‘I’m not crying.’ But there were tears in her beautiful eyes, nonetheless. ‘I just needed you to say that.’
It cut him to the quick—which he knew he deserved. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say it a long time ago.’
She wound her arms around him; he drew her close. They sighed together as their mouths joined. No complicating sex this time, just love and caring and—’
‘Get dressed,’ he decided suddenly.
‘Why?’ she protested. Eve was perfectly happy where she was.
‘We are going to play the rest of this relationship by the book. So we get dressed, then we will go out and find you something amazing to wear in hot-pink for our official betrothal tonight. Then we get married—next week,’ he added as a frowning afterthought. ‘Because I don’t think we can behave ourselves for longer than that.’
‘You won’t last a week,’ Eve informed him a short ten minutes later as they left her room and his hand was already checking out the smooth line of her bottom.
‘I suppose you are going to make it your mission to prove yourself right.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said airily. ‘I love a good challenge.’
She won, but then she usually did. Eve the flirt, Eve the temptress, went to her marriage bed every night that week.
* * * * *
Now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of Dani Collins next book,
CINDERELLA’S ROYAL SEDUCTION
Sopi gives herself one chance to feel like a princess in Rhys’s arms. She knows it cannot go further, until the Prince stuns her with his convenient proposal! Dare she believe he wants her for more than desire?
Read on for a glimpse of
CINDERELLA’S ROYAL SEDUCTION
PROLOGUE
JUST ONCE, CASSIOPEIA BRODEUR wished she could be given enough time to sit and think before having to react to whatever catastrophe her stepmother, Maude, had set in motion.
SHE REALLY WISHED that when she’d been fifteen and thinking she was welcoming her stepsisters into her family, she hadn’t told them her friends called her Sopi.
“Soapy?” Nanette and Fernanda spoke English as their fourth language, but they’d heard the pun and laughed hysterically.
Seven years later, all of Sopi’s childhood friends, including the ones who’d given her the nickname when they’d been in grade school, had moved on to university and world travel, interesting jobs and serious relationships and cities.
While Sopi was still here in Lonely Lake, scrubbing up after her spoiled stepfamily and the guests of the hotel and spa that bore her name.
Why couldn’t Maude and the girls shove off back to Europe and quit destroying what was left of her life? They certainly made no effort to hide their disdain for this “backwater village” in the remote wilderness of the Canadian Rockies.
Oh, right, they had run through all of Sopi’s father’s money and had nowhere left to turn. Yet they seemed determined to drive this place into ruin, too.
“All the reservations?” Sopi repeated with disbelief. “You canceled all of March?”
“Yes.”
“On purpose?”
“Sopi.” Maude used her most hideously patronizing tone. “We can’t have families with children running around when we’re entertaining royalty, can we? And we’ll need the rooms.”
“Royalty?” Sopi asked with a choke of hysterical laughter. “Is that a figure of speech?” The odd aging pop star turned up—emphasis on odd—but real celebrities with real money went to Banff or Whistler for their spring skiing.
“Rhys Charlemaine is the prince of Verina.”
“Never heard of him,” Sopi said flatly, even though it rang a distant bell. She barely had time to keep up with weather reports and the latest safety regulations, though. She didn’t follow gossip on fading royalty.
“Honestly, Sopi. Your lack of education.” Maude shook her coiffed silver head in despair.
Was she referring to the education that hadn’t been paid for because instead Sopi’s father’s money had been used to keep Nanette and Fernanda in boarding school in Switzerland? The girls’ absence had turned out to be a blessing, so Sopi didn’t complain much about it, but honestly.
“Why on earth would a prince come here?” Sopi asked.
“Because I’ve arranged a week of heli-skiing for him.”
With what money?
Sopi wanted to scream or maybe cry. She glanced longingly beyond the windows where February skies were an intense blue over blinding white slopes across the valley. Last season, she’d skied once on the small commercial hill on the far side of the lake. This year she hadn’t had a single opportunity—too busy trying to keep the spa afloat.
“And as for the accommodation,” Maude continued absently, “the girls will move from the penthouse so he can use it, but they’ll stay on the top floor. His entourage will take the rest of the rooms there.”
“His entourage? Please tell me this isn’t all complimentary.” Sopi knew it would be and felt sick. Sick. Maude never let her peek at the books, but Sopi wasn’t blind or stupid. She knew they were in the red and bleeding more every day.
“Of course we won’t charge him.” Maude’s scoffing tone chided her as Silly Sopi. “This is exceedingly good exposure for us. Everyone will want to come here, especially while he’s in residence. I’ve arranged a decent chef. That’s long overdue.” Her pointed look blamed Sopi for not having made that happen sooner, and Sopi couldn’t even imagine what it was going to cost. “You’ll need to hire more staff for the treatments.”
“Maude.” Sopi tried one more time, even though this argument had never made an impact. “There is no one to hire.”
The occasional adventurous cosmetician or massage therapist joined them for a season, but the isolation of Lonely Lake wasn’t for everyone. Plus, Maude and her daughters were a special kind of hell to work for. Their incessant demands and tantrums over inconveniences like having to wait for deliveries of a desired shade of nail polish impacted the spa’s ability to retain qualified employees.
“You always make things harder than they are,” Maude sighed. “People will beg to work for gratuities if you tell them who will be staying here.”
The spa’s bread-and-butter clientele were retirees soaking
