Carole Mortimer - Prince's Passion

‘You want to make a film of No Ordinary Boy. In the hopes, no doubt, of adding yet another Oscar to the five you already have in your trophy cabinet!’

God, this woman was beautiful when roused, whether to anger or passion. And at this moment Nik knew exactly which one he wanted it to be!

‘Perhaps I should feel flattered that you know I have five Oscars—’

‘And perhaps you shouldn’t!’

‘Another Oscar would be nice,’ he conceded huskily. ‘But at this moment I’m damned if I wouldn’t settle for a night in bed with you!’

Enter the glamorous world of these gorgeous men…

Enter the glamorous world of the movies when you read about the love lives of the celebrity Prince brothers, owners of the prestigious company PrinceMovies.

Each brother is super-successful in his field:

Arrogant, forceful and determined, the oldest, Nik, is a movie director.

Enjoy his story in

PRINCE’S PASSION

October 2005

A former bad boy, Zak is now a world-famous actor, known for being a charming rogue.

Meet him in

PRINCE’S PLEASURE

November 2005

And the youngest, Rik, is a screenwriter who’s more reserved than his brothers, but very charming.

You can read about his life in

PRINCE’S LOVE-CHILD

January 2006

Prince’s Passion

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Peter, as always.

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

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

‘SO WHAT did your elusive author have to say to my offer this time?’ Nik prompted the publisher as the two men faced each other across the other man’s desk, his American accent muted with deceptive boredom.

Deceptive, because Nik was anything but bored when it came to acquiring the movie rights to J. I. Watson’s emotive book…

James Stephens looked uncomfortable. A man in his mid-fifties, head of Stephens Publishing since his father had retired over twenty years ago, James had obviously seen it all when it came to the often unpredictable temperaments of the authors who wrote for him.

But Nik’s assessing gaze beneath lowered lids could see that the other man was as baffled by the attitude of the author J. I. Watson as Nik was himself.

What was so difficult about him wanting to acquire the movie rights to the book that had taken the publishing world by storm six months ago? Surely it was every author’s dream to have their book turned into a movie? A movie—and even if Nik did say this himself!—to be produced and directed by none other than the Oscar-winning Nikolas Prince?

But no, of the four letters sent to the author in the last two months, the first two had gone unanswered, the third one had resulted in a polite but terse refusal of the proposal, and Nik had yet to hear a response after the fourth. But from the resigned look on James Stephens’s face, it was yet another refusal.

To be truthful, Nik had found the last two months of waiting to meet J. I. Watson increasingly frustrating. A month ago he had even wined and dined the female senior editor here who dealt with the author in the hopes that he could bypass James Stephens altogether and get straight to the author himself. After several dinners Jane Morrow had become relaxed enough in his company to confide in him, after making him promise not to reveal his source, that the author’s real name was Nixon. But she had gone on to admit that this little nugget of information wouldn’t be too much of a help to him, because the publishers always corresponded with the author through a PO box.

‘He turned my offer down again,’ Nik guessed grimly now.

‘Yes,’ James confirmed, obviously relieved not to have to say the words himself.

‘What’s wrong with the man?’ Nik stood up forcefully, a big man, well over six feet tall, his dark hair overlong and slightly unkempt, glittering grey eyes dominating his hard-hewn features. ‘Does he want more money? Is that it?’ he speculated. ‘I’ll give him whatever he wants. Within reason.’

James sighed, a slightly built man with receding brown hair, only the shrewd light in his blue eyes to belie his otherwise amiable appearance. ‘Perhaps if I show you the latest letter we’ve received…?’ He opened a file on his desk, picking up the top sheet of paper to hand it to Nik.

There was only a single line printed on the paper: ‘Not even if Nik Prince were to ask me himself!’

Succinct. To the point. An unmistakable refusal.

And yet, irritating as it certainly was, it wasn’t that one-line refusal that caught and held Nik’s attention as he continued to look at the letter. For printed at the top of the letter was the PO box number Jane had mentioned, and it was right here in London, of all places. A fact that James Stephens had probably forgotten when he’d offered to let Nik look at the letter…

Nik looked up at the publisher, silver gaze narrowed as he handed back the letter without comment; he had no doubts that James Stephens was an honourable man, that if he realized he had breached his author’s anonymity by letting Nik see the place of the PO box, he would most likely contact the man immediately and get him to change their point of contact.

‘Have you tried talking to the man face to face—no?’ He frowned as James shook his head.

James sighed heavily. ‘I’ve never met him—’

‘Never?’ Nik echoed incredulously; this was turning into something of a farce. James had stonewalled him from the beginning concerning meeting J. I. Watson, but Nik couldn’t have guessed that that was because the other man had never met the author, either!

The publisher grimaced. ‘Never met him. Never seen him. Never spoken to him,’ he rasped. ‘No telephone number ever supplied, you see. In fact, our contact has only ever been through the mail.’

‘I don’t believe this!’ Nik dropped back down into the chair facing the desk, totally bemused by what he had just learnt. Thanks to Jane Morrow he knew about the PO box, but he had thought that point of contact had been set up after meetings between the author and publisher. ‘All this time I’ve assumed this reclusive thing was just a publishers’ publicity stunt!’

‘I wish!’ James muttered frustratedly. ‘But the truth is we received the unsolicited manuscript almost eighteen months ago. A junior editor eventually read it, quickly passing it on to a more senior colleague once she realized the quality of writing and storyline. The manuscript finally arrived on the senior editor’s desk after being in-house for almost three months—that’s actually not bad!’ he defended as Nik gave him a scathing glance.