NEW RELEASE! - In a Faraway Land: Billionaires in Disguise: Flicka
In A Faraway Land: Billionaires in Disguise: Flicka
(Runaway Princess Bride, #3)
By Blair Babylon
Publication date: June 12th 2018
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
It’s an impossible situation, but if anyone can save Flicka, it’s her loyal, hot, ripped, bossy, protective, truly maddening, totally off-limits bodyguard.
Flicka von Hannover was a princess, but not anymore, sort of. To hide from her conniving soon-to-be ex-husband and divorce him as soon as possible, she runs to the place specified by her prenuptial agreement, Las Vegas.
She has left everyone and everything behind except Dieter Schwarz, her bodyguard who saved her that terrible night and smuggled her to Paris and now to Nevada. Living with the six-four, ripped, bossy Swiss mercenary is driving her crazy in more ways than one. Every time he comes near her, she wants to rip his clothes off with her teeth.
Her ex knows that she must be in Las Vegas to establish residency to divorce him, and his men are looking for her. When his Secret Service try to kidnap her and Dieter saves her again, the adrenaline and heat of the moment are too much for them to resist.
But her ex knows that she has to file the paperwork to divorce him, and he’ll do anything to stop her, even mounting an assault with his army on the courthouse when she tries to go to court.
When an actual prince—who has a Secret Service, an army, and real spies—is hunting you down, you run, and you hide IN A FARAWAY LAND.
Princess Flicka von Hannover spun through the casino, taking orders and delivering drinks.
Bastien the Swiss guy, again. He ordered a Weizenbier, as he alternated those with his top-shelf martinis, and Flicka typed it into her screen.
Just as she was getting ready to wink at him and flounce off to her next ten-second interaction, Bastien glanced over her shoulder. His face stilled, and he didn’t move.
She looked behind herself.
Six men threaded through the crowd toward them. All wore dark suits. All were looking intently in her direction. The closest was on the other side of a blackjack table and rounding it fast.
Her tray crashed to the floor behind her.
People hollered at the spill and noise.
Dieter was at the table ahead of her, and she sprinted toward him.
He looked up and was already sliding off the barstool seat as she got to him. He grabbed her arm as she passed, pushing her ahead of him, and they ran for the kitchen doors at the back as they had planned.
Flicka risked a quick glance back.
All of the black-suited men were chasing them, but they weren’t dodging through the crowd as quickly as she and Dieter were.
They crashed through the swinging door and pounded down a hallway toward a door that led to another back hallway.
When they reached it, Flicka slammed her palms against the crash bar, but it didn’t budge.
She hit it again. Nothing. “It’s locked.”
Fifteen minutes later, Flicka was clinging to Dieter’s side, her legs shaking and laughing her head off.
Dieter tapped an elevator button at the bottom of the control panel to take them down to the casino lobby and the street-level exit.
“That was insane!” she said.
He wrapped his strong arm around her back and kissed her temple as they stood in the elevator. “You bet it was.”
Flicka snaked her arms around his lean and ripped body that had always protected her. “I thought we were going to fall over the edge!”
“They designed it to look that way,” he agreed.
The elevator doors slid closed, blocking out the sunlight.
The elevator descended, making her head float. “It was hanging, teetering, right on the edge and I swear that it clicked one too many times and we were going to fall right down the side of the building!”
“It sure did,” he said, smiling. He stroked her back as they rode down the elevator.
Flicka pillowed her head on his shoulder. The faint scent of his cologne drifted out of his collar, warm cinnamon and a fresh scent like green herbs. She stretched to catch a better whiff of it, and her cheek grazed his neck. His satiny skin rubbed against hers, and she brushed her cheek against him again just to feel his warmth. She curled her arms more tightly around his strong arm and muscular waist.
His clean, masculine scent intoxicated her, and she found herself standing straighter, even drifting up on her toes, to brush her mouth across the skin on his neck.
She whispered, “I don’t want to go to lunch.”
Dieter leaned and tapped the button marked 12 on the elevator’s control panel.
Flicka whispered, “Why did you do that?”
“Just a little something else I planned.”
“Not another roller coaster!”
“Nope. I promise.”
“Will I scream?” she asked.
Devilish glee sparked in his gray eyes. “I hope so.”
“All rise!” a woman’s loud voice said. “The court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Malone, presiding.”
Flicka stood, and her lawyers around her did, too.
A sparrow-like woman flitted up to the judge’s seat and scowled at them all. She spoke rapidly in a voice shaking with age. “Court will come to order. First case is Grimaldi versus Hannover. It appears that your prenuptial agreement is in order and very specific. Ms. Friederike Hannover—”
One of Flicka’s lawyers stood. “If it please the court, it’s Her Serene Highness Friederike von Hanno—”
Flicka grabbed his arm and yanked him back into his chair.
Joachim reached behind Flicka and backhanded the guy on his arm.
The grumpy sparrow judge glared at Flicka’s table. “Were you interrupting me to say something?”
“No, ma’am,” Flicka said.
“Good. Quite an entourage you have there, Ms. Hannover.” Judge Malone glanced over at Pierre’s table. “And you have a crowd, too. Oh, great. I was hoping to start the day with a damned goat rope.”
Flicka didn’t know if roping a goat was a good thing or a bad thing, but the lady judge sounded sarcastic when she said it. She should ask Rae about it later.
The judge scowled at the paper she held. The paper rattled in her grasp. “Ms. Hannover is the plaintiff, and I have your affidavit of residency and a dated water bill in your name to back it up. Excellent. Residency requirements have been met.”
One of Pierre’s lawyers rose. “Madam judge, my client, His Serene Highness Prince Pierre Grimaldi is not a resident of Nevada nor the United States, and thus this court does not have the jurisdiction to grant a divorce.”
Judge Malone peered at him over the top of her bench. “Was your client served with a summons and a notification of the divorce within the allotted time frame?”
“Yes, Your Honor, but—”
“No buts. He doesn’t need to be a resident. She is, and she’s the plaintiff. Her residency gives this case jurisdiction.”
“But she’s not a US citizen,” the lawyer argued.
“Doesn’t matter. For the purposes of this court, she’s a resident of the state of Nevada.” She squinted at him. “Have you been admitted to the bar in the state of Nevada?”
“No, Your Honor. But—”
“I said, no buts. Bailiff, escort this person unknown to the court out of the courtroom.”
A uniformed bailiff strode to the lawyer’s side and walked with him out of the courtroom. The heavy door slammed at the back.
Judge Malone asked, “Anybody else want to say the word ‘but?’”
USA Today Bestselling Author Blair Babylon is an award-winning author who regularly publishes contemporary romance and romantic suspense fiction. After writing literary fiction where reviews usually included the caveat that there was too much deviant sex, she decided to abandon all literary pretensions, let her freak flag fly, and write hot, sexy, erotic romance with crazy, breakneck plot turns.
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