Unavoidable (Royal Affair #1)

by Amelia Rockwell

  Jeffrey was going to have kittens over this. Forget kittens. Jeffrey was going to have a whole cow. The funny thing was, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She slipped her hand into Dylan’s to shake on the date-deal. He didn’t let go.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As it turned out, it was difficult for the princess of Justana to arrange a super-secret date with a bicycle courier.

  Lucy was expecting obstacles, she just wasn’t expecting anything of this magnitude. It would seem the universe and her social calendar were conspiring against her. She was constantly busy. Between Dylan’s job taking up his days, and the various social obligations taking up most of her evenings, they were having trouble finding the time. And since secrecy was a novelty she apparently couldn’t enjoy, she and Dylan had to settle for phone calls and Saturdays at the soup kitchen.

  Lucy wasn’t sure how, but Jessica had managed to conceal the fact that Lucy had accidentally cut herself and passed out. Somehow, some way, she’d hidden it and kept the news of the princess’ public fainting from making its way out of the kitchen. It meant Lucy had to walk around with a tiny bandage on her finger in lieu of the bigger one that she most likely needed, and that she had to continually wash it out with peroxide and alcohol, but Jeffrey hadn’t found out about it. Her small freedom to do charity work was safe.

  She also volunteered at a youth center and an animal shelter, but her favorite by far was the soup kitchen.

  Because of Dylan.

  She wasn’t sure how she managed to get anything done when she was volunteering there. She couldn’t stop looking at him, blushing when they locked eyes. He’d smile crookedly and her heart would flutter. Her stomach would swoop. She suddenly understood all those old movies where women swooned. Dylan made her want to swoon. And since she’d technically already done as much that first Saturday, she knew he’d catch her and then she’d be in his arms.

  God, his arms. Looking at them made her mouth go dry. Her eyes feasted on all that toned muscle.

  He was a bike courier, so she imagined his legs must be even better. She knew his ass wasn’t anything to scoff at either—not that she intended to scoff at it. She usually just stared blatantly when she thought she could get away with it.

  Lucy found herself thinking about the weirdest, most random things. Like licking up the length of his bicep. Or his throat. Or…other places.

  Thoughts like that got her all hot and bothered. A term she’d used jokingly in the past, but one she actually got the meaning of now.

  Sure, she’d seen cute guys before. Hot guys, even. (Prince Kent, anyone?) But never before had a single one of those men sparked this level of attraction. She never, for example, daydreamed about licking Prince Kent’s biceps. And he had excellent biceps.

  She didn’t know what it was, but Dylan just did it for her. Maybe she’d finally discovered her type. And her type? Was Dylan Walder.

  Lucy was so out of her comfort zone.

  She wasn’t the least bit sure what she’d do on an actual date with him. Having one hundred percent of his attention seemed daunting. She was liable to melt into a puddle on the floor and that would be that.

  If they were alone, he might try to kiss her. That thought both scared and exhilarated her. She’d been kissed before at least. It was something she knew more than a little about. It was going past that. Well, that’s where she started having a few issues.

  And in all honesty, it had been a while since she’d last been kissed. Really kissed. Pretty much since she’d been away at college. She hadn’t been as closely monitored there. It was kind of the place where she’d been encouraged to ‘get it all out of her system’. To a certain extent. Promiscuity was advised against, but if it happened, it happened. As long as she was discreet, it wasn’t an issue.

  The point was, it hadn’t happened for her yet. Nothing more than kissing.

  It was funny; there were so many porny tropes out there that were about deflowering a princess. Yet, here she was, twenty-two and still holding her ‘flower’, so to speak.

  It never really bothered her before now. She figured she wouldn’t die a virgin. But now? Now, she wished she was more experienced.

  Lucy wished she wasn’t who she was. Royalty was intimidating. Even though most of those with titles were just a bunch of undereducated, lacy collared twits, they still somehow intimidated people.

  Lucy thought about what it might be like if she was just a normal person. A normal woman Dylan could have met anywhere. A normal woman who had normal experiences. Who knew what to do with the equipment he was packing in his pants. Who could walk into a room wearing a robe and nothing else, let it slide from her shoulders. To not blush under his gaze. To straddle his hips and take him somewhere. Anywhere. The thought of doing any of that had her quivering in places she didn’t know could quiver.

  And yet…

  She cursed her own innocence because she didn’t know where she’d take him. She didn’t know how to take him there. It made her want to scream into a pillow.

  Because his voice—just his voice—on the phone? It did things to her. And she wanted to tell him that, but every time she practiced saying it, the words sounded foreign in her mouth.

  “Your voice is sexy. It makes me want to rip all my clothes off…”

  It sounded so stupid and desperate.

  The thought of hearing the words come out of her mouth made Lucy want to implode. Just cease to exist. Shrink up into a single cell and disappear.

  So she’d lay there most nights on her bed with her phone pressed to her ear, listening to him talk while stuffing a pillow between her legs to relieve the ache. She shouldn’t be getting this worked up when he was telling her about his day. Shouldn’t be, but she was.

  She often wondered if he thought about her like that. If anything she did was remotely as attractive as anything he did. She couldn’t imagine it being true. He couldn’t possibly like her as much as she liked him. That, in itself, was enough to keep her weird thoughts unspoken.

  The date finally did transpire, however.

  It just so happened that Jessica and Jeffrey had a Friday night off. Lucy wondered how much Jessica had to do with that little coincidence. Not that she was going to turn down a gift like this, if that’s indeed what it was.

  That night, she’d been invited over to Dylan’s apartment for dinner. Dinner. He was cooking her dinner.

  She was so excited and nervous that she could just puke.

  ————

  “Sorry about the…” Dylan trailed off, unsure why he was apologizing. “Neighborhood.”

  Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “What? What’s wrong with the neighborhood?” She turned to look out the window to where she’d parked her car across the street.

  “Nothing, I just…” he clapped his hands together, for lack of something else to do with them. “I was apologizing needlessly because I’m nervous.” He laughed. Or at least, made a couple of inelegant sounds that could technically be categorized as laughing.

  “Why are you nervous?” she asked, shrugging off her coat, which he took from her. He carefully hung it on one of the hooks by the door.

  Hooks that he’d installed that day, because he’d panicked when he realized that she’d probably have a coat and good god, the princess’ coat couldn’t be thrown over the back of the chair like a regular coat.

  Then he’d had to go searching in his closet for things to hang on the hooks so it wasn’t painfully, desperately obvious that he’d installed them just for her.

  “Oh, I don’t know. It couldn’t be that I invited the crown princess over for dinner, could it?” He chuckled again, silently chastising himself for being so unbelievably awkward. She pressed her lips together and looked down, fiddling with her watch as she looked around his apartment.

  Dylan reached for her, almost on a whim since they hadn’t really done this before. He wrapped his arms around her narrow waist, pulling her close as he embraced her. He inhaled the scent of her hair, something
floral and citrus-y and unmistakably her. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried you’ll leave once you see what a deplorable cook I am.”

  She laughed out loud, returning his embrace and making him feel instantly lighter. He could probably just float away like an overly inflated Mylar balloon. “You can’t be any worse than me.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I know I can slice a mean carrot, but believe it or not, it takes more than that to make a meal. Unless you’re a rabbit, that is.”

  “I’m definitely not a rabbit.”

  He was planning to cook her the only thing he was decently good at preparing: omelets. He realized it was dinner he’d asked her to and not brunch, but he figured that he’d play to his strengths. Anything to impress her, honestly. And by impress, he meant feed her something edible. His omelets were edible.

  He’d gone grocery shopping that afternoon on his way home from work. He’d gotten mushrooms, swiss cheese, scallions and tiny grape tomatoes in the hopes that he could make something that resembled a gourmet omelet with them.

  It seemed simple, but it was a whole lot more difficult with her occupying the same space as him. Her scent kept wafting over from the stool where she was perched, and he couldn’t help but glance over at her. Checking her out in her sure-to-be-designer jeans and a blouse that looked like and probably actually had been made for her. She was dangling her shoe from her toe and being otherwise beautifully distracting.

  It was like Soup Kitchen Saturdays all over again. His skin felt tingly when she was around. Like there was some kind of electric current running between them, attached to his every nerve and keeping him on edge and just two ticks past horny.

  She could probably demand sex right this very instant and he’d comply. Just a snap of her fingers and he’d kneel for her. Worship her beauty in the best way he knew how. He’d taste her everywhere, make her shudder and maybe—just maybe—call out his name.

  He swore as a tomato rolled off across the cutting board.

  “You okay?” she asked, starting to stand.

  “It just slipped,” he covered as he turned to send her a reassuring smile.

  Dinner turned out fine. He served her a meticulously prepared omelet with ‘the works’, as requested. His own was a little overdone, but he didn’t really care, because he got to watch her eat. And what did it matter what his eggs tasted like when he could feel her foot as she ran it up and down his calf, rucking up his pants leg under the kitchen table?

  She insisted on helping him clean up, drying the dishes as he washed them. His mother was probably turning in her grave right now. The princess of Justana in his kitchen, drying the dishes. Barefoot, because the shoes had been kicked off to play footsie.

  He had strawberries already cut up in a container in the fridge. He’d planned on covering them in chocolate and serving them for dessert, but they started eating them before the chocolate even made it to the microwave to melt.

  She fed him one, inhaling sharply when his lips brushed against her fingertips. The look in her eyes had him wanting her even more if that was possible. Her eyes watched his tongue as it darted out to lick the juice from his lips.

  He leaned forward, reaching over to brush a lock of hair from her face. The soft, chestnut strands caught on his calloused fingertips as he tucked it behind her ear. His eyes searched for her gaze and held it.

  “Do you want one?” he asked, holding out a strawberry.

  She nodded and he raised it up to her mouth, pressing it softly between her lips. He had to hold back a groan when she took a bite. The juice ran down her chin and she started to reach for a napkin, but there wasn’t any way he was letting that go. He saw an opportunity, and he took it.

  “I’ll get it,” he promised, leaning in to press his lips to the corner of her mouth.

  She reached for him, her hands groping around the back of his neck and into his hair.

  He pulled gently at her lips, restraining himself as much as he could. He had half a mind to devour her beautiful mouth, but it seemed too soon for those kinds of shenanigans. His breath huffed out of his nose when she parted her lips. Only slightly. Enough to tease the hell out of him. He could just taste the strawberry she’d eaten. The kiss was sweet, but there was something else there too. Something that tugged at his gut and settled like a smoldering burn at the base of his spine.

  “Was that okay?” he asked, licking his lips as he leaned back, searching her face.

  She nodded. “That was—that was fine. Great. Perfect. I…” She blushed a lovely shade of pink and he couldn’t help but smile at her. At the gorgeous, wonderful woman who was here, in his home.

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He leaned back in, letting his hand slid up the back of her neck and into her hair, anchoring her against him as his mouth plucked and plundered hers. She steadied herself by grabbing his shoulders, a small moan escaping when his tongue brushed against her parted lips.

  He slid his other hand up her side, moving deftly upwards until it was resting right beneath her bra. His thumb barely nudged the underwire. The soft fabric of her blouse was cool, contrasting with the warmth of the skin beneath it.

  “Wait,” she murmured. “Wait.”

  Alarmed, he moved his hand immediately, taking a step away from her. “I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately. “Was that too much? I’m so sorry.” He gulped down his fear, hoping he hadn’t just irrevocably damaged anything between them. Of course she wasn’t looking to get groped in a kitchen. Of course she wasn’t…

  “No. I just… I just…” She visibly swallowed before continuing. “Kissing is all I’ve—”

  “We can just kiss. That’s fine,” he assured her, reaching over tentatively to brush the hair from her face again.

  “No, I mean, kissing is all I’ve ever…done. I’ve never…” she trailed off and looked down.

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wait. Are you kidding me?”

  She shook her head.

  “But, how old are you?”

  She frowned, “I’m twenty-two, not that it matters…”

  “I just…Lucy…I assumed you would have…that maybe you’d…I mean…” He shrugged, at a lost for words.

  Her face fell. She pressed her lips together, eyes blinking repeatedly, wetting her long eyelashes and making him panic momentarily. The last thing he wanted was to make her cry.

  “I’m not judging,” he assured her, leaning over to press his lips to hers again. “Just let me know when to stop and I promise, I won’t ever go past that point.”

  Lucy brightened, sniffing and pressing her lips together to hold back a grin. She leaned up and pecked his lips, lingering there for a few seconds. “Well,” she drawled, raking her fingers through his hair. “I’m not opposed to taking things slowly, so maybe we can just see where this goes?”

  His jaw dropped momentarily. “You’d trust me with something like that?” She nodded, holding his gaze and apparently liking what she saw there.“I mean, is that even allowed?”

  “Well, technically, this isn’t even allowed.” She gestured vaguely around his kitchen and between the two of them. “And we didn’t let that stop us, did we?”

  “Wait…you’re not supposed to be here? With me?”

  She shook her head.

  “That is so hot.” He grinned and leaned in to kiss her again.

  ————

  Lucy couldn’t believe this was happening. While it had been a fantasy she’d played out in her head multiple times since that fateful day she cut open her finger, it wasn’t ever something she considered would become a reality. Yet, here she was, making out with Dylan in his kitchen. Tasting the sweet tartness of the strawberries they’d eaten. Sucking on the tip of his tongue as he slid it into her mouth. The burning ache between her thighs was impossible to ignore. As was the stiff evidence of Dylan’s arousal, poking her in the hip.

  “Which door’s your room?” she asked, breaking off the kiss and looking out from the kitchenette
and into the main area of his apartment. There were three doors off the main room.

  “The one beside the couch,” he said. His voice had taken on a gravelly tone. It traveled straight between her legs, pooling there like liquid fire. He licked his lips again. Lips that were red. Swollen from her attention. She’d done that.

  Her.

  She had sucked and nibbled at his lips and brought them to their present state. The dark desire in his eyes was there for her. He desired her.

  And good god, she wanted him. The slickness in her panties was for him. Because of him.

  She grabbed his hand, turning to walk towards the door in question, crossing the living room floor. “May I go in?” she asked, her hand on the doorknob.

  He nodded, following behind her as she entered the room that smelled even more like him than he did.

  It was modest. A full sized bed with plaid flannel sheets. Unmade, naturally. There was a desk with a lamp on it, which was the only source of light in the room.

  “Can I sit on your bed?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Dylan’s voice was nothing more than a throaty whisper. It was like he was hellbent on bringing her to her knees with the timbre alone.

  “Will you sit on it with me?” She sounded breathless. She was breathless. Breathless and shaking.

  He followed her, reaching out to caress her arm. Her body sang for his touch as he leaned closer, lips brushing over hers and making her stomach clench in a most pleasant way. He made a sound in the back of his throat when she slid her hand over his abdomen. She kissed her way down his jaw, settling on his throat. She went off instinct and nothing else. He seemed to like it when she kissed him there.

  She climbed into his lap, pressing him back against the mattress until his head hit the pillow.

  Lucy prayed she wasn’t being hopelessly awkward.

  She hiked her leg up over his hips and he helped her straddle him. His hands roved up and down her denim clad thighs and she was hard-pressed to remember anything except the feel of them on her. Firm and yet, surprisingly gentle. He parted his lips, his tongue sliding into her mouth again. She whimpered and his grip tightened on her thighs.