Royally Screwed

And lust surges through me like I’ve been struck by lightning.

She glides toward the window, gazing out. And damn, she makes a pretty picture—pale, bare arms, rivulets of long, black hair that fall just above the swell of a perfect, tight arse. I like the look of her here—in my rooms—amongst my things.

I’d like the view even more if she weren’t still wearing her dress.

“Can we go outside?” Olivia asks.

I nod, then open the door to the large stone balcony. She steps out and I follow her. The temperature was milder today and the snow has been removed, of course. Olivia’s gaze dances over the full potted evergreens that bookend the beige cushioned furniture, and the glow of the burning fire pits in the corners casts the area in a warm orange light.

“So this is like, your prison yard?” she teases.

“That’s right. They let me out for fresh air and exercise—but only if I behave.”

“Not too shabby.”

I shrug. “It’ll do.”

We walk side by side along the walled edge, holding hands. And I’m reminded of my first social event—I’m all worked up and exhilarated, and at the same time mildly terrified of screwing up.

“So what’s it like,” she asks softly, “having everything set, knowing exactly what you’re going to do for the rest of your life?”

“You have the coffee shop. It’s not so different.”

“Yeah, but my family needed me to run it. I didn’t choose that.”

I snort. “Neither did I.”

She thinks that over, then asks, “But are you excited? Like Simba, are you all, ‘I just can’t wait to be king’?”

“Simba was a fool.” I shake my head and push at the hair that brushes my forehead. “And considering me being king would mean my grandmother was dead—excited wouldn’t be the word I’d use.” I slip into interview mode. “But, I look forward to fulfilling my birthright and leading Wessco with honor, dignity and grace.”

Olivia tugs my hand to a stop. Her eyes flicker over my face, her lips curled. “I call bullshit.”

“What?”

“Total bullshit. ‘Honor, dignity and grace,’” she imitates, accent included. “Those are pretty words, but they don’t mean anything. How does it really feel?”

How does it really feel?

I feel like a fawn trying out its legs for the first time—wobbly and strange. Because no one’s ever dug past my pat answer. No one’s ever asked me for more. For real and genuine.

I don’t know if anyone’s ever actually cared.

But Olivia wants those answers—I can see it in the soft curves of her face as she waits patiently. She wants to know me.

And my chest tightens desperately—because I suddenly want the exact same thing.

“The best way to describe it, I guess…” I lick my lips. “Imagine you’re in medical school, studying to be a surgeon. You’ve read all the books, observed the surgeries being performed, you’ve prepared. And for your whole life everyone around you has said what an amazing surgeon you’ll be. It’s your destiny. Your calling.”

My eyes are drawn to hers. And I don’t know what she sees in mine, but I find comfort in hers. Enough to go on.

“But then that moment comes—the day when it’s your turn to go it alone. And they put the scalpel in your hand and…it’s all up to you. That, I imagine, is quite a ‘holy fuck’ moment.”

“I bet.”

“That’s what the idea of becoming king feels like. A ‘holy fuck’ moment.”

Olivia takes a step forward but loses her balance, tripping on the pointy heel of her shoe, and I catch her. She collides with my chest, my arms around her, meeting at her lower back…and she stays just there.

With her gloriously soft breasts against my hard chest, we freeze—staring, breaths mingling.

“Frigging boots,” she whispers, so near to my mouth.

A smile tugs at me. “I like the frigging boots. Seeing you in them—and nothing else—would really make my day.”

And then my head is lowering and Olivia is reaching up, each of us drawing toward the other. Her silky hair slides over my fingers as I cup her cheek. My smile fades away, replaced with something more raw, more desperate.

Heat and hunger.

Because I’m going to kiss her now—and when the thump of her heartbeat quickens against my chest, I know she knows it.

Wants it, just as much as I do.

My nose brushes hers and those dark blue eyes close slowly…

And then Logan clears his throat loudly.

Meaningfully.

“Ahem.”

I swallow back a curse and look up. “What?”

“Camera flash.”

Fuck.

“Where?”

He lifts his chin. “Roof of the high-rise. Nine o’clock.”

I turn my back on the city, keeping Olivia tucked against my chest. “We should head inside.”

Olivia looks adorably dazed. She peeks over my shoulder at the dark sky, then lets me guide her inside. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Unfortunately. Long-range camera lenses—as accurate as rifles.”

Back inside, Olivia’s lips stretch into a long, wide yawn, and I try to stop the chain of indecent thoughts that follow. Damn, but her mouth is beautiful.

If I don’t get in there soon, it may actually kill me.

“Excuse me.” She covers her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” I glance at my watch—it’s after midnight. She was on her feet all day and has to be up again in four hours. “I should’ve picked you up earlier.”