Royal Pain

  One, I must be staring at Carter’s table of hotties.

  Two, I know these men.

  And three, the boy has stellar taste, because each and every one of these men is H-O-T, all right.

  I’m not sure how Kian does it, but somehow he looks better every time I see him. The Tom Ford tuxedo was a really good look for him at the gala and the suit pants and silk button-down he wore to my house yesterday were even better. But this look—His Royal Hotness decked out in a casual V-neck T-shirt and tight, ripped jeans? I can feel every single one of my lady parts sitting up and taking notice.

  But how can I not? The man looks absolutely gorgeous. The white of his shirt brings out his tan and the bright, wicked green of his eyes, plus it’s cut just slimly enough to emphasize his broad shoulders, flat stomach and inked up, sexy-as-all hell biceps. Add to that the way his just-a-little-too-long hair is kind of wild tonight—falling over his forehead and flirting with his cut-glass jaw, and he’s the total package.

  I always thought Garrett was a beautiful man, but his fraternal twin is the sexiest person I’ve ever seen, bar none.

  His Royal Hotness, indeed.

  We lock eyes and for the first time since we met, he doesn’t look happy with me.

  Is it because he knows I saw his texts and didn’t answer them or is it for another reason altogether? A reason that has nothing to do with him and me and everything to do with Garrett and me.

  My stomach clenches uneasily at the thought, and I promise myself that I’m going to tell him tonight if he doesn’t already know.

  “Savannah.” Kian steps forward, and I get to watch—firsthand—as his guards blend into the woodwork. Or in this case, the seats of what looks to be a brand-new Bentley SUV. Well, all except Lucas, who stands no more than five feet from Kian and keeps his eyes trained on the prince at all times. None of them acknowledge me, even after the lemonade and cookies from yesterday afternoon, and my trepidation grows. Something is very, very wrong here.

  “Kian.” I try to hide my unease with a flippant attitude. “Fancy meeting you here.” I step toward him, intending to brush my lips across the sexy stubble on his jaw, but he turns his head to avoid the contact.

  My nerves grow worse. I should have told him. Why didn’t I tell him? It would have been awkward, but damn. Any kind of awkwardness would be better than the shit show this meeting is turning into.

  For long seconds, he doesn’t say anything to me. Nor does he make any move to touch me, something else that’s incredibly unusual for him. Instead, his eyes are hard as he stares at me, and his jaw is clenched so tightly I’m surprised I can’t hear his teeth grinding together.

  The sight has my stomach cramping up, has sweat rolling coldly down my spine as my heart starts the long crawl up my throat. And that’s before he finally unlocks his jaw enough to say, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  Chapter 9

  The question hangs there in the air between us as I struggle to find an answer that won’t piss him off. Or get me locked up in the palace tower. I’m pretty sure Wildemar doesn’t do that anymore—since constitutional monarchies frown on that and all—but I don’t want to take any chances, either. Not when he looks as angry as he does.

  “Kian.” I reach an entreating hand out to him, but he looks at it like it’s a snake about to bite him. Or worse, like I am.

  “That’s Prince Kian,” he grinds out.

  Wow. The only thing missing is the to you. And considering how much time he spent with his tongue in my mouth yesterday, I’d say he’s really pissed off to pull the whole prince card out.

  Not to mention, even before that I’d never thought of him as Prince Kian—I spent so many months listening to Garrett tell stories about his “little” brother, Kian, that it’s hard for me to think of him as anything else—even though he’s a captain in the Navy and currently first in line for the throne. But if that’s the way he wants to play this…

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Excuse me?” I sound confused, but keeping up with his conversational twists and turns isn’t easy.

  “I asked what exactly you’re sorry for.” His gaze cuts like broken bottle glass. “For addressing me in an improper manner? For kissing me at the gala and at your house yesterday? Or for fucking my brother? There’s a lot of ground between the three, so I’m curious as to which one it is that you’re apologizing for.”

  Behind him, Lucas shifts uncomfortably and suddenly he’s looking anywhere but at the two of us. Even so, I can feel my cheeks start to burn. The lack of privacy is one more similarity from my time with Garrett, and it somehow makes all of this so much worse.

  Humiliated now—and angry and hurt—I lash out before I can think better of it. “I’d never apologize for fucking Garrett. He’s way too good in bed. Besides, you’re the one who kissed me.”

  He steps forward then, fists clenched at his sides and for a moment—just a moment—I’m afraid of the storm I see in his eyes. But Kian’s touch is gentle even as he presses the palm of his hand against my collarbone and his fingers against my pulse points.

  “Who are you?” he demands.

  “Exactly who I told you I was the other night. A waitress, a bartender, a writer.” I clear my throat. “A woman who came here as an exchange student in college and fell in love with this country.”

  “With this country or with my brother?”

  It’s the question I’ve been dreading, the one I really, really don’t want to answer. But the look on Kian’s face warns me not to lie and I wouldn’t anyway. He deserves the truth.

  So I swallow, my throat bobbing against his fingers, before admitting, “Both.”

  He recoils like I hit him and I find myself wanting to apologize again, wanting to explain myself even though he’s the one with all the power in this situation. Even though he’s the one acting like an ass.

  “So why the fuck did you come on to me at the gala if you’re in love my brother?” For a second—just a moment, really—his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly. But then he takes a deep breath, and his hand slowly relaxes. He doesn’t move it, though. He keeps it right where it is, an intimate and eerie imitation of collaring. “Or is it just the crown you love and you don’t care who’s wearing it?”

  “You’re going to accuse me of being a crown chaser one time too many, and you will pay the consequences for it.”

  His eyes narrow.

  “Yeah, well, if the crown fits, wear it, right? I said I was in love with Garrett, not that I love him still. It was a long time ago.” I glare up at him, refusing to be intimidated by the ice in his gaze or the calloused fingers at my throat. “And I wasn’t coming on to you. I was rescuing you from an uncomfortable situation. It’s a very different thing.”

  “And yesterday?”

  “You came to my house. I told you it was a bad idea and you kissed me anyway.”

  He lifts one sardonic brow. “And you were just along for the ride?”

  “What can I say? You’re a really good kisser.”

  That startles him, shakes him out of his rage for one second, two. I can even see the corners of his lips start to crook upward in his trademark sexy smile.

  “I bet you say that to all the royals.”

  It’s my turn to lift a brow. “Just the ones I want to fuck. Obviously.”

  He lets out a frustrated sigh, shoves his free hand through his wild hair. “You should have told me.”

  “I should have told you,” I agree.

  His sexy green eyes go wide at the admission. “So why didn’t you?”

  “It’s not as easy to work into a conversation as you seem to think.”

  “It’s not that hard, either. Maybe something along the lines of, ‘Hey, Kian, I know your tongue’s in my mouth right now, but I thought I should mention that I used to fuck your brother.’ See how easy that was?”

  “Don’t you mean, Prince Kian?” I know the snotty comeback will only exacerbate th
e situation, but I can’t help myself. I’m furious, with him, with myself, with the whole situation.

  I absolutely should have found a way to tell him about Garrett, I know that. But it’s not easy to get the words out, especially with Garrett missing. It’s why I ducked out when I did at the gala, why I refused to give Kian my name, let alone my number. And it’s why I told him—even yesterday—that our getting together wasn’t a good idea.

  My relationship with Garrett was over five years ago—and no matter how I felt about him at the time, it would never have gone anywhere anyway. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t awkward to talk about, especially considering how attracted I am to Kian and how, in the six months we were together, Garrett never made me feel half as much as Kian did in six minutes.

  But all this is just a little too much for me right now, not to mention more soul-searching than I’m up for. And since all Kian looks capable of doing at the moment is glaring at me through narrowed eyes, we might as well wrap this up.

  “Look, are we done here? It’s late and I want to get home. So if you don’t mind—”

  “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got to say to me? That it’s late?”

  “What do you want me to say? I already admitted I was wrong but it’s obviously not enough.” Annoyed—with Kian and myself—I shove his hand off of me and take a couple big steps back. “You ambush me out here, accuse me of being a crown chaser among other things, manhandle me in front of your bodyguards—”

  “Is that what you think this is?” he interrupts, and his hand is right back where it started. Only this time, his thumb is stroking back and forth across the hollow of my throat as his green eyes blaze into mine. “Manhandling? Because, sweetheart, let me tell you. I’d be happy to handle you a whole hell of a lot more than I currently am.”

  His other hand comes up to rest on my waist, his fingers stroking over a sliver of skin at the small of my back, where my shirt has ridden up. I’m not sure what it says about me or this whole situation, but it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to arch into his touch.

  “Is that a threat?” I demand, trying to sound disgusted even though every nerve ending in my body is suddenly on fire.

  “I was thinking of it more along the lines of an invitation.” His gaze skims down my body and I know the exact moment he realizes—even in the dim light—that my nipples are hard.

  I shrug him off, cross my arms over my breasts to hide my unexpected and unwanted arousal. “I thought you believed I’m only after your title?”

  “You wouldn’t be the first woman I fucked who was,” he says so carelessly that I know I hit a nerve. “Probably won’t be the last. As long as I get to come, I don’t give a shit who I’m fucking.”

  Behind him Lucas looks mortified.

  I know he’s trying to insult me—and I am insulted—but there’s such an element of poor little rich boy in what he’s saying, and what he’s not saying, that I can’t help feeling bad for him. Especially when I remember how Garrett used to worry about him, because Kian was so much more vulnerable than he ever let anyone know.

  It’s that memory that keeps me from telling him to go to hell and it’s that memory that has me reaching out to place a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry about Garrett, and about everything you’re going through right now. You don’t deserve it and it isn’t what he would have wanted for you.”

  He recoils like I’ve slapped him, every part of him—physical and emotional—pulling away. But not before I see the flash of vulnerability in his eyes. Not before I see the pain he’s working so hard to keep hidden.

  It’s gone as quickly as it came, and then he’s bending down a little, getting in my face. “Tell me the truth. What do you want from me? Why did you come up to me the other night? Why did you start this whole thing?”

  “Because you looked miserable. Because I remembered the way Garrett used to talk about you, and how—when he did—I felt close to you even though I’d never met you. Because he would have wanted me to.” They’re all valid reasons, and they’re all true. And if I’m leaving one out—about how I’d always wanted to meet him and Anastasia even though Garrett had made it clear that was off-limits—no one needs to know about that but me.

  Except Kian’s face crumples at my words, and suddenly his hands are on my shoulders, his fingers biting into my flesh as he grates out, “Tell me. Please. Tell me one thing my brother told you about me. About us.”

  Chapter 10

  Kian

  For long seconds, I don’t think Savvy is going to answer. And I want her to. I really, really want her to. I don’t know why it’s so important, why I think some almost stranger’s recollections of a story my brother told her about me—about us—is somehow going to be more powerful than what I myself recall.

  But then I remember those pictures I found, remember how happy they looked in them. How in tune they were. And I need to know.

  “It’s okay,” I say, trying to be reassuring. “I’m done being mad. It’s just, there’s obviously this whole part of his life that I knew nothing about and I just…I want to know.”

  Savvy just shakes her head, glances uneasily over my shoulder. And that’s when I realize she’s looking at Lucas again.

  “Come on,” I tell her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and propelling her toward the passenger door of her car. “I’ll drive you home and we can talk.”

  She looks like she’s about to argue, but in the end, all that comes out is a sigh. I decide to take it as acquiescence. But when Lucas reaches to open the back door to climb in, Savvy freezes.

  “I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Ride with the others.”

  “The king—”

  “What the king doesn’t know won’t hurt any of us.”

  He starts to protest again, but I shoot him a look and he backs away. Lucas isn’t happy and he lets me know it, but he’s been on my detail long enough to figure out when I’m serious. And right now, nothing is going to get between Savvy and me.

  Nothing but Garrett, that is.

  “Keys?” I hold out my hand.

  “Umm, no.” She shakes her head, shoots me a disbelieving look. “I’m driving. Obviously.”

  “That’s not what we agreed on.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Prince Control Freak. But we never agreed on anything and riding in the passenger seat is the only way you’re getting in my car.”

  “I drove at a grand prix. I can handle a used VW.”

  “I’m sure you can. Just not mine.” She pops the locks, then slides behind the driver’s seat. “It’s two A.M. and I’m tired. Either get in or get out of the way so I can go home.”

  “If you try that, I’ll just follow you, you know.” I open the passenger door reluctantly. I don’t like giving up control to anyone—most of the time, I drive even when I’m with my detail—and I sure as hell don’t like the idea of giving up control to Savvy.

  “Follow away. That doesn’t mean I’ll let you in my house—and I’m pretty sure that Wildemarian law prohibits even you from forcing your way in without a warrant.” She sticks the keys in the ignition and starts the car. Then gives me a look that makes me want to turn her over my knee—and make her come half a dozen times or so while I do it.

  Which is a serious problem, considering I still don’t know exactly what relationship she and Garrett had. It’s pretty obvious it was serious, though, considering he talked to her about our family. And if that’s the case, I have no business thinking anything sexual about her at all, let alone imagining what she’ll look like sucking my cock.

  But just because I shouldn’t, doesn’t mean I’m not.

  Savvy honks the horn, draws my attention back to the present. She gestures impatiently for me to get in, and I do. How can I not when I have so many questions that need answers?

  She doesn’t say a word as she backs out of the space and navigates her way through the brightly lit parking lot. And neither do I. I’m too busy trying to figure out what answer
s I want—and what questions I need to ask to get them.

  It turns out I don’t have to ask any, because once we’re making our way through the empty streets, Savvy glances over at me with a smile.

  “He loves you, you know. A lot.”

  “That’s it?” I run an annoyed hand through my hair. “That’s your big reveal?”

  “I don’t have to reveal anything—I’m not the one looking for proof here.” She stops at a red light, then turns to face me. “I just thought it was important that you know how much you mean to him. Especially now.” Her breath hitches a little on the last word.

  “When’s the last time you talked to him?”

  “Five months ago. He came to the bar, wanted to take me to dinner.” The light turns green and she starts to drive again.

  Jealousy claws through me, dark and intense and completely unreasonable considering I barely know this woman. And considering the fact that Garrett is missing, maybe dead. “Did you go?”

  “Couldn’t. I was working.”

  “Savannah.” The reprimand is sharp in my voice.

  “No. There didn’t seem to be any point in it.” Yet she’s fidgeting—tapping out a strangely familiar rhythm on the steering wheel—and looking anywhere and everywhere but at me.

  I want to ask more, want to push for answers. But it’s not my place. Not now. Not yet.

  The last comes unbidden, makes my hands clench into fists and my brain haze over—with annoyance and anger and an arousal I can’t seem to get a grip on, no matter how many times I tell myself it’s a bad idea.

  No matter how many ways I remind myself that she was Garrett’s first. That doesn’t seem to matter, though, not when every instinct I have is screaming that she might have been his first, but she can be mine now. At least for a while.

  We drive a few minutes in silence. I’m just getting ready to call the whole thing off—obviously, we have nothing to say to each other now that Garrett is an invisible specter between us—when she says, “When you were eleven, you covered for him when he broke a Fabergé egg.”