The Royal and the Rebel (Royally Pitched 2)

32

19 March

Austin Manor

Juliana led Rowan to her room with a burgeoning sense of confidence. She’d been so nervous, telling Rowan about her lack of sexual history. But he hadn’t reacted anything like she’d thought he would. He had this knack for surprising her—by being a complete asshole or a complete sweetheart—and she never knew what she was going to get. She anticipated, if not outright mocking, at least some well-pointed commentary about her naivete. Instead, he’d reacted by giving her an orgasm. And she was here for it.

Now, as he crutched his way to her bed, she only wanted to surprise him.

“So,” he said as he sat down and stowed his crutches to the side, “you did some research?” He glanced up at her and smirked.

Oh shit. Playful Rowan was not a version of him she had ever seen.

He spread his legs and reached for her. Placing her hand in his, she stepped into the V of his thighs, careful to sidle toward his healthy leg.

“I did,” she answered, smiling down at him.

He pulled her closer with a hand on her hip. “And what exactly did you research?”

Her cheeks heated, and when he smiled wide, obviously enjoying her embarrassment, her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him so unguarded. Usually, he wore his anger like a shield, hiding safely behind it. It was the mask she now knew well. This Rowan though was unguarded and far more dangerous to her heart.

“I never knew you had such straight white teeth,” she quipped, regaining her equilibrium.

He laughed. Loudly.

And the dogs came running. The sound like a herd of elephants pounding through the bush. They slid to a stop outside the door, waiting for Rowan to let them in.

“Should have closed the door,” he remarked.

Reluctantly, Juliana stepped away from him. She gave each dog a healthy pet before whispering, “Sorry, loves,” as she closed the door.

“You really are spoiling them with all your sweet talk,” Rowan grumbled.

“They like my sweet talk,” she teased.

“Aye.” He pulled her to him again. “Now, you were just about to answer my question.”

“It’s amazing what you can find on the internet.”

His hand left her hip and trailed down, along the line of her ass and landing on her upper thigh.

“And what did you find?”

“Oh, uh, well, you really shouldn’t have sex for four to six weeks after surgery.”

“Right. I could have told you that,” he remarked dryly.

“I found quite a few stick people diagrams of recommended positions.”

He grinned. “In four to six weeks, you mean.”

“Right.”

“Right,” he repeated. “Do you know what we could do right now?”

Juliana looked down at him and nodded her head. Without any words, she dropped to her knees and ran her hand along his already-erect penis. He sucked in a breath at the same time he placed his hand on hers and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. She glanced up at him, a question in her eyes.

“We could do that,” he assured her as he tugged on her arm, “or we can also do something else. Stand up.”

She did. He pushed her gently away and swung his legs up on the bed. He scooted to the middle and propped his head on the pillow. He lifted his chin and surveyed the wall behind him.

Obviously satisfied with what he saw, he looked at her and said, “Strip.”

She couldn’t help it when her eyes widened, but she didn’t hesitate to follow his command.

She pulled her sweatshirt over her head and was about to pull off her T-shirt when he barked, “Wait.”

She paused, and he waved her closer. He was studying her T-shirt, and she belatedly crossed her arms over her chest.

“Really?” He laughed. “To-do list. Wake up. Be a princess. What’s up with the princess shirts? When you came to my room in America, it was, Gosh, being a princess is exhausting.”

“You remember that?” she asked. Her heart double-thumped. It seemed impossible Rowan would remember such an innocuous detail.

“I was so bloody pissed off. I think the whole encounter is burned into my memory.”

“Oh.” And the warmth drained away.

He was like a turbine, spinning her this way and that.

He nodded his head at her. “Explain.”

Grinning, she said, “When I was in New York, I went to see a matinee on Broadway, and I wandered around Times Square. There are these souvenir shops. I wanted to buy Noah an I Heart NY T-shirt. And there, on display, were an array of shirts with funny princess sayings. And I thought, Oh, the irony. I bought every single one. They make me smile every time I wear them.” She shrugged.

“I like them. When you came to my hotel room, I wanted to bloody throttle you for that stunt. But when I saw that shirt, it was hard to fight a smile.”

“Well, bravo. I saw no hint of amusement.”

“Maybe I didn’t have to fight it. Inside though, for half a second, I was amused.”

They shared a smile, their eyes locked. Then, Rowan’s blazed with heat, and his smile turned wicked.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and repeated his demand. “Now, strip.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was, but someone was all, ‘Wait,’” she mimicked, but her hands flitted to the bottom of her T-shirt.

His eyes narrowed. “I have number three.”

Pulling the shirt over her head, she said, “Number three what?”

“On your to-do list.”

Her hands tugged on the bottom of her shorts, and they dropped to the floor. She stood before him in only her panties. “Aye,” she drawled. “What’s number three?”

He dropped back down to the pillows and beckoned her over with a crook of his finger. “Sit on my face.”

Her footsteps only faltered a little as she made her way to him. She hadn’t expected him to say that, and she was again both chagrined and intrigued. She couldn’t help it when her face flamed, but she was determined to meet his demands without the trepidation she knew he’d anticipated when he issued his command. When his hand slipped into the band of her panties and he pulled them down, she straddled him like an experienced courtesan. Unafraid, unembarrassed, uninhibited.

“You have to come closer, Princess.”