Royal Baby (A British Bad Boy Romance)

by Avery Wilde

  “There’s a few other things I’m better at as well,” I said with a roguish wink.

  This time the eye roll was obvious. “You can keep those to yourself. Literally.”

  “I’m starting to think you only came out with me to get to know my brother.”

  “No, I came for you.”

  I smirked, and she shook her head.

  “For an interview, I mean,” she added, looking slightly flustered.

  I shrugged. “I’ll take that. For now.”

  “It’s all you’re getting,” she replied. “Now tell me; is this usually how you select reporters for interviews?”

  I shook my head. “No. First time. And probably the last.”

  “You don’t think it’s going well?”

  Was there a hint of regret in her voice? I hoped so.

  I shrugged again. “I’m spending an evening dancing with a couple of lovely girls— isn’t that what being Liam Croft is all about?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Nice try, but you haven’t got the interview yet,” I said. I was quietly impressed. Not by her sneaking a question in—any reporter could do that—but by how confrontational she was with me, and how easily that seemed to come to her. I was used to people playing a part around me; those who were not hopeless suck-ups were trying too hard not to be. My closeness to my brother was partly because Dean was seemingly the only person in the world who acted normally around me. And yet Allison seemed to act normally around me as well. It was nice and refreshing, even if it was harder work than I was used to.

  “So, are you any closer to making your decision?” hedged Allison, the sly smile back on her face.

  “Whichever one of you stops laughing at my brother’s jokes gets the interview,” I said with a grin.

  Allison considered this response, and she arched an eyebrow. “Brian’s already decided, hasn’t he?”

  “What? What would make you think that? That’s crazy!” I said, rubbing my chin and looking away from her gorgeous eyes.

  Acting wasn’t one of my strong points.

  “No manager worth the name allows his player to make that sort of decision,” Allison explained as we continued to dance—suddenly closer, though I wasn’t sure when or how that had happened. “And, whatever faults he might have, Brian is a very good manager. But a good manager also knows how to take advantage of every situation. I’m guessing there’s some sort of deal in place with the BBC?”

  I said nothing. The girls who I usually went out with shared a common trait of not having much in the way of brains. Allison was smart.

  “Thought so,” she said, allowing my silence to confirm her point. “Should I just go? I could slap you first, if you like. Throw a drink in your face, maybe? That would help the Liam Croft brand, wouldn’t it? I’m sure there’s a photographer around here somewhere who could capture the moment on film.”

  I grinned at her wisecrack. “Brian asked me to choose,” I said. “Whatever else is going on with the interview deal—and I’m not saying there actually is anything else—he handed the decision to me. And I’ll choose.”

  I was slightly surprised to find that I actually meant it. Screw Brian.

  The music changed and we all headed back to our table.

  “This is so much fun!” Lauren said to me, as if suddenly remembering that I was supposed to be her focus this evening, and not my brother.

  “Yeah, it is,” I replied. In a strange way I was finding it considerably less fun than my usual nights out, and yet somehow more enjoyable. How was that even possible? It was a different kind of enjoyment, one with which I was almost entirely unfamiliar, and I was keen to see what more it had to offer.

  “So…how about we all head back to my place for a nightcap?” I asked.

  If Allison said no, I might very well throw myself off the Tower Bridge. Well, maybe that was a little dramatic, but part of me was definitely considering it if she refused.

  Do it, I silently willed her. Say yes.

  Chapter 5

  Allison

  “No.”

  The word slipped out before I could stop myself. “I mean, it’s getting pretty late. I should really get back to my hotel,” I hastily added.

  “Aw, come on. It’s not that late. Just a few more drinks at my flat, then I’ll call a cab to come get you,” Liam said, eyes twinkling.

  He had a point. It was only around nine-thirty; hardly late at all. I’d just been looking for an excuse to leave now that I was quite certain Brian had already decided who the interview was going to.

  Lauren raised her eyebrows at me, obviously wanting me to say yes, and I finally gave Liam a half-smile and relented, not wanting to be a wet blanket on the evening. “Okay, I’ll come. But if you live a million miles from my hotel, you’re paying for the cab.”

  He grinned back at me, and my heart fluttered.

  “Of course. Why do you think they pay us footballers so much? So we can afford the bloody cab fares in this city,” he said. Then he leaned a little closer so that only I could hear. “Glad you said yes, by the way.”

  At that, I almost melted into a puddle on the floor. I still wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of him as a person, but his accent—along with all those words like ‘flat’ instead of ‘apartment’ and ‘bloody this and that’—made him seem strangely endearing, despite everything I’d heard of him and his reputation. I could see how he was easily able to charm the pants off every socialite, actress and model in the city. I suppose his chiseled good looks and tall, muscular body didn’t hurt, either, but I chose to ignore that.

  At least I tried to. I’d been trying all night.

  We all piled into a cab and headed back to an apartment in Chelsea; the last place I would’ve expected someone like Liam to live. I knew he was probably as rich as Croesus, but still—he had a sort of roguish, blue-collar vibe about him, and from everything I’d heard about Chelsea, I’d always pictured it as being a swanky, slightly pretentious area where the old-money upper crust of London lived.

  Then again, what did I know? This was my first time in England, after all.

  I wasn’t sure exactly why I’d relented so fast and agreed to go back to his place, because I was already sure that Lauren had the interview. Liam had tried to tell me that it was his choice, but I knew it was Brian’s, and he’d only invited me to make the process seem ‘fair’ when Lauren had been his top pick all along. It stung to know that was true, but at least Liam had softened the blow by pretending as if he had some say in it.

  Still, if I knew the interview was going to Lauren, then why did I say yes to a nightcap at Liam’s place? Surely I didn’t actually want to spend time with the guy. That would be crazy, right?

  And yet here I was, in a cab on my way to his place.

  Lauren was sitting to my right in the cab, and she was playing around on her cell phone. I glanced over just for a second to see the time on the lit-up screen, and my heart sank as I inadvertently caught a brief glimpse of the text she was about to send.

  Interview is in the bag. He’s definitely giving it to me, not Allison ;)

  I sighed inwardly. She wasn’t being arrogant; she was being right. She knew as well as I did that the interview was hers.

  Oh well. Even though coming here in the hopes of getting an exclusive interview had turned out to be a waste of time, the whole trip wasn’t a bust. I was in London, where I’d always wanted to visit, and I’d be damned if I didn’t have some fun in the short time I had here, one way or another.

  As if he could read my mind, Liam winked at me and leaned over from my left side. “I’ve got this spiced rum at home that I think you’ll love. The rest of tonight’s gonna be way more fun than that silly club we were just at.”

  My heart leapt as his hand lingered near my thigh, and the two glasses of wine I’d had earlier began to hit me harder.

  Tonight could turn out to be a lot of fun, indeed…

  ***

  My first thought when I
woke up was that this was not my room, but that was all right because as I now groggily remembered, I was away from home and staying in a hotel.

  My second thought was that this didn’t look like a hotel room. Certainly not like my hotel room, anyway. It looked far more expensive than any hotel room that I or my magazine could afford, it had far more men’s ‘stuff’ in it than a hotel room ought to have, and there were also more pictures of Liam Croft on the walls than I would’ve expected from a hotel room. A dreadful thought started to form in my mind, and as memories of last night coalesced from drunken fragments, that thought was confirmed—this was Liam Croft’s bedroom.

  Crap. I’d actually slept in his damn room.

  The question now was: had I done any more than that? I might’ve slept in his bed, but had I slept with Liam in the other sense?

  Oh, god…I hoped not.

  I cast my eyes around the room for clues and, from first appearances, the signs were not good. I was in my underwear, and while the fact that I was wearing something was good, I wouldn’t normally sleep in my underwear. The clothes that Liam had been wearing the night before were discarded on the floor next to the bed, and the large pack of condoms on the bedside table seemed to confirm my worst suspicions.

  I had indeed slept with Liam.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  On the one hand, if he actually did have any say in who got the exclusive interview, as he’d claimed last night, I guess this meant I had it. On the other hand, this was decidedly not how I’d wanted to get it. It was so unprofessional! This was not the sort of reporter that I’d ever wanted to be, not in a million years.

  More to the point, this wasn’t the sort of woman I’d ever wanted to be. I didn’t do one-night stands, I didn’t sleep with guys on the first date, and I definitely didn’t get blackout drunk and sleep with men whom I didn’t like...especially men I was meant to be trying to work with. That last one was the most strictly adhered to of those rules—the other two became more malleable depending on the guy in question—and Liam Croft was a jerk; there were no two ways about it. Last night, he’d managed to show some small measure of humanity but had done so in between bouts of blowing his own trumpet.

  He was arrogant, full of himself, self-absorbed, and he was everything that was wrong with the game of football today. I’d been able to handle it while I was buzzing from the alcohol last night; in fact, I’d actually somewhat liked him and enjoyed his company when we first arrived at his lavish apartment for a nightcap. And yet, I was ashamed to admit, I couldn’t remember a thing that had happened after eleven o’clock.

  Compromising my principles was bad enough, but not being able to recall the fun I had doing it was just unforgivable. The problem was that as well as being an arrogant, smug jackass, Liam Croft was also astonishingly handsome, and so sexy that the temperature actually seemed to change whenever he entered a room.

  Speaking of which…here he was now, entering the bedroom.

  I gathered the blankets around me like a fortress of chastity—a somewhat belated one, apparently—as the world’s most famous footballer and most desired male entered the room carrying a tray. Two mugs of coffee along with some milk and sugar sat on it.

  “Morning,” he said with a smile.

  He was wearing a grey pair of form-hugging boxer shorts that might as well have been see-through for all the good they were doing, and nothing else. I tried to keep my eyes on his face, but I found myself taking frequent darting glances at other parts of his anatomy, which was probably even less subtle than taking one good, long look.

  As such, I finally took a good look, then proceeded to rack my brains for some memory of the night before.

  “How do you like it?” Liam asked.

  My head jerked up. “What?”

  “Your coffee. How do you like it?”

  “Oh. I thought you were talking about…” I flushed a deep crimson. “Doesn’t matter. Milk with one sugar, please. Thank you.”

  He added milk and sugar to one of the mugs and passed it to me, and I shot a nervous hand out of my blanket fortress to grab the mug. The delicious sear of caffeine coursed through me, allowing me to get better control of my situation, but still with little memory of the night before and no idea of how best to proceed.

  “Last night was fun,” Liam said with a wink.

  “Um…”

  He grinned. “Still feeling it, are you?”

  “Huh?” My gaze had unconsciously drifted south again.

  “The drinks,” Liam said. “You had a few.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah,” I said, wondering if there was some way in which I could tease the truth from him without asking the direct question. “Anyway, yes, last night was a lot of fun.”

  “Sure was.”

  “And you have a beautiful home,” I added, conjuring up a vague recollection of the lounge room where we’d chatted and drank when we arrived here last night.

  “Thanks.”

  “We had a lot to drink, huh?”

  “Didn’t we just.”

  “And we listened to music, right?” I asked, furrowing my brows as I recalled someone putting on some old rock music at some point.

  “Yeah, that was cool.”

  “And then we…” I tried to draw the truth out, but Liam seemed determined not to pick up the hint. “Went to bed.”

  Liam nodded. “Uh-huh,” he replied, very unhelpfully.

  I pressed onwards. “Some of the details are a little…vague.”

  “Anything I can help with?” he asked, his lips twitching at the corners.

  “Yeah. What time did we go to bed?”

  “About three, I think.”

  Jesus. Three A.M.? I hadn’t gone to bed that late since I was a teenager.

  “And Lauren slept in…?”

  “The spare room,” he replied.

  “And I slept in here?”

  “Yep.”

  I sighed. Clearly, he wasn’t getting the hint, so I’d practically have to bash him over the head with it. “Liam, did we have sex last night?”

  His eyes widened. “Shit. You don’t remember?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Really.”

  Liam shook his head. “That’s a shame. I mean, I thought it was worth remembering.”

  I almost dropped the blankets that were covering me. “What was worth remembering?” I asked, my heart beating frantically.

  “You really don’t remember?”

  “No! What happened?”

  He shook his head slowly and rubbed his chin. “I can’t believe you don’t remember. I’m actually quite offended. Oh well…I’m going to treasure the memory, at any rate.”

  “Treasure the memory of what?” I was practically screaming like a deranged parrot at this point.

  “I’ve never screwed a woman like you, to be honest. You really don’t remember the chair breaking?”

  “The chair? What chair?”

  “That was downstairs,” Liam said. “That was the first time. Or was it the second? You really don’t let a guy off easy! Fucking amazing lay, you are. America should be proud to have produced you.”

  “Second time? How many…” I left the question incomplete.

  “Shit, I don’t know.” Liam shook his head. “I stopped counting after the third— seemed a bit crass. I haven’t had to work like that in years. You damn near broke me. At one point you even tried to wake up Lauren so she could come join us, but luckily she was fast asleep. I can honestly say, you’ve ruined me for other women, and in more ways than one. I could barely walk this morning! I can’t believe you don’t remember.”

  Oh. My. God.

  I couldn’t possibly be any more mortified if I tried, and I stared open-mouthed and red-faced. What the hell had I done? And how many times? Why couldn’t I remember it? Obviously it had been the wrong thing to do, and I would probably regret it for the rest of my life, but, boy, did I wish I could
remember it, so I could regret it properly.

  Still, it was quite something to be the girl who ruined Liam Croft for other women.

  Liam suddenly burst out laughing. I continued to stare at him as he chuckled away, wondering what this meant. I was caught between embarrassment, confusion and a little pride at my apparent—albeit unremembered—sexual prowess.

  “We didn’t really sleep together!” Liam said. “I’m just messing with you.”

  “We didn’t?”

  As nice as it was to know that I hadn’t compromised my journalistic ethics (or missed anything good), I was unable to keep the tinge of disappointment out of my voice. For a few minutes there, it had actually been quite fun to picture myself as a sexual maven.

  “Sorry.” Liam continued to grin, suppressing his laugher. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “So we really didn’t sleep together?”

  “I helped Lauren put you to bed, and then I went and slept on the sofa. Alone,” he said. “You really were drunk, weren’t you?”

  I almost couldn’t believe it. Liam Croft, bad boy extraordinaire…he’d actually slept on the couch after putting me to sleep in his bed, without so much as trying anything at all with either me or Lauren? Surely a quick glance outside would confirm that pigs were indeed flying around the sky right now.

  “But…” I wanted to be sure this time. “I’m in my underwear.”

  “Lauren undressed you while I got the bed ready for you with some fresh sheets. I guess that’s how she thought you’d rather sleep. And don’t worry, I didn’t look,” he said. “Well, I tried not to look, anyway.”

  I ignored that last remark. “What about your clothes?” I said, glancing down at the pile on the floor.

  “Well, this is still my room.”

  “And…” I indicated to the box of condoms.

  Liam shrugged. “Always keep those there. Just in case. Trust me, you only get caught without one once. That was a miserable night—the amount those machines in pub toilets charge! It’s fucking wicked. You’re definitely better off buying in bulk.”

  I took all this in, then managed to phrase the question that had, for the last several minutes, been furthest from my mind. “So who got the interview? Were you telling the truth when you said you had some say in it, or were you just cushioning the blow?”