Royal Games (Dating Games Book 5)

by T. K. Leigh

  “Maybe not to you, because you already know everything there is to know about yourself. I don’t. I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface about who you are.”

  “Well, then… Ask away.” I raise my beer up to my lips, then add, “Your Majesty.”

  He chuckles. “Technically, that’s my father.”

  “What are you then? I’m new to all this royalty stuff.” I wave my hand around. “I must have skipped Royalty Etiquette 101 in college.”

  “And we’ll keep skipping it. As far as you’re concerned, I’m just Anderson. No title.”

  “I know. I’m just curious how people are supposed to address you. Like when you’re at an official event, what do they call you?”

  “Your Highness. Or Your Royal Highness.” He pauses, then inches toward me, lowering his voice. “Can I tell you a secret?” His question is barely audible over the sound of the band playing a Tom Petty tune.

  It brings to mind my first day on Route 66, how I didn’t even know Anderson’s name. It’s remarkable how much can change in a week’s time.

  “What’s that?”

  “I bloody hate it.”

  “What?”

  “Being addressed as Your Highness.” He blows out a relieved sigh. “It drives me crazy.”

  When he returns his eyes to mine, there’s a lightness about him, as if a giant weight has been lifted. Like the burden that’s caused him to keep his distance from me has disappeared and he can breathe again. Like the truth has set him free.

  “God, it feels good to tell someone that.”

  “What else do you hate?” My expression dances with excitement. I love learning about this part of him. Not because I’m impressed by his notoriety, but because he’s finally peeled back the mask and allowed me a glimpse at another layer.

  “The rules. Everything is so structured.” He takes a pull from his bottle, then holds it up. “Case in point, this beer.”

  “What about it?” I edge closer, eager to hear what rules his family has about beer. The only rule my mother had about beer was not to drink it before I was twenty-one, which I broke my first day of college.

  “I’m only allowed to drink bottled beer. Never draft.”

  “Why?”

  “Less risk of being poisoned. Same thing goes for wine. I’m only permitted to drink wine that a member of my security detail has witnessed being opened. And this water?” He lifts the glass in front of him that he hasn’t touched. “Forbidden.” Then, with a sly smile, he brings it up to his lips and takes a sip.

  “You bad boy, you.”

  “Oh, gorgeous…” He closes the distance, his azure orbs alight with mischief. “You have no idea how bad I can be.”

  Desire, hot and intense, coils inside me. All evidence of the awkward tension that plagued us last night and today has disappeared. In its place is this new level of comfort. Perhaps this is what we should have done from the beginning. But I don’t think it would have been as effective. We needed to experience each other’s scars before we realized they’re simply one part of what makes us, well…us.

  “I could always go online. I’m sure there are some informative articles about that. I’d rather find out on my own, though.”

  “That certainly gives me something to look forward to.” He winks, then clears his throat. “Now that I shared my big secret, it’s only right you do the same.”

  “Okay…,” I say in a drawn-out voice. “What big secret of mine do you want to know?”

  “The ashes,” he states without a second of deliberation. “Who do they belong to?”

  I freeze, the light atmosphere shifting.

  He quickly grabs my hands in his. “It’s okay if it’s still too raw.”

  I dart my stare to our linked fingers, a warmth filling me as he affectionately brushes my knuckles with his thumbs. Such a simple gesture, yet it gives me what I need right now. What I’ve needed for years but never found. Understanding. Hope. Comfort. He’s shared a huge piece of himself with me. It’s time I do the same.

  “My fiancé,” I blurt out. “Well, former fiancé, I suppose. Hunter.”

  “I’m assuming this was several years ago, correct? You did recently get divorced, or was that only a story?”

  I shake my head. “No. I did just get divorced. I’ve realized Jeremy was a cover for losing Hunter, though.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Hunter passed away about six years ago. Met Jeremy three years ago. He was supposed to be a no-strings-attached hookup. I guess I have my mother and Jameson to thank for things getting as out of hand as they did.”

  “Your mother and Jameson? Like the whiskey?”

  I nod, blowing out a laugh. “I already told you how my mother’s a psychiatrist. Well, she constantly put my life under a microscope. The woman hadn’t paid any attention to me in years, but the second I have a dead fiancé, I became her new favorite project. She loved calling me up, telling me everything I was doing wrong, why I was a failure.”

  “Jesus. And that’s your mother?”

  “Yup. She’s a fucking piece of work. So when I met Jeremy… I don’t know… He was really sweet, and there were quite a few things about him that reminded me of Hunter. I thought I could fake it till I make it, more or less.”

  “And the Jameson?”

  “I’m not proud of it, but it was St. Patrick’s Day. In New York, it’s a big deal. Drinking all day. And all night. So Jeremy and I got pretty wasted. One thing led to another, and we left one of the bars and went to the Diamond District. The next morning, I woke up with a ring on my finger. I think we both regretted it but refused to say anything. A part of me liked the idea of marrying Jeremy. Figured I could kill two birds with one stone. Could get my mother to leave me alone, as well as make everyone else around me believe I’d moved on from losing Hunter, even if I hadn’t.”

  “I don’t think we ever truly move on after losing a loved one.” His gaze flickers with the experience of someone who knows what he’s talking about. Someone who understands this level of loss. “We simply learn to acclimate to a new normal. Doesn’t mean you’re a horrible person or are dishonoring their memory. You just decide to swim instead of sink.”

  Silence falls over the table as Anderson continues running his thumb along my knuckles. Earlier today, the silence between us drove me crazy, but it’s no longer awkward. So much is said in this silence. A thousand apologies. A thousand words of understanding. A thousand promises of hope. It warms my heart and brings a smile to my face when normally nothing about discussing Hunter’s death would make me smile.

  “How did he die?” Anderson asks hesitantly.

  “Car accident.” I swallow hard. I’m about to tell him I was also in the car, that the baby I’d been carrying for six months also died that night, but don’t. He only asked about the ashes. So that’s all I share. I can now manage the pain of losing Hunter. The pain of losing our baby is a different story. “We were about to move out to California. Drive Route 66 and everything.”

  “That’s why you’re spreading his ashes.”

  I nod. “After his memorial, his mother gave them to me, insisted I take the trip. So that’s what I’m doing.” I lift my beer, gulping down a large swallow. “Going on one last adventure with my fiancé.”

  “Well…” Anderson’s tone is bright, a change from the solemn air. He raises his beer bottle to me. “Here’s to one last adventure. Thank you for including me in it.” His gaze is awash with sincerity and veneration. “I’m truly honored.”

  “It’s not like I had a choice.” I laugh nervously to cut through the tension. “My car broke down.”

  “No.” He shakes his head, licking his lips. “You had a choice. So thank you for choosing me.” The corners of his mouth quirk up, peace washing over his face in gentle waves, appreciation and reverence swirling in his profound eyes.

  No one’s looked at me this way in so long, like they can’t continue breathing unless I’m in their universe. I can’t reca
ll Hunter admiring me this way. The old Nora would beat herself up over the idea of allowing my memories of Hunter to fade. But I’m no longer holding onto them with all my strength, praying they don’t slip away. I can appreciate that time in my life for what it was, for what it taught me. I’m finally ready to make new memories.

  I deserve to make new memories.

  A loud cheer cuts through the bar as the band plays the familiar opening measures of Chuck Berry’s “Route 66”. I turn from Anderson, watching as dozens of patrons swarm the dance floor, everyone moving to what’s obviously akin to this place’s National Anthem.

  The energy infusing me, I jump to my feet and grab Anderson’s hands, pulling him up with me.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, eyeing me with curiosity.

  “What does it look like? Making you dance with me.”

  “Dance? I don’t—”

  “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t dance. I’m sure you had to take plenty of dance lessons so you didn’t make a fool out of yourself at public functions. Am I right?”

  He hints at a devilish grin. “Maybe.”

  “Then let’s dance.” I yank him into the center of the dance floor. “What other time will we be able to dance to ‘Route 66’ on Route 66?”

  “Probably never.”

  “Exactly. When in Rome…” I pass him a devilish grin as I move in time with the slow, bluesy beat. When a hand clutches my hip, another sliding up my arm and wrapping around my hand, I dart my gaze to Anderson, a silent question within.

  “And I’m sure you took dance lessons for your wedding. Correct?”

  “Why do you think that?”

  He shrugs. “Just a hunch. But based on what you’ve told me and what I’ve figured out for myself, you probably put on quite the show at your wedding to make people believe you were actually in love. And I’m sure that included some carefully orchestrated dance numbers.”

  My lack of response is the only answer he needs.

  “And you probably know how to swing dance.”

  “I knew how even before my wedding. My mother insisted I take dance all throughout my childhood and into my teenage years.”

  “Perfect.”

  At the downbeat, he squeezes my hand, steering my body with ease. At first, my motions are stiff and disjointed, considering it’s been close to a year since I’ve danced like this. Soon, muscle memory kicks in and my moves become more fluid and natural. It helps that Anderson’s a born leader, in more ways than one. And boy, does he know his way around a dance floor.

  The more we dance, the more confident I become, the more difficult moves Anderson tries. This isn’t a fast song, so I’m able to keep up easily, my motions relaxed. He squeezes my hand again and drops his hold on my hip, twirling me in a spin before yanking my body back into his.

  Cheers and applause erupt, taking me by surprise. I momentarily falter as my attention strays from Anderson for the first time, noticing that everyone’s assembled in a circle on the edge of the floor, enjoying the show we’re giving them.

  “Stay with me, Nora,” Anderson murmurs.

  I return my gaze to him, falling back into step, smiling and tuning out everyone else. At my wedding, I was more nervous about dancing with Jeremy in front of all those people than I was about saying my vows. It was why I forced him to take every dance class I could find. I didn’t want to look like I didn’t know what I was doing. Didn’t want people to look at us dancing and realize how awkward we were together.

  But with Anderson, even knowing all these people are watching, I’m comfortable. He makes this so effortless. So easy. So uncomplicated. Everything with him seems uncomplicated. Like life should be.

  The song ends, and the audience cheers for the band, as well as our impromptu performance. Anderson steps away from me, keeping my hand clasped in his, nodding in acknowledgment at the crowd. My cheeks heat, but Anderson acts as if the attention is nothing. To him, it probably is nothing. What’s a few dozen people clapping for you when he’s used to hundreds, even thousands?

  When the band starts a slower number, I break from his hold and head back to our table, but only make it a few steps before Anderson grabs my elbow and pulls me into his hard, firm body. I jerk my gaze up to his, the sudden motion catching me off guard.

  “Where are you going?” A grin teases on his mouth.

  “I thought—”

  “Dance with me,” he croons, his tone dripping with sin and seduction.

  All I can do is nod and drape my free arm over his shoulder, everything about this moment rendering me mute as “Fading Into You” plays around us. The title of this song is more than appropriate, because right now, I’m fading into this man. Into his body. His heart. His soul. It’s consuming and electrifying.

  I sway with the rhythm Anderson sets. This time, there’s no complex footwork to concentrate on. There’s no respectful distance separating our bodies. There’s no lighthearted atmosphere. There’s just this intense connection sizzling to life.

  I toy with a few of the curls that fall past his collar, and he briefly closes his eyes. His grip on me tightens, his jaw clenching, nostrils flaring. He can deny it all he wants, but his body doesn’t lie. I felt it yesterday. And I feel it now. He wants me. I’m desperate to ask him why he pushed me away yesterday, if it was because of the secret he was keeping. But I don’t want to ruin this moment. Don’t want anything to come between one of the most erotic things I’ve experienced in all my thirty years, something I didn’t think possible fully dressed. But even a flimsy sundress can’t prevent Anderson from stripping me bare. As his eyes sear into mine, that’s precisely what he does. He strips me bare. Obliterates every single one of my fears and trepidations. Makes me only see what matters.

  Makes me only see him.

  His hands go to my face and he cups my cheeks. We stop swaying to the music, tuning out the world. In this moment, nothing else exists. There is no past. And the future is out of our control. There’s only the present. Only us. Only this unyielding craving that I’m done fighting.

  That I hope he’s done fighting, too.

  My breathing increases with every inch he erases. His fingers dig into my hair, his grip on me tightening as his lips descend toward mine, barely a whisper away. But that breath between us may as well be a football field. It’s still not close enough. Desperation courses through me, making me blind to anything other than having this man capture me, claim me, consume me.

  But as much as I need to feel him, I won’t make the final move. Not again. He needs to make this decision. Needs to scale that wall and free himself.

  A growl rips from his throat, his lips poised over mine. I exhale, bracing myself for his kiss. Suddenly, he’s jostled and stumbles, breaking our connection. I fling my eyes open, disoriented at first. Then I see a tall man dressed in black hovering nearby, a rocks glass in his hand.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” the man says in a heavy Texas drawl. “I forgot what I was doing for a second.”

  I look between the man and Anderson, something about the way they stare each other down striking me as odd. Almost like they’re having a conversation without uttering a single word. I sometimes do that with Chloe, but she’s not a stranger like this man is.

  The man glares at him as he walks away, making my hackles rise. I’m about to ask Anderson if he knows him when he grabs my hand and pulls me across the dance floor, bodies moving and bumping into us in time with the fast, driving beat of a different song.

  “Let’s get some air.”

  I nod, following him without protest, unsure if we’re leaving to have more privacy or because he’s worried he almost crossed a line he doesn’t want to.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nora

  Fresh air greets us when we step outside, and I inhale. It’s soothing after a night of drinking, the lower temperatures cooling my flushed complexion from a combination of alcohol and Anderson’s presence.

  I pull my denim jacket tighter aroun
d me and start in the direction of the motel when Anderson wraps his hand around my bicep in a firm grip and hauls me into the alley between the bar and auto repair shop next door. His labored breaths echo against the stillness of night, his chest heaving as he peers down at me with unwavering lust and need.

  “What are you doing?” I squeak out, my heart caught in my throat.

  “What I’ve been wanting to do all damn day.”

  With a firm grasp on my hips, he slams his mouth against mine, his tongue plunging inside, leaving me no room to protest.

  At first, I’m taken by surprise, his kiss bruising and biting, making it impossible for me to draw in a single breath. Sensing my confusion, especially after his previous rejection, he pulls back. His wild eyes rake over mine, the same tormented expression from yesterday making an appearance. But it disappears just as quickly, his stare intensifying.

  “Kiss me back,” he growls, his demand causing my skin to heat, my knees to buckle, my core to tighten.

  “Is that what you want?” I ask huskily.

  “More than you can imagine, Nora.”

  Cupping the back of his head, I burrow my fingers into his hair and drag him toward me. This time when his lips cover mine, I do as he begged and kiss him back.

  A groan wrenched from his throat, he kisses me with wild abandon, the assault causing my heart to thump madly in my chest with such intensity I’m convinced it’s about to burst through my ribcage. Desire spirals like a tornado, crawling over my skin and settling in my aching fingers. I draw him closer, a bomb detonating inside me when he thrusts his hard length against my stomach.

  I whimper. I exhale. Then I feast on him again, grinding and groping in the temperate New Mexico air. The faint sound of the music within the bar makes its way out to us, but it doesn’t distract me from this. From Anderson.

  He tears away, his facial hair scraping against my flesh as he moves to my neck, licking and tasting as he goes. His hand trails from my hip and lands on my ass with a harsh squeeze. I yelp, then moan, throwing my head back, hooking a leg around his waist, pulsing against the erection straining his pants.