The Bad Royals Box Set: The Complete Royally Unexpected Series, page 141
The Prince watches me from the long sofa, a grin teasing at his lips.
“What?” I ask, glaring.
“You look completely out of your element.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Just enjoy it, Rowan.”
Ugh, I love the way he says my name. I never want him to stop. I want to hear it whispered, gruff and low in my ear. I want to hear him say it softly as he wraps his arms around me. I want to hear him grunt it as he spills his orgasm inside me.
No. Stop.
I can’t think that way. That was a one-time thing. It’s not going to happen again.
I’m here for work. That’s all.
We settle in for take-off. Eyvar disappears into a door near the front of the plane, and I realize there’s a whole other, smaller, self-contained apartment up there. The flight attendants serve us more drinks—I opt for water, since I don’t trust myself with alcohol around the Prince anymore. The staff then disappears behind a door on the other side of the kitchen.
“Have you made any progress on the design?” he asks after takeoff.
Good. Work—that’s a safe topic.
I take a sip of water before answering. “I have. I think you’ll like the new iteration. Or at least, I hope so.” I smile, watching his eyes flick down to my lips.
Why does that make heat curl around my abdomen? Why do I never want him to stop looking at me like that?
My heart thumps, and I clear my throat. “This plane is incredible. It’s nicer than my place in Farcliff.”
The Prince makes a soft noise in response, his eyes still tracing the lines of my lips. His gaze runs down the length of my body, sending fire spilling through my veins.
Yes, I like that. I like when he looks at me. When we’re alone, with no one else to see us, I think I like it a bit too much. I turn to the window to watch the clouds rush by. It’s safer that way.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asks after a few minutes.
I frown, glancing at him. “No. Why?”
“You seem to want to stay as far away from me as possible.”
“Do you remember what happened last time I let myself get near you?”
His smile widens. “How could I forget?”
“This isn’t the same for me as it is for you, Your Highness,” I say, heart thumping uncomfortably. I straighten my shoulders, jutting my chin out at him.
He leans back on the sofa, stretching his legs. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re a prince, right? Royalty? You can have whatever you want, whenever you want.” I wave a hand at the luxury around us. “Look at this plane. I arrived at the castle on the train, with no privacy and a seat half the size of this one.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with us.”
“Of course you don’t.” I snort, shaking my head. “You don’t understand that for you, I’m just a bit of fun. I’m just a girl who walked into your life, who’s below your station, who has to do whatever you want me to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything I want.” His face hardens, jaw tensing.
I let out a sigh. “I don’t mean I was coerced. I’m just a girl who came to the castle. Just like a million others, probably. I mean nothing to you.”
“How would you know what you mean to me?” There’s an edge to his voice. An intensity to his gaze.
A lump forms in my throat, and I hesitate. Threading my fingers together, I squeeze my hands against each other. I take a deep breath. “You are in a position of power over me, Wolfe.”
He frowns. “Is this about the office? About the plane? I’m trying to help you.”
“It’s about the fact that I’ve worked my ass off to be a respected architect, and I don’t want you—or anyone else—to think that I’m here for other reasons.”
“You don’t think I respect you?”
Frustration bubbles inside me as I draw in a deep breath. How can I make him understand that my career means everything to me? It’s my lifeline. It’s the one thing that ensures I have to rely on no one, ever. Sleeping with him was a mistake. It was in direct conflict with my desire to be successful. It blurred the lines between us and confused me on the deepest level.
He still thinks this is a game, and he’ll toss me aside when it’s over.
But this job? This design?
It means everything to me. I left my boyfriend for this contract—not that the loss of that relationship really cut me deep, or anything, but I still gave it up. I gave up my social life to build up my business to what it is now. I put all my time and energy into my work. Everything I’ve done has been to ensure I can stand on my own two feet.
Getting involved with the Prince puts all of that into question.
“Rowan,” he says softly and damn it, my walls weaken. His gaze drills into mine, and I find myself standing up from my armchair and moving to sit next to him on the sofa when he pats the seat.
He reaches over to me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I haven’t slept with anyone since Abby,” he says.
I lift my gaze to his, eyes wide. “What?”
“Why is that so surprising?” His lips tug at the corners.
I wave a hand in the general direction of his rock-hard, virile body. “I mean… You know.”
“There aren’t a million other women in my life. You’re not just one of many women on a conveyor belt in and out of my life.” He pauses, fingers drifting over my cheek. “I don’t know what you are. You’re special.”
“I’m here for work,” I say softly, but the conviction is gone from my voice. My eyes betray me, drifting down to his lips.
The Prince doesn’t hesitate. He leans toward me, pressing his lips to mine, and oh, my body gives in. I sigh into his kiss, wrapping my arms around him. I tangle my fingers into his hair and pull him close, moaning into his mouth.
It should be illegal for a kiss to feel this good. It shouldn’t be allowed for one man to have so much power and sex and masculinity imbued into every pore.
But damn, it feels good. His kiss tastes dangerous but so sweet. When he groans, it sends shivers rushing over my skin. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me over to straddle him on top of the couch. His hands run down my neck, over my chest, around my waist. Everywhere.
And I want it. I want his hands on my body, on every inch of me. I want to feel his bare skin against mine. His cock buried deep inside me. His lips between my legs. Everything. I want it all.
My hesitations and fears seem so silly when he’s tangling his fists into my hair and kissing me hard. Work doesn’t seem so important when his hips grind against mine, reminding me of everything I’ve missed while I’ve been convincing myself I don’t want him.
He pulls away from me, resting his forehead against mine. “I feel alive for the first time in years, Rowan,” he says softly. His voice gruff, as if he needs to push the words through his throat.
I let myself believe his words—that I’m special, and different, and I mean something to him. I let myself melt into his embrace and I let him kiss me senseless as my body heats up.
Maybe there’s more to life than work. I might have missed the point of all this when I’ve been so focused on providing for myself and making sure I don’t end up a burden to anyone else. Kissing the Prince feels better than work.
What if these feelings are real? What if this could work?
As my head spins, I pull away and stare in the Prince’s eyes. They’re soft. Warm. Loving. My chest constricts, and I find myself leaning my cheek against his chest.
He wraps his arms around me and lays a soft kiss on top of my head as we sit there in silence until the flight attendant reappears.
I pull away, cheeks burning, which makes Wolfe chuckle. His arm stretches out across the sofa behind me, and the flight attendant doesn’t even blink. We’re served snacks and refreshments, and I finally let myself enjoy the luxury of the flight.
20
WOLFE
When we land in Stirling, Rowan straightens her shoulders and schools her features. The intimacy we shared on the flight to the capital dissolves away, and her professional mask is back on.
It’s hard not to feel sad about it. I liked the way she looked at me when no one was watching.
When the plane door opens, though, there are people watching. Lots of them. The media was warned of my arrival, obviously, and have jostled their way onto the tarmac, being held back by an army of palace guards. A black car is waiting for me and Rowan at the bottom of the stairs.
“What’s going on?” Rowan whispers as we stand at the top of the steps. Eyvar has already disembarked and is standing by the car, holding the back door open.
“I’m not usually in the capital in October. The press must have gotten wind of it.” I lift an arm toward the crowd of photographers, painting a placid smile on my face.
It’s only after a second that I realize my other hand is resting on Rowan’s lower back. I drop it, heart thumping at the thought of the photos that will be published online within minutes. It’ll look like we’re together—but do I really mind?
I motion for Rowan to step down first, sensing her every movement. The wind carries a whisper of her scent toward me, and I let out a quiet sigh. We’re led to the waiting car, and once inside, Rowan releases a long breath.
“Is your life always like this?”
“More or less.” I grin.
“I prefer anonymity.”
“I wouldn’t know what that’s like.”
Rowan’s eyebrows tug together, and for the first time, I see sadness in her eyes. Except it doesn’t bother me the way it usually would. She’s not pitying me for my loss—that, she understands. She feels sad for something I’ve never had. Privacy, anonymity.
My fingers itch to reach over and clasp her hand in mine. I want nothing more than to feel her skin, wrap my hand around hers and show her I want her beside me. Even as we stepped off the airplane, it felt right to be with her.
But we’re not together. She works for the palace. She’s not here to drag me out of my own doom and gloom or heal the wounds that have festered for four years.
I instruct Eyvar to bring her to her grandmother’s place first, and we drive in silence. The distance between us is only a car seat. Just a foot of space, but it feels unsurmountable. In that space, I feel the weight of the royal expectations on my shoulders. I feel the shackles of my previous loss. I feel my failure to keep Abby safe. Why would I deserve to have another chance? Why would a woman like Rowan—who has a career, a business, and a future—want to throw all that away to be with me?
I already know she left her boyfriend to pursue her business. Why would I be any different? She told me plainly that all she wants is independence.
When we stop outside a small brick house a stone’s throw away from the Stirling General Hospital, Rowan finally turns to look at me. With a soft smile, she dips her head. “Thanks again for organizing this for my grandmother.”
“She’s been loyal to the royal family for decades. It’s the least I could do.”
“Still,” Rowan says. “I appreciate it. I...” She bites her lip. “I hope I’ll see you around.” A faint blush stains her cheeks, and I can’t quite hide my grin.
“You will.”
I wait until she opens the front door before nodding to Eyvar. We drive to the castle and to Eyvar’s credit, he says nothing. He knows me well enough to realize I feel something for Rowan—but he’s diplomatic enough to keep quiet about it.
When we drive through the gates to the city castle, I immediately feel claustrophobic. There aren’t miles of space between the gates and the castle, like there are at the Summer Palace. There’s no majestic mountains and vast expanses of white snow.
Everything is gray.
Gray stone façades. Gray sculptural arches. Gray snow and slush pushed in great big gray snowbanks on either side of the drive. When we stop, a footman rushes to open my door. I step out, nodding to Eyvar as he drives toward the garages. I enter the main foyer of the castle, sighing when I see my sister’s lead advisor heading straight for me.
“Your Highness,” Frederick says with a bow. “Welcome back. We weren’t expecting you for another four weeks.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Her Majesty the Queen would like to have a word.” Frederick sweeps his hand toward the door to the left, and I know I have no choice but to follow. We walk through echoing hallways toward my sister’s offices, and I feel the weight of the stone walls pressing down on me.
I miss the Summer Palace. I miss the space.
Or maybe I just miss Rowan.
My sister sits behind a massive, polished desk, her back straight as a rod and her face as icy as ever. Blond hair is twisted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and her demure blouse does nothing to soften the harsh angles of her face.
She’s always been as broken as me.
“Brother,” she says, nodding to a chair, as if I need permission to sit with my own sister. Right now, though, she’s not a sister. She’s the Queen. Penelope leans back in her seat, watching as I adjust my jacket and lean back in the armchair across from her. She tilts her head, not a single wrinkle marring her skin, the youngest queen in Nord’s history. “You’re back early.”
“I am.”
She arches a brow. “Why?”
“Am I not allowed to come back home when I feel like it?”
“It’s been four years, Wolfe. You’re never here for the anniversary of Abby’s death. I’m only asking because it’s out of the ordinary.”
“I hate calling it an anniversary. It sounds like we’re celebrating the fact that she’s dead.”
Penelope sighs, standing up and turning to the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the wall of her office. She clasps her hands in front of her, staring at the city sprawled at her feet. My sister is a true queen—but one without an heir.
She was Abby’s closest friend, which sometimes I forget. Where Abby was celebrated and loved by the media, Penelope hasn’t been treated so kindly. The Ice Queen. Black Widow. Cold Monarch. Vile Witch.
They call her every name under the sun except Her Majesty the Queen of Nord.
“You slept with the architect,” she says, still facing the window.
My body stiffens. “How do you know that?”
“The doctor,” my sister responds. She glances over her shoulder, her simple diamond stud glittering in her earlobe. “You didn’t use protection.”
“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to fuck, Penelope.”
“I’m trying to prevent another disaster,” she snaps. Her lips pinch together as her pale skin grows even paler. The Ice Queen, indeed.
Reality snaps back to me, and Abby’s death feels like it was yesterday. Grief hits me like a wall as I remember the secret that no one but a chosen few ever knew. One I didn’t even know until Abby’s autopsy was performed.
“I’d hardly call Abby’s pregnancy a disaster,” I reply, my voice terse.
For a fraction of a second, pain flashes across Penelope’s eyes. She, unlike Abby, was never able to get pregnant before her husband died. An heirless, aging queen, tipping just past thirty years old as the kingdom whispers of her failures. Her suffering is written all over her face, but in an instant, the pain is gone, and my sister’s icy demeanor is back to normal.
My shoulders drop. “I’m sorry, Penelope. Don’t worry. Rowan isn’t pregnant.”
“Good. I also understand you’ve been working with her on the redesign of the Summer Palace.”
I nod. “I gave her some comments.”
“Well, you can take the lead on that project. Silas and Jonah have expressed zero interest, and we need someone in the family to be the face of the project. You spend the most time at the Summer Palace anyway, so the natural choice is you.” My sister places her fingers on the edge of the desk, leveling me with a stare. “That is, as long as you keep your dick out of the help.”
I grind my teeth to stop myself from biting back. Instead, I suck in a breath and give my sister a pinched smile. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Penelope arches an eyebrow, knowing I used her title sarcastically. She’ll always be my sister, no matter what office she holds in this castle. At the end of the day, I know Penelope has suffered. She lost her husband, just as I lost Abby. Not only that, but she’s had to suffer the criticism of the media and hide her health issues from the public. She carries all that on her narrow shoulders, so it’s no wonder she’s adopted a frosty exterior. Anyone would need a defense mechanism if they’d been through what Penelope has experienced—all while ruling the kingdom.
Still—it wouldn’t kill her to be nice to me, especially this time of year. If anyone knows loss, it’s her, but that shared suffering seems to be tearing us apart instead of bringing us closer together.
I head to my chambers and find Eyvar waiting for me. He greets me with a quick bow of the head before combing his fingers through his beard.
“What is it, Eyvar?” I push the door to my chambers open, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
“Miss Reed has requested access to the new office tomorrow.”
“Already? Doesn’t she want to spend time with her grandmother?”
“She seems to value her work, sir.”
I grunt. Of course she does. I know this about her. I nod to Eyvar, jerking my head to the door. “The staff should have set aside a room near the lavender sitting room. Confirm that it’s ready and tell the garages to be ready to send a car for her whenever she requests it.”
Eyvar bows his head and disappears down the hallway. I close the bedroom door, feeling excitement curl in my gut.
Leaving Rowan at her grandmother’s house felt like a goodbye—but what if she wants to be near me, too? Maybe she has more than just work pulling her here to the castle.
The kiss we shared on the plane felt like more than just lust. It felt like a deeper connection growing between us. Like two souls intertwining in a way I’ve never experienced before, even with Abby.
