Royal Rebel: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Flings With Kings) Read online

  But suddenly I did. Not about him. But about what this was. How it felt. How far it was from what I really wanted.

  The comedown was brutal.

  I’d cancelled a date tonight so I could come with Rob. What had I been thinking? He was fucking it all up for me. I swear, the guy fucked everything.

  He may have been a prince, but this little scene here was about as far from a fairy tale as it got. The quick and dirty sex we’d had on the kitchen counter was not a meet cute. This didn’t end in a kiss, or a ride off into the sunset.

  It ended with me going home alone, sore and tired.

  I was being such an idiot. I was never going to find my happy ending if I kept screwing around with guys like him.

  The second Rob finished, I pushed off the wall and untangled myself from him. I pulled my skirt down and smoothed my hair in the mirror. While he cleaned himself up, I grabbed my phone from my purse.

  I had a new message on one of my apps. I tapped on the guy who sent it. His name was Philip. He worked in finance, liked to golf, and enjoyed The Office (the British version, the one with Bilbo Baggins/Martin Freeman as Jim).

  “Looks a bit uptight.” I turned to see Rob looking over my shoulder at Philip’s profile. He zipped up his pants. “But all of those city boys do. Have you got a date with him?”

  I didn’t like Rob. At all. Still, there was something infinitely depressing about talking potential new love interests with the person you just had sex with.

  I typed a quick message back to Philip and hit send.

  “I do now,” I said. I dropped my phone in my purse. Slipped my arm through the straps and straightened.

  Rob buckled his belt. He stood between me and the door. “You’re in a rush. Is the date tonight?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Then stay for another round.” He kept his hand on his belt.

  “Rob, we’re in a bathroom. At a bar.” Wasn’t it obvious why another round was a bad idea?

  “So? I locked the door.”

  Jesus, this guy.

  I nodded at the door in question. “Unlock it. I need to get going.”

  For half a beat, Rob’s eyes searched my face. No way could he sense I was upset. He wasn’t capable of that kind of emotional intelligence. He didn’t know me.

  At last he grinned. That belligerent, shit-eating grin. I let out a sigh of relief. He unlocked the door. Held it open so that he was behind it, hidden from prying eyes.

  “Good luck on your date tomorrow, sweetheart,” he murmured.

  “Not gonna need it, sugar,” I shot back.

  When I got to my flat, I threw myself headfirst into picking out an outfit for my date with Philip.

  Chapter Two

  Rob

  In my car. Passing by your office in 15. Meet me outside.

  At the Rose and Thorn. Meet me.

  I’ve got half an hour and I want you for lunch.

  I’d sent Aly a bunch of texts this week, but she hadn’t responded to any of them. Weird. She’d always been down to fuck before, even if she hated me. Maybe she really had hit it off with that bell end of a Bumble date.

  Not that it mattered. I had no idea what Aly wanted. All I knew was that she didn’t want it with me. Which was perfect. I didn’t do serious. I’d learned firsthand from my grandfather, Prince Alexander, the damage I’d cause if I tried.

  So I didn’t. Not with Aly. Not with anyone.

  People—my family, friends, the press—always compared me to Alexander. I was his spitting image. From my straight, dark blond hair, to the way the skin around my eyes crinkled when I squinted, to my love for chocolate and cigars, I was him. Our appetites were one and the same.

  Probably had something to do with the fact that he’d taken me under his wing after my parents had died ten years ago. I’d emulated his every move. Like the rest of the world, I’d thought he was a god. A paragon of wit and style and dedication to his wife, his country, his family.

  Then I’d discovered the truth. A truth no one, save for me and my family and a handful of secretaries, knew. I discovered the real man behind the god, and how he’d slaughtered his wife’s heart. I learned, quite quickly, that if I really was like Alexander—and I was, I knew it deep down—then monogamy was not in my genes.

  People didn’t understand why I behaved the way I did. You’ve got a bit of a reputation as a playboy, they’d say. You have so much potential—we see a lot of Alexander in you. We’d love to see you settled down like him. He was a family man at heart. Why aren’t you?

  I’d laugh the questions off. All the while gritting my teeth, wanting to scream that he’d been the opposite of a family man. That he was only perceived that way because of the work my grandmother the Queen did to cover up his indiscretions. That I was saving everyone a world of hurt by playing my part as the rebel prince, and keeping women at arm’s length.

  It was simpler to keep it to shagging with girls. I figured as long as the expectations were clear—I always made certain they were—and the sex was consensual, there was no harm in having a bit of fun. Or a lot, in my case.

  I’d been having a lot of fun with Aly. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t the tiniest bit disappointed—and mystified—by the sudden change in her tune. I’d been rejected by girls before. But I’d never been outright ignored like this. I didn’t know what to make of it. The sex had been good. I knew she’d enjoyed it—her orgasms had been real, every single one of them.

  Following my brother’s butler down the hall of his apartment at Primrose Palace, I smiled to myself when I remembered the last time I made her come. I’d literally made her weak in the knees. She’d be back for more.

  She always came back for more.

  “Please, make yourself at home.” The butler motioned to the open drawing room door. “His Royal Highness and Miss Kilpatrick will be down presently.”

  I nodded my thanks. My older brother Kit had recently gotten engaged to Emily Kilpatrick, an American he’d known back in his university days. I adored her, mostly because she’d somehow managed to make my uptight brother smile—genuinely smile—for the first time since our parents died ten years ago. He was a different person around her. A happier person.

  Didn’t hurt that Em laughed at my dick jokes and loved a pint or four. She was family now. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Kit and Em had invited me over tonight for a drink. I assumed it was to get some wedding stuff sorted—they were getting married in March at Westminster Abbey. Kit was next in line to the throne, so the whole thing was a bit of a big deal.

  Imagine my surprise, then, when I entered the drawing room and saw Aly seated at a table in the far corner of the room. Yes, she was Emily’s best friend. But I’d only run into her here at Primrose once before, months ago, on the day we’d first hooked up in Kit’s kitchen.

  She was tapping away on her laptop. Her pale eyes, more blue than green in this light, met mine. They flicked down my body. She bit her lip, just for a moment, before she blinked and focused her gaze on my face. A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth.

  “Are you lost?” she asked, offering me an overly sweet smile. “Pub’s the other way, across the street.”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Isn’t your office in Soho? I thought you lived there.”

  “Somebody’s got to pay the bills,” she clipped. She looked back down at her computer and started typing again.

  Aly was always working. Soon I would be, too. I started in my new role as Director of Donor Relations at my family’s foundation next week. Up until now, I’d only been involved here and there in the foundation’s work. I’d always been a navy man, just like my grandfather. Which meant I’d spent the first half of my twenties on active duty. That left me very little time to spend at the foundation, where Kit had been working since he’d graduated with his PhD almost a decade ago. Sure, I’d attended fundraisers. Smiled for the cameras. But my involvement had been superficial at best.

  Then my grandfath
er had died a little over a year ago, and everything changed. The strength of my grief—my anger, too—had overwhelmed me. I’d gone into a tailspin. I hid my depression behind partying and womanizing. But the reality was that I was hurting, bad. I’d had to quietly retire from the navy. Kit put me on the School For the Arts project in the hopes it would keep me busy. Still, I was lost in my grief, and I made for one sorry employee.

  Therapy helped, though. And when it was Kit’s turn to fall apart a couple months ago—he’d been forced to choose between his work at the foundation and Emily—it was a bit of a wake up call for me. He’d worked so hard to keep our family afloat after our parents had died. He was clearly burnt out. Unhappy. Overworked. I knew he needed support. He’d also needed to get his girl back.

  I decided I’d be the bloke who helped him. It was the least I could do after the way he’d been there for me when Alexander passed. So thanks to an elaborate engagement my siblings and I had helped him arrange, Kit had gotten back together with Emily last month. I’d volunteered to help Kit at the foundation by working there full time, instead of half-assing my involvement the way I’d been doing. Kit could stop being overwhelmed. I could start pulling my weight. It was a win-win.

  Didn’t mean my life would be all work and no play, though. Aly never seemed to play. Which I felt bad about, because I certainly hadn’t helped lessen her load when we’d started working together at the foundation back in March. I’d been in the throes of grief then—it was right before I turned a corner and could actually function as a normal human being—and I’d been a total shit to work with. I’d gotten better about helping over the past month or two. I’d rolled up my sleeves and helped as much as I could with last week’s install. But I knew it was too little, too late.

  I wanted to play with Aly tonight. Make up for past sins the only way I knew how.

  The only way she’d have me. I couldn’t be the only one who’d missed our meetings in the stall at the Rose and Thorn.

  “And somebody’s got to make the drinks.” I made my way to the antique sideboard that served as a bar. “What’re you having?”

  Her brow puckered. She looked at me again. “Your brother and Emily asked me to meet them here. Don’t get too comfortable. I highly doubt you’re invited.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “They asked us both?”

  The naked shock in her voice made me smile. I reached for the ice bucket. “Believe it or not, not everyone nurses a burning hatred for me. Gin and tonic okay?”

  “I’ll pass. I have to—”

  “Let me guess.” I set two cut crystal tumblers out and filled them with ice. “You have to work late tonight. Doesn’t mean you can’t have a drink, sweetheart.”

  Aly made an annoyed sound. I glanced over my shoulder to see her spearing me with a glare. “Stop calling me that. Seriously.”

  “Only if you let me make you a drink. It’s seven o’clock on a Thursday night. Live a little.”

  “And be hungover tomorrow? No thanks.”

  “One drink won’t make you hungover.” I arched a brow, unscrewing the cap from a bottle of my favorite gin. “Tell me, sweetheart, do you prefer lime or cucumber?”

  She crossed her arms. “Swear you’ll stop with the sweetheart?”

  “I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Tilting her head, she said, “Lime.”

  I turned back to the bar and poured our drinks. A beat of charged silence settled between us. Tumblers in hand, I turned and made my way toward her. I held out her drink and she took it, careful not to let our fingers touch.

  I couldn’t read her. I was in the dark, and I didn’t like it.

  Aly never minced words. Hell, a few months ago, she’d come right out and told me she didn’t like me. Her honesty had made me smile. It’d also made me rock hard. Could’ve been the bit she added after, too—but I love how you fucked me. There was something undeniably sexy about her directness. Her confidence.

  She was real in a way few people were with me. So much of my life was superficial. Pasting on smiles. Playing nice. Being as inoffensive and likeable as possible.

  It could get stifling.

  When I was with Aly, though, the world felt bigger. Fresher. The fact that I could make this buttoned-up girl completely lose her shit with one touch—I knew her clit and the sweet little pucker of her ass quite well by now—gave me a sense of accomplishment I hadn’t felt in a long time. She never held back. Never pretended. She was real, and the sex we had was ridiculous because of it.

  “I didn’t hear from you this week,” I said, looking at her over the rim of my glass. “I get the feeling you’re blowing me off.”

  Aly took a slow sip. Swallowed. Looking away, she said, “I’ve met someone.”

  Something in my chest leapt. Or fell, I couldn’t exactly tell. I gulped at my gin and tonic.

  “What do you mean, you’ve met someone?” I asked. I unbuttoned my jacket and sat in the chair opposite Aly’s. “Don’t tell me it’s that Philip bloke—the uptight wanker you met on Bumble. It’s been one week, Aly.”

  Her eyes met mine. They were fiery. Alive. “As a matter of fact, it is Philip. He’s a nice guy. A responsible guy. I can already tell that I like him. So what you and I have been doing has to stop.”

  I couldn’t give Aly nice and responsible.

  But I could give her something else.

  “Why the hell would you want that? Bloke sounds like an absolute bore.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I’ve made you come. A lot. Hell, I’ve made you come six bloody times in one night.”

  Aly stuck her tongue into the corner of her mouth. “And I’ve appreciated that. But now this—whatever this is between you and me—it needs to stop.”

  “This is good, Aly.” I set my tumbler on the table. “Really, really good.”

  “I’m not saying it isn’t. But it’s not what I’m looking for. Not in the long term.”

  The impulse to keep fighting her gripped me. I was surprised by it. Yes, the sex was great. And I liked that sharp tongue of hers. But I’d had great sex with other girls, too.

  It hit me that I really didn’t know much about Aly Mason. Why wasn’t she looking for orgasms in the long term? Seemed counterintuitive to me.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

  “All right,” I said, taking a nonchalant swig from my glass. “But if he puts your feet to sleep, you know who to call.”

  It was her turn to smirk. “Not a chance.”

  “Want to put money on it?”

  “Nope.” She shook her head, hiding her eyes from me. “I’m looking for the real deal, Rob. Someone who wants what I do.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “The real deal,” she repeated. I could only assume she meant commitment, a ring, kids. Just the thought of it made my stomach clench.

  Still, my cock twitched when I watched her lick away a stray bit of lime from her lip. I finished my drink.

  “Alison! Robert! Lovely to see you.”

  Aly startled at the sound of my brother’s voice by the door and dropped her glass. I reached out and grabbed it just in time, and this time our fingers did touch. A bolt of energy shot through me. Energy, and nerves.

  For a brief second, her wide eyes met mine. She was thinking the same thing I was. Had Kit and Emily just overheard us talking about our hookup? Kit did sound a bit strange—a bit too excited.

  I’d been careful to keep my encounters with Aly under wraps. I got the distinct feeling she didn’t want anyone to know about us—which made sense on a lot of levels—so I hadn’t told a soul.

  I dropped my hand. Aly popped out of her seat.

  “Hey, guys! Great to see you,” she said, walking past me.

  I stood, and the four of us did the obligatory hugging and kissing. We settled on a pair of sofas, Kit and Em practically on each other’s laps on one, and Aly and I sitting about a kilometer apart on the other
.

  “So.” Kit took Emily’s hand and grinned at her. “Thank you for coming tonight on such short notice.”

  Aly shifted on her cushion, digging her hands between her crossed thighs. “Some exciting wedding stuff is about to happen, I hope?” she said.

  “Do you want to tell them?” Emily asked Kit. “Or should I?”

  “You go, love.”

  “Okay.” Emily turned to Aly. She was practically bursting with excitement. “Royal weddings don’t traditionally have maids of honor or best men. But Kit got the Queen’s blessing for us to have both at our wedding.”

  I blinked. Aly froze.

  “And we’d like the two of you to stand up at the altar with us on that day.” Emily clapped. “We want you to be our maid of honor and best man!”

  A surge of joy moved through me. I was so goddamned happy for my brother. And honored he’d pick me to stand beside him when he married the girl of his dreams. Just because the whole marriage thing wasn’t for me didn’t mean I couldn’t get excited for other people. Especially when I loved those people the way I loved Kit and Em.

  But then I glanced at Aly, and something else rose up beside that joy. Something distinctly less pleasant. Foreboding, maybe? This was going to be the wedding of the century. Which meant months of preparation and rehearsal. Showers. Stag nights. Engagement parties.

  It meant I’d be seeing a hell of a lot more of Aly. The girl I wanted to fuck but who didn’t want to fuck me.

  Bloody perfect.

  I watched as Aly flung herself into Emily’s arms, talking about how excited she was. Her legs looked gorgeous in those jeans. Long, lean. Strong. I was a leg bloke, and damn if Aly didn’t have some of the finest I’d seen.

  I swallowed, hard. Turning to Kit, I smiled and got up. He took my hand and pulled me into a hug.

  “I’m so happy for you, old chap,” I said. “It’s an honor I don’t deserve.”

  “You’re my brother. I love you. Of course you deserve it.”

  I cleared my throat against the sudden tightness there. I wanted to believe him. But I knew better. Still, I found myself saying what I thought I should. This was Kit’s moment, and I wasn’t going to ruin it.