GINA WILKINS - The Park's Empire - Handsome Strangers... - The Prince's Bride

“This is where I came in. Back to work for me.” Jane waggled her fingers at Emily and disappeared down the hall. A moment later, Emily heard the murmur of her voice as she spoke on the phone.

“The prince of Daniz.” Emily said softly, staring blankly at the blinking cursor on her computer screen. The news of the king of Daniz’s declining health and his wish to see his son wed had been well chronicled in the press. What reason other than business could possibly have sparked his request for an appointment? Was it possible that the prince might actually be considering hiring her to plan his wedding? The prospect of the assignment and what it would do for the future of Creative Weddings was tantalizing.

She shook her head and yanked her thoughts back to the file open on her desk. She had far too much work to do today. Daydreaming about planning a royal wedding would have to wait.

Fortunately for Emily, the Atlanta socialite had booked a late luncheon and needed to cut her appointment with Emily short. Emily ushered the young bride-to-be and her mother out the door, walked to the ladies’ room to freshen her makeup, and was just slicking color onto her lips when Natalie burst into the room.

“He’s here!” Natalie’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “And he’s just as gorgeous in person as he is in print!”

“Is that possible?” Emily teased.

“Trust me.” Natalie fanned her face with her fingers. “In his case, it’s more than possible. It’s a fact.”

“Now I’m even more curious about the mysterious prince,” Emily commented. She gave her reflection in the mirror one last inspecting glance, smoothed her palm over the scarlet suit jacket and across the hip of her pencil-slim skirt, and satisfied that she was tidy, followed Natalie into the hallway. They reached the reception area and Natalie veered off to her desk near the entry, gesturing significantly across the room. A tall, dark-haired man stood with his back to them, looking at a collection of French Impressionist prints on the wall.

“Your Highness?”

He glanced over his shoulder as Emily approached, then turned to face her.

Oh my goodness, she thought as she met the impact of eyes so dark a brown that they appeared black. Natalie was right, he’s drop-dead gorgeous.

His lashes narrowed, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe and leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

“Miss Parks?”

“Yes, I’m Emily Parks. And you must be Prince Lazhar.” And you, she thought, are a dangerous man. Not only was he handsome, with hair as black and glossy as a crow’s wing, olive skin stretched taut over the planes of high cheekbones, black lashes so long and thick that it seemed a crime to waste them on a man, and a powerful body that was six feet four inches of toned muscle and hard angles, but he fairly oozed testosterone and radiated sex appeal. She wasn’t sure what protocol required when greeting a royal prince, but held out her hand and managed a polite smile.

“Please, call me Lazhar.” He smiled and took her hand in his. His fingers and palm were slightly rough against her own smooth skin.

“Very well…Lazhar.” Realizing that her hand was still enclosed in his warm, much larger one, she took a step back, the small, evasive movement slipping her hand from his. She gestured to the archway leading to the hall and the offices that opened off it. “Won’t you come into my office?” She glanced at Natalie and found her pretending to read a file while slanting sideways, fascinated looks at the prince. “Natalie, will you bring us coffee, please.”

“Right away.”

Emily’s skin prickled with awareness as Lazhar walking behind her out of the reception area and down the short hallway to her office. Something about him had set all of Emily’s female instincts shrieking a warning. This was no tame, civilized male. Lazhar Eban threatened her feminine independence on a very basic level. It took all her composure to keep from canceling their appointment and finding an excuse to ask him to leave. Relieved that she could put some distance between them, she gestured to the two damask-covered armchairs arranged before her desk.

“Won’t you have a seat.” She rounded her desk and dropped into her chair, upholstered in a soft blue that echoed the damask of the armchairs, and folded her hands together atop the desk. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”

Emily had handpicked the chairs facing her desk specifically because they were large enough to accommodate husbands-to-be and small enough not to overwhelm the more slender forms of their brides. But Lazhar made the chair he sat in seem small and his muscled, broad-shouldered body, combined with the sheer force of his presence, seemed to dominate the room.

“I’m getting married,” he said, his gaze fastened on hers. “And I want you to organize the wedding.”

Emily was speechless. She’d wondered whether this might be the reason for his appointment, but his statement still staggered her. She gathered her composure and nodded. “Very well.” She flipped open her notebook and picked up her gold pen. “I’ll need some parameters. What date have you scheduled for the wedding?” Pen poised, she looked at him, waiting.

“As soon as possible.”

“You and your fiancée haven’t picked a date?”

“No. Is that a problem?”

Carefully Emily placed her pen on the gleaming cherrywood desktop. “Perhaps not a ‘problem,’ exactly, but certainly a concern since it’s impossible to begin planning without a time frame in mind. And I’m afraid our calendar is booked several months, sometimes more than a year, in advance.”

“What’s the earliest date that you’re available?”

Emily wondered briefly if he was thinking of a small, private wedding. Surely a royal affair would be scheduled by the palace and the date set in stone? “Before I look at dates, perhaps we should discuss what sort of a wedding you wish to have. Depending on the preparations needed, we may be able to schedule your event sooner, rather than later.”

Lazhar shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of latitude in the wedding ceremony. Royal weddings in Daniz are ruled by tradition and our customs require that the celebration is a week-long affair.”

Emily blinked, startled. “So,” she said slowly, “you’re asking me to plan a week-long celebration, including a royal ceremony, within as little time as possible?”

“The palace has event coordinators that will assist you. What I need is someone to plan, organize and delegate. And I’m willing to pay whatever is necessary to have you devote your time exclusively to the event in order to speed the process.”

Emily was stunned. A royal wedding on her resume would open doors in Europe and the Middle East and had the potential to gain worldwide recognition for Creative Weddings. But it would mean working with the prince, and she wasn’t sure that was wise. On the other hand, in her experience the groom rarely spent a great deal of time with the wedding consultant. The husbands-to-be were always more than happy to leave the details to their prospective brides. “I assume that the wedding will be held in Daniz?”

“Yes.”

She toyed with her pen, stalling for time while she tried to absorb what he was saying. She glanced up at him through her lashes and found his dark gaze fastened on her, a slight air of tension surrounding him. “May I ask why you chose my firm?”

“You were highly recommended by the Radissons,” he said smoothly. “Their daughter Angela is a good friend of my sister, who was a member of the wedding party.”

“Ah, of course.” Emily instantly made the connection. Angela Radisson was a San Francisco society deb, several years younger than Emily, and wonderfully unspoiled. The wedding party had included several of Angela’s college friends, one of whom had been a beautiful dark-haired young woman named Jenna. Gazing at Lazhar, sprawled casually across from her, she immediately saw the family resemblance. “I wasn’t aware that Jenna Eban was a princess.”