One Night With The Forbidden Princess

A hot Mediterranean seduction…

…of his virgin princess!

Hired to secure a palace, the last thing billionaire bodyguard Roman Lazarov expects to find is a princess scaling the castle walls! Facing an arranged marriage, runaway Princess Olivia pleads with him to allow her just one week of freedom. Reluctantly he agrees, but secluded on his private Spanish island, Roman realizes his mistake—his attraction to Olivia is forbidden, but also explosively undeniable!

A forbidden romance with a royal twist

AMANDA CINELLI was raised in a large Irish/Italian family in the suburbs of Dublin, Ireland. Her love of romance was inspired after ‘borrowing’ one of her mother’s beloved Mills & Boon novels at the age of twelve. Writing soon became a necessary outlet for her wildly overactive imagination. Now married, with a daughter of her own, she splits her time between changing nappies, studying psychology and writing love stories.

Also by Amanda Cinelli

Resisting the Sicilian Playboy

The Secret to Marrying Marchesi

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

One Night with the Forbidden Princess

Amanda Cinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08732-2

ONE NIGHT WITH THE FORBIDDEN PRINCESS

© 2018 Amanda Cinelli

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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For Zara and Mia

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU WILL RECEIVE a marriage proposal this week.’

Olivia’s ears still rang with her father’s words, even as she moved through the motions of greeting the rest of the guests at the formal luncheon. It was not every day that your father informed you that you were set to marry a stranger, after all.

But, then again, her father was a king.

And the King clearly thought that the best time to impart news of this magnitude was no less than thirty seconds before he introduced her to her intended fiancé—a complete stranger. It was a wonder that she had managed to greet their guest of honour at all before she’d hurriedly made an excuse to leave.

Princesses were generally not permitted to sneak away during royal functions. Especially when that royal function concerned a very esteemed guest of honour from a faraway kingdom. Still, Olivia found herself making her way slowly across the room in search of fresh air.

‘Another glass of champagne, Your Highness?’

Olivia stopped her progress and gracefully accepted the crystal flute from the waiter’s hand, noticing the way his fingers trembled slightly as he tried to balance his tray. He was quite young—fresh out of school, she would bet.

‘Is this your first Royal Races?’ she asked, glad of the distraction while her eyes scanned the room, plotting her escape.

‘It’s my first day, actually. In general,’ he replied.

‘You are doing a wonderful job.’

She smiled, hoping her words might help to calm his nerves somewhat. It couldn’t be an easy start, balancing priceless crystal while surrounded by some of Europe’s wealthiest and most famous people.

‘Thank you, Princess Olivia—I mean, Your Highness. Er…thank you.’ He stumbled over his words, then smiled nervously, showing a mouth full of shiny metal braces.

Olivia smiled back with genuine warmth as the boy made a wobbly attempt at a bow and moved away. She sighed, taking a small sip from her glass. She would happily have spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with the teenager simply to avoid thinking of the bombshell that had just completely taken her by surprise. As if these royal functions weren’t difficult enough.

The usual array of eager guests had predictably occupied her afternoon so far, with wave after wave of polite, banal conversation. Her parents, King Fabian and Queen Aurelia of Monteverre, stood at the opposite side of the long balcony surrounded by people and bodyguards. Her own personal security team stood at strategic points around her, trying and failing to blend into the crowd in their plain black suits and crisp white shirts.

The Royal Monteverre Races were infamous around the globe for their week-long parade of upper-class style and glamour. The historic racetrack was spread out below them, and thousands of guests had gathered in their finery for a day of sport and socialising.

No one’s style was more closely watched than her own. Her morning had consisted of three hours being transformed by her own personal styling team. Her naturally wavy long red hair had been ironed and pressed to perfection, and her fair skin polished and highlighted in all the right places.

The public hailed her as a stunning natural beauty, but she knew the effort that went into upholding that image was far from natural at all. She was a public brand—a symbol for an entire country with her every single step followed closely by the whole world.

Even her older sister, Crown Princess Eleanor, was not given the same amount of attention. Perhaps it was because she was already married. The press took much more pleasure in the single siblings than they did in the ‘taken’ ones. And yet her younger sister had the excuse of her studies in London to avoid the limelight.

For the past five years Olivia had been very much at the centre of public attention—since taking her official role in palace life at twenty-one. She did not shy from the pressure—she had been trained for it after all. She knew to expect intense scrutiny. And yet there was nothing that could make her feel more alone than being surrounded by thousands of people who treated her like an ornament to be admired from afar.

A sudden crash jolted her out of her thoughts and she looked up with a groan of empathy to see that the young waiter seemed to have lost his balance and gone crashing into a nearby couple.

‘You absolute imbecile!’

The roar came from an elderly duke, a close friend of her father, who seemed to have been the sole recipient of the tray’s liquid contents. Shards of priceless crystal lay scattered across the floor in a pool of expensive champagne while the teenage server stood frozen with a mixture of embarrassment and fear.

‘Have this clumsy idiot taken back to the schoolroom. Out of my sight!’ the Duke spat, his eyes bulging as his equally outraged wife hurriedly tried to dry his sodden shirt with a napkin.

As Olivia watched with horror, a single bodyguard materialised from the crowd and took the boy roughly by the shoulders.

‘Stop!’ She moved forward suddenly, her body seeming to propel her towards the dramatic scene of its own volition.

‘A princess should never concern herself with such matters.’

Her late grandmother’s voice seemed to warn her from her subconscious. But she pushed the thought away, arriving by the boy’s side and looking up at the burly guard with all the authority she could muster. A hush had fallen over the crowd around them.

‘I think there is a better way of managing this, don’t you?’ She addressed the guard, then turned her attention to the elderly Duke and his wife. ‘Duque L’Arosa, this young man is a friend of mine. I know he would appreciate your kindness on his first day of work.’

The Duke’s eyes widened horribly, his face turning even more red as his much younger wife gripped his arm and snorted her disapproval. Olivia stood her ground, flashing her best royal smile as the guard immediately released the boy. The young waiter avoided her eyes as he hurriedly gathered his tray and rushed off in the direction of the kitchen.

Olivia became suddenly painfully aware of the quiet that surrounded her. Members of the Monteverrian nobility and various public and government figures all averted their eyes, no one daring to speak or whisper about a member of the royal family while she stood in their midst.

A strange sensation began to spread over her bare shoulders, and she instinctively turned her head and found herself pinned by the gaze of a man who stood a few feet away. He was remarkably tall—taller than most of the men in the room. Perhaps that was what had drawn her attention to him.

She tried to look away, feeling uncomfortable under his obvious scrutiny, but there was something about the way he looked at her. She was quite used to being stared at—she was a public figure after all. But his dark eyes seemed to demand her complete attention. It was quite inappropriate, she told herself. She should be annoyed. But even with the length of the room between them, having his eyes on her seemed to make her heart beat faster.

A strange quiver of anticipation jolted to life in her chest, making her want to close the gap between them just to hear how his voice sounded. She raised one brow in challenge and felt her heart thump as a sinful smile spread across his full mouth, making him appear all the more rakish and infinitely dangerous.

No man had ever looked at her that way before—as though she was a tasty snack he might like to sample. She shook her head at the ridiculous turn of her thoughts and forced herself to look away.

When she finally looked back he had vanished.

She steeled her jaw, nodding politely to the Duque and Duquesa before making a slow and graceful exit through the main doors. Her own personal team of guards made themselves known as she walked faster, all five of them closing in from their previous placements. She had never felt more frustrated at her newly heightened security than she did at that moment. There was no immediate threat—no need for the ridiculous new measures her father had put in place the week before.

‘I’m feeling ill,’ she announced to the men once they had exited into the empty corridor outside the racetrack’s function room. ‘Surely there is no need for all of you to accompany me into the bathroom?’

The men reacted predictably, coughing awkwardly before moving aside and allowing her to walk unchaperoned into the ladies’ restroom. She searched the for an exit point, her eyes landing on a second door on the opposite side of the bathroom.

She smiled with triumph. Sometimes a little rebellion was necessary.

Roman Lazarov had never been particularly comfortable at high society functions. It had been sheer curiosity that had led him to accept the Sheikh of Zayarr’s invitation to attend the Royal Races while he was already in Monteverre. Small European kingdoms were one of the few niche markets he had not yet entered with his security firm, as monarchies largely tended to keep to their own traditional models of operation. Old money aristocrats also tended to show a particular disdain towards new money Russians.

His fists tightened as he thought of the scene he had witnessed after only being in the room mere moments. Nothing made him feel closer to his own humble beginnings than watching a rich man treat his server badly. There was something particularly nasty about those who had been born to immense wealth. As though they believed the world should bend to their will and that those with less than them were somehow worth less as well. A sweeping generalisation, to be sure, but a painfully accurate one in his own experience.

The redhead had surprised him. She was clearly upper class—he could tell by the way she was dressed. Diamonds and rich yellow silk. He had noticed her the moment he’d entered the room. She had stood proud and untouchable near the centre, all alone, with her delicate fingers holding on to a champagne flute for dear life. And yet she had stepped forward for the servant and caused an obvious scene.

He should thank her, really. She had provided the perfect distraction for him to move on to his main purpose of business.

He would have liked nothing more than to stick around at the pretentious party and see if Lady Red lived up to his expectations. But really this brief detour to the races had been a mistake on his part. Time was of the essence when you had a royal palace to break into, after all…

The early summer afternoon was pleasant as Roman rounded the last bend on the dirt path, finally bringing the high walls of the palace into view. The overgrown abandoned hunting track wasn’t the easiest route, but when you were about to break into the home of Monteverre’s royal family you didn’t usually use the front gate.

The forest was quiet but for the sounds of wildlife and the occasional creak of tree branches protesting as he methodically pulled them out of his way. Reaching the medieval stone wall, Roman looked up. It had to be at least five metres high and three metres thick—rather impressive and designed to be impossible to scale, especially when you weren’t dressed for the occasion. He checked his smartwatch, zooming in on the small map that would guide him to the access point.

In another life Roman Lazarov had found pleasure in breaking the law. Bypassing even the most high-tech security system had been child’s play for a hungry, hardened orphan with a taste for troublemaking. But in all his time in the seedy underworld of St Petersburg an actual palace had never made it onto his hit list.

That life was over now—replaced by a monumental self-made wealth that his young, hungry self could only have dreamed about. And yet here he was, his pulse quickening at the prospect of what lay ahead. The fact that this little exercise was completely above-board made it no less challenging. The palace had a guard of one hundred men and all he had was a digital blueprint of the castle tunnels and his own two hands.

The thought sent adrenaline running through his veins. God, but he had missed this feeling. When the Sheikh of Zayyar had first asked him for a favour, he had presumed it to be assembling a new security team for a foreign trip or something of that nature. Khal was in high demand these days, and his guard had been assembled almost entirely from Roman’s security firm, The Lazarov Group. But Khal’s request had intrigued him—likely as it had been meant to. The challenge had been set, and Roman was determined to enjoy it.

As for whether or not he would succeed—that question had made him laugh heartily in his oldest friend’s face.

Roman Lazarov never failed at anything.

The daylight made it seem almost as though he were taking a leisurely stroll rather than performing an act of espionage. He finally reached the small metal hatch in the ground that would provide the cleanest and most ridiculously obvious point of entry. An evacuation hatch, more than likely from long-ago times of war. He had hardly believed his eyes when his team had uncovered it on an old blueprint.

Although it looked rather polished and clean for a decades-old abandoned grate, he thought to himself, sliding one finger along the sun-heated metal.

A sudden sound in the quiet made Roman go completely still, instinctively holding his breath. He felt the familiar heightened awareness that came from years of experience in the security business as he listened, scanning his surroundings. Footsteps, light and fast, were coming closer. The person was of small build—possibly a child. Still, Roman couldn’t be seen or this whole exercise would be blown.

Without another thought he took five long steps, shielding himself under cover of the trees.

A shape emerged from thick bushes ten feet away. The figure was petite, slim and unmistakably female. She was fast. So damned fast he saw little more than a set of bare shapely legs and a shapeless dark hooded coat before she seemed to pirouette and disappear through the hatch in the ground without any effort at all.

Roman frowned, for a moment simply replaying the image in his head. Evidently he was not the only one who had been informed of the hidden entryway. He shook off his surprise, cursing himself for hesitating as he made quick work of reaching the hatch and lowering himself.

The iron ladder was slippery with damp and led down to a smooth, square-shaped concrete tunnel beneath. Small patches of sunlight poked through ventilation ducts at regular intervals, giving some light in the otherwise pitch-blackness.

Roman stilled, listening for the sound of the woman’s footsteps. She had moved quickly, but he could hear her faint steps somewhere ahead of him in the tunnel. As he began his pursuit a half-smile touched his lips. He had come here today tasked with proving the ineptitude of this palace’s security, and now he would have a genuine intruder to show as proof.

This cat burglar was about to get very rudely interrupted.

Olivia held her shoes tightly in one hand as she slid her hand along the wall of the tunnel for support. The ground was damp and slippery under her bare feet—a fact that should have disgusted a young woman of such gentle breeding. But then she had never really understood the whole ‘delicate princess’ rationale. It was at times like this, after escaping palace life for even one simple hour, that she truly felt alive.

Her sudden disappearance had likely been noticed by now, and yet she did not feel any remorse. Her attendance at the international horse racing event had been aimed at the King’s esteemed guest of honour, Sheikh Khalil Al Rhas of Zayyar. The man that her father had informed her she was intended to marry.

Olivia paused for a moment, tightness overcoming her throat for the second time in a few short hours. The way he had phrased it, as her ‘royal duty’, still rung in her ears. She was only twenty-six, for goodness’ sake. She wasn’t ready for this particular duty.

She had always known it was customary for her father to hold the right to arrange or refuse the marriages of his offspring, but she had hoped the day would never come when she was called upon in such an archaic fashion. But now that day was here, and the Sheikh was set to propose to her formally any day now—before he completed his trip.

Olivia pressed her forehead briefly against the stone wall. She felt cold through and through, as if she would never be warm again.

‘Drama queen.’ Cressida’s mocking voice sounded in her head.

Her younger sister had always been such a calm, level-headed presence in her life. It had been five years since Cress had moved away to study in England. And not a day passed that she didn’t think of her. With barely a year between them, they had always been more like twins. Cress would know exactly what to say to alleviate the unbearable tension that had taken residence in her stomach today. She was sure of it.

The tunnel was a straight path along the south boundary of the palace. It seemed like an endless mile before the staircase finally appeared. Olivia climbed it in the near darkness, relying solely on memory to make her way up to the partially hidden door in the stone wall. She pressed a slim crease, sliding open a panel and stepping through easily.

The brightness of her dressing room was a welcome shock of cream and gold after the prolonged darkness. She took a moment, breathing in the clean air, before turning to slide the secret door closed.

Olivia stilled at the sound of footsteps in the tunnel below. But that was impossible. In almost fifteen years of roaming she had never seen another soul down there. She had never even told her sisters.

She stepped back down to the small landing at the top of the steps. She braced her hands on the stone balustrade to peer down into the darkness, biting the inside of her lip. Had one of the guards followed her?

The footsteps suddenly disappeared and an eerie silence filled the stone caverns. Still she held her breath. Eight, nine, ten… Olivia exhaled slowly, cursing her overactive imagination. The silence of the tunnel tended to play with your mind after a while—she was clearly going insane.

She turned around to move back to the doorway to her apartment—only to be blocked by a wall of muscle. Warm muscle that smelled of sandalwood and pine.

Strong hands—definitely male—appeared like chains across her chest and turned her towards the wall. Her arms were pulled behind her and she instinctively pushed her body backwards, aiming the hardness of her skull towards her assailant’s nose. Even princesses were taught self-defence.

‘You have some skills, I see.’

His voice was startling in the quiet darkness. A heavy accent made his threat even more worrying. This was most definitely not a palace guard.

Olivia hissed, turning away and trying in vain to pull against the bands of iron strength. She squinted in the darkness, trying to see his face, a uniform, an insignia—anything that might tell her who he was and why he was here. If she could remember anything from the Palace Guards’ kidnapping talk it was one thing: Don’t say a thing.

He pressed on what seemed to be a watch and turned a faint light downwards, lowering its beam to her oversized black trench coat and bare feet. She had swapped her designer blazer with someone else’s coat in the cloakroom before bolting. The vintage lemon cocktail dress she wore underneath was hardly ideal for going unnoticed in public.

She turned her head and caught a brief glimpse of a hard jaw and gigantic shoulders before he plunged them into darkness once more.

‘You’re not exactly dressed for a quick escape,’ he mused.

She almost laughed at that—almost. But being held captive by a mysterious hulk of a man had kind of dampened her infamous ability to see the bright side of every situation. As far as she could see there was nothing positive that could come of being abducted, which was the only logical solution for whoever this man was. He would recognise her any moment now and the game would be up.

Perhaps they would ransom her, she thought wildly. How much was her life worth? Hopefully not too much…the kingdom was already facing complete financial ruin as it was.

She gulped hard as she felt his hand slip just under her left armpit—a strange place to grope, indeed.

‘Don’t! Don’t you dare touch me.’ She gasped, arching her body away frantically. He tightened his hold on her slightly, barely even noticing her attempts to free herself.

‘You are in no danger from me,’ he gritted. ‘I must ensure the same can be said of you. Stand still.’

Such was the authority in his voice that she stilled herself. She held her breath as his touch moved almost mechanically to her hip. His movements were calm and purposeful as he did the same to her other side, feeling inside the pockets of her coat and underneath to slide along the indentation of her waist.

Her mind suddenly realised that he was searching for a weapon. She sucked in a breath as strong fingers brushed her ribcage, just underneath her breasts. Of all the situations in which to become excited by a man’s touch, this really wasn’t it. And yet her traitorous body had begun to respond to the intensity of the situation even as her heart thumped with fear.

His breathing did not alter at all, and nor did he show any signs of noticing her response. As his hand finally moved to her thigh Olivia could take no more. She kicked out. Partly in shock at his boldness, but mostly because of the discomfort of her own reaction.

She took a deep breath. ‘Do you honestly believe that I’m hiding a weapon in my underwear?’

The stranger cleared his throat. ‘I have known people to hide weapons in the most ludicrous places. Women especially tend towards a certain…creativity.’

‘Do not put your hands on me again.’

He was silent for a moment, and the only sound in the dark tunnel was that of their steady breaths mingling in the air between them.

When he spoke again his accent was more pronounced, his voice deep and intimidating. ‘Tell me who you are and why you are attempting to break into the palace.’

She paused at that. So he hadn’t recognised her yet. Surely if he was a kidnapper he would have come here knowing the faces of the royal family. Although it was dark, she supposed. Her choices were limited. She had no panic buttons down here—no guards within shouting distance.

She needed to get away.

She turned her head towards the door, breathing a little faster with anticipation as his shrewd gaze followed the movement and he saw the sliver of light coming through the gap.

‘You managed to find a way inside, I see,’ he said with surprise. ‘Come on, then. Let’s see what you were after, shall we?’

He held her forearm tightly, dragging her behind him up the steps and into the lavish dressing room. Her eyes adjusted quickly once again, to take in the rows and rows of her wardrobes. The room was empty, as it would be for a while, seeing as her staff presumed her to be at the races for the rest of the day.

Olivia gulped hard. She had just led an uncleared intruder right into the heart of the palace.

She took a moment to look at him for the first time in the light.

‘It’s you…’ she breathed, realising it was the man from the racetrack.

To his credit, he also looked momentarily stunned as he took in her face in the light.

He was taller this close—almost an entire foot taller than her five feet three inches. All the self-defence classes in the world wouldn’t give her a hope against such a brute. Dark hair, dark eyes and a jawline that would put Michelangelo’s David to shame. He had a fierce beauty about him—as if he had just stepped off a battlefield somewhere—and he thrummed with vitality.

Her grandmother had always said she watched too many movies. Here she was, in very real danger, and she was romanticising her captor.

‘You have taken a break from saving servants, I see.’ His eyes lowered to take in the coat that covered her cocktail dress. ‘You seem to be a woman of many talents.’

Olivia stayed completely silent as he spoke, knowing the more she said the more chance there was that he would put two and two together and guess her identity. She glanced to her left, searching the room for possible weapons for when the time came to run. If she could find something to kick at him, perhaps…

She looked down at her bare feet, cursing her own stupidity.

‘We are in the south wing,’ he mused, looking around the room. ‘One of the royal apartments. How did you find out about the hidden tunnel?’

She shrugged, looking down at her feet and taking one tentative step away from him while his attention wandered.

‘I saw how you slid down there. You knew exactly what you were doing. Just like you know what you are doing right now.’ He grabbed her arm, stopping her progress.

She couldn’t help herself then—she cursed. A filthy word in Catalan that would make her father blush if he heard her.

The stranger smiled darkly. ‘We’re going to get absolutely nowhere if you don’t speak to me. Why are you here?’ he asked again, releasing her arm and pushing her to sit down in the chair in front of her dressing table.