She's standing in front of me on the balcony, holding her hands in front of her like I'm her priest at confession, and she's about to tell me something filthy.

I wish. I'd love to know all her dirty little secrets, but I want her agreement more.

“I'll do it, Your Highness. But I have terms.” Erin looks up, her soft brown eyes glowing in the moonlight, the wind flipping that chestnut hair I want to pull so fucking hard over her shoulder.

“Terms?” I look into my glass of scotch and give the melting ice a shake. “Let's hear them.”

Her mouth is moving, but I'm barely comprehending what she's saying. I'm only on my second drink of the evening, so it isn't the booze.

It's that dress. She's wearing the first thing that isn't some mass produced casual horseshit, one of many fine pieces I had left in her room, and she looks gorgeous. The lily white evening dress clings to her skin, accents her curves, makes my cock stir like a hungry animal in my trousers.

“...and yes, I need everything in writing. We can keep it between you and me, I don't care, but I want something solid. Trust, but verify, you understand.” My eyes are on her lips the whole time while she's yammering on. I wonder how they'd twitch if I sunk my teeth in. “And one more thing, Your Highness...no sex. I mean, you said this was all make believe, so I'm guessing that's a given. I wanted to get it out there, anyway.”

“No sex?” I repeat numbly, feeling my cock pulse harder. “Half the women in this kingdom would jump at the chance to have a Prince with benefits. You know that, don't you?”

She makes a face. Probably hiding the flush, the heat that makes her want to take it back. I know a woman when she's playing coy, and when her mind is far from made up.

“Of course I know,” she says, staring me dead in the eyes. “No sex. I'm not one of your admirers.”

Goddamn, this is going to be a challenge. In principle, I agree.

Fucking her would only make this harder, a hell of a lot more complicated than it needs to be.

Too bad she's just taunted me. There are very few things in this world I can't have by virtue of money and power. I can't even remember the last time I've met a pussy I want that's telling me 'no.'

“Is any of this going to be a problem?” she asks, nervously twisting her hands when I wait too long to answer.

“No. Everything you've said is more than reasonable. I'll have my lawyer draw up a prenup tomorrow and a separate document with the terms you mentioned. I have a man who isn't connected to the palace just for these sorts of things, so we can keep this out of grandmom's prying eyes.”

“And the last part?” she whispers, fighting to keep her eyes locked with mine.

I take a step closer, polishing off my scotch, setting the glass down on the little table. “No sex?”

“Yeah.”

“It's a deal.” I wait until we're barely a couple inches apart before I say anything more. “You're a special woman, Miss Warwick. I think you have the honor of being the first woman I've met to make me promise not to fuck her brains out.”

There's a tick in her lips. Quick, fiery, almost imperceptible. I can smell every molecule rolling off her, a scent my cock knows, pheromones so electric they tell me this is going to be the hardest fucking promise I've ever had to keep.

“I'm glad we can keep this...professional,” she says, finally snatching her eyes away, looking over my shoulder at the capital gleaming in the distance.

“So am I. You've got a very bright future ahead when this is through. Believe me, I'm glad I can do this with a woman who's close to my level. Intellectually, at least.”

She looks at me like I've just insulted her. What can I say?

Mentally, we're partners in crime.

As for the money, class, ambition? We're worlds apart.

My brain doesn't let go of its old habits so easily. I'm still in hunt mode, eager to wrap this minx around every inch of me, put my mouth on hers, feel her tight little cunt dripping all over my balls.

Everything I want. Everything I can't have. Not unless I want to ruin this before I've even given it a chance.

“I hope you'll try to be a little more tactful when we're married,” she says. “I'm going to be your wife. A...a Princess, I guess. God.”

“You guess?” I raise an eyebrow. “That's exactly the title that comes with this job. Princess of Sealesland, Saint Moore, and All Her Tributaries. The next living, beautiful, royal vessel to continue the family line.”

I reach for her. She's burning up when I touch her, gently sliding my hands up over her arms, a slow moving embrace that causes my cock to leak like a melting candle in my pants.

“No sex!” she whimpers, sucking her bottom lip.

“No sex. I'm a man of my word, Erin,” I growl, bringing my face to hers, close enough to let her smell the liquor on my breath. “But we have to get used to more tender forms of contact, of course. What would an engagement, a wedding be, without a kiss?”

Her eyes go wide. She's trembling in my arms, but it isn't just nerves talking.

I know this heat, this waver, this fire in the blood. She wants me. I want her.

No, I want to be inside her.

We're both prisoners here, holding back on our natural instincts for a greater purpose, the way it has to be. We can only graze, but never gorge.

We can't rip off each other's clothes. We can't try every position I know, and invent several new ones. We can't fuck, and it kills me, the part deep down inside that loves a good conquest.

Fuck.

“It's too soon for that,” she tells me, nearly breathless. Her sweet, plump tits wedge against my chest, and I swear I can feel her nipples through several layers. “I need some time to adjust to all this. Please, Your Highness.”

“Fine.” I tear myself away from her, pulling her with me by one hand, to the balcony's stone edge. “You should really start calling me Silas behind closed doors.”

She looks at me, and blinks. I don't say a word, just run one hand up across her shoulder, cup her cheek, and gently tilt her face to the scenery.

“Take a good, long look at all that. It's the very reason you're here. You're doing this with me to save your father's life. For me, this is about a family, a kingdom. All the people down there in that glittering city, and the thousand other villages and towns beyond that make up this island.”

“How noble.” Sarcasm drips from those little lips I want to bury in mine. “It's not that I don't believe you. It just seems...so unlike you, Silas.”

“What do you know?” I growl. “We barely know each other. To be fair, that's the way it ought to be. There's more to this life than fucking and partying. They're simply the fine perks I allow myself, something to keep myself sane when I have to face who I am, and what I've been destined to do since the day I was born.”

She stares at me a lot more seriously now. Just like I expect.

This is all too familiar. I've brought dozens of women up here before, and sometimes I launch into this bullshit, after one too many drinks. I haven't had that tonight, but everything's creeping up, slowly strangling me.

The impending engagement. The wedding. The ridiculous marriage I'm going to have to pretend to enjoy for the next three years, and the divorce that will come next.

Then there's the possibility Her Majesty could drop dead any time. Fuck, I haven't thought about what I'd do if I have to take the crown while I'm still married to this woman.

For a split second, doubt courses through me, deflating my erection. It doesn't go further than that.

I wouldn't be alive today if I let second guesses rule me. I take her hand in mine, squeeze it, and we stare across the capital together, my eyes focused on the palace in the distance.

“Let me tell you a secret,” I whisper, wondering why I'm trying to convince her. “I'm not the bastard you think I am. If you'd come up here tonight and told me you wanted nothing to do with this proposal, I'd have let your father stay in Mexico anyway. I won't turn away a dying man from the treatment he needs. I'm not a monster.”

Her eyes soften. She shifts, resting one arm against the high stone banister, just as the wind kicks up, ruffling her skirt. The wedding dress illusion to the damned thing makes my cock throb again, though this is far more casual than the long, ornate getup she'll be forced to wear at the actual wedding.

“That's good to know, but it doesn't change my mind. I'm not backing out of anything. I told you I'd marry you, go through with what we need to do. It's only right that we live up to both ends of our bargain. I don't need to know who I'm marrying. I don't care. I just want to get this over with. It's all make believe, like you said, right?”

She studies me closely. Of course, she's right. I give her hand one more fierce squeeze before I draw away from her, slumping against the balcony's edge, allowing my turquoise tie to hang in the breeze.

“Absolutely right.” I turn my head, taking her in, trying not to let my eyes roam her curves for too long. “We can both be very fair. Strange bedfellows, as they say, except we won't really be bedfellows at all.”

“No sex,” she says sweetly, smiling. “Remember?”

“Like I have any reason to forget. Luckily for me, I've got pussy chasing this dick all the time. They don't call me Prince Hung for nothing. I can have my pick, Erin, night after night after night. I'll bring you to the club downstairs sometime so you can see for yourself. You're more than welcome to share the facilities now that we're going to be married.”

“Gross.” She makes a face, sticking out her tongue. “I don't need to. What you do on your own time, in private...well, that's your business. Just like we agreed.”

There's some hesitation in her voice. A noticeable two second delay that makes me want to rip that thin ivory dress off, lay her down out here, and fuck her until sunrise. Against the better judgment I'm barely holding onto, of course.

“What about me?” she asks, sizing me up. “I'm going to need to see the final draft of this agreement. Need to know you're not going to put me in a chastity belt or something weird in the clause about sex.”

I'm rolling my eyes. “Please. They went out of style about two hundred years ago, love. There's a couple of the fucking things hanging up at the royal museum. I'd be happy to take you down there sometime for a tour, just to see them, if you're really so interested.”

“Please!” She's laughing, but it doesn't hide the rosy red blush on her cheeks.

“You're free to make your own arrangements with men, so long as you're careful.”

Naturally, she's free. I'm not really her husband, her Prince, or her lover.

Why do the words taste so sour when I say them, then? I shouldn't feel my muscles angrily tensing, the way they used to before going on patrol outside Kandahar, when I think about that perfectly slappable ass she's hiding grinding against another man's cock.

“I will be. I've always been extremely careful with that part of my life, Silas. God.” She pauses, closing her eyes. “It's going to take me awhile to get used to calling you by your first name.”

“Save the Your Highness crap for the press, and formal audiences. After the wedding, you're free to talk to me as your friend in the open, anywhere except the most rigid, stuffy, and fucking stupid royal functions.”

She smiles. “Friends. I think we can do that.”

“I hope so,” I say, clenching my teeth because my cock keeps hounding me to make her a whole lot more. My dick won't let up on that Prince with benefits idea. “Let's go over more in the morning. I'll bring Vic and Serena in for a full briefing.”

Christ, Serena. I wonder how the hell she'll react to my abrupt engagement. One more problem I'll have to deal with tomorrow, hoping the warning has sunk into my lovestruck press secretary.

“Yeah? What's on the agenda?”

“First thing's first,” I say, running through the long list of things to do to make this fake marriage happen. “We'll have to tell grandmom, after my closest aides. She'll need an audience with both of us.”

“Grandmom? You mean...the Queen?” Her eyes glisten, big and dark and beautiful. Swept up in what must be an outrageous fairy tale to this American girl without an ounce of royal blood in her veins.

“Yes, Her Majesty, in the flesh.” I'm going to need a few more drinks to get through the shock and awe tomorrow.

“Get some rest,” I tell her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and leading her back inside my suite. “I'll make sure you get your own aides assigned tomorrow, too, so you'll have some help settling in. After grandmom receives the news, we'll have a press conference. I leave you to decide what you want to tell your father.”

“Damn, don't remind me! It's going to be difficult.” She drifts out of my embrace near the door leading out, rubbing her temples. “Jesus. This is happening so fast. Whatever, we'll figure it out. I'm in this with you, Silas. I won't let you down.”

“No, you won't. I always make the right choice. You're going to be the best goddamned plastic Princess a future King could hope for. If anything comes up, I'll be here, right down the hall. Starting tomorrow, you don't need to check with Vic to request my presence. If anything comes up, you know where to find me.”

“Okay. Goodnight,” she says, shooting me one more look with those chocolate eyes I want to lose myself in.

Smiling, we leave off there, and I shut the door.

I'm alone, left to wonder what the fuck I've done. The most restless night of my life since my father died on that damned yacht begins.

Flipping through my phone, I look through the numbers of men I served with, and stop just short of dialing them. I haven't talked to most of them since I got discharged, even the ones who were like brothers in arms.

They're good men. They held my life in their hands, like I kept theirs, and that will never, ever change.

But they're commoners. Happily married, some with families, without crowns to worry about.

They can't understand this shit. They can't help me with this, like they could with Taliban sentries. Nobody can.

I'm too fucked up to go to the club. So, I break out a fresh bottle of scotch, settle into my granite bathtub with the waterfalls running out of the wall, and drink.

My cock stays hard as a stone when whiskey dick sets in. I can't get her off my mind, Little Miss Warwick the pure, begging to be corrupted.

I think about tearing that white dress off, down in the country mud, somewhere up in the highlands where you can walk the beaches nude for miles.

I don't want to kiss my new wife. It's not enough.

I want to bite her, slap her, fuck her. Bind her hands together at the wrists with my finest ties, over her head. Hear her whimper while I tease her nipples between my teeth. I want – no, need – to rub the full length of my raging cock across her slit, let it soak me with her cream before I finally plunge in and take her the fuck over, one hungry inch at a time.

Every atom in my body howls to fuck this girl, purely because I've told her I won't. What better way to realize my own depravity?

I'm burning up. My hand drifts underneath the water, grasping my cock, pulling off all ten inches with rough, angry strokes.

“Princess – fuck!” My eyes are closed, and I'm jerking off harder.

“Erin...” Her name growls through my throat like lava when I shoot my load in the water. “Fuck. You.”

No, fuck me. I'm the whole reason she's about to be a piece of royal meat for my designs.

My huge, fit chest swells underneath the water, sucking in oxygen to replenish the life that's been sucked out of me.

I can't screw this up. I need to keep this promise. I'll do it, no matter what happens.

Even if I have to spend the next three years kicking, screaming, boozing, and fucking everything in sight to keep my dick away from her.

I meant what I told her. Whatever else I am, I'm a man of my word, and I'll keep the promise I've made that's about to be backed up by a legal contract.

I'll switch to ice baths tomorrow if it'll help keep my cock away from my make believe Princess.

* * *

I wake up late, sometime after eleven, and summon Vic immediately. I'll deal with Serena and figure out whether I need to fire her and find a new press secretary later.

He's in my room while I'm eating breakfast when I break the news. “I got engaged last night, and I need to take my girl down to the palace today to fill in grandmom.”

“Engaged?!” He practically chokes. “You're getting...married, sire? Forgive me, but this comes as a great surprise.”

“No shit. It happened very fast. It's the American girl, Erin Warwick. We've been spending a lot of time together since she fell into my arms. I've never thought real seriously about that love at first sight nonsense, but there's something about her. I've been converted. I'm a believer, Vic. Nailed in the ass by cupid's arrow. This is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, as ludicrous as that sounds.”

His expression makes it look like he's been to hell and back.

It takes a huge sip of strong black tea not to burst out laughing. When he reaches for his elbow and pinches himself, I have to flex every muscle not to spit my drink all over the room.

“You're certain about this, Your Highness?” he asks.

I can't blame him. But I've been preparing for this, expecting it, even when I opened my eyes and felt the hangover pulling at my skull. I'm ready.

“Damned right, I am. This is more than just another slut, Victor. I've met the woman I'm going to marry, the girl who's going to serve the whole kingdom when she shares my throne one day.”

I smile. Victor looks completely pale.

Shit. Trying not to laugh in his face just got ten times harder.

“Entirely your decision, as is your right, my Prince. If it's all right with you, I'll request an audience with Her Majesty this instant so she can meet the future Princess.”

“Do it,” I tell him, taking a long pull from my cup. “And make sure Erin's got something stunning to wear to the palace. Get the ladies up here who handle fashion at the royal bashes. We need to make the best first impression we can.”

“Certainly, sire.” He tips his head respectfully and I watch him head out the door.

I stand up, wash, and then get dressed in my finest suit. Amazingly, my latest hangover is already a distant memory. If that's a side benefit from all this marriage bullshit, then I'm becoming a believer.

Vic sends me a text, letting me know everything should be ready in two hours. I step out into the morning light, feeling the warm sun on my skin, looking down on my kingdom while I fix my tie.

Erin can't comprehend what's at stake. It doesn't matter that I tried to show her, to explain it, to give her some small insight into the crushing, constant duties being born a Prince brings.

Too bad. She doesn't need to understand a damned thing to take my ring.

I need a toy. An actress. Someone to get the bastards in the media to drool all over her instead of my latest scandals.

Someone to make the future King look like one.

Someone to make everyone down there believe that I'm worthy, that I can actually fill grandmom's shoes. Or at least know that I won't ruin Saint Moore forever.

Someone to give me a second chance, for fuck's sake. To let me prove myself.

I'm better than my parties, my drinks, my pussy. Leaning over the edge of the balcony, my fists tighten. I see the kingdom's flags fluttering on the high towers in the distance, the black double-headed eagle grasping the crown in its talons.

That bird isn't ever letting go. Neither am I.

“You're going to find out how wrong you are,” I whisper. “Every last one of you. This girl's my chance to show you that I'm going to be the best fucking King this island ever had.”

Yeah, she is. And if she gets me harder than a rock in the process every time I think about her, much less see her, just like I am now, who am I to complain?