Royal Pain (His Royal Hotness 1)

Still, I haven’t forgotten about the king’s ultimatum to Pierre and Jean-Luc, and I get out of bed a lot more quickly than I usually would under similar circumstances. Which is a damn good thing, since I’ve barely gotten my jeans over my bare ass before Niall bursts into the room.

I expect some quip—that’s how these things usually go—but Niall looks deadly serious as he tosses me the shirt I left in the living room in the middle of the night.

“What’s going on?” I demand as I pull it over my head.

“Meeting at the palace in forty-five minutes, full security council and heads of all the intelligence agencies.”

Shock slams through me, followed quickly by elation. “The lead panned out.” I take the shoes he hands me and shove my feet into them, sans socks. “Holy shit, Niall. They found something!”

He tries to look cautious, but we’ve known each other long enough that I can see the excitement he’s trying to keep under wraps. “It looks that way, Kian.”

“Forty-five minutes? We’ve got to go.”

“That’s why I’m standing here trying to forget what your bare arse looks like.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to bring that up.” I head for the kitchen—and Savvy.

“One of these days I’m going to write a tell-all book. It’ll include the number of times in my career I’ve had to drag your bare arse out of some place or another. And it will include pictures.”

“Make sure you get my best side.”

“Don’t you mean your best cheek?” Lucas asks, from where he’s leaning against one of the kitchen walls, a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Making yourself comfortable?” I ask, sarcasm ripe in my tone.

Avery springs to attention, setting down his own coffee mug with a clatter. “I’m sorry, sir. Savannah offered—”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” I skirt the counter to wrap my arms around Savvy from behind. She’s standing at the stove, cracking eggs one handed into the skillet and putting bread in the toaster with the other hand. “I haven’t sent anyone to the dungeon for drinking my coffee in at least a year.”

“Technically speaking, it’s my coffee,” Savvy says, shooting an amused look over her shoulder.

But the moment our eyes meet, the wooden spoon in her hand falls to the floor. “Oh my God. You heard something about Garrett.” Her hands go to my shirt, her fingers twisting in the thin material. “Is he alive? Is he—”

“I haven’t heard anything yet,” I tell her, gently pulling her into my arms to soothe her. And myself, if I’m being honest. I know her concern for Garrett is reasonable and I appreciate it—I do—but there’s a part of me that can’t help wondering what’s behind the concern. That can’t help wondering if, maybe, the reason she’s so upset is because she’s still in love with him.

I hate myself for even thinking like this—everyone in this room is excited that there might be a lead on Garrett, I remind myself viciously. And she obviously loved him at one point—why wouldn’t she be excited that he might be alive?

It makes perfect sense, I know it does. Just as I know I’d be offended if she didn’t care that there might be a lead on Garrett. But all that is logic speaking. The mini freak-out going on in the back of my mind has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with jealousy.

Acknowledging it might not make it go away, but it makes it a hell of a lot easier to tolerate. I drop another kiss on Savvy’s cheek, even as I signal for my detail to leave us alone for a couple of minutes.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” I tell her.

“Don’t be ridiculous! He’s your brother—and the Crown Prince of Wildemar.”

“I know, but it’s still pretty shitty to make love to a woman and then run out on her at first light.”

The look she gives me is half-perspicacious, half-annoyed. “I’m pretty sure these are extenuating circumstances. Go take care of whatever you need to take care of. I’ll be around when you’ve got things under control.”

“You’re really great, you know that?”

“That’s what all the boys say,” she answers with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh, yeah?” I wrap my arms around her again, then pull her back against my chest. “How many boys are we talking about here?”

“Don’t worry, Your Royal Hotness. You still beat my record by a hell of a lot.”

She’s playing around, teasing me like I was teasing her, but the words strike a chord anyway. And for the first time in my life I’m embarrassed by my reputation—and the copious amount of women that I’ve screwed and made no pretense of even being interested in.