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© 2006, Felicia
Forella Reviews For THE PRINCESS AND THE O by Felicia Forella "The Princess And The O is a fast-paced, yet humorous tale that is riddled with some suspense and passion. Princess Acelin is a delightful woman that will experience many changes and decisions with her head held high and determined regardless of the fact that sometimes she is uncertain. Prince Nolan is an honorable soldier, devoted countryman, and passionate man that will be pushed to the limits with this one assignment. The chemistry between the two of them is sizzling and explosive, but at the same time is it compassionate and tender. In the midst of the dangers surrounding the Kingdom of Timoria and Acelin’s struggles to meet her promise to her father, readers will find a touching love story of two people thrown together by circumstances they were not prepared for, but rise to the occasion. The secondary characters offer another opportunity for readers to fall even more in love with Acelin and Nolan. The Princess And The O is a tremendous love story that will leave readers wondering where their Prince Nolan is and wishing for just a moment that they could find themselves in Princess Acelin’s shoes. Felicia Forella has done a wonderful job and earned 5 Angels in the process!" Reviewed by: Jessica 5 Angels Fallen Angel Reviews Sample Chapter For THE PRINCESS AND THE O by Felicia Forella IS THE PROMISCUOUS PRINCESS PAST HER PRIME? “Can you believe it? Can you fucking believe it?” The scrunch of newsprint filled the momentary silence as Princess Acelin crumbled the tabloid paper in her hands. With a satisfying heave, she launched the makeshift ball at the plate glass window. It bounced harmlessly to the plush carpet. “I am not past my prime.” In the throes of a full-fledged temper tantrum, she stomped her bare foot on the floor. A chuckle drew her attention. “Does that mean you’re promiscuous?” If looks could kill, Acelin’s best friend and confidante, Lady Patrice, would have melted to the floor like the Wicked Witch of the West. Instead, she sat with her feet tucked underneath her, reclining on the overstuffed loveseat, looking none the worse for wear. “You know damn well that I’m not a slut.” Acelin stalked over to the window and stared out at the heavy gray sky, her reflection looking back at her. The snow had begun in earnest shortly after they’d returned from the slopes, driven in by the threat of the mid-April storm threatening to dump six inches of new powder on the Colorado Rockies. “And aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” With Patrice’s reflection visible in the large window, Acelin watched as her friend unfolded her legs, stretching like a waking cat. “I am. Even when you’re acting like the spoiled brat the tabloids make you out to be.” Whirling around, Acelin tried to face her friend down with a withering stare, only to find herself the recipient of a giggle as Patrice cupped her hand over her mouth to prevent the worst of it from escaping. “Fine. So I am acting like a bitch on wheels. I’ve earned the right this time.” Acelin fought the temptation to stick her tongue out at her friend. Patrice turned to fluff the pillows she’d been sitting on, ignoring the comment. “I really hate you some days.” Acelin pouted in her best imitation of a toddler. “You love me and you know it.” Patrice crossed her arms across her ample chest and silently dared Acelin to contradict her. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t. She loved Patrice like a sister. Acelin just wasn’t in the mood to be charitable, however, even though Patrice was one of the few people who allowed her to be herself. Even when that particular self acted like a two year old brat. The rag sheet on the newsstand at the lodge’s gift shop had ruined her otherwise wonderful day. She’d been in a glorious mood when they’d gotten up that morning. Even the threat of a late afternoon snowstorm hadn’t dampened her spirits. Any time spent shushing down the slopes was better than none. Even the ever-present paparazzi lying in wait at the lodge entrance hadn’t put a dent in her perky armor. She’d kept right on smiling as they shoved their cameras in her face and shouted obscene questions. Why did they think her sex life was anyone’s business but her own? Her smile remained on her face as she darted past the barrage on the way back into the lodge and into the gift shop to purchase the Belgium chocolates her PMS-ravaged body demanded. Only to have the grin wiped from her lips by the blaring headline. “I’m not some skank of an old crow. I’m not.” She slumped down into a plush chair. “Am I?” “Of course not, honey.” Patrice reclined on the arm of the chair, slipping her hand on to Acelin’s shoulder. “What you are is fodder for those vultures because your image sells. People want to read about you. So the rags give people what they want, even if they have to make it up.” Reaching up to squeeze her friend’s fingers, Acelin drew in a deep shuddering breath. “This thirtieth birthday thing has me more creeped out than I’ve been willing to admit.” Patrice kept silent, but Acelin saw the sparkle in her eye and the you think? grin. So turning thirty meant more than she’d been able to acknowledge, until now. So her father continued to pressure her to marry—to provide for the continuation of the family legacy by giving him grandbabies to spoil rotten. So she’d promised her father she’d settle down once she turned thirty. She wanted to make her father happy—not because she felt pressured to be the dutiful daughter and everyone knew that King Warrick of Timoria always got his way—but because she’d found the right man for her and she wanted to get married and have children. One slight problem prevented her for achieving that goal. Finding the right man. “Is it too much to want to marry a man who gives me orgasms?” “Not at all. I think it’s a perfectly reasonable requirement.” “You would think so. A man smiles at you and you come.” “Hey. Watch it. You make it sound like I’m easy.” “You’re not easy, you’re multi-orgasmic. I’d kill just to be mono-orgasmic. With a man, and not some battery-operated boyfriend.” “Honey, you’ll find him. He’s out there somewhere.” Was he? Doubts plagued her. When she’d turned twenty-one, her parents had given her the freedom to pursue her love life without any pressure from them. Over the last nine years, she’d dated several men of noble lineage. Men her father would approve of if any of the relationships made it that far. None of them did. No matter how charming or handsome or intelligent or romantic, Acelin refused to marry a man who didn’t bring her to orgasm. She wanted to throw away her vibrator, not spend her married life restocking her battery supply. Her dating habits earned her the unflattering nickname of the Promiscuous Princess. The foreign press corps latched on to every failed relationship with glee—even if it was just a first and only date—trying to ferret out the reason behind the breakup. More than enough pages of tabloid journalism had been dedicated to her allegedly finicky nature. Her daily page count kicked up a notch six months ago when her father did the one thing he promised he wouldn’t do—he interfered by hinting at an announcement to be made at her birthday celebration. The disclosure of an engagement. With thirty hovering around the corner, the vultures circled, waiting to attack. Without knowledge of her agreement with her parents, the press expected an ultimatum—the same unhappy ultimatum she now expected when she returned. The announcement set her nerves on edge and raised her suspicions. She feared they planned her birthday extravaganza as a matchmaking-palooza. Instead of anticipating her trip back to Timoria, she searched for a way to postpone the inevitable, her forthcoming return by the upcoming Wednesday. Pacing back to the window, Acelin watched the fat snowflakes fall from the heavy gray sky, her own reflection staring back at her. When they’d first come inside, she’d thought they’d spend the evening in front of the massive stone fireplace in the lobby of the exclusive lodge, sipping hot toddies and enjoying some male companionship. Now she just felt like curling up and ignoring the outside world, especially the one inhabited by her father. What the hell was he thinking when he hinted that a joyous announcement would be made in conjunction with the birthday festivities? As much as she loved her father, he managed to drive her nuts some times. “What do you say we freshen up and head down for dinner?” Patrice’s voice broke through Acelin’s moment of self-pity. Wallowing in poor-pitiful-me feelings was not an option. The only real possibility was honoring her promise to her father and facing her duty as Timoria’s future queen. “And check out the drop-dead gorgeous men we spotted when we checked in?” She’d be damned if she’d let anything ruin her vacation, her last hurrah, most likely. Acelin’s instincts warned her she’d be getting married when she returned to Timoria, whether she liked it or not. “Now you’re talking.” If the end of her father’s nine-year benevolent streak loomed in her future, Acelin intended to enjoy her present and possibly her last chance to find a man who’d give her that elusive “o.” * * * * “Your Highness.” Patrice curtsied as Acelin sat on the couch closest to the fire. For all the grief her friend gave her in private, she played the role of dutiful subject in public, in spite of the fact that Acelin insisted time and time again that it wasn’t necessary. Sometimes, Acelin got the distinct impression that Patrice did it just to piss her off. Given the laughter in her eyes as Patrice sat down next to her, Acelin would bet the crown jewels that Patrice was trying to rile her up in order to snap her out of her funk. Too bad she didn’t pay the woman, or she’d give her friend a raise. “Yeah, whatever.” Acelin waved a dismissive gesture at her friend. “Cut the crap and let’s check out the pool of available men.” There was sure to be plenty. The exclusive Colorado resort prized its reputation on excellent skiing conditions, premier accommodations, and an outstanding abundance of good-looking men. It was why she’d chosen the establishment when she’d decided not to head back to Timoria at the conclusion of her charity fundraising tour. The necessary distraction for what awaited her at home. Acelin’s gaze took in the enormity of the central room. The cathedral ceilings and rough-hewn beams gave the impression of sitting under the trees. The earth tones used in the decorating scheme accentuated the feeling. Sitting next to the roaring fire, she easily imagined herself camping, roasting marshmallows. Her fitted pants and bulky sweater soaked up the heat, making her wish she’d opted for something a little more lightweight. She’d chosen a demure, casual look for the evening. Taking in the crowd milling in the lobby, she fit right in. Nobody would recognize the “promiscuous princess” as long as Patrice kept her toadying to a dull roar. Accepting a mug of something steaming from a passing waiter, she settled in to enjoy the precious downtime. “You look lost in thought, Your Highness. But I wouldn’t dream of insulting you by offering a penny for your thoughts.” His voice washed over her, sending shivers down her spine, stopping just shy of her pussy. Damn. Double damn. Two weeks ago, when she’d made the decision to take refuge in the United States instead of somewhere in Europe, she’d hoped to lessen the chances that she’d be recognized. No such luck. The paparazzi spotted her within forty-eight hours and had hounded her every move ever since. “My name is Acelin, and they aren’t even worth a penny, I’m afraid.” She automatically extended her hand before remembering that customs such as kissing her knuckles weren’t necessary in America. Before she managed to snatch it back, the stunningly handsome man brushed his kissable lips across her fingertips. Damn shivers didn’t make it any farther down her lap this time either. “G. L. Kelly, at your service.” His eyes locked with hers as his fingertips tickled the palm of her hand during the excruciatingly slow separation of their hands. A mischievous glint sparkled in their dark depths. “What does G. L. stand for?” He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. “Great lover.” His warm breath titillated her, but didn’t cause her nipples to pucker up and rub against the silk of her bra. He smelled heavenly, a combination of expensive cologne and the outdoors. Her lack of response to the loss of his warmth surprised her. She must not have shaken off her morose mood as well as she’d hoped. So much for enjoying a little male companionship this evening. “A little full of yourself, aren’t you?” She took in his appearance as he settled in the chair across from her. His thick brown hair was cut short, but not so much that she wouldn’t be able to rifle her fingers through it. Brown eyes stared back at her, daring her to continue her assessment. She did, dropping her eyes to take in his cable knit sweater showcasing broad shoulders and an equally broad chest. His faded jeans clung to impressively muscled thighs, the hems tucked into well-worn cowboy boots. Big feet. He had big feet. The overall picture did nothing for her. “I’d rather you be full of me.” He arched a challenging eyebrow. “Or are you past your prime, Princess?” If G. L. whatever-the-hell-his-last-name-was thought to goad her into bed with that ridiculous comment, he was about to learn a lesson in common courtesy. Beside her, Patrice coughed so hard that Acelin feared for her friend’s health. “Sir, if you think that outrageously disrespectful pick-up line is going to get you anywhere with me, you have another think coming. And it isn’t you with me.” Grabbing Patrice’s hand, Acelin pushed to her feet and strode from the lobby, praying all the while that she exuded quiet dignity. Once back in the safety of their suite, Acelin allowed her composure to crumble as she paced between the bedrooms. “Of all the nerve. Of all the arrogant nerve. Who the hell does that American upstart think he is? I’m a princess, dammit. I have lineage and heritage and history and tradition. What does he have? What?” “He has your panties in a knot, that’s what he has. Don’t give him the satisfaction.” Patrice had made herself comfortable on the loveseat facing the window. The voice of reason. Acelin’s purposeful strides stopped and she shuffled over to sit next to Patrice. She gazed out the window, a crescent moon visible through the dark clouds. The passing of the storm promised optimal skiing conditions tomorrow. It really sucked that they wouldn’t be around to enjoy them. Returning home a few days earlier seemed like a more viable option with each passing minute. “You’re right. He’s not worth it.” Was the search for an orgasm-giving husband worth all the hassles? “I can’t win, you know? I date and I’m promiscuous. I don’t date and I’m past my prime. Maybe I just need to head home and face whatever future my father maps out for me.” “If that’s what you want to do, we’ll pack up and head out first thing in the morning.” “What I really want to do is marry a man who can make me come.” She winced, sounding like a whining broken record to her own ears. A wishy-washy one, at that. Gawd, what must she sound like to Patrice? “I know you do.” Patrice reached over and patted Acelin’s hand, a gesture that would have seemed condescending and placating coming from anyone else. “You think he’s out there, somewhere, but I’m beginning to think he isn’t anywhere to be found. I’ve dated every eligible prince, noble, and otherwise acceptable-to-my-father man out there. If I thought we had something going, I took the relationship to the next level. Except the next level for me always ends up being a big fat letdown. I should win an Academy Award for some of the orgasms I’ve faked. The only men left are old or creepy. I do have my standards, you know. Sexual prowess may be at the top of my list, but it’s not the only thing on it.” She dropped her head to her friend’s shoulder. She didn’t even want to think about what she’d do without Patrice. After twenty years together, she never wanted to find out. A knock on the door, answered by Acelin’s private maid, interrupted the quiet contemplation. “I’d like to see Her Highness, please.” The ever-present royal watchdog, otherwise known as security, blocked the door. His voice washed over her again, even knowing he was six degrees of a jerk. “Go away, Mr. Kelly.” She called out from her chair, her back to the door. “Please, Your Highness, allow me to explain.” The tone in his voice tugged at her emotions. Damn him. Acelin nodded, dismissing both the maid and the guard to allow him entrance. “You have five minutes, Mr. Kelly.” He stepped into the suite, pushing the door closed behind him. She stood to face him, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her chin in the air. Her toe tapped, even though he couldn’t see it. Reading her cues correctly, he stayed in the entranceway. “The guys, my buddies, put me up to it. And like an idiot, I accepted the double dog dare. I’m very sorry. Please—” “You’re a grown man, Mr. Kelly.” She skewered him with her most imperious gaze. “You didn’t have to allow them to challenge you into doing something stupid.” “I realize that, Your Highness. That’s why I came to apologize.” Either he had taken acting lessons at some point in his life, or he meant what he said. She’d accept his apology and send him on his way. “Pardon me, Your Highness, but your phone is ringing.” Her maid materialized from her bedroom and held up her designer handbag. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Kelly. I need to take this, as much as I hate to end this conversation. Apology accepted. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” She crossed the floor to her maid and retrieved her purse. Fumbling for the cell phone, she retreated to the privacy of her bedroom. The caller ID display indicated the call was from an old boyfriend, Prince Doyle of Martine. Interesting. She wondered what he wanted given the fact that she hadn’t heard from him since they went their separate ways. “Hello?” “Acelin, darling, it’s so good to hear your voice.” His clipped, cultured tones reached out to her across the miles, reminding her of all the good times. “It’s good to hear yours, too, Doyle. Although, I admit to being very curious about your phone call.” They hadn’t spoken in the year since she’d refused his marriage proposal. An offer she wished she’d been able to accept, but at that time, she hadn’t been pushing thirty. She thought she had all the time in the world to find the elusive man who could do what Doyle couldn’t. “I’ve been giving a great deal of thought to our breakup and your situation.” Doyle was one of only two men who knew about her unfortunate inability—one of only two men she had truly thought of marrying, despite her lack of complete sexual satisfaction. She might not have loved Doyle, but she’d thought she might be able to grow to love him. With one glaring exception, he possessed the qualities she desired in a husband. Okay, maybe more than one, because even though she couldn’t put her finger on it, something more stopped her from marrying him a year ago. She had to give him credit, he’d pulled out all the stops and then some in his creative and passionate attempts to bring her to orgasm. It just hadn’t been enough to overcome her niggling doubts. “My offer of marriage still stands, Acelin. I told you that when you left. You are an amazing woman—compassionate, intelligent, beautiful inside and out, sexy as hell. Our combined bloodlines will produce amazing children to rule our united countries for years into the future.” His words seduced her. A year ago, she hadn’t been very willing to marry a man unless the illusive Big O made an appearance. She still didn’t want to marry without it. However, reality was intruding and forcing her to accept the fact that she may very well have to do just that. Why not Doyle? She ignored the voice in the back of her head saying why not Doyle? Misinterpreting her silence as rejection, he pressed his point. “Give me one more chance, Acelin. I’ve thought of something we didn’t try before, something that just might work. Give me a weekend. Please.” Fragments of hope burst to life in her heart, her stomach somersaulted, and she felt other parts of her body tighten in anticipation. “Well, Patrice and I were thinking of leaving here in the morning, even though I don’t have to be back in Timoria until next Wednesday.” Maybe those niggling doubts were just byproducts of serious frustration and not the real deal. There was only one way to find out. “Tomorrow is only Friday. That gives us Saturday and Sunday. Longer if we want it. But just you, princess. Come to my private villa and send Patrice and your maid on to Timoria. I don’t want any distractions. I’ll have you back home whenever you’re ready to leave, but by midweek at the latest.” “It sounds so tempting.” “Give in to the temptation.” Lord knew she wanted to accept the offer. She owed it to herself to give it one more try. If Doyle had learned a new trick, er, technique, she’d have what she wanted. Maybe this new trick would be just the umph needed to send her into the orgasmic stratosphere. Her pussy twitched at the thought. “What time do you want me there tomorrow?” |