The Duke's Broken Angel

“Who’re you?” came the slurred words.

“T-the caretaker.”

“Don’t need one.”

I frowned. When the Queen’s assistant sent the official letter of employment, they’d mentioned the current disgruntled tenant, but she hadn’t revealed that it was her son, the youngest prince of Denmark. Known by the rag mags as the Lazy Prince, I’d followed his antics for years in the headlines, not because I cared, but because he was that good at selling papers.

Copenhagen news vendors were lined with his face and tales of his latest rebellious antics. One famous gossip magazine had most recently run a headline calling him the Queen’s Headache. Looking at him now I could see why.

A headache pressed at my brain just looking at Keir Madsen, The Duke of Viborg, in the flesh.

“Well, I’m here now. By decree of the Queen, where should I put my stuff?”

“Are you fucking kidding me with this?” He shot off the couch, a blanket that'd been wrapped around him falling to the floor.

The Duke stood naked in all his glory, his erection thick and hard and pointing right for me.

“Holy shit.” I slammed my eyes closed and then covered them with my hands for good measure.

His dark chuckle shook my bones.

“Never seen a man before? Pussy.”

Anger curdled through my veins and I slammed my eyes open, willing myself to look him in his gorgeous eyes when his even more gorgeous form stood before me. Gorgeously naked.

“It’s not your business,” I grit. “I would quit this stupid job, but it came with an advance and I used some of it to get myself here. I’m not giving it back.”

Keir’s eyes were hooded, dark, and mischievous as he made a point of darting them down my body.

I’d never been so self-conscious in my form. I crossed my arms. His smile flipped up and turned cocky. I hated him for that smile. I felt every beat of it like a slow throb between my legs.

No wonder trouble followed him. He was Trouble by definition.

“You got a name, or should I just keep calling you pussy? I’ll call you whatever you want if it takes that sour-puss look off of your face.”

I stomped my foot, slamming my eyes closed again. I tried to unsee the vision of the rock solid beautiful man that stood before me. It was impossible.

His dark chuckle moved closer. So close I could feel the energy throbbing off of him. “So what should I call you?”

His warm breath was in my ear. I imagined if I reached out just now, I could grip his thick cock in my hand. A thrill of desire raced through me. He was so viral, even with my eyes closed I could feel the chemistry bouncing in the air between us.

“Most call me Keir.” His lips were at my ear. My nipples puckered and ached as his rich tone turned me to butter. “But you look like you’re into role-playing. How about you call me The Duke?”

I gnashed down on my teeth, angry at him for making me feel so...turned on.

“C-can you just show me to my room?”

“Sure thing.” He moved away as quickly as he’d come, footsteps fading and allowing me to suck in a gulp of air. I could smell him, manly with hints of leather and pine and spice from last night’s cologne.

“You comin’?” His words down the hallway brought my gaze to meet his. He’d paused halfway down the hall, the round globes of his muscled ass carved in steel as he waited, eyes on me expectantly.

What life had I been dropped into?

“Coming.” I closed the distance, aware of every step closer.

His eyes shone with arrogance when I reached him. “Stop having wet dreams about me, it will kill your productivity.”

My mouth rounded in an O, eyes larger than the gorgeous globes of his ass.

“Close your mouth, Cricket. I’ve got a dirty mind.” He tipped my chin up, pressing the seam of my lips together. “It’s going to be hard for me to get those lips out of my head.”

“You’re...you’ve got to be...”

“This isn’t the last time you’ll be at a loss of words around me.” He moved closer, his next words washing across my skin. “Welcome to Hell, baby, it’s gonna be a fun ride.”

He winked then passed me, shoulder brushing mine as he retreated to the end of the hallway, pushing the door at the end of it open and calling out, “Here’s your room!”

He opened another door, disappearing inside before I heard the shower water turn on a moment later.

And then he began to sing an old Queen song.

Hell and Keir Madsen went hand in hand.

THREE

Keir

I woke the following morning with a hard on from hell and a set of blue balls bigger than the entire country of Denmark. The new caretaker on my mind.

I’d bailed on her yesterday, not because I wanted to, but because I’d promised to meet the guys for cricket at the club. I’d walked down the lane to the sprawling Royal Country Club my family owned. It was the only place I felt like myself because it was private. The rest of my family rarely used it outside of a few officially televised charity cricket matches throughout the year. The rest of the time it was all mine. I’d started spending every summer working the grounds at fourteen. Mom had sent me to learn cricket like she did all of her children, but I was the one that’d really taken to it. Even when we weren’t playing, I ran the grounds and the stables and the clubhouse with my friends. I spent most of my days there, only yesterday a part of me had been back at the cottage, wondering what the new caretaker was up to. I still didn’t have any damn clue why mom thought Hopewell needed a full-time caretaker. The small two-bedroom English cottage was more than enough for me to handle on my own.