Scarlet Wilson - The Prince She Never Forgot

“Are you okay?”

She steadied herself on the wall, taking a deep breath of relief before turning to speak to her rescuer. But the words died in her throat.

Bright blue eyes and a broad chest obstructed her view. Even on a dark Paris night those blue eyes would have attracted her attention. He was tall, dark-haired, with a broad chest, wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans with a dark wool coat on top.

He smiled as he looked down at all the people below. “I'm sorry if I startled you. But you looked frightened.”

“I was. Thank you.” She shook her coat free, letting some air circulate around her, and pulled her red hat from her hair. “There—that's much better.”

“It certainly is.”

He was smiling appreciatively at her and for a second she was unnerved. But, no. There was nothing predatory about her rescuer. He had kind eyes. And the man exuded sex appeal from twenty paces. If her up-close-and-personal alarm was going off it wasn't because she was scared—it was because it had been jolted back into life. About time too.

She held out her hand towards him. “Ruby. Ruby Wetherspoon from England.”

His warm hand closed around hers. “Alex,” he said simply.

Her eyes glanced up and down his body. The dark wool coat seemed a little strange for a young guy—a little formal.

“Are you from here?”

The corners of his lips turned upwards. “Close enough.”

Mystery. She liked it. Perfect for New Year's Eve.

The Prince She Never Forgot

Scarlet Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SCARLET WILSONwrote her first story aged eight and has never stopped. Her family have fond memories of Shirley and the Magic Purse, with its army of mice, all with names beginning with the letter M. An avid reader, Scarlet started with every Enid Blyton book, moved on to the Chalet School series and many years later found Mills & Boon ®novels.

She trained and worked as a nurse and health visitor, and currently works in public health. For her, finding Mills & Boon was a match made in heaven. She is delighted to find herself among the authors she has read for many years.

Scarlet lives on the West Coast of Scotland with her fiancé and their two sons.

This book is dedicated to our newest family addition, Luca Cole Dickson, already gorgeous, well-behaved and utterly charming.

The ladies in his later life won't stand a chance!

Contents

Cover

Introduction “Are you okay?” She steadied herself on the wall, taking a deep breath of relief before turning to speak to her rescuer. But the words died in her throat. Bright blue eyes and a broad chest obstructed her view. Even on a dark Paris night those blue eyes would have attracted her attention. He was tall, dark-haired, with a broad chest, wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans with a dark wool coat on top. He smiled as he looked down at all the people below. “I'm sorry if I startled you. But you looked frightened.” “I was. Thank you.” She shook her coat free, letting some air circulate around her, and pulled her red hat from her hair. “There—that's much better.” “It certainly is.” He was smiling appreciatively at her and for a second she was unnerved. But, no. There was nothing predatory about her rescuer. He had kind eyes. And the man exuded sex appeal from twenty paces. If her up-close-and-personal alarm was going off it wasn't because she was scared—it was because it had been jolted back into life. About time too. She held out her hand towards him. “Ruby. Ruby Wetherspoon from England.” His warm hand closed around hers. “Alex,” he said simply. Her eyes glanced up and down his body. The dark wool coat seemed a little strange for a young guy—a little formal. “Are you from here?” The corners of his lips turned upwards. “Close enough.” Mystery. She liked it. Perfect for New Year's Eve.

Title Page The Prince She Never Forgot Scarlet Wilson www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author SCARLET WILSON wrote her first story aged eight and has never stopped. Her family have fond memories of Shirley and the Magic Purse, with its army of mice, all with names beginning with the letter M. An avid reader, Scarlet started with every Enid Blyton book, moved on to the Chalet School series and many years later found Mills & Boon ® novels. She trained and worked as a nurse and health visitor, and currently works in public health. For her, finding Mills & Boon was a match made in heaven. She is delighted to find herself among the authors she has read for many years. Scarlet lives on the West Coast of Scotland with her fiancé and their two sons.

Dedication This book is dedicated to our newest family addition, Luca Cole Dickson, already gorgeous, well-behaved and utterly charming. The ladies in his later life won't stand a chance!

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

Copyright

PROLOGUE

Ten years earlier

SHE COULD FEEL the electricity in the air, feel the excitement. It seemed as if everyone in the world had decided to celebrate New Year’s Eve in Paris.

She was jostled along with the crowd, being practically carried off her feet on the route from the Champs-élysées towards the Eiffel Tower.

‘Aren’t you glad you came?’ her friend Polly screamed in her ear, sloshing wine over her sleeve. ‘This is the best place in the world right now.’

‘Yes, it is,’ murmured Ruby.

It certainly beat sitting at home in her flat, brooding over the job that wasn’t to be or the boyfriend who never should have been.

Polly gave a squeal. ‘The fireworks will be starting in an hour. Let’s try and get near the front!’

Ruby nodded as she was shouldered from behind. There were ten in their group but it was getting harder and harder to stick together. ‘I need to find a bathroom before we head to the fireworks,’ she whispered to Polly. ‘Give me five minutes.’

There were cafés and bars open all the way along the Champs-élysées, but unfortunately for her just about every female in the city seemed to have the same idea that she had.

She waved to Polly, ‘Go on without me. I’ll meet you at the sign we saw earlier.’

The group had already planned their night with precision. Dinner on a riverboat. Drinks in the hotel. A walk along the Champs-élysées and rendezvous at the Eiffel Tower for the fireworks. They’d already picked the spot they planned to stand at in case anyone got lost—which on a night like tonight was a certainty.

She stood in a queue for an eternity before finally heading back out to the thronging crowds. In the thirty minutes it had taken to get access to a bathroom it seemed the whole of Paris had started to congregate in the streets.

The crowds were sweeping along the Avenue George V, carrying along anyone who happened to be standing close enough. It was one part terrifying, one part exhilarating.

The crowd was even thicker at the Rue de l’Université. The street was packed, with everyone heading directly to the base of the Eiffel Tower. Ruby glanced at her watch. Visiting the bathroom hadn’t been such a good idea. There was no way she was going to be able to find her friends in this crowd.

But she wasn’t too worried. The mood of the crowd was jubilant. People were drinking wine and singing. The atmosphere and heavy police presence made her feel safe—even if she was alone.

Around her she heard dozens of different accents: snatches of English, Italian and Japanese all mixed in with French. The streets were lit with multi-coloured lights and a variety of decorations and garlands left over from Christmas. She unfastened the buttons on her red wool coat. She’d expected Paris to be cold in December, but the heat from the people around her meant the temperature was rising.

She clutched tightly onto the bag strung diagonally in front of her, keeping her hand clasped over the zipper. Pickpockets were rife in Paris at New Year’s. They’d all been warned to keep a close hold of their belongings.

Her phone beeped just as she was in sight of the Eiffel Tower and she struggled to move out of the thronging crowd. It had practically ground to a halt, with people from behind still pressing ahead. The streets were packed. There was no way forward.

She moved sideways, unzipping her bag and pulling out her phone.

Where are you?

It was from Polly. Her friends were obviously waiting at their designated meeting point.

She typed quickly. Not sure if I can get to you, but I’ll try. She pressed Send just as someone bumped her from behind and the phone skittered from her hand.

‘Oh, no!’

It was kicked one way, then another, quickly going out of sight. She tried to push her way through the crowd sideways, but that proved impossible. It was a sea of people. And she was heading in the wrong direction.

‘Hey, watch out. Ouch!’

Her feet were trampled, her ribs elbowed and the wind knocked from her. It was impossible. She looked up for a few seconds, to try and make her way through the crowd, then looked down again amongst the stampeding feet, trying to track down her phone.

A thud to her shoulder sent her flying into a group of rowdy Germans.

‘Sorry...sorry.’

They were laughing and joking and smelling of beer. She tried to find her way through but it was virtually impossible. There seemed to be nowhere to go.

Her chest started to tighten. They weren’t doing or saying anything untoward, but the sheer amount of people meant they’d started to crowd around her, closing in. She tried to take a deep breath and lifted her elbows up, edging her way to the side. But the only place she seemed to be moving was closer and closer.

There was a waft of beer-soaked breath on her cheek. Too close. Too invasive. A hand at her back, someone pressing against her hip.

‘Let me out. Let me through. Move, please!’

A hand reached down between her shoulders, grabbing her coat and pulling her upwards. The air left her lungs momentarily and her feet were still stuck amongst the crowd. A strong arm wound around her waist and pulled her clear. Her feet stopped unsteadily on a wall at shoulder height to the throng.

‘Are you okay?’

She was teetering on the wall. The hand and arm that had steadied her had pulled away the instant she was free. She reached and grabbed hold of the dark sleeve in front of her, trying to regain her balance.

The voice sounded again. ‘Are you okay? Are you drunk?’ There was a slight edge of disappointment to the voice.

She steadied herself on the wall, taking a deep breath of relief before turning around to speak to her rescuer. How dared he accuse her of being drunk?

But the words died in her throat. Bright blue eyes and a broad chest obstructed her view.

Even on a dark Paris night those blue eyes would have attracted her attention. He was tall, dark-haired, with a broad chest, wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans with a dark wool coat on top. Trust her to find the best-looking guy in Paris and have no reliable witnesses. No one would believe her.

She automatically lifted her hands. ‘No. No, I’m not drunk. I just got stuck in a crowd going in the opposite direction from me.’

His demeanour changed. The skin around his eyes creased as he smiled. ‘What? You’re going home already? You don’t want to see the fireworks?’

His accent sent tingles across her skin. He sounded French, with a little something else.