His Royal Princess

by Jessica Clare

  “Like tapping my leg?” He put his hand down to his side and double tapped his forefinger against his pant.

  She nodded. “And if he tries to change it, I’ll just make it clear that I adore the new way the scene is going. If you think he truly values my opinion as much as you say, it should work, yes?”

  “You’d do that?”

  Alex gave him a playful look. “Clearly you have never been around very many royal princesses. Our best weapons are honeyed words.”

  “And you use them to get everyone to do what you want?”

  “Not always. I usually just try to get them to see things how I want them to be seen.”

  “Same thing.”

  Was it? Because right now he was on the same page as her, but he wasn’t asking her out, which was what she wanted. She smiled at him, wishing desperately that she knew how to flirt. But she’d been raised in a royal palace full of women and had been more sheltered than she cared to admit. She didn’t date. Anyone she showed interest in who was at the same peer level as her would require a constitutional agreement between two countries to date.

  But right now? She’d give her right arm to be able to flirt effectively with the man. To have him realize just how interested she was. So she kept smiling like an idiot and begging with her eyes for him to notice her.

  “Well . . . that’s real nice of you to offer, Princess. I guess we’ll see if it works, huh?”

  She inclined her head.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “I know I don’t. But we’re . . . friends.” She choked on the word. She wanted to be more than friends. So, so badly. Ask me out, Luke! Tell me you’re interested in me as a person! Please!

  But all he did was nod. “You’re a good friend.”

  She swallowed her sigh. She was, wasn’t she? A nice, safe, sweet friend.

  Ugh.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shooting resumed that Monday at six in the morning, and Luke noticed as he got his morning coffee that the princess was on set. She was there in her terrible wig that hid her pretty blonde waves and sunglasses that hid her bright eyes. Once again, she was dressed in an utterly bland jacketed suit and prim skirt, and he wondered why he’d ever thought her a hooker. She radiated serenity and elegance even in her disguise.

  And man, she was so completely out of his league that he almost felt bad for the hard-ons he’d had all weekend, and the stroke-outs he’d done in her name. Maybe it was that rather virginal mouth of hers and the way she never seemed to lose her cool around anyone but him. Him? He could tell she was flustered. It was like she cared what he thought, which was a fucking heady feeling for a bonehead actor. And maybe it was the prim skirts and the way he’d caught peeps of her small ankles and delicate feet in that gown she’d been wearing Friday night. He’d jerked off a few times, imagining her bending over and removing her strappy shoes.

  Yeah, his spank material had officially changed to princesses. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a problem most men had, but most men hadn’t met Princess Alexandra of Bellissime.

  Alex, she’d told him in a husky voice. Call me Alex.

  Oh, he called her Alex all right. He called her that in the shower when he was pounding away at his cock with one hand. He called her Alex in his dreams when he had her bent over the sofa in his trailer, fucking her. He called her Alex when, in his imagination, he was pushing her head down toward his cock and imagining the blow job she’d give him with that serene, regal air of hers.

  Luke was pretty sure he shouldn’t have sex fantasies about the princess, but it was okay to dream, right? She’d never look at a tool like him, even if he was a famous tool. She was a fan of his, and interested in the movies, and that’s all there was to it. Girls like her dated dukes and guys who had polo ponies and shit, not guys like him who had grown up in a trailer in east Texas and had relatives who chewed tobacco and thought camo was a wardrobe staple.

  But there she was, all fresh and pretty. He tried not to stare at her as someone in craft services gave her a cup of coffee and she smiled at him like he’d bestowed jewelry on her. Nick was once again chatting her ear off, and she had a companion with her—a dried up, angry-looking stick of a woman—so that meant his chances of getting a few minutes to say hi to her were zilch.

  But when she looked up and their eyes met? And she gave him a subtle wink? Luke couldn’t help but grin. Today would be interesting, all right. Today’s scene was a heartfelt bit of dialogue as the hero confessed his past to the heroine. And it read robotic and stiff as hell, which meant Luke had ideas for tweaks.

  Lots and lots of ideas. And he was pretty sure Nick would hate all of them.

  He brought his coffee with him to wardrobe and let them paint a few bruises on his face, then changed into his character’s clothing for the scene. They compared stills of him from the prior scene to make sure his hair and clothes were just right, and when all was good, an hour or so had passed. He headed out to the set itself and flexed his arms, running through his lines and trying to get into his character’s headspace.

  Or at least, that’s what he should have been doing. Instead, he glanced over at Alex. Nick had a director’s chair for her tucked next to his, and he was talking away to her. They both had scripts in hand and Alex looked as if she were hanging on every word the director said.

  Had he been talking her ear off for the past hour? The woman had the patience of a saint.

  Lighting was adjusted, Pam arrived on set with her own set of painted-on bruises, and they both sat on the edge of the bed. In the scene, his character was supposed to clasp his hands and deliver his lines while staring down at them the entire time. He was going to change that a bit.

  “All right,” Nick said, getting up from his chair. His curled-edge script was in his hand, and smudged glasses were askew on his nose. “Luke, in this scene, you’re telling Pam’s character about your past. The terrible things you’ve done, and how much you regret them. You’re conveying to her that you’re a bad person and you’ve made bad choices. Pam? You’re just listening and as he tells you, you’re more and more horrified, okay? Great. Let’s go.” He waved a finger in the air. “Action.”

  Lines of dialogue flowed in Luke’s head. He became his character. He looked over at Pam’s character, concern written on her face, and began to speak. Not the way the script had it, but the way it should have been read. He told her the tragedies of his childhood while he reached out and clasped her hand, then slowly pulled her against him. When she pulled away from him and shook her head in horror, he allowed the pain and anguish of that to show in his face.

  He didn’t get more than halfway through his lines before Nick bellowed, “CUT.”

  It was like popping a bubble. Luke snapped back and jumped to his feet, frustrated. Damn it. That had been good. That had been better than good. It had been amazing. Even Pam was giving him more than she normally did. You knew when a scene felt right, and that had felt so right.

  “You’re doing it all wrong, Luke,” Nick snapped. “My god, how many fucking times—”

  A loud sniff made him go silent. Nick turned, and so did Luke.

  The princess was wiping a tissue at the corners of her eyes. “That was beautiful. So emotional.” She gave them a tremulous smile and then turned her megawatt attention back to Nick. “What was wrong with the scene?”

  Nick gestured at the script. “It says clearly here that he needs to stare at his hands while he’s talking!”

  “Oh, but did you see the anguish in his face?” Princess Alex pressed a hand to her breast as if struck. “It was so moving, I couldn’t look away. I loved it.”

  Nick paused. He looked down at his script, and then began to pace. “We’ll shoot it both ways and then see which way is better.”

  Damn. She was good. He hadn’t even remembered to give her the finger-tap signal and she was already
on the ball. The princess gave him a teary smile and daintily dabbed her eyes.

  The demure princess was a better actor than he was.

  ***

  Every day that week, the princess showed up on set in her proper suits and her god-awful wigs, and listened to hour upon endless hour of Nick yammering in her ear as the film went on. And while not every scene was modified to Luke’s liking, he was adding enough to his character, with the subtle help of Alex, to not hate the damn movie anymore. He felt like he was getting somewhere, and every time he saw the princess and her mouth curl into a faint, approving smile, he wanted to either shout to the heavens . . . or grab her and kiss that smile off her face.

  He did neither, of course, but he thought about it a lot. Too bad she was so out of his league it was pathetic. He’d never considered himself to have a specific type, but her elegance and confident bearing were doing all kinds of mad things to his libido. Luke concluded that he did, in fact, have a type, and apparently he had a thing for long legs, modest skirts, and sly, clever women who knew how to get what they wanted. But what normal, red-blooded man wouldn’t have a thing for that? He told himself it was normal that Alex fueled his now-obsessive masturbating. Maybe it was because she was around all the time and they never could say more to each other in passing than a greeting. Maybe it was that despite their lack of communication, it was clear to both of them that they had a secret agreement.

  That was it, he decided. The secrecy and the thought of getting one over the director were fueling his lust. It wasn’t the modest confidence of a woman he found more beautiful every time he looked at her. It was just the situation.

  The situation got . . . damn weird on Friday.

  They’d had four terrific days of shooting, four days in which Luke had felt “on” with his character, and the scenes filmed were making him happy. By day five, the princess had shown up and her chair was already pulled next to the director’s chair, and the assistants knew to bring her hot tea instead of coffee. She showed up with not a yawn, a gracious smile for everyone, and bright eyes ready to watch the day’s filming.

  Luke stared down at his script, disturbed. Today’s shot was an emotional argument that was . . . going to lead into angry sex between his character and Pam’s character.

  And the princess was here watching.

  Fuck. This was . . . awkward.

  He blew out a breath and tucked his script under his arm. Maybe he could talk to Nick, see about filming this another day, preferably when the princess wasn’t around. For one, he wasn’t sure he wanted her watching as he simulated sex with Pam. For two, it was a nude scene, and while he wasn’t embarrassed about walking around in a cock sock, if she was there? The cock sock might be stiff, and that’d be awkward for everyone on the fucking set.

  Now . . . how to extract himself from the situation without fucking things up? Luke approached the director. Nick was already in his chair, animatedly telling Alex about his last shoot as she listened attentively. Luke was pretty sure she’d already been told the story twice, but she made it seem as if no one else had her attention when she listened, so he understood Nick’s obsession with her.

  Hell, he felt pretty obsessed with her himself.

  “Nick?” Luke cleared his throat to get the director’s attention. “Can we talk for a moment?”

  The director frowned over at Luke. “Shouldn’t you be in wardrobe? We need to get started while the natural light is still golden with the sunrise.”

  “Yeaaah. I was thinking, maybe we should film a different scene today? I’m not feeling this one.” He gave a pointed look at the princess, who was flipping through the script, and hoped that Nick got the hint.

  Nick, of course, did not get the hint. He frowned. “But we’re all ready for this one today.” He put a hand on Luke’s shoulder.

  “I’m not sure I should be doing this scene with an audience,” he said, hinting more broadly.

  “You want us to close the set? Don’t you think you’re being ridiculous?” That was one of Nick’s pet peeves—he wasn’t a fan of working around actor foibles. Normally Luke saw eye to eye with Nick on this, but today . . .

  Princess Alex chose that moment to look up at him, and with her blue-eyed gaze on his face, it made him feel even dirtier about the upcoming scene.

  He tried to think of new excuses. Pam had her period. He was sick to his stomach and couldn’t handle a kissing scene at the moment. Something. Anything. But as he looked up at Nick’s unhappy face, he supposed he could just fucking nut up and make it through the scene. “Nah. You know what? Never mind. Let’s do it.”

  Luke thought about unsexy things in wardrobe. Wasn’t hard, considering his wardrobe lady was eighty if she was a day. His character—still bruised, of course—was supposed to be naked under the sheets, and Pam was going to enter the room and confront him. He would get up and argue with her, and they’d start to fight, and it would turn into lust. No problem. He’d just stay in character, pretending.

  Lots and lots of pretending.

  He managed to keep his cool walking out onto the set with nothing but a towel around him, cock sock firmly in place. His makeup had been completed, and Nick was pacing by his chair. “Finally,” the director snapped. “Can we get on with this?”

  Luke nodded, refusing to look over at the director. If he did, he’d see Alex, and the last thing he wanted to see at the moment was her lovely face watching his every move.

  He headed onto the set and got into the bed. Overhead, the boom mic hovered into place. Cameras circled, and for the first time in his career, Luke felt . . . nervous. God, this was fucking weird. He normally didn’t give a shit about who watched, because acting was so impersonal. Everyone on the set had seen people mock-fucking a hundred times.

  But Alex was here. Alex was new to this, and she wouldn’t grasp just how little he cared about any of it. How when he kissed Pam, it wasn’t about her. And when he mimed that he was fucking her, it was all just awkward pretending.

  “Let’s give this a shot. Action!” Nick’s voice rang out.

  Fuck. Time to get his head in the game. Luke laid down in the sheets and put his hand to his forehead, as his character would. The door on set opened and Pam stepped in.

  “We need to talk, Jason.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Stef.”

  “I think there is.” Pam’s voice wobbled and then grew stronger. She was doing a great job at playing the timid heroine finding her strength. “You should have told me who you really were. That you’re a . . .”

  “A what?” He sat up in bed and the sheets pooled around his hips. To the audience, he was supposed to look naked. Hell, he was naked except for a tube of “nude” stocking around his johnson. “A mobster? A killer? A criminal for hire? When should I have brought that up in conversation, Stef? At what point?”

  On the far side of the room, Pam shook with restrained fury. “Before I fell in love with you, you bastard! Before my life got tangled up in this!”

  Luke jumped from the bed, the covers falling to the floor. He stalked across the room, putting every ounce of menace in his steps, and Stef/Pam quivered against the wall. “So what now? Am I not good enough for you? Because I’m a killer I shouldn’t put my hands on you? Because I’m a monster, that makes you want me less?” He put his hands on the wall next to her and leaned in.

  Stef/Pam shivered. “Jason—”

  Then they were supposed to kiss. Passionately, wildly kiss, and he was supposed to rip her dress off of her. They’d fall into bed and passionately make love. And two minutes of filmed “fucking” would probably end up being hours on set. Hours and hours of being spritzed down and people trying to get the lighting just right on his ass . . .

  He leaned in to Pam . . .

  She panted. She smelled like onions and garlic on her breath. Behind her, there was a tiny spider on the wall.
r />   It was a sign.

  “Spider,” Luke yelled out. “It’s upside down. Can’t do it. Bad luck. I’m going to my fucking trailer.” He grabbed the sheet off the bed, wrapped it around his hips, and stormed away.

  At last, an excuse he could lean on. Everyone knew he was superstitious. They’d grumble but they’d fucking cope. And he’d . . . he’d somehow figure out how to handle his dream girl watching him simulate sex with another woman.

  “Is he serious?” he heard Pam ask behind him.

  “Luke, get out here!” Nick yelled at him.

  “I have to light a candle for luck,” Luke said. “I gotta reset my chakras.” It was bullshit, of course, but it sounded good. He slammed the door to his trailer and breathed a sigh of relief when he was alone. Fuck. Why was he having such a hard time with this? He lit the luck candle (he always found one at a grocery store and brought one on set) and set it down, then grabbed a beer from his mini-fridge and collapsed on his couch.

  This was not working.

  He chugged the beer, but even that didn’t do much to relax him. He was too wound up, too tense. Did Alex think he was a jackass because he ran off the set due to a spider? Man, he fuckin’ hoped not.

  There was a knock at the door of his trailer.

  “Go away,” he called. It was probably Nick, coming up here to bitch at him about ruining the scene.

  The door opened. Alex peeped in, her black wig puffy on her head. “May we talk, Luke?”

  That hadn’t been the person he expected to come after him. But still, how could he refuse her? He waved her in.

  She entered the trailer carefully and shut the door behind her, then stood next to the wall, watching him. “You seem troubled today.”

  “You heard what I said out there—bad luck. A spider hanging upside down is a bad omen on set.” It wasn’t, but it sounded plenty ominous to him and suited his needs. He was all for starting a new superstition if it got him out of an awkward situation.