Royal Bastard (Instantly Royal 1)

“I’ve got the perfect solution. A zombie ball.”

Her gaze sharpened. “A what?”

This was a conversation that was going to take some time. And there was room on the corner of her bed. That’s why he made his way over there. Not because his dick was controlling the rest of him. Not. At. All. The bed creaked just a bit under his weight. One more bit of proof that the money this movie could bring in would be useful.

“Okay, tell me everything,” Brooke ordered in true Lady Lemons fashion.

So he did. By the time he finished bringing her up to speed, he’d somehow ended up higher on the bed, stealing half of her pillow, as he lay on top of the covers and she remained underneath. His eyelids had drooped downward as he gave her the last of the information. Brooke’s steady breathing and slow-to-come questions told him that she was just as tired as he was.

“I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute, then I’ll go back to my room,” he said, giving in to the rightness of being with her in that moment.

Her muffled reply sounded something like “okay,” and she snuggled up next to him, her warm breath against his neck. Somewhere in the back of his mind, alarm bells rang, but not loud enough to jolt him out of bed.

…

Brooke woke up the next morning and her bed was empty. She should have been happy about that.

Too bad she wasn’t.

Her pillow smelled like him. She knew because she’d taken a whiff—okay, several long, deep inhales—before coming downstairs to the dining room where the earl and Nick were already sitting at the table digging into eggs and rashers of bacon. Nick had a giant steaming mug of coffee next to his plate. The earl had tea whitened with milk. Why was she noticing this? Because the second Nick had glanced up and looked at her with a heat that sizzled, her brain went on the fritz.

Her gaze dropped to the worn carpet and she used all three of her brain cells still functioning to get her feet to move one step in front of the other over to the buffet set up and then over to the table with her own plate filled with—she focused on the plate—jam and bacon.

That’s just brilliant, Brooke. No one will see that as odd at all.

Determined not to seem as if anything is amiss, she smoothed her linen napkin across her lap and snapped off a bite of crisp bacon. The only noise in the room was the crunch, crunch of her chewing. Awkward? Not in the least.

Finally, Nick broke the silence. “I had a friend from the States call me this morning.”

“Fascinating,” the earl said from behind his paper.

The vein in Nick’s temple pulsed and a frustrated growl escaped his lips. The sound made her heartbeat tick up. That wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be turned on right now. Still, she couldn’t deny that the noise he made that was so close to the sound he made when she teased his cock with her tongue the other night had her clenching her thighs together. That’s it. She was officially going mad.

Nick tossed his napkin on his plate. “You know, you could try not to act like such a stuffed shirt, especially when the news I have to share could give this place a little financial breathing room.”

The earl snapped his newspaper closed, folded it in half with clipped motions, and laid it on the table to the left of his plate. After a deep, cleansing breath, he directed a withering look at Brooke. “Ms. Chapman-Powell, I was very clear about not including anyone else in confidential financial information.”

Brook’s cheeks went lava hot. “I never—”

“Are you serious?” Nick broke in. “She never said anything—not that it mattered. I’d have to be completely clueless not to see that this place is barely hanging on.”

The Vane stubbornness flashed in the earl’s eyes. “It is none of your concern.”

As the two men faced off, resentment and frustration made the air spark enough that Brooke forgot all about the ridiculousness of her bacon and jam breakfast. She should say something to calm the moment down before it went nuclear, and she would if she knew what in the bloody hell to say. Instead, she froze just like she had the moment she’d found Reggie with his head buried between another woman’s thighs—now wasn’t that a memory she wanted fresh and tender.

“I am your heir,” Nick said, his tone a dangerous growl.

If it had any impact on the earl, the older man didn’t show it. “That may be; however, you aren’t the earl yet.”

“Hundreds of thousands of pounds. That’s how much they’ll pay, but the production company needs nearly full access to the house for their shoot and the two lead actors will need to stay here. “

That jolted Brooke in her chair. That kind of money promised opportunity for Dallinger Park and Bowhaven. She couldn’t let the earl’s innate snobby posh stubbornness mess this up for everyone.

“Have you gone mad?” the earl asked, disapproval thick in his voice.

“Are you saying Dallinger Park, the place you love so damn much that you’re willing to accept an American bastard in all the ways that count as your heir couldn’t use that money?” Nick glanced over at Brooke and winked at her as if he was just discussing the weather instead of something with genuine and extreme importance. “Or the university for the deaf you support?” He turned back to the earl. “Or the villagers who are holding on to each penny since the factory closed?”