Page 17 of The Billionaire's Princess

The pause gives me the chance to savor her anew. She’s got vivid red lips tonight. That slicked-back ponytail. Those things are different. The chemistry crackling between us is the same.

I snap my fingers. “Kelly, isn’t it?”

Her expression sours. “Carly, actually.”

There it is. That crisp and chilly accent that makes me want to warm her up again.

“That’s right. Carly. We met at Bemelmans about three weeks ago. I was there with my brothers. You were waiting for your friend to arrive. I never forget a face. But I never caught your last name.”

“Montgomery,” she says, doing her best to keep her face neutral but unable to hide the sudden flintiness in her eyes. “And your name is Ruprecht, isn’t it?”

I laugh. I don’t think I’ll be able to get one over on her, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.

“Close but not quite. It’s Damon.” I turn to old Percy and extend my hand. “Damon Black. And you are…?”

“Percy Wilson. Pleasure.”

I survey my competition, prepared to hate him on sight before quickly deciding that this blue blood is no competition at all. It’s right there in his blandly handsome features, double-breasted suit and soft hands. There’s no fire here. This guy isn’t hungry. He’s never sweated over something he wanted or performed a hard day’s work like my brothers and I have. He has no true ambitions, probably the result of being to the manor born with a silver pole up his ass. I was also born with a silver spoon, true, but I’m at least ninety percent true ambition. I want to put the Black family empire firmly in the billion-dollar category. By the end of the year. And I will. Mark my words. I achieve my goals or die trying. A man like this, on the other hand, could never handle a woman with Carly’s spirit—in bed or out.

She may not know that yet. But I do.

I almost feel sorry for the man, who clearly suspects that I want her and that he may well be staring at his replacement in her bed. We’re both way out of our league when it comes to a woman like Carly. But I have a chance at reaching the inner her. He never will.

Satisfied by my assessment, I release his hand and snap my fingers again.

“Hold on,” I say, turning back to Carly. “You’re Princess Charlotte, aren’t you? I saw something about you online recently. Matter of fact, I read something about an engagement. Should I be offering my best wishes?”

They both stiffen, but Carly leaps in to stop the awkward silence before it really takes off.

“You can’t believe everything you read online,” she says. “I’m surprised you don’t know that, Mr. Black.”

A worthless non-answer.

“Call me Damon. More than one online rumor has ultimately been confirmed,” I say brightly.

“We’re not engaged. Not that it’s any of your business,” she says in arctic tones. “Mr. Black.”

“If I have my way, you’ll be offering your best wishes very soon, yes,” Percy says with a pointed look in her direction that makes her frown.

“Ah. Sounds like you’re more engaged than you thought you were, princess,” I say. “Or should I call you ma’am? Or would you prefer your majesty?”

“Feel free to call me Ms. Montgomery, Mr. Black.” By this point, it sounds as though she’s clipping her syllables with a chainsaw. “Only my grandmother is her majesty.”

“My mistake, Carly,” I say easily, staring her down. That haughtiness really gets under my skin. And to think that people call me arrogant. “Looks like I’m just a dumb American. You’re my first princess. I don’t know how to behave.”

Her nostrils flare. Her face floods with vivid color. For a second, I wonder if she plans to lunge for my throat—a possibility that thrills me somewhat, to be honest—but a new distraction arrives.

“Percy, can I borrow you for a second?” One of tonight’s hostesses, a silver-haired woman wearing her body weight in diamonds, appears and puts a hand on Percy’s arm, startling the three of us. “My husband is asking about your new polo pony.”

“I see.” Old Percy divides his speculative and suspicious glance between me and Carly. “Absolutely. Excuse me, darling.”

The use of the D-word scrapes my nerves. Renews my anger at Carly.

The hostess and Percy walk off, leaving me alone with Carly and my flaring temper.

I remind myself that we’re in the middle of a cocktail reception. Now is not the time for me to lose my shit. But that battle has evidently been lost since the first second I laid eyes on Carly Montgomery here.

I ease closer, taking care to lower my voice.

“Your full of surprises, aren’t you, Your Royal Highness?” Ready to pick this fight, I give her a lingering once-over that makes her stiffen. “Where should we start? With your disappearing act, your title or your wannabe fiancé?”

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