Stealing Beauty (Possessing Beauty Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Stealing Beauty

  Possessing Beauty: Book 2

  Madison Faye

  Contents

  Stealing Beauty

  Mailing List

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Sharing Beauty

  Chapter 1

  Also by Madison Faye

  About the Author

  Mailing List

  Stealing Beauty

  She’s been mine from the second I saw her. Tonight, I’ll make sure everyone knows that.

  The tabloids call me “Prince Magnum,” and it’s not because I’ve got a big kingdom.

  A royal “suitor’s ball”, full of single, untouched female royalty, should be a buffet for a man like me. It doesn’t matter what a woman’s bloodline is -- once I’ve set my sights on her, she’ll be on her knees in minutes.

  But that’s before I walk in and lock eyes with her. Princess Imogen.

  She’s sweet and untouched, with eyes that beg me to take her and an innocence that’s just waiting to be claimed. Once I’ve seen her, nothing is going to stop me from taking what’s mine…

  And Imogen will be mine.

  A “suitor’s ball” to find her a husband, huh?

  F*ck that.

  She’s been mine and only mine since the minute I laid eyes on her. And tonight, I’m going to make this princess my queen.

  *Please note that each of the Possessing Beauty books are completely standalone stories centered around one couple, with no cliffhangers.

  Stealing Beauty is a quick and filthy modern fairytale involving an utterly obsessed alpha hero and enough insta-love, kindle-melting steam, and sugary-sweetness to make your dreams come true. If you love over-the-top, slightly unrealistic, and wildly dirty stories, this one’s for you! HEA with NO CHEATING!

  Copyright © 2017 Madison Faye

  All rights reserved.

  Editing: Sennah Tate

  Cover: Coverlüv

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.

  This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.

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  Chapter 1

  Imogen

  I took a shaky breath, my green eyes meeting my own gaze in the mirror. My lip quivered, and I could see the nervousness playing out in a pink blush across my cheeks. I took another breath, clenching my fists by my sides and closing my eyes. I’d been dreading that night for weeks, and now it was here.

  The ball. Specifically, the ball my father, King Lucian of Avlion was throwing for all “eligible bachelors and bachelorettes” across the kingdoms, now that he’d finally decided that his daughters were ready for marriage.

  Heck, or dating even, since neither myself nor my sisters had really done any of that either. And I was twenty.

  I knew my father meant the best for us — not letting his eighteen, twenty, and twenty-one year old daughters seek partners until now wasn’t some show of old-fashioned customs like my little sister Isla always said. He was really just protecting us, and giving us the time to have a proper view of the world before we started looking for someone to share our lives with. And besides that, most princes had horrid reputations as foul, filthy-mouthed womanizers.

  But that night should have been something I’d looked forward to, not secretly cringed about. After all, my parents had invited all sorts of princes from the neighboring kingdoms, including the absolutely dreamy Prince Chester of Montagne. I’d be an idiot to think I was the only single princess that had eyes on him, but he’d written my father three times over the last few weeks, mentioning how excited he was for the dance and to meet me.

  I know, I know. Believe me, I understand how out of touch it seemed in the modern world of cellphones and Facebook and snapchat to be throwing balls for princes and princesses to meet at, but hey, that's the word I was born into, and as much as Isla, and even my older sister, Ilana, poo-poo-ed the royal life we lived, I actually liked it.

  Well, except for tonight.

  Because, yes, Chester was coming, and yes, the whole palace had been done up beautifully for the ball, and yes, my bright chartreuse green gown, with the exposed shoulders and gold trim looked amazing and made my red hair and green eyes just pop.

  But there was a storm cloud hanging over tonight. A dark, filthy-mouthed, crude-talking, perverted, scandalizing, morally repugnant storm cloud. And this storm cloud had a name:

  Prince Magnus Jameson.

  The absolutely disgusting, tabloid-scandal-ridden prince of the kingdom of Zale.

  The absolutely gross, ridiculously cocky, impossibly arrogant, and unfairly gorgeous Prince Magnus.

  And I say unfairly, because it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that someone that obnoxious, and with that much of a terrible reputation could also be hands down the most attractive, heart-stoppingly gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on. Thick dark brown hair, sharp, piercing blue eyes, and an absolutely melting smile perpetually across that perfect, chiseled, handsome face. Broad shoulders, powerful arms, and since I did unfortunately read the tabloids and see the pictures of him on various beaches and yachts, a body absolutely carved from marble.

  Prince Magnus, but then, the tabloids had a new name for him as of late.

  Prince Magnum.

  Take a guess what that was in reference to.

  I blushed in my bedroom mirror, shivering and quickly shutting my eyes again as the memory of that day came flooding back with the usual heat it always did. It’d been four weeks ago, and I never should have been there.

  My parents had believed I’d been going to southern Spain to do some homeless outreach in some of the poorer areas. After all, helping wherever I could with people that hadn’t had the completely random luck of being born into a kingdom like I had was one of my passion projects. And I had gone to one of the slums outside Valencia to help, but then I’d gone off itinerary.


  I’m not entirely sure why I’d lied to my pilot about my father being perfectly aware of me going to Ibiza. I’m not sure why I checked into a hotel under an assumed name, or why I’d bought the biggest pair of movie-star, incognito sunglasses and big brimmed hat I could find. Maybe it was because I’d just turned twenty, and I just wanted something exciting. I wanted to go a little crazy, I guess, for once.

  That’d lasted all of one day. I’d sunned by the pool, I’d had exactly two glasses of wine at the hotel bar, I’d gone upstairs to change to go out—

  And that’s when I’d been introduced to Prince Magnus.

  No, that’s when I’d been introduced to Prince Magnum.

  At first, I’d had a horrified thought that I’d somehow walked into the wrong penthouse suite. But there were only three suites like this at the hotel, and I knew I’d made a right off the elevator.

  I’d wanted to scream, but it was like I was frozen to the spot just staring at the sight that greeted me when I walked in. Frozen, scandalized, staring, and incredibly and horribly turned on.

  Because there, laying spread out and propped up in my bed, without a stitch of clothing on that absolutely gorgeous body, was Prince Magnus.

  …With every single inch of his…well, Magnum standing at attention.

  I’d felt the heat in my face, not to mention other places as my eyes had just dropped to his absolutely enormous… thing, pulsing rock hard between his legs. Every instinct to scream, or turn and flee, or even look away just vanished as I stared at him, as if I was hypnotized.

  There’s no way that’s real.

  There just wasn’t, except the proof was sitting there with a cocky grin on his face, his hands behind his head, his rippling abs flexing, a smirk on his face, and the biggest cock I could have ever imaged throbbing between his legs.

  The tabloids usually blew stories out of proportion. Not this one. Not the “Prince Magnum” story.

  …If anything, they’d under-sold it.

  It was him that broke the silence.

  “You order some room service, Claire?” He’d said with a smug grin, rocking his hips just enough to make his huge dick wave a little in the air.

  I let out a little peeping sound, my hand flying to my mouth as my eyes had somehow gotten even bigger.

  Claire.

  He’d used my fake name — the one I used when trying to travel under the radar, or when I was in a less than perfectly safe area doing charity work. Or say, checking into party hotels in Ibiza, Spain, without my parent’s knowledge.

  “How—”

  The words weren’t forming, and my eyes still wouldn’t look away from his crotch.

  “How’d I get in here, since you haven’t had the chance to beg me to come up yet?” He chuckled arrogantly, flexing a little and flashing another gorgeous grin at me.

  I flushed a deeper red, the ridiculous cockiness of him hitting me like a wicked touch.

  “Yes— yes,” I finally got out, finally tearing my eyes away from his erection to stare him in the eye with a flush on my face. “How did you get in here?”

  He’d grinned. “You know who I am, beautiful?”

  Of course I did, and he saw it on my face before I could even come up with a lie.

  “What can I say?” He’d shrugged. “I saw you down by the pool earlier, and I knew I just had to have you. I own this hotel, so…” He’d shrugged again, his eyes dripping over my body and making me shiver with heat.

  “You can thank me later, sweetheart, but for now, why don’t you get that hot little ass over here and get a closer look.”

  My jaw had dropped.

  He’d just grinned, and before I even knew what was happening, he’d reached down and wrapped his hand around his thick cock.

  “You know you’re dying to ride the Magnum.”

  And that’s when I’d fled. That’s when I’d turned, somehow managed to grab my purse and a sundress from the closet, and run full-tilt out the door, barefoot, down six flights of stairs to the lobby, out to my driver, and immediately gone to the airport, and back to Avlion.

  That was four weeks ago, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about that arrogant man or what I’d seen between his legs ever since. And if life was fair, I’d have somehow pushed that memory out of my head and gone on with my life without ever seeing him again — the man who’d talked to me like no man ever had before, since he clearly didn’t know who I was.

  But tonight, Prince Magnus and I were going to be face to face again. Only this time, I wasn’t going to be “Claire,” who hung out by the Ibiza hotel pools in giant sunglasses and beach hats.

  This time, I was going to be me — Imogen Morningstar, Crown Princess of Avlion, twenty year old virgin, eligible bachelorette, and absolutely hypnotized by the most arrogant, most crude, most panty-meltingly gorgeous man I’d ever met.

  Tonight was going to be awful.

  Chapter 2

  Magnus

  “Let’s head in there and find some soulmates,” I grinned to my friends, pumping my hips lewdly and eliciting a groan from the three of them. Caspian and Cade — the two Charming brothers, punched me in the shoulders as we all turned to head into King Lucian’s “suitor’s ball.”

  Cade and Caspian Charming, the twin princes of Marland, and our brooding, dark friend Prince Logan of Torsund, had been friends for pretty much ever. After all, we were young, phenomenally rich, good looking, and royalty — like, literal royalty, with the crowns and the palaces and everything. Technically, I wasn’t even a prince anymore. I, like my friend Logan to his kingdom of Torsund, was Prince Regent of Zale, which meant I was the reigning king, though not in title yet — not until I married.

  Hah — right. Except everyone on my council, and hell, probably every citizen of my country knew that’d never happen.

  The whole “kingdoms” and crowns and titles thing was dated, but I couldn’t exactly complain. Being born into the life and the blood-line I’d been born into had afforded me a life most could only dream of — lavish parties, luxury travel, and the ability to bed the hottest women on the planet with the crook of a finger.

  And I’d taken full advantage of every privilege this life had given me — especially that last one. I had a reputation to uphold, which is why I kept my lewd thrusting and cocky grin going until the other guys had turned to head up the stairs to King Lucian’s palace for the ball. Then, the grin dropped from my face and the dark cloud that’d been there, hidden for weeks, crept back.

  Because four weeks ago, I’d lost my mojo.

  Four weeks ago, I’d found a woman like none I’d ever met before. Beautiful beyond belief, poised, mysterious, and sexy as fuck. But most importantly?

  Immune to me.

  Okay, not entirely. I’d seen the way her eyes drank me in. I’d seen the flush in her face, the way her eyes had gone wide. I’d seen the way her nipples had hardened under that bikini top, too.

  But that’s where it’d stopped.

  Claire D’Claire. I’ll grant, it was a bizarre name, but I couldn’t have given a fuck what her name was after I’d seen her that day. I’d been on the balcony of my penthouse suite, gazing down at the beach and the pool below when I’d spotted her. Ibiza wasn’t really my scene — even for a party-guy like myself. But I’d started to try and take the business holdings I ran a bit more seriously, and since I did own that resort, I’d taken an impromptu trip down to the Spanish Island to take stock of how things were running.

  But then I’d seen her, and every bit of me trying to be rational and responsible went dashing away.

  Because holy fuck.

  The red hair caught my attention first, and the rest had just drawn me in. Gorgeous red locks, tucked up under that big sun-hat she wore. Porcelain skin, and a body that had my cock hard in seconds. Curves in all the right places, freckles, an ass I could sink my teeth into - all wrapped up in a tiny little powder blue bikini.

  I’d known right then and there that she’d be mine. After all, most women were,
when I wanted them. But I wanted her harder than anything I could even remember. I wanted her so bad I actually felt my head spin and my heart skip a beat. And hell, I couldn’t even see her eyes behind those shades.

  This being my hotel, it didn’t take more than a phone call to get her name, to find out she was staying down the hall in one of the other penthouse suites, and that “why yes, Your Highness, a manager with a keycard will be right up.”

  Easy as pie.

  The plan was simple. Wait, show her the part of my body that seemed to attract chicks like a magnet, and let the good times happen. I’d always had the reputation, and the rumors had always flown, but lately, my rep had gone to new heights, after that tabloid had published a “tell all” from some duchess I’d had a fling with a few months back decided to talk to the media.

  After that, what I was packing between my legs wasn’t just rumor — it was headline news. “Prince Magnum,” they’d called me. I’d had a good laugh, enjoyed the rolled eyes and claps on the back from my buddies, and even enjoyed the extra attention the female population bestowed upon me.

  But after that, it’d just gotten annoying.

  But the plan that night in Ibiza had been simple: let myself into her room, wait, and when she walked in, greet her with my… package. After that, I’d had a pretty good feeling I’d be busy for the next day or so.

  The first parts had gone off perfectly. I’d stripped down and stroked my cock to full-mast thinking about stripping that tight little body of hers out of that bikini with my teeth. I’d laid on her bed, nursing a scotch, and I’d grinned when I heard the keycard in the door. Claire had walked in, her face had gone redder than her hair, her pouty lips had parted in a big O shape, and those big green eyes had dropped right to my dick.