“Prove people wrong.”
“I’m sure no one ever does that to you,” I said instead of answering.
That wolfish smile turned up the corner of his mouth as he looked down at me. “It’s hard to do when I’m always right.”
I chuckled, gaping as we approached a turn for another circle. “Maybe people are scared to tell you you’re wrong. Ever think about that?”
“All the time,” he said, the light teasing leaving his voice.
“Well,” I said, squeezing his hand to force him to look at me. “I’m not scared of you.”
“And why would you be?” His laugh was back. “I’m merely a stranger in the night, whom you were happy to electrocute.”
“For the millionth time I’m totally sorry—” my apology stopped dead in my throat as we rounded the corner, Xander’s eyes still locked on mine and not at all focusing on the turn. I went one way, and he went the other. I crashed into his chest, sending him flying down.
“I’m sorry!” I shouted again, my body flush on top of his with his back against the ice.
He winced but opened his eyes to look up at me. I swallowed hard, stilling my frantic movements as his hands held my hips. A wild flash of heat colored his deep brown eyes, and my breath caught.
“I’ve figured it out,” he said, making no motion to move as the other skaters passed us by like icy-roadkill.
“What’s that?” I asked, worried he’d smacked his head too hard.
“You were put on this earth to humiliate me.”
I chuckled, sighing as a sincere smile shaped his full lips.
Lips I couldn’t take my eyes off of.
Lips I was entirely too close to.
With my heart in my throat, I shook my head. I opened my mouth to apologize, again, but when he shifted enough to raise his head off the ice to look at me better, it brought him so close my apology turned into a kiss.
A soft caress from my lips to his. A sparking, hot, tingling touch that made my entire body buzz. He barely had time to close his eyes before I drew back, shimmying upward and offering him a hand off the ice. The kiss had been nothing more than a quick touch, but it was enough to prove that we’d be electric. “I promise I’m not trying to do that,” I said as he grabbed my hand.
“What?” he tilted his head like he’d forgotten all about the whole humiliating thing.
I craned my neck to look up at him—in the skates he must’ve been well over 6 foot 8—and grinned. “Humiliate you? It’s not on purpose.”
“No?” He blinked a few times, chuckling. “Just to tempt me then,” he said, though it was so under his breath, I might’ve imagined it.
We made a few more laps in a silence I was surprised was so easy. In past dates, I’d felt pressured to keep chattering away because I didn’t have tons of stories of parties, or clubs, or corporate events. No nieces or nephews to dote on. Nothing truly exciting beyond the pages I poured my soul into. Often I’d felt obligated to compensate for that, but with Xander, I didn’t feel the pressure. I doubted he wanted to talk about his family or the business he clearly ran—I’m sure he had to do that too often—so instead we found this pleasant and soothing rhythm that was as calming to me as a warm bath.
That image immediately turned into one of him in the bath with me, his broad, muscled chest glistening with bubbles, the candlelight flickering over his tanned skin. My legs slick against his as I moved over him.
I clenched my eyes shut. It’d been too long since I’d been with a man. Wanted a man. Or even considered letting someone in again.
I hadn’t even known him more than two days.
I’m losing it.
“Let’s eat,” I blurted out like that would help distract me from the flames licking the inside of my skin at the thought of him naked and wet. I guided him off the ice before he could respond, but he sighed in relief when he took the skates off. “It gets easier every time you do it,” I said, and blushed at how dirty that sounded. My thoughts were on a fast track, and I prayed he couldn’t tell. I blamed his tall frame, the muscles that looked good even under the sweater, and the way his smile made my heart flip. And those eyes.
“I’m sure you could whip me into shape in no time,” he said, tugging me to my feet once I’d slipped on my boots. We walked toward the line of food trucks, and I relished the wild look in his eyes. I couldn’t believe he’d never eaten from a food truck before or that he was this excited about it, but I mentally patted myself on the back for choosing tonight’s activities correctly. “Where do we start?” he asked.
“They’re all incredible,” I said.
“You’ve tried them all?”
“Yes,” I said matter of factly. I widened my gaze at him. “Sometimes all in one night.”
His lips popped open before they turned into a smirk, his eyes trailing the length of my body. I had soft curves that I was damn proud of and his eyes on me only made me want to show him more. He wetted his lips. “Then let’s start at the beginning.”
Four food trucks later, we walked back to his Escalade, full and drunk off good local food.
He opened my door, offering me his hand to step up into the car. I hesitated, eyeing a bit of BBQ sauce on his chin. I smiled, reached up on my tiptoes, and swiped it with the pad of my thumb before sucking off the deliciousness.
Watching him tear into the pulled pork sandwich in all its messy glory had been a near erotic experience—he was so hesitant at first like he didn’t know how to approach the mess, but then he let go and dove in, fully giving himself over to the completely fun and frivolous experience I was sure he was desperate for. It was something about the weight on his shoulders that had lessened with each minute that passed, and the way his eyes sparked with each new item we grabbed. My heart softened at the thought of tonight being the first bout of real fun he’d had in a while.
A sharp breeze blasted us both with cold air, but we made no move to get into the car. Instead, I stepped closer to him, my eyes never leaving his. “Thank you,” I said.
He furrowed his brow. “For what?”
“For letting me take you out.”
He grinned, and moved his free hand to my shoulder, trailing down my arm and to my waist. “I haven’t had that much fun in…” His deep brown eyes grew distant as he glanced to the side, and when that tension coiled his chest, making those hard muscles flex, I ached over the struggle in his mind. I wanted to soothe it, though I knew I had no right to.
Though, that had never stopped me from going after what I wanted.
I reached up, wrapped my fingers around his neck, and pulled him down to my mouth. I kissed him hard, and fierce, and hungry. Nothing like the soft question I had asked on the ice. No, this was real and raw, and I practically purred when he opened his mouth and let me in. His tongue swiped over mine, and heat curled in my core. I gasped between his lips, inhaling the cold air that only made his touch that much hotter.
He gripped my hips, a rumble in his chest as he brought our bodies flush without breaking the kiss, and I couldn’t help but relish the feel of the planes of muscle against me, the slight bite of his fingers as he took control of the kiss.
Holy shit. Now I knew why the man liked to be in control. He was good at it.
A full body sigh.
A tingling spark in my blood.
An ache that wrenched stronger than anything I’d ever known.
And it was only a kiss. Seemingly innocent with how many layers of clothing we both wore. But his mouth was hot, insistent, and just as carnal as the books I wrote.
Too soon, he pulled back, cupping my face, his eyes staring deep into mine. I smirked at the wild flashes of gold in his swirling browns. In this moment, it didn’t matter that he was a billionaire foreigner scheduled to leave in less than two weeks. It didn’t matter that I was a writer with five different colors in my hair. All that mattered was that swirling tension in my chest, and that burst of longing in his eyes that screamed he’d felt it, too.
Screw the taser. W
e were already electric.
I curled around the sensation, tucking it away for later.
“Like I said.” I climbed into the car. “Thank you.”
Xander
“I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” The Secretary of State shook my hand, and I forced a smile. I loved Americans, but dealing with this particular one made me feel like I needed a shower.
“As am I.” I gestured toward the door and inclined my head. He walked out with me, and with a nod, disappeared with his security into the elevator.
I hated doing business in the suite, but Father had always told me that living rooms were the best conference rooms. As usual, he’d been right.
The Americans hadn’t wanted to budge, but neither did I. In the end we both gave away things we wanted to get things we needed.
The door shut, and I leaned back against the wall, taking a moment to myself.
“That took forever,” I told Jameson from where he sat on the couch, reading the New York Times.
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” he replied without looking up.
“Alexander,” Mother snapped as she walked out of her bedroom.
So much for that moment.
“Mother?” Forcing a smile was becoming easier and easier, and I was starting to hate myself for it. The smiles, the relationship she wanted to force me into with Charlotte—fake was becoming my new real.
But Willa is real.
“Did you want me to have your things packed for the Los Angeles trip?”
“I have no intention of going to Los Angeles,” I told her. I have every intention of seeing Willa.
“Nonsense,” she waved me off as her secretary appeared with Charlotte, planner-in-hand. “We have two dinners and a charity event to attend.”
Charlotte raised an eyebrow at me, and I released a sigh that was probably heard down Fifth Avenue.
“We’re leaving in a few hours, Alexander. I’ll see that you’re packed.” Mother walked out with her secretary..
“I’m not fucking going to LA,” I growled.
Jameson looked at me from over the paper. “Right.”
Charlotte grabbed a pillow from the couch and smacked him in the back of the head.
“Ouch! Was the hell was that for?”
“For being an ass.” She turned her attention back to me. “Of course you’re not going. Jameson will take your place, and you’ll have a few days here in New York to yourself.”
“I never said—”
She smacked him with the pillow again.
“For fuck’s sake, woman!”
“Do something nice for him!” she shouted.
“You don’t think that if we go for three days, that our mother would know it’s me?”
Charlotte tilted her head in a way that only she could. “Highly unlikely. She barely looks at Xander when they’re at those events. Besides, we pulled it off the night before last.”
“For one engagement! Not an entire weekend.”
“So what? If she figures it out, it’s not like she’s going to out us. She wants the PR too badly to publically say that the Crown Prince of Elleston stood up the entire west coast.”
“And you think you can fake it, Charlie? Be nice to me for an entire weekend like you are Xander?”
“Don’t. Call. Me. Charlie.” Her eyes narrowed for a moment. “If you can handle it, I can.”
Jameson groaned, but a few hours later, I was alone in the hotel suite...well, as alone as I could get with a security detail posted outside.
The door opened, and Oliver walked in.
Shit.
“Well, Sir. How would you like to spend your evening?” Oliver asked.
“Shouldn’t you be on the flight to LA?” I asked, putting on my best Jameson face.
“Well, seeing as I’m not assigned to Jameson, no. I think I’ll stay right here.”
“Fuck.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. They fooled your mother. Now, about your evening?”
Willa. It was seven p.m., early enough for...well...anything.
“I have a few ideas.”
I stood in the lobby of the Palace two hours later, my thumbs in my pockets, watching the door like a hawk.
“Nervous much?” Oliver asked from where he stood just behind me.
“Shut up.”
“You’re risking a lot by bringing her here,” he said softly. Had it been anyone else, I would have snapped, but Oliver had been my personal security for years. He was only a year older than I was, which was why I’d requested him, and why he didn’t give off the paternal vibe. Sure, he was my guard, but he was also one of the few people I trusted as my friend.
“Some things are worth the risk. I only have another ten or so days here before we head home, and then I have a lifetime of…” I shook my head, unable to complete the sentence. Today’s meeting with the Secretary of State taught me that I was good at my impending profession, that I had the right head, the right heart, and the ability to be what my people needed.
I would be a good King.
I’d also been a damn good human rights lawyer. Top of my class. But I could let that go. After all, I could do far more good as King than I could as a simple lawyer. I could influence Parliament on refugee laws, or lobby the UN directly again. I could put the crown to good use.
But in the last couple of days, when I pictured who would wear the crown next to me, it wasn’t Charlotte’s chestnut hair I saw. It was a blonde with unicorn colors and the sharpest mouth I’d ever heard...and the sweetest I’d ever tasted.
That kiss had knocked me on my ass and apparently addled my brain a little. I was well aware that we could only be temporary—that I’d need to tell her about me. She could make the decision after she had the facts.
In less than two weeks, I’d be back in Elleston.
In less than three months, I’d be engaged.
Before I could ride the self-pity train, Willa walked in. Her cheeks and nose were a rosy pink, and snow still dotted the hat she wore that slouched to the back. She looked how I’d imagined Christmastime in New York was supposed to.
Her smile was radiant as she walked toward me, pulling a small carry-on behind her. In that instant, I could breathe again. Every weight that held me down disappeared and my chest expanded with air that smelled a lot like hope.
I didn’t question it, merely accepted the fact that she had the most damnable effect on me, and I liked it.
She didn’t pause, just walked straight up to me, let go of her suitcase and kissed me, both arms around my neck. Mine came around her in reflex, pulling her chilled frame against my warmer one.
Her lips were cool and soft, and I barely restrained myself from begging entrance to her mouth. She tasted as happy as I felt. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed her until she was in my arms again.
“Sir,” Oliver’s voice broke through my haze.
It was a gentle reminder that we were in a very public place—regardless of the fact that it was assumed I was Jameson. I’d even ruffled my hair as much as I could stand. I broke our kiss, promising myself that I’d kiss her harder, longer, later.
There was something to be said for anticipation.
“Hey you,” she said with a grin as she pulled back.
“Hey yourself,” I answered.
“Don’t get any ideas.” She raised an eyebrow. “You did promise me my own room.”
I fought my smile—and failed. “I make no assumptions.”
“Good. And I’m famished.”
“I have dinner waiting upstairs,” I promised as I led her to our private elevator.
“Are you eating with us, Oliver?” she asked.
I adored that about her—that she’d remembered his name. How she spoke to everyone, making no assumptions about rank.
“No, Ma’am,” he said as he pushed the button for the penthouse. “I only grabbed enough for the two of you. I actually have a date with Clementine tonight.”
&nb
sp; “Ooh, is she pretty?” Willa asked as the elevator carried us up.
“Well, she’s my 9mm, so I think she’s gorgeous,” he said with a wink. “She needs a good cleaning.”
“Oh,” Willa said. “Have a good time?”
“Oh, he will.” I laughed.
The elevator stopped at our floor, and the doors opened directly into our suite. Oliver walked out first, pulling Willa’s suitcase with him. He left it by the couch and then went about his business, checking the rooms as usual. Like there was some assassin bent on getting to me for some random reason. After all, the Anti-Monarchist movement was a political threat, not a physical one.
“Holy shit,” Willa said softly, turning slowly to take in the suite. “What exactly is it that you do? Run a billion dollar corporation? A small country?”
Not far off.
“Something like that.”
“All clear, Sir,” Oliver said. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
“Thanks,” I told him as he left.
“Where is my room?” Willa asked, still studying our surroundings.
“Right there.” I pointed to the far door that led to an adjoining room. “Dinner or room?” I asked.
“Dinner,” she answered, already headed over to the dining room, where the formal table waited with silver serving dishes. She draped her coat over the chair, revealing a purple dress that I wanted to peel from her body. It caressed her curves in ways I was desperate to, tempted the line of her thighs that my tongue was eager to taste.
“You are served, my lady,” I said, removing the case off her plate as she took her seat.
Her laughter was the best thing I’d heard all day.
“You got us hot dogs?”
“Someone told me that local food was the best. I had Oliver track down the best hot dog cart in the city.” I took the seat across from her after pouring us each a glass of wine and sat.
“Omygodsogood,” she mumbled, devouring the hot dog.
“Good thing I had him get us about a dozen, then.” I grinned before eating my own. I loved how much she loved food. That she was never self-conscious, never worried about what people around her thought. In some ways, she was way more comfortable with herself than I was.
The Crown: A Modern-Day Fairytale Romance Page 5