Be My Princess - A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (Pretty Dirty Romance Book 1) Read online

  Be My Princess

  A Pretty Dirty Romance

  DeeDee Jordan

  Contents

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  About The Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  About DeeDee Jordan

  All Rights Reserved

  2017 Dee Dee Jordan

  Created with Vellum

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  About The Book

  “If I take you now, you will be mine. Only mine...”

  He’s a prince with a plan and no time for princesses.

  Prince Rafael has a lot to prove to his royal family and his country. What he doesn’t need: a distraction. Especially the curvy variety that makes his blood simmer and his pants get tight. Oh, and the kind that knocks him into his own pool, fully clothed.

  She’s a girl who knows what she wants… or maybe not?

  More than anything in the world, Jenna McCall wants a job working for Prince Rafael’s non-profit. But at what cost? This guy could be a total royal prick when he wants to be. But it’s even worse when he’s not being a jerk.

  Things are about to get royally complicated…for both of them.

  Warning: This is a totally unrealistic story of insta-love. No depth here. Not even in the characters. Take the hero for example. Is he broken beyond repair? Nope. Is he a real-ish dude who’s flawed but still lovable? Not hardly. On the surface, this guy may seem like a bad boy, but he doesn’t even leave the seat up.

  And being a romance, you all know where this is going. It’s like your fave roller coaster ride.

  But it’s still a thrill, isn’t it?

  Please note: This book was previously published as Prince Not-So-Charming by Tawny Taylor

  1

  Being the younger sister of two cops meant Jenna McCall knew all about the dangers of texting and driving. She heard about them constantly, every time her older brothers called her. And she always heeded their warnings.

  However, she’d never been warned that texting and walking could be lethal.

  The man thrashing in the gorgeous swimming pool…yeah, that was her fault. He was a victim of a texting-while-walking accident.

  She’d crashed into him because she’d been reading a text.

  If it was any consolation, the text had been an important one.

  Her face burning, Jenna stood poolside, her carry-on bag dangling from her shoulder, one hand clutching her phone, and the other extended toward the man swimming in his three-piece suit.

  “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed as she watched him perform a perfect freestyle stroke through the glittering water. She had to give him credit. She didn’t know too many people who could look that good swimming in a jacket, shirt, tie, pants and shoes.

  He looked even better when he stopped at the edge of the pool and lifted his head.

  Holy smokes!

  His eyes were amazing--gold, the shade of a tiger’s eye.

  And his face… straight-out-of-a-magazine gorgeous. Chiseled and strong and perfectly proportioned.

  Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it.

  It was another text from her friend Mikki. Mikki, the daughter of the Pacello Personnel Agency’s owner, had helped her get the temp job at the private Caribbean island mansion. Some royal family from a country she’d never heard of owned the house and the entire island. Finally, Mikki had sent a picture of the guy Jenna had to impress while she was here. Prince Raphael Karposh Stojanovski, prince of Aragonia.

  Oh, look, Prince Raphael Karposh Stojanovski, prince of Aragonia, just happened to possess eyes the shade of a tiger’s eye.

  And chiseled, strong, perfectly proportioned features.

  And dark wavy hair… that was currently dripping with pool water.

  Crap. So much for making a good first impression.

  And so much for her promise that she wouldn’t cause any problems.

  To her dismay, the sopping prince didn’t accept her proffered hand. He launched himself out of the pool effortlessly and, standing very close, straightened to his full six-feet-something-very-tall height. His gaze swept over her face then meandered down her body.

  A tiny quiver of heat blazed through her.

  He was sizing her up. Not as an employer. But as a man.

  She hated when men did that.

  No, really she did.

  A tiny surge of excitement blazed through her, making her knees wobble.

  Well she usually hated it.

  “Who are you?” His voice was smooth, cultured, the accent unidentifiable. Was it British? Russian? Some combination of both?

  “I’m…” She offered her hand again. “Jenna. Jenna McCall.”

  He took her hand and a bolt of electricity zapped through her body. Holy crap, why was she reacting like a star-struck teen? Could it be because he was a prince? A very rich prince, at that? And insanely gorgeous?

  Could be.

  “Jenna McCall, what are you doing on my island?” he drawled as he walked around the perimeter of the pool. His shoes made funny squish-squish sounds. If it weren’t for the fact that he was her boss for the next two weeks, and could (hopefully) help her snag her dream job with his non-profit company after that, she might have laughed at the sound. But, things being what they were, she cringed instead.

  On the other hand, she liked the way he said her name. With his accent it sounded pretty and special, not so dull and plain.

  Again, what was wrong with her?

  She gave herself a mental head-slap to wake herself up. “I was sent by Pacello Personnel,” she explained. “To fill the temporary personal assistant’s position.”

  His brows scrunched. He opened a French door and motioned her inside the palatial Caribbean house. “You were sent? I was informed by Marion Pacello that I would have my usual PA.”

  “Yes, well…” Her gaze swept across the room. She had never seen a space so beautiful. The walls, the floors, and much of the furnishings were white. Crisp, pristine white. But it wasn’t cold. No, it was bright and breezy and refreshing, nothing like her cramped and dingy apartment in Detroit. “Erm, I don’t know for sure, but I’m assuming your usual PA wasn’t available. And I was.”

  “Lucky me,” he grumbled as he pulled off a shoe. Water poured out of it, making a puddle on the polished stone floor.

  A giggle bubbled up her throat. She clamped her lips closed to keep it from escaping, but a tiny sound slipped through.

  He glared at her. “Is this funny?” He yanked off the other shoe. A second puddle joined the first. His cold gaze locked on hers.

  She tried to swallow the second guffaw that surged up her throat. She really did. But out it came, sounding strangled and odd.

  His eyes flashed. And then deep, rumbling laughter joined hers. And for an instant they were just two people caught in a funny moment, not prospective boss and employee. Their laughter echoed through the lovely house. Her insides jangled, electricity buzzing and zapping up and down, back and forth, this way and that.

  Maybe the whole knocking-him-into-the-po
ol fiasco hadn’t been such a horrible disaster? After all, it had led to this weird and wonderful moment. Maybe she did stand a chance at impressing this man with the glittering gold eyes.

  But then the glitters extinguished, just as quickly as they’d ignited. His face, which had been gloriously handsome when he smiled, turned severe. “I don’t have time for this. Clean up the mess and then find me in my office.”

  Out he stormed, his sodden socks slapping against the floor.

  That woman had to go. Immediately.

  What had Marion been thinking, sending someone so… tempting? She knew better. After providing him with temps for years, she knew he always insisted his assistants be at least thirty years older than Miss Jenna McCall… and much less attractive.

  This Jenna McCall was everything he didn’t need in an assistant… but everything he could enjoy in a lover. Her slight frame was compact and athletic, her breasts neither too full nor too small, her waist nipped, her legs shapely and muscular, and her mouth entirely too kissable. When he’d gotten his first look at her, he’d been tempted to yank her into the pool with him, crush her lithe little body against his and kiss away that smirk pulling at those lush lips. He’d resisted then but he wouldn’t be able to resist for long.

  Shit, it had been too fucking long since he’d held a woman.

  In his bedroom now, he swiftly changed into something dry. He hung his ruined Armani suit, now looking like rags, while images of that moment they’d shared, when their gazes had tangled and the room had become electrified flashed through his head.

  Vin was right. He’d been spending too much time working. But dammit, he had no choice.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy women. He enjoyed their company. He enjoyed their bodies. He enjoyed them a great deal. But after what had happened…no, he didn’t need the problems that came with them.

  He’d forgotten how good it felt when a beautiful woman smiled at him like that, laughed with him like that. For just the briefest second he’d felt a connection with Jenna McCall, the kind he hadn’t felt with a woman since... her.

  It confused him. It made him want to find her, right now, and see if it would happen again.

  No. No, no, no. He was here at his island retreat to get some work done. Without interruption. He could not let anything, or anyone, get in the way of that.

  He grabbed his cellphone and scrolled down to Marion Pacello’s name. The line rang once, twice, three times… After five rings her recorded greeting urged him to leave a message, which he did, and then he hung up.

  Tomorrow there had better be a new assistant on a plane, heading his way, or her agency was fired.

  It took a second for his swift change from Prince Charming to Angry Toad to register with Jenna. Once it did, she grumbled a few not-so-nice words and went in search of a towel to dry the floor.

  What was with this guy? For the briefest moment he was the epitome of a prince, so handsome, with the kind of smile that made wanna-be princesses swoon. She was mesmerized, enraptured, enthralled. But then he’d changed into an angry, severe man she didn’t want to know. Not at all.

  It seemed, as she wandered the house, that they were alone. They’d entered into an open living space, anchored on one end by the kind of kitchen one would see in a home decorating magazine. Everything looked high end and luxurious. A stainless steel refrigerator that could house a month’s worth of food for an army with a freaking computer screen on the door (what the hell?). A space-age stove that she didn’t know how to turn on, let alone use. A plethora of countertop appliances that probably did everything from chop, slice, and dice to steam, mix and freaking spoon feed the food to you once it was done. And slick, gleaming real stone countertops. From floor to ceiling, everything screamed expensive. Not a scrap of laminate or plastic to be seen anywhere.

  She was so out of her element here.

  Jenna rummaged through a few drawers, finding all kinds of fancy gadgets and gizmos she couldn’t even identify. Many of the drawers were empty. Those that held contents were well organized. None of them had what she needed—a hand towel. Luckily she found a roll of paper towels under the sink, and within minutes the floor was dry as a bone.

  After tossing the soggy paper in the trash, she returned to her luggage. Her phone sat on top of her suitcase, buzzing like crazy. Another text. Again, it was from Mikki.

  What happened? Raphael just called Mom’s phone. He’s demanding a replacement. Already.

  Crap. Really? That was it? He was tossing her out? All because of a minor accident?

  She texted back, Don’t do anything yet. I’ll fix it.

  This couldn’t happen. He couldn’t fire her. Not yet. She had to stay. She had to have the chance to show him what a valuable addition she would be to the Great Lakes Conservancy Corporation.

  Please do. Mom will kill me if she finds out about this.

  Jenna’s finger hovered over her phone screen.

  She wanted to type, I told you so. But she couldn’t. She would never rub her best friend’s nose in this. It was her fault things had blown up already. After all, Mikki had only wanted to give her a hand.

  Ever since she’d registered for her first college course, she’d dreamed of working at GLC. Now, three years later, she’d just graduated. She’d worked her butt off to get her degree, and she’d done it in three years instead of four. And she’d worked various temp jobs while she’d been going to school too. Finally she’d gotten a lead on her dream job—with Mikki’s help.

  It had been Mikki’s idea for her to take this job in the first place. Knowing how much Jenna wanted to work at the GLC, she’d suggested (make that wrangled-coerced-goaded) her into taking the temporary personal assistant’s position. Mikki’s reasoning had some merit. The job would get Jenna face time with the man who had built the GLC from the ground up.

  But she would have preferred a more direct route. Like, hand in her resume and interview for a job. She knew absolutely nothing about being a personal assistant—to anyone, let alone a prince. What did a PA to a prince even do? Book meetings with leaders of third world countries? Polish his (horrifically overpriced) shoes? What?

  Obviously, she knew what they didn’t do. They didn’t knock princes into swimming pools.

  But what was done was done. After all the expense and struggle (and risk) Mikki had gone to, Jenna couldn’t let anything stand in her way. Even a six-foot-something tall prince with an attitude.

  He needed an attitude adjustment. And she was very good at giving people those.

  Dragging her suitcase behind her, she turned down a hallway, toward what she hoped would be his office. She found bedrooms. Four of them. All bigger than her whole apartment. All empty. All beautifully furnished, with massive four-poster beds, sparkling crystal chandeliers, and towering armoires, none of which could have come out of a flat-pack box.

  Wow, to be surrounded by such gorgeous stuff all the time. Some people were born lucky.

  She wasn’t, of course. But that was neither here nor there. At the moment, all she was concerned with was finding that angry prince and changing his mind.

  Thinking positively, she left her suitcase and phone in one of the rooms and went in search of her employer’s office. She discovered, after wandering for a while, that the house was a lot bigger than she thought. The place was built into the side of a hill, with multiple levels, each of them boasting million-dollar views of the ocean. She was frequently tempted to just stand in awe, but she kept going, driven by the desperate need to convince him she deserved to stay.

  She found Prince Grouchypants down on the lower level, sitting behind a sleek clear Lucite and steel desk, frowning at a computer screen. His office door was open, but she knocked on the doorframe before entering.

  His gaze did not leave the computer. “Come in. Sit,” he commanded.

  Was she a dog? Did he really have to talk to her like that?

  She gritted her teeth. Choose your battles, girl.

  Head held high
, she took a seat in the chair in front of his desk, folded her hands in her lap, and opened her mouth.

  “You’ll be leaving as soon as the agency locates a replacement,” he snapped before she had uttered a single word.

  “But I don’t understand. I apologized for the accident. I am extremely sorry, and am willing to replace anything that was ruined.” Even if it meant she’d end up owing him more money than he was paying her.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  He still hadn’t looked at her. Jerk. This was important to her! The least he could do is look her in the eye.

  She cleared her throat. “Sir, if you wouldn’t mind. Could you please set the computer aside for a moment?”

  His gaze jerked to hers. Fire flickered in his eyes. His lips pulled into a thin line.

  Ah, so he was angry. Well that was just fine. So was she.

  “Thank you,” she said, intentionally keeping her voice void of any frustration or anger. “I would like to ask you to reconsider—“

  “No.”

  “But—“

  “Absolutely not.”

  Rage burned through her chest. He wasn’t giving her a chance to speak. Not one word. “May I ask, why?”

  “I owe you no explanation, Miss McCall. Now please leave. I have no need for your services. Thank you.”

  She stood. She glared. She slammed her hands on his desk and leaned in, “You are the most impossible, spoiled, rude bastard I have ever met.”

  His gaze jerked from his computer. His face turned the shade of a ripe cherry. Slowly he rose from his chair and angled toward her. His face inched close, closer. The air between them electrified. Energy buzzed and zapped around them.

  Heat blasted through her. Not anger, no. A very different kind of heat. It swirled in her center and made her dizzy.

  He smelled so good, of leather and sandalwood. And this close she could see flecks of green in his mesmerizing gold eyes. His scent filled her. She breathed deeply, taking it in.