His Majesty's Temporary Bride. Annie West
snuffed out his life and propelled Alex’s father into his place. His late and unlamented father. The man who’d almost bankrupted Bengaria in the years he’d been Stefan’s Regent and later the King. The man whose chicanery and double-dealing had milked the nation almost to a standstill, leaving Alex to haul an economic nightmare out of the red and into the black.
No wonder everyone wanted Alex to marry Amelie. St Galla was wealthy and could help Bengaria, even though he was hopeful his country was beginning to recover now.
He sighed and forked a hand through his hair. He’d only agreed to the visit because of his mother. She’d suffered long and hard through her marriage. Alex had at least escaped his father’s control by leaving Bengaria and pursuing a career as a pilot. She’d been stuck in a loveless marriage to a despicable man.
A familiar chill rippled down his spine at the thought of his father.
In the circumstances, meeting Amelie, the daughter of his mother’s best friend, was little recompense for all she’d put up with. He’d attend the reception to commemorate five hundred years of friendship between their countries then return home and report that Amelie wasn’t the woman for him.
Now, with the early sun warming his bare back and the prospect of no civic duties, he felt a lightness he hadn’t known since he’d given up flying. These couple of days were his first vacation in three years. Even though he’d spend most of it working from his office on the yacht, it felt like freedom. Temporary but glorious.
He sauntered along the deck, contemplating a dip, when a shout rang out. He swivelled to face the shore.
Another shout. A splash.
Alex narrowed his eyes against the sun’s golden dazzle. In the distance he made out a capsized canoe and flailing arms. Another shout and a submerging head.
‘George!’ He raced along the deck. ‘Get the tender! Someone’s in trouble.’ For the people—two of them—weren’t swimming. One floated near the hull of the canoe and a second floundered mere metres from it.
Alex dived, the cool water a shock after the warmth of the sun. He surfaced and powered towards the accident.
How had they capsized in such still waters?
Why weren’t they wearing life vests? Obviously they weren’t since one was sinking.
Hauling in air, Alex forced himself to concentrate on the quick, hard rhythm of his strokes, forging through the water with a speed that might, he hoped, save a life and hopefully two.
A gurgling cry told him he was close and he stopped to discover he was only metres away.
A third head bobbed in the water but he realised with relief this woman could swim. She held a boy under the chin, propping his face above water as she sliced back through the water towards the canoe.
‘You’re okay?’ he gasped.
Her head lifted and his gaze collided with gleaming green, the colour of mountain meadows.
‘We will be,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘when he stops fighting me.’ The teenager was flailing, one long, thin arm reaching back, grabbing at her head.
Alex moved towards them but she was already disengaging the kid’s grasp, telling him firmly but calmly to lie still and let her do the work. Seeing she had things under control, he turned to the canoe where another dark head bobbed precariously low in the water.
Swearing under his breath he raced across, hauling a body up under the arms till the kid started coughing water. No hope of righting the canoe with a dead weight in his hands. Instead he shoved the kid high, so high he lay sprawled over the hull, arms flopping down its other side.
Satisfied he was safe, Alex turned and found the other swimmer had successfully brought the second boy up behind him.
‘Let me give you a hand.’
She nodded and told the kid what they were going to do, again in that clear, calm tone. Then she held the canoe steady while Alex hauled him up onto the hull beside his companion.
Alex’s chest and shoulders burned from the effort. Both teens were lanky and getting purchase in the water had taken a lot of strength. He grimaced. He needed to get out of the office a whole lot more.
‘You’ll be okay.’ He blinked and realised the woman wasn’t reassuring him but the two boys. She’d moved round to the other side of the canoe and was inspecting them.
Alex joined her, relieved to see both kids breathing, albeit in rough gasps.
In the distance he heard a motor start. ‘Help’s on its way. That’s the tender from the yacht.’
She nodded, her attention fixed on the youngsters, and Alex found his gaze dwelling on her high-cut cheekbones, straight nose and plump bow of a mouth. Mermaids were supposed to be beautiful and this one didn’t disappoint.
Abruptly she turned her head, catching his stare. Alex felt their gazes mesh, a palpable connection, and wondered if it had been so long since he’d been with a pretty woman that his brain had turned to mush in the interim.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘It will be easier to transfer them from the other side. I’ll go round and help George if you can stay here and reassure them.’
‘Of course.’ Her voice had a lilt that tugged at something deep inside and told him English wasn’t her first language. He wondered how his name would sound on her lips.
Alex swam around the canoe. First her eyes, now her voice. Had it really been so long since he’d been with a woman?
He banished the thought as George cut the engine and the pair of them worked to get the kids aboard. Once more his golden-haired mermaid proved quietly efficient, easing their burden.
‘Here.’ He beckoned her over when the others were aboard the small boat. ‘I’ll give you a boost up.’
‘No need.’ She flashed him a smile and his pulse kicked hard.
Number three. First the eyes, then the voice. But that smile surpassed the rest. It turned his cool, capable, impervious mermaid into a beckoning sea sprite. That smile was pure mischief and again he felt that draw in his belly, hard and urgent.
Before Alex knew what she intended, or George could offer her a hand, she planted her hands on the side of the tender and pulled herself up smoothly and easily.
He was treated to a view of neat breasts against a saturated T-shirt, a slim waist, baggy shorts and long, shapely legs of pale gold.
Four. Alex clutched the boat, breathing hard. Despite the cool water, this time his response wasn’t belly-deep but lower, stirring his groin. He’d always had a weakness for great legs.
‘Want some help?’ She leaned out, ready to offer a hand, that smile dancing at the edge of her lips.
In that instant Alex knew if he was still the impulsive guy he’d once been, carefree and unencumbered by a crown, he’d have curled his hand around her neck and tugged her close. He’d have kissed her till she planted those small, capable hands on his chest and begged for more.
And he’d have given it.
‘I can manage.’ He hauled himself up.
It was as her eyes rounded that he remembered he’d dived naked into the sea. With the yacht’s crew on shore leave and only he and George aboard, he hadn’t bothered dressing when he woke.
Her gaze stayed low on his body a fraction too long, making his blood surge south in response.
Her eyes flashed to his. ‘I’m guessing you weren’t expecting company.’ Her lips twitched.
Five. Most women he met these days lacked a sense of humour. He missed that. In his old life he’d been part of a close-knit team where humour made a demanding job easier.
‘I