Royally Mine: 22 All-New Bad Boy Romance Novellas

by Susan Stoker

  I power the cell down, and let Theo take it and set it aside.

  His cock probes me as I settle back. He says nothing more, but from his breathing I can tell he’s wide awake.

  “Theo?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Why didn’t your grandmother want to meet you until now?” It’s a blunt question, but the darkness softens it.

  “I’ve always wondered that,” his voice is muffled behind me. “My dad told me she hated him. Hated that her daughter ran away and abandoned everything she’d been raised to do.”

  So she shunned her own grandson? How sad.

  “He went to work to prove himself. Built an empire. And then he died.” Bitterness laces Theo’s tone.

  “I’m sorry. You deserve to have family.” You deserve to be loved.

  He holds me tighter, and I find his hand, stroke his wrist. His fingers squeeze mine, and then slide downward.

  “What are you doing?” His hand brushes my stomach, breaching my baggy t-shirt before slipping under my yoga pants. I hold my breath as he cups my hot, throbbing pussy.

  “Theo—”

  “Shhh,” he mutters. “You need this.” I need this, I hear his unspoken thought. Diverting from difficult emotions to promiscuous sex. Story of Theo’s life.

  At the moment, I don’t care. His fingers stroke up and down, the lightest of touches. The coil of arousal tightens. I whimper and he delves deeper, soothing the ache even as he makes it worse.

  This is a bad idea.

  “No, it’s a not,” he says, and I realize I’d spoken aloud. “Let go. Let me take care of you.”

  I relax, all but my hips, which cant back and forth against his touch. His index finger finds the spot next to my clit and flicks it until I shift, restless. Pleasure builds in me, threatening to take over. It’s too much. I want to shy away. Theo drapes his leg over mine, capturing me, keeping me still so my orgasm can catch me.

  My climax blooms slowly, spreading through my breathless body, blanking my mind. Theo keeps up the light, fluttering touches until my inner muscles clench and spasm, begging for more.

  I sigh and sink further into his body. God in the sheets.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, and he kisses the back of my neck.

  “Go to sleep.”

  I do, wondering if I’ll be able to keep Theo’s dick out of the press—and my pants.

  ***

  The Kid’s Olympics is at the stadium downtown. We leave the mansion at eight a.m., in a convoy of Escalades. Theo opted to ride with me. I frown at my phone the whole time, scrolling through newsfeeds, but I feel him watching.

  The dirt on Pepper Spice Mina found yesterday has done its work, deflecting attention from Theo. Between his demure statement (crafted by me) and his positive photo op at the skate park, he’s looking a lot better in the news. People are willing to forgive a rich, handsome guy and his sexual exploits a lot faster than they would anyone else.

  Sexist, but it’s true.

  “We’re here,” Evans announces when we pull up to the stadium.

  “No press,” Theo mouths as we walk in, and I nod.

  He accepts a complimentary volunteer shirt, and my hand itches to grab my phone, take a picture, and send it to my friend at Good News, America.

  Instead, I accept a shirt as well, and plunge in.

  The day whirls by. At one point, Evans calls me over to tell me the Wall Street Journal wants to do a write up of Theo’s dad and Kensington, Inc. and they want a quote from Theo.

  “Tell them we’re preparing for an audience with the queen, and that we’ll have something to them by Friday.” I can only hope Theo will commit to cleaning up his act by then. At least today he seems to be having fun. The kids flocking him don’t bother him at all. Plenty of parents are here, too, and ask for pictures. Apparently, Theo’s skateboarding prowess is enough to make him popular with the kids, and his status as a scandalous public figure—on level with the Kardashians—is enough to make him a minor celebrity with the adults.

  And Theo? He just hangs out with the kids, and enjoys himself. Biceps flexing as he lifts one up to make a slam dunk. Tattoos peeking out from under the volunteer shirt he wears. Sexy smile drawing yoga-pant wearing moms like flies to honey. And these women’s yoga pants are skin tight.

  “I thought you weren’t doing pictures,” I grouse to him at lunch.

  “I said no press. I don’t care if the kids want pictures.” He offers me his water bottle. I shake my head and he caps it. “Why, you jealous?”

  “No.”

  He throws an arm around me. I push at him, trying to get free, but he’s too strong. His manly scent washes over me, sexy cologne mixed with the smell of the popcorn they sell at the stadium. He smells like a teenager on a first date.

  My cheeks heat, remembering how he held me all night. And then gave me an orgasm.

  “Hey,” he calls to his new ten-year-old buddies. “Take a picture of us?”

  “Theo—”

  “Smile,” he orders, so I do.

  ***

  Theo has a limo pick up the Bronx kids to take them to the hotel. They’re all wide smiles, brimming with excitement. Mr. White shakes Theo’s hand, thanking him again.

  “Come on, V-card,” he murmurs, grabbing my hand. Energy zings up my arm, as if I’ve hit my funny bone. My body fills with a not quite painful ache.

  In the backseat of our own limo, I lean into Theo, resting my head against his shoulder until my glasses dig into my face. I don’t ever want to move. The white volunteer shirt sets off his tanned skin perfectly. I want to crawl into his lap and curl against his chest.

  Instead, I distract myself with my phone, checking my social media sites, and because I’m on the clock, his public pages.

  “Hey, look at this,” I say, and show him his Lookbook page.

  His hair tickles my skin as he leans closer. I clear my throat and scroll through all the pictures of him with the kids. There’s one with him kneeling beside an adorable boy in a wheelchair. Theo’s grin makes my heart ache.

  “You’re getting a lot of great comments,” I say.

  Theo squints at the screen. He plucks my glasses off my face before I can say anything, sets them on his nose. I open my mouth, but the black frames highlight his beauty and, for a second, I can’t breathe. Nerd Theo is fucking hot.

  Brow furrowed, he tries to read the screen before jerking his head back, pulling the glasses off and staring at them. “Vesper, these are—”

  “Fake,” I say, and give him a sheepish grin. “You caught me. Do you need glasses to read?”

  “I don’t read, remember?” He frowns at the glasses.

  “You can though. You just won’t. You avoid anything that makes you look responsible or smart.”

  “Is that why you wear these?” He offers me my frames. “Do you think they make you look smarter?”

  “Maybe.” I take them, turn them over in my hands. The black lines. The clear glass. It all seems so stupid now. I slip them into my purse with my phone.

  “Why don’t you tell your doctor you need glasses?” I ask Theo. “Or just get Lasik surgery?”

  He slides away from me on the seat. “I told you. I don’t read. I barely passed high school. Flunked out of college. It didn’t interest me. What I don’t understand is why you wear fake glasses. You don’t need anything to make you look smart.”

  “I put myself through college,” I blurt. “I worked at a bar. I got great tips.”

  “I bet you did.”

  “Theo…” I turn away. “Never mind.”

  He catches my hand. “No. Tell me.”

  “I kept my hair long. I was afraid to cut it in case I wouldn’t get as much attention. Wouldn’t make as much money.” I realize I’ve pulled my ponytail over my shoulder, and am stroking it. I stop. “One day, a guy comes in. Big spender. I flirted with him. He told me he owned a club, and was looking for a new bartender. Offered me a job.”

  “Did you take it?”


  “I went with him to his business in the big city. It was a club. Membership only—fifty-two thousand a year. Lots of girls in tiny dresses, and older men.”

  “Sugar babies with their sugar daddies.”

  “Yep,” I swallow hard. “That’s what people see when they look at me. Long legs, blonde hair. They think I could be a model, or a stripper, or…”

  “That’s not all they see.” He finds the glasses and slides them back on my face. “Just because you’re hot as fuck doesn’t mean you’re not intelligent.”

  That’s not what people see.

  “And look at you now. Vesper Smith. Fixer. You make the bad boys good again.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “You’re reforming me,” he insists. “And later this week, you’re gonna meet the queen of Sweden.”

  I still. “You’re going?”

  Theo shrugs. “Why not? She’s just a person.”

  “She’s your grandmother.”

  “Yeah, she’s been a fantastic grandmother so far.”

  I put my hand on his knee. “Losing your mom must have hurt her.”

  “It hurt me too. My dad never recovered.”

  I wait, but he says no more. I move my hand from his knee. I should probably stop touching him so much.

  But then he puts his hand on the back of my neck. Slowly pulls the hair band out, sifts his fingers through my hair. I close my eyes in pleasure.

  “I like your hair. Though, I wouldn’t mind if you cut it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You better come to Sweden with me. You look more like Swedish royalty than I do.”

  “I don’t know about that.” I shift away from him to look out the window. We’re almost to the hotel, the crown jewel in the Kensington portfolio. Fifty-two stories high, overlooking Central Park.

  How did I end up here? I feel like an imposter.

  “One interview,” Theo says suddenly.

  “What?” I pull my gaze from the park.

  “I’ll do one interview. Set my story straight. After that, I just want to stay out of the press.”

  “I can do that.” I smile back and pull out my phone, ready to schedule the interview before he changes his mind.

  My Google alert pings. I scroll through the latest news bulletin.

  “Shit,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Your uncle died,” I tell him as the Escalade stops at the grand entrance to Imperial Manhattan. “Congratulations, Theo. You’re now the crown prince of Sweden.”

  Chapter Six

  The door opens into the storm of paparazzi. Cameras flash like lightning. The press screams from all sides.

  “Mr. Kensington,” Evans shouts. Black suited men rush forward, surrounding us. Theo covers me with his body as we race inside.

  “It’s all over the news,” Evans tells us.

  “Fuck.” Theo runs his hand through his hair. “I’m sick of this. What do we do?” He and Evans turn to me.

  “You’re the most newsworthy person on the planet right now. If you thought you were famous before…” I shake my head. “I’ll release a statement announcing that you’re grieving with the family. We’ll head to Sweden early.”

  “What about the interview?” he asks.

  “There’s still time for one. I can get you on Good News, America tomorrow. Hell, I can get you on air anywhere we want. But I know Reba Hamilton,” I name the head anchor. “She’d love to interview you, and she’ll be nice. Classy.”

  “Let me think about it,” Theo says.

  “Let’s get you into a secure location.” Evans leads us to a private elevator. Fifty-two floors later, we step out into a penthouse suite. Black suits precede us, and a few more follow us in.

  “We’ve tripled your security. Sweden is sending a liaison, also.”

  “Am I going to have to learn Swedish?” Theo jokes.

  “Maybe,” I say. “Polling says you’re not very popular over there. I expect the queen will have a list of things she requires before you’re officially named heir to the throne.”

  Theo sighs and runs his hand through his hair. He’s still as gorgeous as ever, but there are little lines of strain around his long-lashed eyes. His strong shoulders slump a little. “Can I get some privacy? I’d like to consult with my media consultant.”

  “You all right, Prince Theo?” I say once the suits and Evans are gone.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “You prefer My Liege?”

  He smiles, prowling forward and all of a sudden, I have the playboy prince back. “I prefer to be a god.”

  I retreat, and he keeps coming until my back is against the wall. He puts a hand above my head and leans in. “In fact, that’s what you’ll be calling me tonight.”

  “In your dreams, skater boy.” I duck under his arm and escape. “So, the interview. Did you change your mind?”

  He’s still at the wall, leaning against it, staring at nothing.

  “Theo?”

  “Have dinner with me.” He straightens, but still doesn’t look at me. His shoulders hunch slightly.

  “What?”

  He looks at me, and every muscle in me clenches with need at the longing in his eyes. “Have dinner with me, Vesper.”

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “Today, volunteering, did you have fun?”

  “Um, I guess.” His change of mood from sexy to serious is giving me whiplash. Almost like the real Theo is trying to break free, and seduce me at the same time.

  “You looked like you were having fun.”

  “I did. I mean, all the people wanting pictures with you were annoying.”

  “Since when do you not want pictures of me? You just didn’t like the hot moms.”

  “They were not hot moms,” I burst out. “Those yoga pants were way too tight.”

  He grins at me.

  “All right. I had fun.”

  “Have dinner with me. You can say it’s for work. Get to know the real me.”

  “For work? Just a moment ago, you said you wanted me in your bed.”

  “I want you calling me a god. It doesn’t have to be in bed.”

  I groan.

  “Hey, you represent my dick as much as me. You may as well try it out.”

  “This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.” I throw up my hands. “Fine. You want dinner with me? Do the interview tomorrow.”

  “Sold,” he says, and I realize I’ve been played.

  Too late. He’s going to the door, calling Evans back in. I spend the next few hours confirming the interview for tomorrow, crafting and issuing a statement, and debriefing Evans and Theo.

  “Your private plane is on standby,” Evans says. “We can fly out to Sweden whenever you’re ready.”

  “Tomorrow night,” I say. “Let’s get to Stockholm and get over jet lag before the audience.”

  Theo nods, rubbing a hand over his face. He’s changed out of his volunteer shirt, into a polo and shorts. Evans brought my bags by the penthouse so I could freshen up. I put on a dress, and send my suitcase to my room, hoping it’s far away from Theo’s. A few floors away, or better yet, across the street. Or country.

  Sitting close to him, working together, the attraction has only grown. We’re both tired. Not great for the self-control.

  I stand and stretch, ignoring how Theo’s eyes sweep over me. “One thing at a time. Let’s focus on the interview. Reba sent me a list of preliminary questions we can work on. She’ll be polite, but she won’t hold back. We need to practice.”

  “All right,” Theo says, and jumps up. “But first, dinner.” He grabs my hand, pulling me to the door. “If you need us, Evans, we’ll be at the pool.” Evans’ frown follows us, but there’s nothing I can do.

  ***

  The pool is on the roof, a dazzling oasis complete with palm trees and a few fountains. I haven’t really fought to get free from Theo’s grip—a deal is a deal—but once we walk out into the luxurious space
, only the sky above us, I tug my hand away.

  “I have to make a call,” I tell him.

  “No problem.” Theo tosses me a few pieces of string. “Do your thing, then change into this.”

  I sigh, and turn away.

  “What’s up?” Mina answers on the first ring.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Looking good over here. Did some quick polls. U.S. populace loves the prince thing. They seem mostly amused by the whole Pepper Spice scandal. Not sure about the board of directors—that might take some groveling.”

  “We’re on it. The interview tomorrow will help.”

  “How is Prince Charming?”

  “Still a domineering asshole.” I grimace at the bikini I’m holding.

  “I heard that,” Theo shouts from the bar where he’s pouring himself a drink.

  Mina snickers. “He’s in the room with you?”

  I sigh. “We’re doing dinner.”

  “Ho, boy. Somebody’s gonna get royally fucked.”

  “No,” I scoff. “We’re working. Practicing for the interview tomorrow. This was the only way I could get him to do it.”

  “You keep telling yourself that. Sounds like a date to me.”

  “It’s not a date—”

  “Yes, it is,” Theo hollers from across the pool. He’s now seated at a little table set for two.

  Mina guffaws and I roll my eyes. “Gotta go.”

  When I return from the changing room, bikini in place under my dress, the food is all served. Theo stands and helps me into my chair, the perfect gentleman.

  The place is abandoned. Either no one has happened to come up here or Theo arranged for us to have privacy. I suspect the latter.

  Theo lifts the cover off my plate, and the delicious smell hits my face. My stomach growls. We fall on the food.

  “This is nice,” I say after I’ve cleaned my plate. Volunteering all day is hard work. “When did your father build this hotel?”

  “This is the hotel where my parents met.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nods. He’s been a little quiet through dinner, dark and brooding. Maybe this is why.