The Throne He Must Take

A missing prince...

Playboy Jarek is no stranger to the darkness within him. Psychotherapist Dr. Holly Maitland is his chance to unlock the secrets from his past. But alone with Holly in the Austrian Alps, all Jarek can think about is peeling away her cool demeanor one tantalizing layer at a time!

...a forbidden attraction

Holly can see straight through Jarek’s tactics of distraction. But the lure of his caress opens her body to sensual delights she once believed impossible. If what Holly suspects is true and Jarek is the missing prince of Vostov, dare she hope he will claim her as well as his rightful throne?

Jarek pushed his hair off his brow and acknowledged that if he had not been stuck halfway up a mountain he would have headed to the nearest bar and sought to escape the demons inside him with a bottle of vodka and an attractive blonde—or two.

He remembered the girls at Bibiana’s Bar, and for a moment he was tempted to take the fourby- four parked outside the chalet and drive himself to Arlenwald to hook up with Halfrida and her friends. It would be worth it just to ruffle Dr Maitland’s feathers.

His lips twitched as he remembered Holly’s outraged expression when she’d discovered him in the bar. The truth was he would like to do more than ruffle her, he brooded.

His body stirred as he pictured her delectable curves. She was an intriguing mix of uptight schoolmistress and sensual siren, and Jarek couldn’t remember the last time he had been intrigued by a woman.

If only she were someone other than his psychologist. Hell, if he had been someone else—someone better than the man he knew he was—he would have enjoyed allowing their mutual sexual attraction to reach its logical conclusion and taken her to bed. But Holly had stated that she wanted to find out what made him tick, and he was utterly determined to prevent her from uncovering the secrets buried deep in his soul.

The Saunderson Legacy

Jarek and Elin Saunderson had nothing until they were adopted into the high society of the Saunderson family.

Now, following the death of the parents they adored, they soon discover a maze of secrets which threaten to destroy their legacy and leads them each to uncover unforeseen passions…

Find out more in…

The Secret He Must Claim

A shocking revelation in her adoptive father’s will forces Elin into a marriage of convenience with the father of her secret baby!

The Throne He Must Take

Playboy Jarek needs help to uncover the secrets of the past—if he can only resist the temptation in front of him…Dr Holly Maitland!

Both available now!

The Throne He Must Take

Chantelle Shaw

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHANTELLE SHAW lives on the Kent coast and thinks up her stories while walking on the beach. She has been married for over thirty years and has six children. Her love affair with reading and writing Mills & Boon stories began as a teenager, and her first book was published in 2006. She likes strong-willed, slightly unusual characters. Chantelle also loves gardening, walking and wine!

Books by Chantelle Shaw

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

Acquired by Her Greek Boss

To Wear His Ring Again

A Night in the Prince’s Bed

Captive in His Castle

The Saunderson Legacy

The Secret He Must Claim

Wedlocked!

Trapped by Vialli’s Vows

Bought by the Brazilian

Mistress of His Revenge

Master of Her Innocence

The Howard Sisters

Sheikh’s Forbidden Conquest

A Bride Worth Millions

The Bond of Brothers

His Unexpected Legacy

Secrets of a Powerful Man

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

The Saunderson Legacy

Title Page

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

What did happen to Vostov’s royal children?

THE NEWSPAPER HEADLINE caught Holly Maitland’s eye when she walked into the reception lounge of the Frieden Clinic to await the arrival of her new client.

The exclusive private psychiatric practice catered for an international clientele, and like most of the clinic’s staff Holly was fluent in several languages. She noted that the French, Italian and German newspapers all bore similar headlines to the English papers. But until the recent media interest in Vostov she—and, she suspected, many other people—had never heard of the tiny principality in the Balkans.

She turned her attention away from the newspapers, which were neatly arranged on a coffee table in front of an elegant brocade sofa. Large windows on three sides of the room offered spectacular views of the Austrian Alps. The gentle tick of an antique wall clock barely intruded on the cloistered quiet of the lounge, and the general ambience was one of discreet luxury.

Outside, the mountains stood guard like a craggy fortress, with their sharp peaks pointing towards a topaz-blue sky. Last night’s fresh snowfall glistened in the winter sunshine.

Holly scrutinised the road that snaked its way up from Salzburg. The snow-clearing machines had already done their job, but there were no cars on the road and her client was late.

She felt a flicker of irritation as she wondered why he had declined to be collected from the airport by a chauffeur and driven to the Frieden Clinic which was the usual arrangement. She hoped he was not going to be difficult, but all the indications suggested that Jarek Dvorska Saunderson was likely to be a pain in someone’s backside. Hers.

Jarek was a high-flier in the City of London, often described as ‘the man with the Midas touch’ after his success on the stockmarket which had earned him a personal multi-million-pound fortune. But a couple of years ago there had been problems at Saunderson’s Bank—one of the UK’s most prestigious private banks—where Jarek had held a senior position. He had been fired by the bank’s new chairman, who also happened to be his brother-in-law: Spanish business tycoon Cortez Ramos.

The blip in his career had evidently not impacted on Jarek’s jet-set lifestyle. He was pursued relentlessly by the paparazzi, and rarely did a week pass without another exposé in the tabloids of his outrageous exploits—usually accompanied by a photo of him with a blonde bimbo draped around him.

Stories of his heavy drinking, partying and womanising were legendary—as was his passion for the risky sport of motorbike racing. There had been intense news coverage recently, when he had crashed his bike during a race and afterwards assaulted a journalist who had tried to interview him. It was that event which had apparently prompted Jarek to seek help for his ‘issues’, Professor Franz Heppel, the medical director of the Frieden Clinic, had explained to Holly during a briefing about her new patient.

She glanced at the clock. Maybe he wasn’t coming? She knew only too well how hard it was to face up to personal demons, and from the sound of it Jarek Saunderson had his fair share of those.

A rumbling noise jolted her from her thoughts and she instinctively looked up at the higher slopes of the mountains. During the winter months the avalanche risk in the Alps was high, particularly after heavy snowfall. But there was no sign of the kind of fast-moving white mass that struck fear into the hearts of skiers and climbers. She looked back at the road as the throaty, roaring noise grew louder and saw a motorbike hurtling around the bends.

Minutes later Holly watched the bike turn onto the private road leading to the Frieden Clinic and wondered if the rider was her client. It would be typical of everything she’d heard about Jarek for him to ride a motorbike into the mountains in January, when there was the threat of treacherous black ice on the roads. A sports commentator who had watched him compete in the notoriously dangerous Isle of Man TT superbike race had suggested that either Jarek had a death wish or a massive ego which made him believe he was indestructible.

Her first assignment at the Frieden Clinic promised to be interesting, possibly challenging, and ultimately—she hoped—successful, Holly mused. She was keen to make a good impression with Professor Heppel during the three-month probation period of her new job. His world-renowned clinic employed the very best international experts, and her appointment as a psychotherapist was a huge boost to her career.

The noise of the motorbike stopped, and from her vantage point at the window she watched the rider dismount. As she passed the mirror in the entrance hall she glanced at her reflection, to check that her hair was neatly secured in its chignon. Her crisp white blouse, navy skirt and low-heeled black shoes were businesslike, although she noted with a grimace that the blouse gaped slightly across her bust. A result of too many helpings of the chef’s apfelstrudel, she thought ruefully.

It occurred to her that Stuart would not have approved of her more voluptuous shape. When she had shown him pictures of herself as a nineteen-year-old photographic model he had raved about her slim figure, even though she had clearly been unhealthily thin.

‘My modelling career was ten years ago and I survived on a diet of apples and black coffee,’ she’d told him when he’d nagged her to go to the gym. ‘Women were designed to have breasts and hips, and I have no intention of starving myself to conform to the fashion industry’s unrealistic ideal of how women should look.’

A few months after that conversation Stuart had dumped her and announced his engagement to willowy blonde Leanne, who was now pregnant with his baby.

Holly swiftly shut off the painful thought as she opened the door and stepped outside to the porch to welcome her patient. She had moved from London to Austria two weeks ago, and loved living in the mountains where the air was fresh and clean. But the smell of cigarette smoke drifting towards her now made her wrinkle her nose in disgust.

‘Mr Saunderson?’ The man had his back to her, but she was sure it was him. He had removed his crash helmet and the streaked blond hair spilling over the collar of his black leather jacket was recognisable from his too-numerous-to-count appearances in the tabloids. ‘May I remind you that there is a strict no smoking policy at the Frieden Clinic? The house rules are listed in the brochure.’

The broad leather-clad shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug. ‘I didn’t read the brochure.’

Holly stifled the urge to knock the cigarette from his fingers and said tartly, ‘What a pity. If you had, you would have seen that the Frieden Clinic takes a holistic approach to treating nicotine addiction and has an excellent success rate for helping to break a dependency on cigarettes.’

‘I don’t have a nicotine addiction.’ He turned around then, and took another drag on his cigarette. ‘You wouldn’t begrudge the condemned prisoner a final cigarette, would you?’

He spoke in a lazy drawl and his mouth crooked into a careless smile as if he was well aware of his devastating effect on susceptible females.

‘Smoking is a filthy habit,’ Holly snapped, forgetting that she should take care not to reveal her personal prejudices. But her first sight of Jarek in the flesh, rather than in a photo in a newspaper, had made her forget everything. If he asked her name she would be unable to tell him, because the single thought in her head was that he was lethally attractive.

‘Not as filthy as some of my other habits,’ he murmured.

There was amusement in his voice, and a mocking gleam in eyes that even from a distance of a few feet away were like brilliant blue laser beams directed straight at Holly. She watched him grind the cigarette out against the sole of his boot and drop the stub into his pocket before he walked up the steps to join her on the porch.

While she groped for her sanity, and for something—anything—to say, his smile faded and there was a hard edge to his voice when he spoke again. ‘And I no longer use my English adoptive parents’ name: Saunderson. I prefer to be known by the name I was given at bir—’ He stopped abruptly and then said, ‘By my Bosnian name: Dvorska.’

‘Right... Mr Dvorska. Um...’ God, was that breathless voice really hers? Holly cleared her throat. ‘Welcome to the Frieden Clinic.’ She frowned as she recalled his comment. ‘Why did you call yourself a condemned prisoner? Frieden is the German word for peace, and the Frieden Clinic is a place of sanctuary—not a prison. I hope you will find a sense of peace and tranquillity here, while I endeavour to help you on your journey to a lasting recovery from the emotional issues that have created a negative impact on your life.’

‘Peace?’ His laugh was an oddly grim sound. ‘I sincerely doubt I’ll ever find that. You say that you will be helping me on this wondrous journey to enlightenment?’ His tone was sardonic. ‘I’d assumed you are the receptionist. When I met Professor Heppel in London he told me I had been assigned a psychotherapist called Dr Maitland.’

‘Forgive me. I should have introduced myself.’ Feeling flustered, Holly extended her hand towards him. ‘I’m Dr Holly Maitland.’

Almost imperceptibly Jarek Dvorska’s demeanour changed. He still spoke in that lazy drawl, as if he was bored with his life—which, according to the gossip columns, was an endless round of parties with his similarly louche millionaire friends—but his ice-blue eyes were sharply intelligent and his intent gaze gave Holly the unsettling idea that he could see inside her head.

‘You are not what I was expecting,’ he murmured after a lengthy pause.

She swallowed as he enclosed her hand in a firm grasp. Heat shot up her arm, as if she’d stuck her fingers into an electrical socket, causing the tiny hairs on her skin to prickle. Far more embarrassingly, she felt her nipples tighten. Jarek dropped his gaze to her breasts and the eyes that had reminded Holly of glacial pools now gleamed hotly with a wicked promise that she assured herself had no effect on her.

‘It’s quite common to form ideas about another person before actually meeting them.’ She ignored the frantic thud of her heart and gave him a cool smile. ‘What were your expectations of me?’

‘I assumed you would be older,’ he said bluntly. ‘Frankly I’m not interested in unburdening my soul to a psychologist. I’m only here because my sister believes I need to learn to control my temper, and my brother-in-law threatened to kill me if I do anything to upset Elin in the final weeks of her pregnancy.’

He did not sound as if he was joking.

Holly felt a pang of envy for Jarek’s sister. She’d had many years to come to terms with her infertility, but there was still a little ache inside her when she heard of other women who were on the magical journey to motherhood.

She switched her thoughts to Jarek. There had been deep affection in his voice when he’d mentioned his sister, which belied his image in the tabloids of a reckless playboy who cared only about his personal gratification with an endless supply of pretty women.

‘I suppose your reference to my age means you think I lack experience? But I can assure you I have a Doctorate in Counselling Psychology and Psychotherapy and I have experience working as a psychotherapist in both the private health sector and the NHS in England.’

The leather-clad shoulders lifted in another shrug that made Holly appreciate Jarek’s formidable physique. She was slightly below average height, which was why she had never made it onto the catwalk during her brief modelling career, and he towered over her. She estimated he must be two or three inches over six feet tall.

‘I don’t doubt you are highly qualified,’ he murmured. ‘Professor Heppel spoke very highly of you. But he failed to mention that you are beautiful, Dr Maitland.’

It was not difficult to understand why women fell for him in droves. He could turn on his charm as easily as flicking a switch. His husky voice smouldered with a sensual heat that made her insides melt and it took all her willpower to meet his gaze calmly.

‘Professor Heppel offered me a job at his clinic based on my reputation as a dedicated psychotherapist,’ she said crisply. ‘Please—call me Holly,’ she continued. ‘We are going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few weeks and we need to feel comfortable around each other. It is important to establish trust and respect between a patient and his therapist.’

‘Comfortable...’ Jarek rolled the word off his tongue in a smoky, sexy voice that lit a flame in the pit of Holly’s stomach. ‘Women don’t usually feel comfortable around me. My talents are considerable...’ he grinned at her startled expression ‘...but offering comfort is not one of them.’

‘I don’t suppose it is,’ she said drily. ‘I’m sure your legions of female devotees are attracted to your dangerous image. But presumably your numerous shallow affairs fail to make you happy? Which is why you have sought the help of a psychotherapist to enable you to make changes in your lifestyle that will allow you to have more fulfilling relationships.’

‘I told you—I’ve only agreed to undergo therapy to please my sister.’

His lazy smile did not change but the warmth had gone from his eyes, leaving them as cold and hard as ice. Holly gave a little shiver. There was something predatory about him that was at variance with his reputation of a dissolute playboy. She had a feeling that people saw in Jarek exactly what he wanted them to see. But if the life that he played out in the full glare of the media was a lie, who was the real Jarek Dvorska?

‘Why do women think that men can only feel fulfilled if they are in a relationship?’ he drawled. ‘I’m perfectly content to have shallow affairs—in fact the shallower the better. The truth is that the ultimate male fantasy is for hot, hard sex without strings. Emotional strings, I mean. Real strings add an interesting element to sex play, but personally I prefer to use silk cords for bondage games.’

Holly was furious with herself for blushing—and furious with him for being an arrogant jerk. To think she’d wasted thirty seconds of her life wondering if he had hidden depths! But, like it or not—like him or not—Jarek was her client and it was vital that she established a rapport with him. At the end of his six-week stay at the clinic he would discuss with Professor Heppel if her treatment had been successful for him. A bad report would jeopardise her job at the Frieden Clinic—but, more than that, psychotherapy was her vocation, and she had a genuine desire to help every patient she worked with.

She made herself smile at Jarek. ‘We can explore your theories about relationships and the possible reasons for your fear of commitment during our sessions. It’s good that you can speak openly and honestly regarding your feelings about casual sex. You can be confident that I will do my best to help you with your issues.’

He threw back his head and laughed—low and husky and outrageously sensual. ‘I promise you I don’t need any help with sex, angel-face.’

Holly knew she was blushing again, and felt even more mortified when she saw Jarek’s eyes flick down to her breasts again. He could hardly fail to notice the hard peaks of her nipples outlined beneath her blouse. ‘Let’s go inside, where it’s warm,’ she said tightly. ‘I should have put my coat on before I came out to meet you and I’m cold,’ she added, keen to emphasise that her body’s involuntary reaction was to the icy temperature, and she was not affected by his potent masculinity.

Avoiding the speculative gleam in his eyes, she ushered him into the clinic and indicated a door leading off the entrance hall.

‘Through there is a boot room, where ski equipment is kept and where you can leave your bike gear. Your luggage arrived this morning, and one of the support staff will take your cases to your private residential retreat later. I’ll wait for you in the lounge. Would you like a cup of coffee?’

‘I’d love one. I’m glad you don’t disapprove of all stimulants. I was worried I’d have to give up every source of pleasure during my stay.’

His wicked grin did peculiar things to Holly’s insides. She waited until he had closed the boot room door behind him before she released her breath. While she switched on the coffee percolator and arranged the cups on a tray she tried to rationalise why she had reacted to Jarek the way she had. Her heart was still beating too fast and every nerve-ending in her body felt acutely sensitive, so that she was aware of the scrape of her lace-edged bra against her breasts.

She hadn’t expected him to be so overwhelming, she thought ruefully. Dressed in all that black leather, he’d exuded a primitive sensuality that had made her want... She bit her lip as a shocking image flashed into her mind of her lying naked on a bed, with her wrists secured to the headboard by silken cords. In her fantasy Jarek stroked his hands over her breasts and hips before he pushed her legs apart and bent his head to flick his tongue over the inside of her thighs.

‘Careful.’

The smoky voice close to her ear jerked her from her erotic daydream and she looked down and saw that she had overfilled a cup and coffee was pouring over the rim into the saucer.

‘Oh.’ She hadn’t heard him walk across the lounge and she dared not look at him, terrified that his laser-bright gaze might see inside her head. ‘I’m terribly clumsy,’ she gabbled as she grabbed a handful of napkins and mopped up the spillage. ‘How do you take your coffee?’

‘Black and bitter—like my heart.’

Beneath his light tone there was something darker that made her wonder again who was the real Jarek? The jester, or the man with secrets that he seemed determined to keep hidden?

She handed him his coffee before adding cream and sugar to her own cup, craving a sweet fix to calm her nervous tension. Jarek sat down on the sofa. The empty space next to him was the obvious place for Holly to sit, but instead she chose an armchair. Only when she was at a safe distance from him did she look directly at him, and her heart gave an annoying jolt.

So much for her hope that without his biker leathers he would be less impressive. Superbly tailored black trousers drew her attention to his lean hips and the long legs that he thrust out in front of him. A charcoal-grey fine wool sweater moulded the hard ridges of his pectoral and abdominal muscles. His eyes were that astonishing bright blue, set in an angular face that was cruelly beautiful. He reminded her of a wolf—especially when he flashed a wide grin that revealed his white teeth.

Holly forced herself to study him objectively. His cheekbones were too sharp and his mouth too wide for him to be conventionally handsome. She estimated that there was at least two days’ growth of stubble on his square jaw, and his rakish appearance was accentuated by the streaked blond hair that hung down on either side of his face. He pushed it back with a careless sweep of his hand.

Needing an excuse to avoid looking at him, she jumped up and walked over to the sideboard where the clinic’s presentation packs were kept.

‘I’ll explain a little bit about the aims of the Frieden Clinic and give you another brochure so that you can read our mission statement in full.’

She spoke to him over her shoulder.

‘In a nutshell, our ethos is to identify and treat the root cause of each patient’s problems. The problems which may have led them to become reliant on potentially harmful substances or exhibit particular behaviour traits. At the Frieden Clinic we understand that every patient is unique, and we tailor an individual programme of treatment and support, matching the patient with a psychologist who will live at an Alpine retreat with them and provide therapy whenever the patient requires it, twenty-four hours a day. As well as clinical therapy, patients are encouraged to experience the wide range of complementary therapies which are available, such as massage and yoga. Leisure time is another important aspect of your stay with us, and there will be opportunities for you to ski and to enjoy many other activities in the beautiful surroundings of the Austrian Alps.’

Having located the brochures in the last drawer she looked in, Holly turned to face Jarek and discovered that he had picked up a newspaper and was reading it. Evidently he was more interested in the story on the front page than what she had to say, she thought, annoyed by his rudeness.

‘Would you like me to repeat any of what I’ve just told you?’ she asked, in a painfully polite voice that failed to disguise the bite in her tone.

He dropped the newspaper onto the table and for a split second she glimpsed a...a tortured expression in his eyes. There was no other word to describe it. But then he blinked and Holly told herself she must have been imagining things, for his ice-blue gaze was indefinable.

‘It all seems clear enough. If I’m a good boy I’ll be allowed to go skiing,’ he drawled.

He was her patient, and she would do her best to build a rapport with him even if it killed her, Holly told herself.

Through the window she saw a car draw up in front of the clinic.

‘Your personal chauffeur, Gunther, is here to take you to Chalet Soline. You have also been assigned a gourmet chef, and a maid who will take care of you during your stay. Professor Heppel will visit you this evening, after you have had a chance to settle in. Several social events have been arranged for your enjoyment, including an evening in Salzburg which will be an opportunity for you to meet the rest of the medical team and other patients who are receiving treatment. Part of the evening’s entertainment will be a chamber concert at the famous Marble Hall at the Mirabell Palace.’

‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle that amount of excitement,’ he said drily. ‘I hope there will be a well-stocked bar.’

‘Clients are asked to abstain from alcohol whilst they are on a treatment programme,’ Holly reminded him. ‘But don’t worry—I will be with you to support and encourage you on your journey to sobriety.’

Jarek got up from the sofa and the lounge suddenly seemed to shrink. It wasn’t just his height that made him dominate the room. He exuded a raw magnetism that sent heat coursing through Holly’s veins when he raked his bright blue eyes over her, from her head down to her toes, lingering a fraction longer than was appropriate on the firm swell of her breasts.

‘I should have guessed from your schoolmarm appearance that you are a fan of chamber music. I bet your idea of an exciting night is to go to bed early with a milky drink,’ he said, in that lazy, mocking way that made her want to slap him. Hard.

‘My bedtime habits are not up for discussion,’ she snapped, stung by his unflattering description of her. ‘Schoolmarm’ made her sound like a frump.

He was testing her professionalism to its limits. She had never met such an infuriating man. She watched the corners of his mouth lift in a slow smile, as if he could not be bothered to exert more than the minimum of effort.

‘We could discuss my bedtime habits instead, if you like? I guarantee they are more interesting and...energetic than yours.’

‘I’m well aware of that. Anyone who reads the gutter press is regularly treated to intimate details about your love affairs.’

His grin widened, and his eyes had a wicked glint that made Holly’s heart beat faster. How could his eyes be as cold as ice one minute and in the next instant burn with blue flames that made her feel hot all over?

‘Presumably you read the tabloids, as you seem to know so much about me,’ he said softly. ‘The intimate details you mention are fifty per cent true and fifty per cent the product of an editor’s fevered imagination. But I don’t have love affairs.’ His tone hardened. ‘Love plays no part in my sexual adventures. As long as you remember that, we should get on fine.’

‘Why do I need to remember it? I’m not interested in your sex-life except in my professional capacity as your therapist.’

‘Of course you’re interested in me, angel-face. Those big brown eyes of yours soften like molten chocolate every time you look at me. Do you think I haven’t noticed the hungry glances you’ve been darting at me when you think my attention’s not on you?’

His smoky, sensual voice sent a shiver of unwanted reaction the length of Holly’s spine. It was imperative that she took back control of the situation and of herself. Her reaction to Jarek was utterly inexplicable. He was an arrogant, over-sexed playboy and the absolute anathema of the intellectual men she had dated in the past.

Before she’d left London she’d had dinner a couple of times with Malcom, who was an art historian, and he had told her some really quite interesting facts about Islamic art. Although admittedly after three hours of listening to him talking about his favourite topic her attention had started to wander.

‘You’re wrong, I’m afraid.’ She was pleased that she sounded cool and collected—the opposite of how she felt. ‘All I care about is doing my job to the best of my ability, and my interest in you is purely from the perspective of my role as your psychotherapist. I’m determined to discover how you tick, Jarek. You’ve described yourself as a prisoner,’ she said gently, ‘but perhaps the prison bars are inside your head.’