My cheeks start to heat and he smiles knowingly, revealing his white, straight teeth. “Who would have thought the queen does laundry.”
In a flash, my desire for him dries up like a shallow puddle of water in the middle of summer. He thinks I’m Imogen. Now I’m faced with the decision of playing along or setting him straight.
Honestly, it grates on my nerves that anyone confuses us. We’re fraternal twins. And yes, I will concede that we do look slightly identical, but Imogen and I don’t dress the same, don’t do our hair the same, and—I frown.
“Touchy subject. I get it.” He winks at me, then leans in. “I was only teasing, Charlotte. I know who you are. Those pretty hazel eyes have been haunting me for years.”
He thinks my eyes are pretty. Wait, he’s been thinking of me for years? “It wasn’t very kind of you,” I say primly instead of satisfying my curiosity.
Curiosity killed the queen. Literally, it killed one of my ancestors because she fell into a well and drowned. She was curious of its depth but didn’t factor in that her skirts would pull her under.
“What I wouldn’t give to know what you’re thinking about right now,” he says in his very charming way.
“Drowning.”
“Me or,” he jerks his thumb over his shoulder, “the guy who keeps requesting the DJ play the greatest hits of Pennykeep? All three of them.”
I try not to smile, try not to be charmed, but I am so weak when it comes to this man. A man I know only by reputation and social media.
“Both.”
He sucks in air through his teeth. “Ouch.”
“If you knew I wasn’t Imogen, why did you come talk to me? Your news site low on scandals?”
He laughs, loudly, uncaring that he’s gotten the attention of my oldest brother, Colin. Colin’s eyes narrow and he starts to head our way, but his wife, Della, holds him back. Not literally, of course. With only a glance.
A dreamy sigh escapes me. What I wouldn’t do for a love like that.
“I thought you were the nice royal.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You make nice sound like an insult.”
He shrugs, his broad shoulders lifting his fitted tux jacket. “In my world, nice gets your ass handed to you.”
“Perhaps you should consider relocating to a different planet.”
“Would you come with me, help me become a better man?” His voice drops into a deeper, even sexier octave. “Teach me the error of my ways?”
Yes. Yes. Yes. “No,” I scoff. “A woman couldn’t change you, and that’s not what you mean.”
His blue eyes gleam. “Such a shame. I thought you’d like a challenge.”
“Like it’s a challenge to sleep with you,” I blurt and want to die, but I won’t and not in front of him. I tip up my chin and dare him to say something unkind.
His brows rise. “Do tell how you came to that conclusion.”
This time my cheeks heat to levels that I can’t hide. “I’ve seen the images you post. You’re not exactly private or modest.”
“There’s no such thing as privacy, and modesty is overrated.”
“Only because those things make it more difficult for people like you,” I counter. My nerves are tingling, and not just with desire for this man. I feel alive while talking to him. He doesn’t care who I am or that no one talks to me like this…or at all, for that matter, at these events. The media doesn’t call me the Royal Wallflower for nothing.
His hot gaze slides over me, making my nipples hard, my breasts heavy, and my panties damp. “Would you like to get out of here?”
My head is nodding before my mouth can say no.
He holds out his hand and I take it, uncaring that my name is being called as we walk to the front door. Okay, so he’s walking and I’m jogging, but his strides are so long that I have to in order to keep up.
“Are you really six three?” I ask.
“Afraid so, shorty.”
“I’m average. Five five.”
He gives me another hot look. “Nothing average about you.”
Oh my.
Peter opens the door for us and I automatically smile at him. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Have a good night and—”
Brooks steps between us. “I thought you wanted to go.”
“Oh, I do.”
“Then stop flirting with your security guard and get your sweet ass in my car.”
At his crass command, I yank my hand out of his. “I changed my mind,” I lie.
“No, you didn’t.” The valet pulls a silver Bugatti up to the curb and hops out, opening both doors. “C’mon, princess, live on the wild side. Promise to have you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”
I tilt my head to one side, hesitating while I mentally weigh my options.
“Fine. I get the hint.” He lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles in the most princely of ways. “Such a pleasure meeting you, sweetheart.”
No one’s ever called me sweetheart.
No one outside of my family and small circle of friends has ever called me Charlotte either, at least not to my face.
He lets go of my hand and strides away.
Oh, you stupid girl. You could have given yourself one night to be wild. One night to be just Charlotte and enjoy the lack of pressure in your life.
But no.
You had to be pragmatic and practical. Peter didn’t bother to follow you because he knew you wouldn’t leave.
“Fuck it,” I hear Brooks mutter, then he pivots and stalks over to me. My heart slams hard against my chest a thousand times before he speaks again. “You need a reason to go, don’t you?”
My lips part, but nothing really comes out except a squeak that kinda sounds like a yes. Well, it would sound like a yes if I spoke chipmunk.
“I’ll give you one.” He touches my shoulder, then his big hand is gliding up my neck and curling around.
“Give me one what?” Please let it be a kiss and a real one, too. By real, I mean not for a photo op.
He smiles a little, right before his mouth lowers to mine. “This.”
“Oh.” He stops, peering at me from beneath his lashes. It’s like he’s waiting for something or someone. “Go on, then.”
Brooks touches my face as his lips whisper over mine. I tip up my chin, wanting more…of everything. I grab him by the lapels of his tux and twist the material, giving me purchase so that I can rise up on my toes and kiss him like I’ve always dreamed.
Except this is nothing like my dreams and late-night fantasies. The man whose mouth skillfully moves over mine is flesh and blood. His fingers caress my cheeks.
Sweet Lord, he’s a face toucher when he kisses.
He pulls me flush against him. I gasp into his mouth and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue inside. Suddenly, I don’t care if anyone’s taking our picture because this is the best kiss in the history of kisses.
Slowly, Brooks stops kissing me, his head tilting at an odd angle as he lets go of my neck and stops touching my face.
“Keep your fucking hands off my sister.”
“Shouldn’t she have a say in this?”
It takes me nearly a full minute to realize what’s going on.
Fisting my hands on my hips, I glare at my brother Colin, who’s holding a hot pink water gun to the side of Brooks’s head.
“Put the water gun down,” I order in my sternest voice.
“Go inside.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m twenty-six, almost twenty-seven, and I have the right to kiss whomever I want.”
“Wait until next week and then we can talk about your penchant for making out with scumbags.”
Brooks laughs low in his throat. He doesn’t look like a man who just had his life threatened. He looks…bored. Maybe he’s used to people threatening him with guns.
I answer before Colin says something that will make me see things his way.
“No.” Grabbing Brooks’s hand, I tug on it. “We’r
e leaving. Do have a lovely night, Colin.”
I wave as I get in the Bugatti, not realizing that the steering wheel is right in front of me until the valet closes my door. “Oh dear, I’m in the driver’s seat.”
“Looks like you belong there.” He tosses me the key fob. “Press the start button and drive, gorgeous…unless you regret what happened and want to go back to your punch station.”
Back to my boring, wallflower of a life. Back to charity balls and remaining utterly serene while I want to shout I exist. I’m here for a purpose other than just being the spare heir.
“Absolutely not.”
Then I start the engine and stomp down on the gas.
BY MARQUITA VALENTINE
Royals in Exile
Royal Scandal
Royal Affair
Take the Fall Series
Take the Fall
When We Fall
After We Fall
Hard to Fall
The Lawson Brothers
Love So Hot
Love So True
Love So Irresistible
Love So Tempting
Love So Perfect
Love So Unexpected
The Brides of Holland Springs
The Billionaire Bride
The Temporary Bride
The Forgotten Bride
The Christmas Bride
The Scottish Bride
Seducing the Billionaire
Seducing the Billionaire’s Wife
Seducing the Billionaire’s Secretary
Boys of the South
Live for You
Only for You
True for You
All for You
Wish for You
Burn for You
Melt for You
Holland Springs
Drive Me Crazy
Driving to You
Twice Tempted
Third Time’s a Charm
His Christmas Wish
Just Desserts
Not Over You
Be Mine
PHOTO: © MATTHEW WINSLOW
MARQUITA VALENTINE is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Royals in Exile, Take the Fall, Holland Springs, and Boys of the South series, which have sold more than 250,000 books around the world. She’s been called “one of the best new voices in romance” (Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews) and her books have been praised as “sexy, fun, and slightly addicting” (The Book Queen). When she’s not writing sexy heroes who adore their sassy heroines, she enjoys shopping, reading, and spending time with her family and friends. Married to her high school sweetheart, Marquita Valentine lives in a seriously small town in the South with her husband, two kids, and a dog.
marquitavalentine.com
Facebook.com/AuthorMarquitaValentine
@marquitaval
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Read on for an excerpt from
Royal Affair
Royals in Exile
By Marquita Valentine
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
Brooks
The isn’t the first time I’ve crashed a party, but it is the first time royalty is involved. I flash my fake invitation at the woman manning the entrance of the ballroom.
“Mr. Walker. So good of you to join us. How is your rascal of a father doing?” she asks, smiling.
Shit. She knows me. Sometimes, it’s a hazard to be a member of a political dynasty. Even one that’s retired from the political arena.
“Doing well,” is all I offer. While I have no problem reporting about the scandals of other famous families, I have no interest in providing any information about mine.
Hypocritical, yes.
Do I give a fuck? No.
To be fair, if my family were involved with some underhanded shit, I’d be the first one to break the story on them.
“Be sure to tell Bishop that Kitty James said hello.”
I nod, then push past her to walk inside the ballroom.
“Don’t forget, the silent auction goes on almost all night. You could win dinner with a princess!”
Turning slightly, I give her a smile. “Thank you.”
Kitty beams at me and then I simply forget her and make my way inside. I’m on a mission tonight. A mission to find the sweetest royal of them all. She won’t be easy to locate, though. This princess prefers to stay out of the limelight.
I glance at the wannabe queen—not the twin I’m looking for—and suppress an eye roll at the group of men and women fawning over her.
To me, losing your fangirl shit over royalty is basically stomping all over the Declaration of Independence and then using the Constitution to blow you nose.
I’m a huge fan of both documents and not only because my ancestors affixed their John Hancocks on them.
My job, my company, is guaran-damn-teed by the First Amendment. As long as what I write is true, then I’m untouchable. A fact that drives those in power insane. If they could prove that I was lying, I’d be six feet under or bankrupt.
Doesn’t matter that they’re guilty as sin. Doesn’t matter that they’ve hurt innocent people in the process. It’s all one big power play to them. One big chess game, in which they all think everyone but they are pawns.
Easily expendable.
Easily manipulated.
Easily destroyed.
Personally, I have been threatened with death so many times that it’s like one big joke to me. Plus, their threats aren’t exactly creative, so I have to amuse myself with replies.
Exhibit A:
Third Party Death Threatener: I’m going to cut your balls off and feed them to you.
Me: Could you do it after I showered? I hate the taste of sweaty balls.
Usually, I don’t get a reply, which I hate, because I’d like to know if I need to up my reply game. They won’t answer, or rather, the hired death squad won’t answer.
I suspect those guys aren’t hired for their witty repartee.
“Champagne?” The server stops in front of me and lowers his tray.
“No, thank you,” I reply, and he’s off to the next person. I have nothing against imbibing, but when I’m working…I’m a teetotaler. After hours, however, is a whole other story.
I scan the ballroom and walk around, careful to avoid the crown prince as he dances with his wife. Now that was a fairy tale, maid marries royal prince to piss off the government.
Stories like that get hits almost as much as click-bait titles.
But Prince Colin and Princess Della are old news. Their family, however, is not. Prince Theo can’t keep his dick in his pants. Almost-queen Imogen can’t decide if she’s a royal rebel or if she wants to do her royal duty.
Her bodyguard, though…he interests me. He gazes at his employer for far longer than is necessary or required. Yes, the queen is beautiful and is one of those people who make others want to bask in her presence…but this is more.
A juicy story is there, but it’s not what interests me. At least not for now.
I maneuver through a group of teenagers playing on their phones and finally, finally find my target.
She’s staring at me. Oh wait, she’s running away from me.
I frown. That can’t be good.
Now she’s manning the punch bowl.
Well, she has nowhere to go now. I make my move. “How are you this evening?”
Punch sloshes over the cup and onto her hand. “Fine. Thank you. Punch?” She holds out the crystal glass.
I take her offering, making sure my fingers touch her skin. Damn she’s soft. “Spiked?” I ask belatedly.
“Not unless you consider sherbet to be particularly uninhibiting,” she replies tartly.
Oh yeah, I’m going to love getting to know her.
“Depends on what’s in it.”
“Milk, sugar, sweetened fruit juice, and—” She pauses, her mouth pursing, then relaxing. “The drink is nonalcoholic. However, you are welcome to the bar on the left side of t
he ballroom.”
A dismissal. Oh, hell no. I try again. “Is there a reason why you won’t look at me?”
“No.” She lifts her chin and I’m lost in her pretty hazel eyes. Yes, a jaded motherfucker like me is lost. But who wouldn’t be? She’s exquisite, from the top of her dark brown hair all the way to her painted toenails. A light blue gown hugs every inch of her curvy body without coming off as a desperate attempt at attention and manages to look classy instead.
Yet all I want to do is peel it off her, expose her breasts, and take her nipples into my mouth, one at a time, until she’s begging for mercy. I’m a giver like that.
Her pretty eyes darken and her cheeks turn pink. She’s excited and nervous, and it’s all thanks to me.
“You’re a horrible liar.” I take a cautious sip of the punch and not because I don’t believe her, but because punch is served at every damn southern wedding I’ve attended and I hate the shit. “I’m interested in the reason, good or bad. I can take it.”
“Actually…I wanted to make sure I didn’t spill more punch. It will take loads of bleach to get out the mess I made.”
That’s not what I expected to hear from her. Not at all. It makes her seem real. Human. I can’t have that. I can’t have her with the upper hand.
“Who would have thought the queen does laundry?” I say, and yeah, it’s a total dick move to pretend that I don’t know who she is. That I can’t tell the difference between her sister and her. Yes, they’re fraternal twins, and yes, they look enough alike that one would think they were identical, but there is something in the way Charlotte carries herself. The way she presents herself on social media, even in the accounts she blocked me from having access to, like a good girl would.
Disappointment and embarrassment flare in her eyes and it feels as though someone’s punched me in the gut. I can’t be responsible for that, so I backpedal.
“Touchy subject. I get it.” I wink at her, trying to make her feel better. “I was only teasing, Charlotte. I know who you are. Those pretty hazel eyes have been haunting me for years.
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