Releasing on September 19, 2017
He’s a womanizer. He’s cocky. He’s not exactly a prince. Only he technically is. Meet your new royal obsession in this addictive novel from New York Times bestselling author Tracy Wolff.
Being rich opens a lot of doors. When you’re rich and royal, those doors lead to a new bedroom every night. I should know. The tabloids call me His Royal Hotness, Prince Kian of Wildemar. Women across the world see me as a naughty fairy tale, an image I’m happy to indulge. As the spare to the heir, I’m the prince with none of the power . . . and all of the perks.
Then my twin brother is kidnapped, and suddenly I’m the one who could be king. The crown chasers start circling—and yet it’s a luscious waitress who catches my eye. With a smart mouth and the curves to back it up, Savannah Breslin is as brazen as I’d expect an American commoner to be.
But Savvy’s not interested in playing Cinderella. As sexy as she is, she’s no stranger to heartbreak. Besides, a nice guy wouldn’t drag her into all the drama that comes along with royalty. Lucky I’m not a nice guy. And, as it turns out, I might not even be her first prince. . . .
I take hold of her hand, spin her back around until she’s facing me. “You’re really going back to work?”
Savvy smiles, obviously amused by my disbelief. “I really am.”
“I thought we were having a moment here.”
“We were having several moments.” She reaches up with her free hand and pats my cheek. “And now they’re over.”
“They don’t have to be.” I place my free hand on her lower back, press her against me. Despite her words, her body is pliant and her nipples peaked as she lets me hold her close. “Trust me, Savvy. I can make you feel good.”
She laughs then, and somehow it’s even sexier than before. What is it about this woman that turns me on even when she’s laughing at me?
“I just bet you can.” She leans forward and brushes her lips against mine. Electricity arcs between us at the brief contact. “But not here and not tonight.”
I hold her tight, go in for another, deeper kiss. One that has her moaning low in her throat and has my every nerve ending standing up and taking notice. “Where and when then?” I ask, when she finally pulls back. “You name the place.”
She just shakes her head, shifts against me. I can feel it now, the way she’s poised to flee despite the need winding its way around us like a vine. The knowledge only makes me hold on tighter, a part of me afraid she’ll disappear like Cinderella when the clock strikes midnight.
Thank God it’s only ten-thirty.
“I have to go,” she says again.
“At least give me your number. Your last name. Something.”
“And what exactly would you do with my number or my last name, Prince Kian?”
This time I don’t like the emphasis she puts on my title, any more than I like the distance she puts between us when she pulls away. “I’d call you up and ask you out on a proper date.”
“The prince and the pauper?” Now she sounds downright mocking. “I know how that one ends.”
“I think you’ve got your fairy tales confused.”
She tilts her head, studies me. “But my fairy godmother’s been on vacation for a decade or two, so there’s no taking chances. Besides, I’ve never really liked Cinderella.”
“So? You’re the writer. Why don’t you change the story?”
She cups her hand around the back of my neck, tugs my head down for a swift, hard kiss. Then pulls back and smiles up at me. “I already have.”
And then she’s gone, slipping through the door and out into the hallway.