His Bride with Two Royal Secrets
Author
Marcella Bell
Reads
18.7K
Chapters
20
CHAPTER ONE
JAG STRODE INTO the bright, vast garage in time to witness a dark-haired woman wearing an obnoxious lime-green jumpsuit reach out to delicately caress his priceless vintage Ferrari GTO.
The Ferrari, which gleamed in glacier-blue perfection, rested atop a round white platform beneath a bright spotlight.
The woman’s hand upon it was gentle and lingering, like that of a lover’s cupping of the curved hip of their beloved.
Something unfamiliar and powerful jolted through Jag’s body at the sight of it, though he remained where he stood.
Hard or soft, the pressure of her touch didn’t matter.
She did not have permission to touch his car.
“Mmm...” she purred, unaware of Jag’s presence, her voice lingering on the sound with the same sensuality with which she handled his vehicle. “Practically perfect,” she continued in a low, throaty voice. “In every way. It’s an outrage that I don’t get to keep you all to myself. Only I know how to take care of something as precious and rare as you.”
Her words were slightly breathless, each syllable heavy and erotic, as if she and the car existed in a private world of their own.
Jag swallowed, his hand clenching at his side so that he didn’t involuntarily lift it to accept an invitation that he logically knew she was not offering to him.
But maybe by proxy?
Shaking the outrageous thought out of his head, he blinked slowly, intentionally unclenching his hand at his side.
That he was here at all, at the very western edge of the United States—as opposed to attending to any number of the many interests he had as Crown Prince of the independent emirate of Hayat—was absolutely ridiculous.
To have arrived in time to discover a strange woman pawing his precious jewel was utterly unconscionable.
Equally offensive was the fact that the car was the one thing left in Jag’s world that could be used to manipulate him. And while NECTAR did not directly control that, he’d certainly revealed to the world that it was true.
Which was, naturally, the point that offended Jag the most.
Manipulation by means of the heart was the thing he hated most in all of creation.
Through restricting the output of his love, doling it out rarely and only to those in command of their own security forces with at least a modicum of demonstrated martial acuity, he had thought himself to have been thoroughly cured of that particular weakness, and for a very long time now.
But he had been utterly immovable on the decision to travel all this way—against his better judgment and adviser’s wishes—for the humble pleasure of having his own property back.
Adding insult to injury, he had done so at the demand of a man whom literally no one had ever met, no one could physically describe, and now, only Jag knew the location of. Well, now Jag and his security team. Obviously, he had not walked into an American blind spot without a contingency and retrieval plan. He was too important for that. That would have been irresponsible.
But at least the beauty that shone before him was worth it—beauty of the four-wheeled variety, he mentally insisted.
Though her back remained to him, he could sense that the woman, too, was beautiful, as well as appreciate the tantalizing view of her generously rounded rear end and shapely thighs and calves.
But he didn’t have time for the woman. He was here for the car.
While Jag was happy to play light and carefree in the company of the few individuals he loved in this world, and to become a master seducer when he needed to let off a little steam, since stepping into his role as Crown Prince and officially instituting his plan to bring his father to ruin, his playboy prince persona had been put firmly behind him.
His people wanted their prince to be a wholesome family role model and, to the best of his ability, he would give his people what they wanted—both because a good leader put the needs of his people above his own, and because he needed to be popular if he was going to overthrow his father without bloodshed.
For not the first time, Jag deliberately pulled his attention away from the curvy creature of flesh before him and returned it to his angel on four wheels, drawing in a long breath as he did it, and exhaling only once he got there.
The car was pristine. Possibly in the top tier of most stunning objects he had ever laid his eyes on.
And there would be plenty of time to admire it, and women, when he returned to Hayat.
But between planning the largest international event that Hayat had ever seen and launching the final phase of his plan to oust his father from the throne, there was not a lot of room in his schedule for leisurely exchanges with reclusive automotive geniuses.
There was simply too much at stake.
Even if it was true that NECTAR had never spoken directly with a single client—Jag included—until demanding to meet with Jag face-to-face.
But the success of Jag’s exhibition depended upon that car, and the success of his coup depended on the success of the exhibition, so here he was, waiting for NECTAR while a strange woman pawed his prize.
And on that matter, the clock was ticking. In truth, both he and his car had bigger concerns than smudges and fingerprints, and it was past time they get on with them.
Clearing his throat, surprised at the thickness that had accumulated there while he’d watched the mechanic, Jag managed to get out a low, more or less smooth and ominous, “Careful, there,” though his voice still caught as it exited his throat. Strengthening and carrying more of the original remonstrative disdain than he had intended, he added, “I’m sure your employer wouldn’t appreciate you smudging the finish.”
But rather than startling and pulling her hand back like a thief caught in the act, the woman instead went absolutely still, her hand remaining firmly affixed to the side of his vehicle.
And as she turned to face him, he was forced to admit that she was a risk to him of the oldest and most potent variety.
She was gorgeous.
Her hair was dark, and glossy, and thick.
Her skin was bright and clear, an umber tone that glowed, silky, smooth and warmth.
Her dusky-rose-colored lips matched the rest of her full and expressive beauty, while her nose was well shaped and adorable and her eyes large and brown.
If she weren’t dressed up in mechanic’s gear, she would have looked like a princess from a fairy tale.
Their eyes locked.
Her straight eyebrows drew together, the deep color of her lush lips pressing into a line.
And from the light burning in her dark brown eyes, it was clear that she had the audacity to be offended by him. She had been the one fondling his car.
“Prince Jahangir, I presume,” she said, as if his property were not the subject of their conversation and his title were simply a superfluous adjective.
Nothing in what she said neared an apology, nor an explanation, nor anything remotely remonstrative. In fact, there was not an ounce of regret in her voice.
If anything, she sounded as if she were disappointed at his behavior, and not just that. Her voice also made it clear that she was additionally disappointed with herself—for expecting better of him.
It had been so long since anyone had used a tone like that on him that it took the Prince a moment to place it.
Only his mother had ever spoken to him like that. And where had a thought like that come from? Shaking his head, he pushed the memory away, rather than let it linger.
“Indeed,” he responded, instead. “I am here to retrieve my vehicle at NECTAR’s...request.”
The woman laughed, and it broke through the irritation on her face. Lifting her lips, her glorious eyes crinkling at the corners, she appeared to emanate her own light, though Jag knew that couldn’t be true. It had to be because she stood beneath the car’s spotlight.
Jag stared, unable to quite adjust to the wattage of her smile as well as a bit taken aback by the whole situation itself.
If he wasn’t mistaken, she was laughing at him.
As her laughter died down, though she remained smiling, she said, “I’m NECTAR. In person, though, people usually call me Rita.”
As though he had not been thrown for a loop, Jag verified, “You are NECTAR?”
Meeting his eye, which was a feat he had long ago given up on expecting of most people, the woman said, “I sure hope so. Otherwise you just paid the wrong person a lot of money for this car. Not to mention entrusted a car worth its weight in gold to the wrong person.”
Jag blinked once, then nodded as if the information were to be expected when it entirely was not.
NECTAR was a woman.
NECTAR was a beautiful woman. Possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever met.
And her tone was chastising.
The facts that she had been the only individual he’d seen on the premises, apart from the driver she’d sent to pick him up from the airport, and had had her hands all over a car that most kings and queens would be afraid to touch, should have made it all obvious, he realized now.
As had the fact that she had not been intimidated by him in the least.
And why would she be? He might be a crown prince, but so were most of her clients. And hadn’t she just successfully demanded that he jump at her command?
Jag said, “I assume that’s my car?”
Rita moistened her lips, leaving them plump and glistening, and said, a bit breathlessly, “It’s the only 1962 Ferrari GTO that’s ever come through my garage.”
There were those who said it was the rarest car in the world.
And the purists of the world would decry that he had ruined it by ordering the conversion.
The two of them, however, knew that her work had made a unicorn into a legend.
“It’s lovely that you appreciate its rarity,” Jag said, unable to stop the bit of humor threading into his voice. Clearing his throat before he spoke again, and straightening his already upright posture, he added, “However, I imagine that there was a greater purpose to your summoning me here than a discussion of that. Otherwise, I’m afraid I need to take it home now.”
To his utter shock, she held her palms up, with a firm, “No.”
“Excuse me?” Jag asked, apparently still capable of being surprised despite the fact that she had already proved exceptionally bold.
“Wait—”
“I can’t,” he said, and there was some real shame in that. But kingdoms came before beguiling women. They had to when people’s daily lives depended upon the behavior of a handful of individuals. “It is an honor to own one of the world’s most precious automobiles, and an even greater one yet, that it is also the work of such a renowned engineer as yourself. However, I cannot linger nor offer any more than my appreciation, compliments and the substantial amount of money I’ve paid you for the privilege.”
She disabused him of the notion that she was looking for more money, however, with the next thing she said.
“Take me with you,” she blurted out, the words running together in her rush to get them out. “I heard about the exhibition, I know what you’re planning to do, and you need me around to make sure it happens. If you’re going to succeed, the car has to be perfect at all times. No one can keep it that way other than me.”
Jag froze. She had no idea what he was planning to do with his exhibition. She had likely read the official marketing materials about the exhibition and thought it was all about the cars.
“And what’s in it for you?” he asked, voice low.
“I have to be there. It’s the best place I can showcase my work, my talent. The place to make the connections that I need to in order to achieve my long-term goals. The most important names in electric vehicles will be there, so I have to be there, too. The connections I could make...you wouldn’t even need to acknowledge me. I just need to be in the room where it happens,” she pleaded earnestly.
It made sense.
Of course she would want to be a part of it—she was the world’s leading engineer when it came to electric vehicles.
But electric futures were not the only thing his exhibition was about, and she had no idea the kind of danger and intrigue that boiled beneath the surface.
Only his close friends, the total of whom he could count on one hand, knew just what his plans were. There was no conceivable reason to add babysitting a strange and alluring woman into that mix.
Except for the fact that she was right about the car.
And that she was alluring and strange and beautiful.
But most importantly, the car.
It did have to be perfect, for every moment of the exhibition. And not just for the race, but for the countless showcases and press events and demonstrations as well. Old cars, as well as converted cars, were high-maintenance under the best of conditions. A weeklong showcase of the power, range and capacity of electric vehicles, starring a vehicle that had been born in the same year as his mother, rest her soul, was not exactly the best of conditions.
NECTAR guaranteed lifelong service for all of his—or rather, her—vehicles, but that service required to and fro international transport and resulted in intolerable waiting times.
Her offer made absolute sense.
But still, Jag refused. “Absolutely not.”
He owed it to her to protect her—even if it was just against her own recklessness.
Honestly, what was she thinking?
She didn’t know the first thing about Hayat, she didn’t speak the language and, most importantly, she had no idea what she was asking. Did she have no sense of self-preservation?
Probably not. Like most Americans, she probably believed that the world was wild and free and full of desperate dreamers.
In Hayat, she would merely be another soul he was responsible for keeping safe and happy while simultaneously staging a coup.
But damn, she was right about the car.
His eyes found hers desperate, and he paused.
For an instant her expression shuttered, and she took a deep breath. Then a layer of resolution settled over her.
On an exhale, she said, “I’ll let you pick out a car from my personal fleet if you let me come.”
Jag blinked.
She was beautiful and ingenuous and enigmatic, and he simply didn’t have the time to take care of her while he dealt with his father.
But that was before she’d offered him a vehicle from her personal fleet, a sly voice inside reminded.
And there was the point she’d made about maintenance. And, as she was one of the world’s foremost experts on electric cars, he could build her into the program, even this late in the game.
An idea was beginning to form in his mind.
His advisers had told him multiple times since his permanent return to Hayat that marriage would greatly boost his popularity. It was a step he had resisted, however, despite being willing to refrain from having public romantic associations, because he had not been willing to take the risk of making a woman his bride.
A marriage of convenience with a logical peer—a woman of high status, wealth and connections—was simply too big a risk, given his plans.
The kind of woman who would go into a partnership like that with open eyes would undoubtedly bring a level of honed cynicism that just wasn’t a good idea to have around when one was planning a coup.
That left him with the alternative of pursuing and wooing, which he had neither the time nor the duplicity for.
He would not present himself as a genuine lover to a woman when he knew that was something he would never be.
He had learned long ago that love, affection and closeness were liabilities when one had a father like his. It would not be right to capture a heart that he had no intention of caring for and keeping.
And, of course, there was the matter of the vow that he and the three men he considered friends had made while still young foreign men doing a long stint in English boarding school.
Jag and his friends had done their damnedest to fight back at every step, and even making plans into the future, such as in their promise to one another that when the time came, they would each find the most unsuitable brides they could.
Vin, Rafael and even Zeus may have pushed the boundaries of their vow by falling into real love with their unsuitable brides, but each had met the terms without causing harm to their people.
Jag could do no less, particularly when a brilliant and beautiful opportunity knocked.
Bringing a thumb and forefinger to stroke his beard, Jag reconsidered Rita, otherwise known as NECTAR. She was equal parts famous and mysterious.
She had an eye for design and detail, a mind for engineering and complex systems, and in making demands of a powerful man she barely knew, had shown herself to be both dangerously bold and categorically reckless.
She was wealthy—if the fees she charged and her property were any indication—and charismatic. She was passionate about cars, as he was famous for being, and a leader in electric transportation at a time when he was leading Hayat into becoming a world leader in clean energy.
She made sense as much as the absurd plan forming in his mind did not.
And she has a body that begs to be driven along with the face of a heavenly maiden, his own internal recklessness pointed out—though that point he ruthlessly pushed aside.
Her body and face were irrelevant insofar as the future of their relationship was to go.
He was not considering this outrageous idea because he wanted her.
He was considering it because as she was neither a steely-eyed socialite nor a woman he had to fool into love, she was safe to bring into his circle.
He didn’t need her to be attractive.
He needed her to be a woman who wouldn’t bring shame to his nation or people while simultaneously posing no threat to his plans, nor any risk of emotional entanglement.
She was a lovely stranger with her own prerogatives, and as he’d encountered thus far, as transparent as a glass window, and, as genius as she was, when you boiled it down, she was a mechanic.
She was perfect.
She would get whatever it was that she wanted to get out of attending his exhibition, and he would gain in popularity without trouble, risk or wasted time.
If she were willing to agree to his terms, she would get what she wanted, he would get his car back, and, as the Lord had apparently coordinated it, get an added boost in public support while at the same time fulfilling the terms of an agreement he’d made with his closest friends when they’d been only hints of the men they were today.
A wicked and decided grin lifted one side of his mouth and then the other.
Opening it to speak, Jag countered her offer. “A car, even one from the world-famous NECTAR’s personal fleet, is nowhere near enough for the kind of inconvenience you’re asking of me. However, there is a condition upon which I would be willing to bring you along.”
She swallowed, but she didn’t look away, and her voice was resolute and earnest when she promised him the world without knowing what it was. “Anything.”
“Marry me.”
