“I told you. If you want more”—he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. She was adorable disheveled right now—“all you have to do is ask nicely.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said, smiling at him. “I guess we should head to the hotel first, though, right?”
Or his house. Or for the highway. They could keep driving and never look back again. “Yeah, we probably should get you back before people ask questions.”
“All right.”
Her hands lingered on him, but she climbed off his lap easily enough. As she situated herself in the passenger seat, he cleaned himself up. By the time he was finished, she was buckled, and her hair was smooth. The dress that she’d lifted up around her hips so she could fuck him was smooth and flawless once more, spread out over her thin thighs as if she’d been sitting there all along. She looked every inch the princess she was.
And he wanted to own her. There was no denying that.
Too bad it wasn’t possible.
When they were finished fucking around, she’d go back to her country. Marry a prince. Someone like Georgie boy back there. Someone not him. Then she’d have royal babies with royal blood, and forget all about her walk on the wild side with an American. Or she’d think of him on lonely nights, while her rich husband went away for work, and touch herself.
Because of him.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she said, fidgeting with the seatbelt. She stopped almost immediately. “Regretting our impulsive tension release?”
“Relief, not release. And nah. No regrets.” He started the car and pulled out onto the road. “Just figuring out our next stop.”
“The hotel, right?” She looked out the window, and then looked back at him. “I’d love to stay with you again, but I can’t. I have to be up at four a.m. for a breakfast date with the Prime Minister of England.”
“No shit. He’s here?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “I thought you had my schedule.”
“I do, but it just said ‘breakfast with P.M.E.’” He turned into a parking lot. “I didn’t realize that’s who it was. And besides, I’m not assigned to that one.”
“Oh. Yes. Matthew is.” She sighed. Matthew was nice. He treated her with respect. He barely spoke to her, except to ask her questions. And every time he was there…she missed Gordon. “It’ll be dreadfully dull, I’m sure.”
He laughed. Most average people would find meeting someone of such importance exciting. Thrilling. It only served to drive home the fact that she wasn’t even close to average… And she would never be his. He’d have to accept that.
Pulling into his destination, he asked, “What are you eating?”
“What?” She looked out the window, seeming to notice only now that he hadn’t taken her straight to her hotel. “I’m not.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes. You are.”
“I’m not even hungry.”
As soon as she finished her sentence, her stomach growled loudly.
He cocked a brow. “Care to change your statement, Princess?”
She blushed. “Something chicken.”
“Do you like it spicy?” he asked, grinning when she looked at him with wide eyes. “Your chicken, that is.”
“S-Sure.”
He ordered them both dinner, then handed it over to her when it was given to him. She held it to her chest, watching him with an inscrutable look in her eye. “Eat with me in my room?”
“If you want.”
“I do,” she said.
“Okay.”
He finished the short ride to her hotel and got out of the car. After he opened her door for her, he took the food and motioned her inside. She smoothed her pink silk dress that probably cost an entire month of his salary… And he’d gotten her Wendy’s.
Way to fucking go, Waybrook.
“After you, Princess.”
She glanced at him as she pulled her keycard out of her purse. “Thank you for dinner, by the way.”
He juggled the food in one hand and opened the door for her with his other. “I know it’s not the same as filet mignon…”
“I despise filet mignon.” She shook her head. “So it’s more than likely better.”
“Why did you order it if you hate it?”
“I didn’t.” She punched the up button on the elevator. “George did.”
“Ah.” He leaned against the wall. “He’s that kind of guy.”
“Most men like him are.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “They’re stuck in old times and live by old rules.”
“Do you like that in a man?”
She peeked at him before turning away. “No. But it doesn’t matter what I like.”
“Of course it does.” He stared at her. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“Because in the space of all the things that matter, how I feel about his ordering habits really isn’t all that important.” She blew out a breath and stepped into the elevator when the doors opened. “My opinion on him really doesn’t matter at all. If my country wants me to like him, and it’s best for them, then…I’ll like him. My feelings have no place in business matters.”
She said that as if on autopilot. As if she’d been told that same thing so many times that she almost, kind of, sort of believed it. Or thought she did, anyway. “Bullshit.”
“No, it’s life,” she said. “My life.”
He stepped in beside her, his heart pounding. The pieces were finally falling together. “This is what you were talking about this morning, isn’t it? You were upset because you had to go on a date with this guy, and you didn’t want to?”
She laughed. “Kind of, yes.”
“Well, you did it. And you lived to tell about it.” The elevator doors opened. “But why agree to go out with him again, after you fulfilled your patriotic duty—or whatever you call that forced date—if you don’t want to do it?”
“It’s more than that.” She walked out into the hallway, her head high but her steps slower than before. “There’s more to it than a simple date. It’s not just…that’s not all there is.”
He blinked at her, trying to make sense of her words. “Is this about your countries playing nice together? Is that it?”
“No. Yes. Kind of.” She lifted her hand, then let it fall back down to her side. “It’s about unity. Bonds. Not just a dinner.”
She unlocked her door.
He blinked at her. “But why would you going out with him make—?”
What had she said yesterday? We marry for country ties. For unity. For money. Not for love. Love doesn’t exist in my world.
“It’s complicated,” she said. “I’m not sure you really want to talk about it with me, to be honest.”
He shook his head. “No. Tell me this isn’t about a fucking arranged marriage.”
Without answering, she opened the door. She went inside, tossed her purse aside, and rested her hands on the table by the door. “And if it is?”
He tossed the food on the table, kicked the door shut behind him, and grabbed her shoulders. Spinning her to face him, he forced himself to take a calm breath. He didn’t know whether to scream, yell, or shake some sense into her. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” She pressed her lips together. “It’s how it works in my world. My parents did it, and they’re perfectly happy together. They even fell in love. Who says I can’t have that, too, with George?”
He’d fucked a woman who was taken? Someone else’s fiancée? This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t that kind of guy—one who stole another man’s woman. It wasn’t right. “You’re…engaged? To that prince from earlier?”
“I don’t really want to. That much is true.” She continued on, as if she hadn’t even heard a word he said. “But if it’s best for my country, then it’s best for me. I’ll do it, if—”
He held up a hand. “Wait a second. This man you ate with tonight. He’s your fiancé?”
Shaking her head, she pressed her lips together. “You’re no
t paying attention.”
“Oh, I’m paying attention all right.” He laughed, the sound coming out harsh. “I just can’t believe what I’m hearing. He’s your fucking fiancé.”
“No. He’s not. Not yet.” She put her hands on her hips. “Right now, he’s nothing.”
He backed her against the wall. He’d broken his one and only rule when it came to sex… And it was all her fault. “You lied to me. You told me you never met him before today.”
“No, I didn’t lie,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s true.”
“Last night, when we fucked, you knew you were taken, but you let me fuck you anyway?” He ground his teeth together. “And today, after having a date with him, you fucked me again.”
She gripped his arms. “I—we—didn’t do anything wrong. I hadn’t even met him before today.”
He closed his eyes, the muscle under his left eye ticking. She wasn’t making any sense. She’d never met him, but he was her fiancé, but he wasn’t. “You. Never. Met. Him.”
“Not until today.” She made a weird little sound. “He’s just someone my parents want me to marry. That’s all. I don’t even want to.”
“Then don’t. Don’t fucking do it.”
“It’s my duty,” she said, her voice cracking. “I have to.”
“Cut the shit.” He swiped his hand through the air. “I have to breathe. I have to blink. I have to drink water. But you don’t have to marry a fucking stranger. Not if you don’t want to.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. It’s about duty. Responsibility. And if it’s best for my country, then—”
“It’s best for you,” he growled. “Yeah. I got that.”
She raised her balled hands. “But—”
Unable to listen to another word about why she should marry a man she didn’t give two shits about, he growled and kissed her, cutting her off mid-sentence. She curled her hands into his shirt, fisted it, and yanked him closer. His mouth worked over hers, his tongue tasting hers while his hands roamed over her curves.
She was so soft. So warm. So perfect. So not his.
And for a second there…he’d wanted her to be his so fucking badly.
When he ended the kiss, his breathing was rapid. “I can’t believe you’re taken by a man you don’t even know. You’re his.”
She shook her head. “I’m not. Not yet.”
“I don’t play with technicalities.” He trailed his fingers over her jawline, locking gazes with her. “In my world, you’re either free or you’re not. You’re not. It’s over, unless you tell me you’re not going to marry him. Unless you tell me you’re not going to marry a man you don’t even know. Who you don’t even like.”
She swallowed hard. “I can’t say that.”
“So be it.” He pushed off the wall. “Good night, Princess.”
And with that?
He walked out of the room.
Chapter Eight
The next evening, Isabelle was ready to scream with frustration. Ever since she’d told Gordon about her parent’s wish that she marry George, he’d been so professional that it hurt. As a matter of fact, he rivaled Max for his polite, cool answers. He didn’t tell her what to do. Didn’t boss her around. Never told her she was insane for even thinking about marrying a man she didn’t care about at all. Always treated her with the utmost respect at all times.
She hated it.
As they walked toward the restaurant where she was due to meet up with the ambassador of her country, she stole a quick look at him. He wore a pair of shades, a dark black suit, a black tie, and a light gray shirt. His dark brown hair was styled into perfection, parted and placed in perfect accord on his perfect head. All of his tattoos were hidden under his suit jacket—but she knew they were there.
He looked like a proper bodyguard.
And hot. Really hot.
She swiped her sweaty palms across her dress. What would he do if she stopped walking, threw herself in his arms, and kissed him in the middle of the parking lot? It would reach her parents in a matter of hours, since her stylist and assistant were there, too. She’d be yelled at. Lectured. Crucified. But it just might be worth it.
Princesses don’t lower themselves to public displays of affection.
Oh, if only they’d seen what she and Gordon had done in the parking lot right before he’d found out about George. They’d die. Actually die.
“Everything okay, Princess?” Gordon asked, his tone casual.
She jerked out of her thoughts. “Yes, why?”
“You were staring at me.” He glanced at her, then turned away. “I was worried you might walk into something, or trip over a rock and fall on your pretty little ass,” he said politely.
“I’m fine.” She smoothed her hair. “I thought you’d forgotten how to talk to me, though.”
He flexed his jaw. “Of course not. I just haven’t had anything to say.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing,” he repeated. “I’m pretty sure we’ve said all there is to say. Aren’t you?”
“Not really.”
“Still going out with Georgie boy Friday night?”
She stiffened. “Yes.”
“Then we’re good on words.” He opened the door for her. “After you, Princess.”
“You’re angry with me,” she said, her voice flat.
“No, I’m not.” He shifted on his feet. “I just don’t mess with other men’s fiancées, is all. It goes against my code.”
She curled her hands into fists. “I’m not his fiancée.”
“Yet.” He cocked his head. “But you’re planning on saying yes.”
“I don’t have—”
“A choice. Yeah, so you said.” He flexed his fingers on the door. Everything he did, everything he said, showed off the power he held barely leashed within his body. “I get it. I really do. But I can’t play a part in this game. I told you I don’t mess with women who belong to other men, and I haven’t.” He paused. “Not since you told me about it, anyway.”
“I haven’t said yes yet,” she said, stopping right in front of him.
“Bullshit technicalities.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he didn’t budge. “After you, Princess Isabelle.”
Walking inside, she looked over her shoulder at him. He had been staring at her butt—until he saw her looking. Then he glanced away. “I saw that.”
“You saw nothing.” He closed the door and caught her elbow. It was the first time he’d touched her since…well, he’d stopped touching her. His touch was still as devastating as she remembered, despite their new professional relationship he was determined to keep. “Look, I’m not pissed at you.”
She blinked. “Pissed? What does that—”
“Angry,” he said impatiently. “What we did together wasn’t wrong. But now that I know you’re taken, it means we can’t do it again. And that sucks, because I liked you.”
She swallowed. “I liked you, too.”
Correction: I like you, too.
He nodded. “We can still be friends, though, if you want. If you still need to talk… I can be your friend. I’ve been quiet, but only because I had to distance myself. I’m good now, though. I’m over it.”
Over it? Over her? If so, he didn’t realize how much that hurt, because she wasn’t over him. Not at all. “Good. I’d like that,” she said.
Even though it hurt to talk past the lump in her throat.
“All right. After your meal, we can get coffee and talk, if you’d like. Somewhere public.”
Somewhere safe, he meant. “All right.”
She walked away from him, not sure what had just happened. He went from being completely professional around her, to telling her they could be friends. Could they? Could they really? Because she still wanted him. Badly.
“Princess Isabelle,” the gray-haired ambassador said, rising and smoothing his suit over his rotund belly. “Such a pleasure to see you again.”
“Yes, you as well
,” she said, doing the European kisses to his cheeks. After they sat, she smoothed her napkin over her lap and smiled at him. “How’s your wife? And your son?”
“They’re both excellent.” The man beamed. “My son is in England for his second year in university, and my wife is keeping herself occupied by doing multiple charitable activities.”
That’s what her lot would be. Keeping herself occupied while her husband busily ran the country. “Excellent,” she said.
“As a matter of fact, I hear you’ll be joining our ranks soon, too.”
She froze. “Excuse me?”
“You’re getting married.” He pulled out a file with his chubby hands. “Your mother told me the wonderful news and asked me to give these to you. Congratulations on your engagement to Prince George. I hear he was quite enchanted with you.”
She took the file out of reflex. “We’re not engaged.”
“Not yet.” He waved a hand. “That’s just a formality, though. Your family wants it. So does his. It’s all just a matter of the asking now.”
“And the accepting,” she said, her grip on the file tight. “I have to accept, as well.”
“We all know you will. Even Prince George is very confident in the matter.” He patted her hand condescendingly. “It’s just a matter of when and how.”
She knew what was expected of her. She knew what she was supposed to do. But hearing that everyone assumed she would say yes, without asking her, made her blood boil. “What if I don’t like George?” she asked.
The ambassador’s grin melted away. “Then you’ll learn to like him.”
“So everyone says.” She set the folder down, glaring down at it as if it alone was the cause of all her troubles. “Why do I have to marry him?”
“He’s bringing money and strength into the kingdom.” He leaned back in his chair. “Need I say more?”
“Yes.” She tipped her chin up. “Why is it on me to bring him into the kingdom? Why can’t they try for an alliance another way?”
“Because this is the way of our people. And the people count on you to do this for them. For the country. It’s your duty, as a royal.”
A princess never lets her country down.
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