Prince Not So Charming: A Royal Love Story

by Tawny Taylor

  “Easy, kitten. I don’t want you running out of here yet.” He grabbed my hand again and pulled. It amazed me, how strong he was, despite the injury and medications. “Don’t sit way over there. I have to shout. It’s tiring. Have some mercy.”

  Keeping with my angry act, I slitted my eyes. “I’ll sit on the couch if you behave.”

  “Of course I’ll behave.” Smiling like the wolf that was about to scarf down Red Riding Hood, he patted the couch. Right, sure, he was going to behave. “Let’s talk. I’m fucking bored. I can’t remember the last time I’ve sat on my ass all day.”

  That I could understand. This was a man who worked every day. Worked hard. Even though it looked like he was swimming in money. Sitting around doing nothing wasn’t even part of his vocabulary.

  I eased down on the couch, making sure there was a decent amount of space between his body and mine.

  He laughed. “I promise I won’t rape you. You look terrified.”

  I wasn’t terrified of him. I was terrified of myself. Because seeing him like this, while having doubts about his bastard-ness meant my heart was softening toward him. Softening fast. Like, freaking butter sitting in the blazing sun.

  That was dangerous. Very dangerous.

  To placate him, I scooted a little closer. But I stared straight ahead, rather than at him. He was so gorgeous, with his slanted cheekbones and dark, wavy hair and perfect mouth. I didn’t want those tingles coming back. It was probably a losing battle, but it was one I didn’t want to totally give up. Yet.

  “That’s a little better,” he said.

  “So what do you want to talk about?” I asked the window as I tried to cool my sizzling blood and calm my jangling nerves.

  “Nothing in particular. Maybe you have something you’d like to bring up?”

  Ah ha! So he knew I’d come here with my head swimming with questions. And he was willing to answer them.

  It was time to clear things up and find out exactly what was going on.

  But where should I start?

  My gaze swept the room, roving from one expensive-looking piece of furniture to another. Above the fireplace hung a massive and beautiful framed portrait of some guy wearing old-fashioned clothes. The tiled floors were covered in the softest rugs I’d ever stepped foot on. And the house itself was just as impressive.

  “This house is nothing like the old house,” I said. It was a lame start, but it was a start.

  “That’s because the old place was a shithole. It was falling down.” He stretched then conveniently rested one arm on the back of the couch—behind me. A buzz of electricity zapped through me.

  “I remember. But it had some charm,” I said to his knee.

  “And I’ve kept some of it and put it in this place.” He pointed to the fireplace. “The mantle came from the old place.” He tapped my shoulder. “Do you dislike this house?”

  I glanced at him. Mistake. Another zap zigzagged through my body. “No. Not at all. It’s… grand.”

  “But?”

  “Well.” I swallowed. I needed to stay focused. I was here to get some answers, to find out whether he was trying to steal my inheritance or help me. I was not here to lust over his picture perfect biceps. Or kiss his totally kissable lips… Stop it! I cleared my throat, wishing I could clear my head as easily. “It must have been expensive.”

  “So you want to know how I managed to pay for it?” He chuckled. “No beating around the bush today? I’m impressed.”

  “I’m not the skittish little girl you knew four years ago.” To prove my point I looked him straight in the eyes.

  His eyes scanned my body, the male appreciation glimmering in them making me warm. “That, I’m fully aware of.”

  His confession left me tongue-tied for a moment. I sucked in a gulp of air, replenishing the oxygen in my brain. “So, yes. How did you pay for it? What’s this Pronghorn Holdings company?”

  “It started right after I graduated.” He slid down slightly, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “Several of my buddies from school inherited ranches after their parents retired and moved south to warmer climates. They didn’t want them, so I bought them, negotiating land contracts because I didn’t have the cash to pay in full. It wasn’t easy the first year but after that, things started to turn around” He nodded. “I don’t like to brag, not about business.” He gave me another of those hungry wolf grins. “Other things...well, sure. But not money. I did some things right. And I had a little luck on my side too. Your aunt noticed what I was doing and asked me to come on board, to help you once she was gone. So I accepted.”

  That was exactly as Harper thought. He hadn’t taken the job to try to undermine me and steal my inheritance.

  “I’m a lot of things. An asshole. A bastard. But I’m not a thief.” He set his hand on my shoulder. “I can be a total prick when it comes to women. I’ll give you that. But I would never steal your inheritance. I need you to believe me.”

  I believed him.

  But his touch, and the electricity zapping between us was overwhelming. I couldn’t speak, only nod my head.

  The hand on my shoulder slid up to my neck. His eyes locked on mine, searching. The air thinned and crackled with static. My heart skipped a beat or two.

  Was he going to kiss me? I didn’t want him to kiss me.

  No, really. I didn’t.

  Or did I?

  The memory of Clay and that woman, whatever her name was, walking down Main Street flashed through my mind.

  No!

  I placed my hand over his, intending to pull it away. But instead, I held it in place. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t push it away. “Clay,” I said, in my sexiest fuck-me voice.

  Well, that wasn’t going to help!

  Clay’s head inched closer.

  Crap!

  “Clay, please.” This time my words came out as a whisper. Weak and breathy.

  That wasn’t going to help either. If anything, it sounded like I was asking him to kiss me.

  I wasn’t.

  Our breath mingled.

  Was I?

  My lips tingled.

  No. No!

  My fingers curled, fingertips sinking between his. I pulled.

  He leaned back. “You still don’t trust me.” He laughed. “Your aunt was right. You are smart.”

  “It’s not because I don’t believe you,” I told him as my heart practically beat its way out of my ribcage.

  “No?”

  “No, it’s because…like you said, you’re a prick with women. You hurt me.”

  He clapped his hands around my face. “And you hurt me,” he confessed as he stared into my eyes.

  I hurt him?Me? “When?”

  He jerked his hands away. “I heard you, Morgan.”

  Heard me? Say what? When? “What?”

  “That morning, after the first time we...” Moving slowly, carefully, he folded his arms over his chest. “I heard what you said to your aunt about me.”

  My heart started hammering as I frantically searched my memory. My face burned. Guilt. It was guilt making my face hot. But I didn’t even know why.

  Had I said something about Clay that day? Would I have said something cruel when he’d done nothing to deserve it? That wasn’t like me.

  It was a long time ago. I couldn’t remember.

  He laughed. “Let me guess, you don’t remember.”

  I shook my head. “I really don’t, Clay.”

  “Of course you don’t.” He leaned forward and scrubbed his face with his hands.

  This was awful! I’d said something mean? Me? “What? What did I say?”

  “I haven’t been able to forget your words in four years. Four fucking years of having them echo through my fucking head. And you don’t remember?”

  17

  I couldn’t breathe.

  My heart was thumping so loudly I could barely hear what Clay was saying.

  This was it, the answer I’d been waiting for. All this time I’d
wondered why Clay had dumped me after the night he’d taken my innocence. He’d broken my heart. Obliterated it. Pulverized it.

  All this time I’d told myself it was his fault--that he was just an asshole who didn’t care.

  But here he was, telling me I was wrong.

  It was me?

  My fault?

  “Clay, tell me. It had to be a mistake. Maybe you’re remembering wrong. Maybe it was after I found out about… Or… a misunderstanding—“

  “No!” he shouted, making me jump. In a softer voice, he continued. But the redness in his complexion didn’t lighten. “It wasn’t a misunderstanding. I know what you said and when you said it. You said, ‘Clay Walker is nothing. A nobody who’ll do nothing. The minute I leave here, I’ll forget about him’.”

  Silence hung heavy in the air as he glared at me, deep hurt turning his eyes black.

  Had I really said something so cruel and callous? And if I had, how could I have meant it? Nothing in those words rang true. Clay was not a nobody. And he was in no way forgettable. How could I have said that?

  After that night he disappeared and I was crushed. I was so hurt I actually became physically ill. My aunt even took me to the doctor.

  “If I said that, I couldn’t have meant it,” I reasoned as I mentally wrestled with my confusion. It didn’t make sense that I’d say something so mean, not to my aunt, not to anyone. I wouldn’t have had any reason to lie to my aunt. She wouldn’t have punished me if I’d told her I was madly, desperately in love with Clay.

  I wanted to remember.

  But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t!

  If only there was some way to rewind time.

  “Clay, I was devastated when you didn’t call me after that night,” I confessed. “I spent months crying. When? When exactly did you hear me talking to my aunt about you? Where was I? What were we doing?”

  His jaw clenched. He jerked his gaze away, slammed his feet down on the floor, sat forward, and blinked several times. “You know what? Forget it.”

  “But, Clay—“

  “I said, forget it.”

  End of conversation.

  Well, I had an answer. For months I’d cried, wondering why he’d disappeared. He knew I was a virgin, that he was my first. And he knew—or at least, I’d thought he knew—I was crazy in love with him.

  Clearly some wires had been crossed. I had to end these bad feelings, the underlying distrust and hostility, now that I knew where it was coming from. I reached for his hands, now clasped together, elbows resting on his bent knees. “We hurt each other, Clay. I’m sorry. Very sorry. I don’t understand why I said those things. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “You have no idea,” he said to my hand, resting lightly on top of his.

  I slipped my other hand under his, weaving our fingers together. “We were both hurt. Badly. But maybe we can find a way to trust each other again?”

  Clay lifted his head. Our gazes locked again. “I don’t know. You say that, but do you really mean it? Every time something comes up, you jump to conclusions. You believe the worst about me. Always.”

  God, he was so on point. It hurt, hearing those words.

  It was even worse, knowing that I’d said something so awful that he’d clung to that pain for years.

  “You’re right. I have done that. I tend to look for a reason to distrust people.” My gaze dropped to our hands, still clenched together. “But it isn’t just you I do that to. I… do that to a lot of people,” I admitted to myself for the first time.

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No.”

  “It doesn’t.” He released my hand to reach again for my face. His thumb teased my lower lip and a quiver of need rushed through me. “The truth is, I don’t know if I want to keep trying to convince you I’m not a fucking jerk. Maybe I should just continue being the prick you think I am.”

  “Clay...”

  His hand slipped away, followed by his gaze.

  That was it. He’d cut me off.

  Now I knew why. At least there was that. Thanks to the drugs, he’d finally come clean. I understood now.

  Even if it didn’t hurt any less.

  I stood.

  “Why did you come here today?” he asked as he reclined back, heavy eyelids shuttering dark eyes.

  “Because I wanted answers,” I admitted.

  “Did you get them? The answers you were looking for?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Good.” His eyes closed. He whispered, “I don’t need a fucking babysitter…”

  “What are you doing back here?” Harper exclaimed, wearing my aunt’s boots, one of my shirts, and a very red face. Her hair wild, she was standing in front of the closed barn door looking guilty as hell. Inside the barn I could hear rustling. Either someone was in there or an animal was loose. I suspected, from my roommate’s flushed face and freshly-fucked bed head it was the former. And if I had to bet on who I would find in the barn, my money was on Mike.

  “Clay and I had a coming-to-Jesus meeting.”

  “Didn’t go so good?” After a glance back at the shut door, Harper flopped an arm over my shoulder and steered me toward the house. “Why don’t we have a beer or ten and talk about it?”

  I glanced over my shoulder then gave my roommate a good, long look. Did I see… was that… straw in her hair?

  The barn door thumped.

  “Harper, if I interrupted something it can wait.”

  “No!” she plastered on a plastic grin. “You didn’t interrupt anything. I just finished up today’s work and was headed in for something to eat.”

  The door thumped again.

  This time I whirled around. “Is something going on in the barn?”

  “No.”

  The door slid open and out strode Mike, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Why’d you leave so suddenly, babe?” He sauntered over to Harper and slid his arm around her waist.

  Harper’s face turned as red as a Wyoming sunset. “I swear, we weren’t fooling around on company time! I wouldn’t--”

  “No need to explain,” I interrupted, lifting her arm off my shoulder. “You two have some fun. I’m going to grab some dinner and call it a night.”

  Harper gave Mike a questioning glance, which was answered by an eyebrow slat and crooked grin. “Are you sure?” she asked me. “If you’re upset—“

  “I’m fine.”

  She still didn’t look convinced.

  “Really.” I shooed her. “Go. I don’t own you twenty-four, seven. Get out of here.”

  “Fine. I’ll be home later…” she glanced at Mike. “Make that tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay.” I hurried inside, flopped on the couch, and poked the TV remote. I needed noise, something to shut off the voice of my inner-Judge-Judy, yelling sarcastic comments about what a bitch I was.

  It was my fault. Mine.

  All that heartbreak. My fault.

  I’d hurt Clay.

  And I’d totally decimated our relationship.

  By saying something stupid, thoughtless.

  What kind of bitch was I?

  Even though I wasn’t hungry, I went into the kitchen and checked the refrigerator. Nothing looked good. Probably because I wasn’t hungry. Probably because I felt like shit.

  The more I thought about it, the clearer it became. Clay wasn’t the fucking jerk. I was. I said he didn’t mean anything to me. And then, adding insult to injury, I ran around, blaming him, acting all paranoid, and jumping to the worst conclusions, even when he was trying to help me.

  I didn’t deserve his help.

  What an idiot I’d been.

  But at least I’d learned something for the future. As much as I used to think I trusted people, I didn’t trust anyone. I was always looking for the truth hidden behind what they said. I didn’t take what anyone said at face value.

  Not even my Aunt Sandee.

  As long as I continued to act like that, I wouldn’t b
e the kind of person I’d want to date, let alone to fall in love with…or marry.

  So, I had some work to do. I would learn how to cast aside my distrust. I didn’t want to destroy another relationship.

  One heartbreak in a lifetime was one more than I wanted. I wasn’t sure I would survive a second.

  More than that, I wasn’t sure I would survive causing a second.

  18

  Over the next couple of weeks Harper and I, along with Cockroach and the rest of the crew, settled into a steady routine. Harper and I tended to the animals and kept the barn inhabitable while the boys took care of the heavier chores.

  During the evenings Harper and Mike would head off somewhere to have some private time together while I sat around the house. For the first week or so, I was just a little bored and lonely, wondering if (and yes, hoping) Clay would call. But by the second, I knew I’d blown it with Clay.

  Today was the opening day of the fair.

  The studly cowboy named Will, with biceps that made the rest of the crew green with envy, and a massive belt buckle proclaiming him the world champion cowboy of 2014, cornered me in the barn just after Harper and Mike left to have some fun at the fair. A stunner of a smile in place, he leaned in close and asked, in a husky voice, “Dinner tonight? I have a friend who has a booth at the fair. They make some killer ribs. What do you think?”

  Will wasn’t Clay, but he wasn’t much different. I’d seen him a time or two on the weekends, a little too drunk, and a little too friendly with the women. He was a tall, dark, and handsome drink of heartbreak, wrapped up in a to-die-for body.

  And I was a sucker. Because I wanted to accept. This man would definitely test my new vow to trust people more.

  “Well, babe?” he asked when I didn’t throw myself at him like he was (no doubt) expecting.

  Dinner.

  Dinner was safe.

  I could do dinner. We would walk around the fair, eat food, and talk. It could be romantic.

  He moved and his pecks rippled.