His Royal Princess: A Billionaire Boys Club Novella

by Jessica Clare

  She shrugged. “I go back and forth regularly. We’ll simply ask for discretion.” Her small hand was on the seat between them, and that seemed wrong. So he took it in his hand and linked his fingers with hers. It felt right to touch her, even in this small way.

  She bit her lip but smiled, and slid a little closer to him in the seat.

  Since she’d mentioned driving to France for their dinner, he’d assumed they’d be in the car for a while, and he was perfectly content to stroke his thumb over Alex’s soft knuckles and listen to her murmur about the weather and interesting landmarks they passed in the dark. They paused briefly to speak to someone at the border, but the man was pleasant, took their ID without fanfare, and then let them proceed on. Luke was surprised when they pulled up at the restaurant in about fifteen minutes, and a little disappointed. “I thought it’d take longer to get here.”

  Alex chuckled, pulling her hand from his. “Bellissime is very small, didn’t you know? We are the third-smallest country in the world. Just a little over forty square kilometers and three cities.”

  “Damn. I think I know people who own more than forty square kilometers around their houses.”

  “I don’t doubt that. America is very different, is it not?”

  It was different, but not in a bad way, and he liked Bellissime’s old world charm. He told her as much as he opened her door for her and led her into the restaurant. She was stiff and nervous, her gaze darting around in a manner totally unlike her. He leaned in close to her, putting a hand at the small of her back. “I know you’re a good actress, Princess. Be casual and normal, and no one will look at you.”

  “I feel very on-display, oddly enough,” she murmured to him, leaning in.

  As she moved closer to him, he caught a whiff of her perfume—just a hint of citrus, sweet and clean like her. Damn. He happened to glance down and caught a hint of cleavage in the loose front of her shirt, and his cock began the hard press against his jeans. They needed a dark booth, and fast.

  “Bon soir,” the maître d’ said to them as they approached. “Vous voulez un table pour deux?”

  “Ask for a private booth,” Luke said, leaning in close so his lips could brush against Alex’s ear again, because he was a fucking horndog and couldn’t help himself.

  She held up two fingers. “Nous voulons une cabine privée dans le dos s’il vous plaît.”

  “Mais bien sûr. Suis-moi s’il te plait.”

  Alex took his hand and pulled him along behind her. To her credit, she sauntered through the restaurant like she owned the place, and he was pretty sure not a single head turned around. That was good. He snatched his baseball cap off his head and when they were led to their table, he was pleased to see it was a candlelit nook in the back of the restaurant that was cozy and extremely private, with high walls separating the diners. The only people who would be able to see them there would be the waitstaff as they rushed back and forth to the nearby kitchen.

  He waited for Alex to sit, and then slid in next to her. The maître d’ rattled off some fancy-sounding shit in French, and Alex smiled and listened attentively, ending with “Bon, merci.”

  “What was that?” Luke asked when the man was gone.

  “He said he’s always had a crush on you and wanted to show up at your hotel room later to give you a personal massage.” Her dimple peeped out.

  Luke snorted and caught her hand in his. He rubbed her knuckles again. “Nice try. What did he really say?”

  “You don’t speak French?”

  He shook his head. “You are talking to a very uneducated man, Alex. I’m lucky I passed English.” Actually, he was pretty sure he hadn’t, which was why he’d gotten his GED. But he didn’t tell her that. She was already outclassing him by far. “Do you speak a lot of languages?”

  “Not that many. French, Italian, Spanish, German, and some Portuguese, though that involves a little guesswork.” Her soft smile indicated that she was serious.

  “You . . . think that’s not many? Jesus.”

  Alex looked worried. “You forget that we are a small European country. All of those languages are spoken around us on a daily basis. To not know them would be impolite.”

  Then he put himself down as impolite, he supposed. But damn, he felt like an idiot around her sometimes.

  He let her order for him, since she was the one fluent in the language, and it felt like a weird sort of role reversal. She didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, maybe because she didn’t date much. The wine she ordered was incredible, and he had a moment of apprehension when her plate arrived and it was full of delicate vegetables and sauces. The sizzling steak put in front of him a moment later showed she knew him better than he’d expected.

  “To a first date?” she asked, raising her wineglass.

  “To the first of many, hopefully.”

  Her blush-tinged smile was charming, and Luke relaxed again. The conversation picked up, and he was having a hell of a time enjoying himself in her company. She was smart, witty, and listened as much as she talked.

  The role reversal came to an end a short time later, when the check was sent to the table. Alex stared at it, confused. “Oh, dear.”

  “What is it?”

  She looked abashed. “I . . . don’t carry money. It’s something I’ve never truly thought about—”

  He laughed and reached for the check. “This, I can handle, Alex. Let me.”

  “All right.” She gave him a nervous smile. “I feel foolish, though. Such a small, simple thing.”

  A small, simple thing that didn’t seem to exist in her world. He got it, actually, and his weird feeling about the date vanished. They were both out of their element, weren’t they?

  Luke paid the tab and left a generous tip, just in case tipping rules were different in France. Alex didn’t know the answer, either, and they were afraid to ask anyone around them. As they left the restaurant, the moon was high in the sky and a cool mist covered the streets.

  “It’s lovely,” Alex said with a happy sigh. “Want to go for a walk? There’s a lovely little bridge down by the river.”

  So she wasn’t ready for the date to end, either? “A walk sounds great.” He took her hand in his and linked their fingers again. Just being here with her was nice. Real nice.

  They talked about the movie and some of the scene changes that Luke had been sneaking into the film with Alex’s help, and he shared a story about Nick on the last movie set that had them both laughing. Too soon, they were there by the edge of the water and on the small bridge.

  “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” Alex’s voice was soft. “I almost wish it wasn’t so misty, so you could see the mountains in the distance. They’re beautiful in the moonlight.” She gave a small shiver and then crossed her arms over her breasts.

  And because Luke wasn’t much of a gentleman, he noticed that her blouse had started to stick to her body in the damp mist, and her nipples were clearly outlined, and Jesus, he wanted to touch her. He groaned and turned away, discreetly adjusting himself so she wouldn’t be startled by his, uh, enthusiasm.

  “You okay?” Her voice was concerned.

  Shit, had she heard his groan? What could he possibly say that wouldn’t freak her out? Just adjusting my inappropriate boner? Looking at your tits gave me a hard-on? He went with a blunted version of the truth. “Finding it really, really hard not to kiss you right now, that’s all.”

  Alex laughed. “I’d be willing to make that sacrifice if it’d please you.”

  He turned to look at her and grinned. “I won’t get shot by the royal guards for manhandling the princess in public?”

  She slid a bit closer to him, and her fingers tugged on his sport jacket. “Not if the princess wants to be manhandled.” She leaned in until her mouth—and her breasts, heaven help him—were nearly brushing against him. “And tonight I’m just Ale
x, remember?”

  “I happen to like Just Alex quite a bit, you know.” His hand moved to her hair, wild and wavy and carefree. She closed her eyes, looking blissfully content to be in his arms. He had to touch her. His fingers grazed her jaw, feeling her smooth skin. She leaned into his touch, and he tipped her chin, then kissed her.

  Her mouth was soft and sweet and tasted like wine. He felt her tremble against him, and he wanted to comfort her, to let her know everything was fine, that he liked kissing her. For some reason, she struck him as incredibly skittish when it came to anything intimate. A product of her upbringing? Or was she as innocent as she seemed? The thought of Alex kissing another man filled him with a helpless sort of jealousy, and he pulled her tighter against him. She was his, damn it.

  His kiss took on a possessive edge. Luke’s tongue slicked into her mouth, claiming her for his own. He felt a surge of masculine pride when a soft moan escaped her, and when she began to lean into each kiss as if her life depended on his mouth being on hers. He wanted her. He wanted to take her back to his hotel room and strip the clinging blouse off of her, unveil the pretty breasts that had been tormenting him all night, peel the tight jeans from her long legs and see what she looked like naked. Wrap a fist in her hair as he fucked her and—

  And damn it, she was still a royal princess. He was lucky to even speak to her.

  Reluctantly, he broke off the kiss, ignoring her small noise of protest. “You’re shivering,” he said, rubbing her arm through her blouse. “You want my jacket?”

  “Are you offering to strip for me, Luke Houston?” Her head tilted at a flirty angle, but her voice was weak and breathless, and her lips bruised from his kisses. God, she looked fucking sexy. Utterly delectable. How did no one sweep into that royal estate of theirs and kidnap her to claim as their own? How was it she was single? Fucking idiots, all of them. She was the most delectable thing he’d ever seen, and he’d seen a lot of sexy women in Hollywood.

  “You want me to strip for you, Princess? I would.”

  Her eyes widened and she clung to his shirt. “Maybe . . . Not today. But soon.” She sounded disappointed and her fingers flexed on his chest.

  They were ice cold, and he felt like an ass. Of course she was cold. They were in the mountains and it was damp out. Shrugging off his sport jacket, he wrapped it around her. “Can’t let you catch a cold, Princess. You won’t be able to come on the set next week.”

  She slid her arms through his sleeves and hugged the jacket close to her, looking a bit like a child in it despite the fact they were nearly the same height. They definitely weren’t the same bulk. The smile she gave him was playful. “Are you sure you want me on the set still? You might get tired of me being there.”

  “Not a chance.” If he didn’t see her again, he’d . . . well, he’d go mad for starters. Maybe he’d show up at the palace and demand that she go out with him again.

  Alex grew very still, and the expression on her face was concerned. “I’m not very good at this, Luke.”

  “Good at what?”

  “Dating.” She fiddled with one of his sleeves. “I know it’s probably forward of me, but I’m the crown princess and not used to waiting for things. I read somewhere that women should play hard to get with a man they like, but I’m afraid that simply won’t do. Are we going to see each other again? You can, of course, decline. My feelings won’t be hurt.”

  Decline? After he’d just kissed her like a starving man in need of sustenance? Not likely. “Do I need to kiss you again to show you how I feel about you?”

  “You could,” she said, and stepped in close again.

  He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her until she was soft and sighing once more. “I want to see you again, Princess Alex of blah blah blah,” he murmured. “How do we do this?”

  She giggled. “My people will contact your people?”

  That was a terrible answer . . . and yet the most accurate one. “Why is it so hard for two people to schedule a damn date?”

  She shrugged and slid her arms around his waist. “Because we’re not normal people?”

  “I guess I can deal with not normal if it allows me to date you.”

  The sparkle in her eyes as she gazed up at him? That was everything.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The next morning, Alex was daydreaming over breakfast as one of Grandmama’s large white cats jumped up on the table and strolled past her plate. She picked up her toast and moved it out of the way without batting an eye, her thoughts on other things.

  Things like Luke’s jacket, which she still had and still smelled faintly of his aftershave. Things like the kisses they’d shared on the bridge, and the way he’d talked to her, like they were sharing secrets. Things like his smile, and the way his nose bumped against hers when he leaned in to kiss her. The little jokes they shared between them. The way he liked to link his fingers between hers when they walked.

  Luke Houston in the movies was sexy and dynamic. Luke Houston in person? He was a dream come true. She took a bite out of dry toast and smiled at nothing in particular. He’d be on set tomorrow, so once she’d had breakfast with Grandmama, she’d make plans to stop by in the morning—

  “Alexandra.” Her grandmother’s reedy voice still had the power to cut through the room.

  “Yes, Grandmama?” She straightened, feeling a bit like a guilty child, and looked over at her grandmother. Queen Alexandra Olivia I was in her eighties but still a force to be reckoned with . . . most days. Sometimes she had moments where she was confused and tired, but most days she was as sharp and cutting as she was in her twenties. Alex loved her . . . but she also lived in fear of disobeying. Her grandmother could be stubborn and unrelenting when she didn’t see things the same way as Alex, and they’d butted heads more than once already.

  “What do you think of Roderick?”

  Roderick? Alex straightened in her chair, trying to focus her attention. The only Roderick she knew of was a cousin, one of the royal family in Saxe-Gallia. “Cousin Roderick?”

  “Yes. Are you inclined to marry, and if so, what do you think of him?” Grandmama’s hawklike eyes gazed at Alex from across the expansive breakfast table, and the elderly woman casually turned a page in the paper.

  The bite of toast Alex had just taken stuck to the roof of her mouth. Marry? Roderick? She swallowed hard and then drank a sip of hot tea. “I . . . I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about marriage.”

  Her grandmother folded up the paper in front of her and, to Alex’s surprise, tossed it in her direction. “Then are you telling me that this is a fling?”

  Alex picked up the paper with trembling hands. A cat meowed and pushed at her hand, but she ignored it. The paper was the Bellissime national one, and Alex was on the front page, kissing Luke on the bridge in France. THE PRINCESS’S HOLLYWOOD LOVER the headline read boldly. Below that, it went on in a smaller headline. SCANDAL AT THE ROYAL PALACE? OR SANCTIONED BY THE QUEEN?

  Alex swallowed again, feeling very much like a child. “I . . .”

  “You didn’t ask permission to go out on a date.” The queen’s tone was withering. “You know the rules, Alexandra. We are the voice of the people of Bellissime. We represent them in our every action and word. What message do you think this sends?”

  That Luke Houston really is irresistible? That I’m human and fell for a hot guy? “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be sorry,” the queen snapped. “Just tell me what response you wish for the palace to make. Is this a fling like one of your mother’s tawdry Monaco affairs that I pretend not to see?”

  Alex’s eyes widened. She knew?

  The elder woman waved a bejeweled hand. “I’m not foolish, Alexandra. And I know your mother has been unhappy for a long time. As long as she is discreet and not in line for the throne, no one cares. But you are my heir.” Her eagle-eyed gaze focused on Alex. “So
?”

  She stared at the picture. It was grainy, but there was no doubt it was her on the bridge, her hair flying around her head. Goodness, she looked so improper and utterly . . . happy in that picture. Normally she was posed perfectly for the photographers, having practiced for years the right way to hold her hands, tilt her head, how much teeth to show. This was natural and it was . . . wonderful. She wanted more. “It’s not a fling,” she said in a quiet voice. “I really like him. I want to go out with him again.”

  “Then the palace will issue a statement accordingly.” Grandmama folded her napkin on her lap and picked up her teacup. “The princess is dating an American and wishes her privacy at this time.”

  Alex was utterly shocked. “You . . . support it? Truly?”

  The queen’s lined face softened. “Alexandra, my dear. You are my heir. More than that, you are my granddaughter. I love you and your mother very much, and I know all too well how your mother endured an unhappy marriage for the sake of the crown. I regret it fiercely, even if it did bring you into this world. And if I can spare you the misery she had, then I will.”

  “Thank you.” Alex wanted to get up and hug her grandmother, but they weren’t the hugging type. She settled for beaming at her from across the table. “Thank you for understanding.”

  The queen simply winked at her.

  ***

  Across town, Luke was staring at the newspaper with a look of horror on his face. The headline was screamingly bold: THE PRINCESS’S HOLLYWOOD LOVER. The picture was of them on the bridge, Alex’s face pressed to his, her hair flying. He’d sworn up and down to her that they wouldn’t be recognized. That they’d be left alone.

  He’d been wrong, and he felt like an ass for compromising her privacy.

  His publicist, however, was thrilled.

  “My god, Luke. You don’t do things halfway, do you?” Beckee tittered into the phone. “Can we make a statement? Please? Pretty please?”

  “No statement,” Luke said, tossing aside the paper. He rubbed a hand down his face, frustrated. “I want it all to go away.”