TALL, DARK & ROYAL Read online

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  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

  Epilogue

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  Prologue

  ^ »

  Merry Christmas. You're the new ruler of Altaria, his mother might as well have said.

  The snow fell outside the window of Daniel Connelly's Chicago high-rise condominium as he tried to make sense of his mother's announcement. Not every man in America had a mother who was a former princess. Although she'd always been Mom to Daniel, and she'd given up her title thirty-five years ago when she'd married his father, Emma Rosemere Connelly had never lost the regal poise drilled into her by years spent as Princess of Altaria. Even now, faced with the news that her father and brother had been killed in a boating accident, she held herself together as she sat beside her husband on the brown leather couch.

  "You're going to have to repeat that, Mom," Daniel said, sinking into his favorite chair.

  His mother took his hands in hers and leaned toward him intently. Her cold fingers and the glint of pain in her blue eyes betrayed her emotions. She gave a sad smile. "I've told you many stories about Altaria. You've even visited a couple of times."

  Daniel nodded, his mind filling with vague childhood memories. "I remember Altaria as a beautiful island off the coast of Italy with a great beach," he said. "But how in the world can I be its new ruler?"

  "Altarian law stipulates that only male descendants can assume the throne. My father and brother are dead," she said, and squeezed his hands in a moment of telltale grief. Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel saw his father squeeze his mother's shoulders in a gesture of support. Grant Connelly had made his fortune in textiles, but his backbone was made of steel. His mother took a quick breath. "My brother had only one daughter, Catherine. He had no male children."

  Daniel thought about some of the gossip he'd heard about his uncle, Prince Marc, over time years. "I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but are you sure Uncle Marc didn't have any other children? He really seemed to take that playboy-prince role to heart."

  His father made a sound between a cough and chuckle.

  His mother frowned. "Daniel," she said, her tone just a shade sharper. "Marc may have had his flaws, but he would never turn his back on his own child. You are the heir to the throne of Altaria."

  Daniel's head reeled. In all his thirty-four years, he'd never imagined being a ruler of a small kingdom. Chicago-born and -bred, he'd always assumed he would spend his life in America. He glanced at his father, a man who had taken the family textile company and burned it into a Fortune 500 corporation. His father had always possessed a passion for the family business, an unrelenting zeal to make it grow.

  Daniel had not.

  He had succeeded in competitive sports in college, and he had succeeded as Vice President of Marketing at Connelly Corporation, but he'd always had the sense that something was missing, that he wanted something deeper, more. Could this possibly be it?

  King? Lord help him. He looked at his parents and shook his head. "King?"

  His father nodded and leaned forward. "You've got what it takes to lead a country if that's what you think you should do. It's your choice."

  His mother squeezed his hand again. She looked at him with a mixture of pride and concern in her eyes. "Consider it carefully. My father had such dreams for Altaria. When he founded the Rosemere Institute to research cancer treatment, he not only provided a beautiful memorial to my mother, he also brought Altaria into the scientific age. Ruling will be a heavy responsibility, and once you start down this road, your life will be changed forever."

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  Chapter 1

  « ^ »

  She was late, but anxious to meet her assignment. Erin Lawrence bit her lip at her slip. Begin her assignment, she mentally corrected. His Majesty might not appreciate being regarded as an assignment. Even if that were true.

  She adjusted her hat, then showed her identification to the security guard on the bottom floor of Daniel Connelly's high-rise condominium. Despite the jet lag from her delayed flight, she felt a rush of anticipation as she entered the steel elevator. Even though she'd arrived at night, she couldn't help noticing how different Chicago's architecture was from the Mediterranean-style houses and buildings in her homeland, Altaria.

  The elevator doors whisked open, and she walked down the hallway to Daniel Connelly's condo. She lifted her hand to ring the buzzer, and her heart hammered in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she couldn't escape the sense of history surrounding this moment. She was about to meet the royal heir to the throne of Altaria.

  Squaring her shoulders, she pressed her index finger into the buzzer and waited.

  And waited. A dog barked in the background.

  She counted to twenty, then pushed the buzzer again and waited. The dog continued to bark.

  The door opened and a tall man with tousled hair and jade-green eyes met her gaze. His chest was bare and muscular, and the only item of clothing he wore was a pair of lounging slacks slung low on his narrow hips. "You rang?"

  "Perhaps I'm at the wrong—" She broke off, totally fixated on his wide shoulders and all that naked skin. A dusting of chest hair arrowed down to the top of his slacks. Leaning against the doorjamb with indolent ease, he gave the impression that he was comfortable with his half-naked body. Something told Erin he knew his way around a woman's naked body. This was the kind of man all her headmistresses had warned her against. This was the kind of man who inspired all the bad girls to sneak out of their windows at night.

  Tearing her gaze from his impressive body, Erin rechecked the number on his door. The address was correct. She swallowed over a knot of apprehension. "Your Majesty?" she said weakly.

  His gaze cleared, and he lifted his head in realization. "You must be Erin Lawrence, the royal etiquette rep."

  "Royal etiquette and palace liaison," she said, fighting a twinge of irritation at his casual description of her position. She gave a slight dip. "At your service, sir."

  His gaze swept over her in brief masculine assessment that hinted at banked, yet powerful sensuality. She held her breath, until he looked into her eyes again with a glint of amusement. "For some reason I thought you were supposed to arrive earlier today."

  "Yes, of course, sir. I apologize. My flights were delayed."

  "Happens to everyone," he said generously and held the door for her to enter. "Come on in. Sorry I'm not dressed for the occasion. I had nine meetings today, so I decided to hit the sack early. Don't worry about the dog. I put Jordan in his kennel when I answered the door," he said, referring to the barking dog.

  "Jordan, sir?"

  "In honor of Michael Jordan, the best basketball player the Chicago Bulls were sorry to lose."

  Erin made a mental note to bone up on American basketball. She knew nothing about it. She stopped midway through the doorway and gazed expectantly at him. "The rule of protocol is the king should precede, sir. One should never turn one's back to the king."

  "Oh." He gave her another once-over. "Well, that could be a damn shame."

  Erin felt a rush of heat to her cheeks and prayed he didn't notice. "Please do proceed, sir. I will follow."

  He gave a slow nod, then led the way through a luxurious living room furnished with contemporary brown leather furniture and oak end tables. She followed him into a clean, well-equipped kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a carton of milk. "You want something to drink? Or a sandwich?"

  The man was almost completely unaware of his position, she thought, and wondered how he would change once he began to exercise his power as king. If he exercised his power as king. Daniel Connolly struck her as a man who didn't need a ti
tle or decree. Staring at his wide shoulders, she caught her mind wandering and gave herself a mental shake. The king was offering to fix her a drink or a sandwich. That would never do. "No, thank you, sir."

  He grimaced slightly. "Do you mind me asking how old you are?"

  She stiffened her spine. "Twenty-two, sir."

  "You're young, but we're both adults. Do you have to call me sir?"

  "It's proper, sir," she said.

  He sighed. "Okay," he said and took a swig directly from the milk carton.

  Erin's eyes widened in horror.

  He must have caught her expression because he gave her a grin. "Don't worry. Last sip," he told her and tossed the empty carton into the trash container.

  Erin practiced what had been drilled into her from years at the finest Swiss boarding schools: she kept her mouth shut. This was the new king of Altaria—a good-looking American who had a body that would make any woman's temperature shoot up ten degrees and who clearly had zero knowledge about royal protocol. She wondered how many of his Altarian ancestors would be spinning in their graves.

  Heaven help Altaria.

  Heaven help her.

  "I'm not exactly sure what your role is," he said.

  "I'm to fill you in on royal protocol and also to learn as much about your preferences as possible so that the palace is well prepared for your arrival, sir."

  He raked his hand through his hair. "Translate royal protocol."

  "Traditional royal etiquette, sir. It's my job to inform you about how the people of Altaria will greet you and how you will be expected to respond."

  He sighed again and robbed his hand over his face. "Etiquette lessons. I'll have to fit them in sometime after an airport expansion plan and a budget review. How about if you take a couple of days to take care of your jet lag and we can get together then?"

  "I'm quite able to perform my duties immediately, sir."

  "Tell you what, get settled and we'll talk tomorrow or the next day."

  Erin felt as if she was getting the brush-off. That wouldn't do. Her father, the foreign minister of Altaria, had assigned her this job—in spite of her unfortunate nervous response that had been the bane of her existence as long as she could remember. She couldn't fail her father. This was her opportunity to forge a closer relationship with him. "I can be useful to you, sir. My father is Altaria's foreign minister, so I'm quite familiar with the political climate."

  Daniel Connelly gave her a considering glance. "Okay. I'll call you after I get through the most critical matters. Welcome to the Windy City." At her puzzled look, he clarified, "Welcome to Chicago."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Are you sure you don't want something to drink?"

  His insistent hospitality disconcerted her. "Quite sure, sir. Thank you."

  He nodded and picked up a phone. "Then I'll tell security to get you a cab."

  "Oh, that's not necessary, sir. I can do that."

  "I'm sure you can, but my protocol won't allow me to send a young lady visitor out into the streets of Chicago without transportation to her destination."

  A gentleman? A secret warmth slid through her. She'd been surrounded by so many men more concerned with their own self-importance that she almost didn't know how to respond. "Thank you, sir," she murmured as he gave instructions to the security attendant.

  Daniel led her to the door and opened it for her. "Why does your accent sound British?" he asked.

  "Although I attended Swiss boarding schools, the headmistresses were British."

  "Your bearing is similar to my mother's," he said.

  "I take that as high praise, sir," she said. "I attended the same boarding school she did years earlier. Princess Emma has always been much beloved and admired by the people of Altaria."

  "Even though she gave up her title to marry a rough American upstart?" he asked with a sly, yet appealing grin.

  "She may have officially given up her title as princess, sir, but she is always a princess in the hearts of Altarians."

  He chuckled. "You're very good. Are you sure you're not a public relations specialist?"

  "Knowledge of public relations is required for my position, sir. As I told you, however, part of my job is to learn what pleases you so you will feel at home in Altaria."

  "I'm not hard to please. A Bulls game and a Chicago hot dog, and I'm happy."

  Erin blinked, trying to imagine the palace chef preparing a Chicago hot dog. Whatever it was. "I'll make note of it, sir."

  "I'm sure you will. Good night."

  * * *

  Daniel winced as he listened to his voice mail messages two days later. Three of them were from Erin Lawrence. He remembered what a prim but curvy little package she'd been. She was so proper, his contrary mind couldn't resist visualizing her stripped of her perfect manners and clothes. Daniel had also noticed, however, that while Miss Lawrence was a babe, she also gave the impression of innocence, forbidden fruit.

  He hadn't deliberately pushed her aside, but his transition from Vice President of Marketing at Connelly Corporation to King of Altaria had him swamped. To ensure continuity of succession, the successor to a monarch was normally required to be present immediately, so it seemed odd that the foreign minister had told Daniel they weren't quite ready for him yet. Daniel decided to bide his time with his questions. He had plenty to do with the loose ends he had to tie up in Chicago and the preparations he needed to make for Altaria.

  Glancing at his packed-to-the-brim schedule on his electronic organizer, he saw that dinner was clear and punched out the telephone number for Erin's hotel. "Daniel Connelly here," he said when she answered the phone.

  "Thank you for calling, Your Majesty," she said in a proper, but well-modulated tone. Daniel wondered what it would take to ruffle her perfect poise. He wondered what kind of underwear she wore, but pushed the thought aside.

  "Sorry it took so long. I've been swamped, and today's not much better. Can you join me for dinner? I'll order pizza and we can meet at my place."

  A long paused followed.

  "Problem?"

  "No, sir," she said, her voice clearly reluctant.

  "I hear 'problem' in your voice, Miss Lawrence," he said, feeling a twitch of impatience. "What is it?"

  "I'm just trying to determine the propriety of my giving you a protocol lesson in your private quarters, sir," she replied.

  "Didn't you tell me earlier that you wanted privacy?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir, but—"

  "Do you need a chaperone or something?"

  "Absolutely not, sir," she said with a trace of defiance in her voice. "I'll meet you for dinner. What time?"

  "Make it late," he said. "Seven-thirty."

  "Very good sir. I'll see you at seven-thirty."

  Daniel hung up the phone and groaned aloud just as the door to his office pushed open to reveal his brother, Brett.

  "How's it going, YM?" Brett asked and cracked a half-grin. "The king stuff getting to you already?"

  Daniel threw his brother a dark look. "YM?"

  "Short for Your Majesty," Brett said. "The press is sniffing around big-time. They all want an interview, but I should be able to hold them off a little longer."

  Born with a silver tongue, Brett had been the perfect choice for Vice President of Public Relations for Connelly Corporation. He not only reveled in the ability to work the press to the advantage of Connelly Corporation, he also enjoyed his single playboy status to the max—something Daniel had grown weary of during the past couple of years.

  "You think Justin is ready for the world of marketing?" Brett asked.

  Their straitlaced brother Justin was steady and responsible and more than willing to climb the Connelly Corporation corporate ladder. "Justin will do a great job replacing me or he'll die trying," he said.

  "All of us will miss you, but—"

  "—but don't let the door hit me on my way out," Daniel said with a wry chuckle. Whether the game was sports or business, there'd always been a
friendly combination of camaraderie and competition among the Connelly males.

  "You've done a terrific job," Brett said. "Don't get me wrong. But I always got the impression you wanted something different. You think this is it?"

  Surprised at his brother's insight, Daniel nodded. "It's got to be. I have to believe fate is at work here. I always wanted to make a difference, not necessarily in the textile world."

  "Those Altarians are damn lucky to get you," Brett said.

  "I don't know about that. I get the feeling the foreign minister isn't dying for me to move in. He's been slow to send information I've requested, but he did send his daughter," Daniel said, unable to mask a slight grimace.

  "Daughter? What for?"

  "Royal protocol."

  Brett blinked, then barked with laughter. "She's going to try to teach you everything you tried not to learn from Mom."

  "And more, I'm sure," Daniel said, and waved his hand. "I really don't have time for this right now, but I don't want to be rude."

  "What's she like?"

  "Prim and proper," Daniel said, then added, "with killer curves."

  Brett's mouth lifted in a wolfish grin. "Then maybe there will be some fringe benefits with the lessons, after all."

  Although the prospect of intimately exploring Erin's curves tempted the hell out of him, Daniel shook his head. "I don't think so. I've never seen a woman so determined to make me perfect."

  * * *

  Erin juggled a large pizza box with two volumes on royal etiquette along with a photo book on royal uniforms as she twisted around to push His Majesty's buzzer with her elbow. Since the pizza had arrived at the same time she had, she'd suggested delivering it herself.

  Daniel opened the door, and she was struck again by his height. His eyes widened.

  "Let me help you—"

  Just as he reached for the heavy books, a blur of something large and brown raced across the room and careened into her. Erin toppled toward the floor.

  "Jordan, heel!" Daniel yelled, and the dog abruptly backed off.

  Her knees hit the hard stone floor, and pain shot through her, but she automatically squeezed her fingers around the pizza box. Her face was going to hit the floor or the pizza box, she thought in despair, just as strong hands caught her shoulders.