Royal Catch, page 6
She lifts one shoulder. “Door was unlocked.”
“How did you know which room was mine?”
She smiles, her teeth flashing white against luscious red lips. “It took a few guesses. I pretended I got lost and was looking for my room. I knew you wouldn’t be in the wing with all of us. And one of the servants told me the bedrooms were on the second and third floors. The floors above that are for servants, the nursery, and storage.” She frowns. “You grew up in an attic? That’s almost worse than the crappy places I landed. I mean, considering there was so much luxury all around you.”
A princess landed in a crappy place? My testosterone-flooded brain goes right back to the most important thing—Polly is practically naked, sitting on my bed, ripe for the picking. I should care why she’s here because she could be planning some kind of treachery, but with those big sparkling brown eyes, her easy smile, her soft-looking skin, her luscious curves, none of that seems to matter.
“Should I dress?” Or remove this towel?
She stares at my bicep. “Only if you want. I’m enjoying the view.”
I sit next to her on the mattress, my thigh close enough to brush the satin of her robe.
She looks up at me, her voice husky. “You might be wondering why I’m here.”
“Not really.”
Her eyes widen. “A woman appears in the middle of the night in your private royal room and you don’t wonder why she’s there? What if I had a knife? What if I planned an assassination?”
My lips twitch. “Do you have a knife?”
“No.” She purses her lips, sexy as all hell. “But you shouldn’t be so trusting.”
“You did hug me before.”
“True.”
I stare at her mouth, and her luscious lips part, her pink tongue darting out to lick them. A surge of lust rushes through me. She wants me to kiss her. “I thought it was pretty obvious why you’re here.”
She lifts a hand near my face and then drops it, muttering to herself about Polly. She’s a strange one, referring to herself in the third person. Ask me if I care.
I brush her curls over her shoulder. They feel springy like I could pull them and they’d bounce.
She stands abruptly and faces me. “I have a few things to say.”
She’s a talker. Great. Just what I need after hours of princess chatter.
“Go on.” I head to my dresser for some boxer briefs. If we’re going to talk, at least I can get out of this wet towel. I pull the briefs up under the towel, take off the towel, dry off as best I can, and set it on the dresser. She still hasn’t said a word. I turn. “Why aren’t you talking?”
Her gaze darts all over my body like she can’t decide where to look, but she can’t look away. This pleases me. “I am loving this view even more,” she says with great enthusiasm, her voice breathy. “Do you always wear just briefs in front of a strange woman who wanders into your private room for possibly nefarious purposes?”
I find myself smiling, a rare laugh bubbling up. “I don’t usually have a strange woman wander into my private room for possibly nefarious purposes, so I can’t say that I always do.”
She swallows, the movement in her long neck mesmerizing; then she lifts her chin and meets my eyes. “Oh, wow, now those are bedroom eyes.” Her gaze drops to my tenting briefs. “And bedroom briefs.”
I bark out a laugh. She slays me.
She laughs too. “I’ve been wanting to make you laugh since I arrived. Maybe you’re not such a stick-in-the-mud.”
I stop smiling. “Maybe?”
She grimaces. “I’m sorry I said that before. I was a little flustered because you were in a tux and very tense like every butler I ever saw—” she coughs “—and, at the same time, you were so young and hot.” She waves a hand up and down my body, and there is no way this erection is going anywhere when she keeps complimenting me and looking at it. “You must’ve been in a bad mood at the time because this whole crazy competition was about to unleash on you.”
“Not to mention the furry wedding.”
She laughs and pats the bed next to her. “Now that’s a story I need to hear.”
I sit next to her and tell her the whole sorry tale. It’s not like it’s a secret. The wedding travesty will be in Luxury Weddings and Bride Special magazines soon. Thanks again for that, Phillip. He disappeared right along with the wedding people, abandoning me to deal with our parents alone during this insane time, along with a pack of bridal hopefuls. He could’ve at least run interference with our parents. Jerk. He’s probably rutting away in some posh hotel in Paris. I fill Polly in on Phillip’s insistence on opening up the palace and my insistence on preserving our history and tradition.
Polly’s eyes are wide when I finish. “Back it up. Did you say a giant purple bunny kept hopping by among all the native Australian species? Kangaroo, koala, wombat, dingoes, and a giant purple bunny?”
“Yes,” I bite out. She was supposed to take my side on preserving our history. Instead she’s fixated on the furry abomination.
She bursts out laughing. “Classic! I love it!” She’s laughing so hard tears are coming out of her eyes.
My lips curve despite the horrid furry situation because she’s just so…fun and open and affectionate. Everything I’m not. I suddenly feel like I’m missing that in my life, like I need it. I need her.
She wipes her eyes and blows out a breath. “Woo! That was some story. Now I see where you were at when we first met. Tough times.” She giggles. “Sorry. I’m sure it was truly an abomination—” another giggle “—as you said.”
“It wasn’t that funny.”
She bobs her head, holds up a finger, and takes a deep breath in and out. “Okay, I’m calm now. So, the reason I’m here. I think we can help each other out.”
I drop my voice to a husky tone. “I think so too.”
She stands and moves over near the dresser. I instantly feel the loss, the distance between us.
She holds up a palm as if trying to ward off my advance though I haven’t moved. “I’m here to help you. Those other princesses are like piranhas, all trying to get a bite out of you. I’m much more low key.”
“You’re low key?” I ask incredulously, thinking of her typically loud clothes and brash manners. The woman snuck into my bedroom, for crying out loud.
She glares at me. “Yes. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Do go on.” I can’t remember the last time I was so turned on and entertained at the same time.
She paces in front of the dresser, stops, and stares at my wet towel on top of it. “This is an antique,” she says before grabbing the towel and heading into the bathroom. She returns sans towel and declares, “You help me win the competition, and that will end it quickly with very little fuss. I won’t eat you alive. I’ll just be my low-key self and let you do your royal thing.”
My mind latches on to the last part. Your royal thing. What a strange way to put it. Isn’t it her royal thing too? It’s like she wasn’t raised properly in the royal tradition. No wonder she sounds so unrefined. Her people have failed her. Still, it only makes clear that I can’t help her win the competition. She would never be accepted as queen, my mother wouldn’t allow it, and my father would follow suit. They’ve always been a united front. And it wouldn’t be fair to Polly. She’s completely unprepared for the job. Truth? If I could live as a free man, she’s exactly the kind of beautiful free spirit I’d want. And the sad irony is I didn’t know I wanted that until I met her.
But I’m not a free man. I’m heir to a kingdom, and if I’m selfish and choose her and help her win this competition, she would be miserable. I’d be a complete jerk to allow it. Not only would all the duties and rules expected of the queen destroy her spirit, it would be an enormous heavy responsibility and a lot of hard work. My queen will have to help me save a kingdom. A princess can enjoy certain freedoms. She cannot be queen.
“I don’t want to marry you,” I say gently.
Her brown eyes flash, giving me a jolt. “Why not?”
I give her only part of it, trying to spare her feelings. She doesn’t need to know that the queen has already declared her a bad fit. “You haven’t been raised properly.”
She slams her hands on her hips and tosses her hair. She’s magnificent. “Rude!”
I slowly stand to my full height and stalk toward her.
She lifts her chin. “Fine. I’ll feed you to the wolves if that’s what you want.”
I close the distance, backing her up to the wall, caging her in, my palms flat on the wall behind her. I dip my head to speak directly in her ear. “I am the wolf and I want you.”
She shivers. “That’s bold.”
I shift, her lips mere millimeters away when she turns her head and ducks under my arm.
“And no,” she says, standing much too far away.
“Why not?” I bark. I usually have better control, but need claws at me.
She huffs. “Because you don’t get everything you want when you want it, Your Highness.” She says that last part with pure contempt. I’ve never been addressed so rudely. I still want her.
She goes on, her hands gesturing wildly. “Before you were so rude, I was going to suggest you help me win the game, and in return, you give me some compensation to quietly disappear.”
I blink. “You want me to pay you to leave?” You don’t want to marry me?
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her eyes shift to the side before meeting my eyes. “Reasons.”
“I need a bride regardless. There will be no compensation. The best candidate will win.”
She looks to the ceiling, her hands in fists, apparently trying to get her temper under control. She levels a fiery look my way. “And you don’t care who that is?” Is she jealous?
“Of course I care, but it’s not a simple thing. There’s a way it must be done. You must understand adhering to royal traditions.”
Her lips form a flat line. “I don’t understand anything about the way you do things here. Pitting princesses against each other? You don’t like this any more than I do, so let’s work together to end it.”
“There are circumstances you don’t understand, and I’m sorry, but I can’t explain any further than that.”
She throws her hands up. “Fine! But don’t expect me to help you out with your lusty urges. I’m a virgin.” She looks away, like she’s lying. No one with her brash open sensuality could possibly be inexperienced. Would a virgin seek out my bedroom? Plus she’s got to be in her twenties, which is a long time to still be a virgin.
I close the distance. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.” She slowly backs up, veering closer to the foot of the four-poster bed. “It’s the rule in my kingdom. Princesses must be virgins upon marriage.”
If she is a virgin, then I absolutely should not touch her. I should show her the door, eliminate temptation.
“Polly.” I capture her wrists and hold them behind the wooden post at the foot of my bed, leaning into her space. I can’t seem to help myself. I breathe in her spicy floral scent, dying for a taste of her.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, cleavage peeking out of the top of her robe. Her face tips up, meeting my eyes with raw desire.
I slowly lean down, and she keeps her eyes open, her pupils are black and large, gold specks in the dark irises. Beautiful. Her lashes lower as I brush my lips over hers lightly, once, twice. I release her wrists and lift my head, giving her ample time to step away.
She makes a frustrated sound, grabs my head, and kisses me again. Yes! Her lips are yielding, soft, and she tastes like mint and something uniquely her, a spicy edge. My world narrows down to this kiss, almost innocent in its delicious decadence. A slow carnal invitation to more. I thrust my tongue into her mouth, and hers slides along mine. Slow, deep, wet kisses. I’m drowning in sensation, drunk on her lusciousness.
She lifts her hips, pressing herself against me, and the kiss turns raw, carnal, hungry. I slip my leg between hers, giving her pressure, and her head tilts back on a moan.
Every nerve ending crackles to life as I dive in for more of her luscious mouth, the blood roaring in my ears. Closer, I need to get closer. I press my aching hardness against her softness, the urge to claim her powerful, a primal instinct that clouds my thinking. I’m nothing but throbbing raw need. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life, and I want her now. A small niggling worry over her virgin status gives me pause.
I break the kiss, and she remains leaning against the post, her lips rosy, her cheeks flushed. So fucking sexy.
“I want you.” My voice is rough with lust. “Stay the night or leave now.”
Our gazes lock, hot, intense. She’s taking my measure, and I’m teetering on the sharp edge of need. Seconds tick by, the tension palpable in the air.
She shoves me back with both hands on my chest. “And that’s my cue.” She walks briskly toward the door. Then she stops, turns, and says softly, “Goodnight, Gabriel.”
She said my name. Not Your Highness. And she said it with a hint of longing.
“Goodnight, Polly. The offer stands for another night if you change your mind. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
The door quietly shuts behind her.
Fuck. Maybe she really is a virgin. I have to keep my hands to myself. Back to the shower for me.
Chapter Six
Anna
I’m sipping coffee in the parlor after a huge breakfast, hoping a shiny idea will crack through the muddle of my brain. The other princesses are picking at fruit or eating nothing at all, most of them opting for tea. They’re so dainty and refined. It must’ve been awful to have the spark squashed out of you as a kid. I’d almost feel sorry for them if they weren’t so bitchy toward me. Is it my accent? It’s like they think I’m the lowest princess on the totem pole. Maybe Polly is. I’m not up on the royal hierarchy.
I had a restless night, reliving the wonder of Gabriel. I have never seen such a beautiful man in real life—glistening golden muscles that made me want to run my tongue all over him, lapping up every last drop of water from his shower or join him in there. He’s so comfortable in his own skin that he just stood practically naked in front of me with complete casualness. And that kiss, my Lord, I have never been kissed like that before. Like he wanted to devour me, and it was so mutual. This is the kind of passion I thought only existed in the movies. I flush hot just thinking about it.
So what to do with what I have? The crown prince is hot for me. He doesn’t want to help me win. Or marry me. I don’t know why, but that burns. I mean, it’s one thing for me to decide we’re from two different worlds, I know who I really am, but he thinks I’m a princess. How dare he say I wasn’t raised properly! Just because I show my bare shoulders (gasp!) or because I show up in a prince’s bedroom in the middle of the night? Well, maybe that did give the wrong impression. But I corrected course and told him I was a virgin.
Hmm…the only thing I can think of to achieve Operation Save Polly is to win the treasure hunt today. Maybe it’s for something valuable like a diamond, something I can pawn for enough bucks for a fancy lawyer. I just can’t let a defenseless dove like Polly be trapped in a cage.
The actual butler, Nolan, steps forward (not quite my hoped-for Jeeves, Nigel, or Edwin—another royal fantasy crushed). He’s probably forties with a full head of dark hair neatly parted to the side. Serious and dignified, but not stuffy. At least he wears a black suit. “Please report to the entrance hall. The queen will greet you there.”
I take a last sip of coffee while the princesses take their leave, trailing in a graceful line to the door. All perfect poise and manners. Ha! I saw them in action yesterday. It won’t take long before they turn savage, especially now that Gabriel is the ultimate prize. My gut clenches, and I force my mind back to my purpose here—win the treasure, save Polly.
I catch up with the group in the marble entrance hall. We’re waiting on the queen. I turn to Elizabeth, the red-haired princess. “What do you think the treasure is?”
Her pink lips tighten and she stares straight ahead. “It’s not polite to speak of money.”
“You think it’s money?”
“No.”
“Jewels?”
She shakes her head and lowers her voice. “Nothing is as it seems. Look deeper.”
I nod sagely. “Right.” Clearly she’s trying to help me. What does she see that I’m missing? I’m intrigued by the royal intrigue. Also irritated. I need answers. I need to know if this is worth my time. Maybe I should go back home and beg Polly to call her family for help, even though she doesn’t want them to know. But what if they disown her like she fears? The burden of her potential imprisonment weighs heavily on me. She’s my only family, and I’m all she’s got right now. Hang in there, Polly!
The queen arrives, trailed by the same servants who helped her with yesterday’s competition. It occurs to me a daily competition could whittle down the princess candidates by the end of the week. What happens to the last princess standing in those remaining two weeks? A royal gauntlet of tests? Royal conjugal visits testing compatibility? So many questions I’m not sure I want to know the answers to.
The women instantly quiet and bow their heads, curtsying to the queen. I do the same a split second later. Look at me practically blending, and it’s only my second day.
“Good morning,” the queen says brightly. “You’ll be traveling to the port today, where bicycles are waiting for you on the dock.”
A few of the princesses exchange worried looks.
Marguerite speaks up. “Your Majesty, I thought we spoke of horses last night.”
The queen narrows her eyes. “I am the final judge in this competition, which means I make the rules.”
Marguerite lowers her eyes to the ground. “I don’t know how to ride a bicycle, ma’am.”
“Then you shall walk.” The queen takes in the rest of us. “Anyone else not know how to ride a bicycle?”
Slowly hands go up. Four of them. Poor deprived princesses.
