"Fine. There's nothing going on," she says. "That's your story and you're sticking to it."
"It's not a story, Mom! There's literally nothing going on, and that's the truth." Sort of. I mean, there's definitely nothing going on between the princess and I right now, not since the stable incident.
"Well, all I know is that a girl like that doesn't just disappear from the cover of magazines all over the place."
"I don't know why you're stuck on this," I tell her. "You've never even met her. You'd probably hate her."
"Would I?" My mother's interest is obviously piqued. "Is she terrible in person?"
I laugh, shaking my head. My mother's penchant for gossip is unparalleled. "I should see if the Royal Intelligence Service is hiring interrogators."
"Well, I don't have any idea what you're talking about," my mother bristles. "And I don't know what the world is coming to when a mother can't even ask her own son about his job."
Now I chortle. "We both know you're not asking about my job," I tell her. "And speaking of my job, I have to go do mine now."
"Don't forget to tell the princess she can come to Kentucky anytime. South Hollow would have a parade, even. I think Mayor Herbert would be thrilled."
"Don't hold your breath."
"Next, you're going to tell me not to hold my breath when it comes to whether or not I'm going to see my only son happily married and –"
"Oh, do you hear that?" I ask, moving the phone away from my face and making a static sound.
"Hear what? I don't hear anything!"
"You're breaking up on me," I tell her. "I think you must be going through a tunnel or something –"
"I'm not driving, son!"
"Can't hear anything. Talk to you later!"
I hang up the phone.
28
Alexandra
"I know it's you, James. Just come in already." Max is the only one who ever knocks on my door instead of going straight to the buzzer.
My heart does that little beat-skipping thing that it does when I see him, which totally means nothing except that I should probably be evaluated by the royal physician for a possible arrhythmia.
I make a concerted effort to look like I'm extra-casually lounging on my bed, even though I don't know why I care if he thinks I'm sitting in here thinking about him.
I'm totally not, by the way.
What I have been thinking about is how Charlotte is right. I probably do need to get out of the summer house. Max and I hooked up, and that's all. It doesn't mean anything, and it certainly doesn't mean I should be sheltered away all summer as if I've joined a nunnery.
"Hello, princess." Max's tone is professional and businesslike, his voice clipped, yet I can't seem to think about him professionally right now at all. Heat floods my body at the sight of him, despite how much I want to be my old casual and detached self.
Then Charlotte bursts through the door. "Surprise!"
Okay, that's not what I expected.
"Can you fucking believe I came to rescue you from the country?!" Charlotte exclaims as she poses with her hand on her hip, accentuating the short white dress that shows off her tanned, lean legs. She looks sun-kissed, like she's spent the past several weeks at the seashore, but I know the tan is an illusion, a fake tan painted on by someone who does that kind of thing.
When she pauses, giving me a half-turn and practically preening like a peacock, a wave of irritation washes through me. I immediately hate myself for it.
I'm not jealous. No way. I don't get jealous.
"I can't believe it at all," I say, clenching my teeth.
I think I catch a glimmer of amusement in Max's eyes, and it annoys me that he might be able to read jealousy on my face.
Max clears his throat. "Should I give you two some time?"
What he's really asking is whether I'd like him to kick Charlotte out of my bedroom suite.
"Of course, yes," I reply. "What are you doing here, Charlotte?"
"Obviously, I came to spring you from your prison!" she says brightly. She reaches into her oversized tote and pulls out an expensive bottle of champagne, which she immediately shoves at Max. "Open that for us, will you, darling? And find us a couple of glasses?"
I take it back out of his hand. "He's my bodyguard, Charlotte, not a butler."
"So? I don't understand. Your bodyguard can't open that or get the butler?"
Max tosses a murderous look in Charlotte's direction before grabbing the bottle back from my hand. "I'll find the butler," he says.
Charlotte makes her way over to my chaise lounge and collapses dramatically on it. "That would be fabulous," she calls to Max. "So, where should we go tonight?"
"What do you mean where should we go?"
"Tell me you're surprised I drove all the way out here. It was supposed to be a surprise."
"It's definitely a surprise," I tell her.
She clasps her hands together. "Great!" she exclaims. "So, we'll have a driver bring us into the city. There's a new club that's supposed to be really hot, and I already texted Finn and everyone to have them meet us there."
Ugh. Finn.
"What's that?" she asks, gesturing at my face. "What are you doing? You're making a face when I say Finn."
Max chooses that exact moment to walk back into the room. My face flushes warm, and I can feel myself already turning bright red.
He probably didn't hear her say that. I'm sure he didn't hear her say that.
He gives me a dark look.
Okay, he definitely heard her.
"What?" I ask, suddenly hard-of-hearing. Too late, I realize immediately after I ask the question that was probably a mistake, because it makes her say it again.
"I asked about Finn," Charlotte repeats, oblivious to my obvious discomfort. "Oh, are you not interested in him anymore?"
This is one of those questions that doesn't have a good answer. I want to scream at her that I was hardly interested in Finn in the first place, but Max already knows that, right? And even if he didn't, it wouldn't matter because I was only mildly interested in Finn before Max was even around, and Max doesn't have any claim over me anyway.
Except that he did claim me back in the stable.
All of this is going to be mine. Your pussy, your ass, your mouth is all mine.
I think I hear Max growl as he shoves the champagne bottle and glasses at Charlotte. She doesn't seem to notice. "No tray?" she asks. I can't see Max's expression, but Charlotte obviously does, and her face pales. "You know what, no tray is okay. Obviously, I'll just set the champagne down right here on the table beside me."
"Anything else, princess?" Max asks, his voice terse.
Charlotte's eyes flicker over Max. "Has anyone ever told you that you could be a model? You have kind of a rugged, gruff look –"
"Charlotte," I warn, stopping her.
"I mean, he does. Am I not allowed to say that to the bodyguards?"
"I think you've harassed him enough already."
She makes a little "hmph" sound, not bothering to disguise the way her eyes linger on his ass as he turns around and leaves, the door closing hard behind him. I definitely notice the look she gives him, and I'm annoyed that I notice. I'm even more annoyed that I care about the way she checks him out.
She also doesn't drop the Finn thing, which annoys me even more. "You got a weird look when I mentioned Finn. Dish the dirt."
"There's no dirt," I say with a shrug. "I'm just not interested. Change of subject. Let's talk about anything else."
"Did you have a falling out?"
My eyebrows rise. "Seriously, Charlotte, leave it alone."
She sighs. "Okay, moody. You're not interested in hanging out or clubbing or boys or anything lately. You're holed up in the country with your family. So, one of two things are going on here. Either something is wrong with you and you're ill or depressed or moping around because something happened with Finn –"
"Nothing happened with Finn. He was my dealer and tha
t's it."
"Or," she says, holding up a finger, "you have a crush on the hot bodyguard."
"What?!" I ask, my voice going up an octave. "I don't have a crush on anyone. Honestly, I don't know where you'd come up with something like that."
"Huh," she muses, pouring a glass of champagne. "Neither do I."
I change the subject. "Give me a glass of champagne and catch me up on the gossip. Are you seeing any hot boys?"
I hope the mention of hot non-bodyguard boys distracts her, and it does. Thirty seconds later, Charlotte is dishing all of the gossip that involves anyone remotely close to our circle of friends, and before long, she's forgotten all about Finn and my hot bodyguard. Meanwhile, she's downing champagne like she's singlehandedly under obligation to polish off the world's supply.
I do kind of miss this – and the rest of my friends. So when she demands we go out clubbing so that "everyone doesn't think you've died or something", I agree.
I pick a body-hugging red dress I haven't worn before and pull my hair back into a ponytail. While Charlotte is in the bathroom doing her makeup, I go out in the hall to tell Max where we've decided we're going.
I'm just informing him because he's my bodyguard. I'm definitely not asking his permission or anything.
He's standing beside the door, his arms crossed and looking grouchy as hell. When I step out of the room, he gives me a dark look that says he heard Charlotte mention Finn and he certainly hasn't let it go.
He turns to face me, his gaze traveling up the length of my body, taking me in. I bite down on my lower lip as I flush warm under the intensity of his stare. I feel suddenly guilty for avoiding him the past few days, burning with the need to explain myself, even though I don't quite understand my behavior either.
I want to tell him that the fact that I wanted to see him after we hooked up in the stable – that I've wanted to see him after hooking up with him several times now, really – is freaking me out.
But I don't get a chance because he speaks first. "You're wearing that?"
I bristle at his tone of voice – possessive, authoritarian, paternal. "Excuse me?"
"That. You're wearing that and you're going out in public?" He's standing close to me, so close that I can smell his aftershave, and it makes me flush even warmer, if that's at all possible.
"Who said I was going out in public?" I argue, even though that's exactly what I came out here to tell him.
"You're not? You just came out here to show me that dress?"
"I'm going out," I tell him, my jaw set hard. "We're going out – Charlotte and I. I came out here to tell you that."
"Why?" He looks at me darkly.
"Why am I going out?" I ask, suddenly defensive. I don't know why I feel like I have to explain anything to him. "Because I'm young and carefree and single and –"
I don't know why I add the part about being single. As soon as I say the word, I want to take it back because it doesn't feel right. But I am, aren't I? I definitely don't want to be tied down.
Well, not in that way.
My mind flashes to all the other ways I'd be perfectly happy being tied down – tied up – by Max.
"Really," he says, a low rumble in his throat as he backs me up against the wall. He puts his palm above me and looks down at me with heat and lust in his eyes. My heart races. "You're young and carefree and single."
"That's right." I can't breathe. "Which part of that are you objecting to?"
He narrows his eyes. "Well, first of all, that dress is pretty goddamn objectionable."
My eyes flicker down to the obvious bulge in his pants. "Obviously not too objectionable."
He grunts. "That dress leaves nothing to the imagination."
I try to focus on what he's saying – and how he's being a complete caveman right now – instead of the way he's looking at me right now, angry and possessive, because that look in his eyes sends heat coursing through me to my core, which is totally fucked up. "Well, then, I'm glad I don't worry about what other people might imagine when it comes to my clothes."
"It's what's underneath your clothes they don't need to be thinking about," he growls.
"Maybe you're confused about your role, Bodyguard," I huff. Seriously, who does he think he is, trying to tell me what to wear? That's definitely over-the-top possessive. Totally a red flag. "Did you suddenly become my stylist?"
"I don't think I've ever given you the impression that I wanted to put clothes on you," he quips. "Only take them off."
"Except now," I snip back. "Now you'd like me to wear a nun's habit, right?"
He smirks. "I'd prefer a schoolgirl skirt."
"Just not out in public," I finish for him.
"That's fucking right," he growls. His hand goes to the small of my back, pulling me against his hardness. "I don't like the idea of other men looking at you."
I swallow hard, dizzy from his touch. It's been days since he's touched me, days since I pulled away and put some distance between us and my body reminds me of just what his touch does to me.
The doorknob next to us jostles, and I put my palm on Max's chest, pushing away from him like I've just been shocked by electricity. The door opens, and Charlotte pokes her face out. "There you are! I thought you'd left without me!"
I clear my throat. "Nope. I was just telling James here where we're going tonight."
Max glowers at me, trying to look professional but failing. "Got it, princess."
"Perfect," Charlotte says. "You look totally hot, by the way. Boys will be all over you."
Max mumbles something under his breath, something about murdering some boys. "I'll go let the head of security know and we'll vet the club. Your car will be around momentarily, Your Highness."
I'm pretty sure that the Your Highness part of that was sarcastic.
"Your bodyguard has kind of an attitude. He seems like a bit of a dick," Charlotte notes. She pauses for a beat. "I do like bad boys, though. Do you think he's single?"
"I think he's married."
"Hmm. I didn't see a wedding ring," she replies, her hand going to her lips as she makes no effort to hide the fact that she's ogling him as he walks down the hallway. "Well, I need more champagne. Are you ready?"
I look down at my outfit, the one that leaves nothing to the imagination. "Actually, I just need to change something. It'll only take a minute."
29
Max
"We should have someone put in a call to the paparazzi to meet us at the club." The princess' annoying friend is loud. I roll my eyes.
That's a great fucking idea, genius.
I don't say that out loud, though, because I'm so goddamned polite.
I'm seething while I stand here waiting to escort Princess Alexandra and her friend to a nightclub, because what I really want to do is throw the princess over my shoulder and lock her in her room and handcuff her to the fucking bed.
If Alexandra's friend wasn't here, that's exactly what I'd do. It's what I should have done days ago, but I was trying to be reasonable, to give her some space after what happened between us in the stable. I thought that's what she needed.
I was trying to be a reasonable man. I was trying to be calm and controlled.
I still am.
"No paparazzi," Princess Alexandra says.
"You're such a party pooper now," the friend whines.
"I'm going out with you, aren't I?" The princess' voice has an unmistakable edge, despite the smile plastered on her face.
I can't take my eyes off of Alexandra as she walks down the hallway, her hips swaying. She's wearing a nude-colored coat-dress, cinched at the waist, with matching heels. I try to contain a smug little smile at the fact that she went back and changed after I gave her shit about the red dress.
I mean, sure, she went a little over-the-top by trading the dress for something that goes all the way up to her neck and even covers her arms. But, still.
The princess' friend, clearly tipsy, walks past me. Her hand goes to my arm as
she passes. "Hey there, Bodyguard," she says in a sing-song voice.
I think Alexandra looks annoyed that her friend touched me, which makes me even more satisfied. "You changed out of the dress," I note, my voice low.
"Are you happy about that?" she asks.
"I'm glad you saw reason," I tell her. Seeing her in that red dress, breasts on display and the skirt barely covering her ass, made me crazy. That dress was enough to make any man crazy.
I didn't actually expect her to change outfits. Actually, I expected a little bit more of a fight out of her.
Why the hell does that make me disappointed?
She smiles demurely. "What can I say? You made me see the light."
There's a glint in her eyes that makes me uneasy. When she walks ahead to join her friend, I call on my earpiece to add another car to the princess' entourage, just in case the princess gets any wild ideas about ditching her security tonight.
Or ditching me.
But she doesn't. She complies with the security protocol as written. A team has gone ahead to set up a roped-off area for the princess and her entourage at the nightclub. When we get there, she allows us to escort her through the crowd and straight to the VIP area where a large group of her friends are already waiting. She doesn't even give me grief or try to make a faux bathroom run or push through the crowd to dance on the top of the bar.
She's totally compliant.
In other words, something's up.
Once I realize that, I'm antsy. Nightclubs make me antsy in general. They're impossible to secure, and given the number of crazy dickheads in the world, the odds of one being in a crowded club are pretty high. That, plus every guy in this place is staring at the princess.
They'd have been staring at her a hell of a lot more if she had worn that red dress.
Inside the VIP area, Princess Alexandra turns to me. "Could you take my coat, James?" I can hardly hear her over the thumping of the music before she turns her back toward me, gesturing at the shoulders of her jacket.
The jacket that I thought was an actual dress.
It's not a dress.
Her Bodyguard (Raunchy Royals Book 2) Page 18