My jaw had dropped.
He’d just grinned, and before I even knew what was happening, he’d reached down and wrapped his hand around his thick cock.
“You know you’re dying to ride the Magnum.”
And that’s when I’d fled. That’s when I’d turned, somehow managed to grab my purse and a sundress from the closet, and run full-tilt out the door, barefoot, down six flights of stairs to the lobby, out to my driver, and immediately gone to the airport, and back to Avlion.
That was four weeks ago, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about that arrogant man or what I’d seen between his legs ever since. And if life was fair, I’d have somehow pushed that memory out of my head and gone on with my life without ever seeing him again — the man who’d talked to me like no man ever had before, since he clearly didn’t know who I was.
But tonight, Prince Magnus and I were going to be face to face again. Only this time, I wasn’t going to be “Claire,” who hung out by the Ibiza hotel pools in giant sunglasses and beach hats.
This time, I was going to be me — Imogen Morningstar, Crown Princess of Avlion, twenty year old virgin, eligible bachelorette, and absolutely hypnotized by the most arrogant, most crude, most panty-meltingly gorgeous man I’d ever met.
Tonight was going to be awful.
Chapter 2
Magnus
“Let’s head in there and find some soulmates,” I grinned to my friends, pumping my hips lewdly and eliciting a groan from the three of them. Caspian and Cade — the two Charming brothers, punched me in the shoulders as we all turned to head into King Lucian’s “suitor’s ball.”
Cade and Caspian Charming, the twin princes of Marland, and our brooding, dark friend Prince Logan of Torsund, had been friends for pretty much ever. After all, we were young, phenomenally rich, good looking, and royalty — like, literal royalty, with the crowns and the palaces and everything. Technically, I wasn’t even a prince anymore. I, like my friend Logan to his kingdom of Torsund, was Prince Regent of Zale, which meant I was the reigning king, though not in title yet — not until I married.
Hah — right. Except everyone on my council, and hell, probably every citizen of my country knew that’d never happen.
The whole “kingdoms” and crowns and titles thing was dated, but I couldn’t exactly complain. Being born into the life and the blood-line I’d been born into had afforded me a life most could only dream of — lavish parties, luxury travel, and the ability to bed the hottest women on the planet with the crook of a finger.
And I’d taken full advantage of every privilege this life had given me — especially that last one. I had a reputation to uphold, which is why I kept my lewd thrusting and cocky grin going until the other guys had turned to head up the stairs to King Lucian’s palace for the ball. Then, the grin dropped from my face and the dark cloud that’d been there, hidden for weeks, crept back.
Because four weeks ago, I’d lost my mojo.
Four weeks ago, I’d found a woman like none I’d ever met before. Beautiful beyond belief, poised, mysterious, and sexy as fuck. But most importantly?
Immune to me.
Okay, not entirely. I’d seen the way her eyes drank me in. I’d seen the flush in her face, the way her eyes had gone wide. I’d seen the way her nipples had hardened under that bikini top, too.
But that’s where it’d stopped.
Claire D’Claire. I’ll grant, it was a bizarre name, but I couldn’t have given a fuck what her name was after I’d seen her that day. I’d been on the balcony of my penthouse suite, gazing down at the beach and the pool below when I’d spotted her. Ibiza wasn’t really my scene — even for a party-guy like myself. But I’d started to try and take the business holdings I ran a bit more seriously, and since I did own that resort, I’d taken an impromptu trip down to the Spanish Island to take stock of how things were running.
But then I’d seen her, and every bit of me trying to be rational and responsible went dashing away.
Because holy fuck.
The red hair caught my attention first, and the rest had just drawn me in. Gorgeous red locks, tucked up under that big sun-hat she wore. Porcelain skin, and a body that had my cock hard in seconds. Curves in all the right places, freckles, an ass I could sink my teeth into - all wrapped up in a tiny little powder blue bikini.
I’d known right then and there that she’d be mine. After all, most women were, when I wanted them. But I wanted her harder than anything I could even remember. I wanted her so bad I actually felt my head spin and my heart skip a beat. And hell, I couldn’t even see her eyes behind those shades.
This being my hotel, it didn’t take more than a phone call to get her name, to find out she was staying down the hall in one of the other penthouse suites, and that “why yes, Your Highness, a manager with a keycard will be right up.”
Easy as pie.
The plan was simple. Wait, show her the part of my body that seemed to attract chicks like a magnet, and let the good times happen. I’d always had the reputation, and the rumors had always flown, but lately, my rep had gone to new heights, after that tabloid had published a “tell all” from some duchess I’d had a fling with a few months back decided to talk to the media.
After that, what I was packing between my legs wasn’t just rumor — it was headline news. “Prince Magnum,” they’d called me. I’d had a good laugh, enjoyed the rolled eyes and claps on the back from my buddies, and even enjoyed the extra attention the female population bestowed upon me.
But after that, it’d just gotten annoying.
But the plan that night in Ibiza had been simple: let myself into her room, wait, and when she walked in, greet her with my… package. After that, I’d had a pretty good feeling I’d be busy for the next day or so.
The first parts had gone off perfectly. I’d stripped down and stroked my cock to full-mast thinking about stripping that tight little body of hers out of that bikini with my teeth. I’d laid on her bed, nursing a scotch, and I’d grinned when I heard the keycard in the door. Claire had walked in, her face had gone redder than her hair, her pouty lips had parted in a big O shape, and those big green eyes had dropped right to my dick.
But then, the plan had fallen apart. Instead of jumping me and begging me to take her any way I pleased, like I’d imagined, she’d done just the opposite.
She’d run the fuck away.
Literally no woman had ever done that to me.
I tried to shake it off. I’d gone back to my own room and collected myself, frowning as I dressed to go out. I’d hit the clubs, and I’d tried to lose myself in the eager, willing women who surrounded me, but it’d been useless.
Something was broken in me. I had no interest in the girls draping themselves all over me, willing to bend over backwards to get just a taste of me. It suddenly seemed cheap, and boring. Fuck, I wasn’t even hard.