The Throne
Samantha Whiskey
THE THRONE
Samantha Whiskey
Copyright © 2017 by Samantha Whiskey All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover by: Madhat Books
ISBN ebook: 978-1-946356-83-3
ISBN print: 978-1-946356-84-0
Contents
Also by Samantha Whiskey
1. Jameson
2. Charlotte
3. Jameson
4. Charlotte
5. Jameson
6. Charlotte
7. Jameson
8. Charlotte
9. Jameson
10. Charlotte
11. Jameson
12. Charlotte
13. Jameson
14. Charlotte
15. Jameson
16. Charlotte
17. Jameson
18. Charlotte
19. Jameson
20. Charlotte
Follow Me Here!
About the Author
Also by Samantha Whiskey
The Seattle Sharks Series:
Grinder
Enforcer
The Royally Delicious Series
The Crown
For anyone who has wanted what they can’t have
Jameson
The pounding on my bedroom door was as relentless as the headache that was currently making my life a living hell.
“Go the fuck away!” I yelled, rolling over and tangling my naked body in the sheets.
The door flew open, and I flipped over to see who had the audacity to blatantly disobey.
“I most certainly will not!” Charlotte yelled from my doorway.
I grabbed the sheet to my waist.
“What the hell do you want, Charlie?” I snapped.
She walked in, the personification of grace, beauty, intelligence...royalty. She dodged the clothes I’d left on the floor last night with tiny steps and —fuck me—the sexiest pair of heels I’d ever seen on her feet.
“Are you still drunk?” she accused, her kissable lips pursed.
“Maybe.” I shrugged. The last two weeks since Xander had decided to abdicate had been a blur of bad mistakes and worse ideas. Seriously. Who the fuck wanted me to lead them? It was Xander’s right. He was the one who had been trained by our father to rule our nation. Sure, I could make a girl come a few dozen different ways, but that wasn’t going to help me win the hearts of parliament...at least, not the male ones.
“For the love of God, Jaime. It’s been two weeks. Pull your shit together.”
I blinked.
“Did you just swear at me?”
“I did.” She turned, going into my closet and coming back out a moment later with a button down shirt and slacks.
“Yeah, I’m not Xander. You can’t pick out my clothes and assume I’m going to do what you want, Charlie.”
“Don’t call me that!” She seethed. Fuck, I loved riling her up. “Now listen. Neither one of us wants this. I get it. But unless you want riots in your streets—which is a real possibility if you haven’t turned on the news—you’d better get up and lead. The coronation is scheduled for six weeks from tomorrow, and the wedding is in four weeks from today.”
“What wedding? Not sure if you noticed, but Xander eloped with Willa.” I knew exactly what she was talking about, but wasn’t going to give her the pleasure.
She arched an eyebrow at me. “And I’m happy for them. Truly, I am. How the hell did I get stuck with you?”
“With me?” I asked, flexing. Her gaze wandered to my biceps, then down my chest and abs. “Keep looking, Charlie, and we’ll be taking your clothes off instead of putting mine on.”
“You’re gross.” She crossed her arms under her incredible breasts.
“So you don’t want me?” I tilted my head. She’d always been the one woman I couldn’t arouse, couldn’t tempt. She was the one woman who had always belonged to my twin brother.
“Come on, Jamie. You’ve slept with half the damn country, and I’m...what did you call me last year? Frigid?”
“Okay, you took that totally out of context. And considering the fact that we’ve been friends since we were born, if you’re going to start rehashing stuff from years ago we’re going to be here a long time.” Damn, my head was pounding, and she wasn’t helping matters. Now my cock was throbbing, too. It was always like that around Charlotte, and considering I was naked and she was three feet away from my bed, this could only end badly. “Look, we’ve always gotten along—”
“Which is the only reason I’m willing to stay for the next four weeks and help you find a wife.”
My heart fucking dropped. “You what?”
“I’m going to help you find a wife,” she repeated.
I blinked. “So you’re not the one…”
“Hell no, I’m not marrying you! We could never be anything more than friends!” she shouted, losing her trademark cool. “I’m well aware that you think of me as a sister. That you don’t want this or me. Hell, after Xander, I’m used to it, and I’m done with it.”
“You’re done with it.”
“Done with not being wanted. With being second choice. Done with saddling myself to a life without love. Yes, I’m done.”
“Charlotte, I really think you need to leave.”
“So what? So you can go back to the bottle of scotch on your night stand?” She gestured to the offending liquor.
“Charlotte. Get. Out.”
“No. I’m all you have left on your side. The public may love you as the resident playboy, but not the leader of Elleston. I’m willing to help you find your wife, but I’ll be damned if I’m stuck in some kind of arrangement like I was with Alexander.”
My brother. Her ex-fiancee. The guy she’d been intended to her entire life. He was the heir. I was the spare. The fucking spare who enjoyed doing whatever and whomever I wanted whenever I chose to.
But now I was the Crown Prince of Elleston.
And the one woman I thought I was going to have to marry for the last two weeks was rejecting me...because she refused to be with someone who didn’t want her.
“Charlotte, get out before I strip you out of those prim little clothes, drag you into this bed and show you exactly how much I want you, exactly which depraved fantasies of mine you’ve starred in since you grew into those legs of yours.”
“Wh-what?” she asked, taking a step back. The blood rushed from her face, and her hand flew to her heart like she could guard her modesty or something when she was still completely covered in Alexander McQueen.
I leaned forward, pressing the advantage. “I said, get out, or get in my bed. I know exactly how to remove the stick up your ass, and it has to do with my tongue against your clit.”
Her mouth popped open, and surprise quickly turned to anger.
“Okay, you know what? Be an asshole. Whatever. Lying to me—trying to talk dirty to me like I’m one of the...whores you bring in here night after night isn’t going to get me out of your face. I’m staying until our monarchy is secure. You have to pick a bride, Jameson. Once you
have an heir, you can screw whomever you like behind closed doors. Then I can go back home and do the same with whomever I choose for once. You have to pull yourself together, or your country is going to rip itself apart.” She shook her head at me. “Now get dressed so we can meet with the freaking wedding planner and start going over the dossier of every available aristocrat who is stupid enough to marry you.” She turned her sexy ass around and marched out of my room, slamming the door behind her.
I leaned back against the headboard, and lazily stroked my erection.
The only man she’d be fucking was me.
Help me choose my bride? Fuck that. I had four weeks until I was supposed to marry, and I’d be damned if it was anyone but Charlotte Carlisle. The woman who had been my brother’s. The woman I’d spent years pushing away with snide comments and affairs I’d flaunted openly, hoping to put even more space between us, only to hate that I’d succeeded. The woman who loved me like a brother, and didn’t mind my antics as long as they didn’t involve her.
Yes, that Charlotte Carlisle.
I should let her go, take her up on her offer to find another aristocrat to be my bride. Give her the freedom she’d more than earned with the shitshow she’d just been put through. But I couldn’t. Because I was a selfish, arrogant asshole, and while I was aware that she merely tolerated me for my brother’s sake, and generally despised everything about me, I couldn’t let her go.
I’d been in love with her since we were children.
Now I just had to make her fall in love with me.
In four weeks.
I was so royally fucked.
An hour later, freshly showered and medicated with a crap ton of Tylenol, I walked into the conference room.
“Holy shit, are we trying to solve a murder?” I asked, my gaze swinging around at the walls-turned-suspect board. There were headshots of women taped to every possible surface, with an index card pinned somewhere it wouldn’t block her face.
“Trying to find you a wife,” Charlotte muttered. Her eyebrow rose, and a smirk played over her curved lips as her gaze raked me from head to toe. “Nice outfit.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “It was conveniently laid out for me, and I was urged to get here as soon as possible.”
“See, sometimes it doesn’t hurt to do as you’re told,” she said, leaning back in her armchair and crossing her legs. Damn, that woman had a pair of legs I couldn’t wait to wrap around my hips.
I slid into the chair on the opposite side of the table as the door flew open.
“Oh, good! Your Highness! I’m so glad you could make it!”
Georgia, our royal PR rep, was way too chipper for this early in the morning. My eyes glanced at the clock as Teresa, one of our staff, placed a sandwich in front of me. Well, shit, it was after noon. “Thank you, Teresa.”
She nodded her head with a slight smile and backed out.
“Now, where were we?” Georgia muttered, taking the seat next to Charlotte in the middle of the giant conference table. “Right. We’ve got four weeks until the wedding, which is planned already, thank God.”
Every muscle in my body locked. It was planned because it had been Charlotte’s wedding, the one she was supposed to have with my brother before he found the love of his life and abdicated his throne for her.
“It’s okay,” Charlotte said softly, and my gaze moved to meet hers.
Could she see the apology in my eyes?
“Really. It’s fine. It’s just...a wedding.” She swallowed and moved her hands to her lap, her back straightening. Defense mode activated.
Georgia’s head swung between us. “I...um…”
“Thank you for having such exquisite taste. I’m sure it’s all perfect.” It was no-doubt, elegant, classic, and timeless. Just like Charlotte.
Her shoulders softened, and she gave me an unguarded smile. “It is.” Then she blinked, and that Charlie was gone, and Charlotte was back. “Now, we need to get through these candidates and find someone suitable to sit on the throne next to you. Any favorites?”
I pushed back my chair and swiveled, taking in the collage of pictures. A few I knew well, more I had met once or twice, and even more I had fucked once. Maybe twice. None of them had received a morning-after call.
Karma really was a bitch.
“Your Highness?” Georgia prompted like I was supposed to pick out a freaking wife within ten seconds.
“Jameson,” I corrected her.
“I’m sorry?”
I spun my chair back around. “Georgia, if you’re going to be stuck in this room with me—with us—” I motioned to Charlotte, “Then you may as well call me Jameson. After all, you’re about to handle the most intimate decision of my life.”
“Yes, Your Highness...Jameson,” she ended softly, a blush coming to her cheeks.
“Lay off the charm, Jaime,” Charlotte sighed, opening the notebook in front of her. “Okay, tell me what you’re looking for in a wife.”
You. The answer was on the tip of my tongue, but I knew she’d never be open to hearing it. Not yet.
“Kind. I’d like her to be kind.”
Georgia’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I don’t know how we really ascertain that quality. Charity work maybe?”
Charlotte wrote that down and looked back up at me expectantly.
“Beauty that isn’t just skin-deep.”
Charlotte’s lips parted, but she didn’t break my stare.
“Graceful, intelligent, classy but not a snob. She’s got to be able to laugh at herself.”
“Okay, well...I guess we can interview them…” Georgia rambled.
“Loyal, to the point that it’s almost a fault, and forgiving,” my voice dropped.
The pen fell from Charlotte’s hand, and her green eyes shone with what I was scared would soon become unshed tears.
Every quality was her, and she knew it.
“Those are all noble qualities, of course. I’m sure there’s more than a few ladies with them. What about physical characteristics? It might be easier to narrow the girls down. Or rank? Title?”
“I don’t give a fuck about titles, or the aristocracy. The only reason I’m even considering this is because if I don’t—if I pull the same bullshit Xander just did, it’s Sophie that’s carrying this burden, and I won’t do that to her. She deserves love.”
Charlotte winced.
“Okay, we can leave them all in the running in that category. Now, looks? Slender? Curves? Brunette? Blonde?”
“Green eyes,” I answered. “The color of jade, not emeralds.”
“Well, funny fact,” Georgia laughed. “There’s only two aristocrat ladies with green eyes, one being your sister, and the other—”
“Unavailable,” Charlotte snapped, coming to her feet. “I think we’re done here. Just introduce them all to him at the cocktail hour before dinner, and let him weed them out on his own. He doesn’t have a physical preference. He tends to screw anything that wears a dress, the equal-opportunity man-whore that he is.”
“I prefer the term ‘pleasure-giver.’” I said with a shrug.
She spun on her heel and left the conference room, slamming the door in her hasty retreat.
That’s exactly what it was—a retreat. I’d seen her in action for far too long. She was as prickly as a porcupine when her walls went up, and those suckers were Game of Thrones tall at the moment.
“Well, I guess we’ll just introduce you to the ladies?” Georgia suggested, capping her pen as if Charlotte hadn’t stormed out.
“I’m sorry? Introduce?”
“Yes, they’re all here.”
My eyes widened. “All?”
“Thirty-six of them,” she nodded. “They all came running when we put the call out a few days ago. Lady Rose even came back from her vacation in Bora-Bora. Not a single one of them declined.”
“We have thirty-six women here to parade themselves around like it’s some kind beauty pageant?”
“In not such a d
erogatory manner, yes,” Georgia responded. “Every single woman in the aristocracy who can put the title Lady before her name will be ready for you in the gardens at five o’clock.”
“It’s February.” That seemed to be the only logical thought I could cling to.
“The Botanical Gardens in the greenhouse, your Highness,” Georgia answered.
“Great. If you don’t mind leaving me for a moment, I’d like to familiarize myself with their pictures.”
She promptly stood, gathering her notebook. “Absolutely, your Highness. I’ll see you at five.”
As she left, Oliver stepped in, his suit pressed and perfect. He adjusted his earpiece and then folded his arms in front of him as his eyes scanned the pictures on the wall. He’d been my brother’s security for years, and now he was mine. Not that I minded. I genuinely liked the guy and trusted him with my life.
“I bet you wish you’d gone with Xander,” I said, leaning back against the table. Blonde, brunette, red-heads...it was like they’d brought me a menu.
“I stay with the crown, and that’s you, Jameson.” He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Wait. I know this one…”
“That’s Lydia Hunter. You may have removed her from the palace about two years ago when she refused to leave my bed.”
“Are you sure?”
“She was naked.”
“Yep, that’s her.”
“Any advice?” I asked.
He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know how you’re supposed to choose between them. Just pick one out of a pile and hope to God you fall in love with her?”
“I don’t think our government really cares about love as long as the constitutional requirements are met.”
The Throne Page 1