The Billionaire Prince’s Daughter (European Billionaire Beaus Book 2) Read online

  European Billionaire Beaus

  The Billionaire Prince’s Nanny

  The Billionaire Prince’s Daughter

  The Billionaire King’s Heir

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

  RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, JUNE 2019

  Copyright © 2019 Relay Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Leslie North is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Romance projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.

  Cover design by LJ Mayhem Covers

  www.relaypub.com

  Blurb

  It was only supposed to be a one-night stand. A bit of glitz, glamour, and champagne with one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. What single woman—and Amy Branch was certainly single—could possibly resist Artur, Prince of Stolvenia, who made a living out of being charming? He sure charmed her, all right. Charmed her right into a night of passion that resulted in a little present neither of them were expecting.

  Now, all Amy has to do is find a way to tell Artur that he’s about to become a daddy. Easier said than done, but after months of trying to get word to him, she finally gets her chance. The playboy needs to be reformed to make the royal family more palatable to a country on the verge of voting to abolish the monarchy. That means Artur’s wild ways will have to end—with the help of a PR expert. A PR expert who just happens to be carrying the prince’s baby. What could possibly go wrong?

  Artur has begrudgingly agreed to have his image molded, but to his happy surprise the PR wrangler is the same sizzling hot woman he’d shared an intense night of passion with a few months back. He’s happy to pick up where they left off—until she turns to the side, exposing a noticeable baby bump. But Amy has no intention of using the baby to net herself a princely groom. Indeed, she seems intent on throwing Artur at every eligible woman in Stolvenia except for herself. Problem is, the only woman Artur realizes he wants to be with is Amy. Even more unfortunate, he has the audacity to fall in love with her.

  Now he somehow needs to convince Amy that being a family, even if it’s royal, is just what she needs.

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  (European Billionaire Beaus Book Two)

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  End of The Billionaire Prince’s Daughter

  Thank you!

  About Leslie

  Sneak Peek: The Billionaire King’s Heir

  Also by Leslie

  1

  There are times in every person’s life—even the most type A, responsible, hands-at-ten-and-two people—when they find themselves wondering how on earth they’d arrived at a particular moment. Amy knew that intellectually, but she’d never thought it would happen to her. And yet it was happening right now.

  She stared out over the New York City skyline with all its glittering canvas of twinkling lights. It was a view she’d seen a million times in pictures, but never quite from this vantage point. This being the Jewel Suite at the Towers at the Lotte Palace.

  Amy had never once in her life hoped to set foot in a hotel room like the Jewel Suite, which was two floors of total luxury. A crystal chandelier dripped elegantly down from the cathedral ceiling to midair on the first floor. She recognized the style as Art Deco and painfully, seriously…rich.

  Which was probably why a prince was staying here.

  She shouldn’t be standing here right now, if she cared at all about her professional reputation and the longevity of her career, which she did. Her mother had made sure, over the course of her childhood, to drill that into her: appearances were everything. But it had been a long night, there had been a lot of champagne, and the way Prince Artur looked at her…

  It had started at the gala earlier that night.

  The PR firm that Amy had worked at for the past three years had been hired at the last minute to make sure everything proceeded according to plan for a particularly high-profile charity event. From what she understood, the plan was to rehabilitate Prince Artur’s image. He wasn’t very well-known in the United States, but in his home country, the news outlets watched him like a hawk—especially now that the country was considering abolishing the monarchy. A referendum was approaching that would decide the matter, and the PR people who worked for the king wanted to ensure his controversial younger brother was an asset rather than a problem. He was charming, and wildly popular with some segments of the population, but he was also a consummate playboy, always getting into trouble.

  The royal family wanted to tamp things down more than a little.

  It was Artur who was spending exorbitant amounts of money on parties and travel and generally…being a prince. This string of arranged appearances at formal, conservative, uncontroversial benefits and galas was meant to show he could and would behave himself with proper royal dignity…at least some of the time.

  Amy had been assigned to a high-pressure position for the night of the gala. Her firm wanted someone on the ground to smooth over the conversation-level bumps in the road between participants, and that person was Amy. It was supposed to be a pretty staid affair, with a black-tie dress code and a big band playing the music, but events of that nature also had something else: an open bar.

  One minute, things were fine—the hum of the conversation underscored nicely with the music from the jazz band. People were dancing. Not many of them, but enough so that the dance floor looked lively. Amy felt good in her black dress, which was a floor-length, one-shoulder creation that neatly straddled the line between professional and sexy. She had just turned away from the bar when the fight broke out behind her.

  It was a single shout that made her turn back. Strangled, angry—not something you wanted to hear at a fancy gala, especially not if you were in charge of making things go off without a hitch. She’d spun around to see one tuxedoed man put another in a headlock.

  “You bastard,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Repeat that garbage about my wife one more time. Do it.”

  The man in the headlock did not appear to be able to answer, and the people near the bar were turning all around her to watch. If she didn’t get things in hand quickly, this would be the only thing people remembered about the event, and any chance of netting positive media attention for the prince would be ruined. It wouldn’t matter that he wa
sn’t involved in the fight—the anti-royalist press in his country would be sure to use it as an example of how he caused chaos wherever he went.

  What was she going to do?

  Both of the men looked strong, and much larger than she was. Still, it was her responsibility to intervene. Should she offer them more drinks? No. Clearly, they didn’t need any more alcohol. She took one decisive step forward. She could figure out what to say when she got closer to them.

  Then another figure in black appeared at her shoulder, rushing in the same direction. She didn’t pay him any attention at first, and then—

  “Gentlemen!” The voice that boomed out beside her turned her head. It was none other than Prince Artur. He was tall, lean, muscled in his tuxedo, with auburn hair and a wide smile that betrayed no anxiety at the scene in front of him. “There’s plenty to drink for everyone.”

  He came up to the two men, clapping the one in the headlock on the back and offering him a hand up as if he’d tripped on the floor. The angrier man, still sputtering, tightened his grip on his enemy.

  Prince Artur leaned in closer. “You’re making a fool of yourself, and there are going to be more cameras here in a minute. Settle the dispute the civilized way, hmm? Place a bet. A round of cards. Something other than what you’re doing.”

  The man hesitated, but after a long moment released his enemy.

  Amy caught sight of a uniformed waiter holding a silver tray high above the fray. Thank god—he was carrying a full tray of cream puffs. She grabbed two of them, and just as the media photographers caught up to the incident, stepped over to where the three men stood and offered up cream puffs to the man who was still red-faced and furious, eyes narrowed at his counterpart, who was rubbing at his throat and clearly looking for a way to escape.

  “They’re delicious,” she said with a big, encouraging smile. “Come on. Have a bite.” She handed one to the formerly headlocked man, then turned back to the people surrounding them. “Everyone, cream puffs! Over here. If you haven’t had one already, you’re missing out.” Heads turned, and several ladies stepped up to the waiter as if they had never noticed the cream puffs before. The attacked man took that moment to slip away.

  Prince Artur tried his best to get the angry man’s attention, but he was staring in the direction the other man had gone. Amy could see him trying to decide whether or not to follow. “See? All’s right with the world. Your next round is on me.” Amy grimaced, worried that more alcohol would make things worse, but the prince winked at her. “Some coffee, perhaps? There’s a station set up right over there. Nothing like coffee to clear the head, right?” Then he’d pointed a finger at Amy. “But none for you, you gorgeous creature. You didn’t bring me a cream puff.”

  She knew the prince was, technically, a client, but that hadn’t stopped the heat from rising to her face. He was hot. Okay? She could admit it. The proportions of his body were…perfect.

  What had happened after that? The man’s anger still boiled under the surface, so Amy found him a new venue: the bar. She had turned up the charm to several hundred megawatts, put a drink in his hand, and gently reminded the man that it was a benefit gala, after all, with a prize auction at the end. Soon, she had him convinced that everyone would remember him if he donated more, and a bit more, until by the end of the evening he was the most boisterous participant.

  The press had loved it. Loved. It.

  So when the prince offered her a celebratory round of champagne at the end of the night, she said yes. It had been such a success, right?

  But it didn’t end with one glass of champagne. There was another, and some laughing, and he teased her again about that cream puff in a voice that was somehow sultry and smooth even when it was talking about cream puffs…

  There had been a car, a driver, a trip through the New York City streets. A grand staircase leading to a bank of private elevators. And—

  “I’ve decided the celebration can’t be over.”

  Amy turned away from the window to find Artur coming back into the living room, skirting the overstuffed sofa with a silver tray in his hands. Balanced on the tray was another bottle of champagne and an arrangement of little chocolates and delicate strawberry slices.

  He put the tray down on a side table and Amy opened her mouth to make her excuses. It had gotten this far—to his private room—but she should congratulate him on a night well managed and get out of here.

  Oh, but the moment he popped the champagne his eyes were on her again, a hazel that caught the light from the fire crackling in the grate and reflected it back to her a thousandfold.

  “It’s not a party if it’s just me, Amy darling.”

  Amy darling. He’d called her that the first time when he’d brought the first round of champagne, but it didn’t sound so much like a joke anymore. It sounded like what it was—a proposition.

  And she had to admit that it felt good to have those eyes on her. Good to have the invitation to party. Something about him made her feel like the only woman on earth.

  He poured a single glass of champagne and offered it to her.

  “It’s not a party if it’s just me,” she repeated, keeping her voice low and teasing.

  “It’s rude not to offer a lady a drink.” Artur’s voice was haughty, and it made her laugh. “But I want my full faculties about me for the rest of the evening. The chocolate and the fruit, however…” He lifted the glass from the tray in one hand and one of the chocolates in the other and came toward her. “Those should serve as a delicious appetizer.”

  He was so close that Amy found herself tilting her head back to look up at him.

  “Open those pretty lips, Amy darling.”

  It felt absolutely naughty to be doing this kind of thing with a client, and the warning bells rang in her head. But they were silenced by the sheer physicality of him. He made her mouth water. She wanted him, but she’d settle for a bite of the chocolate. She opened her mouth.

  Artur stepped forward, narrowing the gap even further, and placed the chocolate in her mouth.

  It was smooth, sweet, rich, melting on her tongue, and she closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “Mmmm. That’s…that’s so good.”

  She was deliberately baiting him with her throat exposed like that, and the next thing she knew, Artur was saying “How about this?” and she felt his lips pressed to the side of her neck, a brushing kiss that set her skin on fire and left her aching for more. “Or this?” he breathed out against the delicate skin covering her pulse and she heard the glass connect with the surface of a table. “Or this?” Then his mouth closed over hers, and Amy was lost.

  He was a tease, tempting her, licking at her bottom lip and then drawing back so she was the one who lunged forward, kissing him so fiercely it was almost a bite.

  “Yes,” she said on the next breath. “Yes, I like that…I like…” The last word turned into a moan as he ran his hands over the neckline of her dress, dipping below for a torturous moment before she was swept up in his arms.

  Artur stretched her out on the sofa and Amy had never felt more like royalty in her life. Filthy, reckless royalty. She lay there like a queen, helping only a little as he peeled off her dress, then her bra, leaving her in panties and stockings.

  “I think you’ll need to take those off, too.”

  He gave her a wicked grin. “Not quite yet. I want dessert first.”

  “Dessert?”

  Artur stepped away, retrieving the plate of chocolates and strawberries and putting it precariously on the arm of the sofa. She didn’t care, because the next thing he did was take one of those little chocolates and place it between the hollow of her breasts.

  “Now keep still,” he said seriously, then bent his head over her and licked it off her skin. He closed his eyes, swallowing. “That is wonderful chocolate. I wonder what fruit would taste like on your skin?”

  The strawberry he ate off of her next was eaten from just above her belly button.

  The next chocolate
was even lower…right on her panties.

  She squirmed underneath Artur as he lingered over the chocolate, letting his breath melt the surface.

  When he took it between his teeth, Amy couldn’t take it anymore. “I hope you’re done with dessert.”

  “Not quite yet.”

  Her groan was cut off in a gasp of surprise as he pulled off her panties and stockings in one smooth movement and spread her legs. Then he was devouring her, tasting her, taking his sweet time. The pleasure built between her legs until he put his lips over her clit like it was a fine piece of chocolate and sucked her to a climax that left Amy shuddering and slightly worried that they’d done irreparable damage to the sofa.

  But Prince Artur didn’t seem to notice. He stood up and stripped, displaying a body that took Amy’s breath away. He’d looked unbelievable in a tuxedo. Now? There weren’t words.

  From one of his pockets he produced the silver foil packet of a condom, and she could hardly inhale for the anticipation.

  “Put your hands on the back of the sofa.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me.”

  His big hands on her waist guided her into the position he wanted, bent over the sofa, and Amy pushed back toward him, wanting, needing—

  He thrust into her from behind, his hand playing at her shoulder, at her throat. “I saw you looking at the skyline.” His voice was heavy, and she heard each thrust mirrored in his words. “The view’s better this way. Don’t you think?”