It’s all just lies anyway. That, more than anything else, stood out to me from our exchange. Also, the fact that he’d avoided some of my questions about the press and his family gave me the feeling there was more to Rob’s story—particularly the part about his grandfather’s death. The rebel royal—the prince who played the naughty spare to Kit’s responsible heir—had another side to him. A side he’d started to show me.
I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that.
Chapter Seven
Rob
A case of Kentucky bourbon in my arms, I arrived at Tilbury Manor at four P.M. sharp on a Friday afternoon—half an hour earlier than Aly had asked me to be there.
She’d clearly been here for hours already. The drawing room looked like something out of…I don’t know what. An especially posh storybook, maybe? Tables, each one draped in different shades of silk, lined the walls. They were topped with hundreds—had to be hundreds—of tall, thin candles, some set higher than others in elegant pewter candlesticks, and flower arrangements that perfectly matched the silk tablecloths. Outside the far windows, café lights were strung across the terrace, already lit against the autumn gloom. Bruno Mars crooned softly in the background.
It was stunning. Romantic. I knew straightaway Kit and Emily would adore it.
My heart skipped a beat when I saw Aly in a far corner. She gave instructions to a waiter (I’d called the caterer this morning to triple check the menu, the timing, the uniforms the wait staff would wear) before turning back to her laptop.
I set the bourbon on the table beside her computer. The bottles rattled in the box, making her jump. She whipped around, the backs of her thighs pressed against the table as her hand went to her chest.
“Rob!” Her eyes caught on mine. “Hey. Hi. Hi! You’re early.”
I tried very hard not to check her out. I did not want to notice how sexy she looked in her curve-hugging black lace dress. How full and high her tits were. How the curves of her ass would fit perfectly in my hands.
I tried, and God damn it, I failed. I wanted to get her naked. Hike that dress up and fuck her right here on the table.
I blamed my raging desire for her on the dry spell I was currently experiencing. I hadn’t shagged anyone since Aly had ended our little arrangement. I told myself it was because I’d been too busy at the foundation. I was working fourteen hour days, which didn’t leave much time for extracurricular activities. But if I was being honest, I just couldn’t muster any interest in my usual hook-ups. I definitely had no interest in picking up new ones.
I had no clue why.
I cleared my throat. I had to get a hold of myself. No matter how much I wanted Aly, she didn’t want me. Even if she did, I could not touch her. She was looking for things I wasn’t able to give her.
“You look beautiful,” I said. Her eyes, uncertain, were glued to mine.
“Thanks,” she said. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”
I looked at her for a beat too long.
I blinked, looking away.
“So, clearly I didn’t get here early enough, because this place looks spectacular. Why didn’t you let me help you with all this?” I gestured to the room around us.
She swallowed, an audible sound. It hit me that she looked a little tired. More than a little. “I had it handled. Have it handled, I mean.”
“I told you I wanted to help. How long have you been here?”
Her cheeks were pink. Putting a hand on her face, she looked away. “Rob, you have helped. More than I expected you to, anyway. The caterers have been awesome so far.”
“Aly. What time did you get here?”
A pause. “Six.”
“Six? As in six this morning?” I checked my watch. “Aly, that’s ten hours.”
“Yeah.” She met my eyes. “So what? You know how nuts I am about this stuff. I had a lot to do.”
“I get that. You didn’t have to do it alone, though.”
Crossing her arms, she arched an eyebrow. “You’d really wake up at the crack of dawn to help me arrange flowers? Please.”
“That’s fair. But I would have if you’d asked me.”
Aly shook her head. “I told you, Rob. I’ve got it handled. At least I hope I do.”
“If that’s what you say, boss,” I said. “Always such an overachiever.”
“A shitty overachiever.” She grinned. “But I’ll take the title.”
“You do know it’s going to be lovely. Right?”
“What?”
“The party.” I raised my brows at the room around us. “Just because Kit is Kit—”
“A prince?” Aly tilted her head. “Next in line to the British throne?”
“Yes. Just because he is those things doesn’t mean he expects this big fancy blow out. We could’ve met at a pub for some pints and called it a day, and I’m relatively certain Kit and Emily would still adore it.”
Aly swallowed again. “I know. I just want them to have the best of everything.”
“I do too. But let’s not kill ourselves trying to make that happen, yeah?”
“Easier said than done.” She scoffed. “At least for me.”
The strap of her dress fell down her shoulder. I imagined pushing the other one down, too, pushing the whole damn dress down until she was standing naked in front of me.
Bloody hell. I had to get out of here.
“I’ll get the bar started,” I said. I turned and grabbed the box of bourbon.
I lifted the box and headed for the kitchen. For half a second my eyes flicked to Aly. She’d turned away from me, bending over her laptop. Her ass was on full display. Was she wearing knickers? I couldn’t see any lines.
The thought that she was bare underneath that dress, the thin material all that separated her perfect little cunt from me, made me want to jump out the nearest window and end it all. Or touch her. Either one.
I imagined she was wet. Just soft and swollen enough for me to slide a finger—
“Pardon me, mate!”
I hadn’t realized I’d crashed into something—someone—until I turned and saw a bloke holding his hands up, the box pressed into his chest. His eyes dipped to the bourbon as he stepped back. “Precious cargo you’ve got there. Wouldn’t want it to break.”
My skin prickled with the cold creep of recognition. This was Philip. Had to be.
I just didn’t want to believe it.
“Who are you?” The words came out sounding just as rude as I’d intended.
He held out his hand. “Philip Hartley. Nice to meet you.”
He was dressed in a shiny suit that was three shades too slick, like his hair. His sleeve had pulled back when he’d offered his hand, revealing a gold Rolex the size of a satellite dish. His smile was fake. Or friendly. I couldn’t tell.
What a fuckwad.
I shifted the box under one arm and took his hand. He didn’t flinch when I firmed my grip. “Rob.” I glanced at Aly. “You didn’t tell me we were bringing dates.”
Glancing at me over her shoulder, Aly cocked a brow. “I wanted to invite Philip, so I did. He accepted. Now he’s here. That’s kind of how these things work. I offered you a plus-one on your invitation.” She smiled at Philip. Then she turned back to her computer and continued typing.
“Nice to meet you,” Philip repeated.
I ignored him. I felt a burst of anger—unjustified, unwelcome—tinged with more than a little embarrassment. I was embarrassed because I was angry. This wasn’t like me. I did not get jealous. Ever. But suddenly I was vibrating with it.
Aly brought Philip. What did that mean? Were they getting serious? Did he know if she was wearing underwear or not?
Did he get to fuck her the way I wanted to?
The idea popped into my head, fully formed and ready for action. It was stupid. Reckless. But that was my MO, wasn’t it? It’s what people expected of me. The idea was just bold enough to catch Aly off guard. And if I caught her off guard, maybe she’d stop smil
ing like that at this bell end date of hers. Maybe she’d get a taste of the jealousy that was currently cutting off my air supply.
With my free hand, I reached for my phone inside my pocket. “I’m going to take it.”
“Take what?” Aly said without turning around.
I hit Francesca’s number. “That plus one.”
Chapter Eight
Rob
Later That Night
Francesca looked hot as hell. She’d dressed to impress, as usual.
And, as usual, she garnered quite a bit of attention. At least I thought she did.
I honestly wouldn’t know. I was too busy staring down Aly and her date. My blood had settled into a steady simmer inside my skin. The kind of simmer that could roll over to a boil at the slightest provocation.
Sipping my Old Fashioned, I watched him put his hands on her. Touch her arm. Twine his fingers with hers. He said something. She threw back her head and laughed. She was trying hard with him. Too hard.
Why?
The bourbon was not helping. Neither were the heels she’d put on when the party started. They lengthened her calves. Made the indent between the muscle and shinbone harden in the mind-fuckiest way possible.
Why’d she have to do that?
I was being a tit. I knew that. I had no right to feel this way. Aly wasn’t mine to watch like this. We’d had our fun together, and then that fun had ended. But I couldn’t help wishing it was my joke she was laughing at. My hand on her waist. My name on her lips.
I didn’t get it—why I was feeling this way. Aly was exactly the sort of girl I stayed away from.
Exactly the sort of girl I’d crush.
Had to be her legs. Her rack. Or maybe her laugh. In a room full of Kit’s glamorous friends, she stood out. And it was bloody killing me that someone so luminous would settle for the B-movie version of Gordon Gekko.
From the corner of my eye, I saw my sister Jane set her drink on the table beside me.
She elbowed me softly. “You know that murder is illegal in this country, right?”
“What?” I blinked.
“The daggers in your eyes.” Jane nodded at Philip. He was handing Aly a fresh cocktail. Wanker. “You’re aiming them at his head.”
“Right between his eyes, as a matter of fact.” When I saw that Jane was not amused, I cleared my throat. “I was just, uh…joking. Heh.”
Jane crossed her arms, her voice low when she spoke. “Just so you know, Kit told me to keep an eye on the two of you. You and Aly.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I said, bristling. “She and I are just…friends, I guess. Not even—we’re acquaintances.”
Jane searched my face. I tugged at my collar.
“Is that why you’re looking at her date like you want to stab him? I met Philip. Seems nice enough.”
I shook my head. “He’s the worst.” Jane shot me a look. “I mean, yeah, I’m sure he’s nice. But he’s also the worst. Something about his hair…it looks like a helmet. A stupid, shiny helmet.”
She put a hand on my chest. “I say this as a friend, Rob. But be smart here, okay? Stop being a stalker and go hang out with your date. Although if I’m being honest, I’m not crazy about your pick.”
On cue, Francesca’s voice cut through the noise in the room. She was by the bar, her drink sloshing all over the place as she gesticulated wildly to a group of our mutual friends. I cringed. Maybe Jane was right. I’d only ever been with Francesca in bed, or at clubs or bars. Places where the music and the crowds were so loud, and the people were so drunk, I’d never noticed how—er—big her personality was. Honestly, I didn’t know Francesca much at all.
I was starting to regret taking Aly up on that plus-one.
I brought my drink to my mouth. But when I looked down at the half-empty glass, I hesitated. If Francesca was on the piss, I should probably take it easy. I didn’t want to ruin Kit and Emily’s party. I knew how hard Aly had worked to make it perfect.
“I’ll handle it,” I said, setting my glass on a passing waiter’s tray.
“Rob.” Jane’s hand was still on my chest. “Aly is a lovely woman. But don’t confuse a bruised ego with real feelings for someone, okay?”
Jane was right. She’d been through a lot, relationship-wise, so I trusted her to know what she was talking about. That’s all this was—a bruised ego. Tell me I couldn’t have something, and I wanted it all the more. I’d been that way since I was a kid.
I just wish this bruise would fucking heal already.
“Okay,” I said.
I made a beeline for Francesca.
Aly
Philip was by my side all evening. He laughed at all my jokes and politely chatted up my friends. Sure, his conversation wasn’t always the most interesting. He talked about the trading floor a lot. Like, a lot a lot. But he was still being the perfect date. I kept waiting for the rest of the room to fall away. Kept waiting for butterflies, the kind that overtook every other feeling and concern and left me in thrall to Philip’s charm.
And the butterflies did come. But only when I caught Rob looking at me from across the room. His blue eyes flickered with softness and heat, even as a muscle in his jaw ticked. In annoyance, maybe? Chagrin? He looked equal parts Romeo and Cersei Lannister at her bloodthirstiest. I didn’t know an expression like that was even possible.
I made it a point to ignore him. I was here with Philip, and Rob was here with his trainwreck of a date.
Even so, I was hyperaware of Rob’s presence. Where and when he moved. I felt his eyes on my face as he stood near a table with his sister. Felt the temperature in the room dip when he stepped out onto the terrace with his date. Sensed him standing just outside the windows behind the sofa, the familiar sound of his laughter muted.
It had been an exhausting day. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew my feet hurt, and the underwire in my strapless bra was cutting into my side. But I felt awake. Alive. The kind of excited you get when you discover the cute guy you’d spotted earlier at the bar is looking at you.
Em and Kit had come over to talk to Philip and me. They seemed to be having a good time; so far, the party was a success. Their thanks and praise was effusive. I appreciated it, really, I did. Still, I found myself glancing over my shoulder out the window. Rob was there, along with his brother Jack and a few of their friends. He had an unlit cigar in his mouth and a lighter in his hand, thumb poised over the strike. The pose was handsome. Self-assured. So him.
He flicked the lighter and bent his neck, the flame illuminating the masculine lines of his face. He drew on the cigar to light it, one puff, then another, squinting against a plume of smoke. I imagined I could smell the rich, earthy scent of the tobacco. Feel the pleasant sting of smoke in my nose.
As if he could sense me looking, Rob turned his head. Our eyes collided through the window. He was still squinting, and somehow that made his gaze all the more intense.
I looked away. Philip’s arm was around my waist; he squeezed my side with his fingers.
“You all right?” he murmured. “You look a little flushed. Shall I get you some water?”
I blinked and met his eyes. Like an asshole, I’d completely forgotten he was here. I’d come to this party with a super great date, but here I was, pining for the playboy prince who was the opposite of everything I was looking for.
I shoved Rob from my thoughts. Mind over matter. I just had to focus more on Philip, that’s all. Just had to remember what a dick Rob had been the other day.
Smiling at Philip, I said, “I’d love that, thanks.”
The second he was gone, Emily’s eyes snapped to my face.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing. Just Philip. He’s…nice.”
Kit held up his hands. “And that’s my cue to leave.” He wandered over to another group of people, letting Em and I have our privacy.
Privacy I desperately needed but didn’t want. Em could read me like a book, and I wasn’t exactly proud of how
I was feeling at the moment.
I gulped at the watery remains of my gin and tonic.
“He is nice,” I said. “Really, really nice.”
“So nice.” She was still eying me. “You sure you’re into him?”
I speared her with a glare. “Of course I’m into him!”
Emily raised an eyebrow in reply.
“Look. He’s responsible,” I said, counting off his attributes on my fingers. “He takes me on great dates. Shows up when he says he will. He and I—we’re the same, you know? We’re both into our careers. We want similar things.”
“All of that is true. Doesn’t mean you’re into him, though. None of that stuff accounts for chemistry. Or fun.”
“I’ve had my fun,” I sniffed. “And now I’m ready for more.”
“More can be fun, too, Aly. You don’t think you’re selling yourself a little short?”
“No.” My reply was so forceful I think it surprised us both. “I’m not selling myself short. I’m looking for the guy who’s going to be part of my happily ever after. Chemistry is a part of that, sure. But so is compatibility. Romance. Shared goals.”
I wanted to add—but didn’t—that sometimes the least likely guy became your leading man. Like in Clueless, when Cher finally came to her senses and gave Josh a chance. Or when Bridget Jones chose Colin Firth’s dorky but earnest Darcy over Hugh Grant’s foppish playboy. I just had to be patient with Philip.
Emily sighed. “Okay. I just—as your friend, I feel like it’s my duty to be honest with you, even when it hurts. You were honest with me about Kit, remember?”
“I do,” I said. I didn’t regret it, either. Kit and Em may have been genuinely, deliriously in love now. But their engagement had started out as a sham—a ploy to distract the press from Princess Jane’s divorce. I’d thought the whole thing was a bad idea from the beginning. My fears weren’t entirely unfounded. Emily had to go through hell and back again to get where she was now; she’d already gone through a horrible divorce herself, and I hadn’t wanted her to get hurt again. I was glad, though, that the happily ever after she’d found had ultimately proved me wrong.
Royal Rebel: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Flings With Kings) Page 6