LITMIR.BIZ

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       “I can’t get involved with you, Mac.

      “Why not?”

      “For starters, you work for me.”

      “OK, I quit.”

      Jewel laughed, though the intensity with which he was staring at her made her suspect that he wasn’t entirely joking.

      “Anyway, you lost the race.”

      “You cheated.”

      She lifted a brow. “How do you figure?” “You started first.”

      “Just because you were slow out of the gate—”

      The rest of the words lodged in her throat when his arm snaked around her waist. “No one’s ever accused me of being slow out of the gate.”

      “Well -” she gave herself a moment to acknowledge the delicious little sparks that zinged through her system “- you were this time.”

      “Maybe I was,” he acknowledged, drawing her closer. “Or maybe I chose finesse over speed.”

      “You still lost.”

      He smiled. “I don’t think so.”

      Then he kissed her.

      Brenda Harlen grew up in a small town surrounded by books and imaginary friends. Although she always dreamed of being a writer, she chose to follow a more traditional career path first. After two years of practising as a lawyer (including an appearance in front of the Supreme Court of Canada), she gave up her “real” job to be a mum and to try her hand at writing books. Three years, five manuscripts and another baby later, she sold her first book.

      Brenda lives in Southern Ontario with her real-life husband/hero, two heroes-in-training and two neurotic dogs. She is still surrounded by books (“too many books,” according to her children) and imaginary friends, but she also enjoys communicating with “real” people. Readers can contact Brenda by e-mail at [email protected]

      The Prince’s Cowgirl Bride

      Brenda Harlen

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Connor & Ryan

      - the next generation of princes -

      the reason for everything I do.

      I love you both

      with all of my heart.

       Prologue

      “Does it give you ideas?”

      Prince Marcus Santiago of Tesoro del Mar glanced down at his dance partner and found her smiling up at him with big blue eyes filled with promises she was far too young to be making. He’d been holding her at a careful distance, not wanting to give her any encouragement or the press any reason to speculate that he was interested in more than waltzing with a guest at his brother’s wedding, but clearly she hadn’t taken the hint.

      “No.” His answer was succinct and unequivocal.

      “I’ll bet if you met the right woman you’d change your mind.”

      “Maybe if I met her at the right time,” he conceded, though he sincerely doubted it. “But I’ve got to finish university before I even start thinking about settling down.”

      She pouted prettily. “Are you really going back to Harvard next week?”

      “Only because the university has this annoying expectation that a student attend classes and write exams in order to earn a degree.”

      She laughed prettily. “But you’re not really going to be a lawyer.”

      “Aren’t I?”

      “Of course not. You’re a prince.”

      “The two titles aren’t mutually exclusive,” he said dryly.

      Her eyelashes fluttered. “I only meant that you don’t need to work.”

      He couldn’t prevent the smile that curved his lips. Clearly this girl had no idea what it meant to be a royal. The truth was, he didn’t know anyone who worked harder or longer than his brother Rowan. As the youngest, Marcus didn’t bear the same burden of responsibilities, but he wasn’t exactly given a free ride, either.

      She shifted closer to him, lowered her voice. “If you must go away, maybe we could go somewhere to share a private goodbye.”

      He was relieved to note that the song was winding down to a finish. He touched his lips briefly to the back of her hand and stepped back. “Right now, I must speak with my brother.”

      Disappointment clouded her eyes as she dropped into a curtsy. “Of course, Your Highness. Maybe later?”

      He didn’t bother to respond.

      That was exactly why Marcus wasn’t a big fan of weddings. It wasn’t so much that he was opposed to the institution of marriage—not for other people, anyway. No, what he disliked was the effect that they seemed to have on the single females in attendance. It was as if they suddenly couldn’t see anything but wedding gowns and bouquets of flowers and any unmarried man who happened in their path as a potential candidate for the altar. No thank you—no way.

      There were just too many women out there—fun women, smart women, beautiful women—to want to commit to a single one. If he ever met a woman who was all of those things, he might reconsider his attitude toward matrimony, but he was doubtful.

      He snagged a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and carried it to the terrace where he’d seen his brother Eric disappear. He found him in the shadows, nursing a drink of his own.

      “Hiding out?” Marcus asked him.

      Eric grinned. “And not ashamed to admit it.”

      He leaned back against the stone balustrade and crossed his feet at the ankles. “So how many times have you been asked if Rowan’s wedding has given you ideas about getting married?”

      “I lost count.”

      Marcus nodded and sipped his champagne, enjoying the stolen moment of quiet camaraderie with his brother.

      Then Eric broke the silence by saying, “I wouldn’t say I’ve never thought of it, though.”

      Marcus nearly choked. “Marriage?”

      His brother nodded. “Not with respect to any particular woman, but I’ve wondered, sometimes, what it would be like to have what Julian had with Catherine, or what Rowan has found with Lara.”

      “Mi Dios—don’t let anyone overhear you saying that or you’ll have a ring on your finger before you have a chance to recover from this temporary bout of insanity.”

      Eric’s lips curved. “Do you really think it’s crazy? Crazier than being alone?”

      “Maybe you have been at sea too long.”

      “And that is exactly why I won’t ever have what our brother has. Because I can’t imagine ever leaving the navy any more than I could imagine asking someone to share my life when I’m at sea more than I’m home.”

      “You could ask,” Marcus argued. “And not have any trouble finding someone who believes becoming a princess is more than adequate compensation for an absent husband.”

      Eric shook his head. “You’re too cynical.”

      “Realistic. Isn’t that why we all have passports with our mother’s maiden name—so we can occasionally escape the attention of being royal?”

      “I didn’t think you minded the attention.”

      He couldn’t blame his brother for thinking that because there

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