King Me: A Secret Mountain Man Romance: Fire & Ice Romance Series, #8

By Kylie Parker

Dominic

'"Live life to the fullest" said my father right before he died.  So I tried. Wild parties, wild and fast women, and fast cars.' I flew all over the world, and all the women I met were wild and fast: they would do anything for any man given enough money and expensive presents.  If you failed to feed the greed, away they ran to some other drunken man, just as wasted as she, to do it all over again. I decided I had paid my father enough respect, because I was losing my respect for me.  I retreated to my mountain Kingdom: tired of the world; tired of women; knowing no on existed for me. My supercars remained; but passion belonged to my painting. Still, I was empty; until Marianne, whose artistry with words astounds me. Is she the ONE sent to fill my empty soul and love me for me?

Marianne

I have come to this quiet Kingdom in the Alps on a singular mission: get enough information about the bad boy King gone recluse Dominic Redfield to write an exclusive article on "WHO HE IS NOW".  I suppose it is some sort of exposé – who knows, I'm only doing what I'm being told to do. My name is one the best book ever written, says Melanie, my friend in France. But if a writer can never get published, great doesn't mean anything to anyone. So, a writer gets a job as a journalist, and that is that.  Of course, the occasional trip to France to nothing to sneeze at, and when I meet Dominic – does dream come true mean anything to you? Not just his looks – his heart and his soul. But will he still love me when he finds out the secret, the lie?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kylie Parker Romance
• Release date: Jan 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386342045

Book preview

Chapter 1

L ive life to the fullest…

King Eric’s last words had sunk into in his son’s mind and became his personal creed for years. Ever since losing his beloved father, Dominic Redfield had done nothing but follow those words. He filled his life with everything a young man could want: flying around the world; driving fast cars, dating dozens of beautiful, rich women; and partying all night long. It was his way of honoring his father’s dying wish. Still, deep down, the elusive, 30-year old king knew that he still had not found what he had been looking for: the one woman who would sweep him off his feet. Dominic’s girlfriends were stunningly beautiful, but they all felt somewhat alike. They were spoiled, self-centered and extremely greedy. Frustrated and angry, he often wished he had never been born into royalty. In an attempt to find peace, Dominic would go to his attic and devote long hours to his art, gazing outside the window, on the slope of Mont Blanc. Drawing clouds, sunsets, sunrises or doing portraits of his loved ones served as an escape from his reality.

Nevertheless, Dominic had yet another passion, one much more dangerous than painting: Supercars. The rush he would get from driving an insanely fast car felt like no other. Of course, the narrow roads of the highest western mountain in Europe were not suitable for driving fast; most of those cars were a little too wide, but that would not deter him. In fact, in all truth, Dominic preferred those roads, simply because they tested his driving skills much more than the French highways. He already owned more than ten, high-end cars and yet, his lust for them seemed insatiable. On one clear, mid-March afternoon, his latest purchase had just been delivered to him: a black, brand-new, Lamborghini Aventador. Dominic was so eager for it that he had been waiting outside his castle, accompanied by his good friend and confidant, Jean Abidal. And, when the truck finally unloaded its precious cargo, he couldn’t help but smile to himself, watching as the sunlight reflected off the gorgeous supercar.

She’s a beauty, isn’t she? as he looked in wonder, pointing at the Lamborghini. She embodies meticulous attention to detail, a luxurious interior, and seven hundred forty rampaging horsepower.

You know what I just heard? Jean groaned, annoyed by his friend’s remark. "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah… You are boring me, Dominic. You have said those things for every other car you’ve bought."

Each and every one of those cars has a soul. Dominic put a little force in his deep, manly voice. They want to be driven to the edge.

"All it takes is one mistake. Jean raised his index finger to his chest, turning to his friend. I like those cars, too. They’re everything you said, but you seem to be forgetting something very crucial."

What’s that?

"How unforgiving they can be. Jean attempted an emphatic tone. I can’t help but wonder. He paused. What can I do to take your mind off them?"

Nothing, Dominic shook his head sideways. I will always love those cars.

I beg to differ. A calculating smile formed on Jean’s face. "There are a lot of things I can do to make you reconsider. First of all, you need to stop living in the shadows, which is why I took the liberty of inviting a reporter here."

A reporter? Dominic squinted at his friend. I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You know I don’t get along with them.

Juliet Arnot was five years ago, my friend. Jean smiled, patting him on the shoulder. Not every reporter would pose as a maid, just to sneak into your house. Despite what you may think, there are some good professionals, like this one. He added, pulling his cell phone out of his coat pocket. There was a young, smiling blonde on the screen, with a book in her hands, titled:

Hold on to your dream

Marianne Brewster? She’s…

… American. Jean finished his sentence. Twenty seven years old, works at the ‘New York Express’. Melanie discovered her about two years ago, when she published that book. It has only sold 687 copies, but she loves it. She and Marianne have become very close. They talk on Facebook every day and spend hours on the phone. Melanie thinks she’s ideal. Judging by the things she says about her, she’s right. She is polite; she knows when to insist and when to stop.

I don’t need the attention. Dominic grumbled. There are plenty of local vultures. I don’t need any more from overseas.

Do you like it when local tabloids say all kinds of nasty things about you? Jean’s firm tone and his question put him in a difficult position. He did have a point. Quite often, there was false news about him in the French online media. They seemed to love to make up stories about him.

No. Dominic sighed, dropping his gaze from his friend’s angry stare. I just don’t pay attention to them.

It’s time you set a few things straight. Jean lowered his voice. It’s finally time the world knew what kind of person you are. Okay, maybe you will still attract attention to yourself, but it will be for all the right reasons.

Why did you choose her, Jean? Dominic asked, casting a rapt glance at the cell phone.

Because, you will find it easier to talk to someone from your own country, Jean replied, as his friend gave him back his cell phone. I’ve been planning this since January. Plus, I think a fellow artist would understand you better.

She’s a non-fiction writer. As far as I’m concerned, she’s not an artist. Dominic disagreed, returning his gaze to his friend’s face. And I don’t think she needs to understand me. She just needs to be discreet for as long as that interview lasts.

For the whole seven days. Jean said with a grin.

Seven? Dominic opened his eyes wide in disbelief. What kind of…?

This won’t be a typical interview. Jean interrupted with a firm tone. She will live here, study your habits. I’m sorry; I’ve been planning this with her editor for more than a month. He thinks a thorough interview would be ideal for you; I agreed. Do you mind?

"Well, you should have asked. Dominic stated. But, it’s ok. Let’s hope she’s as professional as you think she is. When is she coming?"

Tomorrow morning. Jean’s response was quick. Don’t worry. If she’s not, she will be out of your hair in no time. Something tells me she won’t be, though. Oh, I forgot to tell you. She’s not a non-fiction writer. Her book is about human relationships. I’d tell you more, but, seeing as she will be here shortly, why don’t you talk to her about it?

I will. Dominic nodded, debating whether he should thank his friend or not. He liked Jean’s initiative, even though his plan was rather bold and ambitious. At the same time however, it sounded like an ideal way to change his everyday routine.

I don’t know who that Marianne Brewster is. I want to believe you, Jean. I really do. But, if she’s anything like that sniveling little weasel Juliet, I’ll kick her out myself. What you said about her being an artist got me curious. Her book sounds like another boring, self-help book. What dream are you referring to, Marianne?

Chapter 2

Unfortunately for Dominic, the weather the next day was nothing like the sunny day before. The rain was pelting down around his castle and the thick fog had made it impossible for his pilot to take off. He had to send his limousine to pick up Marianne from Charles De Gaulle airport.

The massive, steel door of his castle slowly slid upward, before his black Mercedes entered the driveway. Thierry, his elderly driver got out and moved around the car. He opened Marianne’s door, as Dominic watched from the entrance of his hall. Despite the torrential rain, the young blonde took a moment to gaze at her surroundings. She looked up at the crenellations and then down at the grey, stone walls, as Thierry opened a black umbrella and held it over her. What really grabbed her attention was the extensive rose garden to her left. She even pointed at it, as a broad smile lit up her face. Unwilling to wait for her in the comfort of his hall, Dominic stepped outside, as his driver and Marianne started towards the entrance. As they came closer, he realized that she looked a lot better up close. She couldn’t have been taller than 5’6", but he marveled at her soaking wet, curly hair, as she pushed it back from her face. Marianne smiled with her large doe-like eyes, as he sauntered towards her.

Merci, Thierry. Dominic said, glancing at his driver, as they stopped in front of him. Then, he reached out and took her hand in his. Bending down, he closed his eyes and kissed it. Charmed, He spoke in his baritone, as a polite smile spread across his face.

It’s a pleasure to meet you, your highness. Marianne said in a very sweet voice as she returned the smile.

Why don’t you follow me inside? He suggested. How was your trip?

It was very long, but pleasant, thank you. She maintained, as they walked into the spacious hall. Just like earlier, she looked around her, at the portrait-lined walls and up at the high ceilings. Fine lines, vivid colors, great depth … brilliant work.

Thank you. Dominic smirked, tossing a log into the fireplace.

You…

That’s right. Those paintings are all mine. He affirmed, seating himself on the couch, as her face loosened in utter disbelief. Have a seat. You must be tired.

Thanks. Marianne spoke in a faint voice, sitting across from him. I have a few too many questions, sir.

Could you please stop calling me ‘sir’? He politely requested. You make me feel like an old man. You can call me ‘Dominic’.

Okay. She drew in a sharp breath. Dominic, I’m a little confused. I mean, I’d never heard of a king in the Alps, until your men knocked on my door. You can imagine my surprise, when they told me he’s actually an American.

My father was American. He heaved a long, deep sigh. He died, six years ago. It’s true, most people don’t know we exist, but my family is way older than Prince Albert’s. Our roots can be traced back to the Byzantine years.

Prince Albert is from Monaco. Marianne pointed out, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. I still don’t understand why you’re living in the mountain.

You did notice the emblem on the gate, didn’t you? Dominic answered her question with a question.

Yes: two howling wolves, separated by a line fire. She replied, It’s very impressive.

Wolves don’t live in the city. They belong in the wild, just like my family, Miss Brewster. He attempted a commanding tone. My forefathers were rough men. They were tough enough to call the Alps ‘home’.

I’m sorry. Marianne uttered, rolling her gaze down his face. I meant no disrespect.

I wasn’t offended. Dominic made his voice sound friendlier. I was just clearing something up. What do you like about the city, Miss Brewster: the noise; the traffic; or is it the foul smells?

It’s just a little more human, that’s all. She shrugged, as her eyes shot up to meet his gaze.

I’m the one who needs to apologize. He spoke, a touch of sadness in his voice as the leaping flames reflected off her eyes. You’re exhausted and I’m giving you a lecture about my ancestors.

No, don’t mention it. Marianne smiled, waving her hand in front of her face. "We’ll have plenty of time to talk about them. It’s just a little strange for someone to want to live in the middle of God knows where, you know?"

Like I said, not for me, Dominic muttered, as his full lips curled into a gentle smile. Anyway, you should go get some rest. My housekeeper Josephine will show you to your room. Before you go, I need to ask you something.

Please do. She nodded.

My friend Jean says you’re an author. Melanie, his fiancée, loves your book. Why were the sales so bad? His question froze the smile on her face. Marianne’s eyes darkened, as she dropped her gaze to the floor.

I’d rather not answer that, she said, her voice faint as she rose from her seat. I’ll see you later.

Dominic would have loved to insist, yet he was so stunned by her reaction that he could not force another word out of his throat. He watched, as Marianne turned around and headed towards the front door. Her slow pace was something else that puzzled him even more. She practically dragged her feet across the floor, the click-clacking of her heels echoing back at the walls of the hall. It was as if his words had reminded her of a very painful moment, one that hurt her too much to discuss.

Now, what the hell was that all about?" He thought to himself. "A few minutes ago, she was walking proud. Now, all I see is a battered dog with her tail tucked in between her legs. What happened to you, Marianne? Why did you look so sad? I need to ask Melanie about this.

Chapter 3

With a heavy heart, Marianne joined Dominic’s housekeeper in the main building. This time though, she was too distraught to pay any attention to the numerous paintings on the walls. She asked to be led to her bedroom and remained silent. Josephine spoke to her about her quarters, but her words passed by Marianne unheard. The immense size of her bedroom and the red, silken curtains were not enough to bring a smile to her face. She kicked her shoes away and lay in bed, breathing in sighs. By now, only one thing could make her feel better: A conversation with Kate Weston, her closest friend. New York was six hours behind; Marianne would most likely wake her up, but, in the hope that talking to her would make her feel better, she did not hesitate.

Hello? Kate answered her phone in a deep, hoarse voice.

Hi, sweetheart; it’s me. Hope I didn’t wake you.

How do I sound? It’s 5:15 for God’s sake!

I’m sorry, Katy, Marianne sighed. "I just had to talk to someone."

Forget it. How was your trip?

"My trip was fine. Things got very interesting when I met him."

Does he look as gorgeous as in his pictures?

Actually, he looks even better. A small smile formed on Marianne’s face. He’s young, he’s very tall: 6’3 easy. He’s got short, brown hair, deep-green eyes, pointy face, and a well-trimmed beard."

Okay, you lost me there. Kate complained. If the guy’s that hot, why are you so sad?

Because he asked me about the book, Marianne’s voice lowered to a soft, raw whisper. I was too shocked to talk about it. He must be really mad at me right now.

How does he even know about that?

"Does it matter? It brought back ugly