later, but in the moment she didn’t care.

The sailboat bounced up and down across the gentle waves as the seagulls swooped wildly in the air. Paris had never been on a boat in her life, and she had worried that she might get seasick, but she'd taken to the water much better than she'd ever dreamed.

Perhaps her mind was just so distracted with the beauty of Southern France, her body didn't have time to register the onslaught of new sensations. Even with the absolutely stunning image that was Alex at the helm of the boat, Paris found herself enamored with the image of sky meeting the water, and how they were almost exactly the same color. It was as if there were no beginning and no end.

That being said, Alex did look gorgeous. He stood at the back of the sailboat, focused intently on the horizon. The day had ended up colder than either of them had expected, so swimming was out. But that also meant Alex looked like the personification of a cologne ad: distressed denim jeans, a black sweater over a grey button-down, black sneakers, and a pair of expensive gold sunglasses. Paris couldn't help but stare, a giddy smile spreading across her face as she watched him at work. Eventually, he noticed her gazing at him.

“What are you looking at, beautiful?”

Paris felt an uncharacteristic giggle escape her lips.

“Just watching you do your thing back there. I've never watched someone man a sailboat before. Hell, I've never been on a sailboat before. This is amazing!”

Alex grinned at her and let go of the wheel. Then he began bouncing all around the boat, pulling back the sail, dropping an anchor, and bringing the sailboat to a stop in the middle of the ocean. For a brief second, Paris thought it might have been foolish to come out on the ocean with a man she hardly knew.

She'd seen plenty of Lifetime movies of the week start this way, and they rarely ended well for the woman. But then, Alex went below deck and came back with a picnic basket and a bottle of wine. Paris felt her reservations melt away, and even felt a little guilty for not trusting Alex.

“I thought we could have lunch on the boat? Just drift around out here for a while?”

Alex set the basket down on the deck of the boat and waved Paris over to sit with him as he unloaded the food. A bacon and leek quiche, green bean and tomato salad, left-over roast chicken, lentil salad with goat cheese, smoked trout pâté, and a spice apple galette... all laid out on a red checkered blanket. As Alex began pouring them each a glass of the rich red Burgundy, Paris couldn't believe her life. Two-and-a-half days ago, she had lost everything, and was wandering the streets of Paris, alone and terrified.

Now, here she sat, on a sailboat, eating the most delicious food she'd ever tasted, drinking the most amazing wine, and staring deep into the eyes of the most beautiful man she'd ever seen in her life.

It was all so perfect.

Too perfect.

Her impeccably logical mind was preparing her for the rug to get pulled out from under her at any minute.

But as the sun was going down, as the food disappeared and the last of the wine had been drunk, the gentle sound of the water lapping against the hull of the boat began to lull her into a gentle easiness that was utterly soothing. And in that moment, she didn't care about what happened tomorrow. All she cared about was being present, with Alex, and enjoying whatever slice of happiness they had carved out for each other.

Back at the villa, as Alex was gathering Paris into his arms and kissing her with a passion that took both of them by surprise, Alex's cellphone was ringing with a persistence so incessant, it fell off the desk in the library and onto the floor.

The last text message that came through before the battery ran out was from Alex's youngest brother, Mathias.

Hey, golden boy. Don't know what you did, but you have efffffed up.

Dad is sending Bernie.

You should hide, or get back here first.

Trouble is brewing... ~M

T
he sound
of King Alexander screaming in his office was enough to bring both of his youngest sons running from their rooms, even though Joseph was still recovering from a night out drinking with his college friends. They stumbled into the office to find their father shouting into a phone, his face beet red with anger.

“Are the pictures authentic?... How do you KNOW?... Oh... How much coverage have they gotten?... THAT far?... So what do we do?... I've already put Bernard on a plane for Arcachon, so he's getting him back... Bring her
HERE
? Are you mad? What? Is that a good idea?... Fine. I'll call Bernard and tell him to bring both of them.”

Mathias and Joseph just stood in the doorway, mouths agape, confusion obvious on their still-sleepy faces. The slightly more sober Mathias spoke first.

“Uh, father… What the hell is going on? Did someone die?”

The King slammed his head down on the desk and groaned. When he lifted it back up a moment later, he ran his fingers through his thick gray hair and frowned.

“No, but someone is about to. Have either of you talked to your brother in the last two days?”

The boys looked at each awkwardly, then looked down at the floor. Neither of them talked to Alex all that often, and when they did, it was usually just polite conversation in the hall when they happened to be home at the same time. Their oldest brother was the ‘good’ son, and they were the worthless layabouts, an arrangement that suited them just fine. But hearing their father angry over something Alex had done? That upset the balance and neither of them were comfortable with it.

“No, sir,” they mumbled in unison, seeming like naughty schoolboys in front of their intimidating father, rather than the grown, powerful men they were.

There was a moment of heavy silence that filled the room, and it was just enough to encourage the Princes to let their guards down.

Expecting that the shouting was over, both Joseph and Mathias were that much more terrified when, in one sweeping motion, their father angrily flung everything from the top of his desk. Papers, inkwells, glass figures, a phone... all of it went flying into the air and then clattering to the floor.

Joseph let out a yell of protest, and Mathias poked him in the ribs in an attempt to quiet him. Their father was a kind man, but in this moment, he wouldn't abide weakness.

The King walked slowly to the large picture window that sat behind his desk and stared out of it without so much as a sound. Mathias was just motioning to his brother that they should leave when their father finally spoke.

“Boys... I would like you to stay in the palace today. Things are about to get very unpleasant around here, and I'd rather neither of you were out adding to the chaos.”

Joseph spoke up, even though Mathias was giving him the evil eye.

“But father… I had plans with Genevieve. We're supposed to go... OW!”

Joseph was interrupted by a punch to the spine from his brother, who could see the reflection of their father's face in the window. His scowl made it clear this was not the time for arguing.

“We'll stay put, father. We promise. But, just out of curiosity, can you please tell us what is going on?”

King Alexander sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You'll know soon enough.”

H
ours later
, on the other side of the continent, Alex and Paris sat down at a lovely, small table in a dimly-lit restaurant in a quieter area of Arcachon. There were only a few people sitting around them, and the owners of the restaurant were being extremely attentive.

Course after course of rustic French food, all delicious and all beautifully prepared, especially bathed in soft candle light. Paris felt herself melting into the present moment, her heart beating just a little faster as she looked into Alex's eyes. She had never felt this way about anyone in her life, and the fact that she'd just met him was still making her nervous.

But then, Alex reached across the table, and took her hand in his, and all of her nerves and worries disappeared.

“Paris... I know we just met. I know everything has moved really fast. But I just want you to know that I really care about you. I... don't want these next few days to be it. There’s something you need to know—”

Paris squeezed Alex's hand and couldn't help but smile at his own discomfort. He was always so poised and sure of himself, but now it was her turn to comfort him. He seemed to be getting up the courage to tell her something, in a way that he genuinely seemed concerned that she might leave him.

“Alex, I...”

But Paris never had a chance to finish her sentence. All at once, a flurry of camera flashes blinded Paris from outside the restaurant, and even through the thick glass of the picture window, she could hear a cacophony of voices yelling her name.

“Over here! Here! How does it feel...”

“Alex! Did you set out to steal...”

“Alex! Will she be the next princess...”

Paris tried to cover her face with her arms, mostly because the lights of the cameras were burning her eyes, and she was starting to see little more than blurs of people in front of her. Paris was so busy trying to process her own confusion, that she didn't see what Alex was doing.

He'd gone stiff as a board, fighting his natural impulse to turn around and see how many of the vultures had accumulated outside of the restaurant.

If they had found him, if they were fighting for a money shot, they clearly already knew at least a portion of what was going on. But turning around and letting them snap a picture of the abject panic on his face would have been far too satisfying for them, and he wasn't about to give them that kind of win.

How could I have been so careless?
he thought bitterly to himself as he tried to formulate some kind of plan of escape.
I should not have gone to one of our estates. I should have taken her to Singapore, or Johannesburg, or anywhere but here.

The owners of the cafe saw terror in Paris' eyes, the bitter disappointment on Alex's face, and while they didn't speak English, they knew something was terribly wrong for the sweet couple in their restaurant.

The owners quickly formulated a plan, and while the man rushed into the back to clear a way through the storage room and out the back door, the wife hurried over to Alex and Paris, and stood between them and the paparazzi outside. She began talking rapidly to Alex in French, and Alex nodded. Paris still had no idea what was going on; the chaos was making her feel as if she were drowning in the deepest part of the ocean and could hear nothing but her own dwindling breath in her lungs.

Before she could register what was happening, Alex had her by the hand and pulled her from her chair to her feet. Paris felt like she was floating through a nightmare, her feet barely even touching the floor, as Alex dragged her behind him through the cafe's kitchen. Once they were in the alley behind the restaurant, the man and his wife motioned to Paris and Alex that there was a taxi waiting for them at the end of the alleyway.

But as Alex began rushing away toward the cab with Paris still trailing behind him like she was on a leash, all at once, she regained control of her senses. And the first thing she felt was furious.

“STOP! Stop... pulling my arm. Stop... lying to me. Tell me what's going on right now!”

Alex spun on his heel, his fear of losing Paris suddenly more overwhelming than his fear of the photographers.

“I didn't lie to you. I just didn't... tell you everything. I couldn't. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had met someone who liked me for
me
. Who wasn't caught up in my family and the glamour. Who just wanted to be with me. For who I am.”

Paris threw her arms in the air. She hadn't understood anything that the photographers had been shouting at her; all she knew was that she suddenly felt like her life was never going to be her own again.

“Don't pull that semantics crap on me. A lie of omission is still a lie. And I still don't know who you are, Alex! Why do those people want your picture? And more importantly, why the hell do they want mine? Who are you?”

Alex straightened his shoulders as if he was donning a regal mantle once more. He gave a heavy sigh as he prepared to assume the role he was born to.

“I'm Alexander Phillip Lennox III, Prince of Dalvana. And I don’t want to lose you. After a few days with you, and even though we barely know each other, I—I know you have no reason to believe me, but I'm asking you to trust me right now.”

Paris had barely opened her mouth to speak when three men in black suits came rushing down the alleyway, straight at them. Paris' stomach lurched in fear, but Alex wasn't even budging. In fact, he seemed to know the burly men who now surrounded him with looks of utter annoyance.

“Bernard? What are you... What are you doing here?”

Another of the men walked over behind Paris, preventing her from leaving, as if he could sense her desire to run. When the hulk named Bernard spoke, his accented voice was flat and completely lacking in affect, like a man who had been trained to do only his job and nothing more.

“If you bothered to check your phone, you'd know. Prince Alexander, your father has sent for you. You, and your companion, are to return with me to Dalvana immediately.”

Paris may not have known what was going on, but she was able to work that bit out for herself just fine.

“Hang on a second. I'm not going anywhere. First of all, let's just stop and address the fact that I still don't know what the hell is going on here. Second, I didn't come here as a tourist. I'm not just flouncing around the city. I am here to learn. I have classes starting in a few days. You can't just kidnap me and drag me to another country I haven't even heard of!”

The man standing behind Paris took a step closer to her, his big stomach pressing against her back, making it impossible for her to dash away even if she'd wanted to. Alex's face registered his concern for her, but he also knew that if his father had summoned him—them—home, they had no choice.

“I'm sorry, Paris. I truly am. And I will find a way to make it up to you. But I think it's in your best interest to come with us, for now. You won't be safe here right now. I can’t leave you in jeopardy.”

Paris' jaw dropped open, rage filling her chest, making her blood boil, and causing tears to well in her eyes, even though she was willing them to go away. But she didn't have time to fight back. Within seconds, Paris was being ushered into the back of a waiting limousine, and once again was on her way to the airport.

But this time, she felt no excitement. She felt no joy at the trip ahead. Paris only felt the mounting dread that her life was about to become more complicated than she could have ever possibly imagined.