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“Wait a minute. You’re a woman,” the prince said, as though that thought had just presented itself to him.

Emma Valentine felt color rushing into her cheeks and she silently begged it to stop. Here she was, formless and stodgy in her chef’s whites. No makeup, no stiletto heels. Hardly the picture of the femmes fatales he was undoubtedly used to.

“That’s a rare ability for insight you have there, Your Highness,” she snapped before she could stop herself. And then she winced. She was going to have to do better than that if she was going to keep this relationship on an even keel.

But he was ignoring her dig. Nodding, he stared at her with a speculative gleam in his golden eyes. “I’ve been looking for a woman, but you’ll do.”

Emma blanched, stiffening. “I’ll do for what?”

Amusement sparkled in the prince’s eyes. He was certainly enjoying this. And that only made her more determined to resist him.

“I’m the prince, remember? And we’re in my castle. My orders take precedence. It’s that old pesky divine rights thing….”

The Rebel Prince

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