Page 1 of Mercenary Princess

Chapter 1

Paris, France

Why is he here?

He’d never once shown up at any of the exclusive nightclubs Sophia had been in. Why now? Her head ached from the heavy bass and the whirlwind of thoughts vying for her attention.

The flashing lights and simulated fog filtering up from two stories below wasn’t helping anything either. Excès was the hottest nightclub in Paris at the moment. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceilings, catching the lights of the DJ’s show. Models in glittery, barely there dresses danced with moguls or lounged in the darkened private balconies, the beat of the music drowning out illicit conversations. If only she were focused on any of that.

Sophia gritted her teeth. She had a job to do, one that required her to get her mind off the damned Russian currently staring at her from his own private balcony, or she’d risk losing the chance to uncover the secrets of her elusive prey. The loud, thumping beat pulsed in her gut.

Taking a deep breath, she ran a shaky hand under the back of her hair, lifting the thick dark mass away from her hot nape. In that instant, she stilled, her breath frozen for a moment before she slid her hand away, shocked at the realization the man had her fidgeting like an awkward teenager.

Get it together, Sophia. You’re a damned princess. You were raised in the public eye.

At twenty-four, a crowd of flashing cameras no longer had the ability to shake her, yet one man’s bold perusal seemed to have the power to dismantle her entire serene persona. No other man had ever had such an effect on her. But Viktor Petrovich Popov had never been like other men. The dangerous billionaire had been her obsession for nearly a decade, which had been fine, harmless even, when he’d paid her no attention.

With great effort, she eased her biting grip on the delicate stem of her champagne flute, trying not to look at him again. Focusing on him wasn’t going to stifle either the arousal or the agitation twisting in her stomach.

“More champagne?” Tiffany’s exuberant shout rang out over the heavy beat of the music, jolting Sophia from her thoughts. The other woman brandished a bottle in Sophia’s face.

Sophia managed a smile for the blond socialite while waving away her offer. “No more for now, thanks.”

Tiffany nodded with a wink and a grin before angling back to the other girls. The women smiled and laughed as they spoke, their words mostly lost in the hum of the music. Sophia made every effort to give the right responses, and judging from their expressions, they were either too buzzed to notice or Sophia was hiding her emotions well.

Sophia pushed back a pang of guilt for using the women as props.

Tiffany and the others held coveted spots on her mother’s list of acceptable companions of appropriate breeding and desirable behavior. As far as Sophia’s options went, they were the easiest of her set to be around, and they were always eager and available for a photo op. It was a win-win situation, considering Sophia’s real friends had been stricken from that approved list over two years ago—only two weeks before she would have graduated from university.

The instant her brother, the cold and unwavering king of Porenza, had learned that Sophia’s childhood friends, Irina and Riot, had posed for the cover of a famous rock magazine, he’d ordered her home from university. He’d refused to listen to reason, as she’d known he would. It hadn’t mattered that Sophia hadn’t even been near the photo shoot, nor had she starred in the sexy image that was splayed all over the internet, having been leaked to the media before the magazine was actually published.

Sophia and her friends had known what would happen when the scandalous magazine cover—showing the two friends clad in skimpy bikinis and licking dripping ice cream cones—was released. Overnight, her friends had cemented a spot in the party-girl socialite set, perfect covers for their covert work. But it had also made it impossible for Sophia to be seen with them.

The resulting two-year separation had become a bigger challenge than Sophia wanted to admit out loud, though she knew her friends were aware. She’d chosen her path. That she was isolated—more so when in her family’s clutches in Porenza—hadn’t been without purpose. Though if it weren’t for Jen, the one guard on her security team who knew about her secret life, she might have snapped.

Maybe she was kidding herself. Have I already lost my mind? What else explained her wandering thoughts and schoolgirl reaction to Viktor Popov being so close?

She swore she could feel his eyes on her body. Her imagination only made things worse. She wished his strong hands were gliding up her legs to grip her ass. Would he pull her into his lap before letting those hands roam to her breasts? Would he torment her, make her writhe and beg for more? Because that was exactly what he’d done in her dreams a thousand times.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Her breathing had grown erratic, and her nipples ached as she snapped her mind away from the fantasy and back to real life.

Over the past eight years, she’d never once let her mask fracture, but she’d never been in such a situation. It wasn’t the job throwing her off. It was Viktor Popov making her cheeks flush. The man had starred in her dirtiest fantasies for those same eight years. In all that time, she’d indulged in what seemed like a harmless and innocent infatuation with a man who was completely off-limits and had never once given her a second glance.

Until tonight.

“Oh my God, this DJ is brilliant!”

Sophia wished she could muster the same enthusiasm as her companions, who bounced to the music. She’d instructed her guards to keep the privacy curtains pulled back from her VIP alcove on the third floor, allowing a full view of the flashing lights surrounding the DJ console below.

For the moment, Sophia hovered back from the edge of the balcony, shrouded in partial darkness. A part of her wanted to sink into one of the leather couches situated farther in the shadows, but she was supposedly there for the entertainment. She had to be seen so her prey would come to her.

Instead of retreating, as she wanted to do, she moved forward, gazing down at—but not really seeing—the crush of club-goers grinding to the beat two stories below.

Observers with a view of her balcony wouldn’t detect any hint that Princess Sophia of Porenza was so tense they would have to pry her fingers from the stem of her barely touched glass. She’d long ago perfected an appearance of amused composure, one she prayed remain intact. Sophia sucked in a breath and released it slowly, easing the tension from her stance by sheer force of will. If only she could drink enough to relax. But that wasn’t an option. If it had been, she would have swiped the bottle of champagne right out of Tiffany’s hand and downed it as soon as she saw Viktor sitting in the alcove across from hers.

She hadn’t expected to have to battle her response to being practically undressed by her childhood obsession. The man shouldn’t even be in the club. It wasn’t his scene. Unfortunately, it was most definitely his younger brother’s.

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