by Ella James
My eyes trail up from her ankles, over her bare calves, up her creamy, curvy thighs, which I realize are bare because she’s in a robe. With her knees crisscrossed, it’s ridden up a little.
Jesus Christ, she’s gorgeous. What is she still doing here?
I guess she feels my gaze on her, because her eyes flit over to me. When they find my face, they widen; her mouth breaks into a big grin.
“Hi there! You’re awake.”
“Seems so.” I push myself up on one of my elbows, squeezing my dry eyes shut for a second before I look around the room. It looks…normal I guess. There’s some flowers on a table in one of the corners. Red tulips.
I note an unfamiliar Macbook on another little table. And some lip balm on my nightstand.
“You’ve been a little out of it for the last two days.”
I blink at her, feeling dumb as fuck. A little? I don’t even remember day turning to night.
I swallow, sit up further, roll my—
“Fuck.”
“Your shoulder, yeah… How does it feel?”
I test it with a smaller movement, finding, “It’s okay.”
“Good.” She walks over to the bed, sticking her hands in her robe’s deep pockets. “Dr. Burns said it should be getting better.”
I nod.
There’s this moment when we’re staring at each other. Lucy looks a little shy. I feel like the best thing I can do is run. Goddamn, I’m so fucking embarrassed. I cover my eyes with one hand, hoping she’ll think the bright light from the open windows is hurting my head.
I feel her body indent the mattress. Followed by her arms around my shoulders, then her mouth against my temple. “Please don’t act weird with me. Don’t be shy and stuff. You’ve been a perfect gentleman and totally sexy lying around in only boxer-briefs. I’ve seen a lot of the crown jewels.”
I feel her cheek curve up, pressing against mine. She pulls slightly away, and I can see her smile is sincere. She wiggles her eyebrows, looking beautiful and teasing.
My eyes close. I don’t mean to, but they act on their own. I can’t fucking look at her.
“You can go at any time,” I hear myself say in a gruff voice. “I’ll be okay.”
Lucy hits my shoulder. I crack my eyes open. “Liam Clary. I can’t believe that you would pull that shit on me.”
“What? That I’ll be fine?” My temper breaks like a fucking ocean wave. I find I’m gritting my teeth, my pulse pounding in my temples. “I am fine.”
“I know you are. Do you think I’m here because I thought you’d die without me? I realize you’re a prince, Liam. There are people lined up out the hallway to take care of you and help. People who you know and trust. People who have signed their NDAs, so don’t worry. I haven’t let any of them in here because I wanted to be with you.”
“Making sure I stick around for baby?”
Lucy’s face darkens. Her mouth flattens, then she chews her lip. I wait for her to speak—or leave.
THIRTY-ONE
Lucy
I’m not really surprised. I figured he would be embarrassed when he woke up. Someone like Liam—of course he would be.
I’m not a moron. I realize he probably sees himself as a cool, collected bachelor type. Despite the things he said to me in our brief time together, Liam is young and filthy rich and charming. I don’t know if I can trust the things he said about his feelings for me now that he’s sober, but I knew he’d be embarrassed when he realized that I’d stuck around and nursed him through his first few days of detox.
Logically, I know I shouldn’t be surprised or hurt.
And yet…
I sigh, and climb up onto the foot of his bed.
“You’re in a grouchy mood.”
“You think?”
I can’t help smiling slightly at him, at this grumpy Liam with short hair and a gorgeous, sullen mouth.
“I do think.” I arch an eyebrow at him, and I notice his cheek twitch. “Don’t smile, Liamie. Don’t. I’m serious. If you smile, I’ll have to jump on you and kick your ass for being such a grumpy jerkface.”
One side of his mouth tugs up. With effort, he flattens it back out.
“I might have to kiss the smile off your mouth. If you smile.”
And there he goes. I grin back at him, triumphant, then I launch myself at his bare chest.
The Liam who wraps his arms around me is so glorious and warm, hard muscle under velvety soft skin still tanned from his wild summer.
His mouth—on my forehead first—feels so, so right. Then his lips trail down my cheek. His tongue glides into my mouth, and our kissing deepens. Liam groans, the sound lost against my skin although I feel it echo in the tightness of his body.
“Christ…”
And then we’re falling into each other. My hands searching for his hair at first, then seizing on his neck as I kiss him as hard as I can, as hard as I’ve wanted to the last few days. Liam pulls me so close my breasts are mashed against his chest. He gropes my ass, then flips me over, pressing me into his pillows as he climbs atop me.
“Lucy… Lucy, Lucy.” I watch as his body curves, his handsome face drawing nearer as he kisses—bites my throat. His mouth is hard and warm, spreading chills over my body, making me gasp, then groan as his teeth bite…and then his tongue laves: warm, soft velvet.
“You think you can stay here and escape this?” His mouth moves underneath my jaw, making my body jolt with pleasure; then his lips are back on mine. He’s rough, almost infuriated as he dominates my mouth and strokes my body, reaching into my robe, in between my legs. His fingers probe inside me, filling me deliciously, making me moan and arch against him.
“Liam…”
“Isn’t this what you wanted? Did you stay around so I would fuck you one more time?”
He leans down between my legs, his wide shoulders forcing my knees apart as his mouth inches closer to my pussy. “I’ll be glad to fuck you.”
Even as his tongue laps my clit and my body jolts, I’m grabbing at his shorter hair. I press myself against his face, driven by pure need, trying to speak, to tell him that he’s full of shit. But I’m no match for his tongue and fingers.
I end up moaning, nearly screaming, as he feasts on my most tender skin. I come twice—hard—before he lifts me off the bed. He’s lying down now, boxer-briefs gone, his long cock hard, his hand pumping around it.
“Get on top of me, Lucy. I need that body… Need to be inside you.”
His eyes glow, but they look hard—and different. I’m not sure what he’s looking to prove, but I don’t care. I want him so much, I care so much, I can do nothing but position myself over him and spread myself so I can take his long, thick cock. I sit down on him slowly, watching the strain across his face as I cover him inch by slow, glorious inch.
Then I’m so full I can’t help but cry out. Liam is moving, clutching me and thrusting. I peek at his face and find his jaw is clenched, his eyes shut tightly. I notice his taut nipples and I want to pinch one—so I do, and his eyes flip open.
“Such a bad girl, Lucy.”
Before I know it, we’ve flipped, and I’m on bottom. Liam is driving into me with force that makes me scream, that makes me slick, that makes me dig my nails into his skin.
He fucks me like he wants to punish me, coming as hard as I do in the end. I watch his face and torso as he comes, his cock jerking inside me, his thick arms stiffening over me. His eyes are shut as he pulls out and turns away.
He stays there, sitting on his knees, my view the muscled grooves of his amazing ass. I watch his hand drag back, seeking his longer hair. I watch his fingers as they squeeze his neck.
When he turns to me, his face is hard and so cold, I feel sick before he even speaks.
“I turned to drinking, Lucy, because of…stress. I didn’t realize that I couldn’t stop, but maybe that’s because I didn’t want to realize. That’s my fault. It’s all on me. And it’s weakness. Nothing more and nothing less.” I open my mouth,
but the look on his face quiets me. “You don’t know who I am, Lucy. Not really.”
“I do, too—”
His jaw tightens as he stares down at me. Shakes his head. “I’m not royal. I’m not a prince. And I don’t want a princess.”
When I don’t respond—because I’m too confused—he knee-walks to me, lifts me up, and sets me on the rug beside his bed.
He passes me my robe. “I want some time alone, please. We can talk some other time.”
Without another look into my eyes, he gets down off the bed and disappears into the bathroom. Soon after, I hear the shower water.
Holy fucking hell. I gather Grey into my arms and walk slowly across the hall.
* * *
Liam
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so loved—or hated myself so fucking much. I stay in my bathroom until the steam’s so thick it’s choking me. Because I know she’ll be in my room when I come out. I know Lucy. She’ll be there with open arms, because that’s how she is. She’s good and kind and perfect. Not what I deserve at all.
I feel so sure she’ll be there waiting in a chair or on my bed, I do something I’ve not done in years: I sink down to the floor and cross myself and say a silent prayer.
That when I tell her how damn sorry I am for what I said a little while ago, she’ll see I mean it and forgive me. That I can explain the wreck that is my life and she won’t see me the way I’m sure that everybody else would: Weak. Pathetic.
It’s no shock I’m not a king. I’ve never had the traits one needs to rule. I can’t even control myself. But I can control the way I treat Lucy.
I can give her everything I have. Her and our baby.
I can get down on my knees and say I’m sorry that I treated her so crassly after she gave me so fucking much kindness.
I find it fitting that the only clothing I have at my disposal is a black robe. Naked. Draped in darkness.
By the time I get the nerve to open up the bathroom door and step into my room, I’m feeling sick and shaky, embarrassed and ashamed and needy. God, I want her so much.
When I step out, my room is empty.
THIRTY-TWO
Lucy
I’m walking in a grove beyond the stables when I hear the crunch of tires behind me. I don’t even turn around at first—but I go warm: my head and stomach, all at once.
Thank God. I figured Liam would find me. It’s been almost an hour. If he didn’t show up soon, I was going to go back to his room and demand he talk to me. Explain himself.
As I’ve wandered, I’ve been trying to make sense of what he told me. That he’s not a royal. Not a prince.
Stressed out. Drinking. Not a prince.
What does it mean?
My best guess is he found out maybe he’s…a child his mother made with someone other than King Gregory? That fits some of his murmured ramblings: about someone named Drucilla, who he called “disgusting” and referenced once as “my fucking sister;” about needing to give someone money; about “when everyone finds out my name.”
I stop walking and close my eyes. Poor Liam. When I get into the car with him, I hope I say the right things.
I turn slowly, schooling my face so I don’t look angry or overly upset or like I pity him.
The face I see through the windshield is angry. So, so angry, fear flares in my chest. I’m scared of Liam. Except—as he rolls closer—I realize that’s not Liam.
*
I don’t know who it is, I don’t know why he’s here, but when I realize it’s not Liam behind the wheel of my rented Range Rover, something deep inside me screams RUN!
I run into the trees, away from the castle and the stables. I run toward the ocean—and I feel okay until I note the absence of the engine sound. Until I hear the pounding of footsteps on the grassy ground behind me.
I hear a snarled, “You fucking bitch” before his great weight slams into me, taking me down. I hit the forest floor so hard the breath is driven from my lungs.
The baby!
Before I have the breath and wherewithal to roll onto my back, I’m slung over a thick shoulder and carted in the direction of my rental car. I realize I should scream—so I start screaming.
Something hard hits me in the back of the head.
I hear a woman’s throaty laughter.
Somewhere distant, I’m aware I’m lying down and moving. I see trees move through a car window. Maybe hear the screech of tires.
“Did you get the cat?” a male voice asks.
“I sure did,” the female coos. “What a good boy you are…”
I’m confused. And tired. Who would want my cat and me?
I hear the name “Dru” and a light bulb flares inside my head. It’s quickly extinguished.
* * *
“I can see the attraction,” says a British-sounding female voice. “She’s definitely the prettiest of the three.”
“That text to Heath was a godsend,” says a lower voice.
I hear a woman’s sultry laugh. “Only Liam. So frantic. He always was the settle down and play house type.”
“With the two of them looking for her… I’m not sure what’s best to do,” the male says after a moment.
“I still vote in favor of simply calling him. Have him meet me here—he’s a few days late with the cash, which he’s likely well aware of—and don’t mention Lucille Rhodes at all. He gets here, you and Briggs tie him up. We give Lucille the injection, let her ‘jump’ off of the rock, Liam goes in after her in his drugged state and drowns. Leak the story through my contact at the Guardian that he was all but disinherited with questions of paternity, had been drinking, perhaps depressed…”
“And when it gets out that I’m really the king’s half brother?” the man asks.
“You’re the son of Gregory the first, as much entitled to the throne as our current moron king. Regardless of who your mother was. Liam’s death will only reflect more poorly on King Gregory. I’ve got a definite point of access to sources more than willing to verify our dear king struck poor Liam when he was young. So we’ve an abusive king, a dead, drowned son, and that atop an international celebrity scandal. Gregory looks horrid. You are pristine, leading a very popular shift in parliament, and you enact the vote as we’ve planned all along. No one will suspect you of anything untoward, father. One of the benefits of keeping your nose clean and not being an abrasive asshole.”
The man chuckles. “I guess it is pretty ironclad. You’re so much like me, Drucilla. Very much your father’s daughter.”
“So I’m told.”
“And you agree that no one knows, no one finds out, in this…scenario?”
“How would they?” Drucilla asks. “Liam is dead. No doubt he’ll be cremated quickly. You know Gregory won’t want his body tested for illegal drugs. Gregory won’t know Liam isn’t really your son. He won’t know; it’s neither here nor there. He assumes Liam is your bastard, always has, as we all know. Be that as it may, what reason would you have to kill him off? Your own son? If Liam was your son, he wouldn’t take the throne from you.”
“It’s true,” the deep voice says. “Gregory has always thought that Liam was mine. And he doesn’t know that I know his kids with that cunty current wife of his are illegitimate, from test tubes. So if he thinks Liam is my son, and doesn’t know I know that his living children can’t rise to the throne, you’re right—my nose is clean.”
“You’ve kept it clean for years. This is your reward, Daddy.”
I hear a chair creak. “I suppose it is. You’ll make a wonderful solicitor, Drucilla. You make your father very proud.”
“So shall I call him?”
“Yes. I agree, no texting.”
As their words stretch out and blur together, what I’ve learned swims through my mind.
Liam’s father hit him? That’s who gave him his scars? The king of Gael is a child abuser?
And he doesn’t believe Liam is his real son? He thinks Liam’s mother cheated?
; Is this guy, Drucilla’s father, really royal, or no? That detail evades me, courtesy of whatever drug I’ve been—
Oh my God, THE BABY!
FUCK! They gave me drugs!
As soon as the thought hits my mind, I feel a painful pinch between my legs. Oh my God, I’m cramping! Am I going to lose the baby?
Details roar into my mind: something about me falling off some rocks and Liam drowning.
Sick dread swamps me. I can barely breathe.
I try to open my eyes and find there’s something strapped over them, keeping me blindfolded. I try to move my arms, but they’re bound tightly behind my back. I try to move my feet, but of course, they too are bound.
I’m sucking air in through my nose when I realize I need to calm down somehow. Visualize. I don’t need to show them I’m awake.
I inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth and try to picture a tranquil island, my usual go-to visualization. All I can see is myself jumping off a cliff and Liam drowning, so I picture the mountains rising up behind my place in Estes.
You can do this, Lucy. Just be calm and think.
I try to remember everything I’ve learned in therapy since what Bryce did. How to do a mental check over my body and acknowledge all the pain, and accept it so I can think around it. My head hurts, my mouth hurts, my wrists hurt, my lower belly hurts, my legs hurt, my ankles hurt…
Okay.
I’m lying on a mattress or a bed, I think. A couch, maybe. It’s something soft. I can feel air blowing near one of my hands. Maybe an air vent? Am I on a mattress on the floor? A futon?
I realize with a start that I should be listening for more conversation. But…there isn’t any. Everything is quiet now, as if they’ve left.
God, my brain is scrambled. I wonder what they gave—
Oh no you don’t!
I can’t think about that, because it will lead me to think about the baby. Thinking about not thinking about the baby sends a bolt of horror through me. I acknowledge it and then set it aside.