Seducing the Princess (Shillings Agency 3)

He didn’t want to want her. Didn’t want her to want him, either. She couldn’t handle him. He liked to be in control in bed. He liked his women confident, experienced, and willing to try just about anything. She wasn’t any of those things. She was like a scared little mouse stuck in the middle of a room.

She had no fucking clue what she was doing.

“You need to show me more respect,” she said, her hands latched in her lap as if she held on to her dignity with all her might. “I’m not used to men acting as if I’m a…a…common harlot.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” he muttered, glancing left to make sure it was clear to turn. “You need to be treated that way in bed—”

“Gordon.”

His fingers flexed on the wheel at the sound of his name on her lips. It sounded good. So good he wanted to make her say it again, only this time all breathlessly and with a tinge of desperation as he went down on her in his bed. “Look, Princess, I’m not one of your subjects. I don’t bow down to anyone, and I damn well won’t curb my tongue for anyone, either. I’m me, and I’m not changing. That said, if you’d like to request a different guard, you’re more than free to do so. I can call Cooper for you, real easy.”

She stayed silent for a few heartbeats. “No. I don’t want to switch. It’ll just…it’ll take some getting used to.”

He didn’t realize how much he wanted to hear her answer until she finally opened her mouth, and his entire body relaxed. He released his death grip on the wheel, nodding once to accept her reply. “Do you drink? I have wine at my house. It’ll help pass the time as I figure out a way to dry your dress without ruining it.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. His shirt still sat on her lap. She hadn’t put it on. He forced his eyes back on the road before he caught sight of her rosy nipples again and crashed them into a ditch.

“I do like wine, yes. Red.”

Red. Of course. She had red written all over her, from her fancy shoes to her flawless pearls. “I have some of that.”

They fell silent and remained that way for the rest of the ride. He kept forcing his eyes to stay on the road, but he wanted to look at her. Study her. Understand her. She had some weird pull on him that he couldn’t shake loose. It was driving him insane. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and show her how to really live.

Show her what fun really was.

Not that he wanted anything serious with her, of course. She was a fucking princess, and he was…well, him. He wasn’t looking for happily ever after, or any shit like that. Just happy for tonight, or this afternoon, or whatever.

He wasn’t afraid of commitment or anything like that. He just hadn’t found a girl who made him want to commit. So he went through his life, living meaningless encounters with women, one after another, and that was fine with him.

And he had one rule and one rule only when it came to his lovers: He wouldn’t touch anyone who belonged to anyone else, and he wouldn’t have two women at once.

Not after what he’d seen as a child.

Images of his father leaving with yet another woman under his arm, while his mother cried herself to sleep, hit him. His father had come from a rich family, while his mother had been a teacher. He’d never even hesitated before throwing that back in her face as he’d left them. After watching his mother slowly die from pain, he’d sworn never to do that to anyone else. He’d sworn to avoid anyone who was taken by another—no matter the circumstances.

And he’d never broken that rule.

He pulled into his driveway and shut off the car. He sat there for a second, staring up at his quaint two story. She probably lived in a castle that was ten times the size of his home. Hell, twenty. What he used to think was charming and old-fashioned now just felt small and old. Why did I bring her here?

She bent and looked out the windshield. “Is this your house?”

“Yeah.” He opened the door, not one to fuck with time over his own insecurities. If she didn’t like his house, that was her problem. Not his. Again, he wasn’t going to apologize for being himself. “I know it’s not a castle, but it’s all mine.”

When he opened her door for her, she shot him a glance. “I didn’t expect you to live in a castle. You’re not a prince. And for your knowledge, a lot of princes don’t live in castles, as well.”

“For your information.”

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nbsp; She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“That’s the saying. For your information. And, no, I’m not a prince, and I didn’t know that not all of them live in castles.” He shut her door behind her, took his shirt out of her hands, and tossed it over her shoulders. “I’m trying to be polite and all, but if you keep pointing your tit—uh, breasts at me in that see-through dress—I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

She crossed her arms, shooting him a narrow eyed glance. “I’m not ‘pointing’ my breasts anywhere. I’m simply standing here.”

“If you say so.” He grabbed her elbow and led her up his walkway.

She didn’t argue, but he could tell she had a few things she wanted to say to him. Her impeccable manners just didn’t let her. “You’re impossible.”