Royally Screwed (Royally 1)

And even if this night is all there is, I won’t forget it; I’ll hold this memory close. Savor it, cherish it. It will make the hard times just a little easier, the lonely moments just a little less cold. When Ellie leaves for school, when I’m making pies before dawn in the kitchen day after day, I’ll remember this feeling and I’ll smile. This will get me through.

I open my eyes.

Nicholas is on the other side of the coffee shop door, watching me through the glass. His eyes are warm and wild, a heated jungle green. And then, slowly, he smiles, broad and big, dimples coming out to play. My chest constricts with unexpected emotion. And my own smile comes unbidden, easy—because it all just feels so good.

He walks through the door, stopping a few feet in front of me, both our gazes consuming each other. His black dress shoes are shiny—and I wonder if someone polished them before he came. I’ve never dated someone who gets his shoes shined. His slacks are charcoal and perfectly fitted—the shape of strong, lean thighs visible as he moves—with the hint of outline of what must be a magnificent cock teasing through the fabric.

I try to hide that I’m looking. But I am.

His tapered shirt is silver-gray—no tie—the top two buttons open at the neck, and my fingers rub together, itching to touch him there. A black sports jacket covers the shirt, sharp and expensive looking. There’s a dusting of dark stubble across his jaw, and I want to touch him there too. The combination of five o’clock shadow and rebel strands of brown hair that fall over his forehead give him a roguish, wicked look that makes my bones feel liquid and my breasts suddenly heavy and tingling.

Our eyes finally meet—he’s still staring at me, lips parted. And I can’t get a read on his expression. As the moments stretch on, a bud of nervousness blooms in my stomach, its vine wrapping around my vocal chords.

“I…I wasn’t sure what you had planned for tonight. You didn’t tell me.”

Those long lashes blink, but he doesn’t say anything. I raise my hand toward the kitchen.

“I can go change if this isn’t—”

“No.” Nicholas steps forward, his hand up. “No, don’t change a thing. You’re…absolutely perfect.”

And he’s looking at me like he never wants to stop.

“I didn’t expect…I mean, you’re lovely…b-but…”

“Wasn’t there a movie about a king who stuttered?” I tease him. “Was he a relative of yours?”

He chuckles. And call me crazy, but I swear Nicholas’s cheeks go slightly pink.

“No, stuttering doesn’t run in my family.” He shakes his head. “You just knocked me on my arse.”

And now I’m beaming.

“Thank you. You look pretty great too, Prince Charming.”

“I actually know a Prince Charming. He’s first-class prick.”

“Well. Now that you’ve tarnished a precious piece of my childhood, this better be some date,” I tease.

“It will be.”

He holds out his hand to me.

“Shall we?”

My hand slides into his. Easily. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like it belongs there.

OLIVIA’S NERVOUS. Her hand trembles slightly in mine as I lead her toward the limousine, and I can see the rapid throb of her pulse at the base of her delicate neck. It stirs a twisted, predatory instinct in me—if she feels like running, I’ll certainly chase.

Especially in that dress. And those fucking boots. For several moments all I could picture in my head was peeling the pale blue fabric from her body—slowly. The way her hands would dig into my shoulder blades and her nails would rake my back. The sounds she’d make—little whimpers and pants that I’d lick from her lips. And I’d lift her onto one of the tables in the coffee shop, then have her in every way I could think of—and probably a few that I haven’t.

And I’d leave those boots on the whole time.

But her anxiousness draws out my protectiveness as well. The urge to wrap my arms around her and promise that everything will be all right.

I don’t think she has anyone in her life who does that for her.

My thumb rubs small, soothing circles against her hand as James opens the car door for us.

Olivia waves to him.

“Good evening, Miss.”

Inside the car she greets Logan and Tommy in the front seat.

Logan nods, and gives her a smile in the rearview mirror.

“Hello, Miss Olivia,” Tommy replies—with another damn wink. Tosser.

I raise the privacy glass so it’s just she and I alone. It’s also mostly soundproof—she’d have to moan my name very, very loudly for anyone to hear, but I bet I could make it happen.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” My chin lifts toward the front of the car.

“What, be polite?”

“They wouldn’t think you were rude if you didn’t say hello. They’re good lads, Olivia, but they’re also employees, and employees don’t expect to be addressed. They’re like…furniture, not really noticed until they’re needed.”

“Wow.” Olivia leans back against the leather seat, regarding me. “Somebody’s pompous tank is pretty full.”

I shrug. “Occupational hazard. And as prickish as it may sound, it’s still true.”

She pushes her hair behind her ear, fidgeting, as if she doesn’t wear it down often. Which is a shame.