“But I’m a princess,” I protest, loving this dominant side of him. I always love it, during sex or when we’re just us, because I know it’s just him being protective of me.
“And I’m the man who commands you.” He raises his legs, nearly toppling me forward as he pulls out of me. “I can’t come inside you.”
“I know,” I whisper.
He gets out of the tub and I follow after him, but instead of toweling off, he throws a bunch of towels on the floor and says, “Lie down and spread your legs for me.”
Immediately, I comply, watching him as he stares down at me, his erection long and beautifully thick. With his wide shoulders, narrow waist, and lean muscles, he’s perfection. Every inch of him looks sculpted. He could actually be the model for the marble statues on display in the royal castle’s pleasure gardens.
Brooks sinks to his knees, then on all fours as he wedges his shoulders between my thighs and begins to feast on me like a starving man. I run my fingers through his thick, blond hair, trying not to yank on it.
And fail.
But that only spurs him on, his tongue lavishing so much attention on my clit that I come in a matter of seconds. He flips me over on my stomach, his arm coming around my waist and pulling me against him. The crisp hairs on his chest and arm tickles my skin, making me giggle a little.
Slowly, oh so slowly, he enters me again, stretching me out with each thick inch until he’s so very deep inside me again. He whispers dirty, filthy, yet loving words in my ear about how he’s going to fuck me until I can’t walk, how he’s going to fill me with so much sperm that he’ll have to fuck me in my ass to give my pussy a break…and he tells me how much he loves being with me like this.
How sweet my skin tastes.
How beautiful I am in the morning when I first wake up.
How if I would let him, he would take care of me for the rest of our lives.
I clench around him, eliciting a groan from him. He rubs my clit, sending me over the edge again. I burst into flames, into tiny pieces of me that come back together with bits of him woven in.
“I have to come, sweetheart. Do you want me to pull out?” he asks, his voice tight and on edge.
Images bombard my brain, showing me a future with and without Brooks. A future that doesn’t include ever becoming queen. I’d have a normal life with him.
“No,” I say without hesitation. “I want everything you promised to give me.”
“Everything,” he agrees, filling me completely. So completely that sparks of desire start to come to life once more.
Withdrawing, he pulls nearly all the way out of me and I moan my disappointment. “Anything at all?”
He thrusts inside. “Whatever you want, Charlotte.”
I push my hips back against him. “I only want you.”
He grabs my chin, pulling my face to one side so he can kiss me. A groan rumbles from his throat and he tenses up, then shoves in one last time. Another firm rub of his fingers on my clit makes me join him, makes me call out his name as he comes in hot splashes that I milk out of him.
Slowly, he lowers us to the towels and rolls to one side, taking me with him and keeping his cock firmly lodge inside my pussy. “You’re mine now. Don’t care what your government says.”
The ramifications of what we’ve done hit me, like when a rock toppled over on my ancestor, Princess Davida, when she attempted to climb Mount Evergreenwood with her lover, who was twenty years her junior…and the husband of another woman.
Perhaps this time, there won’t be deathly consequences for my choice of lover. I mean, not every Sinclair queen or heir has to meet her end in a grizzly death. Someone has to live to a ripe old age with the one she loves at her side.
I want that someone to be me.
However, history, both recent and ancient, isn’t on my side.
Chapter 14
Brooks
Early the next morning, I pack up a sleepy Charlotte and wait for her annoying bodyguard to come pick us up and drive to the dock. We take the first ferry, not saying much at all.
There’s not much to say, but I can’t help but be a little glad that she sleeps the entire way back.
“Would you mind terribly if I took a nap?” she asks as soon as we arrive at my parents’ house.
“Not at all,” I reply, somehow managing to sound as formal as hell. “I can escort you to your room.”
She smiles wryly. “I think I can manage.”
Peter glares at me, taking my princess by the hand. “We need to go over your schedule, Princess.”
Trying not to take it personally when she agrees, I stalk to the family room at the back of the house and plop down on the sofa. Unfortunately, I’m not alone so I can’t stew in my juices or even think of what happened on our last night together.
“You’re still here?” I ask Briggs.
He shrugs and scarfs down a pimento cheese sandwich—one of my favorite southern dishes that our mother makes on Sunday afternoons. Except it’s Tuesday. “I don’t get a lot of home cooking and Mom made two of ’em especially for me.”
That explains it. “Find your Mary Poppins and you will,” I snap.
“When I get laid, I’m in a hell of a lot better mood.”
“That’s not the problem.” I tear my gaze away from the pimento cheese sandwich to stare out at the river.
“Talk to Dr. Briggs, Love Doctor, MD,” he says in a low baritone.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“An outside, unbiased point of view of what you did wrong is always a good thing.”
“So much for unbiased.” I lean back in my chair. “Actually, there’s nothing wrong with either of us.”
“And that’s bad how?” he asks, incredulous.
“I don’t know.” But I do know. Charlotte regrets what happened between us and wants to pretend that nothing happened at all. Just like with her slip about her parentage.
“Whatever isn’t bothering you, talk to her about it.”
I salute him.
“Seriously, dude, I like how happy she makes you.”
I give him a look. “You’ve barely been around us.”
“I was around the two of you enough. Even Dad noticed, and he’s pretty oblivious. He and Mom are pleased you’re dating such a nice girl.”
Dinner tonight should be fun if Dad’s saying something to Briggs about my dating life. “She’s a princess; of course they’re happy.”
“The fact that she’s royalty never came up.”
I grunt. “Sure it didn’t. I’m sure you’re trying to figure out how you can work that into your future campaign as head dog catcher of Raleigh.”
“Whatever, Brooksy. Go back to being the brooding pain-in-the-ass brother you usually are, but next time our parents want you to come home, I won’t be doing them any favors by asking you myself.” Briggs polishes off another sandwich and leaves the room. “Stupid-ass motherfucker doesn’t know how good he has it,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
I flip him off, but he doesn’t take the bait and attempt to beat my ass for it.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t know how good I have it and I’m just looking for something bad. As a journalist, I’m trained to look for the worst thing possible. No one wants to read about the good stuff. Hell, there was a start-up that reported only good news, and in less than a week they had a viewership the size of a country church in the middle of nowhere.
In other words, they went out of business.
But that’s not Charlotte. She loves good news. She loves baby animals, fairy tales, and keeping fish with their families almost as much as eating them. Romance novels and picnics…she loves me.
Somehow, someway, I made a princess fall in love with me.
And not just any princess, but my princess.
I can’t let my natural inclination to look for the bad fuck up our relationship.
Brushing off my jeans, I stand and move to the hallway, then take
the stairs two at a time in my rush to talk to her before she takes a nap.
Her door is halfway open, so I smile, thinking I’ve made it in time, but when I walk inside, she’s busy packing her things.
My stomach slams all the way back to my spine. No way I was looking for this to happen. No damn way at all.
“Going somewhere?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Yes. Gen needs me.”
I exhale in relief. It’s both annoying and admirable that she’s so loyal to her sister. But her sister takes advantage of that loyalty, and Charlotte either willingly allows it or is too blind to see it. I’m thinking a combination of the two is the correct answer.
“It’s only for a couple of weeks.”
A couple of weeks. I have to be without her for that long? “What about our dinner with my parents?” I lean against the doorframe, trying to keep calm—something I normally have no problem doing. Fuck. Normal went out the window as soon as I gave her a key to my house on Smith Island.
She pauses, her beautiful hazel eyes landing on me. “I won’t leave until after dinner.”
“Isn’t that so very royal of you.” A tick starts up in my jaw.
“Actually it is. I have duties, Brooks, and while you might not agree or understand, one of them is to attend to the queen.”
“Until she doesn’t need you.”
“Well, yes. That’s how it’s always worked.” She shakes her head, silky locks sliding over soft skin that only hours ago I had my hands and mouth on.
Only hours ago, I made her scream my name.
Made her cry out in pleasure.
Made her come so hard that she forced my own orgasm.
I fucked her raw again, without thought or care to what it could really do to us.
To me.
To her.
To our respective futures.
And she welcomed it.
I only want you.
Her eyes roam over me, her pouty lips frowning, then curving upward. “You could always come for an extended visit.”
“As what—your friend, lover, boyfriend…some guy you like to fuck?”
She blushes. “As my…as mine.”
“Yours, huh?”
The tiniest of nods make her head bob. “Yes. You promised to give me everything, remember?”
I’d do every bit of it again in a heartbeat. “Yeah, I remember.”
She walks to me, gliding like an ice skater. I’m not sure how she manages to walk like that, but it’s natural for her. “I want to apologize for my behavior earlier. When I saw Peter, I was reminded of what we’d done, of the possible consequences…and I panicked.”
“That’s perfectly understandable. I might have panicked some, too.”
“At what we did?”
I shake my head. “About returning to the real world and you coming to your senses.”
“Wow. I didn’t expect that from you.”
“Honesty?”
She cocks a brow at me. “That you would worry about me leaving.”
“I’m a realist, sweetheart. You have other choices.”
“So do you,” she says softly. “I really am tired and I really do look forward to dinner with your parents. They treat me like I’m a normal girl and I adore them for it.”
I grab her waist on both sides, enjoying the feel of her lush curves in my hands. “Just remember that you’ll have to sleep without me tonight.”
She pushes out her lower lip. “But I don’t want to.”
“Marry me and you don’t have to ever sleep without me.”
“Not that again,” she says. “I don’t want to hear another word about marriage.”
Undeterred, I pull her to me. “Get used to it, Princess, because you said you wanted everything from me and that included taking my last name.”
Her full lips form a perfect O. I take that as my cue to leave, give her time to really think it over.
“Thing is, Princess, when a Walker finds the one, he doesn’t let little things like queens, brothers, or an entire government get in his way,” I toss over my shoulder, shuting the door behind me.
Chapter 15
Charlotte
“Aren’t you supposed to be over the Atlantic by now?” my sister asks, a scowl on her pretty face as we video-chat over Skype.
“Actually, I’m not going to fly out until tomorrow morning.”
Gen scrunches her nose. “Why?”
“Because I have dinner plans with Brooks’s family and it seems rather rude to leave right after the table is cleared.”
“This suddenly occurred to you when?”
Right after Brooks made me think my future doesn’t have to be diamonds and tiaras…and untimely deaths. “Right after my nap. I wasn’t myself, you see, and—”
“You’re still in love with him,” she says flatly. “Fine. Play like the dutiful girlfriend and then come home straightaway. I need you.”
“You can’t always need me, Gen.”
Her brows crash together. “But you’ve always been there for me.”
“Yes, but after your coronation ceremony, you shan’t need me anymore. Your husband will see to you.”
“Oh goody. A husband I barely know will pretend to love me for what—the rights to a portion of Sinclair Enterprises? I can’t wait.”
“You never know. We haven’t really looked at the list yet, and there could be one man who makes your heart flutter and—”
“The chances are less than zero,” she says flatly. “The only bright side to this is that I get to pick the most manageable one of the bunch. The duller, the better.”
“And there is no timetable on how long you have to pick one, as long as you’re dating the men on your list,” I say, trying to find another bright spot.
“Yes, nothing like drawing out the inevitable.”
I sigh thickly. “I’m trying to make this better for you.”
Her face softens, as does her voice. “I know. How are you doing—really?”
“Horribly in love with a man who wants to marry me,” I admit, sinking onto the bed.
Gen’s face drains of color. “He wants to marry you?”
“I am a good catch,” I reply.
“He does know that in order for your marriage to be legal, you’d have to be recognized by Parliament, right?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t care about my title or that I’m your heir.” I stare at the dresser, where my reflection shows a woman with flushed cheeks and stars in her eyes. “He doesn’t care about any of that.”
Gen snorts. “Yeah, because he could write an entire book about how he persuaded a princess to renounce her claim to the throne for him. It would be a bestseller. Worse, it would be true and we couldn’t sue for libel. You couldn’t even testify against him in an American court.”
A sliver of doubt tries to stab my heart. “You don’t know him like I do.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” she admits. “I pray to God I’m wrong about him. That he loves you as much as you look like he does.”
I press a hand to my cheek. “He hasn’t said he loves me.”
“Yet he wants to marry you.”
I nod. “He said he cared about me and wanted to protect me. Make it so I can have my freedom.”
“Isn’t that so very special of him to think of you like that.”
I close my eyes in frustration, then open them again. “Try to like Brooks, Gen. I’ve invited him to Saint-Lyons and you can get to know him there, on your territory.”
“Does he know about the Saint-Lyons Morning Star Ball?” she asks.
“I don’t even know about the ball,” I reply, trying to remember if I happened to see it on my schedule and had merely forgotten it in the excitement of it all.
“That’s because I’m the first to throw it and you’re my first invite. And in good faith, I will send an official invitation to Mr. Walker as well.”
I can’t contain the smile on my face. “Thank you for having an op
en mind.”
“I’ve always had an open mind, darling. It’s my mouth that gets me in trouble for letting everyone inside.”
—
That evening, I dine with the Walkers—Brooks and his twin as well as their parents—outside on a lovely patio with wrought-iron furniture, lighted torches along the perimeter, and multiple pots full of flowers in every imaginable shade.
“I do love the flowers, Georgiana. You have an incredible green thumb,” I say as the men finally join us at the table. While the Walkers do have staff on hand to cook and clean for them, they tend to be rather relaxed about it.
Like tonight, for instance, Georgiana and I made the side dishes while Brooks and his father, Bishop, grilled fillets and shrimp. Briggs rotated between us, eating appetizers and giving instructions to his brother and dad that were not appreciated.
“It’s such a soothing pastime, sugar. I can send you home with a starter kit. Asters are the easiest to grow and you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
“I’d love that.” I take a sip of my water and set the glass down. “There’s a perfect spot in my room for it.”
“Make sure you have plenty of sunlight coming in,” she cautions, and I nod.
“Oh, no problem, that spot gets so much that I have to wear sunglasses just to see in the morning.”
She laughs and Brooks jerks his gaze to us. His crinkling eyes let me know that he’s pleased with our interaction.
“She’s a keeper, Brooks,” his mother says, taking my hand in hers. “I want to see a ring on this the next time you come.”
My eyes widen and I start to sputter, but Brooks is infuriatingly calm as he says, “Trying my best, but Charlotte’s a little gun-shy.”
Everyone looks at me and I turn what has to be the reddest shade imaginable. “I’m not shy. I only want to make sure that something so permanent is what Brooks wants.”
Bishop grunts. “The boy is almost thirty-four years old. It’s time for permanent.”
“Hear, hear,” Briggs says, tapping his spoon against his tea glass.
“Don’t think we’ve forgotten about you,” his mother says, letting go of my hand. I take the opportunity to gulp down more water to cool off. “Can you believe that these boys are in no hurry to give me grandchildren?”
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