He holds out his hand and I take it, uncaring that my name is being called as we walk to the front door. Okay, so he’s walking and I’m jogging, but his strides are so long that I have to in order to keep up.
“Are you really six three?” I ask.
“Afraid so, shorty.”
“I’m average. Five five.”
He gives me another hot look. “Nothing average about you.”
Oh my.
Peter opens the door for us and I automatically smile at him. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“Have a good night and—”
Brooks steps between us. “I thought you wanted to go.”
“Oh I do.”
“Then stop flirting with your security guard and get your sweet ass in my car.”
At his crass command, I yank my hand out of his. “I changed my mind,” I lie.
“No, you didn’t.” The valet pulls a silver Bugatti up to the curb and hops out, opening both doors. “C’mon, Princess, live on the wild side. Promise to have you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”
I tilt my head to one side, hesitating while I mentally weigh my options.
“Fine. I get the hint.” He lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles in the most princely of ways. “Such a pleasure meeting you, sweetheart.”
No one’s ever called me sweetheart.
No one outside of my family has ever called me Charlotte, either, at least not to my face.
He lets go of my hand and strides away.
Oh, you stupid girl. You could have given yourself one night to be wild. One night to be just Charlotte and enjoy the lack of pressure in your life.
But no.
You had to be pragmatic and practical. Peter didn’t bother to follow you because he knew you wouldn’t leave.
“Fuck it,” I hear Brooks mutter, then he pivots and stalks over to me. My heart slams hard against my chest a thousand times before he speaks again. “You need a reason to go, don’t you?”
My lips part, but nothing really comes out except a squeak that kinda sounds like a yes. Well, it would sound like a yes if I spoke chipmunk.
“I’ll give you one.” He touches my shoulder, then his big hand is gliding up my neck and curling around.
“Give me one what?” Please let it be a kiss and a real one, too. By real, I mean not for a photo op.
He smiles a little, right before his mouth lowers to mine. “This.”
“Oh.” He stops, peering at me from beneath his lashes. It’s like he’s waiting for something or someone. He’s waiting for me. “Go on, then.”
Brooks touches my face as his lips whisper over mine. I tip up my chin, wanting more…of everything. I grab him by the lapels of his tux and twist the material, giving me purchase so that I can rise up on my toes and kiss him like I’ve always dreamed.
Except this is nothing like my dreams and late-night fantasies. The man whose mouth skillfully moves over mine is flesh and blood. His fingers caress my cheeks.
Sweet Lord, he’s a face toucher when he kisses.
He pulls me flush against him. I gasp into his mouth and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue inside mine. Suddenly, I don’t care if anyone’s taking our picture because this is the best kiss in the history of kisses.
Slowly, Brooks stops kissing me, his head tilting at an odd angle as he lets go of my neck and stops touching my face.
“Keep your fucking hands off my sister.”
“Shouldn’t she have a say in this?”
It takes me nearly a full minute to realize what’s going on.
Fisting my hands on my hips, I glare at my brother Colin, who’s holding a hot pink water gun to the side of Brooks’s head.
“Put the water gun down,” I order in my sternest voice.
“Go inside.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m twenty-six, almost twenty-seven, and I have the right to kiss whomever I want.”
“Wait until next week and then we can talk about your new penchant for making out with scumbags.”
Brooks laughs low in his throat. He doesn’t look like a man who just had his life threatened. He looks…bored. Perhaps he’s used to people threatening him with guns.
I answer before Colin says something that will make me see things his way.
“No.” Grabbing Brooks’s hand, I tug on it. “We’re leaving. Do have a lovely night, Colin.”
I wave as I get in the Bugatti, not realizing that the steering wheel is right in front of me until the valet closes my door. “Oh dear, I’m in the driver’s seat.”
“Looks like you belong there.” He tosses me the key fob. “Go ahead and drive, gorgeous…unless you regret what happened and want to go back to your punch station.”
Back to my boring wallflower of a life? Back to charity balls and remaining utterly serene while I want to shout I exist? I’m here for a purpose other than just being the spare heir.
“Absolutely not.”
Then I put the car into drive and hit the gas.
Chapter 2
Brooks
They say that if you give a person enough rope, they’ll eventually hang themselves. I thought by giving Princess Charlotte the key to my car that we would end up at a place no princess should be seen and I’d get to see a very different, very private side to her.
Instead we’re in a bakery that smells of cinnamon and vanilla, and she’s busy chatting with the owner about the types of chocolate they make. I’m sure her security detail is relieved.
“It would be our honor if you’d accept this,” I hear the owner say, setting a box of baked goods on the counter. “You’re more than welcome to eat here. We’ll close the shop just for you, Princess Charlotte, and your date.”
“Oh my word. I can’t let you give this to me,” she exclaims, her lovely mash of southern and English accent more noticeable than usual. “I insist on paying and you can leave the shop open. My security is here.” Her hands go to her side and I can see the moment her face registers that she didn’t bring a purse. “Oh dear.”
She looks close to tears, her cheeks flaming bright red. Yeah, she doesn’t like being embarrassed, especially in public. But the world doesn’t know that about her. They wouldn’t care anyway. That doesn’t fit the profile of the Sinclairs, even if Charlotte’s stayed under the radar.
However, I could put her in the limelight.
I can see the headline now:
SPOILED PRINCESS DEMANDS FREE GOODS FROM SMALL BUSINESS
No. Too long.
PRINCESS CHARLOTTE’S PUBLIC BREAKDOWN
Fucking perfect.
The hits I’d get on the story would be in the hundreds of millions. All the major outlets would carry it. In a matter of minutes, an innocent woman would be virtually guilty of the skewed truth. And let’s not forget the advertisement revenue my company would receive.
My fingers itch to pull my phone out, take a picture, and send it to my senior editor with some notes and directions.
Yet, I don’t move a muscle.
Son of a bitch. I can’t do it to her.
Charlotte nervously tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Um, it seems that I—”
“Told you this is my treat,” I say, taking out my wallet and handing over my credit card. “Can we get two bottles of water as well?”
She flashes me a grateful look. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Walker.”
I’m not kind. I’m biding my time until something more controversial happens. “You’re welcome.” I take the box, the waters, and my credit card back. “Let’s go sit at that corner table in the back. We won’t be disturbed.”
“Good idea.” She walks with me. “You’re supposed to allow me to lead.”
“Not in the South,” I say, grinning, as we sit. How tied to traditions and class is she? Will she put me in my place? “A man always leads the woman, in case she needs protecting.”
“That’s very…charming,” she says. “I think my brothers
would agree with you. Although, Della is quite bossy. Colin allows it; I think it amuses him.”
“That so?”
“Yes, and I’m perfectly okay with you printing that.”
“They’re old news.” I open the box and slide it to her. “However, a man always goes last when it comes to selecting chocolate.”
She makes a face. “Old news?”
“Meaning, I’ve already reported on them. No one really cares what they do anymore. They’re boring.”
“My family’s not boring,” she insists.
“Maybe not your entire family, but your brother and his wife are. Although, the water gun to the head”—I mime holding a gun to my head and shooting—“that was pretty damn interesting.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you going to share that on your next post?”
“Would you be disappointed if I did?”
Instead of answering me right away, she takes her time selecting a chocolate truffle. “Not really? I think I’d be bored if you did.”
“What should I say about what happened tonight?”
“I don’t think that’s for me to say, Mr. Walker. You’re in charge of your media, not I.”
“Oh, so now I’m in charge of something, with your blessing, and have the right to print whatever I want.” I lean forward, enjoying the sparring that’s commenced. “How benevolent of you.”
“Stop trying to bait me. It won’t work.” She bites into the chocolate, her eyes closing in pure pleasure. “You forget that I know just as much about you as you claim to know about me.”
“Based on my postings on social media.”
She nods. “I know what you want me and everyone else to know, even if that’s not really you.”
I laugh. “You think that what I put up there is fake?”
“Aren’t we all a bit fake on social media, showing only our best angles and sharing the most exciting and fascinating parts of our lives? Come now, do you really want to read about the mundane? The went to the grocery store today and bought apples to bake a pie type of statuses.”
“Wasn’t that your last post on Instagram?”
“Yes, it was, but I was excited to go to an actual store with only one bodyguard and the fact that Della was going to teach me how to bake the pie. You, however, found it boring. Admit it,” she challenges.
What happened to the wallflower? “Would you believe that I find everything you do fascinating?”
“Yes, I would, because you’ve gone to great lengths to keep up with my private accounts that are under a pseudonym,” she says candidly. “I don’t know how you did it, but we both know you do.”
“How does that make you feel, Princess?”
She wrinkles her nose. “That you find me fascinating?”
I nod.
“Like a butterfly trapped in a glass cage.” Her face turns serious, earnest. “I’m not complaining exactly, but I wasn’t given a choice to have this life and there are times that I find it unbearably miserable and lonesome. It’s why I chose a fake name in order to be part of something bigger than I am.”
Her raw confession surprises me, yet it doesn’t at all. Another headline pops in my head: THE WORLD’S LONELIEST PRINCESS. She’d be ridiculed for her feelings.
How is that any different from what you’ve published before?
Because they said one thing while doing another. I wasn’t in their fucking heads.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
“Because I’d rather have my say than you writing up whatever you think I think or feel about my life.
Damn. She thinks I’m going to publish our conversation. “What if I were to lie?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because liars don’t stay in business this long. They are sued until their resources and revenues are dried up. My government would have sued you and won if they thought they had a case.
“We can’t be the only ones, either,” she adds.
I lift my brows and give her a depreciating smile. “You’re not. I’ve made quite a few enemies by publishing the truth about them. The only reason they haven’t sued me is because they don’t want to bring more attention to themselves or give my site validity.” Something that chafes my ass. A part of me wishes those bastards would take me to court, but I have employees to pay and they have families to support. I can’t let my ego’s need for affirmation from my colleagues and competitors get in the way of that.”
“Validity is important to you,” she says slowly. “You think your contemporaries view you as a rumor rag.”
“Some do.” I have nothing to lose and everything to gain by being honest with her, like her trust.
She smiles gently. “A lot do, I think, or you wouldn’t work so hard to prove them wrong by crashing a charity event for children in order to get information about the Sinclairs. I’m sorry but I can’t give you any information on the companies we currently are bidding on to secure their business.”
I have to stop my jaw from dropping to the floor.
That’s what she thinks I’m here for—business dealings? I could give two shits about their Internet fiber-optic undersea maintenance services. It’s fucking boring because it’s public knowledge whom Sinclair Enterprises is courting. Every country in the world contains businesses that own a portion of the cables that connect us all, and each one is required to maintain their portion in order to maintain ownership.
Which is where Sinclair Enterprises comes in. That’s where they’ve always come in, since the World Wide Web actually became global. Some brilliant mind in their family, in the early nineties, came up with a device that not only protects the lines from sharks, shipwrecks, and tsunamis but also allows for upgrades.
“It’s public information, sweetheart. You’re required by law to release the information,” I reply.
She blinks, her pretty hazel eyes thoroughly confused. “Why did you crash the ball?”
“To meet you in person.”
“But why?”
“To discover your deepest secrets,” I reply dryly, and her face pales. Now I’m more curious than ever. “But I doubt you’d tell me. I get it, though. I am intimidating.”
I wink at her.
A blush suffuses her cheeks and her eyes sparkle with outrage. “I am not intimidated by you.”
Oh, but you are. “Prove it.”
She lifts her chin, then scans the room before turning her attention on me. The weight of her gaze is both lust-inducing and disarming. I don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to prey before, and that’s exactly what she is.
“Fine. I’ll agree to you having a go at discovering my secrets, but you have to agree to a demand of mine.”
“And that would be?”
“An affair with me.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shocked. I am, not only because this is the last thing I expected her to ask me but because Charlotte doesn’t seem the type to bargain with her body. Examining her offer from every angle, I attempt to find the flaw in what she’s offering, other than sex in exchange for insider information. I must have been a very good boy this year, or very bad considering I’m going to turn her down.
“No deal,” I say flatly, and her face falls. “I don’t fuck my sources, Princess. Either you want me for me and admit it, or I leave now and we can pretend this never happened. I won’t publish anything about our night together, either.”
Her full lips part, and a second later they smash together and her gaze skitters away.
“Tell me what you really want, Charlotte. I won’t judge you,” I say quietly.
For what seems like an eternity, she looks at everything but me. “I want to have an affair with you, Mr. Walker—an exclusive one. We don’t sleep with or date anyone else. That’s my condition.
“And you can’t tell anyone about—”
“About our relationship,” I finish for her, my jaw clenching. Am I wrong about her sweetness? There’s no
way. This woman doesn’t strike me as the type to slum it up. I doubt she knows what the phrase means.
“Oh no, you can tell the world about us.” Her pretty hazel eyes fix on me. “I would prefer, however, if you’d not share our most private moments together with your followers on social media.”
“You mean sex.”
She nods. “That and anything I might say in the heat of the moment.”
How she got the upper hand in this conversation, I have no idea, but I can’t help but admire her. A wallflower she might be, but this flower can weather anything, I think.
I choose my next words carefully. “I’ll accept on two conditions of my own.”
She’s already nodding before I even list the first one. “Go on.”
“First, you will make yourself available to me at any time.”
“As long as I’m in the country, I’m at your pleasure.”
“Fair enough.”
“And the second?” she asks.
“You have to be completely honest with me at all times.”
“That won’t be a problem,” she says so quickly that I know she’s already thinking of all the things she won’t say to me.
“You have a deal.”
Suddenly, she beams at me, like I’ve just given her the world. She stands, pushing her chair back. “Such a pleasure having dessert with you. I’ll ring you up then when I have a moment, shall I?”
I almost ask her why we can’t start right now, but I don’t and not because I’m not interested in getting her in bed. My fucking conscience won’t allow it. All because of her impassioned speech about feeling trapped and needing to be free.
I’d be the worst kind of guy to take advantage of her tonight.
Or any night, for that matter.
Son of a bitch.
She starts to walk away, her hips swaying.
“Don’t you need my number, Princess?”
Charlotte glances over her shoulder, her hazel eyes bright. “You’re not the only one with resources, Mr. Walker.”
—
The next day, I fly out of Charlotte Douglas International Airport to LaGuardia, where a private car awaits me on the tarmac. As soon as I cross the Triborough Bridge, my phone starts buzzing and I begin the tedious process of deciding who I will and will not meet with while at Walker Media’s Manhattan offices.
Royal Affair Page 2