I suck in a breath. “But that’s only for journalist who’ve won the Campbell-Booth Award.”
He smiles at me, like the devil himself when he told Eve that the tree of knowledge would make her exactly like God. All she had to do was take a bite of the fruit.
Take the envelope, Brooks.
“Is that so?” I ask, and he nods.
I take the envelope from him slowly and he closes the briefcase, which is then taken by one of the men who accompanied him to my apartment.
“You have one month, Mr. Walker, to publish the contents, or Walker Media is no more and another journalist will have the opportunity of a lifetime to break a story that would rock the foundation of the monarchy.”
—
I’ve been trolled. There is no other explanation for showing up at my apartment and dangling an award I covet more than life itself.
The Campbell-Booth Award is almost as good as the Pulitzer. Hell, it’s one step away, and because of that, I don’t allow myself to think of it very often.
By very often, I mean I don’t think of it at all.
Unless I’ve had too much to drink, or a bad day.
Or it’s a day of the week that ends in y.
Or some asshole shows up with information that could pave the way for me to win the very thing that would legitimize Walker Media.
I stare at the manila envelope. It’s still in the same spot I left it two days ago, right in the middle of my desk. I haven’t opened it. Haven’t touched it again since Davies handed it to me.
God help me, I’m tempted.
I lean forward, my hand inches away.
My phone buzzes and automatically I turn my attention to the screen.
Charlotte: Are you busy?
“Holy fuck,” I breathe, yanking my hand back. I guess there is some good after all to be trained to pay near cultlike attention to my cell.
Me: Not for you.
Charlotte: Are we still getting together tomorrow afternoon? I haven’t heard from you and wondered if there had been a change of plans.
Me: Yes, I’ll pick you up. Three P.M.?
Charlotte: I’ll be ready!
I lean back in my chair.
To reveal or even read the contents of the envelope will be my decision, not that of some pansy-ass man without a country and a hard-on for revenge.
Except I do have shareholders that I’m accountable to. Yes, they’re a small group of angel investors who helped me get started, but none of that matters if a hostile takeover is initiated.
I’ve sent out an email to my investors but haven’t heard anything. Yet.
Which means nothing. They’re Silicon Valley types who only invested in me because they were pissed at the right people at the right time and wanted them to pay. The only way that could happen was to back my company.
I had to give up fifty-one percent of my company in order to get the capital, but I did negotiate into the contract an option to buy back up to twenty percent, after five years of sustainable profits.
However, there hasn’t been a need to institute that clause…until now.
Hell, I never thought Walker Media would become as successful as it has, but there was a need, a desire to take down the elites of the world—the people who are constantly in your face, on the radio, Internet, and television to lecture you on how to live your life while they do whatever the hell they want.
Most people don’t take kindly to that kind of hypocrisy.
Hence, my success.
However, those same people will turn on you in a heartbeat if you start exposing who they think the good guys are and they will stop frequenting your website.
Hence, my barrier to continued success.
My phone buzzes again, this time with a text from the co-captain of the rec league soccer team I play on, reminding me of tonight’s game. Normally, I look forward to our matches, but the game is the only reason why I can’t see Charlotte any earlier.
Or at least that’s what I told myself when I made plans with her.
“Fuck the game,” I mutter.
I text Rex, letting him know that I’m unable to make it tonight and that he should get one of the alternate players to come in for me. Then I arrange for my private jet to take me to North Carolina ahead of schedule.
There’s no reason to wait to see Charlotte. I want her now and she agreed to be available when she’s in the country.
Me: Are you home—in NC?
Charlotte: Yes. Why?
Me: Change in plans. I’m coming to get you this afternoon.
—
When I pull my SUV in the driveway, she’s waiting outside, with a suitcase in one hand and medium-size purse in the other. She looks every inch the picture of sweet wholesomeness in her demure dress and low heels. Her hair is up and I’m not sure if she wore it that way in order for me to take it down later or she prefers to keep herself tightly controlled.
Either way, I’ll have her out of control before long. I’m almost there myself. The plane ride was excruciating as I replayed our time together in my mind.
Charlotte’s bodyguard materializes a few steps behind her.
He doesn’t like me.
The feeling is mutual.
When she moves forward to greet me, so does he, but while she’s wearing a smile, he’s glaring. I’m about one hundred percent sure that if her brother gave the order to shoot me on sight, he’d do it and bury my body where no one would ever find me.
“Are you ever alone?” I snap as I get out of the car.
Her brows crash together. “No, but I thought you knew that.”
I take her bag, stowing it in the trunk. Turning to Peter, I say, “Any way you could back the hell off and make yourself scarce for the next three to four days?”
“No.”
“If it will be a problem, Brooks, I’ll stay at home, shall I?” Charlotte pipes up, once again putting me in my place.
“It’s not a problem. It’s just…get in the car, Charlotte, and we’ll talk.”
“Right, then,” she says cheerily, waving back at the house.
I look up in time to see her brothers, arms crossed and giving me the death stare from the front door. Since I don’t have any female siblings, I can only imagine this is exactly how I would look if some character like myself came sniffing around my little sister.
Hell, I’m getting off easy because I know we would have had shotguns in our hands as well. It’s like a southern welcome for potential boyfriends.
As soon as I join her in the car, she turns to me. “What was that all about?”
“I’d like to be alone with you.”
“You are alone with me.”
I glance in my rearview mirror. “We’re being followed.”
I take a left at the light and merge into traffic. We left in enough time so that I won’t hit rush hour and we’ll get to my brother’s downtown apartment pretty quickly. But not quick enough for my taste.
“Brooks,” she says with a sigh. “This didn’t seem to be a problem before and I don’t understand why it is now. It can’t come as a shock to you.”
“It’s not a problem, not really.” She’s the problem. She’s the one to already make me question my intentions and ethics.
“You know, I was very surprised to be invited to meet your family. That seems out of character, given our lack of relationship.”
She would think that about me. “My parents saw our pictures, the ones that went viral. They asked to meet you.” A lie, but it serves my purpose. Besides, my parents will be happy to see me, no matter who I show up with at my side.
“Oh dear.”
“Embarrassed?”
“A little,” she admits. “It was hard enough defending you to my family. Now I’ll have to face yours.”
That draws me up short. I slice my gaze to her, noticing how red her face has become, then look back to the road. “You defended me?”
“It wasn’t hard to do. I simply told them that since I kn
ow what you’re about, what you really are due to your rather brutal honesty, that our relationship shouldn’t pose a problem.”
She knows right where to hit me without even trying. Honesty. What a fucking joke I’ve made of that trait. “The looks on your brothers’ faces say otherwise.”
“It doesn’t pose a problem for me,” she clarifies. “I know who you are, what you’ve said about my family…as well as what you haven’t said, so I’m perfectly happy to spend my birthday with you and your family.”
Her birthday? That’s right—at the charity ball, she’d had a brief conversation with her brother about it being next week. Which is this week. “When?”
“Friday. I’ll be twenty-seven and I realize that’s nearly seven years younger than you, but I won’t let your advanced age slow me down.”
I deliberately place my hand on her thigh, using my fingers to pull up the fabric of her dress until I can see her golden skin.
Her breath hitches and my cock stirs.
“Take off your panties.”
“I don’t have any on,” she whispers, and I almost run the SUV off the road.
“That’s very unexpected.” I slip my hand under her skirt, all the way to her sweet pussy and the trim triangle of hair that teases my skin. The curls are damp from her arousal and I’ve barely touched her. “You’re wet.”
It’s fucking sexy and it’s not something I’ve seen or felt before her. Every woman I’ve been with has kept herself bare, or sported a thin strip of hair, so thin that I don’t know why they bothered.
Her legs fall apart, giving me better access. “I’ve been thinking about you touching me again. Kissing me.”
I push two fingers inside her and she clamps down on them. She’s warm and wetter here. “How much have you thought about it?”
“So often that I had to take care of this ache, but it won’t go away,” she says, her hips moving. “Before we met, I wanted you…fantasized about you.”
I jerk my gaze to her face, to find her looking at me with clear, beautiful lust-filled eyes. “Why?” Her lashes flutter closed and I have to put my attention back on the road. She moans instead of answering me, so I try again. “Why me, Charlotte?”
“I don’t know.”
“You agreed to be honest,” I remind her and start to take my fingers away from where I want them.
“Brooks,” she whimpers. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’ll give you what you want when you give me what I want.”
“Because you were different, you say what you mean. I…you’re brash and cocky…and I wanted someone different from the men who’d been shoved into my life.”
Satisfied with her answer, I shove my fingers all the way in and she cries out. I use my thumb in tandem, working at her swollen clit, while I keep control of the car. The last thing I want is to kill us in the middle of her orgasm.
DEATH BY ORGASM isn’t the headline I want for her.
She grabs my wrist, not to move it but to keep it firmly in place. “I’m…I have to…oh.” With another rock of her hips, she explodes and I smile, staying with her until the end.
But when she gets to the end, I become acutely aware of how fucking hard I am, how much I want her and how much I need to be inside her.
Right now.
I drive the Range Rover inside the parking garage, find the first available space, reach across with my free hand to throw the fucking thing into park, and lunge for Charlotte.
She meets me halfway, our mouths crashing together, our tongues tangling and seeking. I pull my fingers from her wet pussy and slide them between us, wanting her to taste how sweet she is.
I groan as her little tongue sweeps up and down, and she hums in her throat.
“Can we have sex here?” she asks and my brain kicks in. Do I want to be caught with my pants down and my dick in Princess Charlotte? Do I want to risk humiliating her in front of her family and the world? While I don’t care what I do, she does care, and for some reason I care that she cares.
Reluctantly, I pull away from her, taking in her rosy cheeks and lips that are swollen from my kisses. Her dress is almost up to her waist and her nipples are hard, poking through the thin silk. She’s a fantasy come to life, my very own princess to fuck anytime and anywhere I want…and damn, I want to fuck her…but not here.
“Let’s go upstairs where we can be more comfortable,” I say.
Her eyes widen a little. “Are you afraid of getting caught with me?”
“No, but I am worried about your reputation,” I say honestly. I can give her that much.
A beautiful smile curves her mouth and my heart flips. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“You really need to get out more,” I joke. I have to make a joke or otherwise her words will find their way to a place inside me that won’t let go. “Make some new friends.”
“Promise not to laugh,” she says, and I can’t help but nod. “You’re my only friend, Brooks—outside of my family, anyways. Our time together in New York was amazing.”
Everything inside me is screaming at my mouth to say something flippant, erotic…anything at all to dismiss the vulnerable truth she’s just shared.
But I can’t.
“Princess…I…” Shit. I don’t know what to say.
Charlotte touches my jaw, her gaze penetrating. I look away, staring at the wall in front of us, because it feels as though she can see into my soul. What’s left of it. “You don’t have to say anything to that and if it makes you uncomfortable, you can pretend that I didn’t say a word.”
I clench my jaw, then turn my attention back to her and fix a smirk on my face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter 9
Charlotte
In the hours that followed my parents’ death, Imogen and I weren’t allowed to speak to anyone outside our family. Even then, whenever we showed the slightest hint of grief, our nanny would shush us, order us to behave like the future queens of the Isle.
Only neither of us knew how to act. No one had taken the time to explain anything. All we knew is that our parents were dead and we were leaving, if Parliament allowed it, and we couldn’t cry.
We couldn’t show any emotion at all.
My life and my future, along with my siblings’, hung in the balance for those precious hours, hours that seemed like days to a twelve-year-old girl.
Fifteen years later and nothing’s changed. It’s been two hours since we’ve arrived, since he’s been inside me, and I’m still lying about in bed, watching Brooks on the balcony as he smokes and chats on his mobile, pacing back and forth all the while.
It’s the first time he’s done that, and I’m not sure if he’s one of those casual users or if it’s something he’s kept from me.
I frown.
Honestly, I shouldn’t be upset at all because it’s none of my business. We are lovers first, friends second…or at least we were friends. Perhaps only I thought of us as friends.
I shouldn’t have been so candid with him, just like I’d been the evening he took me on a picnic date. But what was I supposed to do? Pretend that it was something that happened every day for me? That I’ve had so many men worshipping at my feet that it was nothing?
On one hand, I shouldn’t be so easy to please, but on the other, I’m not the type to pretend I don’t like something when I truly do, especially when the gift is so thoughtful.
Closing my eyes, I pull the sheet up closer to my shoulders and settle against the pillows. After a while, I doze off, only to awaken to kisses from Brooks. He doesn’t taste of cigarettes but of mint and everything that I associate with Brooks.
Automatically, my arms go around him and my mouth seeks his. I can’t help it, the way he tastes is better than any dessert I’ve ever had in my life.
“Forgive me?” he asks, pulling me to him. He buries his face in my hair. “I had some issues at the office that had to be resolved and didn’t realize how late it had gotten.�
��
“If you’ve work to do, at least tell me so I’m not left wondering if I’ve done or said something wrong,” I say, knowing full well that he had left the bed with the excuse of needing a shower and then didn’t bother coming back at all. The only thing that stopped me from having a full-on panic attack was that I heard part of his conversation with one of his editors and his tone was sharp, not smug or cocky.
“I was an asshole.” He lifts his head and stares into my eyes with his own dark blue ones. “Simple as that and I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be one to me, you know. I’d rather you be honest than leave me wondering and guessing,” I say, refusing to look away from his heavy gaze. I never said what I wanted before, never voiced my opinion on how I wanted to be treated…until now.
Until Brooks.
“I’m not being a very good friend, am I?” he asks.
“We’re friends now?” I ask lightly. While I want to make a big deal about it, I don’t want to act like an idiot. Bad enough I admitted I didn’t have any outside my family.
“Friends and lovers. It’s a good combination.” He smiles at me and I have to restrain myself from kissing him.
“It’s a great combination…if you can handle it properly.”
“That sounds like a challenge, Princess,” he says, rolling to his back so I can straddle his hips. The sheet falls to my waist and his eyes light up. “You have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re only saying that because you want me again.” I move my hips slowly, grinding down on him. He’s hard and long and thick, and I want his cock inside me so badly that it’s downright shameful.
But I don’t care.
Shameful isn’t in a Sinclair’s vocabulary when it comes to what we want and need.
He cups my breasts, sliding his thumbs against my hard nipples, the friction making me writhe. “Hell, yes, I want you again. I want you morning, noon, and night.”
“Hard to get work done that way.”
A wicked grin kicks up the corners of his mouth. “I’m sure I could manage.”
I lean down, kissing him until one thing leads to another and he’s as nude as I am. Grabbing a condom he rolls me over before sliding inside me.
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