I close my eyes after zipping up my suitcase. I think about what Malcom said. How the paps know who she is, that they’ve been hounding her.
I curse aloud.
How could I have been so careless, so stupid and selfish? She’s probably been living in a nightmare, a nightmare I created for her. I should have never taken her out in public. I should have been more careful. I should have been more aware, and I shouldn’t have only been thinking with my fucking cock.
One hour later, we’re all in the jet and taking off toward Portland, Oregon. Philip, Bee, a team of security, and me. There’s a hotel with several suites already booked and waiting for us, along with a few rented cars.
Philip suggested that we arrive at Riona’s home without security at our sides, so he rented a car for us to take there. Our security will be there, of course—they’re always there—but they’ll be hidden.
I agree. The less attention we can draw to ourselves, the better. I don’t know what awaits me when I am reunited with Riona.
Will she remember me at all?
Will she be angry toward me?
I have no clue what to expect. Although she’s technically my wife, I don’t really know her.
I lust for her, I desire her, but I don’t know much about her.
“Are you okay?” Bee asks.
Her voice is soft, interrupting my racing mind. She’s so very kindhearted and soft spoken, much like my mother. I completely understand why Philip adores her and is happily marrying her. She’s lovely inside and out.
Philip dated within the circle of acceptable women, always with the family’s wishes, the crown’s wishes in mind, from the time he was a teenager.
He’s never been rebellious, and when he met Beatrice at a party, he immediately found her attractive; but Philip didn’t approach her, not until he researched exactly who she was.
I made fun of him for it, laughed at him even. He just said to me very plainly—just because I find her pretty doesn’t mean I need to take it any further than gazing upon her, Hen. Not until I know that she is an option. What good would it be to hurt her that way, if we liked each other but knew it could go no further?
Now, I understand exactly what my brother meant.
“No, I’m not okay,” I sigh, answering her question. “I swear I didn’t know we were married. I don’t know if she knows or not. I just left her the next morning. She probably hates me,” I murmur.
Although, Riona hating me is the least of my worries. If the media finds out about this, it’s going to be catastrophic for both her and me.
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you. Though, she may not be thrilled that you left her the morning after your nuptials,” she says. “Do you really not remember anything?”
“No, Bee, I really don’t remember. I remember dancing with her at the club, and drinking, I remember getting into a cab. I remember some adult activities,” I say clearing my throat before I continue, “lastly, I remember waking up with a raging hangover, Philip ringing me up, and her lying next to me looking like a fucking dream.”
“Fuck, Henrik, you’ve got yourself in a right tough spot,” my brother mutters.
“No, shit,” I chuckle.
I lay my head back against my seat and close my eyes. I need to try and rest. I have a feeling that the next few days are going to be an emotionally taxing hell for me.
I have no idea what I’m going to be walking in to. Will she laugh at the whole scenario and just sign the papers? Will she make a scene and alert the media?
The fact is, as much as I think about her and want her, I truly do not know a damn thing about her. I don’t know what she’s capable of and what she isn’t.
I awake as the plane is landing. We’re at a small airport, desolate except for two cars waiting for us. I watch as security unloads their bags and equipment into one car and then Philip and I follow suit, loading our luggage into the other.
Once I’ve entered the hotel’s information into the car’s GPS system, and remind myself that American’s drive on the wrong side of the road—not the correct side, like we do—I point the car toward the hotel to drop our bags off and freshen up a bit.
The hotel is nice; as nice as Portland has to offer, I’m sure. It could be a rat infested shit-hole and I wouldn’t care at this point. The only thing I want to do is lay my own eyes on Riona. I want to see her, in person, talk with her, perhaps even hold her.
What kind of fucking torture am I trying to inflict upon myself? Hold her?
I run my hands through my hair, tugging on the strands in frustration.
“It’s late, Henrik. How about we rest tonight and then go over first thing in the morning?” Philip asks as we ride the lift toward our room.
I’m so caught up in my own mind, I hadn’t even realized that he and Bee were still standing with me.
“No, I want to see her tonight,” I demand. “I’m leaving in twenty minutes, with or without the two of you.”
I don’t give them an opportunity to speak. The lift doors open and I march toward the direction of my room, opening my door and slipping inside. I need space. I need to breathe, alone, for at least five minutes. I walk toward the bedroom, noticing my bag has already been placed on the luggage rack. I grab a change of clothes and rush to the bathroom to take a shower.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m downstairs, waiting at valet, when Philip joins me at my side.
“Bee?” I ask.
“Resting. She will want to meet your Caitriona. Tomorrow, though,” he mutters.
I nod my agreement as the car pulls up. I quickly hand the valet a tip and slide into the driver’s seat of the car before typing in the address that Malcom gave me.
The car ride is silent the entire way to Caitriona’s home. I think Philip is afraid to talk. If I were him, I would probably be afraid to talk to me, too. I’m feeling a mix of so many different emotions, as though I’m about to explode. I’m excited, angry, nervous, and fucking sad.
Anger, I can handle; sadness, I cannot. I despise feeling sad. It’s an emotion I don’t allow myself to feel. Though, right now, it’s the biggest one running through me.
I pull up to the address and note that it’s a nice, quiet neighborhood. It looks like a family home, though. It’s a big two-story with brick and rock on the front, a large front yard, and a three car garage.
This home does not say single-woman; this home says family woman. I wonder if she lied to me. Perhaps she has a man and I was just a night of fun. She is doing quite well for herself, for a girl who had never consumed champagne before.
“This is a nice neighborhood. Perhaps she lives with her dad and mum,” Philip remarks as my hands tighten around the steering wheel.
I look over at him and notice that he’s grinning at me. He’s already read my mind, the smug-bastard. I hadn’t thought about Riona living with her parents. The dread I felt just moments ago quickly leaves my body and I grin back at him.
“Let’s go, then,” I grunt, opening the car door and swinging my legs out.
We walk up the front pathway to the porch. I’m too nervous to knock, so Philip rings the buzzer for me. I feel that dread and anger instantly cover me like a heavy wool cloak as soon as the door opens. A man stands there, a man around my own age, definitely not a father.
Rage sweeps through my veins.
I want to kill the bastard.
I clinch my jaw and my fists simultaneously. Words are not coming to me. All I can see is red hot rage.
“We are looking for Caitriona Grace; do we have the proper address?” Philip asks, noticing that I am incapacitated.
“Cait? Uh yeah, can I tell her who is asking?” he asks.
The man is tall, but he’s thin and has light hair. Caitriona shouldn’t be with a guy like him. She should be with a man who can handle her curvy body. I know for a fact that this prick can’t possibly know how to handle her. Not like I can—like I have.
“I am Philip, this is my brother, Henrik. Our late visit
is somewhat of a personal matter,” Philip, ever the diplomat, explains.
I watch as the man’s eyes grow five times their size. Shit, he recognizes us.
“Holy fucking shit. Umm, Cait’s out back. But right now really isn’t a good time,” he mutters.
“It’s the perfect time,” I grunt before I push past him and walk through his house.
Vaguely, I hear both his voice and that of Philip’s behind me, but I’m on a mission to get to my Riona. I walk through the kitchen and open the door that leads to what I assume is the backyard.
As soon as I step out of the house and into the cool Oregon air, I see her. I stop abruptly. She’s standing with her back to me and another man’s hands are around her waist. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but it doesn’t matter.
I march toward her, my precious girl.
“THANK YOU FOR TONIGHT, ROBERT,” I murmur.
I don’t tell him that I had a good time, because that would be a down right lie. I don’t lie, and I’m not about to inflate his already gigantic ego. He takes my thanks as an invitation and wraps his arms around me, his fingertips pressing against my waist.
Lifting my hands, I press them against his chest. Pressing firmly, I try to get away, to get him off of me.
“You can thank me properly—without words,” he murmurs as his face starts to dip closer to mine.
I wrench my head back and try to escape his obvious intentions.
“Take your hands off of my wife,” a low accented voice booms.
My entire body freezes, and I feel a tingle run down my spine. I know that voice. I may have only heard it for one night, but I could never forget it. Not in a million years.
Henrik.
“Your wife? I think you’re mistaken, buddy,” Robert says, his voice challenging.
“I think I know my own wife,” Henrik says, his voice a bit closer this time.
“Please, Robert, let me go,” I whisper.
Not only do I want his hands off of me, I want to see Henrik. It’s been almost two months since I’ve laid eyes on him in person. I need to see him. It’s not a want, and it’s not a desire, it’s a need that’s rooted so deep inside of me that I don’t think anything could stand in my way, except Robert’s obnoxious iron grip on my waist.
“No, you went out with me tonight, this guy can fuck off,” Robert growls.
“If you don’t take your prick hands off of my wife, we’re going to have a serious fucking problem,” Henrik shouts.
Luckily, Robert decides to release me. As quickly as I can, I turn to face the man I’ve been dreaming about. The man who left me the morning after the best night of my life. The man I had no clue was a royal prince.
The man I never thought I would see again.
“Henny,” I whisper, looking up into his green eyes.
He doesn’t say a word as he takes the few strides he needs to be directly in front of me.
“The fuck?” Robert says from behind me.
I imagine him stomping like a toddler, but I’m too mesmerized by Henrik to bother turning around to see.
“Piss off,” Henrik mutters.
There’s movement behind me. When the door into the house slams closed, I know that Robert has left. We’re alone now.
“Let’s go inside, Riona,” Henrik mutters.
I nod and take my key with a shaky hand, turning the lock and opening my door. Once we both step inside, Henrik closes and locks the door behind him before he leans his back against the closed door.
His eyes are glued to mine and have me pinned to my spot in the entryway. If I reach out, I could touch him; but he’s not looking at me with lust in his eyes. He’s not looking at me with any expression at all.
“Who was that prick?” he asks, finally speaking.
“Robert Dayton, a partner at the firm Madison works for,” I state.
“And you’re shagging him?” he asks, arching a brow.
“Not that it’s really your business, but, no. I went on a double date with him, James, and Madison. I didn’t really want to go. I did it as a favor to Madison,” I explain.
“So your friend is pimping you out?” he asks.
I reach out and slap him across the face before I gasp in surprise at my actions. I’ve never hit anybody, ever. I’ve also never had a man insinuate I whored myself out for any reason. His head shifts to the side and then he brings it back. His eyes find mine again, instantly.
“He touched you,” Henrik whispers.
“I didn’t ask him to.”
Henrik doesn’t say another word. Instead, he closes the distance between us, and his lips crash against mine without a word spoken.
I moan as soon as his hands wrap around my waist and glide down to cup my ass. Henrik’s tongue takes that opportunity to invade my mouth, owning me as if it were always meant just for me.
“Riona, my sweet precious Riona,” he murmurs against my lips.
“We can’t do this,” I warn as his lips kiss down the column of my neck.
“Why? We’re married,” he whispers against my flesh as he works his way down to the swells of my breasts.
“No, no we’re not; not really. And you’re engaged,” I state, placing my hands on his shoulders and shoving him slightly.
Henrik ignores my protest and smashes his lips to mine, his hand lifting to twist in the back of my curls and his hips pushing against me, his hard length pressing against my stomach.
I whimper and he takes that as an invitation. I lift my hands to push him away but end up wrapping them around his neck and pressing myself closer to his chest.
He unzips my skirt, pushing it down my hips, and it pools at my feet. Then he picks me up by my thighs and walks me over to the front of the couch. I lift my face from his and gasp at the fact that he can actually carry me. He doesn’t respond to my reaction; rather, he wraps his fingers around the hem of my shirt and wrenches it over my head, throwing it somewhere behind him.
“Fucking hell,” he whispers as he looks at me, standing in my bra and panties.
“Henrik,” I murmur.
“You’re fucking gorgeous. My hazing memory did not serve any justice at all,” he rasps.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I whisper.
“No, this is exactly what we should do, Riona,” he grunts as he unhooks my bra and pulls the straps down my arms, exposing my breasts. “Fuck, yeah—exactly what we should be doing.”
I watch as he quickly removes his own clothes before he wraps his fingers in my panties and yanks them down my legs, then his hand is shoved between my thighs. He fills me in an instant with his fingers, and I whimper.
“So wet,” he whispers against my breast, sucking a nipple into his mouth.
“Henny,” I sigh as I roll my hips.
“Are you going to take your husband’s cock?” he mumbles against my nipple.
“Oh, god,” I moan, letting my head drop as I ride his hand.
I’m on the verge, so close that I can practically taste my orgasm, then he pulls his fingers from my center, wraps his hands around the backs of my knees and bends them so that I fall on my ass, on the couch.
“Henny,” I hiss before I gasp as he fills me with one quick thrust.
My legs wrap around his hips, my high heels digging into the flesh of his hard ass, and he fucks me. His thrusts are hard and fast. His knees are propped on the edge of the sofa for his body’s support, his hands next to my head on the back. His green eyes focus completely on me, and his top teeth sink into his bottom lip.
“This cunt, fuck, you feel so good,” he rasps as he moves in and out of me.
“Oh, my god,” I murmur as my body shakes.
“Come all over me, precious. Be a good girl, now, and come,” he urges.
His soft demand, mixed with the praise, is too damn much.
His strokes come faster, harder, and more erratic when his hand slips from the back of the couch and wraps around the back of my hair, tangling in the strands before he tighte
ns his grasp and yanks back—hard.
“Come. Make it happen,” he grunts, his eyes wild.
I slip one of my hands between us and stroke my clit with a whimper that turns into a long moan. His fingers tighten again in my hair as soon as I gasp and my entire body stills as I come around him.
He doesn’t stop his movements, doesn’t stop the way he pounds inside of me, not until I feel his cock twitch inside of me as he stretches me even more, filling me with his release. Henrik’s eyes widen, almost in surprise before he lets out a long groan.
“We really are married, Caitriona,” he murmurs, against my neck.
“How is that possible?” I ask trying to get my wits about me and catch my breath. “It was Vegas and it was, like, three in the morning with an Elvis impersonator,” I ramble.
“You remember it?”
“You don’t?” I whisper, as he pulls out of me.
Henrik’s brows are furrowed and I watch as he pulls on his jeans and then hands me my clothes. My mind is racing, wondering what the hell he’s thinking as I put my clothes back on quickly, not wanting to be so vulnerable for this conversation.
He doesn’t remember anything, not even marrying me.
“I’m sorry, Riona. I don’t remember anything from the time we left the bar until the time we were in your room,” he mutters pulling his shirt on.
“At least you remember that part.”
“Burned into my memory banks for eternity, precious,” he rumbles, cupping my cheek with his palm.
“So we’re really married?” I gasp. “You’re engaged and we just had sex.”
“I know,” he nods with a slight grin.
“I’m the other woman, again. Oh, my god,” I say as I stand up and then fall back down to the sofa in disbelief, the reality of the news finally hitting me.
“Technically, she’s the other woman. We were married before Eugenie and I ever really met,” he says with a grin.
“Oh, my god—oh, my god,” I repeat, still in complete shock.
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