Prince's Proposal (The Exiled Royals 1) Read online

  Prince’s Proposal

  By Ivy Iverson

  The Exiled Royals Series

  Book 1

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  Table of Contents

  Prince’s Proposal

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Melissa Speights returned to the corner behind the bar, sliding her cocktail tray onto the polished wood surface once she’d arrived. Before she could collect the next order, boisterous cheering and laughing filled the room from the crowd gathered at the craps table.

  “So the asshole of the year award goes to our high roller over there,” she said to her friend and coworker Brandy, gesturing toward the noisy crowd, and specifically to Mr. Tall, Dark and Commanding in the center of the action.

  It wasn’t that the guy was unattractive. Hell no.

  He had a killer body with a lean build, gorgeous black hair pulled into a short pony tail, and eyes the color of the ocean on a clear day. No, the casino’s latest whale was delectable to say the least.

  Still, being attractive on the outside doesn’t equal attractive on the inside, and that guy had been an obnoxious jerk toward the staff at the Lucky Seven Casino, at least those that had been unfortunate enough to have to deal with him all week. Besides, she’d heard from Lizzy in housekeeping that his room was almost a biohazard. The big spender was also quite the man about town, and the staff had been cleaning up all week from his merry go round of conquests.

  “Don’t even let it bother you. You’ve been around enough to know that it’s the life of a cocktail waitress, or of working in Vegas in general. Sometimes the high rollers are bearable, decent guys. Most of the time, they’re self-absorbed narcissists with an inflated sense of entitlement. Besides,” Brandy said as she pushed a loose strand of her choppy, bright red hair behind her ear. “He’s not nearly that bad. Remember that the guy who slept with half of the staff in one weekend? He was much worse. Not to mention that this guy is way cuter.”

  “Well, first of all,” Melissa said. “He hasn’t had time to bed half of our staff; he’s been too busy working his way through the paying guests. If he runs out of tail there, then I can absolutely see him sleeping with every cocktail waitress here.”

  Brandy chuckled and started putting the beers for one of her tables on a tray. “Then sign me up. Seriously, the guy is hot. Who cares if he’s a womanizer or seems like the biggest jerk in the world.”

  “Oh I just said he was asshole of the night,” Melissa corrected.

  “Whatever. You know my motto: no strings attached; he’d definitely be worth my time,” she virtually purred as she stared appreciatively at the man.

  Melissa sighed and rolled her eyes. Brandy was a great friend, but she tended to only have a few things on her mind, and at the top of that short list were men and sex.

  Actually, maybe that was just one thing since one was required for the other. Still, to be fair, she wasn’t wrong. The new asshole on the block was attractive, he also seemed to be the type to know it, and walk around the place like he’s God’s gift to womankind.

  Melissa snapped her fingers in front of Brandy’s face to draw her attention away from the charismatic gambler. “You remember how happy everyone was the last time a guest started sleeping around with the staff,” she said sarcastically. “Forget Mr. Heartbreaker. You’re so much better than a notch in a belt…or bedpost.”

  Brandy snorted. “Sure, but it would be a thrill to be that notch anyway. You need to lighten up and have some fun.”

  “I’m just looking out for you. You help me out all the time – covering for me when I need to slip away or taking my shift if I need time off – I’m just saying that you’re a great friend and you’re worth more than that.”

  “Aww, aren’t you sweet; right back at ya, Mel.”

  “Ahem, Speights, Morgenstern, get back to work,” Frank said, adjusting his toupee. He was the floor manager and had seen basically everything, and then some, that had ever gone wrong in Vegas.

  The man was unflappable and never gave a shit about any excuse we gave him. He’d seen enough whales not to find anything exciting or even unusual about this asshole. “Besides, maybe one of you can actually earn your keep and serve our special guest the Blue Lagoon he ordered.”

  Melissa shook her head judgmentally. Those bright blue novelty drinks were about twelve dollars a mug. “Oh, great, not only is he an asshole, he has money to burn. Forget high rolling, only someone who cared nothing for money would buy something that tastes like pool cleaner.”

  “But the color matches his eyes,” Brandy replied, her tone dreamy.

  “Ladies, now, gossip off the clock,” Frank said, shoving the tray with the neon blue liquid into Melissa’s hands. “Now. There’s dishes in back with your name on them for cleanup, Morgenstern.”

  Offering her boss a tight smile, she turned toward the craps table. “There’s just zero justice in the world. It’s bad enough that an arrogant jackass gets to have all that money, but it’s almost worse to see him have such disregard for it. It’s like he’s lording it over those of us who work for a living,” she said as she eyed the man with malice, and yes, envy.

  He’d wagered more than she made in a month’s salary. He didn’t even realize how hard people had to work for things like that, Melissa was certain. “At least I can get this over with.”

  Brandy clucked her tongue at her from behind the bar. “You act like you’re going to the gallows. Enjoy the view for once. Besides,” she said, leaning over the bar. “I bet he has a big dick!”

  “Great.” Melissa rolled her eyes and replied sarcastically. “That’s exactly how you should talk about our patrons. I’ll be back faster than you can pour the next round of shots for our big spender.”

  Chapter Two

  With that, Melissa was walking across the room, using all her balance and skill to keep the tray aloft as she navigated through the crowd wearing her four-inch stilettos. That was one of the many down sides of the job.

  They were encouraged to look as sexy as possible, and that meant stilettos. It wasn’t an official requirement, but she’d never seen a girl who insisted on wearing flats last more than a week. Tips weren’t any damn good either if you didn’t get a push-up bra and line your lips for all you were worth. Her feet were pretty chewed up from five years on the job, but she could probably walk over the Grand Canyon on a tight rope, her ability to balance was that good.

  She set the tray down at the edge of the craps table and waited patiently for Mr. Big Shot to take a break between rolls to pick it up. Right now, he was more interested in holding his dice out for the three women next to him to offer their luck.

  They looked like he’d made a conscious effort to collect different, ahem, flavors for later in the night. Naturally, they were all gorgeous enough to be models, tall with long limbs and breasts that were almost too perfect, Melissa noted. They wore cocktail dresses in a kaleidoscope of colors that were so tight they looked painted on.

  The tallest one had rich mocha-colored skin and sparkling ebony eyes. The one in the middle was an exotic-looking Asian woman with bright blue eyes that were probably enhanced with contact lenses, Melissa assumed with a tinge of smugness. Standing closest to the high roller was a typical Vegas blonde bombshell with unnaturally light hair and equally unnaturally large breasts. She was trying to be Marilyn Monroe, talking all breathy in a small baby voice, but she was failing miserably.

  Melissa tried hard not to shake her head when the Marilyn wannabe cooed and blew on the dice for luck.

  The asshole laughed, and when he spoke, Melissa caught just the tiniest hint of an accent. It was vaguely Russian sounding, reminding her somewhat of Dolph Lundgren in Rocky IV, as if this “Drago” could rock her world any time and go a few rounds with her. Melissa smiled at the thought.

  It was odd. She’d heard tons of people from all over the world while working for the casino. Mostly, she’d always found British or Mediterranean accents the most alluring. She’d never felt that the Slavic intonations of an Eastern European accent could make her feel so eager.

  She’d been wrong.

  “Well, Bambi, I appreciate the luck.”

  Marilyn wannabe—no sorry, Bambi—giggled in a voice so high-pitched and synthetic that it sounded as though she’d inhaled helium. Melissa had to wonder if her empty head would just float off her shoulders and up to the ceiling. Again, Melissa smiled broadly at the thought, barely stifling a laugh.

  “Just lucky sevens tonight, baby.”

  Melissa cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Mr.—”

  “Kharmin, Raymond Kharmin,” he corrected. It
was then that Mr. Kharmin finally looked at her and, as stupid and naïve as it felt, Melissa’s breath caught in her throat. He was even more beautiful up close. And she’d been wrong about his eyes; they weren’t blue like the ocean but like the softest baby blue...cornflower blue.

  No wonder he has women hanging off of him.

  “Thank you,” he said, with surprising politeness. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a hundred and gave it to her. She noticed that his fingers lingered on her hand a moment as he gently placed the bill in her open palm. Or was it her imagination? No, her eyes never left his as he spoke, and she could see that there was something to it, there was something there. Maybe...

  She blinked quickly and snapped her attention back to the task at hand. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  She’d worked too long and hard in this town to pull the fake coy, “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  “No problem, my dear,” he said, pulling his eyes away from hers and turning back to the table, and then groaning when he rolled snake eyes.

  Melissa watched in horror, now invested in the goings on at a table for the first time in years. That was how things happened in Vegas, and judging just by his well-tailored suit and his Rolex, losing a few grand wasn’t going to bankrupt him. After all, when someone was that rich, they were to the point where even losing money was fun; it was all a part of the game. Still, he’d been on a hot streak before she showed up, and somehow, despite all logic, she felt like she’d been a spectacular jinx to him.

  “Sir, let me get you a complimentary drink so you’ll—”

  “I’ll keep playing. Don’t worry, miss. I intend to. I merely need some air.” With that, he stood up and strode out with long fluid steps to the balcony.

  Melissa stood there watching after him for only a moment, and in that instant Brandy caught her attention from the bar. Her coworker waved to the balcony and nodded her head in that direction. Melissa quickly understood her friend’s less than subtle hint.

  Go to him? Should I? As she was silently debating the options in her head, she heard a mobile phone ringing near her on the edge of the craps table. He left his phone. Deciding that it must be kismet, she quickly reached down to grab it, narrowly beating Miss Marilyn Wannabe to the prize.

  “I have to go out to the balcony anyway, so I’ll just take Mr. Kharmin his phone,” she said almost breathlessly, to the disapproving stares of the three women he’d left behind at the table.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked out to where Raymond Kharmin had gone. In her head, she was trying to justify it as a way to keep their biggest gambler happy and playing. She was simply paying him a courtesy by returning his phone. Really, though, she was finally taking a chance.

  Life never gave her anything, and she’d been scrambling for every advantage or chance she’d ever had. Right now, her instincts, as well as Brandy’s advice and fate itself, were all leading her out onto the balcony, for good or ill.

  She made her way outside and searched the balcony. She quickly spotted him off to one side, handing something to another patron and smiling. But soon the man turned and walked away, leaving him standing there all alone. As Melissa stood there staring at him, taking in the beauty of him, he began to turn in her direction.

  She would have called her actions foolish, beyond needy and hopeful; except that when she walked out into the night and the open air, she found that Raymond’s intense gaze was fixated only on her.

  Chapter Three

  Jesus. She’s beautiful.

  That was the thought that struck Raymond Kharmin like a bolt of lightning as he watched the cocktail waitress trade looks with her compatriot at the bar. He was no stranger to gorgeous women. Hell, his taste for beauties from around the world was what had landed him in exile in the first place.

  His mother, Queen Natasha of Yagovia, had convinced his father that he needed to be disinherited. He’d apparently “behaved unbecoming of his royal heritage” and was now no one at all. His younger sister, Serena, was set to become queen after their father died. Personally Ray thought she’d make a fine queen, but that didn’t mean he was willing to relinquish his throne to her. Besides, he knew the 18th century sensibilities of his family: a female ruler was not their first choice.

  The exile could have been worse. He’d stashed some cash in accounts in his own name across the globe for emergencies – perhaps some bit of trouble he might get into that would be best if there was no paper trail for his parents or their accountants to follow. It was still a comedown from the billions in wealth he’d had access to before. And he’d actually have to pay attention to how much he spent since these funds would have to last him for what might be a very long time – maybe a lifetime.

  Fortunately his cousin Alexander had taught him the finer points of gambling, so he was hoping to parlay his dwindling funds into a positive cash flow that way. That was how he came to find himself in Vegas. He would have preferred Monte Carlo, of course, but he couldn’t afford that lifestyle now. Vegas would have to do.

  But, unfortunately, Lady Luck was fickle. His one saving grace was that he still had permission to use the homes his family had all over the world – except in Yagovia, of course. As disappointed as his parents were in him, they didn’t want to see him living on the street. Still, he wasn’t welcome back in his homeland, and he was stripped of the real power he deserved.

  The power he’d waited for his whole life.

  Ray sighed. The women he’d tried losing himself in the last six months were beyond beautiful – models or debutantes who were drawn to the money he flaunted everywhere he went. There’d been a United Nations of beauties, but they were vapid and uninteresting and left him painfully bored.

  He wanted to go home, wanted his throne, but he had no idea how to get it back.

  Ray’s thoughts evaporated when the waitress made her way out to the balcony. She was short, yet she had delicious curves in all the right places, she was an enticing sight. She was also blessed with long, chocolate brown hair that fell to her waist and doe eyes that he could lose himself in for centuries if he had such good fortune. Add in her heart-shaped face and round, full lips, and Ray honestly didn’t understand why she wasn’t headlining a show on the strip instead of serving the drunk and hopeless at two a.m.

  “I believe this is your phone, you left it at the craps table and I wasn’t sure you’d be back,” she said and handed him the phone. He had just borrowed a man’s phone to ring it, hoping that luck would be with him one more time, and that she would be the one to bring it to him. For the first time in months, he began to feel that things might finally be going his way.

  “You’re still going to play, aren’t you?” She leaned against the balcony railing on his right. Those earnest coffee-colored eyes bore into his, making him want to confess everything to this lovely stranger, to be vulnerable for once.

  Ray dismissed the thought. He’d already lost too much, and he’d never shared with a woman before. Women were just for fun, especially when no strings were attached. No one needed to hear his sob story. He seriously doubted anyone would even fucking believe it.

  How many bad movies started with the tale of a lost prince? This delectable waitress would assume he was just giving her a line.

  “It’s really alright, miss,” he said, his breeding always with him, even in exile.

  “Mel,” she said.

  He blinked, confused. Surely he’d misheard. That was a man’s name, unless he was even more behind on American trends than he realized. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mel…short for Melissa. It’s okay. You’re the client, and I have to call you sir.”

  He laughed and took his long dark hair out from its ponytail. Shaking his head, he let his hair fall easily over his shoulders. “Then let’s make a rule. I’ll call you Mel and you call me Ray. There’s no need to stand on ceremony here.”

  “I guess not,” she said, “but I…need to know you’re really okay.”

  “You needn’t worry. I plan to spend far more money at your fine establishment tonight. If losing a few thousand dollars bothered me, I wouldn’t be playing.”

  That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. The waitress, Mel¸ bristled and began to pace. “It must be nice.”