Risking the Crown (The Crown 2)

He hesitated in the doorway of the bathroom. “You’re missing out, love.”

I pulled a cream-colored dress from my bag and tried to shake the wrinkles from the fabric.

“Why, because I don’t want to be your whore for the next three weeks? What was I thinking?” I rolled my eyes.

“I’ve never asked a woman to spend that much time with me.”

I realized his tone wasn’t flirty anymore. He was serious. I looked up from my pile of clothes.

“What? Surely you’ve had a girlfriend.”

He shook his head. “Never. Not my style.”

“Really, you’ve never dated the same woman for a month? A few weeks, at least? High school? College?” This didn’t seem possible.

He leaned into the frame. “No.”

My heart leapt more than it should have. I felt a rush of excitement. How was that true? Almost every woman who crossed paths with him wanted to sleep with him. He had more sexual magnetism than a team of male strippers in Vegas.

“Why do you think that is?” I sat on the corner of the bed.

He shrugged. I wished he would put on some clothes, but he seemed content showing off his rock-hard body.

“Maybe I haven’t met the right girl.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re a player and no one girl is good enough for you.”

“Maybe that was true before now.”

Did I hear him correctly? “You’re feeding me lines. More of your asshole antics. Seriously, you’ve got to make some changes—” I started to lecture him when he crossed the room and pressed me back on the bed, shutting me up with a kiss.

My head spun and my knees shook. His tongue slipped between my lips and twisted along mine. He gripped my shoulders with strong, powerful hands.

“Love, you need to do this for me.”

I looked into his eyes, dark as coal. His entire body was pressed against me. His naked body, hot and firm. I sank into the bed.

“I don’t have to do anything for you, Lachlan. You got yourself into this mess.”

But my breathing was rapid and my core was quickly tightening. I could feel his erection pressed against my thigh. My body was unraveling faster than I could convince myself everything about his offer was unethical and wrong. Another part of me would even label it as dirty and cheap.

He wanted an Olympic mistress to keep him on track. Why couldn’t he stop boozing and keep his cock in his pants on his own? It seemed simple enough to me. He was here to represent his country and play soccer. Not get drunk and get laid every night.

“It seems like you might be the only person who cares if I get out of it.” His eyes lit with a new kind of fire.

He was crazy if he thought I was actually going to consider this ridiculous proposal.

“You should care. It’s your career too. You’ll lose your last endorsement. You could end up without a team. Without a dime.”

His hand was on the band of my pajama pants.

“Not if you help me,” he growled, lowering his head to my shoulder.

Shit. His tongue was like a flame licking my skin. I closed my eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve never had a girlfriend. It’s not a game to me. This is my future. I’ve worked hard to be where I am. Why would I risk that to get tangled up with you?”

The words came out of my mouth, but I didn’t know how. His fingers had pushed my elastic band out of the way. His fingers curled around the curves of my bottom, squeezing me closer to him.