Royal Surrogate, page 6
“You like history?”
“It’s only a minor obsession,” I admit. “I do—did—a lot of research at my job. But I rarely got to see any priceless works of art in person.”
“I’m happy to give you a tour,” he says. “Of the house or of anywhere else you want to see. The National Museum in the capital has some nice collections.”
“I’d love that,” I say, unable to keep the passion from my voice.
“Anything for my beloved fiancée.” He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips, and even though I know this is part of the charade, I feel that flurry of butterflies again at the touch of his kiss.
“Here we are,” he says before I can analyze that feeling too closely. “My suite. The footmen should have already brought up our bags.”
I’m not sure what I expected from his bedroom, but I must admit I’m impressed. Like the rest of the house, it’s ornate but tasteful, and I can see Caspar’s personal touches as well.
This is where I get to live? I’m more than okay with this.
“We have a few hours before we join my brother,” Caspar says. “Plenty of time to recover from the flight.”
“Come to think of it, I could use a nap,” I admit. As intrigued as I am to be here, and as luxurious as our flight was, I’m still exhausted from the travel.
“The bedroom is right over here,” Caspar says, leading me toward a set of double doors.
And it’s only then that I’m reminded of the awkward truth of our reality. As excited as I am by my new home for the foreseeable future, I’d conveniently forgotten about some things—like the one glaring thing staring me in the face right now.
We only have one bed.
CHAPTER 15
Caspar
Her trepidation is so palpable it almost makes me want to check to see if there’s a stench in my armpits.
“I’m not that horrifying, am I?” I ask, but even I can hear the hilt in my chuckling.
“No,” she says. “Not at all. It’s just…” She looks at the bed and then back at me, her eyes wide.
I’ve seen that expression before, but it takes me a moment to recognize it.
“You’re a virgin!” I don’t know why I didn’t see it before—of course she is. It all makes sense now. She’s a librarian—beautiful, yes, but so buttoned up and reserved—
“No!” she cries, almost too quickly. “No. I mean, no. Not…no. I’m not. Not exactly. Sort of, but… It’s just…” She lets out a long breath before she sits on the edge of the bed. “Can I just be honest with you?”
“I’d hope we can always be honest with each other, no matter what.” I sit beside her, taking her hand into mine. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Sex can be quite beautiful. And if you’d prefer to wait until after our wedding night, I’d completely understand.”
“I… Yes… I mean, no… I mean… We’re not…” She looks up at me, her brows drawn together.
I’m not certain what it is about the expression in her eyes, but it does something to me I can’t quite explain. My stomach turns, but not in a foul way. My heart begins to speed a bit in my chest, and there’s an odd fluttering in the pit of my gut.
I don’t believe I’ve felt anything quite like it.
“You play the ukulele?”
I must blink a few times, her odd question breaking me from the strange trance I was in. “What?”
“The ukulele.” She points over my shoulder. Isn’t that what that is?”
I look behind me toward my dresser at the instrument I’d left there a few months ago before I look back at her. “I…I suppose. I took it up a while ago.”
She smiles, obviously relieved to have the moment between us broken. “That’s really cool. I always wanted to play an instrument. I tried the oboe when I was in sixth grade, but I gave it up.” She walks over to the dresser and runs her fingers over the strings. “Maybe you can play for me sometime.”
“Certainly. I’m fairly terrible at it.” I stand, too, and the feeling in my stomach can only be described as… disappointment. “Weren’t you going to tell me something?”
“Was I?” She turns to me with another plastic smile. “I think maybe I’ll just take a bath or something. Or a shower. Or—”
I’m not certain what I’m doing, but it all seems to happen in a single, fluid movement. My arms circle her waist, and my lips find hers, cutting off her words. She hesitates, pushing against me, but only for a moment. A second later, her hands are on my neck, in my hair, and her lips part.
And my God, she’s sweet. Sweeter than I remember. I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted a woman this much in my life.
My hand drops to her ass, and I start to pull her against me, wanting her to feel just how much I want her. But then I remember—she’s a virgin. She’s never had a man inside her. And by God, I want the first cock she feels inside her to be mine. I want her to know what ecstasy feels like, and I want to be the one to give it to her.
CHAPTER 16
Renae
I’ve never been kissed like this in my life.
For a moment I’m lost, drowning, blind to everything but the man holding me. His mouth moves against mine with an easy skill, with the confidence of a man who knows how to undo a woman with a single kiss. And I can’t help it—I fall right under his spell. My head goes woozy, my fluttering heart leaps right up into my throat. Our accidental kiss back at the diner in Seattle was jarring, but this is next level. Caspar smells of musk with something gentle and sweet underneath—like vanilla, maybe, or sherry—and it’s intoxicating. Between that and the way his hands are gliding over my back, warm and strong and sure, I don’t have a chance.
I’m not sure I even notice him backing me slowly toward the bed. And if I did, I certainly wouldn’t have the strength to stop him. Suddenly the mattress hits the back of my thighs, and then I’m falling back with Caspar on top of me.
His kisses never stop. His lips move against my mouth, then my jaw, then my throat, seeking and worshiping, making me feel like I’m floating. Despite myself, my fingers curl against him, clutching his shirt, holding him close. It’s been a long time since my body has felt anything like this. I’m sad to say that physical satisfaction is the one thing I’ve ignored again and again in favor of more pressing concerns, and now that I’ve had this taste, my body is reminding me of everything I’ve been missing. It’s like years’ worth of repressed desire is suddenly rising to the surface, making my skin tingle and my heart stutter.
Caspar is moving down now, tracing a path down my neck, exploring the upper curve of my chest. His hands move even lower, grabbing the hem of my shirt and sliding it upwards. His knuckles graze the bare skin of my stomach, and my belly flip-flops. Already my legs are twisting around him of their own volition, wrapping around his hips, silently begging for more.
He chuckles against my chest, a warm, seductive sound that makes my toes curl.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs against my skin. “We’ll get there.” His fingers press flat against my sides, gliding up over my ribs. “I want us to take our time…make sure this is pleasurable for you.” He turns his head, his mouth finding my nipple through my shirt. His lips close around it, and he waits until he hears my gasp before releasing it again. “I want your first time to be as enjoyable and as unforgettable as possible.”
Through the fuzzy haze of my pleasure I correct him without thinking. “I told you, it’s not my first time.”
His head jerks up, his lips dropping into a frown. “It’s not?”
I shouldn’t have said anything. This misunderstanding—and the obvious disappointment in his eyes—kills the mood, snapping me right out of my cloud of lust and back to reality.
“This is a mistake,” I say, shoving at his shoulders. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
He rolls off me, but his eyes never leave mine, and his brow is still wrinkled with confusion and disappointment. “You said you were a virgin.”
“No, you asked if I was a virgin and I told you I wasn’t.”
“You didn’t sound entirely convinced of the matter. If I recall, you used the phrase ‘sort of,’ which doesn’t exactly sound like a denial.”
I sit up, feeling suddenly embarrassed and a little ashamed. “Why does it matter if I’m a virgin or not? That was never part of our deal.” The words come out sharper than I intend, but I don’t like being accused of purposefully misleading him, any more than I like feeling like I’ve disappointed him by having any sort of sexual experience.
“It doesn’t matter, I suppose,” Caspar says, straightening out his shirt. “I just expected a little honesty in the matter.”
I don’t owe you anything, I want to snap. But considering how close I just came to giving him everything…maybe I do owe him something. Not my entire life’s story or anything, but a basic explanation.
“I’ve had sex,” I tell him. “I just don’t really remember it.”
His brows snap together, his confusion immediately replaced by a darker emotion. “You were assaulted?”
“No,” I clarify quickly. “No, nothing like that. I was just dumb.” I realize I can’t really stop there, no matter how much I want to. “Most of my life, I told myself that I was going to save myself for the right person. I know that sounds horribly old fashioned, but I thought it was sort of romantic, only ever being with one guy. I dated over the years, and we would do…other stuff, but I always held off on sex.”
“And then you met someone who changed your mind?” There’s an edge to his voice, but I can’t put a name to the emotion behind it.
I shake my head. “I was dating this guy—Peter—who was great, but I think I knew deep down that he wasn’t the one. He respected my decision to wait, and I know he loved me—and I think I may have loved him, too, but maybe not, looking back. But he was still a guy, and I knew he wanted more. And there were lots of times I thought about taking that step with him. He was a good man.” I pause, collecting my breath for this next part. “And then the accident happened. My mom died, and my dad…well, you know. And I didn’t know what to do with myself. It felt like my entire world shattered in an afternoon. I didn’t even tell Peter at first—maybe that was another sign that he wasn’t the one, that I didn’t immediately go to him for comfort. But there was this student at the university who sold what she called ‘study aids’…mostly stuff to help you concentrate, or to de-stress during finals, that sort of thing. I’d never even considered touching the stuff before, but I bought some pills from her and took them.”
My neck is getting hot, the shame creeping through me, but I’ve said too much to stop now.
“I honestly don’t remember much after that,” I go on. “But apparently I went to Peter’s and we…” I let Caspar fill in that blank. “It wasn’t until late the next morning that I began to feel like myself again. And when Peter realized I didn’t remember anything from the previous night…he flipped out. He had no idea I was under the influence of anything, said I was acting a little mellow, but otherwise normal. He was like me—the poor guy hardly even drank, let alone took any drugs, and he couldn’t even look at me after what happened. I tried to explain about my parents, that I wasn’t coping well, but that only made things worse. He didn’t understand why I didn’t tell him before. He blamed himself for taking advantage of me, even though he had no idea what was going on, and…we broke up.” I look down at my hands, still feeling awful, all this time later. “Nothing I said made him feel any better, and I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to fight to stay together. I told myself I was doing him a favor by bowing out of his life.”
I look up then, and for once Caspar’s face is unreadable, so I can’t tell if he’s sympathetic to or disgusted by my story. I spread my hands.
“And that’s it,” I tell him. “I’m not a virgin, but I don’t remember losing my virginity, so I’m not sure where that puts me as far as technicalities go. Since that incident I haven’t really given much time or attention to dating. I’ve been too busy focusing on my dad in my free time. Which brings us to now.” I straighten, trying to regain some sense of control over all this. “As fun as this was, our situation is already complicated enough. We shouldn’t add sex into the mix.” I stand. “And I really do need to shower.”
He still hasn’t said a word, but as I pass by him, he grabs my hand, stopping me.
My heart gives a little lurch, and I look back at him.
“Please,” I say, tugging on my fingers.
He releases me without a word, but the look in his eyes says it all. And as I hurry into the bathroom to escape him, I try to ignore the tingling in my skin.
CHAPTER 17
Caspar
I take my ukulele from the dresser before crawling and propping myself onto the bed. I begin to strum as my thoughts take over. There’s way too much to unpack—much more than I ever wanted to think about, at any rate. This was all supposed to be so simple. I’d find the right surrogate, marry her for show, impregnate her with my son, and have the child of my dreams.
Easy.
I suppose I hadn’t considered that the woman I’d choose as a surrogate might have emotions of her own. Stupid, I know, but I’d truly believed money would take care of whatever messy feelings might become involved—if any became involved at all.
The thought of saving oneself for marriage seems so antiquated. Of course, I wouldn’t mind if I found a woman who’d saved herself for me. There’s something exciting about the thought of it—knowing I would be the only man to ever give her pleasure, that I would be the only man to know her desires.
It isn’t something I’ve thought of before. But I suppose it’s a moot point now. Renae gave herself to some man under the influence of drugs. Some man she didn’t love.
The thought burns a hole in my gut, and I want to throw the instrument across the room. Why would she do that? I feel for the poor chap. He thought he’d been given a gift, something she could only give once. And then she had no memory of it? I can’t imagine how hurt I’d feel, especially if it was Renae who’d taken it from me.
Renae.
What is it that this woman is doing to me, anyway? I start to strum on the ukulele again. It must be that her story has intrigued me. Or that she’s denied me release.
I glance over at the shower door—that must be it. It’s been days, perhaps even a week since I’ve allowed myself a release. Even longer since I’ve been with a woman. And my cock is still aching with desire for the woman behind that door. I can still taste her, still feel her warm body beneath mine. I can still feel how much she wanted me, too.
I sigh as I continue to play the little tune I learned on my trip to Hawaii last year. I don’t want to risk her coming out of the shower to find me with my cock in my hand, though I wouldn’t mind if she wanted to finish the job for me. No, I’ll just have to wait until I have a moment alone to release this pent-up frustration.
As though she’s read my mind, Renae opens the bathroom door and meets my gaze immediately.
She stares at me for a long moment. “You said you were terrible.”
“I’m certain I said nothing of the sort,” I say, my cock coming to life again at the sight of her. I consider telling her exactly how amazing I know I am but think better of it. The last thing I want is to scare her away now.
“No, you said you were fairly terrible.” She nods. “I’d say that’s not terrible at all.”
“Oh,” I say, straightening myself against my pillows. “The ukulele.”
“What did you think I was talking about?” Her hair is bound in a white towel, and she’s wrapped in a fluffy white robe, which I’m sure is covering her naked body.
The thought makes my mid-section uncomfortably hard again, and I shift to cover it.
She flops onto the bed beside me. “Teach me,” she says.
My God, I think. She has no idea how much I want to teach her.
I gulp, shifting away from her slightly again. “Certainly,” I say, handing the ukulele to her.
She takes the instrument and begins to strum. She plays for a few moments before she hands it back to me, laughing. “I’ve never been very musical. I’ve tried, but it just never took. It’s not something you can really teach yourself from a book, you know?”
I nod, setting the instrument back on my lap, thankful to have something there. I don’t know what it is about her that’s making me outrageously hard. The lilt in her voice? The lavender scent of her soap? I can’t place my finger on it, but I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to hold myself together.
“Can I ask you something, Caspar?”
I clear my throat. “Of course,” I say, my voice not sounding like my own. “Anything.”
“Why do you want a baby?”
“A son,” I correct.
“Well, we’ve had that discussion. You don’t really get to choose. It’s pretty much a fifty-fifty proposition.”
I sigh. If nothing else, this line of conversation has taken a bit of the wind from my sails, so to speak.
“But why?” she continues. “It’s really going to put a cramp in your lifestyle.”
“It’s not going to change my lifestyle at all,” I say. “I’ll teach my son the ways of the world. Show him what it means to be a lord of Wintervale.” And I’ll finally have something of meaning in my life, not that I plan to share that small detail with her. Or with anyone for that matter.
“What does it mean to be a lord of Wintervale?” She cocks her head. “Just out of curiosity.”
“It means many things,” I say. “It’s a great responsibility. It means he’ll be next in line to lead our great province. It means he’ll lead our house. He’ll have a seat in the senate when he’s of age should he so choose.”
She nods. “I see. And none of those things apply if your child is a girl?”
I frown. “No. They would. It’s just… I just want a son.”
