Royal Rogue

by Jessica Peterson

  “I’m staying, Highness.”

  “Good. I’ve never had a pirate in my bed before, much less one who knows so much about butt stuff, so…”

  God damn it, I was grinning. I didn’t want to. I wanted to wallow in the darkness by myself. But that was apparently impossible if Jane was in the room.

  I kissed her shoulder. “So?”

  She took a breath through her nose, let it out. Slowly. “So I feel like I should keep you around a little longer.”

  You shouldn’t, I wanted to say.

  “You should,” I said instead.

  There it was again—that crack inside my chest. Only this time I gave in to it.

  I surrendered to the fact that this job was going to end badly no matter what happened.

  Might as well enjoy my time with Jane while it lasted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Charlie

  I woke up with a fullness in my chest. It was so unfamiliar that for a second I thought I was having a heart attack. What were the signs again?

  Palpitations—check.

  Shortness of breath—check.

  Strange sensations in my extremities—check.

  My cock was in agony. Probably had something to do with the fact that I was sore and hard as a fucking rock.

  Then I opened my eyes and saw Jane, and I remembered why that fullness was there. Last night—she’d trusted me. Fucked me as hard and as thoroughly and freely as I’d fucked her. She’d been with me, fully present in every moment. Not using me. Not pretending that she hadn’t felt it, too. The intensity of it.

  The truth in it.

  I pulled a hand over my face.

  I’d broken my rule.

  I’d fucked up.

  Royally. (Pun not intended.)

  There was no way either of us would come out of this thing unscathed.

  I’d never felt like this about a mark.

  I’d never felt like this about any woman.

  I was in over my head. I just prayed I could make the right choice when the time came. That I could choose Owen and mom and the dreams we’d shared over the things this girl was making me feel.

  How the hell could living in my lie result in something so true and so real? Because Jane was real. The things she made me feel were real. After decades spent pretending, it felt like the biggest breath of fresh air.

  I looked at Jane. She’d rolled over to her side of the bed at some point last night. She was on her back, breathing softly. Hair spread in a halo of disarray around her head on the pillow. She looked soft and peaceful.

  When was the last time I’d slept like that? Jane had her worries. We all did. But when you knew you’d wake up with a roof over your head and food on the table—when certainty and stability would be there in the morning—that had to help you sleep a little better.

  This isn’t what I want for you, mom had said when we’d been evicted from our apartment after dad had ghosted on his half of the rent again. I’d been maybe six at the time. Seven. I want you to have a good life.

  A good life like this one right here. In this bed, with this girl.

  Another palpitation. I put my hand on my chest. Dug my fingers into the cavity just beneath my sternum.

  Light streamed through the open windows. The morning was a little humid but bright.

  The room smelled like sex. Sex and fresh flowers. Because I was in a real apartment, with a real garden out back where real flowers grew. It was a world away from the shoebox my brother and I shared across town.

  As much as I wanted to bury myself between Jane’s legs again—as much as I wanted to know if her mouth was as smart first thing in the morning as it was the rest of the day—I didn’t want to wake her. Plus my head was pounding from the nonexistent sleep I’d gotten. She had to have coffee—or at least tea—downstairs.

  I quietly climbed out of bed. My gaze caught on the Warhol. I looked away. Live in your lie.

  So I lied. Told myself I wasn’t a thief but a guy going downstairs to make a girl some breakfast. I tugged on my jeans. Buttoned up my shirt. I grabbed the used condoms off the floor and tossed them in the trashcan in Jane’s bathroom.

  Her kitchen was a mess from last night’s dinner. Jane had already gone through the trouble of making us food. Figured cleaning up was the least I could do.

  I wanted her to wake up to a clean house. A fresh pot of tea. So I put a kettle on—no coffee, but I’d found plenty of Earl Grey in a canister on the counter—grabbed our plates from where we’d left them outside last night, and got to work.

  Jane

  My breath stalled when my eyes fell on Charlie. He was at the sink, elbow deep in sudsy water. Shirt unbuttoned at the neck again, hair all over the place, scruff even scruffier. A dish towel was thrown over his shoulder; the front of his shirt was a little wet.

  I watched his hands, big and capable, smooth water over the bottom of a roasting pan.

  Kitchen porn.

  I was watching kitchen porn. And it was the best goddamn porn I’d ever seen.

  Heat gushed—gushed—between my legs. Leaning against the doorway, I pressed them together. Winced at the low throb of pain there. I felt sore. Used. Which for some reason made the rest of my insides feel tender, too. A good kind of tender.

  The kind I’d felt for another bloke not so long ago.

  Panic, sudden and sharp, rose up inside my chest. There was a reason I didn’t invite guys to stay for breakfast. Charlie was being so sweet, cleaning up—and was that tea I smelled brewing?—but that was exactly the problem. Michael had been sweet like this, too, in the beginning. I’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. And look where that had gotten me: a death spiral of hurt and bad decisions and worse tabloid headlines.

  But now I was on my own again, and I liked it that way.

  I needed it that way. Needed the space to be myself. Although—

  I stopped that thought dead in its tracks. Didn’t matter that Charlie accepted—that he encouraged—me to be myself.

  He was still a man. And men fucked with my head.

  Charlie glanced up from the sink and saw me. He dropped the pan. It landed with a thud in the sink.

  I looked like hell—mouth and chin chapped from his beard, greasy hair, ratty leggings—but those eyes of his lit up with appreciation as they moved over me. Slowly. You’d think I was dressed for the red carpet the way he was savoring me. Like I was the most beautiful living thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

  Water poured from the faucet. The only noise between us.

  Standing there, I felt panic and lust and this weird, breathless kind of sorrow that was entirely new and entirely alarming. What was this?

  “Hey,” he said. Cleared his throat. “Good morning, Jane. How are you feeling?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. My nipples were hard. I didn’t want him to see.

  “I feel good,” I lied, nodding. “What about you?”

  Charlie turned off the water. “I feel great. I hope you don’t mind, but I made some tea.”

  He nodded at the simple porcelain pot beside the stove, fragrant steam curling from its spout.

  Something about the steam—the simple kindness of the gesture—made my eyes burn.

  Of course I don’t mind. But I still need you to leave.

  “You’re sweet,” I said. I didn’t move. I was worried if I got any closer to Charlie my resolve would go up in smoke. Poof.

  He wiped his hands with the towel that had been on his shoulder. Watching me, his eyes changed.

  He looked away, a tight smile on his lips as he folded the towel and set it on the counter. Because he couldn’t leave one bloody thing untidy.

  “You want me to go, don’t you?” he asked.

  I shifted against the doorframe.

  Charlie looked up. His eyes were soft. Blue. “Was it something I did, or…”

  “No,” I said. “No, that’s not it at all. Last night—it was great. I mean that. I just—you know. I want to keep things casual,
so—”

  “So you don’t do morning afters.”

  I swallowed. “I don’t. I’m sorry. It’s incredibly rude to ask you to go, especially after you made the tea and cleaned up and everything.” I looked around the kitchen. It was spotless. “Christ, Charlie, did you really have to do such a thorough job? I feel like a knob head now.”

  “You made dinner.” He shrugged. “Whoever makes dinner doesn’t clean up.”

  “Was that a rule in your house?” The question slipped out of my mouth without my permission. I didn’t want to be curious about Charlie. But I was. I was so curious I couldn’t contain it.

  “It was.” His smile turned a little sad. “My mom worked crazy hours and still somehow cooked for us every night. Owen and I always did the dishes so she could put her feet up for a minute.”

  I cocked a brow. “Owen? You have siblings?”

  Was I imagining it, or did Charlie’s cheeks just get a little pink? Like he’d just confessed an embarrassing secret.

  “Yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “A brother.”

  I nodded. “He sounds sweet, like you.”

  “Owen is many things,” Charlie replied easily. “Sweet definitely isn’t one of them.”

  “I know how that goes,” I said, grinning. “I love my brothers, but they can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

  He shrugged. “You don’t get to pick your family, that’s for damn sure.”

  My heart thumped. Wasn’t that the truth.

  “No,” I said. “You don’t.”

  Charlie’s eyes slid to meet mine. “Want to talk about why you’re so hell bent on keeping things casual? Last night—I don’t use this word often, Jane. But it was incredible. I don’t know about you, but this—us”—he motioned between us—“it feels special to me.”

  I swallowed again. Looked away. Looked down and toed at an invisible pebble. He was right. It did feel special. Different. I wanted to do it again. But I wasn’t sure I could do it without catching any more feelings than I already had. My independence, my health, both physical and mental—I’d just gotten it all back. I didn’t want to risk it again.

  “Charlie,” I said. “It’s been three days.”

  “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. I’m not asking you for any kind of commitment, Jane. But I do want to see you again.”

  The tile was cool against my bare toes. It was calming. Maybe because everything else felt so hot to the touch right now. My skin. My feelings.

  My memories of last night.

  “I wish you’d stop,” I said softly.

  “Stop what?”

  Stop pushing me up against things I’m not ready for.

  I looked up. “Stop being so wonderful.”

  He grinned, a quirk of one end of his mouth. “Now that is something I won’t apologize for.” Charlie settled his hand on the folded towel and leaned into it. “Look. It’s not my intent to push you. If you really want me to go, I’ll go. But I’d like to stay. At the very least I’d like to take you out again. So you just say the word—”

  “What word?” I said. “Farm boy?”

  His grin deepened at the Princess Bride reference. “Only if a yes comes before it.”

  I looked at him. I was very, very tempted to give him that yes. But I just wasn’t certain.

  Not yet. I needed some space. Time to process the events of the past seventy-two hours or however many hours three days was. It was all happening so bloody fast.

  I rolled my tongue between my lips. Charlie’s eyes narrowed in on my mouth. His gaze sharpened. He was as sore and as horny as I was. Had to be.

  “I need time,” I said.

  He pushed off the counter. His brow was creased with disappointment, but his tone was hopeful when he spoke.

  “Okay. Take all the time you need.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “For understanding.”

  His eyes searched mine. “You don’t need to thank me, Jane. You’re worth waiting for.” He put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “I’ll go get my stu—”

  “Jane! Janie! Where the bloody hell—oh!” Rob suddenly appeared in the doorway beside me. His eyes darted between Charlie and I. “Well well well. What have we here?”

  “Just let yourself in why don’t you.” I nudged him with my elbow. “And this is none of your business.”

  “Speaking of,” he said. “The two of you’ve been engaging in a bit of funny business, haven’t you?”

  Charlie was scratching the back of his head again. His cheeks were definitely pink now.

  “Rob, this is Charlie,” I said, clearing my throat. “Charlie, this is Rob, my brother.”

  Charlie stepped around the counter to offer Rob his hand. Did he have to look so adorable in his rumpled shirt and bare feet?

  He was so scrumptious it was almost a joke.

  “Nice to meet you,” Charlie said.

  Rob was wearing his usual shit eating grin. “So you two—”

  “Are friends,” I said quickly.

  Charlie looked at me, clearly desperate for guidance.

  “Friends,” he said. “Yeah. Yup.”

  “Friends who rub their naughty bits together, yeah?” Rob wagged his brows. “I hope I didn’t interrupt—”

  “You didn’t,” I said quickly. “What do you want, Rob?”

  “Just popping in to tell you Sunday roast is at our house today.” Rob looked at Charlie. “Why don’t you invite your ‘friend’ to join us, Jane?”

  Charlie’s eyes widened the tiniest bit. They flicked to meet mine.

  “Invite me to what?”

  I speared Rob with a glare. Don’t—

  “It’s a bit of a family tradition, yeah? The family gets together for Sunday roast every week and plays Monopoly. Used to be a bit more raucous, but then Josie—”

  “My brother Kit’s baby,” I explained.

  “Right,” Rob said. “When Josie came along last year, we toned it down a bit. Apparently babies look down on adults who take shots before lunch.”

  Charlie’s brow was still furrowed, but now it was an amused furrow. Leave it to Rob, the bloke they used to call the playboy prince, to lighten the mood. “I didn’t know babies were so judgmental.”

  “Right?” Rob said. “Terrible prudes. Don’t get me wrong, we love Josie more than life itself. But I wish she’d let up a bit on her rules.” He clapped his hands. “Right then. Are you coming, Charlie? We’d love to have you. The lads and I, we’re outnumbered these days, and could always use an extra coc—”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I said.

  “What?” Rob pulled back. “I was saying we could use an extra cocktail drinker. Those mimosas don’t drink themselves, Jane.”

  “Charlie is, er, the CEO of his company,” I said, scrambling to think of an out that wouldn’t embarrass me or hurt him. “I bet he’s got loads of work to catch up on, haven’t you?”

  “Actually,” Charlie said, tucking his hands back into his pockets. “I’m on vacation this week, so…”

  “So you’re coming.” Rob smiled. “Brilliant. Aly’s already got the food on. If you two wouldn’t mind bringing some wine, we’d be much obliged. See you in half an hour.” He pressed a quick kiss onto my cheek and ducked out of the kitchen.

  I stood very still until I heard the front door open and close. Then I looked at Charlie.

  “I’m really sorry about that,” I said. “My family—they’re not very big on boundaries.”

  Charlie smiled. “I noticed. Don’t worry about it. I think it’s cool you guys have Monopoly Sundays.”

  “It’s fun,” I said, nodding. “We’ve all got such busy schedules these days that we don’t see as much of each other as we’d like. So we make it a point to have a standing date once a week. Do you and your brother ever get together?”

  His smile faded a little. Tightened. “We work together, so we see each other a lot. We have all these big plans—to travel, you know, do things we’ve never done
—but we just…we can’t seem to find the time.”

  My swollen heart pulsed. For such a gregarious guy, Charlie struck me as sort of lonely. My family wasn’t perfect. Far from it, as evidenced by Rob’s behavior just now. But I couldn’t imagine not having them around. Couldn’t imagine a life where we didn’t get together as siblings and as friends. We’d been total shitheads to each other when we were younger. But after my parents died, we’d all sort of banded together. Gotten closer. No one understood that loss—and this particular way of life—quite like they did. They were a great comfort. Great fun, too.

  “Anyway.” Charlie stepped toward me. Toward the door. “I know you wanted me to go, so as great as Monopoly sounds, I’ll leave—”

  “Wait.” I touched his arm. Met his eyes. “I’m not going to let you spend your Sunday alone. Come to lunch.”

  He hesitated.

  “Come to lunch,” I repeated. “I want you there, Charlie. If only to see if you’re as good at Monopoly as you are at blackjack.”

  Charlie smiled. A brilliant, unguarded smile. It made me think I’d made the right call to invite him. Michael had never really fit in with my brothers—mostly because he was a terrible snob and they weren’t. But I had a feeling they’d get along with Charlie swimmingly.

  That gave me pause.

  Maybe inviting him had been the biggest mistake ever.

  “All right,” he said. “I’d like that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Charlie

  The dining room was formal, but the people in it were anything but.

  Bottle of wine in hand, I watched from the doorway as Jane’s siblings and their significant others laughed with each other. Cursed at each other. As they passed a chubby, groggy baby around the table, tucking her into the crooks of their arms with warm familiarity.

  The smell in Rob’s house—it took me right back to nights at home when mom cooked. Was there a homier smell than a meal made from scratch? I thought not. It made my stomach growl and my chest hurt.