The Prince & The Player: Dirty Cinderella (Dirty Players #1) Read online

  The Prince & The Player

  Dirty Players #1

  Tia Louise

  TLM Productions LLC

  Contents

  The Prince & The Player

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Prologue

  1. Survival Skills

  2. Playboy Prince

  3. A Proposition

  4. Unwelcome Guest

  5. Two Princes

  6. Duty

  7. Playing

  8. Confusion

  9. Damsel in Distress

  10. Regrouping

  11. Preference

  12. Focus

  13. Evening

  14. Fantasies

  15. Afterglow

  16. Snake

  17. Relevance

  18. Searching

  19. Complications

  20. Playing Politics

  21. Instinct

  22. Trapped

  23. Sabotage

  24. Running

  25. Plans

  Epilogue

  Your opinion counts!

  Extra! Extra!

  One to Hold

  Books by Tia Louise

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Prince & The Player

  by Tia Louise

  Cinderella plays dirty…

  One crown prince; one “playboy prince”…

  One con artist; one petty thief…

  One twisted plot for revenge.

  When Grand Duke Reginald Winchester is exiled in disgrace, he vows he won’t go down without a fight. Crossing paths with Zee Wilder and her younger sister Ava at a gambling resort in Miami is the stroke of luck he needs.

  Zee is the counterfeit courtier in Reggie’s plan to humiliate Rowan, the controlled heir who kicked him out of the kingdom. In return, the sisters get a permanent spot on Easy Street.

  If only Zee didn’t keep finding herself in a clutch with Cal, Rowan’s playboy younger brother. Ava’s no help, as she finds quiet walks in the moonlight discussing poetry and leadership with the brooding, future king irresistible. Even more irresistible is kissing his luscious lips.

  The whole plan is falling apart, and neither sister is sure she wants to stop it.

  A BRAND-NEW CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE featuring secrets, lies, royal high jinks, scams and double-crosses; breathless, swooning lust, cocky princes, dominant alpha future-kings, and crafty courtiers, who are not always what they seem.

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  For Mr. TL, my favorite movie buddy,

  who introduced me to Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Prince & The Player

  Copyright © TLM Productions LLC, 2016

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Cover design by Hang Lee.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author.

  Created with Vellum

  Prologue

  Zelda Wilder

  My legs are wet. Thunder rolls low in a steel-grey sky, and the hiss of warm rain grows louder. I lean further sideways into the culvert, closer against my little sister Ava’s body, and grit my teeth against the hunger pain twisting my stomach. There’s no way in hell I’m sleeping tonight.

  Reaching up, I rub my palm against the back of my neck, under the thick curtain of my blonde hair. A shudder moves at my side, and I realize Ava’s crying. We’re packed tight in this concrete ditch¸ but I twist my body around to face her.

  Clearing my throat, I force my brows to unclench. I force my voice to be soothing instead of angry. “Hey,” I whisper softly. “What’s the matter, Ava-bug?”

  Silence greets me. She’s small enough to be somewhat comfortable in our hideout. Her knees are bent, but unlike me, they’re not shoved up into her nose. Still, she leans forward to press her eyes against the backs of her hands. Her glossy brown hair is short around her ears and falls onto her cheeks.

  Our parents were classic movie buffs, naming her after Ava Gardner and me after Scott Fitzgerald’s crazy wife Zelda. We pretty much lived up to our monikers, since my little sister wound up having emerald green cat eyes and wavy dark hair. She’s a showstopper whereas I’m pretty average—flat blue eyes and dishwater blonde. So far no signs of schizophrenia (har har), but you can bet your ass I can keep up with the boys in everything, which brings us to this lowly state.

  “Come on, now,” I urge. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”

  Her dark head moves back and forth. “I’m sorry.” Her soft whisper finally answers my question. “This is all my fault.”

  “What?” Reaching for her skinny shoulder, I pull her up. She’s the only person I’ve ever known who looks pretty even when she’s crying. “Why would you say something like that?”

  “I tried cutting my hair off. I tried not brushing my teeth—”

  “Don’t be doing shit like that!” I snap, turning to face front. The rain keeps splashing on my side getting me even wetter. “We can’t afford a dentist.”

  “I don’t know what to do, Zee.”

  Pressing my lips together, I clench my fists on top of my knees. “We ain’t going back into no foster home. I’ll take care of us.”

  “But how?” Her voice breaks as it goes high in a whisper.

  “Hell, I don’t know, but I got all night to figure it out.” I press my front teeth together and think. We’re not that far from being legal. I’m seventeen, but Ava’s only fifteen. Looking at the sand on my shoes, I get an idea. “We got one thing going for us.”

  “What’s that?” My little sister sniffs, and I hear the tiniest flicker of hope in her voice. She’ll trust whatever I tell her, and I take that responsibility very seriously.

  “We live in the greatest state to be homeless. Sunny Florida.”

  “Okay?” Her slim brows wrinkle, and the tears in her eyes make them look like the ocean.

  “We don’t have to worry about getting cold or anything. We don’t have to worry about snow…” I’m thinking hard, assembling a plan in my mind. “During the day, we fly under the radar—keep your head down, don’t attract attention. I’ll see what I can find us to eat. At night we can sleep on the beach. Or here, or hell, maybe one of these rich assholes forgets to lock his boathouse. Have you seen how nice some of these boathouses are? They’re like regular houses!”

  Her eyes go round with surprise. “Why are they like that?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Rich people are crazy. Some rich men even get their nails polished, and they aren’t even gay!”

  Air bursts through her lips, and she starts to laugh. I smile and pull her arm so she can lie down with her face on my bony, empty stomach. “Now get some sleep.”

  The rain is tapering off, and my little sister is laughing instead of crying. I don’t have any idea if anything I just said is possible, but I’m going to find out. I’ll be damned if I let another foster asshole touch her. It’s what Mom would expect me to do. I’m the biggest. I have to take care of us, and I intend to do it.

  Crown Prince Rowan Westringham Tate

  The nav
y fabric of my father’s uniform coat stretches taut across his shoulders. It’s the tangible warning sign his anger is rising, and the person addressing him would do well to shut up.

  “Monagasco has been an independent nation for eight hundred years.” His voice is a rolling growl pricking the tension in my chest.

  The last time my father started on our nation’s history, the offending party was thrown out of the meeting room by the neck. He’s getting too old for such violent outbursts. I worry about his heart… and my future. My freedom, more specifically.

  “I think what Hubert was trying to say—” The Grand Duke, my mother’s brother Reginald Winchester, tries to intervene.

  “I KNOW what Hubert is trying to say!” My father (a.k.a., The King) cuts him off. “He thinks we should cede our southwestern territory to Totrington! Even though their raiders and bandits have pillaged our farms along the border for generations!”

  Leaning back in my heavy oak chair, I steeple my fingers before my lips and don’t say what I want. As crown prince, I’ve attended these meetings for three years, since I turned nineteen. I’ve learned when to speak and when to discuss things in private with my father.

  I could say I agree with Reggie, we should consider a trade agreement with our neighboring nation-state, but I’m more concerned about the King’s health. I’ve never seen him so worked up before.

  “Independence at all costs,” he continues, his naturally pink cheeks even pinker. “We will not give those savages an open door to the control of Monagasco.”

  “No one’s suggesting—”

  “Shut UP, Hubert!” My father shouts, and I glance down to avoid meeting the earl’s offended eyes.

  Hubert’s sniveling voice is like nails on a chalkboard, and I privately enjoy my father chastising him. I’ve always suspected him of conspiring with Wade Paxton, Totrington’s newly elected Prime Minister, from the time when Wade was only a member of their parliament.

  “I’ve had enough of this.” My father walks to the window and looks out. “I’d like to speak to Rowan in private. You can all go.”

  “Of course.” Reginald stands at once, smoothing his long hands down the front of his dark coat.

  Tall and slender, with greying black hair and a trim mustache, my uncle embodies the Charmant line of our family. I inherited their height and Norman complexion. My father, by contrast, is a Tate through and through. Short, pink, and round.

  As soon as the room is cleared, he stalks back to the table, still brooding like a thunderstorm. “Reggie’s in league with them as well,” he growls.

  “Not necessarily.” My voice is low and level, and I hope appeasing. “My uncle does have an idea, and of the two, it’s the least offensive. Hubert would combine our countries and walk away—”

  “Exactly!” Father snaps, turning to face me, blue eyes blazing. “My own cousin, born and reared in our beautiful land. He’s been promised a place in the new government, I’ll bet you. They’ll throw the lot of us out—behead us if they can.”

  “I’m pretty sure beheading is no longer tolerated in western civilization.”

  “Harumph.” He’s still angry, but at least he’s calmer. “It would break your mother’s heart. The Charmants founded Monagasco. We can’t let those Twatringtons in.”

  His use of the unofficial nickname for our southwest neighbor makes me grin. Rising from my chair, I brace his shoulder in a firm grasp.

  “We won’t let that happen.” Our blue eyes meet. It’s the only feature we share. He’s a few inches shorter than me, but he makes up for it in stubbornness. “We’re flush with reserves, and the economy can change at any time.”

  His thick hand covers mine. “I’m doing my best to leave you a strong country to rule. The country I inherited.”

  “We would do well to reduce our dependence on foreign oil reserves.” He starts to argue, but I hold up a hand as I head for the door. He’s finally calm, and I’m not interested in riling him up again. “In any event, you’ll be around long enough to see the tides turn. Now get some rest.” I’m at the enormous wooden door of the war room. “We can’t solve all our problems in one day.”

  “Goodnight, son.”

  The tone in his voice causes me to look back. He’s at the window, and a troubled expression mars his profile. A shimmer of concern passes through my stomach, but I dismiss it, quietly stepping into the dim hallway. It’s enormous and shrouded with heavy velvet curtains and tapestries.

  I grew up playing in these halls, hiding from my mother and chasing my younger brother. I’m tired and ready for bed when the sound of hushed voices stops me in my tracks.

  “Pompous ass. He’s going to kill himself with these outbursts. We need to be ready to move when that happens.” The glee in Hubert’s sniveling voice revives the anger in my chest. I step into the shadows to listen.

  “By climbing into bed with Wade Paxton?”

  I recognize my uncle’s voice, and my jaw clenches. Is Father right? Is Reginald conspiring with that worm against the crown?

  “Wade Paxton would unite the kingdoms and make us both leaders in the new government.”

  “Wade Paxton is a thug.”

  “Not very respectful verbiage for the Prime Minister of Totrington, also known as our future partner.”

  “He’s no better than one of those mob bosses on American television. Savage.” Reggie’s voice is laced with snobbery. “He’d tax the people and change the very nature of Monagasco.”

  Hubert’s tone is undeterred. “Some things might change, but as leaders, you and I can help maintain the best parts, the heart of the nation. Once Philip is out of the way, of course, which could be sooner than we think.”

  My fists tighten at my sides. I’m ready to step out of the shadows and shake Hubert’s traitorous neck until his teeth rattle. The only thing stopping me is my desire to hear the extent of this treachery.

  “You’re right about one thing,” Reggie says. “Philip’s health is tenuous. We need to be prepared to act should a crisis arise.”

  “What about Rowan? If he’s not on our side, we could end up in the same position—and with a much younger king to wait out.”

  “Possibly.” My uncle pauses, and I feel the heat rising around my collar.

  “Wade has a plan for managing such a contingency. Should Rowan prove… difficult.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Reggie scoffs. “And Cal? Shall we wipe out the entire Tate line?”

  Hubert’s voice is low and wicked. “Perhaps being in league with a ‘thug’ as you put it has its advantages.”

  How dare these bastards! What they’re saying is high treason! My body is poised to move when Reggie’s words freeze me in place.

  “I’m sure Wade’s tactics won’t prove necessary. When the time comes to do the right thing, we can count on Rowan.”

  Count on Rowan? Is it possible he thinks I would even consider a merger with Twatrington? Their voices recede down the corridor as my level of disgust and loyalty to my father rises. The king has had a difficult evening. I’ll let him rest tonight, but I will present him with this conspiracy first thing tomorrow. Reggie is right. When the time comes, I will do the right thing.

  Looking back, I had no idea the time would come in less than twenty-four hours…

  1

  Survival Skills

  Zelda - Six years later…

  Lifting my chin, I shove my pale-blonde hair behind my ear and straighten my shoulders as I enter the Hard Rock casino in Hollywood, Florida, five miles north of Miami.

  The carpet is a dizzying pattern of swirls and diamonds, driving my eyes up and through the large, open gambling space. Neon lights chase their tails around the metal slot machines, and the musical tones battle like dueling carousels.

  Since smoking is banned in bars and public spaces, the air is clear. I’ve only been to one casino where it wasn’t, and I went home reeking of cigarette smoke. Now all I catch is the faint scent of the citrus used to invigorate gamblers an
d make them stay longer. No clocks are anywhere to be seen, of course, but I know it’s nine, the precise hour I’m scheduled to enter this establishment and make my way to the roulette wheel.

  My flesh-toned, halter-top pantsuit is covered in tiny silver beads that shimmer in the flashing lights, and I carry a white alligator-embossed clutch. My hair is arranged in long, sixties-inspired curls, and my makeup is smoky cat-eye. A gold cuff and large yellow-topaz earrings complete the look. I’m somewhere between a Bond girl and Charlie’s Angels, and as I walk, I mentally note the positioning of the security guards.

  South Florida isn’t known for its gambling scene, and the Hard Rock is a small casino. It’s perfect for the scam we have in mind. I count only four men in suits with curly earpieces dotted around the space. They’re casual and easily distracted by a flirtatious wink or a nod.

  Seth is five minutes behind me. He’s the mastermind of this gig. We’re running a short con, but if things go as planned, it’ll yield enough payoff to keep the three of us in hundies for the next few months. Long enough for him to come up with another scheme far away from the crystal shores of Miami.

  This job only works once, so we have to get it right the first time or we’re done.

  An enthusiastic round of applause breaks from one of the card tables in the back corner, where I can only assume a patron won a minor victory over the House. It will soon be gobbled back up in his or her losses. Just as I pass the bar in the center of the room, I see Ava. She’s in a short black strapless dress that has a sheer panel over her slim, elegant shoulders.

  Her long dark hair is styled in a low ponytail that hangs in a dramatic curl over one shoulder, and a grey-haired man in a tux is leaning toward her grinning like a wolf. I spot his telltale earpiece, and a smile lifts the corner of my mouth. Good work, Little Sister.