Royal Bastard (Instantly Royal 1)

“So where is she?” Mason asked with a chuckle.

“Over there.” There was no use in denying it. Nick jerked his chin toward her but kept his gaze on his pint.

His friend let out a low whistle. “So what’s the story? Who is she? And what’s with your shy maiden routine here?”

“Fuck you.”

Mace just gave him a shit-eating grin.

He flipped off his oldest friend.

Mace didn’t seem fazed by his reaction. “You know you’re going to tell me all about her anyway, so you might as well get it over with.”

Nick dropped his voice, not that he’d really get overheard; the pub was as loud as ever with all the movie folks squeezed into the space. “That’s Brooke Chapman-Powell and she’s a total ballbuster.”

“I like her already.” Mace clinked his pint glass against Nick’s. “Tell me more.”

So he did, giving only the briefest explanation of what had happened in his room after he’d tried to crack his brain open in the bathroom, the kiss in the stable house, and his plan to get her back in his bed.

And up went Mace’s raised eyebrow of inquisition. “So you’re just going to sit back and let the tension build between you two until she decides that screwing you isn’t such a bad idea?”

It wasn’t exactly how he’d put it, but Nick couldn’t argue with his friend’s summation of his plan. So he didn’t.

After thirty seconds of silence between the men, Mace leaned forward and jabbed a finger in Nick’s face. “Who are you and what did you do with the guy who declared that women were easy come, easy go so why get hung up on a specific one?”

He smacked away his friend’s hand and signaled to Phillip for another round. “I’m not hung up on her.”

Mace snorted. “Good to know.”

The man couldn’t be any more wrong. Nick wasn’t hung up on Brooke. He just couldn’t figure her out, that was all. He was a problem solver, a puzzle figure outer, a riddle answerer, so it wasn’t in him to ignore such a complicated woman as Brooke Chapman-Powell. That’s the only reason why she’d gotten under his skin. Really. It was.

…

Brooke couldn’t stop watching him. The easy confidence that wafted off him as he stood in the middle of a scrum of Americans made her heart speed up. The knowing smile that curled his lips whenever he looked her way and caught her watching had her nipples pebbling and pressing against the confines of her bra. And the sound of his deep voice that somehow she managed to hear over the chatter of everyone else in the pub? There weren’t words to describe it, just a feeling of hot, hungry anticipation. It was the beer. It had to be. The other night had been an aberration.

Daisy’s well-placed elbow to Brooke’s ribs snatched her attention away from the man she most decidedly wasn’t picturing naked. Pressing her hand to her side, she glared at her little sister. Daisy didn’t seem to care.

“What is going on with you and Nick?” her sister asked, keeping her eyes on Brooke to read her lips.

Heat bloomed in Brooke’s cheeks. “Mr. Vane.”

Daisy rolled her eyes and took a sip of her pint. “Try again, sis.”

“Nothing is going on.” Well, not right now. Not since that kiss that had burned in the best very bad way.

Her sister’s eyes went round and she gasped. “You shagged him again, didn’t you?”

Was there a heat level hotter than lava? Because that was her face at the moment. “You’re pissed.”

Her sister closed her mouth—thank you very much—and looked around the pub. Luckily the regulars were more interested in covertly watching the American movie people than her and her sister. Well, all but Riley. He sat at a table with his mates, sneaking peeks at Daisy.

Daisy leaned in close and did her best attempt at a whisper. “How was it?”

“Passable.” And now her pants were on fire along with her face.

Her sister snorted. “Fibber.”

“Okay, it was good.” She glanced over at Nick. “Really good. Great.” He winked and her body went from kinda-into-it to get-me-new-knickers in a heartbeat. That’s not allowed, Brooke. “And it’s not happening again.”