Prince

by Cambria Hebert

  “Well, you can’t go and just leave Sienna here,” he said, indignant.

  I knew he’d say that. His plan to get this deal and marry me off really was the most important.

  “I’ve been working on this deal for months, Father. I can’t just not go right when it’s being finished.”

  “You’ve done all the hard work. The rest is just signatures and handshakes.” He reasoned.

  “Well, I’m not sure that sending someone without the Abbott name is a good idea,” I countered.

  He frowned, sitting in the chair opposite my desk. “I’ll go in your stead.”

  Surprise made my eyes widen, which caused more pain in my head. Despite the dim lighting, it still seemed too bright.

  “You?”

  “Well, yes. My last name is Abbott. It was before it was yours.”

  “But what about your schedule?” I asked, not expecting he would just go. I was hoping perhaps we’d just push the trip or he’d agree to let the man below me go instead.

  “I can have it moved around. I’ll make it a quick trip. This deal is important too, but you should be here.”

  With Sienna, my thoughts filled in. I wanted to argue and tell him it would never happen, but honestly, I didn’t feel like a fight. And besides, I kind of needed her to show up to get me out of going to England.

  I could just tell Preston something came up here and my father would be coming instead. Then once the ink was dry on the deal, I could let him know that our arrangement was over.

  And Sienna? Well, I could think about that later.

  The door to my office was open, and I saw Bree hovering, glass of water in hand. I shook my head slightly, holding her off.

  Frowning, she disappeared, returning to her desk.

  “Are you sure?” I asked my father.

  “Of course. Just focus on the home base.”

  I would. But my home base was a lot different than the one he imagined.

  Commotion brought my attention back toward the door. A voice I’d been waiting to hear floated inside.

  “He said to meet him at five.”

  “You can’t just go in there,” Bree fussed, and then both of them appeared in the doorframe. “You don’t even have an appointment!”

  Feeling my and my father’s eyes, both people stopped, staring inside as though they’d been caught doing something improper.

  “Mr. Abbott!” Bree worried, looking at me, but my eyes went to Fletcher, drinking in the sight of him, finally seeing the person who’d been consuming my thoughts.

  Tension drained out of my body, leaving me fatigued. The threatening migraine thumped, reminding me it wasn’t just going to let me free.

  “Who are you to just waltz right into my son’s office?” my father snapped. “Did you just wander in off the streets? What business do you even have here?”

  Fletcher’s entire body jerked, his lanky frame coiling into a stiff upright position. Nervously, he pushed back his hair like he was trying to smooth it out, and his cheeks bloomed with red. Despite his rigid posture, his chin tilted down, eyes fixing on the floor as though he thought that was where they belonged.

  “I-I’m sorry, sir. I h-have an appointment.” He began.

  “Speak up, boy! What could you possibly have an appointment for?”

  All the tension that fled with the sight of him came back tenfold.

  No one talked to Fletcher like that. Not even my father.

  “Dad!” My voice cracked through the room like a whip.

  Everyone turned to me instantly.

  Shooting out of my chair, I straightened to my full height, ignoring the pull of my shoulder and neck muscles. It was almost like a rush of adrenaline, the way I suddenly felt incensed to protect. “This is Fletcher. He’s the artist playing the violin for the opening next week.”

  Disbelief filled my father’s eyes before he turned back to look at Fletch again. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am, and I will not tolerate you speaking to him with anything but respect. Am I clear?” I demanded, going around the desk and halfway across the room. “Fletcher, come in here,” I called, tone still stiff.

  Fletcher hesitated, glancing at my father.

  I made a sound, and he snapped out of, coming to stand near me.

  “Where on earth did you find—”

  Lips thinning, I flicked my eyes to my father, silencing him immediately. Father was a harsh man. He didn’t mince words, and he didn’t often think about how his words could affect others. He wasn’t a mean person, but he didn’t often empathize. And he was a total snob.

  “Perhaps you remember Fletcher. He created quite a buzz when he played at Ivory’s last show. Everyone’s been trying to hire him for months.”

  Recognition lit my father’s eyes before they swept over Fletch again.

  Feeling his discomfort—and was that fear?—I stepped closer, angling just slightly in front of him.

  “That was you?” Father asked.

  I heard Fletcher swallow, and then he answered, “Yes, sir.”

  “Why do you look like that, then?”

  “Like what?” Fletcher wondered.

  “Like you live on the street?”

  “Enough!” I snapped. “That’s enough. Are we done here? I have business.”

  “Of course,” he said, moving toward the door.

  I followed, blocking Fletcher from view.

  Father opened his mouth to say something else, and I silenced him with one hard stare. Caught off guard by my fierceness, he stalled a moment, then recovered to say, “I’ll have word sent to Willshire about the change in schedule for next week.”

  “Thank you.”

  He was clearly a bit surprised at my gruff and suddenly cool behavior, but I didn’t care and he didn’t question me, leaving my office without looking back.

  The second he turned the corner, I let out a deep breath and shoved the door closed, blocking out the rest of the world.

  “I’m sorry I embarrassed you.” Fletcher’s small voice floated behind me.

  Half groaning, half choking, I spun, closing the distance between us in seconds flat. I wasn’t gentle when I pulled him against me or tender with the way I pushed his cheek against my shoulder. Holding his head against me, my free arm anchored him close as my heart thundered in my chest as if it might explode.

  “You could never embarrass me,” I swore on a whisper. “It’s me who’s embarrassed. Me who should apologize.” Tucking him even closer, I released a breath. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I’m sorry he was like that to you. He won’t ever speak to you like that again.”

  “It’s okay,” Fletcher said. “I’m used to it.”

  My heart broke, pieces of it falling from my chest into my stomach. He deserved so much better than he got.

  “I won’t let anyone talk to you like that again,” I said fiercely.

  “You can’t stop everyone,” Fletcher admonished, but the words were punctuated by the feel of his arms wrapping around my waist.

  Up until now, he’d just stood, hands at his sides, accepting my hug but not returning it. Now his arms slipped around, long fingers clutching the back of my coat.

  It was as if his words denied me, but his arms called those words a liar.

  The time I got to hold him was far too short because Bree’s signature knock echoed from the other side of the door. Reluctantly, I pulled back, but not before grasping his face to whisper, “I missed you.”

  The expression on his face turned a bit to wonder, making me want to stare.

  “Come in,” I called instead, turning again, putting my body in front of his.

  Bree entered swiftly, carrying a silver tray with a glass of water and two pills. “You’d better take these,” she said, rushing closer.

  I tossed the two capsules into my mouth and picked up the glass, noting how Bree’s eyes strayed a little to the side.

  Glancing around, I saw Fletcher peering around me, watching us both.

&
nbsp; Gulping some water, I swallowed the pills, willing them to work quickly.

  Bree and Fletcher were still staring at each other, so I made the introduction. “Bree, this is Fletcher. He’s a friend and will also be playing violin at some of our future events.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Bree said, not even batting an eye at his streetwear.

  “Hi,” Fletcher said, stepping out around me. “Sorry about earlier.”

  Bree giggled. “If I had known you were coming, I wouldn’t have made a fuss,” she said, giving me a glare.

  I grimaced. “My apologies,” I offered sincerely. “You should know he will probably be around here a lot more, so just let him come and go as he pleases. Even if he doesn’t have an appointment.”

  Bree’s eyes widened a bit at that, but despite the curiosity clear in her blue gaze, she just nodded.

  “You can go for the day,”

  “But don’t you have a meeting?” she asked, glancing between Fletch and me.

  “I can handle it. It’s a basic contract. I’ll put it on your desk, and you can file it in the morning.”

  She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  I laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you enjoyed working late.”

  Bree laughed lightly on her way to the door. “See you tomorrow, then.”

  “Bye!” Fletcher called after her. When she was gone, he looked at me. “She’s pretty.”

  I scowled. “Why are you noticing that?”

  He shrugged. “She kinda looks like a girl version of you. Sunny hair, blue eyes, nice skin.”

  I blinked. “You think I’m pretty?”

  “No. You’re handsome. She’s pretty.”

  Reaching up, I rubbed the back of my neck, hand sliding down to loosen the black tie at my neck. I didn’t feel like color when I woke up this morning.

  “What were those pills?”

  I glanced up. “Nothing.”

  That stubborn glint transformed his face, calling me a liar.

  “I have the contract right here,” I said, moving toward my desk.

  He didn’t follow. He stayed planted in the same place, only rotating to watch me. “I want to know.”

  “Well, I don’t want to tell you,” I snapped. The second the words came out, I regretted them.

  Glancing up, I regretted them even more profoundly.

  The stubborn expression was gone, and in its place was a blank one, like he was trying to hide the hurt I knew I’d caused.

  “Fletch.” Regret hung heavy in my tone. “It’s been a long day.”

  His eyes lifted, shimmering with emotion. “Are you sick?” His lower lip jutted out, wobbling just slightly.

  He isn’t mad I yelled. He’s worried about me.

  Groaning, I went forward, but he held his palm out, silently telling me not to come closer. “Are you?”

  “No.” My voice was rough. “No, I’m not sick. I get migraines. Sometimes they’re bad enough that I can’t work. If I can catch them early with medication, then I can usually stop them.”

  Relief seemed to move through him, and just the idea of him being worried about me had me walking closer once more.

  His eyes narrowed in clear warning.

  “Please, puppy.”

  He relented, and in seconds, I had him in my arms again.

  “I’m sorry I raised my voice,” I said, curling around him.

  “I don’t like it,” he said, voice muffled against my chest.

  “Okay. I’ll work on it. It’s been a long day. A long two days…”

  “Sit down,” he said, pulling out of my embrace. When I tried to pull him back, he shook his head and pointed to the chair on the wrong side of my desk.

  “That’s my chair,” I said, pointing behind it.

  He shook his head and pointed. “That one.”

  Following his instruction, I sank down, Fletcher instantly moving behind me. “What are you doing?” I asked as he reached for my tie to pull it off.

  The action was completely erotic and lit a fire low in my stomach. When his nimble fingers came back and started undoing a few of the top buttons on my shirt, I caught his hand, fingers tight with warning around his wrist. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” I practically growled.

  I felt a light shiver run through him that only served to ignite me more. A bit of doubt filled his expression, but then it was gone, and he tugged his hand from my grasp.

  Settling behind me, he pulled my collar open a bit, allowing some air to caress the heated skin on my neck.

  The growl of impatience I’d let loose turned into a satisfied groan the instant his fingers kneaded into the muscles of my neck.

  Jaw slackening, my chin fell toward my chest, bones practically turning to Jell-O under his ministrations.

  Oh, his hands were so strong and so skilled. I knew it was likely because he played that violin, but in that moment, all I cared about was the endless amount of tingles racing over my scalp, down my neck, and into my spine. The tension in my neck muscles fought back, straining against his massage, but even the tight cords of knotted stress were no match for his effort.

  Another low moan vibrated the back of my throat. Eyes closed, my head swam with freaking ecstasy. How long had it been since I’d had a massage? One month? Two?

  As he worked, pressing and kneading, every other massage I’d had seemed like a waste of money. His hands were magic. And slightly calloused.

  As they rubbed down my neck, under my open collar, I could feel the rough texture from playing a stringed instrument scraping over my skin, but it didn’t lessen the sensation. If anything, it heightened it.

  “You’re really tight,” he observed, voice low and calm.

  I started to reply, but he grabbed a particularly sore area where my neck met my collarbone, sinking his thumb and forefinger into the knot.

  Words forgotten, I let out another sound, head rolling to the side, offering even more access. The pain behind my eye started to ebb, and all my thoughts turned fuzzy.

  The tense muscle vibrated until it gave way, loosening completely, making Fletcher move to the other side of my neck.

  Entire body tingling with pleasure, I couldn’t help the swelling beginning in my pants. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time, and all it took was his touch. His undivided attention. Him.

  “Fletcher.” My voice slurred.

  “Feel good?” he asked, the sound of his voice raising the hair on the back of my neck.

  “Come here,” I demanded drunkenly.

  He laughed lightly, evading by gliding his fingertips up into my hair, massaging into my scalp.

  It took effort to stay in the chair and not melt onto the floor. It was a full-on assault, and all I could do was sit there and let it control me.

  Fletcher worked the tension out of me that I didn’t even know I carried, his calloused, capable hands the perfect combination of everything I needed. He was far better than any pill could ever be.

  It went on for a while, me slumped there, pleasure replacing all the blood in my veins until it just wasn’t enough. Until I wanted to look at him in this blissed-out state he’d put me in.

  Reaching up, I caught his wrist, pulling until his body came around the chair, tugging until he stood between my relaxed knees.

  “Feel better?” he asked, eyes hopeful.

  Palming his hips, I tugged him closer until he yielded, straddling my hips and settling in my lap.

  Fletcher’s long legs hung off the sides, feet resting on the floor behind us. Our chests were pressed together so tight I could feel the unsteady beating of his heart.

  Still languid, I hunched forward, resting my chin on the top of his shoulder, eyes open but seeing nothing at all.

  My arms loosely wrapped around his body, encircling him just enough to keep him close.

  “I really like the way you smell,” he whispered, palms against my back.

  Turning my head into the side of his neck just below his jaw, I nuzz
led the skin there as if I could somehow mark him to leave traces of my scent to linger on his body.

  Mine.

  “That tickles,” he said, a light shiver making him quiver.

  One more bump of my nose against his neck and I pulled back, finding his stare with my heavy-lidded one.

  Everything else in the universe disappeared. All that remained was us, this seat, and the air we shared. Tension coiled around us, almost tethering us together. The space between our already very close bodies was suddenly achingly too far.

  Like magnets unable to deny their attraction, the distance closed between us, inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, until his rapid breathing puffed out against my lips.

  “Open for me, puppy,” I whispered, not waiting to see if he would obey.

  Everything around me tilted the second our lips collided. He parted instantly, and I swept in, staking my claim, diving in to get as close as I possibly could.

  Our tongues laved at the other’s, caressing, exploring, learning, but never having enough.

  Afraid he would pull back before I was ready, I grabbed his face, fixing my thumbs where his jaw hinged, applying just a little bit of pressure to keep him open.

  The sound of heavy breathing and lips smacking bounced off the ceiling. The drunken lightheadedness I suffered only grew worse.

  His hand curled around the back of my neck, pads of his fingers digging deep into my skin.

  I moaned into him, and he responded with a broad lick of his tongue over my bottom lip, making me shudder.

  About ready to explode, I pulled back, breathing heavily, our foreheads dropping onto each other’s shoulders.

  Both of us were rock hard, a fact that was literally impossible to ignore. Part of me was so happy just knowing he was turned on, and the other part of me howled to do something more.

  “Ethan?” he asked, hesitation clear in his voice.

  My name from his lips caused a tremble in me I’d never felt before. “Yeah?”

  “What’s going on?”

  Pressing close to his neck, I smiled against him. His innocence and inexperience only made me love him more. That and the fact he was willing to ask, clearly not wanting to play any games.

  Easing back, I smiled, seeing his dilated pupils, swollen lips, and red cheeks.