His Highness's Hidden Heir
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Dani Collins
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An accidental pregnancy, marriage of convenience, royal romance. A shotgun wedding… at the palace altar! Former wild-child actress Lexi's mission to reclaim her career at a gala is thwarted when she's found by her stalker. Sending her straight into the protective arms of irresistible Prince Magnus! They succumb to a single night of scalding pleasure... When a positive pregnancy test changes Lexi's plans, she knows Magnus can't be tied to her scandalous reputation, however safe he made her feel. But after Magnus discovers her secret, his coldly pragmatic solution blindsides her. And newlywed princess Lexi is left wondering if her royal husband even remembers their explosive encounter…
CHAPTER ONE
THE ADAGE THAT SAID If you want something done right, do it yourself defined Lexi Alexander’s twenty-five years of life.
Unfortunately, there were some things she simply couldn’t do. For instance, she couldn’t be famous and also be her own security detail.
Quietly cursing under her breath, she dismissed Nishan, the bodyguard her brother had hired, and left for the ballroom alone.
Poor Nishan hadn’t meant to contract food poisoning. She knew that. Hadley was the real problem. Her brother had hired a man who hadn’t been up to the task of protecting her even before he’d lost his lunch. Nishan hadn’t known how to navigate her through the airports or the streets of Paris and there’d been a very un-reassuring alarm in his eyes as they’d run the gauntlet of paparazzi from the car to the hotel. He had allowed stylists to come and go from her room all afternoon without checking their bags. Now Lexi was without an escort as she joined the queue in the corridor, inching their way toward the ballroom.
She was perfectly safe, she reassured herself. The hotel was in a type of lockdown, given the guest list for this gala included muckety-mucks from across Europe. It wasn’t as though she wore millions of dollars in jewels the way she used to when attending something like this. Her fall from grace two years ago meant she’d had to call in a favor to rent one of last year’s gowns, and her jewelry was costume. Very good costume, but costume nonetheless.
The bloom was so far off her rose, she half expected to be refused entry.
Which would break her, financially and emotionally. She had dropped funds she couldn’t afford on the flight, the hotel and the plate fee of a five-figure donation benefiting war-injured children. She was hoping her attendance would polish out some of the tarnish on her reputation, but was really here to “bump into” one of the other guests, a French woman Lexi desperately wanted to direct her in an adaptation she was trying to get off the ground.
All of this was high-stakes gambling, something Lexi objected to in principle, but she had so few choices. Being famous since childhood meant she was perceived as rich and powerful. That made her a favorite target for paparazzi and others who were even less savory. She would love to get a job as a barista and live a quiet life above a bookstore, but that option wasn’t available to her. She had cut back as much as she could, but she still needed an income that would pay the mortgage on her high-security mansion and allow her to keep her staff.
“Ms. Alexander.” A young woman in a little black dress greeted her with a smile of recognition when Lexi arrived at the front of the line. It was the delighted smile Lexi had seen most of her life. The one that seemed to exclaim, You’re that girl from that show!
The young woman’s expression faltered, the way they all did these days, as she recalled the more recent headlines: Unapproved Ingredients. Chemical Burns. Class Action Lawsuit.
The young woman touched her earpiece and flashed Lexi a more sober look. “May I ask you to step to the side with me, please?”
No. Lexi kept her star-powered smile frozen in place. “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all. Only...” As they moved to the left of the entryway, the young woman looked back the way Lexi had come.
Lexi followed her gaze and watched all the people in their tuxedos and evening gowns, designer shoes and sparkling jewels, step toward the wall. Some bowed their heads.
She heard someone murmur, “Your Highness,” right before a man—an absolute Viking—appeared.
He was tall, six four at least. He led his entourage like an invading party, ignoring everyone as he marched toward the ballroom, head high with his right to cut the line.
Maybe Lexi was supposed to lower her gaze, too, but she was too dazzled.
He wore a gorgeous tuxedo with a white jacket that hugged his broad shoulders. A sash of midnight blue was tucked beneath it, running diagonally from his left shoulder to his right hip where the silk protruded. It was pinned with a silver emblem shaped like a starburst. A row of medals sat in a line above his pocket square and a crest of some kind was embroidered on the pocket.
His dark blond hair was combed back from his forehead, revealing the rugged bone structure of his brow and cheeks and jaw. His nose was hawkish, his mouth wide and accentuated by his closely trimmed bronze beard.
All of that was mesmerizing enough, but his eyes. They were such a vivid blue, they made her shiver as his gaze slammed into hers while he approached.
He turned his head as he passed her, holding her gaze an extra second, never missing a step in his long, ground-eating stride.
Then she was staring at the pewter wolf’s head that secured his long hair at his nape.
He melted into the crowded ballroom, taking all his dynamic energy with him, leaving a wake of rippling voices.
“Whew!” Lexi heard beside her. She had completely forgotten the young woman who was now blushing and fanning her face. “They told me to let him go by without stopping him. You can go in now. Thank you for waiting.”
Lexi dragged her mind back to where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, but her thoughts were scattered like stars across the sky.
“Who, um, who is he?” she asked under her breath.
“Prince Magnus of Isleif.”
“Of course.” She pretended that meant something to her, but she was an American born in Scottsdale, Arizona. She’d been raised on film sets and didn’t know much about the royals of Europe. Isleif was an island somewhere between Denmark and Greenland, if she recalled her online geography classes correctly. Otherwise, she knew nothing about it.
With a nod of thanks, she entered the busy ballroom.
She hated to enter a crowd alone. I’m safe, she affirmed to herself. The hotel had its own security in place and that young woman at the door was only letting in the approved guest list. These were all sophisticated people who cared very little for American actors turned failed online influencers.
But there had been some terrible posts over the years, especially after that most recent lawsuit.
She ignored the anxiety that tried to churn her belly and scanned the crowd, looking for her target, Bernadette Garnier.
Lexi wasn’t short. She was five eight and wore five-inch heels, but it was still difficult to spot the director. The room lights were dimmed. Balloons floated above highboy tables and streamers draped from the ceiling. Clusters of people were shifting and pressing around the silent auction tables. More were jockeying at the bar. Waitstaff circulated, offering champagne.
She waved that off, moving closer to where an ensemble played a lively tune that was barely audible over the din of voices.
“Paisley!” A man close to her age brightened with discovery as she tried to excuse herself past him.
This was why she preferred to have a bodyguard with her.
“Guilty.” Lexi forced a friendly smile and offered her hand. “My real name is Lexi Alexander.”
Yes. My mother named me Alexandra Alexander, she often had to add.
“No, you’re Paisley Pockets,” he insisted. “My sister made me watch your show when we were kids.” He leaned in to add in a tone that bordered on creepy, “Then I made her watch Bungalow Bingo.”
This was typical from a man. He hadn’t enjoyed a show about a girl who could travel in pockets, but he couldn’t wait to brag about ogling her in her later work, when she’d worn short shorts and a bandeau.
“Can we get a photo?” He threw his arm around her and brought up his phone.
It was always more expedient to agree than protest that this was an invasion of her time and privacy, but damn Hadley for hiring such a green bodyguard. Who ate a shrimp-filled croissant from a street vendor’s cart?
She smiled sunnily for the photo, experiencing a prickle of awareness as she did.
It took all her control to wait until the photo was taken before she glanced left, to where her inner radar was pulling her attention.
Prince Magnus was watching them. Her. He was tall enough he stood like a lighthouse amid the streaming crowd. As she held his stare, an itching sensation rose behind her breastbone, making the rest of her tingle.
The prince blinked once and glanced away, leaving her deflated at losing his attention.
“Darling.” A woman arrived to grip her fan’s arm, digging her nails into his sleeve.
“Look,” he said with an excited wave at Lexi. “It’s Paisley Pockets.”
“Lexi Alexander. Hi.” Lexi always offered her real name with her hand, even though she was resigned to having Paisley Pockets on her tombstone.
The woman offered a flat, dismissive smile. She ignored Lexi’s hand and insisted to the man, “You need to meet my friend.” She mumbled something in his ear.
The man shot Lexi a look and the tension in Lexi’s belly twisted into a blistering knot.
That look was becoming familiar, too. Don’t speak to her. She’s radioactive.
“Excuse me,” she said, even though they were already turning away.
This was why she was in Europe, taking long shots at finding work. No one in the American film industry would touch her.
You just have to stay in the game, her mother would say cheerfully, but Lexi was growing tired of the fight.
If she had other options she would take them, but this was all she had and the press loved to chum the waters with her old mistakes, making it impossible for her to outswim her past.
The next hour was a roller coaster of similar encounters. She wound her way around the auction items, bidding on the ones she knew she would lose since she couldn’t afford any of them.
She didn’t find Bernadette. Was she even here? People were still arriving, but she was very done with being here. This evening was starting to smell like a huge mistake.
The music paused for speeches. Lexi listened with half an ear, scanning the faces as best she could until she joined the polite applause. A gorgeous couple took to the dance floor in an elegant waltz.
“Shall we?” The deep, accented voice stirred the fine hairs near her ear while a wide, hot palm took possession of her hip.
She turned her head and her cheekbone grazed the silky whiskers of the Prince’s chin. He essentially surrounded her, causing her heart to belatedly leap. She was snared. Caught. Claimed.
A dozen thoughts zipped through her mind—one of them that he couldn’t possibly know who she was—but he was trailing his hand across her lower back, thumb grazing where her gown dipped to reveal her spine, leaving a spark of electricity against her skin.
He removed his touch and caught her hand, tugging her toward the dance floor.
It was as though a barbed hook in her chest pulled her to follow him, instantly painful yet impossible to resist.
He gathered her a little too close. Close enough that her legs brushed his as they moved, causing the silk lining of her gown to caress her thighs.
She knew how to dance, but she’d never moved so fluidly with anyone. Not without weeks of rehearsal. She was instantly in sync with him, her body giving over to his dominant lead with instinctive trust.
Don’t, a protective voice warned. She’d learned the hard way that trust needed to be earned. Even then, it was conditional. She’d been hurt too many times to take anyone at face value, even a prince. What did he want? Sex?
“What’s your name?” he asked in his accented English.
“You don’t know?” She was genuinely surprised.
“Should I?”
“I’m Lexi Alexander, an actor from America.” She didn’t mention the cosmetic thing. “I would have thought someone on your team had recognized me.” And warned him not to talk to her, let alone dance with her. People were noticing.
She glanced toward his entourage and saw a silver-haired man wearing an expression of subtle horror.
It wasn’t funny, but she had a dark enough sense of humor to be amused.
“You didn’t know who I was when you saw me,” the prince chided. “I could tell by the way you looked at me.”
“How was that?” She lifted her lashes, curious, and was instantly snared by the banked heat behind his startlingly blue irises.
“As a man.”
Oh. Her heart lurched. He did want sex.
But maybe she did, too? A sensual weight seemed to land in her belly, one that emanated intense warmth through her torso, arriving in pinpoints at the tips of her breasts and between her thighs.
It was disconcerting enough to make her cheeks sting. She lowered her gaze, embarrassed at having such a visceral, obvious reaction.
“You’re very beautiful.” His voice deepened with admiration. Intimacy. “I couldn’t help noticing you, too.”
She knew she was judged to be beautiful. Hollywood told her that all the time, not that she believed her beauty was anything more than symmetrical features and above-average height. She did have genuinely nice hair, but the honey-gold streaks were placed there by her mother. Rhonda Alexander had trained in hair and makeup before Lexi was born, then treated her daughter as her own personal dress-up doll, an asset to be polished and shown off.
Thus, Lexi knew how to emphasize her eyes so they seemed bigger and shape her mouth into more of a sensual pout. She wore push-up bras and kept her weight audition-ready. Her nails were always manicured, her fashion choices edgy, but flattering.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” she dismissed lightly.
“Aren’t I the lucky one to be holding it.” His mouth twitched. “You’re here alone?”
“I am, but—” She gave a barely perceptible shake of her head, regretting that she had to rebuff him. It made her throat feel raw, but it was necessary. She was used often enough that she wouldn’t do that to a stranger for a bit of positive press, no matter how badly she needed it.
The way his expression hardened told her he wasn’t used to being refused what he wanted. And he wanted her. Not the way other men did, either. This was different. She understood that at a cellular level, as his hands subtly tightened on her. He wasn’t intent on possessing a pretty object. No, this was elemental sexual desire—the kind she had never really experienced. She only recognized it in him because it was coming alive in her blood and nerve endings, sharpening her senses and filling her with craving.
Her heart tipped unsteadily in her chest. The pull toward him was so profound, the need to be near him so acute, it was terrifying. She wanted to fall into him and damn the consequences, which conversely made her want to run the other way out of self-protection.
“You need to t-talk to your people.” She stopped dancing and pressed for him to release her.
He turned to stone, holding her in place without effort for three crashing heartbeats.
The strength in his arms was an iron cage, but he held her more with the pierce of his gaze. Then he dropped his touch and gave her a disinterested nod.
She had to do some of her best acting as he walked away, hiding how bereft she was as she moving in the opposite direction.
He left the gala moments later. She felt the energy in the room change. Maybe it was the awareness inside her that dimmed. Either way, she was dejected and swimming in loss.
She told herself it was because she hadn’t managed to find Bernadette. She went back to the entrance of the ballroom and asked the greeter if the director had turned up.
The young woman checked her tablet. “It doesn’t seem so.”
Damn. Everything about this trip had become a complete waste of resources.
Lexi threw in the towel, unwilling to go back into the ballroom and face the growing stares. They were even more rude and speculative now that she’d danced with the prince.
He had probably wanted distance after being informed about her. She imagined he was furious that she’d compromised him.
For some reason that ate at her worse than the money she’d thrown away by coming here. Why? He was a total stranger. He meant nothing to her.
Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about him as she made her way down the corridor to the elevators, worrying over their brief interaction like an abscessed tooth, poking at all the most painful aspects.
She had to keep an unbothered look on her face as she went. Small groups of people were chatting in alcoves and she had to step aside for another entourage of royals.
Wait. Was that—? It was!
Lexi was rarely starstruck, but she paused to watch Queen Claudine and her husband, King Felipe, continue toward the ballroom. Claudine had been a beauty contestant from New York, competing in Nazarine when she’d fallen in love with its crown prince. He had since ascended to the throne. Their courtship was straight out of a romance novel, the kind Lexi would love to develop into a movie and star in, not that she could touch Queen Claudine’s natural beauty—
“Lexi!” a male voice called.
She glanced to the end of the corridor where it ended at the mezzanine. A man stood on the far side of the circular rail that looked onto the hotel’s entrance foyer below. He lifted his camera to point it at her.
The paparazzi was roped off outside, but that wasn’t just any photographer. Her heart nearly came out her throat as she recognized her stalker.
Instinctively, she pushed through the nearest door.
She had an impression of half a dozen men, including Prince Magnus, before someone grabbed her. Shock rendered her meager self-defense training useless. Her right arm was twisted into the middle of her back and her scream was still trapped in her throat when her face smacked into the wall.
