Baby Fever Bride: A Billionaire Romance Page 31

  Always without asking. Always with superhuman confidence, like he already owns me, and we haven't even signed this stupid contract. Always with the glint in his ocean blue eyes that says everything I fear most about this insane arrangement.

  I can fuck you, love. Anytime. Any place. Any way I want.

  And you'll love it, Erin. Fuck yeah, you will.

  You won't stop me. You'll beg because it's that good.

  And once we get started, we won't be stopping until you've soaked the sheets.

  “Madame?” A loud, desperate knock at the door breaks me from my filthy daydreams.

  I look down at the aching, wet mess between my thighs. My hand went there without me even realizing it, my fingers drifting over my clit, stroking it while I imagine what would happen if the Prince and I threw that 'no sex' rule to the seven winds.

  “Coming! Hold on, just a second,” I grunt, standing up straight, flattening myself against the wall.

  I don't know if she backs away from the door. I don't care.

  It's dirty and depraved, but it's the release I need. It's the tension Prince Hung is strangling me with.

  Is he really as hung as his nickname implies? Or is it one more lie he's fed to the media to make himself seem like a god?

  I want to believe. I want to think about how huge he is because I need my release if I'm going to survive today.

  The kind of sweet release I've never, ever gotten as a sheltered virgin, who always thought she'd save herself for her husband. For a good man, a noble man, someone closer to my level, sexually and otherwise.

  Not the Playboy Prince, who's probably fucked hundreds, the one who doesn't even want me for real, the man who makes me want to tear out the 'no sex' clause in our non-existent contract with my bare teeth.

  Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

  Silas!

  My thoughts are off the chain, surrendering to the filthy hulk I want bending me over, fisting my hair, slamming into me so hard I can feel my hips shaking my shoulders. He really is Prince Hung and so much more in this fantasy. He's about to push me over.

  “Madame? Are you all right?” Mary sounds extra nervous in that not-quite-English accent. She jiggles the doorknob, but I can't stop now.

  “Coming!” I scream again, this time a little more breathless.

  Yes, coming.

  Coming for the bastard, the player, the Prince. Coming so hard I feel myself gush all over my hand, something that rarely happens. Grinding my teeth, heaving my lungs, pushing myself up into the jet stream so the waves lap at my nipples like tongues.

  I'm coming the way I've wanted to since I climbed into bed last night.

  Coming, coming, coming while I think about him grabbing my wrists the next time we're face-to-face, pushing me against the nearest wall, and ripping off my panties...

  My knees are shaking when I finally pull my hand away and turn the water off. By now, two of the women are in a full blown panic. I hear one slamming herself into the door like a battering ram.

  “Jesus Christ. I'll be out in just a minute – I'm drying myself now!”

  The commotion stops. I hear them angrily chattering away behind the door while I rip the Egyptian cotton towel off its golden clip.

  Recent pleasure aside, I'm hating Silas even more. His lies are rubbing off on me, and so is his dirty, evil charm.

  This has to be some kind of black magic. Saint Moore, like any other European country, has its legends about sorcerers, witches, and other crazy things. I think I'm cursed. The fact that I'm pulling on fresh underwear after masturbating to a man I hate makes me wonder if all the myths are true.

  “Okay. Sorry about that, ladies, I sometimes have allergies and like to breathe the steam to clean my sinuses.” Another lie.

  Mary and Charlotte glare at me. Fortunately, the more chipper Marissa steps between them, yanks me forward, and sits me down in front of three huge mirrors. She blow dries and combs my hair, humming an odd sounding tune.

  I'm allowed to gulp down a thermos of strong black tea and something that tastes like waffles stacked high with a fantastic spread of fruit and cream drizzled over it. Delightful.

  It takes me a minute to recognize the tune. It's King of All Things, the elegant overture Saint Moore adopted as its national anthem. It's also the song that plays every time one of the royals steps into a public setting.

  It's about a great King, Queen Marina's grandfather, I think. Of course, it's loud, arrogant, and probably caused a few composers to wag their fingers angrily when it was written about a hundred and fifty years ago.

  Yeah, the longer I'm here, the easier it is to see why such cocky, manipulative crap runs in Silas' blue blood.

  “Stand up, please, madame! We're on a very tight schedule, you understand. Pardon the hurry.” Marissa beams me a tense smile.

  No sooner than I'm on my feet, she's wrapping me in several layers of the softest, most expensive clothes I've ever worn on my body. It's a long, flowing, very traditional dress. Very red – blood red. Complete with a sweet smelling flower she tucks into my hair, giving it a final push in the mirror.

  “There, there. You look just lovely. What do you think?” She puts her hand on my back and spins me around.

  It takes me a second to recognize myself. God.

  I've been transformed. Completely. Unrecognizably.

  Even in my best formalwear, I never looked like anything more than a smart, savvy student from a very American college. Now, I look like I belong on a theater stage, re-enacting some play from a hundred years ago.

  Or else in the royal palace on this insane island. The place I'm supposed to wind up in less than thirty minutes.

  “It's good, I guess,” I tell her. “Uh...shoes?”

  “Of course!” She snaps her fingers and dives down on the floor, grabbing my feet and stuffing them into wooden clogs with gold and rubies.

  The heels are surprisingly high. I hope I can actually walk in this getup without tripping all over myself. I don't stop to think about what a pain it's going to be if I have to use the bathroom.

  “Just perfect, madame! Your Prince is waiting downstairs. Shall we go?”

  “We shall,” I say, leading them out the room, straight to the elevator.

  When we're on the first floor, the boys take over. Silas' valet, Victor, nods respectfully and walks me out to the waiting SUV tucked into its motorcade.

  “His Highness is already waiting for you in the rear, madame. Please don't be afraid to grab my arm if you need some help on these stairs.”

  I thank him, but intend to take them myself. I could use the practice. I manage, slowly and haltingly, careful not to go tumbling down in a flash of reds.

  The SUV's door opens. I slide in next to Silas, or that's what I mean to do, except suddenly I'm stuck.

  “Jesus. Look at you,” he says, lowering the expensive shades he's wearing.

  It's a look that's way too similar to the imaginary smile Prince Hung just gave me in the shower.

  I'm embarrassed. Victor comes running up to save my skirt from tearing on the metal. I swear, if Silas is about to hit me with some snotty remark, I won't hesitate to give him the slapping he deserves. Prince or not.

  “What?” I say, narrowing my eyes.

  Finally. The skirt comes free and I clamber up on the seat next to him, grabbing my seat belt.

  “You're gorgeous, love. Looks like it was made for you.”

  Surprise. Compliments aren't what I expect.

  I bat my eyes a couple times and turn away from him, trying not to think about what he made me do in the shower this morning.

  “Well, I think this would be much easier if that were the case.”

  “I'd say you'll get plenty of practice, but you'll be happy to hear occasions this formal tend to be rare. You can go back to your thongs and yoga pants when we're done. Just be sure you wear something halfway decent when we're in front of grandmom.”

  Thongs and yoga pants? Thanks, asshole.

  With
out thinking, I reach over and sock him on the arm. He laughs, grabs my wrist, and brings my hand to his lips.

  I hadn't noticed how insanely hot it is underneath all this. Naturally, I do when he kisses my skin for the first time. It only lasts a second, more than a gentle peck. It's forceful, a little wet, and haughty as everything else about him.

  “If you really want to cause damage, you'll have to punch me a whole lot harder next time. That swing just turns me on. You get rough with me, I'll eat it up and spit it back ten times harder.” He brings his mouth to my hand again, this time sinking his teeth in, a gentle bite igniting a flash fire in my body.

  Bastard! I can't let him play with me like this. I won't, I tell myself.

  He's never polite, even when he says nice things. He just wants me to let my guard down.

  “No sex,” I tell him, jerking my hand away.

  “Please. I haven't forgotten,” he says, pushing his shades back over his beautiful eyes. “I'm practicing my most gentlemanly kiss. We can't be like ice, Erin. You'd better believe the tabloids will pick up a frigid marriage if they get so much as a breeze.”

  “Really? Is that why you're hiding behind those sunglasses?” I stick out my tongue.

  “This is pure style for a bright day, love.” He grins. “Same brand the late dictator Mesaru wore in North Africa. I've heard his collection of designer shades is the only thing that survived when they ransacked his palace and stabbed him a hundred times a few years back.”

  “I know all about the Arab Spring,” I said, confident I knew a lot more than him. “Didn't know you took fashion tips from dead tyrants.”

  “Hey, the man was a sick fuck, no doubt about it. Sometimes even the assholes know how to look good.” He lifts his eyebrows, a gesture that lets me know he's practically eye fucking me behind his lenses. “We need to be in our Sunday best, and on our best behavior, too. You've only got one chance to make a first impression on Her Majesty.”

  Damn it, he's right. I tense up, folding my hands in my lap, very conscious that I'm about to meet a Queen, a ruler, a billionaire, and one of the most beloved elder stateswomen in the world.

  “Love, don't spill your spaghetti now,” he says, barely hiding the amusement in his voice. “It's going to be fine. Trust me, I've visited her before with enough mud dripping off me for the both of us. Unless you drop the dress and prance in naked or something, nothing you do will ever one up me in the scandal department.”

  He's right, of course. So, why the hell isn't that any consolation?

  The worst part is, he senses my nerves coming undone. That's probably why he reaches over, clasps my hand, and holds it like he cares.

  We share a slow, tense look. Then he cocks his head, looks at me over the tops of those shades, and says something that makes me believe he isn't just an asshole for about a minute.

  “You can do this, Erin. You've got family, life and death on the line. That's as valuable as an entire kingdom.”

  “I'll do my best,” I say softly, promising both of us that I will.

  “Yeah, you will, Princess. I wouldn't take on anybody who half-asses it. Not even a pretend bride.” That smile on his face erupts into a full panty-melting grin. “Half-assing anything isn't in your nature. I know because every inch of what you're sitting on is too fucking fine for half measures.”

  Oh. My. God.

  Here I am, decked out in this dress that's worth more than the luxury vehicle we're riding in, and he's commenting on my ass. I can't take it anymore.

  I lean in, let my hand fly, and give him what he deserves. Silas' royal stubble burns my palm when it explodes across his cheek.

  Pulling back, my fingers are trembling, wondering if I've just blown the whole thing.

  No, he's still smiling. I should've known, after what he said about liking it rough. The idiot on top of the world next to me likes this.

  “Hope you're feeling better,” he says, as if I just sneezed. “I'll take a blow like that anytime if that's the price to pay for complimenting one of the finest asses I've ever seen.”

  I don't say another word until we're at the palace. He takes off his shades, steps out before me, and comes to my side to help me out. I take his hand angrily, catching his dizzying blue eyes for a second before I look away.

  I can't let him get to me again. This is too important. I'm already feeling light headed by the pomp and glamor adorning every inch of this incredible building. It's only my second time here since the disastrous interview, since the unthinkable became my reality.

  Silas stops in front of a regal looking man in a suit that's almost as nice as his. “Where is she?” he asks.

  “Throne room, my Prince. She's waiting for you, having finished with the Belgian trade minister a few minutes ago.”

  “Damn,” he says, turning to me as he leads us on, his personal entourage trailing behind us. “I'd have hoped for some place more casual for an introduction. Whatever, it's a test. If you can get through this when she's there, perched in all her splendor, you can get through anything, love.”

  My heart starts hammering in my chest. Thank God corsets aren't a thing in royal fashion anymore, or else I'd be screwed.

  It takes several minutes to travel through the palace, taking in more history, wealth, and power than I can fully absorb. Hell, I think I'll need several lifetimes to do that. Every wall, every ceiling, every chandelier oozes class.

  The very highest, most exclusive class a human being can belong to. These royals make billionaires and celebrities back home look like posers.

  I'm walking into the home of living, breathing people who think they're gods, put here to shape this island and the broader world as they please. It's their destiny, the one they're told to fulfill from the day they're born.

  Besides being alien to everything I know, I can't lie about what it means. It's fucking terrifying.

  The door to the throne room – if I can even call it that – is huge. Scenes of battle, triumph, and dragons are carved into every inch, stretching from floor to ceiling. Two men in traditional navy blue uniforms with rifles slung over their shoulders bow their heads as soon as they see us.

  “I'm here to meet with Her Majesty,” Silas tells them. “Let us in.”

  The men move like clockwork. They march several long strides to the center, and grasp the huge silver handles. The door creaks open like it's hiding Aladdin's long lost treasure – what else? – and I'm staring into a scene from another century.

  Inside, Queen Marina Bearington sits on her high throne, a tiara like crystal on her head. I've seen it in the pictures. She's like a living ornament on a Christmas tree turned into a room, decked in jewels, metals, and silk robes. It's hard to believe she's human, much less standing in front of me.

  Yes, standing, rising to her royal feet. Waiting for us.

  “Come on. Just follow my lead,” Silas whispers under his breath. A move that teaches me everything echoes in this monstrous, awesome chamber, however subtle.

  He steps forward, and I'm at his side. When he bows – much more deeply than the shallow head nods I've seen in the kingdom before – I do it, too. Then I curtsy, careful not to catch my dress on my heels, embarrassing myself forever.

  “Your Majesty. It's my great honor to present my fiancee, and future Princess, Erin Warwick from the United States.”

  My head stays dipped too low to see the Queen, but I can feel her eyes. They're focused on me like a hawk's, wondering where the hell I came from, and why.

  “Rise.” She speaks one word.

  Silas takes my hand and helps me up. We're standing beneath her elevated throne, just several feet away from a woman who's ruled over millions long before I was born.

  I can't make out any of Silas' facial features in hers, but they share the same eyes.

  Deep, dark, royal blue, unchanged by age.

  “You're the girl whose father collapsed on television, interviewing my grandson, aren't you?” she says, slowly scanning me with her gaze.
>
  “Guilty as charged, Your Majesty.” I want to kick myself as soon as it's out of my mouth. Jesus, what was I thinking – guilty?

  The Queen turns to Silas, her tiara catching the light, sparkling brilliantly like stars in her head. “What's the real meaning of this, Silas? Tell me the truth.”

  He looks taken aback, and his fingers tighten in mine. “The meaning? I've found the love of my life, and I'm claiming her. You always said I ought to find a good girl to settle down with. Someone to calm me, bring balance. Well, Your Majesty, I have.”

  The Queen looks incredulous. “So, you've done exactly what I suggested in a matter of days? You couldn't have possibly known Miss Warwick much longer than that, all things considered.”

  “You're right,” he says. “We've barely known each other a week, if you want the full truth. This woman, she's different than all the others I've ever been with. She isn't just another fling. When you meet the love of your life, you just know. I used to laugh at that, but now? I get it. Hell, yeah, I do.”

  He pulls my hand up, brings it to his mouth the same way he did yesterday on the balcony, and puts it against his lips.

  The floor drops out beneath me.

  I can't believe I'm standing here, having my hand kissed by a Prince who doesn't believe a word of anything he's just said, all in front of Queen Marina Bearington.

  “You're lying,” she says, turning her angry eyes to me, making my heart sputter. “You're either lying, or you've lost your mind, son. When I said you should find a woman, I meant it should happen slowly...naturally. Just as these things are meant to. You can't possibly think I meant for you to find a wife in less than a week. What I don't know is why you're doing this. Regardless, it isn't going to work, Silas. I see through it, and I'm going to instruct the royal chapel not to approve any weddings with this woman.”

  “No!” Dad flashes in my brain, and I step forward, speaking my objection like a bullet. “I know what this looks like. It seems insane, Your Majesty, like something from a dream. That's been my last few days with the Prince, exactly. The truth is...we're in love. We want to move this forward. But I can't do that unless he gives me a place in the kingdom so I don't have to go back to LA.”