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

by A G Henderson

  “You’re not funny.”

  That didn’t stop him from doing as I asked. Part of me expected the ground to fall out from underneath me with him being so cooperative. Then again, if the world was going to end it probably would’ve done so earlier.

  When I let him kiss me.

  When we cuddled in his bed.

  When I put on one of his too-big-for-me t-shirts and a pair of shorts to come downstairs and bake together like we were an item or something.

  Sure, we were getting along alright at the moment. I placed that solely at the feet of good sex. Alright, who was I kidding? Fucking great sex. Mind-numbing, firework-exploding, life-changing sex.

  Or was I talking about the kiss?

  Ambrose leaned against the counter beside me, looking good enough to eat. I wasn’t just saying that because I was hungry, either.

  His hair was still messy from my fingers and there were raised, red scratches on his neck. One glance at his pink lips and my stomach heated, flipping end over end with the urge to lean forward and feel them against mine once more.

  His eyes darkened, dropping to my mouth. The kiss he swooped in and placed on my lips was gone too fast for my liking, yet it left me breathing hard all the same.

  He smirked, flicking his gaze towards the counter. “Are you supposed to be putting so much of that in at once?”

  I had to shake myself to get my brain going again. That came along with an eloquent, “huh?” before I followed his attention and saw the batter overflowing where I hadn’t stopped pouring.

  “Dang it.” I moved onto the rest before I could get distracted again. “That’s your fault. When that one comes out like some godforsaken blob, it’s all yours. Just so you know.”

  He moved closer, nose brushing against the shell of my ear. “I’m sure I’ll savor the taste,” he drawled, and I got the feeling he wasn’t talking about the cupcakes.

  My cheeks heated as if he hadn’t seen every bit of me a short while ago. I nudged him with my shoulder. “Ease up, Romeo. The master needs space to work and you’re not helping.”

  “I thought I was supposed to be your assistant.”

  “That was before I realized how organized your kitchen is. Whose idea was it to label...well, everything.”

  A quick laugh slipped from his mouth. “You can thank Baron for that. He can’t stand for anything to be out of order. It’s what makes him so good at keeping track of things.”

  “What kind of things might that be, exactly?”

  The question was out there before I realized how it sounded. He had to be talking about Tarot business. I had to stop for a second to backtrack and figure out why I’d even asked.

  Sure, I’d been slightly curious about what went on behind the scenes. Who wouldn’t be? The guy literally had Death as a nickname. It wouldn’t make sense if I wasn’t interested in what it meant or how it came about. That didn’t explain why I was suddenly so curious now.

  The only thing that had changed was...

  That kiss.

  That stupid, I never should’ve let it happen kiss.

  It was already changing everything. Weren’t people supposed to learn from the mistakes of their pasts? Had I slept through that particular history class?

  The last time I kissed a guy, I wound up with a broken knee, a wounded heart, and a prescription for pills that made me feel like the whole world was one continuous shade of gray.

  But here I was, kissing a guy more dangerous than Dylan Oliver by leaps and bounds.

  “I’ll break his legs for you,” Ambrose said, pulling me into the present.

  I rolled my eyes. “It was years ago. Stop being ridiculous.”

  “It’s funny that you think I’m joking.”

  I finished pouring the batter and slid it into the oven, flipping switches to the right temperature before I faced him. Nothing about the look in those dark eyes said he was kidding. Goosebumps spread across my arms as he let me take him in, seeing his sincerity.

  My morals needed duct tape or something. I wasn’t supposed to be flattered and kind of turned on by him threatening retribution, right? That said something about me, and I wasn’t sure I cared for the answer.

  I shook my head to snap myself out of it. Again. He needed to stop pushing all the right buttons or I was going to ruin him for other girls. My hands curled into fists at the thought of him with someone else and I did an epic job of ignoring it.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I said. “What is Baron’s role in your little clique?”

  “You’re not more interested in mine?”

  I shrugged. “I think I’ve put it together well enough. You’re the leader and the scary punishment that comes along when people fall out of line.”

  Ambrose grabbed a piece of unused strawberry from the cutting board and popped it into his mouth. The flex of his jaw distracted me from his approach. Then his hands were on my hips and he’d pinned me against the counter, looming above me like an endless patch of midnight and desire.

  “You’re close enough,” he muttered against my skin, nose dragging along the curve of my neck. “I keep our secrets, our silence, sometimes by any means necessary.”

  I gasped when he pinched my hip, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Is this where you tell me that you’ll have to hurt me if you reveal anything else?”

  “I’ll never hurt you again.”

  His jaw pulsed and I felt his fury against my senses like the crackle of a fuse leading to an explosion.

  “You’re doing it again.” My hand lifted, cupping his jaw. I thought my heart would melt when he leaned into my touch. “Except I can’t tell why this time.”

  “Doing what?” he asked.

  “You seethe when you’re pissed about something. It doesn’t show on your face much, so you might fool other people. But your whole body tightens like a spring.”

  His thumb swept across my cheek. “For someone who couldn’t stand me, you’ve made a lot of observations.”

  I stood on my toes and pretended to bite at him. “Isn’t there a whole book about war and knowing your enemies?” I slipped around him so I could finish making the frosting before he distracted me again. “Maybe I’m playing the long game.”

  He leaned on the counter, watching me. “Is that what we are? At war?”

  My grin was the smuggest thing in existence. “Wouldn’t you like to know...”

  “I would,” he shot back. “I don’t want to be at war with you.”

  I froze.

  Okay, just breathe. You remember how to do that, right? He’s offering to be less awful. This isn’t a confession of his undying love.

  And of course it wasn’t. It would be reaching to assume he was even capable of such a tender emotion somewhere in his cold, dead heart. Just because his icy demeanor thawed when we touched didn’t mean there was anything between us other than good old-fashioned lust.

  Now the only question was this: how many sedatives would it take to get my heart to stop doing acrobatics?

  Stupid organ. I rubbed absently at my chest. You’re supposed to be on my side.

  “Then stop being a colossal dick,” I said, striving to keep my tone light. Going by his assessing look, I’d probably failed.

  His head tilted.

  I turned into a fidgety mess.

  Then I almost jumped for joy when the oven beeped and gave me a reprieve from the inquisition I could see unfolding.

  I pulled on some oven mitts and retrieved the tray, setting it on a side counter to cool as the sweet smell of freshly baked goodness floated through the house.

  “Huh.” Ambrose peered over my shoulder. “Those look surprisingly good.”

  My head whipped around fast enough to slap him with several loose locks of hair. He deserved it.

  I cocked my hip, arms folding. “What do you mean surprisingly?

  He put his hands up and retreated, flashing a blinding smile that went straight to my core. “That came out wrong,” he said. “You just mad
e it look so easy.”

  Pleasure warned my chest and left a smile on my lips I tried my hardest to contain. Honestly, I wanted to strut around like a peacock announcing how great I was to the world. But that would have to wait until after he’d tasted them.

  A mental princess-wave to an imaginary crowd would have to tide me over until then.

  I extended my left arm, drawing his eyes to the bright colors marking my skin. “Did you think I got a cupcake themed tattoo for fun?”

  “I know a girl who had her asshole tattooed so I try not to judge.”

  “Gag.” My nose wrinkled. “You could’ve kept that to yourself.”

  He laughed. “I could have. But then I would’ve missed—”

  “Do I smell sweets!?” came from the other side of the front door right before Chrom barreled inside, followed by a mildly curious-looking Baron and a scowling Erik.

  The sight of my brother—still pissed at me—swung a hammer at my good mood.

  Except when Ambrose put his hand on the small of my back, the impact I’d expected would shatter my happiness fell short.

  I snuck a glance at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. His attention stayed on Erik long enough to make me frown. At least until Chrom came around to our side of the kitchen and reached for the cupcakes.

  “Hey!” I batted at his hand and he pulled back with a pout. “That look does not work on me. Your ass is way too big to be pouting.”

  “But they’re right there!” His brows drew together like he couldn’t understand being told no.

  I would’ve thought he was putting on a performance if not for the rest of the guys groaning.

  “They need to cool for at least a half-hour so I can frost them,” I said. “And they’re not for you anyway.”

  Baron slid onto the stool opposite us, glancing around the kitchen. “You’re making four dozen cupcakes and you’re not going to share?” He flicked his eyes towards Ambrose. “No wonder you two are getting along now.”

  The air thickened at his implication. Ambrose stilled, his body cocked and loaded. Chrom grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Erik continued to glare, and Baron looked at me with the same clinical apathy as always, but with a touch of challenge.

  He thinks he can get under my skin. Bless his heart.

  I served up a smile so sweet it would make a dentist cry. “Don’t be shy, Churchill, you can say it. Freshly fucked looks damn good on me.”

  Chrom choked on his water then doubled over, howling with laughter. He slapped at his knee, tears gathering in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but giggle when he threw his head back and started all over again.

  Ambrose pulled me against him, chuckling into my hair. Erik seemed more disgusted than pissed at me, which I’d count as a win. Baron gave me a single, slow blink before leaving the room without another word.

  “I don’t think he likes me,” I said.

  Chrom sucked in a sharp breath. “He...” A fresh round of laughter cut him off. “He...can’t...”

  Erik shot a rubber band at Chrom, hitting him in the chest, but the football player couldn’t help himself.

  My brother opened his mouth and I think only Ambrose noticed how I froze.

  “Chuckles here”—Erik tipped his head towards Chrom—”is trying to tell you that Baron’s silence says a lot. Knowing him, he had several scripts running in his head that would change depending on your response. But you hit him with something he didn’t expect. That’s not easy to do.”

  Emotion clogged my throat. Stung my eyes. I made myself busy returning ingredients to their places so no one would see how deeply affected I was by my brother not talking to me like he despised my existence.

  Ambrose suspected. I felt him watching me as the three of them talked about a party on the other side of town. I kept my chin up, waiting to see if our truce would hold, or if he’d throw this in my face and amuse himself with the damage he wrought.

  At some point, both he and Chrom started helping me get the kitchen back in order. It wasn’t until everything was put away or safely tucked inside the dishwasher that I realized not a single insult had been lobbed my way.

  Guess the devil really did keep his word. Who knew?

  “...coming with us, right?” Chrom nudged me. “Anyone home, killer?”

  It took me a second to rein in my focus. “Sorry. I missed like, all of that.”

  “The party,” Erik said. “You’re coming?”

  Twice in one day. Did I make a deal with the actual Devil without noticing?

  I glanced at Ambrose. It sounded like they were all going, so it wasn’t like this was a date. But just because we hadn’t set any rules didn’t change the fact that things were different between us.

  Labels and logic be damned, I would flip the fuck out if some girl tried to latch onto him in front of me.

  Ambrose didn’t give anything away no matter how hard I looked at him. So, I went with my gut.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m down.”

  Chrom grinned. “Dope. Next question: you’re not really gonna hoard all those cupcakes to yourself, are you?”

  “No. Whenever I go overboard, I share some then give the rest to a shelter.”

  That made Erik’s scowl return for some reason. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  An insult nearly sprang from my tongue. Snapping my teeth together, I managed to catch it. I’d made a truce with Death, surely, I could extend another olive branch for family.

  I ignored the fluttery feeling in my stomach as I added a light, milk-chocolate frosting to the first dozen and plated them. I’d mastered this recipe years ago. There wasn’t any reason for me to be nervous, yet I held my breath as Ambrose brought his first bite to his mouth and the others followed suit.

  Well, followed suit was a bit of a stretch.

  Chrom threw the whole thing in his mouth, chewed a few times, swallowed, and reached for another before I could so much as voice my outrage.

  “You didn’t even taste it!” I cried.

  He winked. “That’s what the second one is for.” He held up a finger while he polished round two off in a few bites. “Yep, just like I thought. Fucking delicious.”

  “Not bad at all,” Erik said, getting to his feet and snatching another from the plate before he walked off.

  I didn’t mind. Coming from him, that was enough praise to border on a religious experience.

  A low, sexy moan registered. My eyes landed on Ambrose. He licked his lips slowly, giving me a heated look.

  “Best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he whispered.

  I genuinely wasn’t sure if he was talking about me or the cupcake, but I was good with either.

  Chrom made two more disappear so fast it was like magic. “Ro, you know I love you like a brother, right?”

  “Yeah...” Ambrose narrowed his eyes.

  “Good, because I need you to believe me when I say I will murder you if you let this one”—Chrom nodded at me—”slip through your fingers.”

  “Not gonna happen,” Ambrose told him. He faced me before I could hide my surprise at his declaration, and he lifted a brow like he loved catching me off guard. “Let me take you back to your dorm so that you can get ready for tonight.”

  “And let Renata know when you see her,” Chrom said. “If she finds out we’re crashing a Thornwood party, she’ll just show up pissed at us.”

  “Wait.” I glanced between the two of them. “No one said anything about party crashing.”

  Ambrose sucked frosting from his thumb. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I still need to get the other cupcakes ready for—”

  He silenced me with a kiss before grabbing my hand and dragging me away. I glanced back at Chrom to make sure I wasn’t imagining this whole thing and found him grinning.

  Ambrose tugged me towards the garage. “I’ll take care of it. You don’t concern yourself with anything other than the party.” He pulled me closer, squeezing my ass hard enough to make me gasp. “And w
hat we’re going to do afterward...”

  26

  Emily

  Ambrose: Pulling up in five.

  Me: See you soon.

  “They’re almost here!” I called to Renata, smiling as I put my phone down and took one last glance at myself in the mirror.

  After getting a brief rundown on the bad blood between the two schools, I’d opted for function over glamor. My grey jeans were tight but stretchy, tucked into a pair of low-cut, black boots with silver buckles. The black halter top I’d paired with it showed off my midriff and was cut into a V deep enough to make it look like the girls might spill from it at any moment. Thanks to the miracle of double-sided tape, they wouldn’t, but Ambrose didn’t know that.

  I’d wrangled my red and blonde mane into a high ponytail that brought more attention to the silver choker around my neck. And to finish off the look, gloss made my lips shine and a light blue shadow had been applied around my eyes.

  Grabbing a tiny wallet that had the bare necessities—ID, credit card, a bit of cash—I blew a kiss to the girl in the mirror and went in search of Renata.

  I found her in the living room with a sneer on her face, holding the front of a black, shimmery dress over her breasts. Her open-toed heels made her legs stretch for miles, and her dark hair was a work of art, falling in beautiful ringlets.

  “Umm,” I started, looking her up and down. “You doing alright?”

  “Peachy,” she hissed, “but this thing is a bitch to put on.”

  “Turn around.”

  She did.

  I whistled.

  Her middle finger came up a heartbeat later.

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “You had to know that was coming. I had no idea you were so...fit.”

  Renata surprised me with a quick booty pop. “I can thank years of soccer. Now, hurry up. I’m ready to get out there and break some hearts.”

  I’d just finished sorting all the crisscrossing straps that went up her back when a horn blew outside.

  “Time to blow them away, Little Brennan. Let’s do this thang.”

  We made our way downstairs and out of the dorms. The boys had their huge Escalade parked at the curb, Ambrose in the driver’s seat with the windows rolled down while the other three stood outside facing us.