The Prince She Never Forgot. Scarlet Wilson
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“Are you okay?”
She steadied herself on the wall, taking a deep breath of relief before turning to speak to her rescuer. But the words died in her throat.
Bright blue eyes and a broad chest obstructed her view. Even on a dark Paris night those blue eyes would have attracted her attention. He was tall, dark-haired, with a broad chest, wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans with a dark wool coat on top.
He smiled as he looked down at all the people below. “I'm sorry if I startled you. But you looked frightened.”
“I was. Thank you.” She shook her coat free, letting some air circulate around her, and pulled her red hat from her hair. “There—that's much better.”
“It certainly is.”
He was smiling appreciatively at her and for a second she was unnerved. But, no. There was nothing predatory about her rescuer. He had kind eyes. And the man exuded sex appeal from twenty paces. If her up-close-and-personal alarm was going off it wasn't because she was scared—it was because it had been jolted back into life. About time too.
She held out her hand towards him. “Ruby. Ruby Wetherspoon from England.”
His warm hand closed around hers. “Alex,” he said simply.
Her eyes glanced up and down his body. The dark wool coat seemed a little strange for a young guy—a little formal.
“Are you from here?”
The corners of his lips turned upwards. “Close enough.”
Mystery. She liked it. Perfect for New Year's Eve.
The Prince She Never Forgot
Scarlet Wilson
SCARLET WILSON wrote her first story aged eight and has never stopped. Her family have fond memories of Shirley and the Magic Purse, with its army of mice, all with names beginning with the letter M. An avid reader, Scarlet started with every Enid Blyton book, moved on to the Chalet School series and many years later found Mills & Boon® novels.
She trained and worked as a nurse and health visitor, and currently works in public health. For her, finding Mills & Boon was a match made in heaven. She is delighted to find herself among the authors she has read for many years.
Scarlet lives on the West Coast of Scotland with her fiancé and their two sons.
This book is dedicated to our newest family addition, Luca Cole Dickson, already gorgeous, well-behaved and utterly charming.
The ladies in his later life won't stand a chance!
Contents
Ten years earlier
SHE COULD FEEL the electricity in the air, feel the excitement. It seemed as if everyone in the world had decided to celebrate New Year’s Eve in Paris.
She was jostled along with the crowd, being practically carried off her feet on the route from the Champs-élysées towards the Eiffel Tower.
‘Aren’t you glad you came?’ her friend Polly screamed in her ear, sloshing wine over her sleeve. ‘This is the best place in the world right now.’
‘Yes, it is,’ murmured Ruby.
It certainly beat sitting at home in her flat, brooding over the job that wasn’t to be or the boyfriend who never should have been.
Polly gave a squeal. ‘The fireworks will be starting in an hour. Let’s try and get near the front!’
Ruby nodded as she was shouldered from behind. There were ten in their group but it was getting harder and harder to stick together. ‘I need to find a bathroom before we head to the fireworks,’ she whispered to Polly. ‘Give me five minutes.’
There were cafés and bars open all the way along the Champs-élysées, but unfortunately for her just about every female in the city seemed to have the same idea that she had.
She waved to Polly, ‘Go on without me. I’ll meet you at the sign we saw earlier.’
The group had already planned their night with precision. Dinner on a riverboat. Drinks in the hotel. A walk along the Champs-élysées and rendezvous at the Eiffel Tower for the fireworks. They’d already picked the spot they planned to stand at in case anyone got lost—which on a night like tonight was a certainty.
She stood in a queue for an eternity before finally heading back out to the thronging crowds. In the thirty minutes it had taken to get access to a bathroom it seemed the whole of Paris had started to congregate in the streets.
The crowds were sweeping along the Avenue George V, carrying along anyone who happened to be standing close enough. It was one part terrifying, one part exhilarating.
The crowd was even thicker at the Rue de l’Université.