Playboy Prince

I want to spend the day here.

The weekend.

The month.

The rest of my life.

The two of us, tangled in the sheets, sweaty and out of breath, only breaking to eat, sleep, shower.

What could be better?

She stirs, blinks her eyes open, stretches her arms over her head. "Hey."

"Hey."

"What time is it?"

"Early." I brush a hair behind her ear. "Go back to bed."

"Are you leaving?"

"Gym."

"Do you have to?"

"No." I don't want to go. I want to stay here. I want to hold her close. I want to collapse in her arms.

It's too tempting.

It's dangerous.

The wedding is a week away.

That's it. I have to keep this shit together, my shit and Preston's, until the happy couple heads to the honeymoon suite.

Then it's his problem.

Then, I can soak in the weight of the situation.

I want to stay.

I want to stay forever.

"Okay." Briar nods into her pillow, rolls over, falls back asleep.

A laugh spills from my lips.

Perfect. Fucking. Response.

I watch her sleep for another minute, then I climb out of bed, get ready, head to the gym in the building.

When I was a kid, my dad made sure we exercised. He thought running laps around the house built character. Even though the boarding school I attended was focused on academics, there was no question.

Of course, I was participating in athletics.

Water polo in the fall, swimming in the spring. Not the sports he'd choose, but sufficiently exclusive.

Pools are expensive. Especially in New York.

The routine is drilled into me. Five mornings a week, I rise early, run or lift weights or swim laps. Today is leg day. There's too much time to think between sets.

I shift from the warmth of Briar's laugh to the sweetness of her groan to the desperation of Preston's expression.

Like I’m the only thing between him and oblivion.

No, oblivion is coming for him, fast, whether he wants it to or not. We're all in the same fucking boat there. But the thought of adding memento mori to my list of cliché tattoos isn't doing shit to soothe me.

I don't want to consider oblivion. I don't want to lie for Preston. I don't want to watch him die.

But I don't have a choice there. Yes, I can speak up, I can refuse more bullshit, I can even run away.

He'll still die.

I'll still lose him.

I'll still be a thousand pieces on the floor.

For one more day, I want to forget. I want to lose myself in Briar's laugh, smile, groan.

She's not an angel here to save me, but, fuck, sometimes it feels like it.

I hold on to the warm, soft feeling of her body against mine as I finish, head home, shower, dress, fix coffee.

A knock on the door interrupts any possibility of peace.

A courier with a sealed package.

My information from Ian.

Whatever the fuck it is Simon is hiding.

The ugly truth, in all its glory.

The one thing I can't handle.

"Hey." Briar's voice startles me. "Did you join the CIA?"

"Huh?" I slip the package under my arm as I turn to face her.

"That looks serious." She cinches her robe. "Is it?"

Very.

I offered Simon a truce. It didn't specifically include these terms. Technically, I'm in the clear to look, but…

"It's nothing you need to worry about," I say.

"Do you need to worry about it?"

"Not right now."

"You sure?"

I watch her teeth sink into her lower lip, watch her expression shift from curious to then how about you fuck me now and I am.

One more fucking day of peace.

The whole week even.

Then, I fall apart.

But now?

Now, I fuck her senseless.

I spend the weekend tangled in Briar. I fix her breakfast. I convince her to watch The Matrix, then I fuck her on the couch.

We order lunch, eat Caesars on the balcony, talk about the future of robots taking over and raves going underground.

Then she takes me to the bedroom and fucks me and we spend an eternity tangled in my bed, in the sheets, warm and safe and far away from the rest of the world.

Over brunch and eggplant parm and Death Cab for Cutie and an entire afternoon in my bed.

It's perfect.

On Monday, I wake, I hide the sealed file in my suitcase. I wake her up, fix her tea, head to work to face the world.

The week moves fast. She's training her replacement. I'm setting up her team, her tech, her support.

Before I know it, we're sitting in a limo, on the way to the mansion, for the all-day rehearsal dinner.

My last sliver of heaven before I charge into battle.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Briar

I thought Liam was being metaphorical when he said Adam locked himself in his castle, but the Pierce mansion is straight out of a fairy tale.

Steep roof, sweeping vistas, wrought iron gate.

An actual castle at the very end of Long Island.

Even on a warm May day, surrounded by blue skies and puffy clouds, the place looks ornate and ominous. If anything, the blue sky is a stark contrast to the mansion's untouchable vibe.