Royal Rogue Page 17

  Jimmy’s eyes narrowed on the bottle of whiskey in front of me.

  Checking his watch, he said, “Did you plant the device?”

  No use beating around the bush. I straightened, shot glass in hand.

  “I didn’t,” I said.

  “Why not?” Jimmy said.

  I sniffed. Now or never.

  “Because the job is off.”

  Jimmy went still.

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m calling it. There have been some…developments.” I sipped at the whiskey. It burned going down my throat.

  “You’re calling it?” Jimmy said, putting a hand on the bar beside my glass. He loomed over me. “I didn’t know you had the authority to do such a thing.”

  I took a breath. I didn’t have the authority. Jimmy was the boss. But I was an essential part of the con.

  “I’m the Romeo,” I said. “The center of this whole operation. Without me, you guys are fucked, and you know it.”

  “Of course I know it,” Jimmy pressed. “What I don’t know is why you’d blow off the job of a lifetime, especially when your freedom—and your little sandwich shop—are at stake.”

  I felt Owen’s eyes on me. I looked toward him. He stood by the door.

  His expression was hard. Dark.

  “You’re in love with her,” he said flatly.

  I looked at him.

  “But I told you,” Jimmy snapped, taking a step toward me. “I told you that was part of the con. You may be in love with Princess Jane, but she’ll never love you. Not after finding out who you really are.”

  I looked at him. Looked him in the eye. “She’s not like the others, Jimmy.”

  “Tsk.” He gave his head a violent shake. “That’s what they all say. And I’m here to tell you from personal experience that she is like the others. Maybe not right now—not when everything is so new. So exciting. But her brother is the future King of England, Charlie. Think about that. You really believe she’ll go to bat for you? Put her family’s reputation on the line to marry a thief? A guy who works behind the counter at a deli? We’ve talked about this. I know these people. They’ll turn their backs on you the second they find out who you are. Same as they did to me.”

  “Whoa,” Owen said. “Whoa whoa whoa. Who said you’re marrying this chick?”

  “No one,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I’m not marrying her. I just don’t want to steal from her, all right?”

  “Have you told her?” Jimmy asked. “The truth?”

  I ran a hand up the back of my head. “Not yet. This all just…it happened today. This morning. I was over there, and we—things are moving quickly, and I needed to speak with you first. I’m telling you, Jimmy, she’s a good person.”

  “And how do you know any of the other toffs we’ve stolen from aren’t good people?” Jimmy countered. “We lure them out. Get them drunk. Encourage bad behavior. They’re dickheads that night, yeah. But maybe they’re not bad people most of the time.”

  “But they are,” I said, confused. “We know they’re bad people. You always do your research.”

  “That’s my fucking point.” He jammed his finger into my chest. “I always do my research. Means I researched Princess Jane. And there was a lot of stuff that came out during divorce. You saw the headlines. The photos, same as I did. She’s a partier who uses public money to fund her extravagant lifestyle. She doesn’t give two shits about anyone but herself.”

  My gut contracted with anger. With apprehension, too. If we’d been wrong about Jane, who else had we been wrong about? Who else had we judged based on what they’d done, not who they were?

  Jesus Christ, this woman was making me question everything. It was confusing. But I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the wake-up call.

  “No, she’s not,” I replied hotly. “So she went through a shitty divorce. Made some mistakes. That has nothing to do with the fact that she’s actually a kind, considerate person who dedicates a lot of time and energy to worthy causes. She works her ass off so that other people have a fighting chance in this world. We’re the assholes. Not her.”

  Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Of course we’re the assholes. But at least we’re trying to even the scales, yeah?”

  “So is she,” I said, taking a step toward him. “And she doesn’t have to steal from anyone to do it. What we do—who we are—that doesn’t fucking compare to Jane.”

  “And who are you, Charlie?” Jimmy said, getting in my face. “You fancy yourself one of them now? Have you forgotten your place? Maybe she is good. But she can be. She doesn’t have debts to pay back like you do. I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but you owe me quite a lot of money. Don’t happen to have a couple hundred thousand pounds in your checking account, do you?”

  I took an uneven breath through my nose.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I said. “I’ll figure out another way. There will be other jobs.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Charlie,” Owen said. I turned to see him spearing me with a disbelieving glare. “Jimmy’s offering us our freedom on a silver platter. Freedom we’ve worked for years to get back. And now you’re going to refuse it because you can’t keep your dick in your pants?”

  “Hey,” I barked. “That’s not what this is. I said I’d figure something else out. Don’t forget we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t gotten that shitbag loan in the first place. I’ve been fighting your battle ever since. This whole thing—why we’re in this situation—it’s your fucking fault, Owen.”

  Now he was getting in my face, too. “My fault? Christ, Charlie, if I hadn’t gotten that loan, the deli wouldn’t even exist right now. Our doors are still open. Mom’s memory is still alive. I know I’m not the only good guy here. Sure, I messed up. But what choice did we have?”

  “He’s got a point,” Jimmy said.

  “You have any other jobs in mind that would pay out seven figures? Think about it. Not only could we pay him off”—Owen gestured to Jimmy—“but we could also open another deli. Maybe some place posh, like Mayfair or Kensington. We could take the business to a whole new level. It’s five million pounds, Charlie. Come. On!”

  My heart clenched. But my resolve didn’t waver.

  Maybe Jane was fucking with my judgment. Maybe she wasn’t. Either way, my priorities had changed. As long as Owen kept his knees, and the deli stayed open, I wasn’t going to steal the painting. There had to be a better way. I just had to think. Ask around.

  “And we’ll find another five million to steal from someone else,” I said, setting my shot glass on the bar. “But the job’s off. Got it?”

  Jimmy put a hand on my chest. “You sure you want to do this? I’m telling you, it’s not going to end how you want it to.”

  “Because happy endings don’t exist for people like us.” I smiled tightly. “I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking tired of being unhappy. Maybe we deserve happiness. Maybe we don’t. Either way, we’re never going to get it if we don’t try. This is my way of trying, Jimmy.” I looked at him. “I’ll get you your fucking money. Just give me some time.”

  His pale eyes searched mine. At last he dropped his hand.

  “Fine,” he said. “But more time equals more vig.”

  Owen sighed, hand still in his hair. “Christ. Now we’re never going to get out from under it.”

  “I forgave you for what you did,” I said. “The least you can do right now is return the favor.”

  He looked up. “Return the favor? Is that what you want?”

  Before I knew what he was doing, Owen darted across the room. He took the bottle of Jameson in his hand and hurled it at the ground. Glass shattered everywhere, a high, tinny sound that made my ears ring. Whiskey spattered my pants and shoes, even though I’d stepped back to try to avoid it. The sharp smell of liquor filled my nostrils. It mingled with the murky, stale-beer-smell of the bar.

  I turned to him.

  “Seriously?” I shouted. “Are you serious right now? I’
m disappointed too, Owen. But I said I’d make this work. You have to trust me.”

  Owen flicked me the bird over his shoulder as he headed out of the room.

  I turned to Jimmy. “I’ll clean this up.”

  Because I cleaned up all my brother’s messes.

  Jimmy was still looking at me. I couldn’t read his expression. He was disappointed, sure. But was he angry? He’d never lost his cool in the nearly five years I’d known him.

  Then again, I’d never fallen down on him before.

  “No one’s more disappointed than I am,” he said.

  “But you’ll give me the time,” I replied, more a question than a statement.

  He nodded. “I will. But don’t take too much. Five million—that kind of money doesn’t wait, does it?”

  Then he left, his footsteps sounding weirdly ominous—had to be in my head, right?—as he moved away.

  I still felt sure I was doing the right thing by calling off the job. But it took me a long time to clean up the broken glass because my hands were shaking. The broom wouldn’t move where I wanted it to go. And I kept dropping pieces of glass from the dustpan before I reached the garbage.

  I tried to calm myself down by thinking about other potential jobs. Which of course brought up another impossible question. How was I going to pull off a con of this size when I was with Jane? I couldn’t implicate her. Couldn’t put Owen at risk by talking to her about it.

  Which meant I’d have to lie to her. Again. Until I’d found another job and we’d completed it.

  So as much as I wanted to tell Jane the truth about who I was, I couldn’t. Not yet. Not until I had some answers.

  After I cleaned up Owen’s mess, I headed outside, stepping out into the sun of a summer afternoon. A hipster walked past me on the sidewalk, the music in his headphones turned up so loud I could hear it. He was listening to “Come As You Are” by Nirvana. As unromantic and yet strangely appropriate as “Heart Shaped Box” was when I’d sung it to Jane, the two of us dancing half naked in the rain.

  Despite the mess in my head, I smiled.

  I didn’t believe in signs. I decided to take this as one anyway.

  I had a dirty past. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t make a clean break from it after one last job. It was never too late to start over. Never too late for a fresh start, even if that start was much different than I thought it’d be.

  It was so much better.

  Because that fresh start was Jane.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jane

  I woke up sweating. A familiar wetness prickling to life between my legs.

  Again. I was hungry for Charlie again.

  I squeezed them together, my breath catching at the bolt of pleasure that ricocheted through me despite the soreness there. How many times had Charlie and I fucked over the past week? Two dozen? Three?

  Blinking back the darkness, I saw him stirring beside me. He was on his stomach. He turned his head to face me, a low groan rumbling in his throat. The barely-there light from the open windows caught on the perfect slopes of his shoulders and back. His skin looked baby smooth. Startling in its innocence.

  Eyes still closed, he murmured, “You awake?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered, pushing off the covers. “I’m hot. Bothered, too.”

  Charlie rolled over and took my hand.

  “Can I?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I breathed.

  He guided it to his groin. Wrapped both our hands around his erection. He was warm and soft. How I felt inside my chest and between my legs.

  “Makes two of us,” he said. His voice had gravel in it.

  My desire blared. I could smell it. Smell my arousal and his skin and sex. A scent that clung to the walls of my bedroom.

  Still I wanted him. Badly. So badly I didn’t know what to do with myself.

  “You feeling okay?” he said, tightening our grip on his cock. “Or are you sore?”

  “I’m sore,” I said. “But I’m okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me make it better.”

  He released my hand. The sheets sighed when he reached down to part my legs. He hadn’t opened his eyes. But he parted me with his fingers easily, slid between my lips with erotic, careful intention. Touching me slowly. Thumbing my clit, stroking it lazily.

  He groaned again. “I fucking love how wet you get for me, honey.”

  “I love how you pay attention,” I said. “To what I want. To my body.”

  I love you. I wanted to tell him. But the timing didn’t feel right. I wasn’t sure why, but I went with it.

  Charlie’s pinkie was playing with my asshole. The muscles in my back tightened. My nipples prickled to life. Sensation spiraled low in my belly. He kept touching me. Kept loving me just how I liked it.

  He ducked his head and took my nipple in his mouth, his beard scratching my breast. I arched into him, my eyes fluttering shut.

  Oh, God, I was dying.

  I reached for him, digging my fingers into the muscle of his chest. I was being needy. I was emotional. Things that had sent Michael running.

  But instead of running, Charlie rolled over on top of me. Instead of running, he kissed my mouth. Kissed a trail of fire down my neck, making me moan. His tongue worked at the skin of my chest, teeth catching on my collarbone. His mouth moved over my breasts and my belly.

  Instead of running he held me. Hands on my hips, head between my legs. He kissed the sinew that connected my leg to my groin. Then he nosed at my slit, inhaling me. Making me see stars behind my closed eyelids.

  His tongue took up the work his thumb had done. He ate me out like we had all the time in the world. Teeth on my clit. Tongue. Then teeth again. His tongue slipped inside me, a slow, lingering thrust that had me digging my hands into his thick hair.

  My legs flexed. I felt my orgasm coming. Heat and blood and need coiled between my legs, ready to burst loose at any moment. I was crying out now, writhing, but he held me steady, his grip on my hips firm.

  He pressed his tongue to my clit. Circled it once, clockwise.

  I came, loudly, my legs clamping together. I shattered, and the whole world seemed to shatter with me. Everything I knew and everything I wanted.

  “Charlie,” I cried.

  He moved up over me, tangling our fingers. Holding my hand. Keeping me from getting pulled under by the rush.

  His dick pressed into my belly.

  “I’m here,” he said. “Hold on to me. I’m not going anywhere, Jane.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and held on for dear life.

  It took a while for the orgasm to fade. When it did, I let out a breath.

  Charlie was making a mess of me. But he didn’t seem to mind that. In fact, he preferred me this way. Shaking and sweaty in his arms. Begging for more.

  I opened my eyes. Even in the darkness, his were very blue. So blue they seemed to glow.

  I wanted to own him the way he’d just owned me. Give him what he’d given me.

  I lifted my head to kiss him. Then I reached down and wrapped my hand around his cock.

  “My turn,” I said.

  “Jane,” he said. “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to. Can you hold yourself up?”

  Charlie looked at me for a beat. Then he planted his hands on either side of my shoulders and lifted himself up in a half-plank.

  “Good boy,” I said, wiggling my way down to his groin.

  I was still holding his dick. Cupping his balls with my other hand, I gave them a gentle squeeze at the same moment I took him in my mouth.

  It was his turn to cry out. A short, rough sound I felt in my chest.

  I wanted him to fuck my mouth. So I reached for his ass and pressed him toward me. Pressed him further into my mouth. Then I pulled back a little. Pushed him to thrust. Pulled back.

  “Yes,” he hissed. “Jesus, Jane—”

  His hips began to move on their own now, rolling steadily so that his dick met wi
th the back of my throat at the end of every thrust. I was choking on him, barely able to breathe.

  I wanted more.

  “I’m gonna come,” he said.

  I squeezed his ass in reply.

  Another thrust. I closed my eyes.

  He thrust again, harder this time. Deeper. He went still and came. Hot spurts of cum that slid down my throat. I could taste him, that musky saltiness that was so specifically Charlie.

  I wanted all of him. Everything he’d give me.

  Ducking down to nuzzle his cheek against mine, he pressed his lips to my lips and gave me a long, lingering kiss. Then he rolled over, collapsing on his side of the bed.

  Because we had sides now. His and mine.

  I laid my head on his shoulder. Let out a sigh and closed my eyes.

  “Time to get some sleep, princess,” he murmured. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. My fundraiser. I was ridiculously excited that two of my favorite things were converging: female empowerment and Charlie. The past few days had flown by—a blur of work and whiskey and sex—that it’d sort of crept up on me.

  Now it felt like Christmas Eve. The best day ever was only a few hours away.

  “Promise me Charles Redford the billionaire won’t make an appearance,” I teased.

  Another pause. This one was long enough to make me think something was wrong. I opened my eyes. Charlie was looking up at the ceiling.

  “He won’t,” he said at last, turning his head to look at me. “That guy is gone. I’m just Charlie from here on out, okay?”

  I grinned in the darkness. “Okay.”

  Downstairs, the tables were set and music was playing. My apartment sparkled like a jewel box.

  I’d hosted fundraisers tens of times before. Had attended hundreds more. But tonight I was nervous. Mostly because I was bringing a bloke to an event for the first time in ages. A bloke I really, really liked. I wanted everything to be perfect for Charlie. I wanted to look good for him, because I knew he was going to look good—so fucking good—dressed up for me.