by Susan Stoker
Occasionally a woman or two would do a double take, but probably assumed they were mistaken and walked away.
Not Shayla and Katelin. They knew. They had Alexander royalty radar. They also had nothing else to do but ogle the panty-dampening duo on Saturday nights. It had become a ritual of sorts.
The Bar was just that, a bar. Nothing special. She and Kate had stumbled upon it one day after work and had been going ever since. At first they had grand plans to put themselves out there and meet the men of their dreams. But when that didn’t happen and they noticed Cale and Cain enter the establishment one night, they decided to pass their time absorbing the awesomeness that was being in the same space as the two princes.
Now? What the hell was she supposed to make of this new development? Shayla’s heart was still racing from the attack in the alley. She’d been scared out of her mind that she and Kate would be raped and left for dead. And then boom. Out of nowhere, two knights in shining armor arrived. Well, princes in jeans and button downs, but just as good.
Things like this didn’t happen to Shayla. Ever. In fact, the opposite. She had spent sixteen years in foster care. In the last home she lived in, she met Katelin, and the two of them bonded over a similar history, the skeevy foster father who gave them both the heebie-jeebies, and the desire to get the hell out of there and make something of themselves.
And they’d done just that. Sort of. The minute they turned eighteen, they’d gotten an apartment, managed to work hard enough to scrape some money together, and put themselves through enough classes at the local junior college to gain some skills.
They didn’t have much, but they had decent jobs working in an accounting office, and they had each other. For years they had plotted “how to get a man,” but failing the effort, or perhaps being way too particular to let anyone into their lives, they’d given up and spent the past few months pretending to live the luxurious life of the rich and famous.
On the arms of Cale and Cain Alexander.
Holy shit. This was real. As Cain angled her toward the front door of his apartment building, she closed her eyes for a second. The man plastered to her side smelled so amazing she would give anything to stay right under his arm for all of eternity. If he wanted to take her to his place and make sure she was okay before taking her home, she wasn’t going to protest.
Hell, if he wanted to fuck the sense out of her before returning her to her regularly scheduled life, she wouldn’t argue about that either.
A flutter in her pussy made her knees week at the thought of this giant hunk of man between her legs, thrusting into her. His hands tangled in her hair. His eyes on hers. His lips swollen from kissing her. His cock so damn big it stretched her underused pussy so far she came from that alone.
Wetness pooled between her legs, and she gasped.
Cain twisted his face to search hers as he held the door open for her. “You okay?” He glanced down at her knees.
As if she could feel them… What a joke. “Fine.” The one word came out as more of a squeak, and he chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead again.
Her breasts swelled beneath her bra, causing her nipples to rub against the lace. How was it she happened to be wearing her best black lace bra and panty set and her sexiest little black dress on this particular night? Fate? She was going to go with that and make the most out of this amazing dream.
The ride in the elevator to the penthouse was quick. No one spoke a word inside the elevator car. As if in silent agreement not to break the spell, Shayla kept her gaze on Cain’s fingers draped over her shoulder, fascinated by how large his hand was compared to hers.
The sleeves of his perfectly pressed, dark blue button-down shirt covered his arms all the way to his wrists. She’d done enough research to know what was hidden under his shirt, even though there were few photographs in any tabloids to prove it. Both men had tattoos.
Her mouth watered at the prospect of seeing Cain’s.
She had no idea what they each had tatted on their bodies. An occasional camera would catch a long-distance picture of their arms when they wore T-shirts, but the tatted sleeves only managed to whet the appetite, wondering what extended across their chests.
She also had no idea if the two were identical twins or not, but they looked extremely similar. The only thing that kept anyone from doing a double take was that Cale wore his dark brown hair a bit longer than Cain.
When they stepped out of the elevator, Cain angled her toward the left while Cale led Katelin to the right.
Shayla was so caught up in her own little fantasy that she startled when she heard Katelin call her name. She spun around in Cain’s arm to glance at her friend, biting down on her lower lip to keep from giggling before she gave her friend a nod and a smile.
This was so totally happening.
Seconds later, Cain led her into what she imagined was one of two master suites in the penthouse. The brothers obviously shared a living space, but they each had a wing to themselves.
She couldn’t believe how big the room was. And the floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall of the bedroom made her gasp. He didn’t even need to turn the lights on for her to take in the view. In fact, she hoped he wouldn’t.
She let go of the grip she didn’t realize she had on Cain’s shirt at his waist and shrugged free of his clutch to make her way across the room to get a better view.
All of Seattle twinkled below her. Stunning. Not a single noise could be heard through the thick glass, but she could hear it all the same inside her head—the honking of horns, shouts of pedestrians, and cacophony of cars inching down the city streets.
When Cain set his hands on her shoulders and hauled her back against his front, he spoke softly. “I forget how gorgeous the view is from up here until I see it through someone else’s eyes.” His hands trailed down her arms until he threaded his fingers with hers, and he set his chin on her head. “I take things for granted.”
She shivered, thinking she would never take this for granted if given the opportunity to see it every day of her life.
“Come. Let’s see about your knees.” He released one hand and tugged the other. Without the lights on in the room, the city lights illuminated the place perfectly. If she lived in this perfect oasis, she would stare out the expanse of glass for hours every night.
Nevertheless, she allowed him to lure her into the attached bath that was more stunning than the bedroom for totally different reasons. Where the bedroom had been decorated in dark colors—grays and blacks—the bathroom was mostly white with gold accents.
Cain continued to pull her until they reached the vanity, where he spun her around, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her to sit on the granite.
She let out a slight squeal as she flew unexpectedly through the air. And then the counter itself was cold on the backs of her legs. “Cain, I’m fine. Skinned knees. No big deal.”
He kneeled in front of her to get a better look, and then with a frown and furrowed brow, grabbed a wash cloth. She watched him wet the cloth and wring it out, mesmerized by how intense he was. It wasn’t as if skinned knees required an emergency room visit. He was overreacting.
Cain carefully wiped the dirt and blood from her legs and then stood. “I think you’re fine. Maybe some antibiotic ointment.”
“Told you I was fine. I’m sure once I shower, soap and water will be sufficient.” Her words grew muffled after she said shower, embarrassed at the suggestion. “When I get home, I mean.”
“Don’t be silly.” He shocked her further by turning around and flipping on the water in his giant glass shower that had so many showerheads and was so large, it looked as if it could accommodate six people at once.
“Yeah, uh, Cain, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.” How many times had she said she was fine? And how badly did she shiver at the thought of getting naked in Cain Alexander’s house?
No one would ever believe this story. Of course, the only person in the world she knew well enough to t
ell about it was currently also in the same penthouse, most likely being treated to the same care.
He ignored her protest, grabbed a giant, fluffy, white towel from the linen closet, and hooked it next to the shower door. When he faced her again, she flinched. Watching him move around the room was mesmerizing. Facing him head on was intimidating every time.
He was either undaunted or didn’t notice her plight, because all he did was cup her face, kiss her forehead again, and point toward the shower. “You got this? I could stay and help if you need?” The only way she knew he was at least partly kidding was the lift of one side of his mouth.
Her face heated, indicating she had turned every shade of red. “I can manage.” I don’t want to manage. I’d rather you took your clothes off and got into the shower with me. But I can manage. Ugh.
“I’ll be right outside if you need anything. Just yell.” On silent footsteps, he left the room.
The second the door snicked shut, she froze, staring at the back of the door, stunned. This could not seriously be happening.
She wiped her eyes and blinked several times, but the scene didn’t change. She was still sitting in the most opulent bathroom in Seattle, and the man she’d been drooling over for years was yards away, expecting her to get naked in his home.
Who was she to turn him down?
She hopped down from the counter, drew her favorite little black dress over her head, and then wiggled out of her bra and panties to add them to the pile. She actually felt sad that he wouldn’t see her wearing the sexy lingerie.
Too bad. With her pale skin and nearly white hair, she looked amazing in black lace.
Before she got into the shower, she tugged the thick black band from her wrist and tucked her hair up in a bun to keep it dry.
The moment she stepped under the spray of water, she relaxed, marginally. However, when she grabbed the bar of soap and began to rub it over her body, she knew she was in trouble. She’d never been this aroused.
Sure, she’d had sex with a few guys over the years, but none came half as close to making her crave sex as this prince. Lord, she’d been aroused for several Saturdays in a row just looking at him. In fact, she’d also gotten wet and managed to come to visions of him in her bed at night.
When Cain Alexander was the subject of her imaginings, she didn’t need a vibrator to get off. Her fingers could do the trick in minutes.
The shower though…shit. Her nipples stood at attention, and the wetness between her legs was not from water. She washed quickly, noting her knees didn’t even sting. No one would notice the scrapes in a few days.
What she wanted to do was rub her swollen clit until she came hard. She knew it would only take seconds.
Don’t do it. She’d be mortified if she cried out inadvertently and got caught. So, instead, she hurried through the shower, flipped off the water, and grabbed the giant towel from its hook.
As soon as she was sufficiently dry, she wrapped the terry cloth around her body and stood in the bathroom, staring at her refection in the mirror. “Now what?” she muttered, watching her rosy cheeks grow redder.
What did Cain expect of her? Why hadn’t he taken her home? Who would bring a woman they didn’t know back to their home and usher them straight to the shower?
If she was reading him correctly, perhaps he intended to sleep with her.
If she was wrong, she was about to be the most embarrassed woman on the planet.
Perhaps she should have been more freaked out at the moment. After all, two large men had attempted to assault her just a short while ago in an alley. But Cain’s caring actions from the moment he’d knocked both men on their asses until now convinced her he was nothing like those Neanderthals. Somehow being around him obliterated the more loathsome aspects of the evening.
With a deep breath for fortification, she padded over to the door and opened it.
She flipped off the lights as she stepped back into his bedroom and then stopped dead in her tracks as he turned around from facing the skyline.
Nope. She had not misread him. Not even close.
And he didn’t mess around with pleasantries either.
The sexiest man alive, whose body she had envisioned a thousand times, leaned against the floor-to-ceiling glass butt naked. And he did so in the most casual fashion, as if he brought women back to his penthouse every day and stripped for them.
Shayla shuddered at the thought, worry causing her to chew on her lower lip.
His serious expression turned slightly amused, judging by the twinkle in his eyes as he cocked his head to one side and met her gaze. “I was hoping…” He hesitated and then continued. “I was hoping I hadn’t read you wrong.”
She blurted the first word that came to mind. “No.” And then more words spilled from her mouth rapidly as she realized the one word was ambiguous. “I mean no, you didn’t read me wrong.” Gathering up more courage than she possessed, she dropped the towel to the floor and crept slowly toward him.
Her hands hung at her sides, fisted in an attempt to keep from crossing her arms over her chest.
When she got about two feet from the perfection that was actually a god and not a human, she stopped moving.
He let his gaze roam up and down her body, and his expression gave her every indication he liked what he saw. Very much.
She let her gaze linger for only a moment on his thighs and the enormous erection between them before forcing herself to lift her eyes to his chest.
The tattoos she’d dreamed about were even better in person. The few photos she’d seen of his arms had been from a distance, but when she’d zoomed in to look closer, she thought she had detected some kind of serpent snaking up from his wrist. She had not been wrong.
Running across the upper swell of his right pec and up over his shoulder and down his right arm was the most gorgeous snake she’d ever seen. She had no idea what sort of serpent it was, but the head rested over his chest, the eyes seeming to stare directly at her, tempting her to step closer. The tail end of the snake ended a few inches above his wrist.
The snake was seemingly crawling up a branch, the bark and leaves also weaving their way over Cain’s skin.
Shayla was unable to stop herself from reaching out with one finger to touch the serpent, half thinking it might come alive and wrap itself around her wrist to hall her into temptation. “I feel like I’m about to eat the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden.”
Cain wrapped his hand around hers over his pec and flattened her palm on his firm, warm skin. “I always wondered if that would be someone’s first impression. That was the plan.” A slow sigh left his lips, as if he was incredibly pleased with her reaction.
She jerked her gaze to his. “What do you mean? You make it sound like I’m the first person to see your tattoos.”
He nodded. “You are. Well, accept for Cale and the tattoo artist.”
She narrowed her gaze, tugging on her hand futilely. “Come on. Seriously?”
He chuckled. “I guess it sounds absurd, but it’s true.”
This time she managed to pull her hand free. “Look, you’re smoking hot, and I’ve dreamed of having sex with you for ages. Half the population of the earth probably has. I’m not opposed to a one-night stand with someone as confident and sexy as you, but don’t soil it by lying. You can’t possibly expect me to believe you haven’t slept with dozens of women.”
He smirked, stepping forward, his cocky expression back as he set his hands on her waist and hauled her belly against his erection. “I’m not a Casanova, Shayla, but of course I’ve had sex with women. I just never let any of them see my chest. It disappointed the hell out of them when I wouldn’t take my shirt off, but they got over it.”
“Why would you do that?” She tipped her head to one side, inhaling his scent. Every intake of breath made it harder to listen to his words. His soap—the same soap she’d used on her body—and his subtle aftershave and deodorant. His own scent mixed in too. Lordy. It was hot in t
he room.
“So no one could run to the paparazzi and tell my secrets, of course.”
She swallowed, lifting her chin. Her voice was lower, hoarse, when she asked the next question. “And what makes you think I won’t tell anyone?”
His smile grew larger than life. “Because you… You’re different. You…I intend to keep you.” He pursed his lips together while he waited for her reaction.
At first she thought she’d misheard him. She narrowed her gaze and replayed his words in her head several times. “Keep me?” she finally inquired. “What the hell does that mean?” She stiffened. “Like some sort of hostage or concubine or sex slave or something?”
How had things taken such an abrupt turn for the worse? Now she was standing in Cain’s house, naked, and there was almost no hope she could escape him if she turned around and ran.
His words were incongruent with his over-the-top concern for her wellbeing. Somehow her lust had managed to obscure common sense. She knew nothing about his man. How was he any different from the two guys who attacked her? If he intended to hold her prisoner, it wouldn’t matter how kind he was about it. The end result would be the same.
He shocked her again when he tipped his head back and laughed. Hard. And then he lifted her by the waist, swung her into his arms, and carried her the few yards to the bed. When he dropped her with a bounce in the middle of the mattress and crawled over her body, she panicked.
What the hell? Suddenly, sleeping with him seemed like a horrible idea, and she wondered about her level of sanity for considering it. She scrambled backward. Could she make a run for it? Maybe scream out for Katelin and head for the front door? Who cared if she was naked as long as this man didn’t take her captive or something worse?
He continued to chuckle as he straddled her body, taking her hands in his and pressing them into the mattress above her head. “Lord, stop looking at me like that. I’d never force you to do anything.” He sobered. “I’m sorry I laughed. It was uncalled for. You caught me off-guard. You’re not a hostage or a concubine. Don’t insult me. Now, I’m not opposed to some kink if it gets you off, but that’s up to you. Down the line. Not today.”