A Royal Mess and Her Knight To Remember

by Jill Shalvis

  “Just wash off the mask in five more minutes,” Lissa said.

  “But my hair—”

  “Take out the curlers in ten.”

  Annie plastered herself to the connecting door. “You can’t go.”

  “Why?” Lissa asked.

  “Yeah, why?” Kyle echoed.

  Because then she’d be alone with Kyle, who stood there looking so damn sure of himself in jeans, a soft-looking shirt and hiking boots. Sort of like a walking advertisement for Outsider Magazine. She loved that magazine.

  “Lissa, the breast cream,” she said in a desperate, last-ditch attempt. “It didn’t work. We need to do it again.”

  Lissa grinned and tossed the jar to Kyle, who caught it with ease.

  “I love applying breast cream,” Kyle said.

  Annie felt a scream of frustration coming on, even as Lissa tugged her away from the door. “But—”

  But nothing. The door shut in her face.

  Leaving her alone with Kyle Moore. Cop. Best man, not groom. Tough and big and gorgeous. Holding breast cream.

  Please, her body begged.

  No. Flings weren’t for princesses. She knew this for a fact, as she’d tried hard to make it work for her before. Flings weren’t for women with secret dreams of happily-ever-after.

  And how are you supposed to get that happily-ever-after if you keep shoving everyone away, a little voice asked.

  She ignored the little voice. She stared at the wood door in front of her and willed herself to relax.

  You are not attracted to the man behind you.

  But she was.

  Well, then you will not admit to being attracted to the man behind you.

  No matter what he did or said.

  “ANNIE?”

  She didn’t move, just stared at the door in front of her.

  “Annie?”

  “Go away, Kyle.”

  “But I just got here.” He watched the back of her head covered in curlers, imagining he could see the wheels inside turning like crazy.

  Poor baby. She was studying the wood grain of the door as if it held the utmost fascination for her.

  She held the utmost fascination for him, though he felt vaguely uncomfortable with that realization. She wore only a skimpy little tank top and boxers, nothing else. Her bare feet curled into the rug. Her legs were toned and tanned and looked silky smooth. So did her arms. But it was the back of her neck, exposed by her tipped head and the fact that her hair was being tortured by the curlers, that really drew him.

  He wanted to kiss her there. Then turn her around and dip his gaze to see for himself what that breast cream had done for an already perfect set of breasts and the most mouthwatering nipples he’d ever seen.

  But she didn’t move, and he sighed. She was going to be difficult.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  “No. No problem. What makes you think there’s a problem?”

  “Because you won’t look at me.”

  “Maybe I don’t like to look at you.”

  “Annie.”

  “Why are you here?” At her sides, her hands fisted. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough today?”

  “Humiliated? You’re kidding, right?” He took a step toward her, so that the only thing that separated them was the ridiculous curlers in her hair. The tip of her head didn’t quite come up to his chin, and the oddest feelings slammed into him.

  Protectiveness.

  Possessiveness.

  Oh, man. Big mental step back here. Biiiigggg one. “I never humiliated you.”

  She let out a low laugh and continued staring at the door.

  Ah, hell. Why was he here? He could no longer remember, but felt certain it had something to do with wanting to tease her about the strippers and her reaction to them. About offering to strip for her, just so she didn’t feel left out.

  He hadn’t expected his tomboy to be wearing a facial mask and breast cream, looking so…well, vulnerable.

  “I’d like you to leave—” She gasped when he tossed the breast cream to the bed and whirled her around.

  “That’s better,” he decided, keeping his hands on her shoulders to prevent her escape. “Talk to me, not the door.”

  “The door cares about my feelings more than you do.”

  That stunned him for a moment, during which time he realized he was still holding her. She felt good in his hands, damn good, and before he could help it, he’d shifted a little closer. “I care about your feelings.”

  “No, you care about the cream.”

  His gaze dipped down to the edges of the tank top, and the smooth curves plumping out of it.

  “You’re wondering.”

  He looked into her face. “Wondering?”

  “If I still have the cream on.”

  No, he was wondering which bridesmaid put it on for her and if they’d let him watch next time.

  “Kyle?”

  He was lost in the fantasy. “Hmm?”

  “I’m waiting with bated breath to hear why you’re here.”

  Why he was here. “The strippers.” He was pleased to remember. “You were bothered by them. And I…” Nothing to do here but speak the truth. “I was going to offer to make you feel a little easier about it. You know, the whole stripping thing.”

  “By…”

  “Well…” He tried his most charming smile. It wasn’t a tool he used often, but whenever he had put it to the test, it hadn’t failed him yet.

  Annie just stared at him.

  Damn. It failed him. First time for everything, he supposed. “I was…uh, going to offer to strip for you.”

  She let out a laugh. “And that would have made me feel more comfortable, how?”

  Her voice said, “not interested,” but as he watched, her nipples puckered. Gotcha, he thought.

  “You know this might be a huge shock to your ego,” she said, crossing her arms and thereby removing his most excellent view. “But I’m not interested in you.”

  He took another step forward, watching with amusement as her chin came up. She refused to back up, though, his lovely, angry princess, which suited him just fine as it allowed her body to brush his. “Let’s stick to the truth,” he said.

  “Which is?”

  “Which is…” He reached out and ran a hand over her mud-slathered jaw. “You’re attracted to me, every bit as much as I’m attracted to you. You’re yearning and burning to find out if we’d be as combustible together as it seems. And…” he leaned in to speak directly in her ear, his lips just brushing her skin, causing a shiver that wracked his body as well as hers “…you want to know if making love with me would be…what did you say? Overrated.”

  She went utterly still.

  “It wouldn’t be, Annie. It’d be perfect.”

  He would have sworn she let out a little sound that conveyed her reluctant arousal at his words before she turned and jerked open the door.

  “Good night.” Her voice shook just a little.

  “Annie—”

  “Good night.”

  “Dream of me,” he said, walking past her.

  Because he sure as hell would dream of her, and misery loved company.

  9

  BY THE NEXT NIGHT, Kyle had reaffirmed his decision to not get married. He’d truly had no idea how many functions one single wedding could create.

  He’d been to breakfasts, lunches, dinners, meetings with caterers and florists and photographers, and quite frankly, was getting tired of holding his brother’s hand.

  “You’re on your own,” he finally told Kevin, the night after the bachelor-bachelorette party. They were standing in the open area downstairs, where Kevin was trying to talk Kyle into some partying on his last night of freedom.

  Tuning out his brother, Kyle looked across the room and met a pair of golden eyes.

  Annie had one hand on the stairs as if she’d intended to go up. She wore a pair of faded jeans and a simple T-shirt. Her hair flowed loose. Just a woman, a regular wom
an.

  Who happened to be a princess.

  Who happened to be more bossy than his own sergeant.

  Who stirred his blood.

  “Kyle?” Kevin waved a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Kyle.”

  “Yeah. I’m here.” When he turned back to the stairs, Annie was gone. He ignored the quick stab of regret. “I’ll tuck you in if you’d like, but then I’m going to crash.”

  “Never mind.” Kevin’s eyes lit with trouble. “I think I can find my way to a bed.”

  “Not Lissa’s,” Kyle warned. “It’s the night before the wedding, remember? I think getting lucky is out of the question, unless you’re getting lucky alone.”

  “Hey, I’m getting a marriage certificate tomorrow, which states I never have to get lucky alone again.”

  “You keep thinking that. And anyway, Lissa’s at her wedding shower tonight, remember? Girls only.” Kyle shuddered at the thought of having to attend a wedding shower. “She made me promise to keep you away.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you crash the shower.” Kevin sounded disgusted. “I mean, heaven forbid you get lucky by accident. What’s happened to you anyway? You used to be such a slut.”

  Kyle didn’t want to think about that, or why he suddenly—as in the past four days suddenly—wasn’t interested in going on the prowl. He stared up the staircase, wondering if Annie was going to wear that skimpy little tank top and those sexy-as-hell boxers.

  “Does this newfound sainthood have anything to do with one mouthwatering beautiful European royal?” Kevin wondered, following Kyle’s gaze.

  “Of course not.”

  “Of course not,” Kevin repeated, then snorted his disbelief. “Right.”

  “Say good-night, Kev.”

  Kevin sighed. “Good night, Kev.”

  “THIS ISN’T A co-ed shower, right?” Annie wanted that clarified up front. “Just us girls, right?”

  Lissa laughed. “Just us girls.”

  A little suspicious after last night’s fiasco, Annie walked into the lounge area of Lissa’s honeymoon suite where she’d moved earlier that day. Annie was feeling on edge and overly alert.

  The room was decorated for a bridal shower, no doubt. Silver streamers cascaded from the ceiling. Silver and the all-too-familiar-pink balloons floated around the room, among flowers and presents and the biggest cake Annie had ever seen.

  She hoped it was an ice-cream cake. She really needed ice cream.

  With a broad smile, Sharise handed Annie a large silver-and-pink gift bag. “Here you go.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your outfit.”

  Annie already had an outfit, thank you. She’d changed from her jeans and T-shirt into a very comfortable pair of slacks and a lightweight sleeveless sweater with a pair of flats she’d be comfortable in walking anywhere. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, didn’t Lissa tell you? This is a theme shower.”

  Annie blinked. “A theme shower.”

  “Yes. Our theme tonight is lingerie. Sexy lingerie. A woman from an expensive boutique has put it all together for us. We were each supposed to log online and purchase an outfit for Lissa. Didn’t you do that? We’re going to model them for her.”

  “Um…”

  “I can’t wait to see how we all look.”

  Annie did not have a good feeling about this. “But as Lissa is the bride, shouldn’t she try all the stuff on herself?” She hid her gift bag—with her own nicely wrapped present which was most definitely not sexy lingerie—behind her back.

  Sharise laughed, then put her hand on Annie’s shoulder. “You are so funny. Lissa and I had no idea how funny you were.”

  Being told she was funny when she was utterly serious gave Annie a very bad feeling. “Sharise, explain this bag you’re handing me.”

  “The invitation explained it all, didn’t you read it?”

  Uh, no. She hadn’t. Amelia had stockpiled all the invitations for her, warning her to go through the entire stack, which of course she hadn’t.

  Told you, came Amelia’s stern British voice in her head, so crystal clear that Annie actually turned around and looked for the woman.

  No one.

  Annie shook her head. This wasn’t the time to debate her sanity.

  “Oh, you royals.” Sharise laughed again. “I know how busy you are, and how many assistants you all have. I guess you never got around to reading about all the wicked fun we’re going to have.”

  Wicked fun? Oh, boy.

  “But someone picked out something for you to give Lissa.” Sharise opened her own bag and lifted out a filmy white teddy that absolutely would not cover the essentials, and a matching “robe” that would only enhance the deficit. The matching slippers were white satin, four inches minimum, and fur topped. “This outfit is from me. Pretty, don’t you think?”

  Yeah, if one was a virgin sacrifice. “Well—”

  “You should see the one Lissa has to wear tonight. It’s this pink little number, and…”

  “Looks like Little Bo Peep? Does it match the bridesmaid dresses?”

  Sharise frowned. “Don’t you like the bridesmaid dresses?”

  Oh, dear Lord. “Sharise, you don’t by any chance have any aspirin, do you?”

  Sharise laughed. “Like I said, you’re very funny. Show me what was picked out for you to model.”

  Annie looked into the bag and saw black. Black shiny vinyl. Black vinyl straps that couldn’t possibly cover anything important.

  “Oooh,” Sharise breathed. “Very naughty. And check out those boots at the bottom of the bag.”

  Which were also vinyl with stiletto heels nearly five inches high.

  “Can’t wait to see that, a sweet little princess all decked out in dominatrix gear.” Sharise tossed her head back and laughed.

  “I’m not going to wear this.” Whatever it was.

  Sharise sobered. “Oh, but you have to. It’s all part of the fun, you’ll ruin it if you don’t. Please?”

  “Sharise—”

  “I’d better come with you,” Sharise decided, taking her arm, leading her to the bathroom. “I can’t have you chickening out.”

  Chickening out? Is that what they’d think? Annie never chickened out, never. Two incredibly competitive sisters had made sure of that. Besides, she did have the kick-ass lingerie, shouldn’t that make her feel a little better?

  Sharise tried to go in the bathroom with her. “I’ve got it handled,” Annie said, blocking the way.

  “You might need some help getting it on.” Obviously Sharise wasn’t sure Annie would do it.

  But Princess Andrea Katrine Fran Brunner of Grunberg didn’t chicken out of anything. She peeked into the bag again and felt a little faint. Damn it, Natalia, this should have been you. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” Sharise said doubtfully. “But call me if you need help.”

  “Call you. Got it.” Annie shut the bag and tried not to picture how bad it could be. Whatever it was, she had the feeling she’d rather wear the Little Bo Peep bridesmaid dress for the rest of her life.

  IT WAS A SURPRISE all right, the kind that provoked heart attacks. Stunned, Annie could only stare at herself in the mirror. Her frown made the entire getup that much scarier.

  “Annie, hurry!” came Sharise’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door. She’d been knocking every two minutes for twenty minutes now. “We’re starting the games.”

  “Oh, yippee.” Annie took once last shocked look at herself and opened the door to the virgin-sacrifice Sharise. “Don’t want to miss the games.”

  Sharise’s jaw dropped to the ground. “Holy smokes.”

  “What?” Was it worse than she thought?

  “You look…wow.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just do this.” Annie started to walk past the white-lace teddy-covered Sharise, then reached back for the whip on the counter. With a grim smile, she stalked out of the bathroom.

  Sharise just shook he
r head. “Honey, don’t take this wrong, but you have the best ass I’ve ever seen.”

  Annie tripped over the stupid heels and nearly broke her ankle. “That’s just because it’s hanging out.”

  “That it certainly is.”

  At their arrival in the front room, the small group of lingerie-clad women all stopped talking and clapped. Lissa got up, dressed in what indeed looked like underwear Little Bo Peep would have chosen for herself.

  Annie’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. How come yours covers all your parts?”

  Lissa laughed. “Don’t worry, my parts aren’t nearly as fabulous as yours. I just hope I look half as good as you when I put that on for Kevin.”

  She was going to actually wear this for her soon-to-be husband. Annie looked down at herself. She wore a black vinyl thong—which brought new meaning to the word uncomfortable—and a black vinyl crop top that barely covered her nipples. The black garters and stockings—complete with seams down the backs of her legs—and the shiny, high boots, only added to the effect.

  Then there was the impressive whip she held in her hand. “You’re going to put this…this outfit on for Kevin?”

  Lisa eyed the whip and waggled her eyebrows. “Of course.”

  Annie had had a hard enough time putting it on for the women to gawk at her. It was beyond her fathomable imagination to picture putting it on for a man. “In the daylight?”

  Sharise laughed. “Annie, you are so funny.”

  Annie was beginning to dislike that statement. These people were insane. She hadn’t come to New Mexico, she’d come to the twilight zone.

  Feeling quite bare in the behind, as every little breath brushed air against her far-too-exposed butt, Annie was relieved to sit on the couch so the games could begin.

  Her relief was short-lived.

  “The first game is called Rate The Stud,” Sharise called out happily.

  Sure, why shouldn’t she be happy, she had a robe to cover all her parts.

  To play, they all had to stand up, face Lissa, and tell her a studly thing about her soon-to-be husband.

  Annie decided right then and there she needed a break. Actually, she needed air. Quickly, quietly, she escaped to the patio. No one followed her, and she felt like a death-row inmate granted immunity. Having been told the men were all out of the way for the night, she walked to the railing without fear of being discovered, leaned over and dragged in some air.