Defiant Prince: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Black Rose University Book 1)

by A G Henderson

  I don’t know how long I stayed that way before a finger lifted my chin.

  Eyes hooded, Ambrose watched me carefully. “One of these days,” he whispered, “you’re going to tell me where you disappear to in that head of yours.”

  “I’m not sure you could handle it,” I said, cheeks twitching at his sullen glare. “There’s a distinct lack of skulls and blood and death. You might implode.”

  “Smartass.”

  “Takes one to know one.” My pulse spiked before I blurted, “I don’t want to go back out there.”

  Fuck. Why did I tell him that? Talk about spreading yourself over an altar. I knew better than to give guys anything they could use against me. At least, I should’ve known better after—

  Ambrose stepped out from between my legs and my thoughts collided against each other before coming to a messy halt.

  He’d disposed of the condom while I was lost in my thoughts. His dick was in that perfect in-between stage. Hard enough to send another wave of heat through my core at the thought of what we’d done. Soft enough that I could drop to my knees, lift it from his thigh, and take the whole thing into my mouth without dislocating my jaw.

  “My eyes are up here, cupcake girl.”

  Cheeks burning, I kept my gaze on his dick as it twitched. “I have to say, I might like this view more. Your face is still kind of infuriating in its smug perfection.”

  “Compliments now?” He got dressed while I watched, content to see his sculpted form flex and roll. He slowly buttoned his shirt and my lady bits would’ve whimpered if they weren’t so sore already.

  “A brief moment of insanity. Pretend you didn’t hear anything.”

  I hopped down from the desk once I knew my legs would support me. My lips thinned at the prospect of getting dressed. My thighs were sticky, and I desperately needed a shower, but I couldn’t walk out of here naked either.

  Ambrose watched me get dressed, heat burning behind his stare. His obvious admiration made me stand a little taller and lift my chin higher. I didn’t need a guy’s attention to feel good about myself, about my body. But I’d be lying if I claimed it didn’t feel damn good to be on the receiving end of his desire.

  I messed around with my hair for a moment then abandoned that venture. I knew lost causes, so I settled for lifting it off my neck and letting the air conditioning cool me down some. My empty stomach protested, and I briefly passed a hand over it as if anything but food could soothe that issue.

  “Emily.” Ambrose wore a strange expression when I glanced at him. I couldn’t put a name to it. “Wait here for a minute.”

  My eyes narrowed, a small spark igniting in my chest. “If you want to leave without being seen with me, then by all means—”

  He moved like a superhero, snapping into action so fast I barely had time to react before he’d invaded my space, forcing me backward. My legs bumped the desk and I had to brace my hands against the cool wood to keep from ending up on top of it again.

  His chest heaved with barely leashed anger. “Your assumptions are starting to piss me the fuck off. Just stay here for a second until I come back.”

  “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “And don’t I fucking know it. Can you do what I tell you without the color commentary?”

  I studied him carefully. Fat lot of good it did me. I had no clue what I was looking for. When I tried to stand upright and he didn’t budge, I rolled my eyes and relented with a shrug.

  “Good enough.” He let me up and moved to the door. “I’ll be right back, and that fine ass better be exactly where I left it.”

  He slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him without an or else. But I caught the implication of it. While he was gone, I went about straightening some of the mess we’d made while idly wondering what he considered punishment.

  I’d never been restrained before, and though I hadn’t spent much time in his room, I remembered the solid structure of his bed. Handcuffs could be interesting. Trapped and at his mercy while he did whatever he wanted?

  My heart said bad idea.

  My body said sign us up.

  While I used the edge of a notebook to pick up glass from the broken picture frame, I thought about how I’d immediately jumped to the idea that his punishment would be sex related.

  For a moment I felt like a sex-drunk hussy. Then I remembered the guy in question had my panties in his pocket and didn’t seem intent on returning them. That made me feel better.

  After several minutes, I surveyed my handiwork.

  Things were mostly back in place as best as I could figure. I didn’t have a fancy photographic memory to know for sure. I was just starting to wonder what the hell I was supposed to do now when I heard voices through the door.

  “I said I’ve got it,” Ambrose told someone. “Fuck off and make yourself scarce.”

  I laughed under my breath then wiped my face clean when the door opened. A comment on his complete lack of manners sat perched on the tip of my tongue. It promptly fell to its silent demise when I turned and spotted the plates in his hand.

  Ambrose kicked the door shut and crossed the room in a few long strides. Struck dumb and mute, I watched him place a fresh stack of chocolate chip pancakes and an omelet on the desk before staring down at it with my brows furrowed.

  He remembered what I ordered?

  My mouth opened and I didn’t know what might come out of it. He saved me from myself.

  “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he said, dragging his thumb across his jaw.

  So instead of focusing on this strange act of generosity, I asked, “Where’s yours?”

  “I didn’t know how long I had before you bolted so I kept it simple.” He pointed to the chair and I found myself dropping into it. “Go ahead and eat. I text my parents and said you weren’t feeling well. They’re paying for the check and leaving with your parents in tow soon.”

  “Renata? She rode with me.”

  “She’ll figure something out.”

  I heard what he hadn’t said. That he was playing interference. Keeping me from dealing with more callous bullshit.

  Emotion clogged my throat, and I unfolded the silverware he placed in front of me as slowly as I could. I’d never even answered the question he pulled us in here for. Yet he’d known exactly what I needed and made it happen.

  My heart stared at a trampoline and glanced up at me with puppy dog eyes, begging to feel the rush I was barely holding at bay.

  “Here,” I choked out, failing to keep my voice even. I pushed the omelet towards him. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach,” I answered when his glare returned. “I can’t finish everything.”

  He ran his teeth over his lips before sitting across from me. “Fuck.” I glanced at him. “Syrup.”

  Ambrose disappeared just long enough for me to let a tear fall and brush it away. When he came back, I was smiling. It was a relief to find out he really was human beneath that statue-like exterior.

  He cared.

  He forgot things.

  He fucked like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

  We ate in a peaceful silence that meant more to me than he could’ve known. The emptier my plate became, the more I mourned having this moment end. Once our heads cooled, we’d be on opposite sides again. He had duties as a Tarot that I couldn’t begin to guess at. Meanwhile, I was here for myself and no one else.

  But having someone in my corner after weeks of being in choppy, unforgiving waters without an anchor? I’d miss it. That was all I was willing to admit.

  I blamed that sappy feeling for what came out of my mouth once we’d finished and stepped into the sun, assessing each other with equal parts caution, frustration, and need.

  “The day you picked me up from the hospital,” I whispered, twisting the fabric of my skirt between my fingers, “my mom had just overdosed the night before. It was...close.”

  Of all the reactions I’d considered—pity, shock, disgust—rage was the leas
t expected. Yet there it was, swift and unrelenting. Blinding in its intensity.

  The humanity I thought I’d seen in him slid from his face, replaced by a harsh mask that accentuated all his sharp angles, making him look that much more fearsome.

  My pulse fluttered as he swelled before my eyes, his fury so potent the flames of it bit at my exposed skin, making the sun overhead pale in comparison.

  I thought about the blood on his knuckles that day and my mouth went dry.

  “Ro?” I said softly.

  He stared up at the sky, lips a thin slice, a muscle in his jaw jumping frantically.

  I took a measured step closer, ignoring every instinct in my body to move away from the danger zone. This reminded me of the night of the party, when he’d stomped onto the dance floor and grabbed me with a murderous scowl in place.

  Except about...ten times worse.

  “Ambrose,” I tried again.

  My hand touched his arm, and his suspended animation came to an end.

  He cursed, rapidly.

  His hands balled into fists.

  Then...he walked away.

  I stared at his back as my hand fell to my side, more confused than hurt. And in the time it took to decide whether or not I should follow, I’d lost sight of him in the crowds of people going up and down the streets.

  There’s a good chance I would’ve stood there like an idiot for another hour if the valet hadn’t pressed my keys into my hand.

  I jumped when he did, and he shrank back. It took me a moment to figure out why. He was the one that I’d messed with before. Surely, I wasn’t so believable that he couldn’t bear to meet my eyes?

  “Look,” I started, prepared to apologize. “I don’t—”

  “Please don’t tell him about earlier,” the man said. I was about to ask who when his eyes darted up the street, following the path Ambrose had blazed. “I swear it won’t happen again.”

  I climbed in my Jeep without answering. Gripped the wheel. Stared at the street like it could even begin to answer all the questions I had.

  But one surged to the forefront.

  Why are people so afraid of you, Ambrose LaCroix?

  22

  Ambrose

  The other three found me in one of the local parks once night fell, occupying a bench that no one had dared approach for hours. I didn’t acknowledge their presence. I kept my eyes on the stars above, wishing I had the power to reach out and extinguish them.

  By nature, I wasn’t hot-blooded. The rage that consumed me earlier had long since cooled enough that I was no longer in danger of trying to put my fist through a tree. It wasn’t gone, either.

  Just buried. Waiting. Biding its time until I could find an appropriate target.

  “...overdosed the night before.”

  I gripped the bench hard enough for the wood to creak. See? There it was already. My anger was so close to the surface it practically coated my skin.

  The smell of weed registered before Erik’s foot nudged mine. “He’s obviously not dead, but is anyone else a bit fucking concerned right now?”

  “This isn’t like him,” Baron said. “Going MIA is more your speed.”

  “Give me a break. I only turn my phone off when I’m getting my dick wet. You ever been balls deep when Let It Go starts playing? I still finished, but it was a close thing.”

  Baron sighed. “Why not just change your ringtone? I set it to that as a joke. I didn’t know you’d ruin it for me forever by linking it with your disgusting sex life.”

  “It annoys me to no end, so it stands out against the boring options.”

  The sound of impact followed by muttered complaints told me Chrom had punched Erik in the arm.

  “This isn’t the time.” Chrom leaned over me, face pinched with concern. He was a bright spot of gold against the inky backdrop that matched my soul.

  I wanted to keep my anger directed at Emily’s mom for being a selfish, cruel, egotistical bitch that couldn’t see beyond her reconstructed nose to realize the effect her actions had on her daughter.

  But the sight of Chrom—football hero, friend to all, bastion of dependability—stabbed me in the chest with the truth.

  How could I point my finger at someone else for traits that I embodied just as much?

  How many people had crumbled beneath my cruelty? How many lives had I influenced without a care for anything other than my own benefit? How had I reached a point where my world revolved around fixing my mistake at the cost of everything else?

  The Tarots were never meant to be judge, jury, and executioner, although I’d heard rumors of that last role being filled to deadly purpose back in my parents’ era.

  We were supposed to be guardians first and foremost, the first line of defense against abuses of power no matter where you stood on the food chain. Wealth turned people into fucking scumbags. Just look at Kelvin Monahan. He thought the string of zeros in his bank accounts made him untouchable. In a city born on riches, he was neither the first nor the last to hold that same sentiment.

  That’s where we were supposed to step in. To determine as a council whether someone or something was interrupting the balance Mom always preached about, and then determine how to correct that issue.

  Someone had to be the mediator between overgrown, spoiled children used to writing a check and getting whatever they wanted.

  And yet, here we were.

  I charged a premium for our services like we were mercenaries, knowing good and full well not everyone could pay my price.

  I performed a song and dance regarding the selection, pretending like I hadn’t made my pick before they ever approached us.

  I dragged my friends, my brothers, along this same path with me and claimed I was doing them a service just because I tried to save the dirtiest work for myself.

  Fuck. Emily was right. I really was an asshole.

  Chrom flashed a grin and stood over my leg, drawing my attention. “Wake the fuck up,” he said. “Use your words or give some sign of life before I’m forced to give you a lap dance. I’ve been told I’ve got a twerk that could bring the dead back to life.”

  I sat up straight, scowling to hide my slight smile. “What does that even mean?” I mumbled, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. “Hell, when have you even had a chance to twerk?”

  He wagged his brows, looking utterly pleased with himself. “You don’t know all my secrets, Ro. It’s probably better off that way.”

  “It’s true,” Baron said. “I can testify as an unfortunate and unwilling witness. There isn’t enough bleach in the world to cleanse my brain of that memory.”

  “Seconded,” Erik chimed in. “Thirded? Whatever. It can never be forgotten.”

  “Oh come on,” Chrom said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  Baron chuckled. “We obviously have different ideas of ‘not that bad.’ The only thing that made it worthwhile was the look on that Thornwood girl’s face when you actually did it.”

  I frowned. It sounded like they’d crashed a party at our rival school. Without me. “Where was I when this catastrophe happened?”

  The three of them shared a look and my stomach clenched. We weren’t around each other twenty-four seven. We didn’t share a hive mind either. But being so completely out of the loop felt...weird. Lonely.

  Chrom was the first to meet my eye again. He gripped the back of his neck, plainly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation had turned.

  “This happened before classes started,” he said. “You were...out, doing whatever it is you do when none of us can reach you. It’s why it took us this long to come find you. We figured you might be occupied.”

  He was careful to keep the accusation out of his tone. I heard it anyway. And could I blame him? Could I blame any of them?

  My eyes bounced between the three of them, finding careful neutrality on each of their expressions. Well, except for Erik. The joint between his lips didn’t completely disguise his annoyance. I dropped my gaze to the ground.
/>
  “Y’all have never asked,” I said, voice strained and gruff. “In five years, not once have I been questioned about the money or where it’s going or why the fuck I would even need it when we each come from wealth.”

  It wasn’t the first time this had ever occurred to me. But I’d had other things to worry about than the buried grenade no one seemed eager to pull the pin on. I’d been content to let the lies languish and grow until I hardly remembered where they started.

  It wasn’t important before.

  Now? It was, and I blamed Emily Brennan.

  The more time she spent on my mind, occupying my thoughts, the more I remembered the little girl dressed like a princess, so untouched by the harsher side of the world that she felt comfortable launching into conversation with a complete stranger. She’d shared her love and passion for something as simple as a cupcake without a single worry.

  Those days were long gone, and while she wasn’t purely innocent anymore, her heart was still the same. Too big. Too soft for her own good.

  I’d watched her interactions on campus when she didn’t know she was being observed. She’d held a door so long I’m sure she ended up being late to class. She’d chased a guy down after he’d dropped his phone without noticing. She’d endured her mom crushing her spirit in front of an audience without so much as an aggravated sigh.

  And I’d wanted to destroy her for no other reason than I found her distracting?

  My stomach pitched sideways, and I was grateful there wasn’t much food in it.

  Baron took his glasses off and rubbed at an invisible smudge. “We’re not fools, Ambrose. Our group looked different years ago. You, me, Chrom, Renata...Kaylee.”

  I winced upon hearing her name. My mistake. My debt. The dagger impaled in my back that I could never quite reach while it bled me slowly.

  “We were thick as thieves,” he continued, narrowed eyes watching my every twitch and shift. “Then one day, we’re all on the mountain without a care in the world and you and Kaylee venture off. Except neither of you came back.”