Persuading The Playboy King Read online

  KRISTI GOLD

  has always believed that love has remarkable healing powers and feels very fortunate to be able to weave stories of romance and commitment. As a bestselling author and a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist, she’s learned that although accolades are wonderful, the most cherished rewards come from personal stories shared by readers.

  You can reach Kristi at [email protected], through her website at www.kristigold.com or snail-mail at PO Box 9070, Waco, Texas, 76714, USA. (Please include an SAE with return postage for a response.)

  Persuading the Playboy King

  KRISTI GOLD

  WWW.MILLSANDBOON.CO.UK

  To my incredible editor, Patience Smith,

  for believing in this series.

  Special acknowledgement goes to

  Geoffrey and Lisa Buie-Collard for pushing me

  beyond high school French. And to their niece,

  Dorian, for inspiring a fantastical country.

  Prologue

  Prince Marcel Frederic DeLoria had a fondness for fast cars and the freedom he enjoyed while executing hairpin turns on winding roads. Yet his greatest pleasure came in the form of more dangerous curves, those that could be found on a woman. He appreciated every nuance of the opposite sex—the way they looked, the way they smelled, their innate intelligence and, admittedly, the challenges they could present when it came to the chase.

  But as much as he loved women, he hated goodbyes and for that reason he’d avoided emotional entanglements. Still, tonight an inevitable parting hung over him like a guillotine, poised to sever ties four years in the making.

  A few hours ago, Marc had taken his Harvard diploma and was now set to embrace his independence. However, he did not particularly look forward to saying goodbye to Sheikh Dharr Halim, in line to rule his country one day, and Mitchell Edward Warner III, the son of a United States senator and American royalty in his own right. Three men bound by status, united by all that their legacies entailed, forever joined by a friendship that had grown and strengthened during their time together.

  Noisy revelry filtered through the closed door from outside, a celebration signaling the end of an era, the end of their youth in a manner of speaking. The trio had opted to forgo the party and instead sequestered themselves in their shared apartment where they had formed their own fraternity of sorts, spending the past four years discussing culture, world events and their latest adventures skirting the ever-present paparazzi. And their favorite subject—women.

  But tonight an uncharacteristic silence prevailed, as if the time-honored topics were inconsequential in light of what now awaited them—a future that no one could predict beyond their families’ expectations.

  Marc reclined on the black overstuffed chair, his heels propped on the table before him. Dharr sat regally in the tan leather lounger across from Marc, the traditional Arabian kaffiyeh no longer covering his head; yet he still gave the appearance of a born leader. Mitch had opted for his customary roost on the floor reclined against the wall, dressed in jeans and scuffed leather cowboy boots, apparel that stood out from the crowd like a crown on a pauper. But although they were all different, Marc acknowledged, they still shared notoriety, the reason behind their frequent gatherings, a means to cope with the pressures of celebrity.

  Mitch tossed aside the magazine he’d been reading since their arrival and picked up the bottle of fine French champagne, compliments of Marc’s brother, the king. “We’ve already toasted our success. Now I suggest we toast a long bachelorhood.” He refilled his glass, then topped off Dharr’s and Marc’s.

  Dharr raised his flute. “I would most definitely toast to that.”

  With champagne in hand, Marc paused to consider an idea—an appropriate send-off. One that would pique his friend’s interests. “I prefer to propose a wager.”

  Dharr and Mitch glanced at one another then leveled their gazes on Marc. “What kind of wager, DeLoria?” Mitch asked.

  “Well, since we’ve all agreed that we’re not suited for marriage in the immediate future, if ever, I suggest we hold ourselves to those terms by wagering we’ll all be unmarried on our tenth reunion.”

  “And if we are not?” Dharr asked.

  Marc saw only one way to ensure the wager’s success. “We’ll be forced to give away our most prized possession.”

  “Give away my gelding?” Mitch grimaced as if he’d swallowed something foul. “That would be tough.”

  Dharr looked even less enthusiastic as his gaze fell on the abstract painting of a woman hanging above Mitch’s head. “I suppose that would be my Modigliani original, and I must admit that giving away the nude would cause me great suffering.”

  “That’s the point, gentlemen,” Marc said. “The wager would mean nothing if the possessions were meaningless.”

  Mitch eyed him with suspicion. “Okay, DeLoria. What’s it going to be for you?”

  Marc thought only a moment before adding, “The Corvette.”

  “You’d give up the love mobile?” Mitch sounded incredulous.

  “Of course not. I won’t lose.” And he wouldn’t, because Marc DeLoria hated losing anything of worth.

  “Nor will I,” Dharr stated. “Ten years will be adequate before I am forced to adhere to an arranged marriage in order to produce an heir.”

  “No problem for me,” Mitch said. “I’m going to avoid marriage at all costs.”

  Again Dharr held up his glass. “Then we are all agreed?”

  Mitch touched his flute to Dharr’s and Marc’s. “Agreed.”

  Modern-day musketeers entering into an all-for-one pact.

  Marc raised his glass. “Let the wager begin.”

  Marc had no qualms about the ante. He could most definitely resist the temptation of a woman bent on tying him to an uneventful existence. He had no reason to marry, nor was he bound by duty to do so. Only one thing would be as unappealing to Marc as marriage—leading his country. But thanks to his birth order, Prince Marcel Frederic DeLoria would never have to suffer the fate of becoming king.

  One

  Nine years later

  Marcel Frederic DeLoria had become a king.

  Kate Milner had known him only as Marc, a seriously charming young man. A seriously inept biology student by his own admission, the reason why Kate had tutored him their freshman year at Harvard. And now he was the ruler of Doriana, a small European country.

  Incredible.

  Of course, the fact that she was standing in a storybook castle thousands of miles from home, preparing to see him again almost a decade later, seemed highly improbable, too. That made Kate smile.

  But her smile immediately dissolved when he appeared at the end of the ornate palace foyer, a starched and polished middle-aged gentleman at his side. The mirrored walls, reflecting bursts of light from the crystal chandeliers, seemed to shrink as he drew closer, his confidence and calculated control almost palpable, even at a distance. His hair was still the same golden brown, somewhat longer than before, Kate realized, the fine layers windswept away from his face. Although he stood only slightly over six feet tall, he seemed more imposing now than when she’d known him before, with a broader chest and equally broad shoulders encased in a short-sleeved, form-fitting navy knit shirt that enhanced the considerable bulk of his biceps. He also wore a pair of faded jeans that outlined his narrow hips and solid thighs—the kind of clothes he’d worn in college, much to Kate’s surprise. He was, after all, nobility.

  Good grief. Had she really expected him to be decked out in a jewel-encrusted crown and red velvet robe? That he would be clutching a scepter instead of a pair of sunglasses? Silly that she would even consider such a thing. But she’d expected he at least would be w
earing an expensive suit, not attire that could be found in a chic women’s magazine ad extolling the virtues of cosmopolitan casual on hard-body hunks. Not that she was complaining.

  When he came to a stop a few feet away, Kate was suddenly gripped by the sheer power of his presence, her pulse accelerating in response. She clung tightly to her composure when she contacted his piercing cobalt blue eyes—eyes that no longer held the mirth she had often witnessed during their previous time together. She saw something there that she couldn’t quite peg. She also sensed an edge about him, a definite change that went far beyond the physical aspects.

  One thing Kate did know, he gave no indication whatsoever that he recognized her. But why should he? Kate had changed, too, hopefully for the better.

  The attendant took a brusque step forward and executed a slight bow. “Dr. Milner, I am Bernard Nicholas, His Majesty’s primary aide.”

  Kate had the illogical urge to salute—or curtsy. She opted for a smile. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  Mr. Nicholas turned his attention to the silent, stoic king. “Your Majesty, may I present Dr. Katherine Milner, our latest candidate for the hospital position.”

  Marc moved forward and extended his hand, which Kate took after a slight hesitation. “Welcome to Doriana, Dr. Milner, and please forgive my appearance. I wasn’t given much notice in regard to your arrival.”

  His voice sounded much the way Kate remembered, European sophisticated and distinctly seductive, only deeper. Yet he didn’t look at all pleased, didn’t even hint at a smile. In fact, his courtesy seemed almost forced. Considering the early hour, and his unshaven face, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d just left the company of a woman, quite possibly a woman’s bed.

  His extracurricular activities shouldn’t concern her. Yet the feel of his large masculine fingers wrapped around hers brought about a keen sense of awareness, the kind of awareness that came when confronted with a man she had been far too fond of. But Marc DeLoria was no ordinary man; he never had been. And obviously he had no recollection of their time together.

  Kate decided he simply needed a reminder. “It’s very nice to see you again, Your Majesty.”

  He released her hand and frowned, fine lines deepening at the corners of his eyes, but they didn’t detract from his magnificent face. “Have we met before?”

  “Actually, the last time we were together, we were dissecting a deceased frog.”

  Confusion worked its way into his sedate expression followed by a fleeting glimpse of the carefree charmer she had once known. “Katie? The tutor?”

  Kate’s gaze faltered for a brief moment as she became the circumspect girl again. She forced away that notion, forced herself to look at him straight on. “Yes, that’s me. Katie, the tutor. But I prefer Kate now. Or Dr. Milner, if that’s more acceptable considering your current circumstance.”

  “My current circumstance?”

  He actually had to be reminded of that, too? “You’re a king.”

  “Ah, yes. That circumstance.” He stared at her for a long moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there. Kate couldn’t quite believe it, either.

  After a bout of awkward silence, she finally said, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, quite a while.” Although his smile had yet to form, he at least looked a little less perplexed when he gestured to a nearby room. “Shall we conduct the interview in the library, Doctor?”

  Obviously he had no intention of taking a walk down memory lane. “Of course.”

  When Marc stepped to one side of the room’s entry, Kate passed by him and caught a whiff of fresh air and fragrant cologne—clean, expensive, heavenly. Even though she shouldn’t react so strongly, he still made her breathless. She’d always been that way to some degree in his presence.

  Gathering her wits, Kate slowly turned around to survey the mahogany shelves lining the room. “This is quite a collection of books.”

  “My mother’s favorites.” He indicated a small settee near the window. “Please, have a seat.”

  Kate slid onto the green brocade sofa while Marc took the burgundy wingback chair across from her. When Mr. Nicholas positioned himself near the now-closed door, Marc told him, “That will be all.”

  The man stood steadfastly in place like a sentry, shoulders square, feet slightly apart, hands behind his back. “Beg pardon, but I believe it would be best if I remained, considering our guest is a lady.”

  “This is not the eighteenth century, Mr. Nicholas. You are dismissed.”

  “The Queen Mother—”

  “Would understand the need for privacy.”

  “But—”

  “I assure you that Dr. Milner’s virtue is not in peril.” Marc turned his attention to Kate. “Would you prefer not to be alone with me?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t see it as a problem at all. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.” She secretly hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

  Marc sent another warning look at the attendant. “Tell Madame Tourreau to bring Dr. Milner some refreshments.”

  “As you wish, Your Reverence,” Mr. Nicholas said, then took his leave.

  Kate turned her attention to Marc, who looked anything but pleased. “Your Reverence?”

  “Please ignore Mr. Nicholas. He’s been with the family for quite some time and he has a penchant for making up titles. You should be flattered, though. Normally he doesn’t do this around strangers, unless he feels they might appreciate his extremely dry and somewhat annoying British sense of humor.”

  “Oh, I see. It’s sort of a game between you two.”

  “One game I would prefer not to play.”

  Kate could only imagine the games he did like to play—sensual games—and she really wouldn’t mind playing them with him.

  Business, Kate. No games, just business.

  Marc crossed his legs at the ankles, his elbows resting on the chair’s arms, hands clasped across his midsection. “So tell me, Dr. Milner, how did you discover we’re seeking physicians in Doriana?”

  Kate toyed with her hem, surprisingly drawing Marc’s gaze. Considering her disheveled state, he probably wondered if the royal cat had dragged her across the regal doorstep. Her lavender silk suit showed creases resulting from hours of travel. Her hair had lost every bit of its curl and now hung down in board-straight strands to her shoulders. When his gaze came to rest on her mouth, she assumed she had a pink lipstick smear across her teeth.

  Kate resisted the urge to run a finger over her incisors. “I saw the story in the alumni newsletter, right after your coronation,” she said, pulling his attention back to her eyes. “You mentioned that your first order of business involved recruiting doctors, so I contacted the hospital, and now here I am. By the way, I was very sorry to hear about your brother’s car accident.”

  She saw a flash of sadness in his eyes before it vanished as quickly as it had come. “Did you attend medical school at Harvard?”

  Considering his swift change of subject, Kate made a mental note not to bring up his brother’s death again. “Actually, I returned home to Tennessee and went to Vanderbilt. I needed to be close to my family.”

  “Was someone ill?” he asked with concern.

  “Not really.” Only needy, and very overprotective as always, which was one of the reasons why Kate had decided to apply for the position—the other was sitting before her. She’d grown tired of being the perfect, reliable daughter—the person both her parents depended upon for everything. She loved them dearly, but at times she wished she’d had siblings to ease some of her burden.

  Marc crossed his arms over his chest, looking commanding and no less sexy. “You say you needed to be close to your family yet you have traveled thousands of miles away to work in our hospital?”

  “I’ve been looking for a change of pace.” A change of scenery. A change in her life.

  “What is your medical specialty?” he asked in an all-business tone, confirming that he was only intere
sted in the interview.

  “Family practice,” she said. “But I enjoy treating children the most. I’ve always loved children.”

  “They’re our hope for future generations,” he replied. “We’ve made some strides in pediatric health care, but not enough for my satisfaction.”

  “I’d enjoy that challenge, Marc. I mean, Your Highness.” Her first breach of royal protocol, and probably not her last. “I’m sorry.”

  “No apology necessary, Dr. Milner.”

  “I really prefer you call me Kate. I’m just a simple kind of person.”

  “But you’re also a physician,” he said. “Not many can lay claim to that.”

  Kate felt the bloom of a blush on her cheeks. She’d never been well versed in accepting flattery graciously, but then compliments hadn’t been a common occurrence in her life. “Speaking of doctors, how soon do you plan to reach a decision on who you’ll be hiring?”

  “The decision will come when we find the right candidate. And on that thought, could you tell me about your experience?”

  “Exactly what experience are you referring to?” How could she have asked such a stupid question? Easy. The man was sucking her brain dry of lucid thought with his high-powered aura.

  She noted a spark of amusement in his eyes and the first signs of a smile, but not enough to reveal the dimples framing his mouth. “Medical experience, of course. Unless you have other experience that you believe might interest me.”

  If only that were true. “Medically speaking, I’ve only recently completed my residency. I haven’t been in private practice at all.”

  His dark gaze pinned her in place, even though she wanted to fidget. “I assume you’ve been adequately trained.”

  She lifted her chin a notch. “In one of the top programs in the country.”

  “Then I would say you could handle our hospital clinic.”