The Royal and the Rebel (Royally Pitched 2)

“You really are a bit of an ass, you know?” Juliana stated as she continued to stare at him from the foot of the bed.

He didn’t have a shirt on, so every time she glanced in his direction, she was confronted by the expanse of his unbelievable chest, still hard-packed with muscle. It was a lot to take in, so she found she had to look away from him periodically. Rowan’s near nakedness shouldn’t have bothered her. But it made her uncomfortable. She was around beautiful men often, especially during the modeling days, but it was impersonal. Sitting in his room in the middle of the night was a circumstance she wasn’t used to.

“I know,” he said. But his face was stone-cold. “Why don’t we talk in the morning?”

“I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to show up here tonight. Or be here in the morning. We probably should have planned our next move before I left today.” Juliana realized suddenly she was tired. She needed water and a bed.

Rowan nodded. “Right. We should have addressed that.”

He glanced at the sophisticated band he wore on his wrist. It was some sort of monitor/watch/phone. He’d said it kept track of his heart and respiratory rates, tracked his sleep and his recovery. He used to wear it when he was playing, and the doctors found it helpful while he was rehabbing. He’d explained a lot about his injury after his father left earlier in the day. He’d downplayed everything that had happened to him, but she knew it had been extremely horrific. And even though he was moving around, the road ahead of him was going to be long and painful.

Juliana unfolded from her position and stood on shaky legs. She could feel Rowan’s eyes on her, and she was suddenly embarrassed for showing up drunk to his room in the middle of the night. She hadn’t really thought that through. She’d been at the roulette wheel with Meena when he crept into her thoughts. She was betting and suddenly put money down on red three. Rowan’s number and red for Hartesfield United. She won. While she was hooting with Meena over her windfall, she remembered that Rowan was limited to a one-thousand-square-foot apartment and could only move with great thought. It was a fleeting sympathetic notion, perhaps a split second. But it had been enough to propel her down the elevator and into his room.

“So, was I supposed to?” she asked, unable to hold back the question, wondering if he’d expected her here.

He sighed. “It’s probably best for appearances. But I would have appreciated it if you hadn’t arrived so late and so obviously pissed. I need to rest, as I explained to you this morning, and yet you rushed in here like it was midday.” His voice remained perfectly modulated.

But with every word, Juliana’s regret grew. She knew, if she’d been sober, she wouldn’t have shown up here without explicit knowledge that he wanted her.

“You are here now. My suggestion is you grab a T-shirt and sleep on the couch. We can set up for the duke once we’ve both had a couple of hours of sleep.”

Juliana nodded. Bending slightly, she pulled her shoes off her feet. Being back on solid ground was helpful. She grabbed both shoes around the straps and turned toward Rowan’s closet. She rummaged through the bureau, selecting a white T-shirt and a pair of boxers. She hated to sleep in dirty panties. Sliding the dress off her shoulders, she let it fall to the floor. She pulled her panties off and stepped into the boxers. She couldn’t picture Rowan in plaid boxers—she’d figured boxer briefs all the way—but she was grateful he wore them. She tugged the T-shirt over her head and balled up her dress, careful to tuck her panties into the middle of it.

She strode confidently into his room, as if her lady parts weren’t tucked into his underwear, and walked directly across to the bathroom. She quickly washed her face but paused when she needed to brush her teeth. She looked under the sink for extra supplies, but when she couldn’t locate what she wanted, she cast an envious stare to the lone toothbrush in the holder. She found herself giggling as she seriously contemplated using his. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, but there was part of her that really wanted to. She wondered if he would consider her borrowing his toothbrush the action of a sophisticated, third in line to the throne princess?

Juliana resorted to using her finger with some toothpaste on it. But as she went to leave the bathroom, she couldn’t help herself. She ran his toothbrush under the faucet.

Let the cold motherfucker wonder.

She walked out of the bathroom, startled to find a darkened room. She gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness before she attempted to make her way to the couch.

“You will find a blanket and pillow in the closet off the sitting room. I’ve set my alarm.”

“Thank you,” Juliana said, already walking toward the exit.

“Juliana?” Rowan called.

She stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“Are you wearing my boxers?” he clipped.

Juliana stood, rooted to the spot. She was glad she wasn’t standing in front of him because she couldn’t hold back her wicked smile. She bit her bottom lip, trying to rein in her delight in getting under his skin. When she had her humor under control, she answered, “Yes.” Her smile threatened again, and she put her hand over her mouth, as if he had X-ray vision and could see her delight. “You know, princesses can’t run around in dirty panties”—she gasped—“or no panties at all.”

A squeak, a shift, and a curse came from his bedroom. Then nothing,

Juliana found the closet and made her bed. She slid under the covers and looked up at the ceiling.

“This is never going to work,” she heard Rowan mutter.

She agreed with him.