This
Cinderella didn’t plan on a prince . . .
Kat
MacTaggart is a girl who has a plan for everything—including her
holiday ski trip to Monterra with her best friend. Everything is
going according to plan until she finds herself careening out of
control down a mountainside and being rescued by a guy who looks like
Superman’s hotter Italian cousin.
HRH
Prince Nico is intrigued by the woman he saved on the slopes and her
refusal to date him. He offers Kat a deal—let him show her his
country and he’ll pay her to write articles that will help
Monterra’s tourism industry. Kat agrees, but given her past and
lingering distrust of men, she has one condition—absolutely no
kissing.
Thanks
to the claims of a jealous British noblewoman and the schemes of a
meddling paparazzo, Kat’s rule doesn’t seem to be a problem at
first. But the more Kat gets to know Nico and the people around him,
the harder it is to remember her keep-your-distance plan. Should she
stick to it or risk everything for a chance at happily ever after?
I
didn’t take my eyes off of my book. “Sorry, not interested.”
He
moved away from me, sitting in an armchair next to mine. Well, I
suppose this was what I got for hanging out in the lodge’s lobby. I
should have stayed in my room until my best friend, Lemon, was ready
to leave.
“You’re
not interested in Shakespeare?” he asked. I could hear the
amusement in his voice.
“I’m
not interested in you.”
“Why
not?” This guy just could not take a hint. I turned to look at him,
ready to tell him off, and nearly choked.
Gorgeous
was an understatement. Tall, athletic, high cheekbones, black hair,
and blue eyes. Like Superman’s hotter Italian cousin. He was
dressed for a day of skiing—a black turtleneck with an unzipped
royal-blue winter coat. And he topped it off with a smile, a
blinding, unbelievable smile that nearly did me in.
He
leaned in conspiratorially, and I got a whiff of his cologne. He
smelled as good as he looked. His glacier-blue eyes were full of
intensity and fun, and I wanted to sit and stare into them all day.
“I’ve been told I’m very charming.”
I
didn’t doubt it. I would never have admitted it out loud, but I was
very charmed. Like I was the snake and he was playing a hypnotizing
tune that only I could hear.
And
I didn’t like the way that made me feel.
Plus,
I had to consider reality in this situation. No way could this guy
really be hitting on me. He probably dated supermodels and
I . . . didn’t date at all. Like, ever. He was
so out of my league.
I’d
never been so tongue-tied before. I was typically handy with the
quips and comebacks. But I couldn’t respond. I had to look away
from him and back at my book. The words on the page swam around in
front of me, and I was unable to focus on a single one. I needed him
to leave so I could regain my equilibrium. “Nothing personal.
Italian men don’t do it for me.”
I
was the lyingest liar who ever lied.
“How
fortunate for me then that I am Monterran.” He had a deep, rumbly,
smooth voice that felt like honey and laughter mixed together. I
wasn’t immune, and he hadn’t been kidding. He really was
disgustingly charming.
My
mouth twitched, wanting to smile. I turned a page, pretending to be
entranced. I was on Christmas break, I reminded myself. I was here in
Monterra to ski with Lemon. It was the last time we would be together
before getting our master’s degrees in a few months. I had
priorities and plans, and SuperHottie was not on the list.
And
if I were being truly honest—he kind of scared me. A guy like that
would have expectations, and I wasn’t like other girls.
“I’m
Nico, by the way.”
“That’s
nice for you.”
But
he again failed to parse out the subtext here (and I wasn’t being
very subtextual). Short of blatantly telling him to get lost, what
else could I do? Would I have to be rude? Because instead of
realizing that I was a lost cause, he laughed. He laughed and it did
funny things to my insides. I wanted to laugh with him. And crawl
into his lap and beg him to be mine.
“And
you are?” he prompted.
“Still
not interested.” It was becoming a bigger lie as time passed. If
some other guy had pursued me this way, I would have thought it was
creepy and called for security to have him escorted off the mountain.
Instead, I secretly hoped he would keep talking to me.
I
thought he’d finally gotten the message as an entire minute of
silence passed between us before he reached over to look at my book’s
spine to see the title. I gulped in response—his hands were large
and masculine, and I wondered how his long fingers would feel
interlaced with mine.
I
shook my head and let out a shaky breath. I had gone seriously crazy.
Like jumping-on-Oprah’s-couch crazy.
“Macbeth?
I would have guessed Romeo
and Juliet.”
I
couldn’t help myself. I had to look at him. “Two
fifteen-year-olds who kill themselves in the name of love after only
knowing each other for three days? No thanks.”
That
smile. He was killing me. “You don’t find it romantic?”
“I
don’t find anything romantic about suicide.”
“You
don’t think love at first sight is romantic?” he persisted.
I’d
never believed such a thing possible before this moment, but now I
was sort of getting where Romeo had been coming from. Nico was
literally the most handsome man I’d ever met in real life. If
anyone could convince me to believe in love at first sight, he was
the guy.
“Nope,”
I finally managed. He smiled like he didn’t believe me.
“Nico!
Andiamo!”
Nico
looked over his shoulder at a group of guys who were waving and
calling out to him. He shouted something back to them, and they
headed out the door, hooting and hollering as they went.
He
stood up. He was taller than I’d first thought. Yummy tall. Way
taller than me tall, and that wasn’t easy to find. “How long will
you be in Monterra?”
It
was such a personal question my gut reaction was to tell him to mind
his own business, but to my surprise, I found myself saying, “For
the next couple of weeks.”
“May
I see your phone?”
I
didn’t actually own a cell phone. I could barely afford food.
“No
phone, and I’m not phone adjacent.”
Nico
smiled again, and I wanted to melt into my chair. He reached inside
his coat, pulled out a small white business card, and handed it to
me. “If you do ever find yourself adjacent to a phone while you’re
here, please call. I would love to take you to dinner before you
leave.”
When
I reached out he took my hand and turned it over, leaning down to
kiss my knuckles. A lightning arc exploded inside my hand and zoomed
around my entire body, all the way down to my toenails. I might have
gasped, but I decided to pretend that I would never do something so
lame.
He
straightened back up to put the card in my shaking hand, closing my
fingers around it. “I look forward to your call,” he said as he
walked backward toward the exit. “Ciao,
bella.”
He
left and it took my eyes a second to adjust. Like I’d been staring
at the sun and now had third-degree burns on my retinas. Who did
that? Who just kissed people’s hands like that? This wasn’t the
fifteenth century. So weird. And exciting. But weird.
The
business card was white and thick. Obviously expensive. There was
only a series of numbers, presumably his telephone number. I flipped
the card over. Blank. Who had a card without a name on it? Just their
phone number?
I’d
tell you who. A guy who kissed your hand.
I
closed my book and put it on the coffee table in front of me. I
looked at the card again, turning it over a couple of times as I
considered my decision.
I
didn’t need this while I was here. And I couldn’t let Lemon see
it or she’d hogtie me and force me to call him. I was here to
relax, forget about my school troubles, and enjoy time with my best
friend. Boys were not part of the equation.
A
massive fire burned in the fireplace across the room. Decision made,
I walked over and before I could change my mind, threw the card into
the fire.
And
informed myself that I absolutely, totally and completely did not
regret
it.
The
book is currently
50% off
with
the discount code
Sariah
Wilson has never jumped out of an airplane, never climbed Mt.
Everest, and is not a former CIA operative. She has, however,
been madly, passionately in love with her soulmate and is a
fervent believer in happily ever afters--which is why she writes
romance. She has published five happily ever after
stories. She grew up in southern California, graduated from
Brigham Young University (go Cougars!) with a semi-useless
degree in history, and is the oldest of nine (yes,
nine) children. She currently lives with the aforementioned
soulmate and their four children in Utah, along with three
tiger barb fish, a cat named Tiger, and a recently departed
hamster that is buried in the backyard (and has nothing at all
to do with tigers). 
I just LOVE the cover of this book! Gorgeous!
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