The Maharajah's Billionaire Heir Read online

  THE MAHARAJAH’S BILLIONAIRE HEIR

  by Lucy Monroe

  edited by Mayurika Saxena

  © 2020

  http://lucymonroe.com

  Praise for Lucy Monroe's Books

  Lucy Monroe captures the very heart of the genre. She pulls the reader into the story from the first to the last page.

  ~ NYT Bestseller Debbie Macomber

  Lucy Monroe writes smart, sensual, emotional books for intelligent women. ~ NYT Bestseller JoAnn Ross

  Thank you for writing those alpha heroes I love.

  ~ NYT Bestseller Lori Foster

  A Lucy Monroe book is a treat not to be missed.

  ~ NYT Bestseller Lora Leigh

  Lucy Monroe is one of my favorite indulgences.

  ~ NYT Bestseller Christine Feehan

  Monroe writes with a flourish the type of lovemaking and desire that women can truly appreciate. ~ RT Book Reviews

  Lucy Monroe excels at creating authentic erotic romance.

  ~ Romance B(u)y the Book

  Just when one thinks this author has written the best of her best heroes, she releases another story and we are proven wrong.

  ~ The Road to Romance

  "Lucy Monroe has a way of turning a traditional storyline into a refreshing one by using a different approach vs. the tried and true."

  ~ Stacy (reader)

  "I've found that with Lucy's passionate and powerful characters, not to mention her intricate plotlines I am always drawn in right from the first sentence." ~ Tami (reader)

  “The characters are well rounded and compelling. The writing is crisp and flowing. You can't go wrong in this latest book [Watch Over Me] by the talented Lucy Monroe.” ~ Judy (reader)

  DEDICATION

  For my brother-in-law Robby and his new wife, Brandy, two very special people who embody the genuine love which is the cornerstone of real romance.

  And with special thanks to Mayurika and Mahvish for taking the time to beta read this book and make sure I "got it right". You're the kind of readers every author needs.

  The best kind!

  The Maharajah's Billionaire Heir

  by Lucy Monroe

  1st Printing 2020

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 LUCY MONROE

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express, written permission from the author Lucy Monroe who can be contacted off her website http://lucymonroe.com.

  This is a work of fiction. names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Mayurika Saxena

  Copyeditor & Formatting Wizard: A. M. Copyediting

  https://www.facebook.com/abigail.m.copyeditor/

  https://twitter.com/AMcopyeditor

  FORWARD

  Lucy Monroe is one of my favorites. When I found out that she lives in my city and was having a meet and greet, I had to go and meet her. She is wonderful, grounded and full of humor.

  When she realized that I am of Indian origin, she pitched the idea of me editing her first "Indian" themed novel. I was in heaven. Since my teenage years I have been reading these novels. Getting the opportunity to be a part of one of them for my favorite author is a dream come true.

  Lucy not only writes mind-blowing romance, but she also works on the characters and the backdrop of the whole story. This novel weaves the rich India culture of family values, royal intricacies and the passion of the two main characters in a beautiful tale. "If we marry, we will have passion, not just friendship." This sentence just melts my heart, and there are many more in this book that will give that tickle in your toes.

  The story is a kaleidoscope of colors from the US west coast to the Indian monuments. I am so lucky and proud to be a part of this book.

  Mayurika Saxena

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  Her heart barely moving in her chest, the air void of necessary oxygen, Eliza walked into the private hospital room.

  Her best friend and the man she was supposed to marry one day, lay in the bed, broken and battered. He'd survived the accident that had killed Adhip uncle, but just barely. His parents sat in chairs near the bed, their focus entirely on the man fighting for his life.

  Only according to the doctor, Dev was destined to lose that fight.

  Neither Veeresh, nor Mayurika, even looked up when Eliza walked in.

  She walked to the other side of the bed from where they sat, laying her hand gently on Dev's forearm, a small patch of skin that was unmarred by the accident and not covered in bandages. "Fight, Dev. Please fight."

  The only person she'd let have even a little piece of her heart since the death of her own family, Dev was necessary.

  Silky black lashes fluttered and Dev's eyes opened only a slit. "Eliza?"

  "I'm here." Tears choked her voice, but she didn't let them fall.

  Eliza hadn't cried since she was ten years old. None of her tears then had brought back her family and tears wouldn't help Dev now.

  His mother cried out his name, but Dev's head did not move, his gaze fixed on Eliza. "Take care…" His voice trailed off into gasping breaths.

  Eliza said nothing, waiting for Dev to finish his thought. She would not risk talking over any word he might manage to get out.

  "My family. Promise."

  His mother made a terrible sound of grief. Dev's father, Veeresh, touched his son's brow, oh so gently. "All will be well."

  But Dev's focus was still on Eliza.

  "I promise, Dev. I'll take care of your family."

  "Find…" His breathing grew even more labored. "Love…" Now he was looking at his mother.

  And Mayurika auntie knew what he meant. She told him how much she loved him, how proud she was of him, the litany continuing even as Dev's breathing stopped and his heartbeat flatlined.

  The doctors and nurses came running. Eliza got pushed out of the room. She didn't know how long she stood out in the hallway, but the sound of a Mayurika's wail told Eliza she had just lost her best friend.

  At some point, Dev's parents came out. Veeresh had his arm around a sobbing Mayurika. Eliza stood dry-eyed, her grief a cement block inside her heart.

  The only thing she had to cling to was her promise to Dev to take care of his family and she knew what she had to do.

  They'd talked about it many times over the years. Dev wanted his cousin brought into the family. He wanted the firstborn cousin, the one who should have been made heir to the Mahrajah, to come home to the palace.

  He'd told Eliza that his cousin would have run their business interests with so much more acumen than Dev's father, or even the current Maharajah, the man Eliza called grandfather. Only one man could save the Singh family and the Mahapatras Dynasty.

  Rajvinder Acharya.

  The time had come to reunite the heir with his family.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Vin looked down at the reminder for his next appointment, shock coursing through him and coming right out his mouth. In a bellow. "Jansen!"

  The usually supremely efficient woman in her f
orties came rushing into the room, panic clear in his grey eyes. "Is something wrong? Are you all right?" She looked around his office as if expecting a gun wielding madman to jump out. "You shouted. You never shout."

  "My next appointment."

  "Oh, yes." She seemed to relax, back on familiar territory. "Mr. Singh is already here." She said it like that should be good news.

  It wasn't.

  In fact, it had been his plan to live out the entire rest of his life without once laying eyes on another Singh from the Mahapatras dynastic family.

  "You did not think to ask me before giving part of my very busy day to Trisanu Singh?" he demanded, imparting all the loathing he felt toward his biological father's family into his grandfather's name.

  "You do not want to meet with him?" Ms. Jansen asked, sounding scandalized. "He is a potential investor in the Asia clean energy project. He has far reaching contacts in India."

  She'd done her job running background on Trisanu Singh's company, but she'd been unaware of the one connection that Vin never wanted to use. And that was the one between himself and that family.

  "If that is what he told you to gain this appointment, he was lying." Even if the grandfather who had refused to acknowledge Vin at birth, or again seventeen years ago, wanted to invest, there was less than a snowball's chance in hell of Vin allowing it.

  "I assure you, Mahapatras Enterprises is quite interested in the moves your country wants to make bringing clean and renewable energy technology to India." The upper crust Indian accent spoken in that even tone sent shards of disquiet running down Vin's spine.

  He turned his body so he faced the man now standing just inside the impressive oversized double door entrance to his San Diego high rise business office. "Is it your habit to barge into another man's office?" Vin asked of the older man with disdain, cutting at the supposed adherence to etiquette of those who called themselves royalty, even those of the deposed Indian royal families.

  Trisanu grimaced, stepping further onto the antique Armistar carpet. "Had I waited for an invitation, I suspected it would never have come."

  "And that is an excuse for dismissing common courtesy?"

  His grandfather sighed, suddenly looking older, his perfect posture slumping infinitesimally. "Forgive me. My grief has left me less than my usual self."

  "I am sorry for your loss," Vin said automatically, as his mother had drilled in him to do, though he had no idea what he was expressing sorrow for.

  Whatever dismissals of courtesy Trisanu might feel comfortable with, Vin refused to allow himself such luxuries. His loss of control moments ago was entirely out of character and he would not continue to give the older man any reason to believe his presence was anything but a minor annoyance to Vin.

  "So, you have heard the news?" Trisanu asked.

  "What news?"

  "About your father's death."

  Vin felt nothing. No grief. No what might have been. He was a thirty-five-year-old man with a life much too full, to worry about the biological father who had never offered anything beyond his DNA contribution. "My father is alive and well in his office down the hall."

  Vin's stepfather, Jamison Latham, and Vin had become official partners, merging their two companies together nearly ten years previous, keeping their headquarters in San Diego.

  Trisanu winced. "I am aware you are not happy to claim our family, but Mr. Latham is not your father."

  "In every way that matters, he is."

  "All but one."

  Vin went back around to his chair and indicated his grandfather should sit before doing so himself. "The sperm donation is of no consequence."

  Again, the wince, this time in clear distaste. "It is to our family."

  "It wasn't seventeen years ago when I wanted to meet Adhip." Vin used his biological father's first name as a purposeful indication of his lack of respect, or familial ties.

  Trisanu merely shook his head and sighed. "Adhip is dead."

  "I was unaware, but again, I offer condolences on your loss."

  "How could you not know? His accident was not unremarked in the press."

  "I do not read that kind of press." He, in fact, made sure his daily newsfeed was curated in such a way as to exclude any mention of his paternal genetic family.

  Trisanu adjusted his designer suit jacket, no traditional Indian clothing for him, but then that was usually reserved for the men of his mother's birth country only at special events and ceremonies. "You have no interest in the lives of the family of your birth?"

  "Birth?" Vin asked with emphasis. "Adhip rejected my mother long before I was born and rejected me again eighteen years later."

  Suddenly he realized his Executive Assistant was watching this exchange in goggle-eyed wonder. It was a testament to how shocked he was to have the head of the Mahapatras dynasty in his office that Vin had just noticed.

  "You may go, Jansen," he dismissed briskly.

  "Perhaps she could fetch me a cup of tea?"

  Vin wanted to bark a denial, but again, that would indicate that the other man's presence bothered him. And his mother had raised him better than that, even if he hadn't grown up in a palace.

  He inclined his head. "Of course. See to it, Jansen."

  "Any particular type of tea, Mr. Singh?" Jansen asked, giving the older man a look filled with nothing but professional interest.

  Finally. She remembered one of the reasons he'd hired her. She had a reputation for maintaining professional decorum during the biggest crises. And thus far, she had not let him down, her inadvertent eavesdropping on his private life notwithstanding.

  "Perhaps my companion might be allowed in?" Trisanu asked.

  Vin frowned. Who would have accompanied the dynastic head? "Your companion?"

  Trisanu nodded, but didn't offer a name.

  It couldn't be Vin's father, presuming Trisanu had not lied. Adhip Trisanu Singh was dead. Vin refused to express any false sentiment of grief at what, for him, was no loss. He'd never had an Indian father.

  Only an American one.

  And Jamison Latham had come into Vin's life too late for Vin to accept him fully in that capacity, regardless of what claims he made to Trisanu.

  "By all means, bring your companion in. You have twenty more minutes of our scheduled meeting."

  By his expression, Vin's biological grandfather didn't like the reminder of their time limit, but he did not balk. He merely went to the door and beckoned someone inside.

  It was a woman. Though she wore an Indian salwar kameez with European influence in its styling, she was clearly a western woman. With blonde hair and blue eyes that glowed like sapphires with emotion Vin did not understand, she looked at him expectantly.

  "Miss…?" She looked familiar, but he wasn't sure why. And then it hit him. She had been there on that fateful day, when he'd gone seeking connections that did not want to be made.

  She'd been a child then. She was definitely a grown woman now.

  "Worthington-Smythe," she offered her hand. "My name is Eliza, I would be very happy if you used it."

  He squeezed a hand soft and small in his, shaking gently and then finding himself loathe to release. "We have met?" he asked, despite knowing the answer very well. He'd learned early in life that giving away information was never as beneficial as drawing it out of others.

  "We have." She tugged at her hand, her lovely oval face tingeing pink. "I saw you in India nearly two decades ago. You were kind to me."

  He remembered the shy, tow-headed child. Even dealing with his own fury at how the visit had turned out for him, Vin had not been able to dismiss the sadness in the young girl's eyes. He had been gentle in tone and manner with her when all he'd felt was rage at the family that could dismiss one of their own so easily.

  "I am glad you thought so. You seemed to need kindness at the time."

  His grandfather made a sound, though Vin was unsure what it signified.

  Eliza inclined her head in acknowledgement of Vin's words,
her expression briefly shadowed by grief. He now knew that she had lost her parents not long before and come to live as ward to Adhip and his wife.

  Images from their last meeting played through Vin's brain. By some gallows sense of humor, Eliza had been there to witness his ignominious rejection by the Mahapatras Singhs. His biological family.

  Biologically related? Yes. Family? Not so much.

  No longer rulers in India, as none of the royal families were, they nevertheless were incredibly impressed with their own importance and had had no place in their giant palace for a bastard son of the heir.

  Using his hold on her hand, Vin led Eliza to a chair, waiting to let go until she was sitting down. "You were there."

  "And you were kind," she said again. "Despite what you were dealing with." She smiled, those blue eyes glowing brightly in her lovely face.

  Why did this beautiful and intriguing woman have to be with the despised Trisanu Singh? In other circumstances, Vin would have enjoyed getting to know the woman the girl had become.

  "Why?" he asked as he settled against his desk.

  Were it just his grandfather there, he would have returned to his chair, but he felt a strange loathing to put more distance between himself and Eliza.

  "I do not know. You don't have a reputation, now, for being a kind man."

  He dismissed her words with a flick of his hand. "That is not what I meant. Why are you here?"