The Prince's Fake Fiancée

CHAPTER ONE Andrea The first thing I noticed about the stranger was his hands. Large. Elegant. Expensive-looking. The second thing I noticed was the watch on his wrist. I knew enough about watches to know I could probably pay my mother's rent for several months with it. The third thing I noticed was that he was staring at me. Not looking. Staring. And suddenly, I was very aware of the dress I was wearing. Black. Short. Tight around my hips. Exactly what my client had requested. I gave him my professional smile. "You wanted company?" His eyes moved slowly over me. "Yes." His voice was deep. The kind that made a woman listen even when she shouldn't. I stepped farther into the hotel suite and closed the door behind me. "Then you've come to the right place." He didn't smile. That was interesting. Most men did. Some were nervous. Some were overly confident. Some couldn't stop talking. This man simply watched me. Like he was trying to figure me out. I walked toward the sitting area. "Do you want a drink?" "No." "Dinner?" "No." I turned toward him. "Then what exactly do you want?" His eyes met mine. "You." My stomach fluttered. I hated that. I was supposed to be good at this. Detached. Professional. Never let a client's face or voice mean anything. But there was something about him. Maybe it was the way he looked at me. Like I was the only woman he'd seen all evening. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't tried to touch me. Yet. "What should I call you?" I asked. "Adrian." "Just Adrian?" "Just Adrian." I smiled. "Fine." He took a step toward me. "And you?" "Andrea." "Andrea." The way he said my name made it sound unfamiliar. Almost intimate. I swallowed. "You're very quiet." "So are you." "I'm usually not." That finally earned me a smile. It was brief. But devastating. "Oh," I murmured. His eyebrow lifted. "What?" "Nothing." "You were thinking something." "I wasn't." "Liar." I laughed softly. "You're arrogant." "And you're curious." "I get paid to be." His smile disappeared. Something darker entered his expression. "I didn't hire you to pretend." I stared at him. He was close now. Close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off his body. "I don't pretend," I said quietly. His eyes dropped to my lips. "Good." My pulse jumped. His hand came up slowly. He brushed one loose strand of hair away from my face. The gesture was surprisingly gentle. I should have stepped back. Instead, I stayed exactly where I was. His fingertips lingered near my cheek. "Tell me to stop." I looked at him. "Do you want me to?" "No." "Then don't." His mouth found mine. And for the first time that night, I forgot that I was working. His kiss wasn't rushed. It wasn't clumsy. It was slow, deliberate, almost maddeningly controlled. Until I kissed him back. Then the control disappeared. His hand settled at my waist. I gripped his shirt. He pulled me closer. And somewhere between one kiss and the next, the distance I'd carefully maintained between myself and every man I'd ever met began to disappear. He kissed me again. Then his mouth moved slowly along my jaw, down my neck, leaving a trail of warmth that made it increasingly difficult to remember that I was supposed to be in control. My fingers tightened around his shirt. "Adrian..." He stopped. His eyes found mine. "Tell me to stop." I should have. Instead, I pulled him closer. That was all the permission he needed. His hands slid around my waist, drawing me against him as his kisses wandered lower. Every touch seemed deliberately calculated to make me forget what I was doing, who I was, and why I had come here in the first place. I didn't forget. Not completely. But I stopped caring. A soft sound escaped me when his mouth found the sensitive skin beneath my ribs. He looked up. There was something almost smug in his expression. "You like that." "Don't flatter yourself." He smiled. "You're terrible at lying." I hated how easily he could read me. I hated even more that I didn't want him to stop. His fingers traced the edge of my clothing before he looked at me again. "Still want me to stop?" I shook my head. He cupped my breast through the thin materialand my n*****s instantly hardened. To reciprocate,I brushed my fingertips along the bulge in his pants. My breath caught. Wow. The desire in his eyes was so evident,almost scary. I hid my fear with a smirk and lowered my mouth down ,unzipping his pants. And the rest of the night blurred into warmth, tangled sheets, whispered names and the kind of reckless surrender I had spent years teaching myself never to give anyone. For once, I didn't think about tomorrow. I didn't think about money. I didn't think about my family waiting for me. I only thought about him. And that was probably my first mistake. --- When I finally opened my eyes, morning light was spilling through the curtains. Adrian was asleep beside me. I stared at him for a moment. The mysterious stranger. The man whose name I still wasn't entirely convinced was real. I smiled despite myself. Then reality returned. I slipped out of bed, gathered my clothes and dressed quietly. Before leaving, I looked back at him. He hadn't moved. I wondered, briefly, what his life was like outside this hotel room. Then I laughed at myself. It didn't matter. We were strangers. Whatever had happened between us would stay here. At least, that was what I believed. I picked up my handbag and walked out. --- The elevator carried me silently toward the lobby. I checked my phone. Three missed calls from Mum. My stomach tightened. I immediately called her back. "Andrea?" "I'm coming home." "Did you get the money?" I glanced down at my phone. "Yes." "Thank God." I closed my eyes. That was why I did it. Not because I enjoyed it. Not because I wanted strangers touching me. Because there were bills. Because there was rent. Because my little brother's school had threatened to send him home again. Because sometimes survival didn't leave you with very many choices. "I'm bringing breakfast," I said. My mother laughed softly. "Don't spend too much." "I won't." We said goodbye. The elevator doors opened. I stepped into the hotel lobby. And stopped. A huge television mounted above the reception desk caught my attention. A familiar face filled the screen. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Those eyes. My breath caught. It was him. Adrian. Except the man on the television wasn't introduced as Adrian. The headline beneath his photograph read: CROWN PRINCE LAURENT VALEMONT ARRIVES IN PARIS AHEAD OF ROYAL SUMMIT. I stared. No. That couldn't be— A woman beside me gasped. "He's gorgeous." Someone else laughed. "He's going to be king someday." My stomach dropped. I looked back at the screen. The same eyes. The same mouth. The same man who had whispered my name last night. I almost laughed. I had just spent the night with the Crown Prince of Valedria. And he had no idea who I was. Or at least, that's what I told myself. I hurried toward the exit. I didn't look back. I didn't know that upstairs, the prince was already awake. And staring at the empty side of the bed. I didn't know that he was thinking about the woman who had walked out without asking for his number. I didn't know that, for the first time in years, Laurent Valemont was curious about someone. And I certainly didn't know that we'd see each other again. Soon. Very soon.