"Do you have a tattoo of a blue dragon on your pretty butt?"

  She decided to play innocuously innocent. “A what on my what?"

  "A blue dragon tattoo on your butt."

  "What if I do?"

  "I'll have to marry you."

  "Sounds like it's not something that gives you pleasure.” No, he was in love with another woman, she reminded herself. Not ordinary Justine Brown. “And if I don't?"

  His demeanour changed from pensive to a melancholy shade of joy. “I'll give you what you want."

  "Will it set your mind more at ease if I say that I don't have one?"

  He burst out laughing. “You can't know how hard it is to find a woman who has a specific tattoo imprinted on her ass. It's like having to force every woman in the principality and beyond to drop her panties."

  So give the Princess Genevieve a bone, why don't you? She must have looked as crestfallen as she felt. She should have stayed at home, broken the mirror and marched ahead with her solitary life without Scott. What was the sense of torturing herself with someone she couldn't possibly have again?

  She swallowed the bitter realisation. He didn't care for Justine Brown, but hankered after another woman. Was she pretty? Was she sexy in bed? Did she give him everything he wanted in the perfect mate?

  Tears blurred her vision but she leaned forward determined to enjoy this last time with her prince. She'd give him the kind of hot sex he'd never be able to forget no matter who was with him.

  Simmering pain developed into restrained pleasure. She touched her tongue to the tip of his cock. A spark of electricity ramped through her but she didn't stop to ask if Scott had felt it too. That was too much like Justine Brown.

  He moaned, set his broad hand at the back of her head and raked his fingers through her hair. “Man, you're hot, princess."

  Don't I know it. She grasped his shaft with one hand and with the other, she circled the tip of his moistened glans, ramping up the swirling heat in her fevered veins. His muscled thighs tensed under her elbows.

  The question came out of nowhere. Her eyes searched his. “Who is this woman you're so mad about?"

  The tension immediately drained out of his body. He drew the comforting presence of his hand away. “Why do you want to know?"

  Good question. “Feminine curiosity."

  Her enthusiasm vanished. She no longer wanted to do him. His cock had gone flaccid. With all the obstacles facing her, she decided it was a good time to go home. If he didn't want her, how could she force herself to make love to him in a way she'd never had to another man?

  "Now that you know I don't have a tattoo, do you mind telling the driver to take me home?"

  His pokerfaced expression didn't change. Was he relieved as he spoke to the chauffeur? Was he thinking of his lady? She knew one thing for sure. That lady couldn't possibly be Justine Brown.

  * * * *

  Despondent that he didn't know where to find Justice, Scott urged himself to visit Justine. She was his good friend. Perhaps she would have an acceptable suggestion on how to redirect his search.

  She cracked the door open. Her dark hair was a rumpled mass of soft curls, as if she'd arisen only to answer his repetitive doorbell ringing. “Oh. It's you,” she breathed, opening the door wider a little to let him in.

  Not very welcoming. But he didn't blame her. He hadn't seen her in several days to ask how she was and to update her on his quest. “Aren't you supposed to be at work?” Of course, that had to be the first stupid thing he asked.

  "Aren't you supposed to be tearing women's clothes off?” came the snide reply.

  "Touché. Are you going to let me in or do I have to break the door down and grovel?"

  Her eyed widened in surprise, and a smidgeon of hope. “Why would you grovel?” The door remained firmly half closed.

  He spread his hands out in front of him. “I need your help."

  "Don't you have royal advisors for that stuff?"

  Scott heaved a big breath of frustration. “I have plenty of male ones, but not female. And what I need right now is a woman with her wonderful sense of intuition."

  She lifted her shoulders in a half shrug of resignation. “I don't know if I can help you, but I can try."

  The apartment smelled of apples and cinnamon. Justine was dressed in a silky pyjama top that barely reached her thighs and left nothing to his vivid imagination when it came to her cleavage. Scott's mouth began to water. The woman was one sexy number, and at the moment, he didn't need another distraction. Despite himself, he began to drool. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead and his jeans got much tighter. He collapsed on the couch.

  Justine raked her fingers through her hair, leaving the tresses more mussed than before. She looked like a mouth-watering candy, begging for the caress of his lips a thorough, hands-on exploration.

  "So what do you need help with?” she asked, settling in an armchair. The pyjama top rode up her thigh. Liquid fire raced in Scott's body.

  He hesitated, unable to think of why he needed her assistance. A tiny scrap of silk fabric moulded the triangle between her thighs.

  "Um, Scott?"

  Her soft voice brought his eyes back to where they should have been in the first place. On her face. “Yeah?"

  "What kind of help?” she prompted, not appearing the least embarrassed by his naughty gaze.

  Justine noted where the prince's gaze fell but she tossed it off as a horny man on the rampage. After all, if she'd been in his shoes, she'd be more than sexually aroused too.

  Uncharacteristically his shoulders sagged. He closed his eyes, apparently struggling to remember what he wanted to ask. She no longer gave a damn. He'd made it only too clear she was, and would never be, more than a friend.

  He pulled himself together, straightening his shoulders and clasping his hands in his lap. “Word must have leaked out I'm looking for a woman with a tattoo on her backside."

  "Gee, I wonder how that happened?"

  "Probably the paparazzi. They know everything before I do."

  "Did you see the Weekly Buzz's article about you?"

  Scott stared at the tabloid on the coffee table, noticing it for the first time. A gorgeous, blonde-haired woman was bent over, mooning him.

  A groan reverberated from his throat. He slapped his palms over his eyes. “This isn't as easy as I thought it would be, Justy. Frankly, I'm sick of the paparazzi, of the tabloids, and all the unwarranted attention my seeking a bride is getting."

  Scott hadn't called her by her nick name for her in a long time, Justine mused. He must be really hard up. Pity welled up within her, a pit bull pacing back and forth behind a hastily erected fence.

  "I'm beginning not to care if I lose my kingdom simply because I don't find this blue tattoo bride."

  Justine listened to his stifled groan. She couldn't let herself feel sorry for him. She had to learn to live without him. That was all there was to the fling she'd had with him first in her head, then at the direction of the godmother mirror. The sex had been fabulous, worth more than enough memories for a lifetime as she grew old without him at her side.

  "I'm rethinking how to make this search easier."

  He needed her help in a way that cleft her heart in two. She braced herself. Why had she opened the door in her nightie? She felt naked, exposed, too vulnerable. She bit into her lower lip, attempting to repress the scream that was ready to spill out.

  "I don't know if I should tell you this,” he said with a forlorn look. His face was gentle. Justine realised he was hurting in a way no human should. Couldn't she find it within her heart to help him in whatever manner he asked?

  "I want us to be good friends, Justy. You won't take it to heart if I tell you I can't find this woman. Would you help me? Please?"

  She rose and went to the window to look out at the busy street below. She wasn't the type of woman to say “no", but on the other hand, if she consented, she'd be setting herself up for a lot more heartache.

  He came up behind her. She smelled his musky essence, his bulky presence and his animal magnetism. “I wouldn't ask anyone else."

  If she told him she loved him, would her confession make him think twice about finding this other woman?

  "Justine?"

  She turned around, gazed into his wretched face. How could she spend the rest of her life without him, yet what choice did she have? She clenched and unclenched her fists. “I have to think."

  Before she could march away, he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Justy. What's going on? Are you in some kind of trouble? Are you sick?"

  When she shook her head, strands of hair flew back and forth across her face. He held on tenaciously, apparently refusing to let her go. “You have your duty,” she stated simply, “and I have mine."

  "I know we don't always see eye to eye, but you need to know I love you as a friend. I'd do anything for you."

  Except love me. She met his glistening eyes. “Does that mean you're going to say goodbye?” How could she hide the tears in her voice? Losing him would be like losing the better part of herself. She attempted to look away but he hooked a thumb under her chin and forced her to gaze at his face. Those blue eyes were world weary, devastated. The silence of impending doom crawled up her spine.

  She had to use another approach to free herself of his presence. Why had she let him into her apartment in the first place? “I'm angry. At you,” she choked out.

  His hands didn't move. “Why?” he asked in a puzzled tone.

  "Because you're so stupid!” It was the only excuse she could think of to make him go away. To hurt him back for not loving her—Justine Brown.

  "What's really making you mad?"

  "You!” she shouted and wrenched away.

  He wasn't ready to let her go as she whirled around. What had gotten into her? “Call me vague or whatever you want but I can't guess."

  The wildcat decided to fight him. She raised her fists and pounded them repeatedly on his muscular chest. Stunned, he stayed still and took the punishment for who knew what. He decided to let her beat him up if that's what she wanted, if releasing her emotions made her feel better.

  Not intimidated by his non-response, she started to shout over and over, “You're stupid for a prince. Really, really stupid."

  Anger, he admitted, suited her. He froze, not from helplessness, but because her nipples poked invitingly at the thin material. She was exquisitely beautiful. Fury heightened the colour in her already flushed cheeks. She continued to beat clenched fists on his chest.

  "Okay. I agree I'm stupid but why am I agreeing I'm stupid?” he yelled back.

  The mad fight seemed to drain out of her as suddenly as she'd gone on the rampage. With studied effort, she forced her arms to her sides. “Let's just forget this."

  She spun around and stormed off across the living room. He had to get some answers before she locked the bedroom door and closed him out of whatever she was suffering from.

  He stepped in front of her, grabbed her wrists before she could hit him again. “What was that for?"

  Her eyes flashed fire and he was confident that if she'd had a weapon, she'd have used it. “Because you're still an idiot!"

  "I understand that since not much has changed in the last few minutes. But why am I an idiot?"

  Little choking sounds came from her throat.

  Then realisation dawned on him. “I get it,” he whispered. “Why didn't I see this before?"

  "See what?"

  At least she wasn't bent on beating him to a shapeless pulp. Her lovely face was tilted upwards, her eyes inquiring. Her breasts brushed against his chest. The unexpected urge to kiss her overwhelmed him. He bent his head, her satin lips a mere inch from his. “I want to kiss you."

  "Why? Because I've turned into a harridan?” she murmured. Her lips were parted as if she were holding her breath in anticipation.

  "I didn't say that.” He swallowed hard, forgetting his determination that friendship and sex didn't go together in the same way friends couldn't go into business together—why ruin a perfect relationship by complicating it?

  She blinked, waiting, the heat of her body emanating from her in languid waves. “Then, what did you say?” Her voice was as soft as a summer's breeze.

  The Goth woman, Justice, fled his mind.

  "I said you're the most beautiful woman I've met in the last few days.” His patience ran thin. He lowered his mouth and kissed her heart-shaped lips. To his surprise, she didn't push him away. She fisted his shirt in her small hands and held on, pressing her thighs against his heavy erection.

  The kiss was tender and flared into a soaring flame, burning brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter. Her tongue was as smooth as velvet and she tasted of raindrops falling on peppermint. He nipped at her tongue, and pressed her softness harder against his angular planes.

  Abruptly, she broke the kiss. With the flat of her hands, she pushed him away but he took hold of her wrists in a relentless hold. “I want to kiss you everywhere, your pussy, your clit; I want to make love to you and bring us both to a summit of the highest mountain of love.."

  She shook her head from side to side. “I can't."

  "What if I don't give you a choice?” Before she could reply, he hefted her slight weight up and into his arms and headed off towards the bedroom. If the door had to be locked, then they'd both be behind it.

  Throwing her arms around his neck, she protested. “You wouldn't!"

  A few long strides got them to the bedroom. He threw her on the bed among the rumpled sheets and came down beside her even as she tried to scramble across to the other side.

  "Justine."

  His voice effectively stopped her. She glanced over her shoulder, her hair framing her face, her eyes wild.

  "Why have you run away each time I try to get you into bed?” he asked, tossing a leg over her thigh to keep her where he wanted her.

  The second kiss was more intense than the first. She was so pliable and willing. He lost himself in the sensation of being torn apart by a hundred simultaneous feelings. None of the women he'd dated had her charm, her sharp tongue and her willingness to help without asking for a favour in return.

  "Please,” she started to push away.

  "Why are you denying yourself what you want?"

  "Please, Scott. I can't. Remember? You're in love with someone else. You told me so."

  "Oh God,” he muttered, trying to remember when he'd told her such a thing. “I told you that?"

  She nodded. Her eyes welled with tears, creating glistening orbs of chocolate brown. The tip of her nose reddened endearingly.

  Then he remembered. “I haven't been here for almost a week. How could you know that?"

  She went on the defensive. “I get around."

  Two and two weren't adding up. The only person he'd told that he was in love with another woman was the princess Genevieve.

  Justine wouldn't meet his searching gaze. “Did you read that in a tabloid?"

  Mutely, she nodded.

  "Liar.” The realisation hit him full force that all the women he'd made love to, the nurse Justia, Justice the Goth Woman and the princess shared a number of interesting similarities. He opted to play with fire. If Justine knew something, then she wouldn't have any problem accepting the facts.

  "A few days ago I was injured in a rock climbing accident. Let's say I didn't have my head on straight. A very pretty nurse and a doctor came along and they completed a gynaecological examination for my sake. How odd in a hospital with private rooms.” He waited for a reaction.

  None.

  "A few days later, I decided to go biker chick hunting. A girl who wouldn't give her full name except for Justice, gave me the ride of my life."

  Justine stared straight ahead at nothing.

  "Yesterday I met with the princess Genevieve but as soon as I told her I was in love with another woman, she seemed to lose interest in making love. I didn't need or want a blow job from her but it's always interesting to see what a princess knows in the line of sex. Don't you think so?

  "Now I come here, and those women shared several things in common. They all had big tits, like you, they almost all shared some form of Justine for a name, and now you know something no one else except the princess would know. How did you know since I'm dead certain the princess isn't the type of friend you hang out with."

  Justine rubbed her palms against the goose bumps on her arms. How was she to tell him she was all of those women, that she'd had a fairy godmother in the form of a mirror?

  "To top things off, you've been cranky since this blue dragon tattoo thing started. Why?” He slapped his forehead in jest. “And all those times you took off from me and left me with a dick so hard I could have given Pinocchio a run for his money?"

  Her chest rose and fell with a tiny breath.

  "It took me long enough to realise,” he continued remorselessly, “but you're in love with me. Aren't you?"

  Her head bobbed up and down.

  "I don't know how you managed to be those women, but they were calculated to drive me insane.” Again, his cock throbbed painfully.

  "Justine, undo my trousers and finish what you started in the limo.” That should get her attention. Since he hadn't told her what the princess had started, an insatiable, delirious longing on his part, Justine wouldn't have any reason to know.

  The heightened blush on her cheeks gave her away. She toyed with the edge of her nightie. “I can't,” she whispered, for once lifting her eyes to his.

  "Why not?"

  "Because I'm not her."

  "I don't understand. How can you not be Genevieve?” He didn't want to talk. He was a man of action. He wanted to make love to Justine until the moon fell from the sky. Why did she feel so right?

  "I'm not her,” she emphasised. “I'm not wild like she was."

  He cupped her face between his hands. “You need to be let out of your self-imposed prison.” He decided to go for all or broke. He ripped her panties off.

  Justine moaned and turned her face away, instinctively knowing his next action. She clamped her thighs tightly together.

  "I won't let you shut me out.” He slipped out of his shorts and briefs in one fluid moment. “Look at me. Look at how hard you make me."

 

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