by Leslie North
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I tried to get here quicker, but I had to mend Daphne’s riding outfit.”
Phillip narrowed his eyes. He’d thought they were done pretending. Maybe she hadn’t come with a good explanation after all. “You can drop the act,” he said tightly. “I know you’re their stepsister, not their assistant.”
She huffed, holding up her index finger. It was bleeding lightly from a pinprick injury. “I have a war wound from the sewing machine to prove it!” she said indignantly, frowning. “And for the record, I never claimed to be their assistant. You just assumed that.”
“You let me assume.”
“I didn’t, not on purpose. I only…I wasn’t thinking about it, I guess. I’m here to help Daphne and Anna, not to cast my own name in the running. I just wanted a chance to live my own life. Is that too much to ask?”
Phillip swallowed as her words hit home. Could he fault her for wanting the same thing he did? A chance to pick your own destiny, to live the way you wanted rather than under the weight of obligations.
She bit her lip and looked away. “And actually…I didn’t know I inherited the title of marquess, not until your letter just now. My stepmother never told me.”
Phillip stared. “She never told you that you were nobility too?”
“No, I mean, I knew I was nobility, I just assumed that she’d been the one to get the title after my dad died. She never talks about anything having to do with his death, and I didn’t really want to dig too deep into the records surrounding his passing either.” She winced. “It was too painful, you know? For her and me both, I guess.”
Phillip tried to stay stoic, but he couldn’t do it. “I understand,” he said, meaning more than just her feelings about her father’s passing. “Perhaps…maybe you’d like to take a ride with me? We could talk more. I would like that.”
Her wide grin lit up her whole face. “I’d like that too.”
Phillip brought out two of his favorite horses and was pleasantly surprised when she started expertly grooming the mare.
“I really am sorry about misleading you,” she said again as she curried the horse’s ribs. “But I should be clear. After the party is over, I’m going back to the States. I’m here to help my stepsisters, nothing more. Once I see them settled I have plans back home. I’m going to be a riding coach at a friend’s stable, make my own way.” Her unruly hair blew in her face and she unsuccessfully tried to shove it away.
Phillip’s heart fell. He opened his mouth to try to convince her to stay and let him court her, then paused. It was obvious she had her mind set on this topic, at least for now. Arguing probably wouldn’t change it, but maybe a little flirting could show her what she would be missing. “You should try a messy bun,” he said, and reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.
She went still, leaning into his hand the tiniest bit. “What?”
He grinned, elated, and withdrew his hand to point at his own hair. “A messy bun. It’ll keep your hair out of your face while you work.”
She cleared her throat, hmphed, and kept currying. Her squared shoulders and determined gaze said she was dead serious, even in the face of his flirting—she really was going to move back to the States when she was done here. Maybe they could still have a fling, if she was willing, but nothing more.
He fought against the urge to cajole her, convince her to put herself in the running. He could tell already that she would be a great queen. But in the end, it was her choice, and it seemed she’d already made it.
Damn. He couldn’t help but wish her conflict had been an evil stepmother instead. It would’ve made things so much less complicated.
He broke the silence after a moment. “So why did you have to mend Daphne’s outfit?”
Her gaze darted to his and she smiled, just a little—but it was a victory, and his heart lifted a bit. “She tore it during your ride.”
“No. Really? I didn’t even notice.”
“Oh, yes. She hadn’t been riding since she was a teenager and she’s grown out of her old outfit but didn’t have anything else to wear. She ripped seams in both the jacket and the pants and had to tie her jacket around her waist to cover it.”
He laughed. “So that was what the striptease was about!”
Ella grinned, probably picturing the scene that had unfolded, and then she was laughing too. And the moment was so perfect, with the golden early afternoon light and that radiant grin lighting up the room, that he had no choice but to reach out and kiss her.
She dropped the curry brush and stepped in to him immediately, wrapping her arms around his back, yanking him closer. He happily obliged, deepening the kiss and finally, finally putting his other hand on that perfect ass to tug her against him. God, she felt so damn good right there, melded to his body, her lips on his. She sighed into his mouth and he was instantly hard. He walked them backwards until she bumped against the wall of the stable, and then he nipped at her lower lip, asking for entrance. She opened her mouth and let him in. He pressed against her harder, letting his tongue show her what the rest of his body wanted to do to her, winding his hands through her hair. She slung one leg up over his hip and he was ready to rip her clothes off right then and there, until—
Eric walked in, slow-clapping his approval.
Ella pulled away, flushed and gasping, a dazed look in her eyes. She spotted his brother and her sexy bedroom look vanished, replaced by utter panic.
“Ella, wait,” Phillip tried, but she was already backing away, straightening her shirt, pulling her mussed hair back and shaking her head.
“I…I have to go,” she said, and then turned and ran.
Phillip slumped, then whirled on his brother. “What the hell, man? Could you not see I was busy?” He’d almost convinced her, he was sure of it. She’d been this close to changing her mind and putting herself in the running for queen. Now Eric’s intrusion might have scared her off from even so much as a fling.
Eric held his hands up. “Easy, Your Highness. These are the royal stables and, believe it or not, I am royal. I was just coming for an afternoon ride.”
A ride. That was what Phillip needed. A rough ride through the hills to work that encounter with Ella out of his blood. He grabbed his saddle blanket and swept it over his stallion, who shied a little, catching on to the king’s mood.
If only his brother were so attuned. “So that was the maid, eh?” Eric asked, saddling up the mare that had been intended for Ella. “Very nice. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“She’s not a maid,” Phillip snarled before he could catch himself. He slammed his mouth shut and dropped the saddle on his horse, but he couldn’t get the girth strap buckled quickly enough.
“But she is the one you were talking about yesterday,” Eric said slowly. “Unless you’ve found two girls in the space of twenty-four hours who get you all hot under that stiff collar. And that doesn’t sound like you.”
“No, it sounds like you,” Phillip growled, but Eric just shrugged, accepting it as true. Phillip tugged the girth strap tight. “Turns out she’s a marquess,” he said begrudgingly. “But anyway, royal or not, the king can have an affair with whomever he wishes.”
Eric raised an eyebrow, and internally, Phillip cursed himself. They both knew he only talked about himself in third person when he had something to hide.
But Eric only said, “You’re not usually one for affairs,” in a mild tone.
Phillip shrugged.
Eric pulled a saddle off the rack. “So what’s the problem then?” he asked. “Why have an affair at all, or a mistress for that matter, since we are in the middle of your Great Wife Hunt? If she’s a member of the nobility, then your problems are solved. Just marry her.”
“I wouldn’t have a mistress,” Phillip asserted, avoiding the question.
“I know, you’re far too loyal to your precious ideals for that. But the question stands—why not just court her officially?”
Phillip’s s
houlders slumped and he gave up on the girth strap. “She doesn’t want to be queen,” he said, back turned to his brother. And the thing was, he understood where Ella was coming from. Just yesterday, he’d wanted to run for the hills rather than be forced to choose a future of more obligations. Being queen was an often-difficult public service, and he wouldn’t force it on anyone who didn’t want it.
“Oh. Well, shit,” Eric said. He always did have a habit of summing things up nicely.
“Let’s just ride, okay?”
Eric finished saddling his horse. “Sure. I can regale you with the tales of my latest adventures. Maybe you haven’t had the pleasure of seducing a maid this week, but some of us have been living our best lives.”
Phillip snorted. “Fine.” Maybe his brother’s playboy antics would take his mind off his own problems.
They rode out of the stables. Phillip couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder at the Summer House, but Ella was nowhere in sight. He should’ve expected that, though. She had to choose for herself which future she wanted.
He would just have to hope it involved him.
Dear Phillip,
I’m sorry I ran away yesterday. I was confused and a little spooked by how strongly I’m starting to feel about you, especially when I haven’t planned for any kind of future in Danovar. I’m still uncertain of my course, but I know that I want it to include you, in whatever way it can.
I’m especially sorry that our kiss got interrupted. You pressing me up against that wall with your hands in my hair and your weight on my body—I wanted more. I still want more. So if that fling is still on the table…well, I have all kinds of ideas on how we can get started too.
Best,
Ella
Dear Ella,
I want you in my life. Not to mention in my bed. I can’t stop thinking about our kiss yesterday either, and I can’t stop craving more of you. Up against the wall, out on the hills under the stars, slow and hot in the shower, fast and rough on the floor—anywhere. Everywhere.
So, yes. The fling is definitely still on the table. And I have some ideas for other things that could be done on the table, too.
Let’s meet tonight. I’ll only have a few minutes after meeting with some of the ladies, but I want to spend those minutes with you.
Best,
Phillip
7
Ella stood at the back of the gardens, clutching Phillip’s latest letter, squinting for any sign of the king. Maybe today they would finally get some quality alone time. So far over the course of their secret fling they’d met in a hothouse, the kitchens, and a hidden study, but the security detail or the cooks or some other interfering busybodies were always within view. They hadn’t managed so much as a second kiss, much less had the chance to explore any of the steamier options outlined in their letters. They’d had to keep to their cover—her showing him spreadsheets and charts, detailing which woman would make the best queen. Daphne had already lost interest in the contest for the king, having found a member of the security detail far flirtier, but Ella almost had Phillip convinced that Anna would make the best match.
Which was a good thing. It was what she’d come here to do, and it was still her plan. A few sexy nights with the king—at least, she hoped she’d eventually get a few sexy nights—wouldn’t change that ultimate outcome. But still, her heart ached every time she handed him another research detail confirming Anna as his best choice of future wife. And not just because she was finding herself more and more reluctant to give Phillip to another woman, queen or no. She also couldn’t help but feel guilty because she knew all Anna cared about was curing cancer, something the queen would have no time for.
She shook herself. Tonight wasn’t about the wife hunt. Tonight was about him and her, and maybe a bed. Or a wall. Or a shower.
She fanned herself with the letter, then perked up when she heard the roar of the motorcycle. He rode them so often she was starting to distinguish them by sound. Judging from that extra-guttural snarl, this one had to be either the Confederate or the classic Harley.
He rounded the corner on a gunmetal-gray bike. Ah, the Confederate. Phillip smiled that adorable, boyish smile and tossed her a helmet. “Come on!” he called. “We’re finally getting our privacy.”
She gave the helmet the stink-eye.
“What?” he asked.
She sighed and undid her tidy ponytail, stuffing her head into the thing. “My stepmother is going to know something’s up if my hair is always in a snarl from riding on your bikes.” She buckled the strap beneath her chin.
Perceptive as always, Phillip tilted his head. “What’s really wrong?”
Her hands fell back to her sides. “Nothing new. I’m just constantly torn between my stepmother’s wishes and reality, that’s all.” She tried for a cavalier shrug. “It’s hard, always being the one who has to orchestrate the fantasy. She wants me to make their gowns look like brand-new designer couture when they’re nearly ten years old and the moths have gotten to them. And now that Daphne’s out of the running in the Summer House Party my stepmother wants me to find her another potential husband, and it’s always ‘hurry up Ella, you’re so good at these things, what do you mean you can’t make two people fall in love with each other?’”
Phillip frowned. “Perhaps it’s time you followed your own heart, and stopped letting her order you around.”
“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. “I can’t help it. I’m always so nice. So dutiful.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Do duties always have to be a burden?”
“Not for you, maybe. You’re the king. You can do anything you want.”
His ducked his head, and loose strands of that gorgeous, godlike hair fell over his eyes. “Not anything,” he murmured, and she frowned at his tone, but then it was gone and he was smiling at her again. “So tell me, Ms. Dutiful, if you were completely free and you could do anything you wanted right now, what would it be?”
You, she wanted to say, but swallowed it down. There were still two guards within earshot. “How about some exploring?” she said instead, then had to laugh at herself. “It’s funny, I’ve spent so much time and effort trying to escape Danovar, but now I’m kind of falling in love with the place. I think it’s the stars. They’re so bright and sharp here. They never look like that in the States.”
Phillip grinned and motioned her to climb on. “Come, then. That’s one wish I’d be happy to indulge.”
Ella grinned like a schoolgirl as she clambered on behind him. Sometimes he sounded so normal she forgot who he was, but then a turn of phrase would remind her she was with the freakin’ King of Danovar, and she got that delicious, secret little thrill all over again. She couldn’t help it—what girl hadn’t daydreamed about falling for royalty?
She shook herself. She wasn’t “falling for” him. She was having a fling with him. There was a huge difference, and it was best she remember it, along with her all-important goal for the Summer House Party.
Twenty minutes later, Phillip pulled the bike over at his destination: a ruined watchtower, hauntingly beautiful. Not that Ella had much attention to devote to its beauty, since her hair was, as predicted, a total mess. She grumbled as she tried to pat it back down.
Phillip leaned the bike against one of the crumbling walls, giving her a sexy smirk. “I’m guessing you didn’t watch that messy bun video I sent you?”
“If you think it’s snarled now, you should have seen it post-messy-bun-video,” she answered. “Extra emphasis on the messy.”
He tugged off his own helmet and came closer, reaching out to capture a strand of her hair. He rubbed it between his fingertips and she could do nothing but watch, riveted by the sight of those square, strong fingers twisting a bit of her hair between them. It made her want to see what other talents his fingers might have.
“Beautiful,” he mused, his smoldering eyes meeting hers for a moment, and she caught her breath. “Let me see what I can do.” And then both hands were in
her hair, tugging gently and twisting carefully, and her knees just about buckled at his touch. “I’ve always loved this color,” he added. His smug tone said he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, and that he was enjoying the hell out of it.
She licked her lips and tried to distract herself. There was still one member of his security detail within view, but damn it, that man better get his ass over the hill in the next thirty seconds or she could not be held responsible for what he was about to see. “Actually, I have a secret,” she told Phillip. “It’s dyed.”
He laughed. “No. Really?”
“Oh yeah. It used to be brown. I guess I was ready for a change.”
With one final tug, he finished whatever he was doing to her hair. She couldn’t see it, but it felt comfortable and stayed in place rather than falling in her eyes. And judging from that possessive, satisfied look on Phillip’s place, she looked damned hot, too.
His gaze slid back down to her eyes and the connection between them went molten. “Might I be rewarded for a job well done?” he asked softly.
“Oh, hell yes you might,” she said, and grabbed the collar of his shirt to pull him down to her. She didn’t know if the guard was still in view but she no longer cared about anything other than what she was finally, finally doing right now. She was so hungry for him, so full of wanting that she ached with it.
Their lips met again and, even though she’d meant for this kiss to be a little slower and more exploratory, it instantly went hot and aching and desperate just like last time. She couldn’t get enough of him. It had never been like this before, not with any of her prior boyfriends—not that there’d been all that many of those. But with Phillip, it was like she couldn’t get close enough. She wanted to be all tangled up with this man, wanted him wrapped around her, his heavy weight holding her down, his hard cock buried deep inside her, so much that she couldn’t think about anything else.