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PROLOGUE: In Which She Stars in Her Own Wrong Turn

 PROLOGUE: In Which She Stars in Her Own Wrong Turn

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There was no backing out once I was in Mick’s bedroom.

Even if I wanted to turn around – which I didn’t – it was way too late. The door didn’t creak when I’d slipped inside but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t creak if I tried to pussy out and run. Knowing my luck, I’d trip and fall in my haste and Mikhail’s guards would storm in and catch me in my Certified Slutty negligée, bailing out of seducing their prince. They’d probably think I was some kind of jezebel trying to poison him in his sleep.

So don’t pussy out, O, I told myself, blinking until my eyes adjusted to the dark. You want this. You totally want this. Want him.

Channelling my inner Bond girl, I took a couple of steps toward one side of his massive California king-sized sleigh bed. In the pitch black, I had to rely on my memory of the room’s layout from my tour of the entire palace the previous day. After the nine-hour flight in his private jet, Mikhail had brought the entire gang – Savita, Ryan, Iris and me – up to his room to relax, blushing like a tomato when we all stood gobsmacked at the sheer size of it. As if he could say “Yeah, my bedroom’s the size of a chapel but hey, we’re still on for a game of Call of Duty before we crash, right?” and we’d be all cool about it.

That was Mikhail for you. So modest. And so fucking sexy it hurt to look. With his inky black hair, icy-blue eyes and athlete’s physique, it was no wonder he had such a sea of girls to choose from for senior prom, like a farmer picking the best cow at a show. It had hurt that he hadn’t asked me but I was long over that. Sort of.

Because tonight, I’m going to have the best sex of my life.

I was being totally unfair to Kyros, the bastard, because despite the messy way we’d broken up, he was quite…good.

Oh, yeah. So good he never gave you an orgasm.

Kyros Coustapolis might have been Adonis incarnate but I’d never experienced what my best friend, Savita, called “the big O”. It might as well have been the Loch Ness monster to me – a myth. That didn’t mean I hadn’t gotten wet whenever I came to Corfu for Christmas and saw my ex-boyfriend. That wasn’t the problem.

Maybe it wasn’t Kyros, a spiteful voice in my head said. Maybe it’s you.

It was with this upsetting thought floating in my head that I tripped over my feet and went flying right onto the bed – unceremoniously landing on the object of my affections in a tangle of awkward limbs. If he’d been fast asleep, he sure as hell wasn’t as soon as my palm connected with his face.

“The hell?” he grunted, groggily trying to sit up.

Without thinking, I pushed him back down, thankful that he couldn’t see how red my face definitely was.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Mikhail. Are you OK? Did I hurt you?” I babbled. As gracefully as I possibly could, I moved to straddle him, shivering when I felt his bare chest below my palms. “Are you bleeding?” I gently did a sweep of his face, relieved to feel that there was no trace of warm liquid or a bump.

He froze. I wished I could see his face right then; wished I could see if he was recoiling because it was me, one of his best friends, sneaking into his bedroom at midnight. Before I could chicken out, I lowered my lips to his – or at least where I thought they were. Instead, my mouth connected with his clenching jaw. It was unusually bristly and that only made it sexier. Slowly, I kissed my way up to his lips, praying that he wouldn’t pull away from me, or tell me to get the hell out. Which was a strong possibility at this point.