What the hell have I done?
Prince Liam holds out a placating hand to his sheeple, urging them to calm down, that the matter will be dealt with “with swift justice.”
Not placated in the least, the angry mob follows Prince Liam and his train of guards, beefy men wearing business suits. They try like hell to get their hands on me. A long arm shoots through a tangle of limbs and grabs a fistful of my hair.
The guard seizes its owner, yanking her back and pulling several hairs out by the roots in the process. Tears spring to my eyes as the pain rips through my head.
“Ow!”
“Fucking bitch!”
“Get back!”
Prince Liam turns around at the sound of the commotion, and he glances at me, a faint frown knitting his forehead. “Do not allow her to be harmed, for God’s sake.”
“Yes, sir.”
Heat rises in my cheeks as pissed-off women intent on ripping me to pieces press in from all sides, held at bay by the guards.
Way to keep a low profile, Daisy. Job well done.
My compounding sense of horror is punctuated by a brief spell of awe as we walk up the hill toward the castle, which looks like something straight out of Cinderella. Huge, cylinder towers with embattled stone walls and arrowslits. Midnight-blue-and-gold flags whip proudly on the battlements. We stop in front of the gatehouse, which is guarded by a lattice grill of metal and wood. The portcullis shudders and groans before rising out of the ground. Guards keep the mob at bay as the prince leads the procession inside. The gate grinds into the earth the moment I’m through, and then the mob of irate Anglefell women wrap their hands around the bars and scream at me.
My heart pounds as I take in my surroundings. A large courtyard fills the open space inside the castle walls. A road follows the circular interior, and within that circle is a simple green lawn with a fountain. White flowers are arranged in patches bordering the edge of the grass. Across it are what I’m guessing are the other structures of the castle: the bakery, the stables, and the keep. The keep will be the biggest tower at the center of all the fortifications. It’s where the king lives, no doubt.
The prince watches me take in his home with a bemused smile. “Take her to one of the dungeons.”
“A dungeon? Are you serious?”
It’s as though a vacuum stole my insides. I want to crumple forward, collapse over myself.
Every woman wants to fuck a prince.
A cell? Just for giving the bastard a well-deserved slap?
Shaken, I follow the guards’ pressure on my arms as we head immediately to the right and down a set of uneven stairs to a heavy wooden door. The guard raises his fist and rams it against it. The door opens, and suddenly I’m led down a corridor with rows of modernized cells. The structure is still archaic, but it looks like every cell has plumbing and electricity and oh my God, who the fuck cares?
There are no diplomatic relations between the United States and Anglefell.
Americans who do not enter Anglefell with a valid visa, a predetermined schedule, and an escort accompanying them at all times will be detained and questioned.
“Open!”
The bars of the cell electronically slide against the wall, and I walk inside the five-by-nine space in numb disbelief that within less than twenty-four hours in this country I’ve managed to get myself arrested. I need to call someone—I have no idea what kind of trouble I’m in. Shit! I can’t just pick up the phone and dial the State Department.
The loud clang of the cell door slamming shut rattles through my soul. I pace the length of the room as a tight feeling wraps around my chest, forcing myself to breathe. I’m here on a Canadian passport, but I’m an American citizen. I could’ve used my American passport to enter the country, but then I would’ve had to be accompanied by an escort at all times. The authorities would have gone through the film on my camera and deleted photos they didn’t like. It would have ruined everything.
The plan seemed brilliant at the time.
My hands seize as I hear a distant groan of a door swinging open, and I wince as the handcuffs cut into my wrists. I sit down on the hard bench, my bones immediately protesting. Slow footsteps echo through the hallway, and a familiar English-accented voice rings out.
“Open the door.”
Prince Liam’s drawl sends a flood of irritation through my body. He steps into view, grinning at me through the bars. He looks different. He changed out of his princely clothes into a pair of khakis and a navy-blue polo. There might as well be a photo shoot for a boarding school nearby. He looks like he’s ready to go to a WASP convention. The smirk only slightly mars the wholesome image. The door slides open, his smile winks through the bars passing over his face.
All right, Daisy. This is your chance to straighten out the mess you made. Apologize. Grovel at his fucking feet if you have to.
But I can already feel anger boiling in my chest as his arrogance practically steams off his body. My skin grows hot under his persistent stare, and I fidget on the concrete slab that’s supposed to be my bed.
“Usually I buy dinner before the handcuffs come out.”
Dick. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with you? I give you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you turn it down.”
“Seriously? You honestly think fucking you qualifies as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?”
“You could’ve told all your friends that you fucked a prince.”
“I’m sorry, but fucking a prince isn’t exactly on my bucket list.”
“You’ve got to straighten out your priorities, love. It is an honor to sleep with me.”
“Like you honored that boat full of sluts in the Italian Riviera?”
Liam’s eyes widen slightly before he regains his composure and leans closer, his eyes somehow hotter than before. “Looks like someone’s been paying special attention to my extracurricular activities.”
Special attention? Give me a break. “It’s pretty much impossible to avoid the Dirty Prince’s sexcapades on my Facebook feed.”
He brightens at that. “Dirty Prince,” he muses. “I’m glad I’m famous wherever you’re from.”
“You’re only as famous as your next dick pic.”
“I’ve never shared a dick pic on social media. Is this your way of asking for one? Sorry, love, but pics of the crown jewels are by appointment only.”
If he says luv one more goddamn time…
“Oh dear. You don’t look very happy with me.”
“Can you blame me?” I explode. “Guys like you are used to having everything handed over to them, and you know what? I’d get a better lay from an average Joe.”
“Ouch.”
“You can dish it out, but you sure as shit can’t take it.”
He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he sits down on the slab next to me. I shrink away, even though my body pounds with the filthy things he hissed in my ear.
“I’ll take anything you give me, love.”
“Good God.”
“Slapping is not that far from spanking. I consider it foreplay.”
“Keep me out of your kinky sex fantasies.”
He reaches around my back, touching my handcuffs. One of his fingers slides over the raw skin, and I turn my head toward him. The smell of his cologne suddenly hits me, all aquatic and male. I’m aware that my heart is beating very fast. He’s gorgeous, but he’s a bastard and a womanizer.
“I think that’s exactly where you want to be. Handcuffed and at my mercy.”
Damn him, but I can’t deny the quiver of excitement running up my leg at the very suggestion. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I set out this morning to do. To find and fuck you.”
He gazes at me without humor. “Was it?”
“No.” I’m tired, my shoulders hurt, and I desperately want out of this cell. “Could you please take these off?”
“Do you promise to be good?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
A flush fills my cheeks as he squeezes my wrist and reaches back for his pocket. Warmth slowly spreads through my skin at his light touch, and he tries to hide his playful little smirk from me. Then suddenly the metal breaks from my skin and falls away. He gathers the handcuffs, shoving them in his pockets. I rub my wrists.
“Sorry about the restraints.”
“When am I getting out of here?”
“I’m getting a kick out of your impertinent questions, as well as your complete disregard for members of the royal family.”
“You had the slap coming from a mile away.”
My insides freeze. A mile away. Why don’t you just tell him you’re American, idiot!
Prince Liam looks unperturbed. “Would you have rather I left you there in the clutches of that mob? I did you a huge favor by bringing you here.”
He’s absolutely right. If I had been left there alone, the crowd would’ve made mincemeat out of me. “Thanks.”
“You know what a more appropriate thank-you would be?”
This can’t be good. “What?”
“Well, first I’d ask you to get on your knees, and then—”
Liam’s face snaps to the side as the cell cracks with the sound of my palm slapping his cheek. Horrified, I watch his face bloom with red a second time. He doesn’t scream for a guard. He doesn’t even frown.
Why the hell is he looking at me like that?
Then I look down at his lap to see his rapidly stiffening cock.
“Like I said. Foreplay.”
After promising I wouldn’t be held for much longer, Liam left my cell with his erection on full display. I can’t really be too angry about today. In just a few hours, I gained a ton of fodder for my Anglefell article. Sure, most of it’s tabloid material, but it’s still interesting.
Prince Liam’s Bondage Fetish.
I can just imagine my whole class crying with laughter over me being sexually harassed by the Dirty Prince. When you travel to a place ruled by an oppressive regime, you expect their enforcers to be a little bit scarier. More than anything, Liam just seems like an arrogant but mostly harmless ass.
And quite a sexy ass at that.
Don’t even start.
A sick part of me wonders how many hits my blog would get if I published an insider’s account on what it’s like to fuck Prince Liam. I laugh to myself thinking of all the outrageous comments I would get, but I know if I ever touched him, I’d never tell a soul. Bragging about fucking a celebrity really isn’t something I’d ever do. Casual sex is even less my thing. One-night stands are like eating McDonald’s. It’s cheap, fast, and convenient, but when you’re done you feel worse than you did before. Liam’s promise of quick, hot fuck makes my heart clench as though there’s a fist squeezing me.
When I enjoy a ray of sunshine on my skin, it feels like a betrayal of the man I loved who can’t and won’t ever feel again. Ben will never feel the warmth of the sun or the heat of passion from a lover’s kiss. Why should I get to when he can’t? I lie down so the hardness distracts me from the pain in my chest. It fades away like the light on the wall.
I spend the rest of the time committing every detail in Anglefell’s dungeon to memory: the hairline crack running along the wall, the stainless-steel toilet, the concrete slab making my back ache, and the smooth bars. Guards occasionally patrol the mostly empty hallways, peering inside my cell unpleasantly. Damn, I’m starting to get pretty bored. There will be plenty to write later, but mostly I just want to get out of here and head back to the B&B where the rotund, friendly owner will be waiting for me with a hot meal.
When I first arrived at the Glenade Guest House, Tom greeted me with such sincere enthusiasm that I couldn’t help but feel my spirits brighten. I don’t know what I expected when my cab dropped me there. It was hard to believe the pictures that flashed across my screen when I looked up the place. Against a blue-gray sky stood a cottage whose stone walls were a pleasant, mild yellow. Surrounded by lush greenery and potted plants, it looked like a cute little gem among a row of similar-looking homes in a typical English village. Everything I read about Anglefell clashed with this picture of idyllic beauty, and for a moment my mission to expose the island’s ruthless monarchy felt a little silly. It feels a little silly even now. What have I learned except that Prince Liam is an immature ass?
Damn it, this is uncomfortable. My shoulder and back pound from lying on this rock-hard bed, so I stand up. Where the hell is he? Should I ask the guards?
The door to the dungeon opens with a sudden bang, which is followed by several pairs of footsteps. Then my cell door opens, the bars sliding under my hands, and I step back, fear needling my heart without me really knowing why. Prince Liam walks in front of my cell, surrounded by three guards. The humor vanishes from his eyes. It’s eerie watching the bars move over his hardened face.
“What’s going on?”
Liam’s guards remain posted at the entrance as he ducks inside, Liam’s face still frozen with that expression of uncharacteristic seriousness.
“You should not be alone with the prisoner, Your Highness.”
Irritated, he glances over his shoulder. “I think I can handle one little girl.”
“She could be a spy.”
“What?” I shout. “What the hell is he talking about?”
“Leave us.”
The guards tense. “But, my prince—” one says.
“Your prince commands you to get the fuck out of the room. Now.”
A flurry of anxiety hits my chest as he gives the command. The guards hesitate before nodding stiffly and walking down the hall. Liam sighs heavily, turning toward me with eyes that seem to accuse me of something.
“You’re in trouble.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.”
“The king wanted to investigate the incident. So he sent people to go through your things where you were staying.”
Oh God.
I double- and triple-checked my bags for anything that would give me away. Hell, my passport is Canadian. There’s nothing—nothing they could possibly find.
“They found this.”
He digs in his pocket and unwraps his palm, revealing a crumpled, empty bag of peanuts.
“Made in Sacramento, California,” he says, reading the label on the back. “Funny. I would’ve never pegged you for a California girl.”
“I’m not American!”
“Says the obviously American American.”
“That’s—crazy! A bag of peanuts? That could’ve come from anywhere!”
He lifts an eyebrow. “It came from Sacramento and it was in your bag. I mean that camera hanging around your neck was already a dead giveaway. Only Americans do that.”
Don’t say anything. Don’t confess.
“I—I want my lawyer!”
His face cracks with a sort of pitying smile. “Only an American would say that, love.”
“Well, I get a phone call, right?”
He sighs. “Maybe I should get you an apple pie and a bald eagle with a hot dog in its beak as well.”
Words like high-risk and hostile keep popping up in my head like the monstrous red flags they are. This can’t be happening.
The prince’s stony face softens slightly. “Relax. You’ll probably just get banned from the country. My father probably won’t want to piss off the Yanks. I’m just sad it’ll cut our fun short.”
Banned? “I’m not American,” I cry, my voice breaking. “I swear! Please don’t send me away!”
“It’s out of my hands, unfortunately. It’s really too bad, because I can think of a number of fun punishments I’d like to subject you to.”
“Will you please stop!”
Laughing, he offers me his hand. I take it without thinking, my breath hitching in my chest when Liam pulls me upright. My body launches forward, and suddenly I’m flat against his broad chest and holy crap, there’s a lot of muscle underneath his preppy clothes. Prince Liam’s arms are f
irm around my waist and back. His solid body against mine is like a catalyst—or an explosion. A glow of heat passing through my body spreads warmth through my skin. I feel it everywhere. Hell, I feel it between my legs, pulsing.
“Kiss me.”
I want to. His hand at my waist squeezes, and suddenly a flood of memories slams into my head with so much force that I feel vertigo. His lips tug into a smile, and I want to lean forward, but the crushing weight prevents me.
“No.”
A low growl issues from the back of his throat, but he pulls back. “Think of me when you’re fingering yourself later.”
I might. “I will not.”
His eyes roll. “All right. Come with me, then.”
“Wait—where?”
“The throne room. My father is waiting there to spank you.”
I’ve never been in trouble my whole goddamn life. It figures that the moment I decide to bend the rules a little, I get caught. In less than twenty-four hours. I’m trembling from head to foot. “Disappointed as fuck” doesn’t really begin to describe my emotions. The prince suspected I was American the moment he met me. It really burns the ego.
It’s not over. All they have is circumstantial evidence.
Liam throws me pitying looks as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, although he might just be bummed that he won’t get to fuck me. Damn him. He’s the reason this whole thing fell apart. I scrimped and saved for months to make this trip, and it’s all over because the Dirty Prince couldn’t keep his filth to himself.
My newly blazing rage banks down to a small fire as Prince Liam’s entourage leads me across the courtyard through another set of doors to the giant tower. I’m constantly struck by the modern touches: a satellite dish, the cars lining up in the courtyard, the guards, dressed in business suits, and a gift shop. I can just imagine myself taking a tour here and sending a postcard to my classmates at UC Berkeley: Greetings from Harronvale Castle!
Jesus, will you focus?
The prince returns to my side as the guards open a heavy set of doors to the castle’s keep, which open right into the throne room. It’s a grand space with highly polished marble floors. Heavy tapestries embroidered with gold thread hang from the walls, along with faded portraits of former monarchs. There are a few rows of wooden seats that look barely used, and there’s a throne at the back of the room.
Dirty Prince Page 2