Leanne Banks - His Royal Pleasure

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Pirate’s Island, North Carolina is an unlikely vacation destination for Prince Alexander of Moreno. But when a detour brings him to the rustic campground, he jumps at the chance to be just Alex, no media glare, no royal responsibilities, for four glorious weeks. That the manager is a beautiful, fun-loving redhead unlike any woman he’s ever met makes the prospect even sweeter…

Katherine Kendall doesn’t trust men easily, including the wickedly handsome stranger who practically washes up on her island. But most of all she doesn’t trust her body’s reaction to this uncommon man--and when he offers to tutor her in the nuances of love-making, to awaken the sensual woman within, she cannot resist…

Days with Katherine bring out a playful side Alex thought long-buried, and nights are filled with passion. As summer wanes, Alex begins to crave something he never has before. But will his secret tear them apart?

Previously published.

Thanks to Nita Taublib for “fixing the music box,” and to Courtney Henke for the tinnitus.

This one is for all the grown-up little girls who ever dreamed of princes and happy endings.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

“He smells.”

Katherine Kendall wrinkled her nose and turned her head, wishing she could magically cause the man sprawled on her couch to disappear.

“Not that bad,” Chad replied as he closed his eyes and slunk farther into the La-Z-Boy lounger.

“He smells like he took a bath in a tub of whiskey,” she corrected, none too happy with being awakened at two in the morning to deal with another of Chad’s misadventures.

“Well, you would, too, if someone broke a bottle of whiskey over your head.” Chad warily propped open one eye, then shut it again.

Katherine tightened the belt of her kimono-style robe and planted her hands on her hips. “This is crazy. Do you even know this guy’s name? He could be a mass murderer for all we know.”

Grudgingly Chad opened both eyes. “All I know is he got the bottle that was aimed at my head before all hell broke loose at Chuck’s Bar. Some guy punched him, and I figured the least I could do was drag him out of there and give him a place to rest for the night. He would have ended up in jail if I hadn’t taken him with me.”

There was a strange logic to Chad’s explanation. That was frightening. When her nineteen-year-old half brother started to make sense she was in trouble. “I’ve got to be up at six. Make sure Prince Charming is out of here by then. I’m going to bed.”

She turned toward her bedroom.

“But you can’t.”

“Can’t?” Katherine turned back around and arched an eyebrow.

Chad stood and gestured awkwardly toward the man on the sofa. “Somebody’s gotta check him out and make sure he’s okay.”

“Call a doctor.”

“Katie!”

“What?”

“Can’t you at least look him over? I mean, you’re the one who’s taken first aid.”

“Why didn’t you take him to the clinic?”

“I didn’t think he was hurt that bad. I just knew we had to get out of Chuck’s.”

“Is he drunk or does he have a concussion?”

Chad gave a grimace of uncertainty and shrugged.

Katherine sighed in resignation and moved toward the sofa. “Get me a damp washcloth and the first-aid kit. It’s in the bathroom.”

Then, as Chad prudently followed her instructions, Katherine reluctantly turned her attention to the unconscious man. He was tall, longer than the six-foot plaid sofa. His face was damp from the storm raging outside, his dark hair drenched. She gently touched his head, checking for bumps. She found one the size of a goose egg and winced. The blow must have been painful.

“So, what do you think?” Chad asked as he handed her the washcloth.

With great care Katherine sponged the man’s face, neck and head. Her instincts told her the man would be all right, and she told Chad so. Then looking at the stranger’s face for the first time, she felt a vague sense of the familiar. “He looks like—” She stopped, because she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“He looks like who?” Chad asked.

She squinted her eyes together and tried to concentrate. There was something about him, something that made her pulse run faster. She should know him. She searched her memory but came up with nothing.

Katherine shrugged, dismissing the odd feeling. “He looks like a mess.” She studied the way his facial structure was sculpted with clean lines, high cheekbones, dark eyebrows, an aquiline nose and a firm but compelling mouth. Uncompromising. Men would feel threatened by the arrogance in that face. Women would stare at him and make silent, secret wishes.

Other women, she thought. She would never indulge in such futile wishes. His lovers would be tall, cool, sophisticated blondes. Not, she concluded wryly, short, emotional redheads with perms from hell.

She unbuttoned his fine cotton shirt and frowned. “This doesn’t fit Chuck’s dress code. Have you ever met this guy before?”

“Nah, the first time I saw him was when I ducked Randy’s bottle.” Chad cleared his throat. “I was busy playing cards before that.”

Katherine glanced knowingly at her brother. “I’ll just bet you were. Did this fight have anything to do with your tendency to cheat?”

Chad shifted his feet. “Cheating’s a harsh term.”

Katherine closed her eyes, silently praying for restraint. Then she looked at the stranger interrupting her sleep and felt a twinge of concern.

She tried to keep her touch clinical as she pulled the wet garment from his shoulders, but Katherine was a tactile person. She liked the slide of silk against her body, the texture of well-worn cotton and satin that caressed like warm water. She enjoyed feeling the vibration of a cat’s purr, couldn’t keep her hands off the peach fuzz of a baby’s head, and she had a weakness for touching beautiful things.

His chest was a work of beauty—muscular, with brown male nipples peaked in protest to his cool body temperature, and a spray of dark hair that had her fingers tingling with the instinct to touch. He had biceps that inspired the thought that he was strong enough to hold a woman and keep her safe from the world.

Katherine wondered what it would be like to feel those arms around her. Instantly embarrassment surged through her. She took a deep breath.

“Can you find a robe for him? His clothes are a mess.”

“Mine won’t fit. He’s a good four inches taller than I am,” Chad pointed out.

“Look in Uncle Jasper’s closet.”

Checking for broken ribs, she gently ran her hands down his torso. His smooth skin warmed beneath her fingers while his chest rose and fell in the slow rhythm of peaceful sleep. His heartbeat vibrated against her palm, and she became more aware of her own pulse. It was as if there was an invisible connection between them, as if he knew her, and she knew him.

Katherine caught herself and rolled her eyes. Her lack of sleep was affecting her brain.

She needed to finish this, and the ruined trousers had to come off, she realized. After unbuckling the fine leather belt, she eased the zipper down two inches and paused. His stomach was taut and richly tan like the rest of him. She bit her lip. She’d uncovered his navel and the beginnings of dark hair on his lower abdomen.

Get on with it, silly, she thought. She clenched her jaw and pushed the zipper halfway down over his impressive masculinity and stopped abruptly. Her fingers grazed the most sensitive pleasurable part of him. Her hands were almost as close as a lover’s would be.

She jerked her shaking hands away. She just couldn’t do it. It was all in her mind. Nurses, doctors and rescue workers did this kind of thing all the time. They didn’t ogle. They just stripped people naked with no regard to privacy. It was their job. But Katherine couldn’t get past the intimacy of the situation. Her inappropriate thoughts made her feel like an intruder, a voyeur. She’d just have to let Chad finish undressing him.

“I found one of Jasper’s.” Chad held the robe out to her.

“Good. I’ll let you get his pants off and cover him with a blanket,” she said quickly. “We can leave the robe on the back of the sofa just in case he gets up later. Then I can finish checking his head.” I might want to get mine checked too, she thought.

Chad completed the job with a few groans and grunts. Katherine knelt near the man’s head and applied antiseptic to the wound. It must have stung, because he moaned. The sound tore at her. “It’s okay,” she murmured, stroking his forehead.

Alex lifted a hand toward his head. The pain was so incredible he was tempted to go back to sleep. But his bed suddenly seemed too short, and his head felt as though an explosion had gone off inside it. Then he heard a soft, feminine voice, felt cool, gentle hands, and smelled something sweet and sultry.

“I don’t think it needs stitches,” the female voice said. She talked with a lazy American drawl he couldn’t place. He struggled against the weight on his eyelids and willed them open.

She was blurry. He squinted his eyes, and the picture cleared. Wild auburn hair framed a solemn, cameo-featured face. Her expression was guileless and sincere. He recognized both qualities because they were so rare in his world. Her large gray eyes were wide with concern. For him? Yes, he decided, and the notion wrapped around him like a blanket.

Her skin was pale, almost alabaster perfect, except for the faint violet shadows beneath her eyes. And the sprinkling of freckles on her small nose.

“Freckles,” he muttered, wondering why he couldn’t recall her name.

Her pink mouth stretched into a sweet, sexy grin. “You must be okay if you can identify freckles.”

Alex wondered if she were a figment of his imagination. She looked real, smelled like temptation and had a voice that conjured up visions of lazy, hot afternoons spent in bed. He lifted his hand to her chin and watched her freeze. Her skin was silky smooth. And her lips, he thought, rubbing his thumb against them, were like rose petals. He frowned. “Why don’t I remember making love to you?”

Her eyes widened, and her face bloomed with color. “Because you haven’t,” she whispered.

Frowning again, he dropped his hand from her mouth. What a disappointment. He’d like to think something pleasurable had precipitated this horrendous headache. None of this made sense. Why was this woman in his bed? And why had his bed shrunk? He vaguely identified the pungent smell surrounding him. “Whiskey. Not Chenin Blanc.” Not the fine liquor to which he was accustomed.

Her large eyes blinked, and she cleared her throat. “Definitely not Chenin Blanc.”

The soft, unmistakable weight of feminine breasts pressed pleasantly against his arm. Who was she? The throb in his head increased, and he took a deep breath to fight it. He refused to close his eyes. He didn’t want to lose sight of her.

Her fine eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Get him a glass of water, Chad, please. Maybe he can take aspirin.”

He heard a low murmur of response but still kept his eyes on her. “Who are you?”