Royal Playboy

by Nana Malone

  Xander

  What the hell was I doing? I had zero experience with women and tears. When I did, usually I was the cause and wanted to avoid being kicked in the nuts.

  But as far as I could tell, I wasn’t the cause of these tears. But just like the day at RADA, the pull to take care of her was stronger than my pull to run. There was no way I could ignore the tears. Especially not in this flat. It was Paris, so it was considerably smaller than my place in London, and the walls were paper thin.

  I knocked, but it took several moments for her to tell me to come in.

  When I entered, her eyes were rimmed red, and despite her attempts at wiping the moisture off her cheeks, tears still clung stubbornly to her lashes. She was on her bed, and her hair was damp and extremely curly. She'd tucked it into a high bun at the top of her head. She wore pajama bottoms and one of the silky camis I'd bought her.

  Oh hell. I could see the perfect outline of her nipples. Eyes on the prize, you lecherous ass. I dragged my gaze up and pinned it to her red-rimmed eyes. "What’s the matter?"

  She shook her head and swiped at the tears with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry.” She shook her head. “I didn't mean to bug you.”

  “You’re not. Clearly you’re upset.” I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. I had no idea what to do or say. Comforting someone was not in my wheelhouse.

  “It’s my headache.”

  “Not just your headache; I want to know.” The words were right, but I sounded annoyed. I needed to try for nurturing and less angry.

  With a sigh, she said, “I got a call from home."

  Did I hold her? Did she want to be left alone? "I don’t understand."

  She rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand. “My father has a way of laying on the guilt. Usually, I can brush it off and ignore him. But I don’t know. Today it just hurt more.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Thank you. But you don’t have to do this. I’m okay. It’s not your problem.”

  I tried to lighten the mood a little and maybe make her smile. I couldn't take tears. Especially not her tears. “I can be a good friend. Don't let the bad-boy smirk and devilish good looks fool you. Let me help.”

  She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "My father is what you would call a functional alcoholic. Except, these days, not so functional.”

  “Why, what’s changed?”

  “Ever since my mom died when I was fifteen, he’s been deteriorating."

  My first thought was I was not equipped for this conversation. But for once it didn't stop me from wanting to help fix it. “Shit, I’m sorry. At least you’re here and you don’t have to deal with that on a day-to-day basis.

  Her shoulders shook slightly. “That’s the crappy thing. I left my sister behind. I got a full ride to RADA, and I bounced. At least that’s how it feels. The plan has always been to bring Ebony with me as soon as she was done with school, but Dad’s getting worse. I don’t want to leave her there.”

  “Is there someone else she can stay with? A friend? Family?”

  “No family except me. And I’m pretty sure her friends would take her in for her senior year, but she’s been accepted at a school here. It just costs more than our father’s willing to pay.” Imani shook her head. “I told you. It’s a long, screwed-up story.”

  I ran my hand through my hair. “Money—is that why you were at the Notting Hill flat?”

  “Yeah. He neglected to pay the mortgage for a while. Ebony called me freaking out, so I thought I could at least put out that fire.”

  Damn. “That’s a lot of guilt you’re carrying around. You might want to take it easy on yourself.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t get it.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe I do. More than you know.”

  I approached the bed cautiously. When was the last time I'd comforted someone? In particular a woman?

  Seduction, I knew how to do. Nurturing, not so much. I could figure this out. How hard could it be? I sat and reached for her, wrapping an arm around her. She slumped into me.

  "I'm sorry. I'm not usually so emotional."

  I smoothed her hair. I'd seen it done enough to fake it. "It's okay. Of course this is going to affect you." I was getting the hang of this. Easy. All I had to do was keep my eyes… I didn’t mean to let my gaze stray from hers, but it dipped for just a second to the pebbled peaks of her nipples under her cami, and blood rushed to my cock.

  Bollocks. Time to go. Releasing her, I stood up abruptly, careful to keep my growing erection under wraps. “Listen, I was going to make some cocoa. Would you like some?”

  In the muted light, with her blinking her dark eyes up at me, I locked my jaw against the rush of need. She didn’t need my particular brand of fucked up. She was plenty screwed up on her own. My cock and I had a silent exchange on the matter.

  Xander: Shut up and go back to sleep, you wanker.

  Cock: Bollocks, like I was asleep, given she’s around.

  Xander: You’re a cunt. We’re leaving her alone.

  Cock: Fucker. Or even better, fuck her.

  And so it went in my head, back and forth, until she reached up and took my hand. “Xander.” Her teeth grazed her bottom lip and my resolve wavered. But it was the whispered way she said, “Please stay,” that made me realize I was going to lose the battle.

  “Imani…” Fuck, why did my voice sound so husky? I cleared my throat. ”I—“

  “Please stay. Talk to me about whatever. I know, I’m probably crossing a million lines or something. But, I dunno—”

  Fuck. My cock twitched, but I refused to concede defeat. I could do something unselfish. I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Scoot over.” She slid over in the bed and I lay next to her, on top of the sheets. “If you snore, I’m out of here.”

  Her bottom lip quivered, but she met my gaze levelly. “Thank you.”

  As I lay there talking to her, I tried to remember the last time I’d done something completely unselfish.

  That’s easy…never.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Imani

  Torture. If I had to describe the prospect of living with the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life, I’d classify it as torture. Not like I didn’t have enough on my plate. Like my sister. Like the finances for my family. Thankfully, thanks to this weekend, I’d managed to make that first mortgage payment to put the bank off for a minute.

  But I had other problems on the horizon. Like having to work with the devil incarnate. I still had several days until the official start of rehearsals. I had to figure out how I was going to deal with Ryan. You are not a victim. And certainly not his victim.

  Screw what Ryan wanted. I had to talk to Charles. He won’t believe you. I had to do something. Because rehearsals would be going for weeks, and there was no way I’d survive having to stare into his eyes every day. Even I wasn’t that strong.

  When the car pulled up to the glass-and-chrome building on the South Bank, I peered up at London’s perpetually gray sky. If I craned my head to the left, I could see the London Eye and Westminster. Restaurants and pubs dotted the street, as did boutiques and several corner shops. Behind the sleek, modern building I could clearly see the Thames River with the barges and houseboats floating along. I knew the area well. Just down the way a little bit was the National Theater.

  Xander tapped my knee, then immediately yanked his hand back as if he’d been burned. With a tight smile, he cocked his head. “C’mon, let’s go in. We can get you settled, then I’ll send someone to your flat to get anything you need.” He slid out of the car and held out a hand to me but then obviously thought better of it and just stepped aside, giving me room.

  As I slid out, I glanced up again. “Where are we?”

  “My flat.” He said it slowly like he was talking to a child or an imbecile. “Remember? You agreed to this.”

  Funny, jackass. “This isn’t Notting Hill.”

  “Oh,” he muttered and glanced down a
t his shoes. “I don’t live there…” His voice trailed off.

  It only took a moment for reality to dawn. “Right.” Apparently, that was just his fuck pad. Fantastic. What did I even know about this guy besides his name?

  Once in the elevator, he touched my elbow gently. “Having second thoughts?”

  Yes. No. I needed the money, and living with him for a couple of weeks wouldn’t kill me. Sex wasn’t part of the bargain, so I could do this. “It’s not that. I’m just realizing I don’t know anything about you besides your name.” I frowned, “Or is that a fake placeholder one too?”

  He smirked, and I forgot to breathe for two beats. “It’s Alexander Andrew Chase.”

  I stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Imani Leah Aysem Brooks.”

  He considered for a moment. “Leah, I like it.”

  “Looks like we’re doing everything a little backward.”

  His grin flashed and my belly flipped. God, that should be outlawed. He looked so boyish and teasing when he smiled like that. Granted, I also liked the intense version of him very much. I admonished myself as heat pooled between my thighs. That was so not happening.

  “Imani?”

  I blinked up at him in surprise. “Yeah?”

  “Did you hear me?”

  Damn it, had he been talking while I ogled him? “Sorry. Just daydreaming. What did you say?”

  He looked me up and down. His voice dropped low when he spoke. “Just what were you thinking about, exactly?”

  “Oh my God, would you stop with the patented Xander Chase seduction voice? It’s distracting.”

  He laughed. “I should have my seduction patented? Wicked. Unlike my brother, I don’t have patents. I’ve always wanted one of my own. So, you want to explain just how distracting I am?”

  “And swell up your enormous head even more? No. I do not.” I laughed.

  He cocked his head and winked at me. “Which head would you be talking about?”

  I covered my eyes. “You’re impossible.”

  His laugh made me want to melt into a pile of goo, but I steeled myself against it. If I were going to make it for the next few weeks with him, I’d have to get used to it.

  The elevator let us out on the penthouse level, and my breath caught. For starters, the place was huge. So much room I could probably even lose him in there. Everything was hypermodern, from the low chairs and chrome fixtures to the white, gray and black palette for all the furniture. But he’d added warmth with the pictures on the walls and the accessories.

  The pillows and throw rugs contained an eclectic mix of African, Middle Eastern, and Asian influences. The photos were simply exquisite. Like the accessories, the walls were an eclectic mix of photos from all around the world. “My God, Xander. This is amazing.” They were mostly stunning landscapes, but quite a few candid portraits as well. He also peppered in some abstract work.

  A light flush stained his cheeks. “Uh, glad you like it. Just bits and bobs from the places I’ve been. And my favorite photographs.”

  “It’s perfect.” I could probably spend days just studying the photos on the walls.

  He cleared his throat. “There are two master bedrooms down here and two smaller bedrooms upstairs. I’ll put you in one of the masters if that’s okay. There’s more than enough room. No need for us to be on top of each other.”

  My lips twitched, and I couldn’t help myself. “That’s what she said.”

  Xander blinked at me once, then again. Then the sound of his laugh ricocheted off the walls of the flat. “Oh my God, I am engaged to a twelve-year-old boy.”

  I looked down at my body. “With tits.”

  His gaze flickered to my chest, then back to my face again. “You are probably going to be the death of me.”

  “Probably.” I shrugged. “So, what are my chances that you’ve got a bus schedule around here somewhere? Or can you tell me which way is the nearest tube station? I’ve got to start with some logistics of getting around to rehearsals now that I’ll be staying here.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll have a car service take you.”

  “You’re kidding, right? I take the bus all the time. The tube too. It’s perfectly safe. If it’s going to be past midnight, I’ll call a mini cab or something.”

  He frowned, then folded his arms over his chest. I’d seen that look before. He had no intention on budging. It was the look he’d given me at rehearsal that day. “You’ll take a car. It’s safer and more convenient for you.”

  “I appreciate it. I do. But honestly, I need to figure out how I’m going to do things on my own.”

  “You forget you’re playing the part of my fiancée, right? And it looks bad if I’ve got you hopping on the bus.”

  “Oh, come on. That’s just some elitist bullshit.”

  He stepped into my space, crowding me. “You realize that the paparazzi can follow you onto a train, and there’ll be no getting away from them. Same with a bus.”

  “Oh, come on, you said it yourself. There should be minimal paparazzi.”

  “Why are you being so stubborn about this? Why can’t you just do what I ask?”

  I jutted my chin out. “Because I don’t like to be told what to do. This is my independence you’re talking about. I need freedom to move about. Go out with the cast, that sort of thing.”

  The frown lines on his forehead deepened. “You mean go out with Ryan?”

  I would rather be flayed alive, but I wasn’t giving him any more reason to throw his weight around. “Who I go out with is none of your business.”

  “It is for the next couple of weeks.”

  We were nearly chest to chest now, both of our breathing choppy and uneven. His gaze dipped to my lips. And I licked them in an automatic subconscious response. Xander’s pupils dilated, and for a long moment he stilled on the precipice of giving me a kiss.

  But then he lifted his head and took a very deliberate step backward. His gaze shifted to my eyes and he swallowed. “Please. I’m asking nicely.”

  His clear, gray gaze implored me. “Fine. If it will get you off my case.” If this battle of wills was any indication, then it was going to be a long two weeks.

  Imani

  I tapped my foot impatiently outside of the rehearsal hall. I'd been trying to reach Charles for two days since I got back, but he hadn’t had any time to meet until an hour before I was supposed to go on and rehearse with Ryan.

  "Imani, I'm so sorry I couldn't meet until now. As you can imagine, there is a lot of press surrounding the show, so I’ve been working with marketing and PR. How is my star doing?"

  "Hi, Charles. Is there any way we can go in to chat for a minute?"

  "Sure." He led me in and turned on the lights illuminating the stage. There was something about seeing the spotlight on the stage that always relaxed me. It was the one place I felt at home. Like I could explore every single thing I was feeling in a safe way. In real life, I had generally learned to block out the less pleasant emotions by working hard and burying them deep.

  Once we were seated in one of the center rows, he asked, "What’s going on with you, Imani? Normally you don’t let an upcoming show stress you out.”

  "Who says I’m stressed?"

  He raised a brow. "Besides being your advisor, I saw your audition tape. I hand-selected you to be in the program. I fought for you to stay. I know you."

  I sighed. Not as well as he thought he did. "Okay, I'm sorry to have to come to you with this, but—" I paused, trying to find the best words to use. "Ryan and I, we—”

  His smile was fatherly and endearing when he interrupted me. “You used to go out? Imani, I know that already. You two were very discreet at the time, and I figured it was none of my business if it didn't interfere with your studies or your performance. And to be honest, he told me about it when I cast him. He didn’t want there to be any tension between you two."

  Ryan had preempted me? What had the sack of lying, festering shit said? "I didn't know h
e'd already spoken to you."

  "Yes, he explained that your relationship was... volatile, but that you had mostly worked through your issues and you'd be able to work together."

  No, we would not be able to work together. I ground my teeth as I willed my body to still. Volatile? Is that what he called it? What he'd done to me? As if we were just a passionate couple who fought?

  "Charles, I assure you that I'm a professional and I can do my job. And I don't know what he told you exactly, but I have real concerns about working with him."

  My mentor's brows drew down. "I don’t understand."

  "I—" I held my breath. What I said today would determine my future. Would he believe me? Maybe if I'd been the first to speak to Charles then he would be more likely to. But since Ryan had spoken to him first, it would look like sour grapes. Or worse, like I was being a diva.

  Charles could determine the trajectory of my career. A career Ryan had already started to establish. But I was smart enough to know I couldn’t be alone with the asshole. Thinking fast I said, “I just mean that given our past, to keep the rumors quiet, maybe we shouldn’t rehearse alone. My concern is for the integrity of the show." My throat burned with the need to say the words out loud. He raped me. He held me down when I said no and forced me to have sex with him, and then he told me there was nothing I could do about it because I was his girlfriend and no one would believe me.

  But I couldn’t spit out those words. Instead I spoke about the show and what it meant to me. I was a liar. But I was not going to be anyone's victim. Especially not Ryan’s. Charles studied me, but then nodded. "I can see where you’re going. A play like this, the media would be all over it if they thought you were in a romantic relationship in real life." He seemed to consider the idea. "I mean it wouldn’t really hurt if you were. It might even boost interest.”

  “No.” Something vile and insidious wrapped around my spine. I would not do that. "Not going to happen, Charles. It's about the play.” Then I threw out the one thing I had in my pocket. "Besides, I'm with Xander Chase."