The Princess And The Cowboy

She didn’t think his gaze could heat up any more, but he proved her wrong. The closer she went, the hotter his gaze grew. Finally she stood at the base of the chest-high bed, feeling as if she were burning alive.

One strong hand gently pushed back a lock of the hair that she vaguely realized was falling in wisps around her face. He glanced somewhere over her shoulder, closed his eyes as if in pain, then cussed and drew back his hand.

“We can’t,” he groaned.

“Oh. I…” Her face flaming from her rejected brazenness, Josie spun away.

Buck grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”

Too embarrassed even to face him, she waved somewhere in the direction of the bathroom.

“Look at me.”

She couldn’t.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

She turned slowly until his fingers caught her chin and forced her to look at him. “If we make love now, I won’t want to stop. Probably for days. It’s already noon and—I’m extremely sorry to say—we’ve got to attend a party tonight. We’ve got to stop somewhere along the way and get you a dress to wear. As lovely as that outfit is, it isn’t appropriate for the party.”

Panic raced through her. “Party?”

“Yeah. My mother conned me into it.”

Josie relaxed, picturing a kindly older woman, as oblivious of Montclaire’s existence as her son. “But I don’t have money for a dress.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re my wife now. I’ll buy whatever you need.”

She shook her head and dug into her jeans pocket. “I can’t allow you to do that. We’re only going to be married a few months.” She held out a pair of earrings. “I have these to sell. They’re probably worth several thousand dollars.”

Certain they were fake, Buck barely glanced at the earrings she dropped into his hand. She was so cute, thinking her costume jewelry was worth thousands of dollars. He decided not to burst her bubble. He would tell her he pawned them, then give her the money she expected.

“Can we stop at a place where I can sell them?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Let me take care of it.”

She sighed. “I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve helped me so—”

“Hush now.” Bending, he slid a finger under her chin and lifted her mouth to his. “One kiss, sweetheart. Then go.”

Chapter Three

“A princess!”

Buck snatched the newspaper from the counter of the gas station where he was getting the truck filled.

No. This couldn’t be true.

But the woman in the photo, staring stony-eyed back at him, looked exactly like Josie. Her hair was twisted up in a much more elaborate do than the one she’d taken down before they drove into Carson City, and instead of a Resistol, she was wearing a tiara.

A damned tiara.

The caption beneath the photo claimed this was Princess Josеphene Francoeur of Montclaire.

Josеphene. Josie. Josephine, she’d spelled for the court clerk last night. No coincidence. His wife was a princess. A real, honest-to-God, crown-wearing, kiss-her-hand princess.

“Princess Josеphene Missing; Feared Kidnapped,” the headline screamed.

Buck scanned the article that told how she’d attended an American friend’s wedding at the Porter ranch outside Auburn, California. The horse she’d evidently slipped away on had returned to the stable, riderless. The article went on to speculate about rumors that had been flying through the press about her imminent wedding to Alphonse Picquet, one of the richest men in Europe. By press time no one had an explanation for her disappearance, but the police were not ruling out foul play.

Foul play. Buck barked out a mirthless laugh. The only foul play had been committed by the princess herself—by conning him into marrying her.

Princess.

He threw the paper down as if it had suddenly been smeared with an offensive substance.

What the hell did she think she was doing? And why the hell had she chosen him as her scapegoat?

His eyes narrowed. Did his mother have something to do with this?

He shook his head. As much as Alicia Buchanan wished she hobnobbed with royalty, he knew damned well she didn’t.

She wasn’t going to, either. There was no way he was taking Josie to his father’s party tonight. His mother would be drooling so much they’d have to bring in buckets just to catch it all.

A damn princess. Not of some major European country, but—

Wait a minute. Royalty married royalty, didn’t they?

His mouth twisted in derision. Obviously not.

Alphonse Picquet certainly wasn’t royalty. He was a shipping tycoon whose greedy fingers reached all over the world. Buck had felt the strength of those fingers in an investment he’d made a couple of years back. Picquet had tried to play dirty. Only Buck’s quick influx of cash had saved the deal.

The guy was Eurotrash. He was more than twice Josie’s age, with all the charm and attraction of a bull moose. And if the rumors were true, his sexual appetites tended toward the bizarre and sometimes violent. The little princess had evidently heard about the women Picquet had scarred—mentally and physically—so she’d conned Buck into marrying her instead. But that was understandable—smart of her, really. It was the other.…