Kim Lawrence: The Heartbreaker Prince

Kamel was lusting after his bride. Well, life was full of surprises—and not all of them were bad.

‘Has it occurred to you that this marriage might not be something to be endured … but enjoyed?’

Hannah’s fingers slipped from the door handle. She turned around, her back against the wooden panels. He was standing too close … much too close. She struggled to draw in air as her body stirred, responding to the slumberous, sensual provocation shining in his dark eyes.

‘The only thing I want to enjoy tonight is some privacy.’

‘That is not what you would enjoy.’

She threw up her hands in a gesture of exasperated defeat.

‘You may be good to look at, but your ego is a massive turn-off.’

‘I could work on it. You would teach me.’

Big, predatory and sinfully sexy—she was willing to bet that that were quite a few things he could teach her ! She tilted her chin, channeling all the coolness she could muster, and retorted haughtily, ‘I’m not into casual sex or tutoring.’

‘We’re married, ma belle. That is not casual … and I do not need instruction.’

The power of the throne, the passion of a king!

Whether he is a playboy prince or a masterful king he has always known his destiny: Duty—first, last and always.

With millions at his fingertips and the world at his command, no one has dared to challenge this ruthless royal’s desire … Until now.

More Royal and Ruthlesstitles:

Kate Walker

A THRONE FOR THE TAKING

Caitlin Crews

A ROYAL WITHOUT RULES

The

Heartbreaker

Prince

Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Though lacking much authentic Welsh blood—she comes from English/Irish stock— KIM LAWRENCEwas born and brought up in North Wales. She returned there when she married, and her sons were both born on Anglesey, an island off the coast. Though not isolated, Anglesey is a little off the beaten track, but lively Dublin, which Kim loves, is only a short ferry ride away.

Today they live on the farm her husband was brought up on. Welsh is the first language of many people in this area and Kim’s husband and sons are all bilingual—she is having a lot of fun, not to mention a few headaches, trying to learn the language!

With small children, the unsocial hours of nursing didn’t look attractive so, encouraged by a husband who thinks she can do anything she sets her mind to, Kim tried her hand at writing. Always a keen Mills & Boon ®reader, it seemed natural for her to write a romance novel—now she can’t imagine doing anything else.

She is a keen gardener and cook and enjoys running—often on the beach as, living on an island, the sea is never very far away. She is usually accompanied by her Jack Russell, Sprout—don’t ask … it’s long story!

Recent titles by the same author:

A SECRET UNTIL NOW

CAPTIVATED BY HER INNOCENCE

MAID FOR MONTERO (At His Service) THE PETRELLI HEIR

Did you know these are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EXTRACT

CHAPTER ONE

HANNAH WAS NOT sleeping when the key turned in the lock. Apart from a few snatched moments she had not slept for forty-eight hours straight but she was lying down, her eyes closed against the fluorescent light above her head, when the sound made her sit bolt upright and swing her legs over the side of the narrow metal bed.

She made a few frantic attempts to smooth her tousled hair back from her face and clasped her shaking hands on her lap. She was able to mould her expression into a mask of composure, but recognised that it was no longer a matter of whether she lost it and cracked wide open, but when. For now at least she cared about maintaining an illusion of dignity.

She blinked against the threat of tears that stung like hot gravel pricking the backs of her eyes. Gouging her teeth into her plump lower lip, she found the pain helped her focus as she lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back, drawing her narrow back ramrod straight. For the moment at least she was determined she wouldn’t give the bastards the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

This was what happened when you tried to prove...prove...what? And to whom? The tabloids? Your father? Yourself...?

She took a deep breath. Focus on the facts, Hannah. The fact is you messed up big time! You should have accepted what everyone else thinks: you are not meant for serious thoughts or fieldwork. Stick to your safe desk job, and your perfect nails... She curled her fingers to reveal a row of nails bitten below the quick and swallowed a bubble of hysteria.

‘Stiff upper lip, Hannah.’

She had always thought that was an absurd phrase.

About as absurd as thinking working a desk job for a charity qualified you for working in the field in any capacity!

‘I won’t let you down.’

Only she had.

She lowered her eyelids like a shield and tensed in every nerve fibre of her body just before the door swung in. Focusing on the wall, she uttered the words that had become almost a mantra.

‘I’m not hungry, but I require a toothbrush and toothpaste. When can I see the British consul?’

She wasn’t expecting a straight answer. She hadn’t had one to this, or any of the other questions she had asked, since she had been arrested on the wrong side of the border. Geography never had been her strong point. No answers, but there had been questions, many questions, the same questions over and over again. Questions and unbelieving silences.

Humanitarian aid did not translate into Quagani military speak. She told them she was not a spy and she had never belonged to a political party, and when they tried to refute her claim with a picture of her waving a banner at a protest to stop the closure of a local village infant school, she laughed—perhaps ill-advisedly.

When they weren’t calling her a spy they were accusing her of being a drug runner. The evidence they used to illustrate this was boxes of precious vaccines that were now useless because they had clearly not been kept refrigerated.

For the first day she had clung to her belief that she had nothing to worry about if she told the truth. But now she couldn’t believe she had ever been so naïve.

* * *

Thirty-six hours had passed, the news hadn’t even made the headlines, and the diplomatic cogs had not even thought about turning when the King of Surana picked up his phone and dialled his counterpart in a neighbouring country, Sheikh Malek Sa’idi.