The Billionaire King’s Heir (European Billionaire Beaus 3)

“Rafael.” Felicity said his name, and there they went—all the rules. Or at least most of them. “Please.”

They were done for.

“What are you asking me?” He had to force out the words, because he wanted her so badly that it was all he could do to make himself speak. “Tell me what you’re asking for, Felicity.”

“Kiss me.” She tilted her face toward his, and that was all the invitation he needed to take her face in his hands and kiss those pouty lips.

Felicity was unleashed.

She tightened her grip around his neck, adding another arm, and when he coaxed her mouth open with his tongue she made a little noise in the back of her throat.

He tugged her over to a sofa, right there next to the table where she’d just hosted the tea party. Rafael felt blinded by how much he wanted her, wanted this. His ideas about the rules, about propriety, clamored in the back of his mind but couldn’t break through that haze. He didn’t want to break through the haze. She tasted so good.

Felicity raised her legs and wrapped them around his waist, and the sensation was so intimate that he forgot to breathe.

Clothes. There was the matter of clothes. Hers had to come off first, and then—

Felicity rolled over to give him access to the back of her dress and something on the carpet admitted a horrible noise.

That brought him back to reality. “What was that?” He searched around with one hand and came up with a small squeaking toy in the shape of a tiger. “What’s this?”

Felicity laughed, pushing herself upright and smoothing down her hair. The mood had been broken wide open, and with more than a little frustration, Rafael tossed the toy back to the carpet. He was not enjoying the sensation of being brought to his senses, but there they were, taking a risk like this on the floor of the playroom. If anyone had walked in…

He stood up, brushing himself off, and offered her a hand. They were in silent agreement as they walked toward the door, Felicity adjusting her clothes. Before they crossed the threshold, they both stopped, looking out into the empty hallway. Down the hall, someone spoke to another person, voices low, but close enough that a tiny part of Rafael was glad that they’d stopped.

“That was close,” Felicity said quietly, and when he looked at her it was obvious that she felt just as hot and bothered as he did, maybe more.

“Very close.” He wanted to say that it couldn’t continue, but she smiled at him and went out.

It would have been a lie, anyway.

7

He’d been going about it all wrong, Rafael saw once his head had a chance to clear and truly process what he’d seen at the tea party. All the velvet ropes and public appearances with heightened expectations had put Felicity out of her element, and that was a miscalculation for everybody. Felicity was in her element when she was with Hope and Joy—actually with them, not separated by official duties and conflicting sets of instructions.

Which was why he’d agreed when Felicity suggested this outing.

The official motorcade pulled up in front of the grocery store, a family-owned business that had been in the same location in the center of the capital for a century. Hope clapped her hands as Felicity climbed out and came around to the door to get her out, flashing Rafael a nervous smile.

“Are you sure you want to be seen grocery shopping with me? Isn’t it a little…” She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you have people to do this?”

He did, in fact, have people to do the grocery shopping. “Of course I do. But you’ve been doing your shopping all your life. It’ll be good for people to see it.”

The press was waiting on the sidewalk behind a velvet rope. “Felicity!” called one man. “Was the food at the palace not adequate?”

Felicity laughed, a big smile lighting up her face. “I want my daughter to have a good relationship with food and people,” she said smoothly. “That means we can grocery shop for ourselves every now and again.” She gave them a wave and continued into the store, where she put Hope into the seat of the cart. Rafael followed, practically bursting with pride. The sessions with Lydia had been working, and coming up with a makeshift database had helped, too. It let Felicity relax enough to give simple, direct answers that the reporters loved.

The press wouldn’t follow them into the store—Stolvenian reporters recognized some boundaries, and shopkeepers weren’t afraid to ask them to stand outside—but they would take photos through the window. Felicity frowned. “We need to head for fruits and veggies, first thing. Hope has been turning them down at every opportunity.” She leaned down and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “It would be good if we could experiment a bit without calling down to the kitchen every other minute.”

They headed to the fruit section, where Hope became entranced with a pyramid of oranges. “Orange,” she said wonderingly as Felicity considered the apples nearby.

“Would you like one?” Rafael asked her.

“Yeah!” Her little voice was like a cheerful bell, and her hand darted out almost before he could stop her. She grabbed the nearest orange, almost upsetting the pyramid. Rafael leapt into action, catching the orange rolling from the top and handing it to Hope. She squeezed it as he steadied the pyramid. It was true—life with a toddler was an adventure.

Between the oranges and the strawberries, Hope spied a sample tray of cheese. “What that?” she asked, blue eyes huge with curiosity.

“It’s cheese,” Felicity answered.