Prologue

"Dr. St. Clare!"

I paused as I exited the Columbia University classroom building where I'd just finished giving a lecture. Sighing, I moved to the side so I wasn't in anyone's way, then slowly turned around to face the person calling my name. "What can I do for you, Ms. Cabot?"

Aymzlee Cabot, an entitled, obnoxious, spoiled brat taking my Ancient Studies class, stopped a few inches from me, and I immediately backed up. She batted her false eyelashes, and her lips formed a pout—which looked ridiculous because they were so thin. Then she flipped her long, blond extensions over her shoulder before putting a manicured hand with diamond-encrusted nails on my arm.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Ms. Cabot," I snapped, recoiling with a dark scowl, angered at her overly bold action. In my country, if she'd tried to touch me without permission, I could have had her hands cut off. Well, maybe not so much these days, but she would definitely have spent at least one night in the castle's detention center while they processed her for breaking the law.

However, I was in America, not the small country nestled in Europe where I grew up, and I was definitely not royalty here. So I tamped down my fury and settled for a scathing glare.

She appeared taken aback by my anger, and I wondered if she'd ever heard the word no. Then she shook it off and again tried to pull off a seductive pout.

I huffed an irritated breath and grunted, "Is there something you need, Ms. Cabot?"

"Call me Aymzlee," she purred.

"?a me so?le." I muttered the expression of frustration in French—the official language of my country. I was going to need a shower after this encounter to wash away any lingering filth from her distasteful attempts at seduction, and—I coughed when she leaned forward—the cloying stench of her perfume.

I was no stranger to this bullshit, but that didn't make it any less annoying to deal with. Growing up as a prince meant having a lot of experience with false personas, suckups, gold diggers, and haters. When we were in high school, my brother, Philippe—who was only a year older than me—and I were considered teen heartthrobs with our blond hair, piercing green eyes, and athletic prowess.

Eventually, we lost the boyish qualities of our appearances. My face became angular with a chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. I still had an athletic build, strong and muscular but lean from running and playing football—or soccer, as it was called here. I moved from teen magazines to the world's sexiest lists. Royalty, entrepreneurs, billionaires, etc. That bullshit was an even bigger pain in the ass.

Shallow, money-hungry women came out of the fucking woodwork when you're on those damn lists. And it didn't matter one bit that I would never be king. Not when, in addition to my family money, I'd also become a billionaire on my own.

It was one of the reasons I'd stopped dating years ago. I was tired of it all and just wanted to focus on my work, school, and teaching. No one expected me to provide an heir, and I was a kick-ass uncle to my sister's kids, and would be for my brother's, when he had them. So I was content to be a bachelor.

Moments like this just firmed my resolve.

"You're so sexy when you speak Italian, Tristan," Aymzlee cooed with a sickeningly sweet smile.

I heard a muffled sound and glanced over at my shadow, Michel. He'd been my bodyguard since I was a teenager. However, there was only a five-year age gap between us, so eventually, he'd also become—after my brother—my closest friend. Right at that moment, though, I was contemplating amicicide. He was clearly holding back his laughter, and I scowled at him, making it clear that he was going to pay for not stepping in and saving me from this revolting encounter.

"I was speaking French, and that comment was completely inappropriate, Ms. Cabot. Now, if you will excuse me—"

"Wait! I was hoping we could get together this weekend. I'm struggling with the reading, and I would be so appreciative if you would tutor me."

Bordel de merde, I cursed quietly. For fuck's sake, this girl will not give up.

"Elle sait lire?" Michel murmured, expressing surprise that she could read in a mocking tone. I almost snorted in amusement, but I managed to control it. This girl was toxic, but I was still her instructor.

"That's what the student help center is for, Ms. Cabot. If you still have questions afterward, you can email me, and I promise to answer them promptly."

I didn't give her a chance to respond before spinning on my heel and stalking down the stairs. Michel was chuckling when he fell into step beside me.

"Two blondes fell down a hole," he quipped in French. "One said, ‘It"s dark in here isn"t it?' The other replied, ‘I don"t know; I can"t see.'"

"Now, that just seems unfair."

We halted in our tracks and turned to see who'd spoken from behind us.

"Je n"en reviens pas!" I exclaimed under my breath, completely stunned by the vision in front of me. And enchanted by the sound of her naturally sultry voice speaking my language.

Big, ocean-blue eyes regarded me with a twinkle in their depths. Thick lashes fringed them, and it would take very little to get lost in those eyes. A smattering of freckles dusted across her perfect little nose and high cheekbones. Her puffy, bee-stung lips—that I had no doubt were all natural, unlike so many of the rich housewives in New York City—inspired visions of them wrapped around my cock.

Shit, Tristan. Get a hold of yourself.I was shocked at my body's reaction to this woman. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt more than a cerebral interest in anyone. Besides, with one look, I knew she was at least a decade younger than me. I was too damn old for her, and I shouldn't have been thinking about how it would feel to sink inside her tight pussy.

I blinked to dislodge the wonderfully dirty images, and my gaze continued to scan her from head to toe.

White-blond curls framed her heart-shaped face, hanging just below her shoulders. The locks in front skimmed the top of an absolutely incredible set of breasts. They were big and round, pressing against her T-shirt and making my hands itch to see how much they would overflow my palms while I cupped them. They jiggled with each of her breaths, and I couldn't wait to see them bouncing while she rode me.

Where the fuck did that come from?

It seemed that my libido had returned and was starved for attention. However, it focused solely on the blue-eyed woman before me. And I knew only she would be able to assuage my hunger.

I continued my perusal, tearing my eyes from her big tits and dropping them to her small waist, which seemed even more petite because of the gentle swell of her hips. My princess had a body made for sin…and breeding. Skintight leggings covered her shapely legs, and I had to stop myself from asking her to turn around and show me her ass. I was certain it was lush and full, perfect for palming while I fed her my dick up against a wall.

She was tiny, at least a foot shorter than me, but she held herself regally with the confidence of a princess. And I liked that my muscular six-foot-two frame towered over her. It made me feel like I could protect her, and I suspected she would fit perfectly against my body.

"Merde," Michel muttered, pulling me out of my lust-filled haze and bringing me screeching back to reality. I suddenly had the urge to blacken both of his eyes for looking at my woman.

"Unfair?" he asked her, still speaking French.

My princess tilted her head to the side as her gaze landed on Michel. It took a monumental effort not to snap at her to put her eyes back on me and demand that she never look at another man. But that would make me sound insane…right? I couldn't possibly be that obsessed with a woman in an instant. Love at first sight was for fairy tales. And simply being in lust wouldn't make me want to gouge out the eyes of every man who looked in her direction. I had no fucking clue where this was coming from. It was as though she'd awakened a beast inside me.

I inhaled slowly, trying to grasp onto reality and shove away the homicidal, obsessive, possessive, and depraved thoughts filling my mind.

She fingered one of her curls as the corner of her mouth hiked up. "I'll give you one dumb blonde, but two?" she replied. "Come on, couldn't a blonde with common sense be part of the joke? I mean, is it really likely they would both be dumb?" Her bottom lip popped out, and she nibbled it as she turned thoughtful. I repressed the urge to demand she stop because only I was allowed to bite her porn-worthy lips. "Unless you're including bottle blondes, then the ratio becomes much more skewed in the joke's favor."

For a moment, I got lost again in how damn sexy my language sounded coming out of her mouth. Then I realized that her comment had clearly indicated that she was a natural blonde, which didn't surprise me, but it did make my eyes drop to the apex of her thighs. Was she bare? Or did she have matching blond curls covering her mound? She would be sexy as fuck either way, but the idea of her dripping-wet folds being hidden from me made me hope that she was fully waxed. And if she wasn't, I was gonna make sure it happened. I didn't want anything coming between us when I buried myself in her pussy.

"Okay, how about this?" Michel asked with a chuckle. "Two blondes fell down a hole. The smart one said, ‘It"s dark in here, isn"t it?' The other replied, ‘I don"t know; I can"t see.'"

"Better," my princess mused. "But really, the dumb one should just be bald."

Michel laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. "How do you figure?"

"How many dumb women do you know?" she asked. "Are they all blondes?" Her blue eyes sparkled, and I hated that they weren't focused on me.

"That's a trick question," I piped up, satisfied when her gaze was back on me. "There is no answer that won't get us in trouble. If we say yes, we're assholes who think of some women as dumb. If we say no, we're liars."

Laughter burst from her chest, and the sound was magical.

"La vache," Michel breathed, his voice filled with awe.

I glanced over to see that he was also mesmerized by my beautiful princess. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" I asked through clenched teeth, my tone low enough that she wouldn't hear.

"Nope."

"Michel."

My soon-to-be ex-friend finally swung his head around to meet my gaze. He raised an eyebrow at my thunderous expression.

"Then find somewhere else to be."

"Oui, Votre Altesse," Michel huffed, his tone slightly mocking and low enough that my princess would not overhear. Then he tromped away. As my bodyguard, I knew he wouldn't be far, and I mentally rolled my eyes at his formal address. He only called me "Your Highness" when we were in a formal atmosphere or in public at home. Or at times such as this, when he was pissed at me.

But I couldn't bring myself to care too much about being rude to Michel because now I had the beauty's attention all on me.

"Was it something I said?" she queried, her nose scrunching as she worried her lip between her teeth.

She spoke English now, and I found that the sound of her voice made my manhood hard no matter what language she was speaking. "No, princesse," I told her as I took several steps to close the distance between us. "He forgot about an appointment and sometimes forgets his manners."

"Oh." Her cheeks turned pink when she returned her gaze to me and realized how close I was standing. "Um…what were we talking about?"

She blinked up at me, and her little tongue darted out to lick her supple lips, leaving them a little shiny and begging for my kiss.

I'd never felt such a strong desire to protect someone, to possess them, to be the center of their universe. And I'd never been so damn hard in all my life. Why am I fighting this? It was clear now that the endeavor was pointless because I was too far gone. There was no option moving forward other than to own her.

Thankfully, being the second son meant I was free to choose where, and with whom, I spent my life.

I curved my lips into my most charming smile. "You were about to tell me what time I can pick you up for our date tonight."