The Princess and the Mercenary

By Marilyn Pappano

Tyler Ramsey's mission was to follow the trail ofMontebello's missing crown prince to Montana,not to guard a pampered princess. But whenPrincess Anna Sebastiani insisted on joining thesearch for her brother, Tyler became her reluctantbodyguard. Keeping track of the regal virginwasn't nearly as challenging as fighting theexplosive and unexpected attraction betweenthem. When the fierce Montana winter left themsnowbound, the result seemed inevitable. But therugged mercenary's sworn duty was to protectthe princess—even from himself….

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Aug 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9781426873942

Marilyn Pappano

Author of 80+ books, Marilyn Pappano has been married for thirty+ years to the best husband a writer could have. She's written more than 80 books and has won the RITA and many other awards. She blogs at www.the-twisted-sisters.com and can be found at www.marilyn-pappano.com. She and her husband live in Oklahoma with five rough-and-tumble dogs.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Anna Sebastiani stood at the window, arms folded across her chest, and stared outside but paid little attention to the lovely view. She’d seen the well-tended gardens and the sparkling Mediterranean beyond practically every day of her life, and though she loved it all dearly, it held no interest for her this morning. The landscape she wanted to see at that very moment was vastly different—miles of barren plains, rugged mountains so rocky that that was the name they bore, forests and glaciers and lakes.

She wanted to be in America, in the state called Montana. That was where her older sister, Dr. Christina Sebastiani Dalton, the esteemed researcher, lived with her husband. It was where Christina had escaped the confines of life in the capital city of San Sebastian and found true happiness.

And it was where their brother, Prince Lucas of Montebello, was reported to have gone.

Since Lucas’s disappearance following a plane crash one year past, life for the royal Sebastiani family of Montebello had been chaotic. First Lucas had been believed dead, though the family had continued to hope that he’d survived. Now evidence had surfaced that he was alive, though possibly not well. Rumors had placed him in Colorado, and the last people to have contact with him there had steered the search to Montana.

She wanted to be part of that search.

Lucas was the eldest of her siblings and her only brother, and she loved him dearly. Of his three sisters, he’d favored her, and not simply because she was the youngest. They’d shared a genuine closeness that his relationship with the others had lacked, and staying home in Montebello while her father’s men conducted the search for him was making her crazy. Those men were paid employees, most of them strangers to her brother, and they would receive the monies due them whether Lucas was found or not. She didn’t care about money, only about locating her brother. What she lacked in training or expertise, she made up for with love. She was utterly convinced she could help in the search.

And her father would be equally convinced she couldn’t.

That was why she’d asked permission to visit Christina in America. Her father would think it perfectly natural for Anna to miss her elder sister and to crave the comfort a sister could give in a time of trouble. He would probably be delighted to send her off into Christina’s competent care, leaving him with one less worry at home.

Of course, it was too much to hope that she could escape without a bodyguard, but she’d had no little experience in her twenty-five years in sneaking away for a few hours of freedom. All she need do this time—in the event her father granted permission, which he surely would, for how could he tell the apple of his eye no?—was sneak away for a few weeks. Just long enough to visit the sites where Lucas had allegedly gone looking for employment.

Quiet footsteps approached on the marble floor, causing Anna to turn. It was her father’s secretary, Albert, a small, bespectacled man who’d held the position for more years than Anna had lived. Your father will see you now, Princess.

Thank you. Fortifying herself with a deep breath, Anna crossed the solarium, heading down the long elegant hallway, past the entry foyer to the tall, elaborately carved doors that led into her father’s office. On the inside, she might be worrying about Lucas and her plan, but on the outside, she knew no hint of it showed. Her mouth curved of its own accord into an affectionate smile the instant she saw her father, sitting behind a desk strewn with papers, maps and other necessities for the daily running of Montebello. To the rest of the world, he was King Marcus, much-loved monarch of Montebello, but to her, he was simply… Papa.

He returned her smile and opened his arms. She embraced him, then leaned against the desk, her fingers loosely trapped by his.

And to what do I owe the honor of this visit? he asked.

You know what, Papa. You promised me an answer today.

An answer? To what?

She attempted to fix a stern gaze on him, but it was difficult when the corners of her mouth kept twitching. To my request to visit Christina in America.

Ah, yes, that I did. Such impatience, Anna. The day isn’t even half gone yet.

She didn’t hesitate to let her features slide fluidly into a pout. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen Christina?

"Yes, bambina, little girl. It was the same time I last saw her. But will it make so much difference if you see her tomorrow as opposed to next week?"

Next week? Anna’s heart sank. By next week Lucas could be on his way to any of the other forty-eight states he hadn’t yet been spotted in. He could be getting himself more and more lost. Naturally she didn’t point that out. Instead, she sweetly asked, You tell me, Papa. You’ll be the one on the receiving end of my pouting if you make me wait until next week.

He laughed. "You are spoiled rotten, mia figlia."

She gave him an appropriate spoiled-daughter smile. As you should know, since you’re the one who spoiled me.

Very well. I’ll send you off to visit your sister and get that scary face out of my sight for a few weeks. He gently pinched her cheek, bringing a smile from her. Naturally you’ll travel with an escort.

Naturally. I thought Roberto would enjoy visiting the Wild West. Roberto had served the family for years, and his penchant for all things cowboy was well known. John Wayne movies, Louis L’Amour books, videocassettes of Bonanza, Maverick, Rawhide and Paladin. Have gun, will travel. He had a gun, he liked to tease—what bodyguard didn’t?—and serving the royal family certainly allowed him to travel.

I’m sure he would enjoy it. However, I’ve chosen someone else.

He gestured to someone behind her, and instantly Anna became aware that they weren’t alone in the room. Ordinarily, she was more attuned to others’ presence than that. She could attribute her lack of awareness only to the fact that these were far from ordinary circumstances.

Slowly she turned to see the man, his back to her, standing near the bookcases that lined one wall. Evidently it had been his meeting with her father that had kept her waiting. He turned as slowly as she had, and her heart took an unexpected leap in her chest.

Tyler Ramsey! She had just pouted, sweet-talked and manipulated her father with Tyler Ramsey there to witness every word. Heat surged into her cheeks as she fought the urge to take cover behind her father’s chair. The man was a frequent visitor at the palace, due to the work he and his brother did for the king as well as the friendship between his father and hers, but he’d hardly noticed she was alive.

But she had noticed him. He stood six feet tall, more than half a foot above her, and he was—to put it in simple American terms—to die for. Though he hadn’t followed his father and brother into the military, his auburn hair was military-short. A few of her friends thought the style too severe, but she thought it accentuated the clean lines and sharp angles of his face. With his green eyes and decidedly muscular body, he belonged on a recruiting poster.

He’d certainly recruited more than a few Montebellans, one princess included, to the spectator sport of Ogling Tyler Ramsey.

I believe the two of you have met, her father said as Tyler came toward them.

Yes, of course. Anna straightened. Rather than offer her hand, she tucked both hands behind her back, and since she didn’t offer, neither did Tyler. His own hands were clasped before him—large hands, long fingers, more comfortable with a gun, according to gossip, than with a woman. Not that there was any doubt of his interest in women. He simply hadn’t yet met one who could compete with his fierce dedication to duty.

And that dedication might prove a problem. Escaping Roberto would be child’s play. Escaping one as driven by duty as Tyler might prove impossible.

Calling on every bit of regal bearing she’d learned over the years, she inclined her head slightly. Mr. Ramsey.

He mimicked the action. Princess Anna.

In the preceding centuries, Montebello had fallen under the control of many peoples—the British, Greeks, Italians, Arabs, and others—so its population was a potpourri of them all. She loved the diversity of the people, their customs and their languages…ah, but there was something special about English as spoken by Tyler Ramsey.

Or perhaps there was simply something special about him, period.

Tyler was already scheduled to travel to America on business for me, her father said. If you’d waited one more day to make your request, he would have already been gone, and I would have been forced to turn you down, no matter how prettily you pouted.

No, Papa, she disagreed. You merely would have been forced to send someone else in his stead. Like Roberto, Salim, Nikos—any of the guards in the king’s employ, any one of whom she could charm as easily as she did her father.

"Perhaps. But since Tyler is going, it makes perfect sense for him to deliver you into your sister’s care. You get to visit your sister, and I get to know you’re safe. We’ll both be happy."

Yes, Papa, she said dutifully. We’ll leave this afternoon—

You’ll leave tomorrow.

But I’ve made reservations!

King Marcus laughed. "Were you so sure of me, bambina? And did you reserve two seats?"

One for my escort and one for me.

He gave a patient, indulgent shake of his head. You’ll leave in the morning, and you’ll take the Gulfstream jet. No arguments. Run along now, Anna. Tyler and I have things to discuss.

Yes, Papa. Though her ego chafed at her being dismissed like a small child, Anna embraced her father once more, then gave her newly-appointed bodyguard another cool nod as she walked past. Mr. Ramsey.

He nodded, but didn’t say a word.

Too bad. She would have liked to hear him speak her name once more. But it was a long flight to America. She would have plenty of chances to listen to the sound of his voice.

Wednesday dawned cloudy, but by 10:00 a.m., it was turning out to be another perfect day in paradise. Just his luck, Tyler thought, since he was leaving for Montana any moment now. Was there any chance Montana in February wouldn’t be damned cold and snowy? Not much.

He was waiting on the tarmac near the king’s private jet, impatient to board the plane and get the show on the road, and just as reluctant to do so. He was more than happy to follow up the leads on the missing prince for King Marcus. After all, that was part of what he’d trained to do. He just wasn’t too pleased to be baby-sitting Princess Anna along the way, even though that was part of what he’d trained to do, too.

Grimly he checked his watch. The princess was already five minutes late. He certainly hadn’t expected her to arrive at the airport early, but since this trip to visit her sister was sooo important, he’d thought she might actually make an effort to show up on time. Dumb thought.

As he lowered his wrist to his side, he caught sight of the vehicles approaching the heavily guarded hangar where the jet was secured—two four-wheel-drive vehicles occupied by the usual guards and, between them, the royal limo, occupied by the royal brat. The vehicles stopped a short distance from the plane. A guard hopped out of the limo and opened the rear door, and the princess emerged into the bright sunshine.

A low whistle vibrated the air near Tyler’s ear. If you’re gonna be a bodyguard, that’s definitely the body to be guarding, Jim Wayne murmured appreciatively. Just think—you, alone with the royal daughter in the royal plane for six thousand miles. Aw, the trouble you can get into…

Knock it off. Tyler scowled at the mechanic, better known as Duke, before shifting his gaze back to the approaching princess. She did look damn fine, he had to admit, wearing a red dress that flattered every curve, with her dark curls in constant motion around her face. She walked as if she ruled the world—and, to some extent, she did. At least, she had the doting father who did wrapped around her delicate little finger. It seemed the king who ran a nation, who stood fast against his enemies and allowed no quarter, couldn’t resist a flutter of lashes, a glance from those big eyes and a sweetly uttered, Please, Papa.

But what man could—besides Tyler, of course? He had no time in his life for involvement of any kind, but certainly not with King Marcus’s youngest daughter. Princesses weren’t his type. Neither were spoiled little girls dressed up in women’s clothing. He had too much respect for the king, for his own father, and for the job he’d been hired to do.

But looking couldn’t hurt…and Princess Anna was well worth looking at. He watched until she disappeared into the jet.

Play your cards right, Duke went on, and when this baby sets down in Montana, your future could be assured. Ruin the princess’s reputation, and the king would probably be happy to let you marry her—

Or maybe he’d cut off my head, along with other parts of my body I’m rather fond of.

One of those sheiks in Tamir, maybe. But not King Marcus. You’d be living in the palace, gettin’ treated like royalty.

He didn’t want to live in the palace, and he sure didn’t want to be treated like royalty. He didn’t want servants doing his bidding, bodyguards watching his every move, or to live a life that consisted of a lot of pomp and circumstance. He was a normal person with a normal life, and he preferred to stay that way.

Time for you to get onboard, Duke said at a signal from one of the pilots. Tell me all the princess’s dirty secrets when you get back—and if she doesn’t have any, make ’em up.

Like I’d tell you anything, Tyler teased as he headed for the air stairs. He entered the jet just behind the cockpit, nodded to the flight attendant, Mareta, who was busy in the galley, then walked into the cabin.

Oh, the luxury money could buy… When Tyler had flown to Montebello for his last phase of training, he’d flown coach on a commercial airliner, packed like a sardine into seats designed for someone six inches shorter and forty pounds lighter. He’d dated women he hadn’t gotten as intimately close to as he had to his seat mates on that flight.

Space definitely wasn’t a problem here. The cabin was divided into three separate seating areas, with oversize, plush leather chairs, a conference table, a workstation, a sofa and, at the rear, a lavatory that included a shower. The woods were exotic, the leather soft as butter, the carpet like walking on thick layers of cotton. He’d heard that the Gulfstream company had flown King Marcus to their manufacturing plant in Savannah, Georgia, to pick out everything himself. He’d also heard the plane had cost a cool $45 mil.

People in his world didn’t even dream about having that kind of money. Of course, people in his world didn’t live in palaces either, or grow up expecting to have every wish fulfilled and every whim obeyed.

Though his luggage had been stowed with the princess’s, he’d brought a few items along—a parka, and in a worn gym bag, a couple of books and a portable CD player with headphones. He dropped the coat and the bag on the first foldaway table he came to and started to settle in one of the club chairs that flanked it.

You may sit back here, Mr. Ramsey, the princess said from the back.

Clenching his teeth instead of grimacing, he left the coat where it was, picked up the duffel once more and went to the rear seating area. There was a sofa with small end tables on one side, plus two club chairs and another foldaway table on the other. She sat primly at one end of the sofa, legs crossed, spine straight. He chose the chair farthest away and immediately removed a book from his bag.

Since he’d been invited to join the Noble Men, a sort of mercenary group started years ago by friends of his father’s, he’d received a tremendous amount of training, some of which had focused on guarding dignitaries, called protection details. None of it had centered on baby-sitting spoiled daughters. The important thing to remember, the king had told him yesterday, was that, though Anna was the princess, he was the boss. Not likely, he thought with a silent snort. Her own father the king found it impossible to tell her no. What made anyone think she would listen to him? He wasn’t the king, he was a stranger, and he was only four years older than her.

Thank God this was as simple an assignment as he could have asked for. The flight to Billings couldn’t be more secure. Tyler’s only job with the princess would be getting her from the airport in Billings to her sister’s house. Shouldn’t take more than an hour, tops, and then he would be free to do his real job.

That job entailed following up leads that the prince had made his way to Montana. The information was being held in the strictest confidence, known only to the king and queen, the three princesses and a handful of others—Lorenzo Sebastiani, the king’s nephew and head of the Royal Montebellan Intelligence; Tyler’s brother, Kyle; and his immediate supervisors within the Noble Men. Though Tyler was well aware that true secrets were rare—people always had ways of finding out info—he had no doubt this was one secret closely guarded.

At an announcement from the captain, they buckled their seat belts, and the jet taxied to the end of the runway. Tyler was absorbed in his book when the princess spoke. Do you enjoy flying?

He blinked, then looked up. It beats taking a boat.

I love to fly. I would learn to pilot a plane myself if Papa would let me.

I didn’t know he ever told you no, he murmured before realizing exactly what he’d said and to whom. He looked at her again, his gaze sharpening, but she merely smiled.

Not too often. But he’s afraid if I learned to fly, I might fly away from Montebello and never go back.

Would you?

Eventually, she said softly, gazing out the window at the island dropping away beneath them.

Eventually fly away? he wondered. Or eventually go back? He wouldn’t have pegged her for the type to want to experience life elsewhere. After all, though she would be a princess no matter where she lived, in Montebello, she was their princess. The people adored her. They coddled and spoiled her, named their baby girls after her, encouraged their teenage daughters to be like her.

Once the plane reached its cruising altitude, Princess Anna removed her seat belt, then kicked off her shoes and drew her feet onto the sofa. In spite of the casual pose, she still looked every inch the princess. Tell me about Montana.

Hiding his impatience, Tyler closed his book, his place marked with one finger. I don’t know much about it. I’ve never been there.

But you’re American.

And the U.S. is a big country. I’ve lived a lot of places and visited plenty more, but Montana’s not one of them.

If I lived in America, I would visit every state, especially Texas and California. And Georgia. But maybe not Arkansas.

Arkansas’s not so bad.

You’ve been there?

Yeah, I’ve been there.

Silence settled between them. How long did it have to last, he wondered, before he could return to his book without appearing rude? A couple minutes seemed fair enough, but about the time the second minute ran out, she spoke again.

What are you reading?

He held up the book. It was a Stephen King paperback, picked up in the airport on the way to Montebello. He hadn’t had time since arriving there to get past the first chapter. He’d planned on reading the whole book today, but not if Chatty Cathy over there didn’t give it a rest.

I don’t read horror, she said dismissively.

I don’t look at pictures of pretty dresses. He gestured toward the magazine open on her lap.

She smiled brightly, showing off plenty of pearly whites and making her dark eyes sparkle. It was the kind of smile that could make any doting father forget the word no for good…or bring any living, breathing man to his knees. I love pretty dresses, but I brought books, too. I’m too excited about finally getting to Montana to concentrate on reading.

You must have really missed her.

Missed her? For an instant, her look turned blank; then she hastily covered it. You mean my sister. Of course I have. I’ve missed her terribly. I can’t wait to see her.

Who else would he mean? After all, visiting Princess Christina was the whole point of her trip, wasn’t it?

Are there still cowboys in Montana?

I’m sure there are.

And cattle and ranches and actors?

Actors? Now it was his turn for a blank look.

"People magazine says a number of actors and actresses have homes in the state."

Huh. He didn’t read People, and he could hardly imagine the circumstances in which he would care where any particular actor lived. Maybe if he was assigned to baby-sit one, God forbid.

The flight attendant chose that moment to come into the cabin. May I get you something, Princess?

A diet soda would be wonderful, Mareta. What about you, Mr. Ramsey?

Coffee, please.

May I call you Tyler? the princess asked as Mareta left again. When he nodded, she smiled brilliantly. And while we’re alone, you shall call me Anna.

I don’t believe that would be appropriate, Your Highness.

In an instant, her expression shifted from happy to pouty—and damned if she wasn’t even prettier with that full lower lip stuck out. But Roberto does, and Nikos and Salim.

He didn’t point out that each of those three guards was old enough to be her father, or that they’d known her since she’d lived in the royal nursery. He sure as hell didn’t point out that first names were just a little too intimate for their situation. Anna was someone a man could talk to, have fun with, tease, get to know and call Annie when he kissed her, and the princess was none of those things. She was the favorite daughter of King Marcus, and Tyler had been entrusted with her safety. Nothing more, nothing less.

I can’t base my actions on what Roberto, Nikos and Salim do, he said evenly. I can only do what I feel is right.

Her brown eyes took on a glitter of…anger? Annoyance? Maybe rejection? Very well, Mr. Ramsey. Suit yourself.

That was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it? So why did he feel…disappointed that she’d referred to him formally rather than used his first name?

Nah, he wasn’t disappointed. Just…. Truth was, he didn’t know exactly what. Annoyed that his first solo assignment from the king was something so simple. Frustrated because he was eager to get on with his real assignment—finding Prince Lucas—and this escort job seemed a waste of his training. Troubled that she was so damn pretty and that it had taken less than fifteen minutes alone with her for the idea of kissing her to pop into his head.

That wasn’t gonna happen. No way, no how.

Mareta returned to serve their drinks, bringing along a tray of the small, flaky, honey-flavored pastries favored in Montebello. The princess took her diet pop but waved the pastries away, so the flight attendant left them on the table next to Tyler. He sweetened his coffee, selected a pastry, then opened his book again.

The silence in the cabin was uncomfortable, and it distracted him from the story. A surreptitious glance at the princess showed she was radiating stiffness. A frown wrinkled her forehead, making his gut knot. If she were a regular person, he was pretty sure he might owe her some sort of apology…but she wasn’t.

Ignore her pouts, the king had advised. He could do that. After all, they were going to be together for only twelve hours, fourteen tops.

He could endure anything that long.

Desmond Caruso stood on the terrace outside his quarters, a drink in hand though it was still morning, and gazed at the scene before him. Flowers bloomed in the garden, water bubbled in the fountains, birds sang in the trees, and in the near distance, the palace loomed over him, massive and solid, blindingly white under the Mediterranean