His Prize, Book #6

• Billionaire Alpha Hero
• Given as a Gift
• Forced Marriage
• Steamy Romance

What happens when powerful, sexy Bad, Bad Boys! find the woman they want? They’ll do whatever it takes to keep them. Whatever it takes.

Live in quiet exile after being falsely accused of murder? Unfortunately.

Ignore the most unexpected birthday gift ever, a red-headed siren from home? Not likely.

Prove I’m not the monster she thinks I am? Challenge accepted.

When American-born Zara, realizes she’s being used as a pawn to take over Rahman, she decides on a drastic solution. Escaping the country by switching places with another, she never imagines she’ll end up rolled in a carpet and deposited at the feet of Malik, the Scourge of Rahman. He’s the most dreaded killer in the land … and she’s intended for his bed.

Malik has come to terms with the false murder accusation that caused him to give up both his throne and his homeland, Rahman. Compared to running a country, creating a billion dollar empire is child’s play, leaving him with everything he could ask for, but nothing he wants. Until a surprise package arrives on his doorstep, one he can’t resist.

His Prize is the sixth book in the contemporary romance series Bad, Bad Boys! written by USA Today bestselling author, Day Leclaire. Fair warning! This story includes blackmail, deception, seduction —both successful and not, and a ton of romance. If you’re looking for a story featuring bold, passionate men and the women captivated by them, read on!

“THANK you for seeing us, Prince Haidar.” Two men garbed in traditional Rahman dress hovered in the doorway. “Ali and Jamil, at your service.”

Malik Haidar gestured for them to enter his office.
“It’s a pleasure to welcome you.”

Visitors from his homeland were always a treat—if a rare and bittersweet one. The two bowed low, offering him the respect due a man who’d once been heir to the throne, who’d, once upon a time, have been their king.
He motioned for them to rise. Years ago, he’d have overreacted to their obeisance, have silently railed at fate’s perverse humor. But with age he’d discovered both tolerance, a sense of humor, and acceptance of his new life.

“How may I be of service, gentlemen?” he asked.

“We were sent by His Highness,” Ali explained. The collar of both his and Jamil’s white thobes revealed they belonged to the northern part of Rahman, while the gold embroidery decorating the sides of their head scarves indicated the two men were part of the palace staff.
“We were given the honor of transporting a gift for your birthday.”

Malik smiled, acute pleasure easing the pain of memories long past. His cousin, Hakem, had made this a yearly tradition. Every July without fail, a gift would arrive a few days before Malik’s birthday, a ten-year tradition. What would it be this year? More books for his library? Another priceless piece of artwork? Jewelry he didn’t need or wear?

“The honor is mine,” he assured his visitors.

“If you’ll give us a moment, we’ll bring it in,” Jamil offered. No doubt the two were father and son. There was a familial similarity to the hook of their noses and slant of their eyes. “Your gift is a bit on the heavy side.”

Heavy? More and more interesting. “Please. Take your time.” Malik settled himself behind his desk and phoned through to his secretary. “Hold my calls for the next hour, Alice. And bring coffee for three as soon as my visitors return.”

It didn’t take long. The two entered Malik’s office carrying a loosely rolled carpet, thick and rich and clearly created by master weavers. His pleasure deepened, nostalgia sweeping over him. He’d deliberately removed all connections to his past from his living quarters. But perhaps he’d made a mistake. Such a rug would make a beautiful addition to his home and he had the perfect place to put it—in his library, right in front of his fireplace.

They set their bundle down on the far side of his office and swiftly unrolled it. Malik had expected a thing of beauty and he wasn’t disappointed. But the beauty didn’t come from the carpet, as he’d expected.

It came from the woman wrapped within the luxurious folds. To his amusement, she tumbled out, sprawling at his feet in a tangled heap of arms, legs, and diaphanous black cotton. Her pale skin gleamed through the sheer material and her heavy black hair wrapped around her, clinging to the carpet, to her clothing, and to the bit of pale face exposed by her lopsided veil. He frowned, aware of something odd about her appearance, but unable to determine the cause.

She muttered a curse in his native tongue—one involving her escorts’ parentage, a number of camels and an act as impossible as it was humorous. While the two men barked a furious reprimand, Malik grinned. No doubt being forced into a stifling carpet and presented like Cleopatra to Caesar sounded more romantic than the reality of the situation.

“...said nothing about being shoved in a rug!” she complained furiously. “I could have suffocated in there.”