Royal Pursuit Read online

  Alex pulled back from their kiss

  and jammed his sunglasses onto his forehead, desperate to look into Taylor’s eyes, needing to know she was just as overwhelmed as he. Their kiss had been electric, the arcing passion sizzling between them like an open current.

  “Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

  “We must.”

  With her face tipped up to his, he watched her eyelids flutter open. Her pupils were dilated, her expression needy. He’d never thought she could want him—not with such unfettered abandon. And he’d never seen anyone so beautiful that the vision scorched him. Her cute little nose, her lips swollen from his kiss and the wistful look of regret when he’d pulled back had fired him into a blazing state of urgency that he’d never experienced in all his bachelor years.

  “Kiss me, again,” Taylor whispered.

  He groaned. “If I do, I may not be able to stop.”

  Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

  Deck the halls with romance and suspense as we bring you four new stories that will wrap you up tighter than a present under your Christmas tree!

  First we begin with the continuing series by Rita Herron, NIGHTHAWK ISLAND, where medical experiments on an island off the coast of Georgia lead to some dangerous results. Cole Hunter does not know who he is, and the only memories he has are of Megan Wells’s dead husband. And why does he have these intimate Memories of Megan?

  Next, Susan Kearney finishes her trilogy THE CROWN AFFAIR, which features the Zared royalty and the treachery they must confront in order to save their homeland. In book three, a prickly, pretty P.I. must pose as a prince’s wife in order to help his majesty uncover a deadly plot. However, will she be able to elude his Royal Pursuit of her heart?

  In Charlotte Douglas’s The Bride’s Rescuer, a recluse saves a woman who washes up on his lonely island, clothed only in a tattered wedding dress. Cameron Alexander hasn’t seen a woman in over six years, and Celia Stevens is definitely a woman, with secrets of her own. But whose secrets are more deadly? And also join Jean Barrett for another tale with the Hawke Family Detective Agency in the Christmastime cross-country journey titled Official Escort.

  Best wishes to all of our loyal readers for a “breathtaking” holiday season!

  Sincerely,

  Denise O'Sullivan

  Associate Senior Editor

  Harlequin Intrigue

  ROYAL PURSUIT

  SUSAN KEARNEY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Susan Kearney used to set herself on fire four times a day. Now she does something really hot—she writes romantic suspense. While she no longer performs her signature fire dive (she’s taken up figure skating), she never runs out of ideas for characters and plots. A business graduate from the University of Michigan, Susan writes full-time. She resides in a small town outside Tampa, Florida, with her husband and children and a spoiled Boston terrier. Visit her at http://www.SusanKearney.com.

  Books by Susan Kearney

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  340—TARA’S CHILD

  378—A BABY TO LOVE

  410—LULLABY DECEPTION

  428—SWEET DECEPTION

  456—DECEIVING DADDY

  478—PRIORITY MALE

  552—A NIGHT WITHOUT END

  586—CRADLE WILL ROCK*

  590—LITTLE BOYS BLUE*

  594—LULLABY AND GOODNIGHT*

  636—THE HIDDEN YEARS†

  640—HIDDEN HEARTS†

  644—LOVERS IN HIDING†

  682—ROYAL TARGET**

  686—ROYAL RANSOM**

  690—ROYAL PURSUIT**

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Prince Alexander Zared—With the help of a stunning American private investigator, can this jet-setting playboy prince uncover a deadly plot in time to save his life, his family and his country?

  Taylor Welles—Uncomfortable around men, the pretty P.I. reluctantly agrees to pose as an undercover prince’s wife—but she can’t remain immune to his charms forever….

  Sophia Varna Zared—She’s proven to be loyal to her royal stepchildren so far…or has she been waiting for the right time to strike?

  Ira Hanuck—Who better to carry out an assassination attempt than the chief of palace security?

  General Levsky Vladimir—He has the Vashmiran military in the palm of his hand, but is his allegiance to the crown?

  Anton Belosova—The secretary of state’s dealings with Vashmiran enemies could be a bid for peace…or war!

  For Bing

  Contents

  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

  Prologue

  “Highness,” Prince Alexander’s secretary signaled him through the intercom. “King Nicholas is on line four.”

  Alex hadn’t spoken to his brother in weeks for fear that calls from the royal palace to the Vashmiran embassy in Washington, D.C., might be intercepted. Through diplomatic channels he’d been told to lie low until the person or persons out to assassinate him had been caught.

  Anxious over the problems back home, worried about the rest of his family’s safety, especially that of his sister Tashya whose life had also been threatened, Alex immediately picked up the phone. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Yes,” Nicholas reassured him. “General Vladimir’s aide and right-hand man is dead, and Tashya is safe.” Alex relaxed his fingers, which had been gripping the phone tight enough to crack the casing. Their father had been assassinated last year, and a few weeks ago, Nicholas, the new king, had become a target. And then the general’s aide had gone after Alex and their sister. That the traitor was now dead was excellent news. Alex’s interminable hiding could come to an end.

  As if reading his thoughts Nicholas continued, “My chief of palace security is not convinced the danger is over. We think there may be a conspiracy.”

  “What kind of conspiracy?”

  “We don’t know. This may be an internal problem or it might come from one of our neighbors.”

  Vashmira, a new country founded by Alex’s father, had broken away from the former Soviet Union and the new king wanted to strengthen ties to the West. Vashmira bordered Moldova, Turkey, Bulgaria and the Black Sea, and its people were a mixture of religions and ethnic groups. Enemies could come from within or without, and clearly this latest enemy had proved deadly and cagey.

  Made restless by his confinement inside the half-finished embassy walls, Alex frowned. “Can you be certain our security chief isn’t trying to justify his job?”

  “You know better. What you don’t know is that Tashya is getting married.”

  “To the Toad?” Alex couldn’t believe she’d knuckled under to Nicholas’s pressure for her to marry the crown prince of Moldova when she clearly detested the man. On the surface, Tashya might seem malleable, but she was an expert at getting her own way and neither Nicholas nor Alex had ever quite figured out how she accomplished it.

  “I’ve agreed to a marriage between her and Hunter, the American we spoke about last week.”

  “Tashya’s happy?”

  “She’s in love. However, the Moldovan government is not pleased. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are behind these assassination attempts. It would be prudent for you to maintain a low profile for a few more days.”

  Weary of remaining in hiding, Alex silently groaned and felt compelled to make the offer, “Maybe I should com
e home. Attend a few parties…” He often acted the part of the playboy who didn’t take politics seriously. It was surprising what kind of information he could pick up at a jet-set party—while enjoying himself. But his new job of ambassador to the U.S. would allow him to help his country in a different way.

  “Stay to open our embassy. Right now we need to strengthen our contacts with the West, take advantage of my marriage and Tashya’s engagement to Americans.”

  King Nicholas might speak like a crafty politician, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t totally in love with his new bride. Alex hoped his sister would be just as content.

  He hung up the phone, gratified that Nicholas hadn’t demanded that he return. Although Alex had traveled extensively through Europe, Northern Africa and parts of Asia, he hadn’t been to the United States before. He’d been eagerly awaiting the time when he could leave the Vashmiran embassy to explore, to accept the dozens of diplomatic invitations he would receive, to meet American women and perhaps to take a romantic sail down the Potomac river. Nicholas may have suggested that he continue to hide, but now that the immediate crisis was over, Alex refused to remain secluded any longer. Long ago he’d accepted that royalty and politicians were always targets and, while cautionary measures at certain times were prudent, he wouldn’t spend a lifetime in hiding.

  Alex left his office for his private suite inside the embassy and retreated to his living room, savoring the options that would soon be his. He sat at his desk, but didn’t really see his papers. He wanted to be free. Free to act like a tourist and to tour the Smithsonian, to enjoy a drink at the Sequoia. Free to explore the Washington Monument, free to taste ice cream from a street vendor, free to enjoy the company of a sensual woman.

  Although generalizations could prove dangerous, he often found them to be true. European women had a certain diamond-like sophistication, a je ne sais quoi, a refined style that had been honed for generations and that he’d appreciated with gratitude. In Asia the women were like pearls, each one precious and polished, tending to the men with a respect founded on rituals.

  And American women? He couldn’t wait to meet them.

  Alex savored the idea of just walking down Massachusetts Avenue and Embassy Row. Most people in this country wouldn’t recognize him, and for a few hours he could pretend to be an ordinary citizen out for an afternoon stroll. His bodyguards had long ago learned discretion.

  Freedom beckoned. His presence here had been kept a secret from all but a trusted few, and if he remained careful, the ever-vigilant American and European paparazzi might not find him for several days. He intended to make the most of his rare opportunity.

  Fiery pain suddenly looped his throat.

  Alex jerked backward. Raising his hands to his neck, he touched a cruel wire that cut off his air and that was much too thin to grab. He flung his hands away from his neck, frantically searching for a weapon. His fingers closed on the lamp on his desk.

  Alex smashed the lamp against the desk and shoved the shards into his attacker. The man screamed.

  The garotte around Alex’s throat loosened; he gasped in air and shouted for his bodyguards. Behind him, the screams of his assailant ceased, but the unmistakable click of a gun hammer being pulled back gave Alex an instant’s warning.

  A bullet hissed by his ear as Alex dived through his doorway, rolled to his feet and sprinted down the hall. His suite door was wide open and in the dim light he spied the bodies of his guards, their necks twisted at odd angles. Dead.

  Footsteps and the sound of wood splintering next to his head urged him to leap over the bodies and zigzag down the embassy corridor. Cursing under his breath, hoping the blood oozing down his neck was from a superficial wound and that the assassin hadn’t nicked an artery, Alex bolted into the grand and uncompleted foyer.

  He raced through the nearest exit, past more dead guards. His military training had taught him that the first few moments after an attack could be critical to survival. Without a weapon, returning to fight a deadly opponent would be suicidal. As much as he would have preferred to confront his enemy, he wanted to do so from a position of strength.

  Run or hide?

  He had just seconds to decide. Pounding down the wide street in the middle of the night, Alex searched for a place to disappear among the dark office buildings and parked vehicles on the block. Seeing nothing promising, he arbitrarily hung a hard right, then a left at the next two intersections.

  He told himself things could be worse. He spoke English, was dressed in slacks and a shirt instead of pajamas, and was wearing shoes. His injury didn’t appear severe, although it still stung like hell. He had his wits about him, and he’d seemed to have outrun his attacker.

  Unfortunately he was lost in a strange country. He knew no one here.

  He had no identification and no money. But somehow he would manage, he was sure of it.

  And then a car turned the corner, its headlights locking onto him like a heat-seeking missile to a hot target.

  Chapter One

  Taylor Welles told herself she wasn’t destitute. She had enough money in the bank to make next month’s payment on her new office building and on the apartment she leased. However, a new client and an influx of cash would be welcome, especially when she added up her credit card bills for her struggling business. So early this morning she’d pretended to be her own secretary, answering her phone in a sweet Southern voice and setting an appointment for ten o’clock with a man who only gave her his first name—Alex—and who undoubtedly believed the private investigator he’d be seeing, Taylor Welles, would turn out to be male.

  However, if Alex had been surprised by her gender, he’d covered his thoughts with a nod of his imperious head and a firm handshake. And then he’d sized her up just as carefully as she had him. Dressed in a custom-tailored shirt and slacks that were expensive, albeit a bit rumpled, he settled into the chair opposite her desk like a man on a mission, but he’d carefully hitched the material above his knees to prevent further wrinkles. He seemed to be full of contrasts. His perfectly cut black hair looked as if he’d styled it with his fingers, and he needed a shave. The diamond-studded gold watch on his wrist, the costly Italian leather shoes and an emerald-and-diamond ring allowed her to overlook the smudge of dirt on his slacks, the rip at the shoulder of his shirt and the droplets of dried blood on his collar.

  Despite the wild story the man had just told her about an attempted assassination, he looked as if he’d just climbed out of some woman’s bed—a woman who had dragged him back for a second or third go-round.

  Taylor recognized his type all too well. Her income came primarily from women who suspected their husbands of cheating. And they always were. Sometimes she felt guilty taking her clients’ money, but a girl had to make a living, and there was a certain satisfaction in giving her clients evidence they could use against their spouses in divorce court.

  She would have enjoyed taking on a different kind of case, but after hearing this potential client’s story she wondered if she should call the cops. He sounded as if he’d escaped from the loony bin rather than from an assassination attempt. But he didn’t seem threatening, so she would hear him out.

  And she had no other work this afternoon. In fact, she had no other work for the rest of this month. Besides, if the man was lying, he was truly good at it. His recollection of details amazed her, but also made her suspicious. People running for their lives didn’t usually remember a strange city’s layout, and he’d made it all the way from Embassy Row at Dupont Circle and Massachusetts Avenue to her office in Foggy Bottom in a panicked run? Not bloody likely.

  One fact led credence to his story. From ear to ear around his neck coiled a raw wound that had recently stopped bleeding but must still be painful. Alex ignored the injury, didn’t call attention to it by fiddling with his collar, and that in itself made her curious about him. In her experience most men made a huge deal over every little nick and cut. Her drunk father certainly had. So had her ex-husband. B
ut Alex hadn’t so much as insinuated she should help him on account of his laceration. He didn’t even seem to want to talk about it, never mind convince her how brave he was.

  She needed more details before she could make any decisions. Skilled at subtly extracting information, she didn’t allow her doubts to show. “The car’s driver spotted you in the headlights?” she prodded. “What did you do next?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I noticed a brown pole topped by the letter M with a red stripe beneath,” he told her. His English diction was excellent. He claimed that he came from a country called Vashmira and that English was one of their three native languages. Taylor now wished she’d paid more attention to geography, but who could keep track of all those nations that had broken away from the former Soviet Union?

  “You took the metro?”

  “Who would have thought the subway would be my salvation?” He grinned, almost self-mockingly.

  Obviously a man of his wealth traveled in limos. Good, he’d be able to afford her fee, with a hefty upfront deposit. Maybe she’d even pay off her credit card balance this month—that would be a first.

  “The metro cars are air-conditioned and the seats upholstered, the stations well-lit and clean. I was most impressed.”

  Like she cared? His words didn’t sound condescending, but as if he intended to file them away for future use—almost as if he wanted to duplicate the District’s metro system. “What are you, a transportation expert?”

  “Nothing so specialized I’m afraid.”

  He still hadn’t told her his last name, or what he did for the Vashmiran government, but she let it pass. If she took him on as a client, she would eventually need to know much more than he’d already told her, but she’d learned to temper her curiosity, and not to scare away a customer by asking too many uncomfortable questions before she’d won their trust…and had accepted a hefty deposit.

  “I rode the Red line to Judiciary Square where I switched to the Blue line. Now, I’m here. Do you think you can help me?”