The Bad Royals Box Set: The Complete Royally Unexpected Series, page 138
“I’m not sure being alone is the best way to accomplish that.” I arch an eyebrow, sipping my drink.
Rowan stares at me and finally huffs out a laugh. “And I’m not sure running away every October is the best way to honor your fiancée’s memory.”
“It’s survival.”
“Exactly,” she replies, staring into my eyes. The air grows thick around us, and on some primal level, we understand each other. Being alone here, with her, as the storm batters the walls of the cottage, I wonder if she’s here for a reason. If she was sent here by some higher power.
“Why did you take this project?” I ask in a low voice.
“How could I refuse it?” She blinks, then lets out a sigh. “Maybe I just wanted to get away.”
“From your ex?”
“From my life.” Rowan’s eyes blaze, and something stirs in my core.
How many times have I wanted to get away from my life? From my grief? From everything that makes me a prince?
Rowan gulps. Her eyes shift back to the fire, and we sit in silence for a while. Nordish blood flows in her veins, but I still don’t feel like she belongs to this place. She says she understands why her design was wrong—but does she truly get it? It won’t fulfill her ambitions as an architect if she tries to bend this landscape to her will.
The landscape doesn’t care. The arctic bends to no one.
Just look at her first few hours here. Near death.
“I want to do something more with my life than just be someone’s wife,” Rowan says softly. “Gerry was fine. He’ll be a good partner to a woman one day, but it’s not me. I need something…more. I need to see the world. Explore my career. Put my ideas on paper and see them come to life. I need to do something so that when I die, I don’t feel like I’ve wasted my life or been a burden to the people I’m supposed to help.”
“What if you never find what you’re looking for?”
Rowan blinks, then shrugs. “Then I guess I’m destined to wander until I die.”
I’ve never met anyone like Rowan before. She’s giving up safety. Security. A stable relationship. For what? To explore the unknown? To carve her own path?
Abby wasn’t like that. She had very few ambitions of her own and was content to follow me wherever I went. I thought it was because I’m a prince, and she had no noble blood, but when I stare at Rowan, I know I’m wrong. Abby didn’t have the fire, the will for life that Rowan has. She didn’t have the ambition or the independence to be on her own.
Rowan leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stretches the graceful column of her neck from side to side. Her eyes have their own fire burning, and she’s propelled through life by some force I don’t understand. She doesn’t need a protector. She doesn’t need me—or any man—to save her from the dangers outside.
Well—unless she decides to go for a walk in sub-zero temperatures with nothing but a thin jacket on.
There’s a deep well of strength in her that sparks something inside me. It makes me pause. Pushing myself up to stand, I jerk my head toward the bar trolley. “Another drink?”
Rowan nods. “Yes, please.” She stands with me and meets me at the trolley, extending her glass toward me.
When I top up Rowan’s drink, her eyes flick up to mine. Warmth wraps around my chest and snakes lower through my stomach. This girl will be the end of me.
She’s not afraid of me. Not intimidated. She looks me straight in the eye—and I like it. She’s the first person to treat me like a man and not a prince. The first person to listen to me talk about Abby and understand the pain, not just pity me for it.
I take a sip of my drink as I watch her over the rim of my glass.
Rowan meets my gaze and sticks out her tongue. “Do I have something on my face?” she asks, popping a brow.
“What?”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” Pause. “Your Highness.”
“Can you blame me?” I say, my voice dropping lower than I intended.
Rowan blinks, biting her lip. Damn. I put my glass down and stand up, extending a hand toward her. She stares at it suspiciously, letting her gaze crawl back up to mine.
“What are you doing?”
“Take my hand, Rowan.”
“Why?”
“I want to show you something.”
“What is it?”
“Take my hand and find out.”
“You haven’t exactly proven yourself trustworthy so far, Your Highness.”
I try to hide my grin. “Rowan, call me Wolfe. If you call me Highness one more time, I’ll—”
“What?” She arches a brow. Cheeky girl. “What are you going to do?”
Lifting my outstretched hand to her shoulder and letting my fingers curl around the nape of her neck, I brush my thumb over her cheek. “I’ll make you regret it,” I growl.
Rowan’s breath trembles through parted lips as she blinks in rapid succession. Then, as if in a trance, she puts her tumbler down and takes a step toward me.
“Okay. What do you want to show me?”
I erase the distance between us, letting my chest brush against hers. There it is—her soft, hesitant breath. Yielding to me. Rowan lifts her eyes up to mine, staring at me through thick lashes. I let my fingers drift down the side of her body, resting them on her hip.
“Do you get nervous when I’m close to you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“No,” Rowan says, her voice quivering ever so slightly.
“Liar.” My fingers slide around to her back, pulling her body tight to mine. “I can feel your pulse hammering.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m nervous.”
“What are you then?”
A blush stains Rowan’s cheeks as she struggles to swallow. Closing her eyes, she shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m just… It’s nothing.” Rowan’s palm lifts up to press against my chest, and she flicks her eyes up to mine. “Your heart is hammering, too.”
“You make me nervous.” I grin.
“Bullshit.” Her fingers slide higher, teasing the edge of my neck.
My eyes drop to her lips, tracing every full curve as I imagine how she would taste. We’re frozen against each other. I can feel her pulse thumping. I can see the desire blooming across her face. Her pupils dilating. Lips dropping open.
She wants this as badly as I do. We’re alone here. No servants. No staff. No media.
Just Rowan and me.
Would it be so bad to act on a few impure desires? To finally taste those lips and see if she’s still insolent when I’m inside her?
“Your Highness,” Rowan whispers.
My grip on her waist tightens, pulling her close. “What did I say about using my title?” I roll my hips against her, loving the way she gasps when she feels my hardness.
Yes, I’m hard as rock.
Yes, it’s for her.
Yes, I’m struggling to think of even one reason why we shouldn’t do this.
“We shouldn’t do this,” Rowan whispers, teasing my jaw with her fingertips.
“Do what?” I lean down, letting my lips hover just an inch from hers.
Rowan smiles, shaking her head. She’s so sweet when she’s like this. Pliable. When her tongue isn’t sharp and her smiles are easy. I want more. “Kiss, Wolfe. We shouldn’t kiss.”
I nearly groan when she says my name. I thought I enjoyed the sass of her using my title. I thought I liked that she spat it at me like an insult.
My name sounds so much better.
“Why not, princess?”
“I’m not a princess.”
“And you didn’t answer the question.”
“Because we’d regret it.” Her thumb brushes my chin, just under the curve of my lip.
“I wouldn’t.” I growl, closing my eyes. How can her touch feel so good?
“I would.” Her voice is so soft, I barely catch it. Pulling away, I look into her ocean-blue eyes. She gives me a sad smile, shaking her head.
I frown, thinking about the past two weeks. Has there been a day, an hour, where I haven’t thought of Rowan? Has there been a night I haven’t snuck into the library to see if I’d find her sleeping? Has there been any other woman on my mind, or any question about what I want to do to her?
“Why would you regret it?”
“You’re a prince.”
“I’m a man.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of me?” I frown.
Rowan smiles, her fingers still teasing my jaw. My neck. Toying with the edges of my hair. She shakes her head. “Of how quickly I’ll fall for you.”
“You think I’m an asshole.”
“I make a lot of bad decisions.”
“So why not make one more?”
Rowan pulls away, shaking her head. “You’re dangerous, Wolfe.”
I drop my hand from her waist and grin, catching her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you something you’ll like.”
14
ROWAN
I can’t blame the Scotch whisky for what’s going on in my body—this goes much deeper than a shot and a half of alcohol. I’m burning up. I follow the Prince out of the main room and through a doorway, stealing glances at his broad frame. Every step he takes reminds me of the power inside him. Every movement, so controlled and restrained, makes me want to melt into his arms.
…but I said no.
I pushed him away and told him I didn’t want to take it any further.
That’s the right thing to do…right? Sleeping with him would be fun tonight, maybe, but I’d regret it tomorrow. This is work, after all. He’s royalty.
I’m only a contractor here to do a job. I’ll be gone as soon as the storm clears.
So why does this taste a lot like regret?
My heart beats erratically, bouncing against my chest as I struggle to regain control over myself. Every stitch of clothing feels too tight. The cottage feels smaller somehow, as if all the heat of my desire is pouring into the air and stifling me.
Wolfe pushes a door open and has to bend his head to step through. We walk into a dim space, and the Prince hits a switch. Lights fizzle and pop as they turn on, bathing the room in a soft, yellow glow.
We’re in a studio.
Blank canvasses lean against the far wall beside a huge shelf full of art supplies. A stack of easels is propped against the side wall, covered in a thick layer of dust.
But my eyes drift to the left, where a blank wall has been covered with dozens of paintings. Big and small, they cover the space. I drift over to them, eyes widening.
“Is this…?” I peer at the first painting, recognizing some of the sketches from the archives, where they’d been reproduced in history books.
“My great-great-grandfather painted that. I might have missed a great in there.” The Prince grins. “He lived here full-time.”
“That’s what the palace used to look like?”
“He helped design it. Showed this painting to the architects and builders, and they made it happen.”
My jaw hangs open as I stare at him. “This is the original painting?”
Dipping his chin down, he lets his hand sweep across my lower back. His touch feels so good, I find myself leaning into it. We take a step over, staring at the next set of paintings. A view from the castle out to the meadows in full bloom. A brown bear is in the foreground with a cub.
I shake my head. “Gorgeous.”
“When it was first built, the palace served as a place to hold court, too. There were offices and community events here. It was the real seat of power in the kingdom.”
“And that changed when Stirling became the capital?”
“Sometime in the last hundred years, the Summer Palace became a vacation home for the royal family. The gates were made taller, and it was closed off from the public, except for approved tours during periods my family isn’t here.”
“You don’t agree with that?”
Wolfe lets out a sigh, pinching his lips together. “I think we have an opportunity to give this place back to the people. Show the people that the royal family remembers where we came from.”
I nod, my eyes lingering on the Prince. He stares at the centuries-old paintings, a wistful look in his eyes. I wonder, not for the first time, who this man really is. Is he the cold, rude man I first thought? Or is he a man who’s seen trauma, death, grief—and wants to give something back?
“What’s your vision for the Summer Palace?” I ask.
The Prince flashes a smile at me. “You’re the architect.”
“You’re the client. You’ve already shot down my first design. I need direction.”
“We can’t spend millions making a beautiful palace that will look good on postcards,” the Prince says after a pause. “This has to mean something more.”
“An homage to Nord’s birthplace.”
“You’ve been doing research,” he says.
I grin. “You gave me a serious dressing-down when I first got here about not understanding the place.” I flush, shaking my head at my choice of words. “I mean a reprimand.”
Just a slip of the tongue. It doesn’t mean anything.
Right?
The Prince pounces, grinning. “I gave you a dressing-down, too. And I’d do it again.”
I shove my shoulder against him, turning my back to him to hide my blush. “I don’t believe you were the one to undress me. There was a doctor and a bodyguard there. One of them would have done it.”
The Prince leans in so his breath tickles the edge of my ear. “You have a mole just above your belly button.”
My eyes widen as I stare straight ahead. “You…”
“Right about here,” he says, letting his fingers drift over my stomach. Heat pools beneath his palm as my head spins. Wolfe chuckles, leaning into me. His smell is everywhere. Woodsy and spicy and so deliciously male. I inhale him, not wanting to step away. His chest is so broad against my back.
Why did I refuse him earlier, again? Why wouldn’t I tilt my chin up and let him kiss me?
“I’m attracted to you,” I say, staring at the wall.
“I know.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn my head and glance up at him. “But,” I start. “I don’t think acting on it is a good idea.”
“You said that.”
“You disagree?”
“Completely.”
I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, watching Wolfe’s eyes darken. Amber pools of desire stare at me, tempting. Asking. Promising something good. His hand slides from my stomach down lower, resting just above my mound.
Yes, I want this. I want his hand to move lower still. To touch me. Feel how wet he makes me. Let me come apart in his arms before I have to leave this place again.
Would it really be that bad if I gave in to temptation?
I turn to face the Prince, letting my hands slide up his chest. Every bump of muscle sends shivers tumbling down my veins. His body is insane. My hands wrap around the nape of his neck, twisting into the dark locks of hair that curl at the ends. His hair feels silky as my head spins.
“If we sleep together, it means nothing,” I say.
The Prince’s lips tug into a wicked grin. “Are you telling me, or yourself?”
“You,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel. “If we act on this…whatever this is between us, it has to stay here.”
“Anything you want, princess. So long as I get to have you.”
“You have to stop calling me princess.”
His hand sweeps over my jaw, tilting my face up to stare at his. With a flash of his eyes, he grins at me. “But that’s what you are. My princess.”
Oh, those words. Treacherous, beautiful words. Silly words that make my heart thump and my panties soak through.
Why do I care if he calls me his? Why does it stoke my fire if he tells me I belong to him?
The only way this works is if I walk away and there are truly no strings attached. One night of fun. One night of Wolfe. One night to feel like a princess in her prince’s arms.
As if he reads my mind, Wolfe tilts my head up and crushes his lips to mine. He kisses me breathless. Crashes into me, so I can feel the power coiled within him. His arms wrap around me and hold me to his strong chest, trapping me against him.
Not that I’d want to be anywhere else. My fingers twist in his hair. Tugging. Pulling. Eliciting delicious little groans from him that do nothing but make me burn hotter.
When his tongue slides between my lips, I know I’m done. He tastes like heaven and hell, all wrapped in one. Like good and evil in a tug of war with my heart. He tastes like I might regret this later when I’m nursing my broken heart—but it’s too sweet to pull away. When he whispers my name against my lips, I melt. His fingers sink into my flesh, clawing at my clothing and tugging it free so he can feel my skin.
My body is in overdrive. My veins are full of molten fire. I moan into his mouth, kissing him harder as his hands sweep over my back.
I’m in trouble. I’m in too deep. I’m definitely going to regret this later.
15
ROWAN
What is regret, really?
Feeling sad or disappointed about something we’ve done in the past? About something we didn’t do? Feeling the tug of what if?
So, as the Prince lets out a soft moan, his lips brushing against mine, I have to wonder.
What would I regret more—if I stopped, or kept going?
Wolfe’s hands sweep up my sides, his palms leaving goose bumps in their wake. His touch feels too good. My head spins. Every sense is wrapped up in him.
His smell everywhere, urging my heartbeat faster. The sight of his body straining against the fabric of his clothes. The touch of his fingers against my skin. The sound of those little grunts and moans and groans that slips through his lips when he kisses me.
But oh, the taste of him. That’s what does me in. My kisses drift down his neck and I let my tongue slide out to touch his skin. Hard and smooth and warm and mine.
