“What’s the big deal?” He nods at the toilet roll. “We’ve skipped through first, second, and third base, and I nearly hit a home run the very first time we met. I think this is the next natural progression, don’t you?”
I snatch the toilet roll and shuffle the robe to conceal me while I do the unthinkable; wipe myself. In front of Josh Jameson. His grin is slap-worthy, my embarrassment making me squirm. “The natural progression?” I ask. “So what comes after peeing in front of you?”
“Oh, you know, moving into my condo, marrying me, popping out a few ankle-biters.”
I shoot up from the seat, my eyes round in shock. “What?”
“I’m kidding.” He laughs, holding his hands up in defense.
I breathe out, flushing the chain and wandering to the sink. I wash and dry my hands. “That was not funny.”
He mirrors my playful scowl as I move toward him, yelping when he grabs me and suspends me back in his arms. “You’re right. I need to fuck your ass before we think about moving in together.” He swallows my incredulous gasp when he kisses me, smiling around my lips, and despite my shock, I laugh too, because Josh Jameson has that effect on me.
He returns me to vertical and pushes my hair over my shoulder, studying me for a few moments. “Tell me. What are your dreams, Adeline?”
“Freedom,” I answer honestly and quickly, and Josh smiles.
Leading me to the bed, we lie down, him on his side, me on mine, facing each other. “And if you had that freedom, what would you do with it?”
“Oh my God, everything,” I say, just imagining how different my life could be. “I’d go back to university and study something I actually want to study.”
“Like?”
“Fashion, textiles, art, ancient history.” I mirror his smile. “My subjects were chosen for me.” When he cocks an eyebrow, I go on. “British history, so that’s basically my ancestors. Geography, maths, English. More or less everything that would make me the intelligent, well-spoken princess they wanted me to be, and nearly nothing that would help me realize my dreams.”
“Intelligent?” he asks, and I smack his arm, making him chuckle. “What’s the dream, then?”
I shrug. I’ve never dedicated too much time to thinking specifically about it. What was the point? “Anything I want,” I say. “Maybe design clothes, maybe open a store, or maybe I’ll travel the ancient world.”
“Sounds perfect to me.”
Sounds perfect. It is. But it’s out of reach. “Tell me what you would do if you didn’t act.”
“I’d run a ranch,” he answers without hesitation, rolling onto his back. He’s clearly thought a lot about it. “I never got to appreciate the wonder of space and peace before I moved away from Alabama. Now it’s more appealing than ever.” He turns his head and drops his eyes back to mine. And I see it. The same kind of suffocation I feel. “So one day, I’ll have my ranch and you can design your clothes. I’ll travel the world with you. I might even loan you one of my stables to use as a store.”
I grin, as does Josh. “Okay,” I agree easily. How is it possible for this man to not only understand my dreams, but validate them as well? This is the sort of man I’ve dreamt of. Someone who sees and hears me.
“Good.” Leaning over, he kisses the tip of my nose. “Now, food’s on the way. We’ll have a carpet picnic, what do ya say?”
“I’ve never had a carpet picnic before.”
“Say what?” He looks horrified. “Never?”
My shoulders jump up on a little shrug. “It’s all fine dining, posh china, and solid silver cutlery at a table that’s so shiny you can see your face in it.”
“Then tonight we fix that.” He pulls me up and walks us through to the lounge. “Get all the cushions on the floor.” He pulls a throw off the back of a chair and wafts it into the air while I pull all the cushions from the couch. I watch as Josh gets on his hands and knees and starts pulling at the corners of the blanket, straightening it out and placing cushions.
I have a permanent smile on my face, fascinated by his deep concentration. “You are doing a tremendously good job,” I say, clearing my face of my smile when his motions falter and he looks up at me. One of his eyes narrows, and in a lightning move, he snatches my wrist and yanks me down to the floor. I cry in surprise, being rolled to my back until I’m once again pinned against something by his body. Not that I’m complaining. Would never dream of it. I blow a tickling hair from my nose and grin at him.
“You’re making fun of me.” He dips and bites the end of my nose.
“Not at all.” I chuckle, squirming beneath him while he makes a meal of my face.
“Too good for a carpet picnic, are you? You want a throne?”
“Definitely not,” I blurt. “Unless your face will be my throne.”
Josh pulls back speedily on a little choke, his eyes bulging. I press my lips together as he stares at me in shock, like how could such a vulgar thing have fallen from the lips of a princess? “I think I just fell in love with you.”
It’s my turn to choke. “Blimey, you fall easily, don’t you?”
“Actually, I don’t fall at all.”
“No?”
He shakes his head. “Baby, I’ll be your throne any day of the week.”
“Honored.”
“It is me who’s honored. It’s not every day a real-life princess tells you she wants to sit on your face.”
Laughter erupts from deep within me, my eyes clenching shut, my head thrown back. My position and lack of control gives Josh the perfect opportunity to ravish my throat. And he does, growling dramatically, squirming above me . . . rubbing me.
“Oh . . .” I sigh, my laughter settling. My hands go to the back of his head and guide him to my lips. “You taste so good.” I bite at his lips, kissing from one side to the other. Nothing could rival the taste of him—not caviar, not the finest champagne—nothing. I hum and fall into a dreamy kiss.
But a knock at the door ruins my moment and Josh lifts his head, looking toward the entrance, just as Bates exits the room where they’re gathered. He’s followed swiftly by Damon, who overtakes Bates to the door. I cough and pull my robe over my exposed thigh, hiding my rosy cheeks in the crook of Josh’s neck.
“At least you’re not naked,” Josh whispers, pulling a smile through my embarrassment. “Or sitting on your throne.”
I’m off again, laughing like I’ve never laughed before as Josh jumps up and leaves me to rearrange my robe and prop myself against the couch. He strides toward the door where Damon is looking through the peephole.
“You order room service?” Damon asks as Josh reaches him.
“Sure did.” He gets his wallet and pulls out a note, but Damon doesn’t move from the doorway and instead holds his hand out for the tip.
“I’ll sort it. You’re hardly presentable, are you?” He flicks his head at Josh’s robe on a sarcastic smile.
“Thanks.” Josh backs up, leaving Damon to accept the food and tip the waiter, but he doesn’t open the door until Josh is back with me in the lounge, and he doesn’t let the hotel employee into the room when he does eventually open it. Instead, he hands over the tip and helps himself to the trolley, wheeling it into the room and slamming the door behind him. “Dinner’s served,” he says as he nears.
Josh chuckles, and I flip a small, embarrassed smile to my head of protection. God love him, the things he’ll endure for me. “Hey,” Josh says. “If you’re hungry, go ahead and order something. Just put it on the room.”
“I don’t eat past nine.” Damon casts his eyes over to me on the floor. I smile. And when Damon struggles to maintain his straight face, an indulgent and rarely seen grin threatening, I know he recognizes how happy I am. I’m so happy right now. It’s crazy, but I won’t question it. I refuse to question it. Because to question it would be to ruin it.
Damon leaves us, and Josh sets our feast on the floor, pours champagne, and passes me silverware. “Is it solid silver?” I ask
, tapping the fork on the back of my hand. “I can only eat with solid silver.” Josh smiles at the bucket as he nestles the champagne in the rocks of ice. “So, what are we having?” I look at the two plates, wondering what’s beneath the silver domes.
“This.” He takes the lids off both plates, and I grin hard, reaching forward to pull the American flag off the top on the burger and popping one of the pickles in my mouth. I chew and swallow, accepting the plate when it’s handed to me. I study the beast of a cheeseburger with all the caution it deserves, wondering how on earth I’m going to eat it without spilling sauce down my chin. Not very ladylike at all. And not a good look in front of a man I really like. I probably won’t be able to get my hands around it. It’s a monster. I glance at the silverware in my hand and then across to Josh, finding a face-splitting grin.
“Don’t hold back for me.” He picks up his burger and sinks his teeth in, spilling sauce everywhere. “Yum,” he says around his mouthful.
I shrug and dive in. Bugger it. My mouth is watering. I take a huge bite and sigh, closing my eyes in pleasure and kissing goodbye to the years and years of etiquette and decorum that’s been drummed into me “Oh,” I mumble. “That’s so good.” I chuckle as I catch a drop of sauce from dropping off my chin.
“That’s my girl.” Josh passes me a glass of champagne while praising my lack of manners. “Wash it down with that.”
“A dirty cheeseburger and Dom Pérignon?” I toast the air and take a sip. “Perfect.”
“Only the best for my girl,” he replies, so casually, without even looking at me, his attention on the greasy, dripping burger in his hand. My chewing slows. Those words. My girl. He said them so easily, and they sounded so right. I smile on the inside, though it’s tinged with a little sadness. “Okay?” he asks, pausing with the demolition of his burger.
I nod, fighting away the dejection with all I have. “Yeah.”
We each make our way through the deliciousness, my moans of pleasure constant. It is so bloody good, and Josh seems to be taking immense satisfaction in my obvious enjoyment, his smile fixed around his chews. He reaches over more than once to wipe sauce off various parts of my face, and each time he licks his finger clean. I’m in my element. It’s so refreshing to let go in so many ways—sex, food, laughter. This is me. I can’t imagine the face of any man in my current life if I were to dribble burger sauce down my chin and chomp through it like I hadn’t eaten for a year. But Josh is not fazed at all, and I am past caring about what I must look like, my hands dripping, my tummy bloated from fullness.
“That was so yummy.” I drop the small piece of bread left in my grasp and fall back against the couch, fit to burst. I’ve never been so full.
I watch as he clears the plates and sets them on the trolley before settling beside me. Handing me my champagne, he chinks the edge with his and raises his glass. “To being bad.”
I’ll drink to that, though I know he’s not referring to the million calories we have both just gobbled down in the space of minutes. “To being bad,” I whisper, wondering what of this is really so bad? Me and Josh. Him and me. A princess and a sex symbol. The Monarchy will deem it bad. Some press will deem it bad. Half of the British population might deem it bad. But why? Because of tradition? Because of the rules? Because of strong blood? Appearances. Suitability. Who says we’re not suitable? Where in royal English history was it decided that a royal couldn’t be with someone they love?
My lips purse on the rim of my glass.
Someone they love?
“Adeline?”
I startle. “Yes?
Josh smiles through a faint frown. “What are you thinking?” He shuffles down until he’s lying on the floor on his side, facing me. He pats the floor in front of him, encouraging me to do the same.
I, too, shift down until I’m mirroring him. His hair has dried now, and it’s all floppy and flat, the color lighter with a lack of product or water darkening it. It makes his blue eyes seem greener, his skin more olive. “I was thinking that I’m having a really lovely evening.” It’s not entirely a lie. That thought is what prompted the subsequent more unappealing thoughts, but I don’t want to tarnish the lightness of our time.
“Me, too.” He takes my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back lightly. “Now, are you going to tell me what you were really thinking?”
My gaze drifts from his, willing him not to ruin it. On the one hand, I love how he’s understood me so well so quickly. On the other, like now, I don’t. “That’s what I was really thinking,” I counter quietly.
“I don’t believe you.” Returning my hand to my personal space, he moves back a foot or so, giving me more. “I have some questions.”
My instant stillness must speak volumes. “What questions?”
“And in return I’ll answer anything you’d like to know.”
“Anything?” I ask, testing the waters, now more focused on what I’d like to know about Josh rather than what Josh would like to know about me.
He nods, smiling through it. “Anything,” he utters quietly. I sense his amusement is because he knows what my first question will be.
So I go right on ahead and ask. “Why did you spank me the first time we met?”
“Who said you get to ask first?” he counters, tilting his head in question.
My face bunches in displeasure. “Have you not heard the term ladies first?”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard it. And I’m a firm believer in it.” He raises his glass and takes a sip. “When I’m in the company of ladies.”
I recoil, completely affronted. “I am a lady.”
“I’m jerking around with you, Adeline. Stop being so stuffy.”
I’m offended. As a royal, I don’t think I’m stuffy at all. I certainly don’t have too many plums stuffed in my mouth. “I am not stuffy.”
“Maybe less stuffy now you’ve had some American cock inside you.” He grabs his crotch and thrusts into his own palm, grinning a wicked grin. “Want some more?”
I very nearly spit out a resounding yes, my body flaming as a result of his crude mouth, but I pull up before I dive on him and eat him alive, realizing what he’s doing. “You scoundrel.” I reach across and slap his hip. “You can’t distract me that easily. Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Why you thrashed my arse?”
“Why’d you love me doing it?”
“Wait, that is not what we agreed.” I shake my head in demonstration, not prepared to let him turn this on me, though it clues me in on his direction of questioning once it’s his turn to ask. “You suggested the game. Now play.”
“Fine, you win.” He huffs and refills his glass, and I watch him as he takes a long time to reposition himself and take more than half the glass in separate sips. He’s still showing signs of amusement. “Honestly, your self-assuredness bugged the shit out of me.” The shock of his words means my champagne makes a swift exit from my mouth. “I’m not used to women being so cocky. I wanted to pull you down a peg or two.”
“What?” I splutter, leaving my chin dripping with the good stuff as I stare at Josh’s handsome face. He laughs and reaches forward to clean me up, while I continue to gape at him, my mind not giving me the first idea of what I should say next. He wanted to punish me for being . . . me? Doesn’t he realize that my bravado and front was all an act that day? A shield? “So you whipped my arse to stroke your bruised ego?”
Taking my hip, he tugs me forward until our fronts are touching and our faces are close. “Pretty much. Control is something I strive for in all elements of my life but rarely get. My life, my career. It feels like a runaway train most of the time. Pressure sucks.”
I laugh lightly, completely understanding him. “But you are in full control when it comes to women.” Do I have no filter with this man? He’s obliterated my walls.
“Yes.” His nose touches mine. “Until I met you.”
“So you brought me down a peg or two.”
“I did. But you know what?”
His question gives me pause, and I assess his serious face as he searches my eyes. Dare I ask? “What?”
“With you, I don’t enjoy the control so much. It’s not about me having the power over you.”
I frown. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“With you, I realized quickly you weren’t accepting everything I threw at you because you wanted to please me. You accepted it because you needed it, and that flung my attraction toward you into fuckin’ orbit.” He takes his hand to my nape and pulls me onto his mouth, grazing his lips over mine. “With me, you do what your body and heart tells you, not what your warped mind is screaming. You love kissing goodbye to the power you battle to maintain every day of your life. You love letting me rule you. And that, Your Highness, turns me on more than anything.”
“In a nutshell,” I murmur, fully acknowledging his claim. And maybe because I’m falling for him. And because no man—no one, really—has taken the time to see me. Understand me. I swallow and look away from him, growing increasingly fearful for myself.
Josh jolts me until I look at him again. “I want us, Adeline. I love being your freedom. I want to be your freedom.”
“But you’re not my freedom, are you? Not truly. Not when we’re having to hide in a hotel room to spend time with each other.”
“You want the whole world to see me tanning your ass?” He cocks a cheeky eyebrow, casting light on the dismal conversation.
I shake my head no, but truly, this isn’t about our sexual relationship. This is about me being able to step out on the arm of a man I choose. A man I know is good for me. More than anything, I know this man is good for me. I want to yell from the rooftops that we are dating . . . or whatever this is. I want to hold his hand in public so they know he is mine. But it’s horribly out of my reach. My despondency eats at the corners of my contentment, and to let it take hold would be to let my royal life win. It takes all my might, but I force back the depressing thoughts and grab onto some fortitude. Tonight has been wonderful. I’m not ruining it now. I don’t want to talk about how we can’t have each other. “Tell me about your childhood,” I say in an attempt to steer my thoughts to more appealing things. “I want to know everything there is to know about you.”