The Royal Rogue Page 12

  “Why?”

  “There’s humble and then there is just stupid. You’re not stupid Stella, so don’t act like it.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m pregnant, aren’t I?”

  He narrows his eyes at me for a second until the cat starts to bat its paw on his arm.

  “You should always believe you’re better than you are. In time, you might become it. It’s dangerous to go the other way.” He reaches over and plucks the straw from my drink. “You shouldn’t use this. Think of the turtles.” Then he starts to tease the cat with the straw.

  “Anyway,” I tell him, ignoring the loss of my stolen straw. “I don’t need a palace.”

  “Will you just admit you’re a princess?”

  “Of course I’m a princess. It just doesn’t mean that’s something that I feel like I am, or something I even want to be. I’m just . . . normal.”

  “You can be both.” He wiggles the straw at the cat who captures it in its tiny paws. “Hey Mokey? You want to become a royal cat?”

  “You’re still thinking of bringing him back?”

  “I already made a promise to him and you know how I feel about promises.”

  I grumble and then finish the rest of my drink, sans straw, the ice bumping against my face. “Okay, but then he’s going back to Monaco with you.” I pause, wondering if I should press on. “What will Zoya think?”

  “She won’t care,” he says. “She’s so busy, she’s never there anyway. And you don’t have to get all weird and cagey when you ask me about her.”

  “Well, it’s hard not to. It’s just so weird. I feel like . . . like a mistress or something.”

  “You’re not a mistress.”

  Maybe not. But I’m something. If he ends up getting married to Zoya, I’ll definitely be something. Makes me wonder how naïve I’m being in thinking we can keep this all a secret forever. I know I told him I wouldn’t tell the baby who the father was but I’m starting to wonder if that’s even fair. Doesn’t every child have a right to know exactly where they came from?

  “No one is getting hurt from this,” he goes on. “I promise.”

  Not yet, I think. Not yet.

  Chapter 10

  Orlando

  “What was your saying again?” I hear Stella yell from the kitchen. “Never trust a man who doesn’t like cats?”

  “You remembered,” I comment. “I’m very impressed.”

  She grunts something in response and I go around the corner into the kitchen to see coffee grounds spilled absolutely everywhere. On the floor, on the counter, in the sink.

  “What the hell did you do?”

  “Me?” she snaps, angrily wiping away the hair that’s fallen in her face. “This is your damn cat’s fault.”

  “Sir Mokey did this?”

  “Oh, it’s Sir Mokey now?” she comments, shaking her head. She tears off paper towels and attempts to clean up. “The cat got knighted?”

  “Hey baby mama,” I say, coming over to her and taking the paper towel out of her hands. “You go relax. I’ll take care of this. And the cat.”

  She makes a feeble sound in response and then walks off to the living area where she collapses on the couch in a huff.

  We’ve been at the compound in Cyprus for three days now and have plans to go back tomorrow. I’m not really sure what’s on our agenda, other than I’m going back to Monaco (with Sir Mokey) and she’s going to England. The last few days we’ve talked about everything under the sun, but the complexity of our personal situation doesn’t seem to be any clearer.

  All I know is that I don’t want to be apart from her. I would rather go back with her to England and meet Anya and help her with every step of this pregnancy.

  But I also know that’s going to be tricky when it comes to me and Zoya—I’m not even sure if I’ll ever tell her the truth at this point. On top of that, I don’t know if Stella even wants me in her life after this. She seems so adamant that she can handle it all herself, without any help or input from me, and while I respect and admire how strong she’s being, she doesn’t realize how much I want to be there for her and the baby.

  It’s surprising even to myself.

  Maybe this is just what happens when you become a father (or future father or baby daddy or however else I’m supposed to describe myself these days). Your instincts kick in. You want to be involved, you want to be able to watch over the mother to protect the baby. Either way, I’m feeling drawn to Stella in an even more magnetic way than before.

  I just want to take care of her, be with her, as much as I can.

  And I’m not sure our lives will let that happen.

  I exhale loudly through my nose, trying to work through it, then I clean up the kitchen. I’m really not sure how the cat managed to get inside, let alone tear apart the bag of coffee. I’ve been pretty good about obeying Stella’s wishes regarding Sir Mokey.

  When I’m done cleaning it up, I go back to the sitting room.

  “All clear.”

  “Well, where is the cat?” she asks, looking around her warily.

  “I’m sure he’s somewhere. I’ll find him. You just relax.”

  “I’m allergic, you know.”

  “Uh huh. I don’t think I’ve heard you sneeze once.”

  “Cat litter is bad for the baby.”

  “We’re not keeping him inside. Jesus.”

  I swear I see a tiny smirk on her lips.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You enjoy busting my chops, don’t you?”

  She shrugs and looks at her nails. “It’s good to have hobbies.”

  I walk over to her and stand at the side of the couch, looming over her. “If you weren’t pregnant, do you know what I would do?”

  She glances up at me, a little fearful. “What?”

  “I’d tickle the fuck out of you.”

  She laughs. The sound of her gorgeous laugh strikes me right in the heart.

  I feel it.

  Shit.

  Shit, what is happening here?

  “Okay,” she says, sitting up and holding out her hands in a truce. “Normally I would be the first to remind you that I’m barely pregnant—”

  “You just told me about kitty litter!”

  “But I will have to say, you’re right. Tickling me would be very dangerous right now.”

  “I think you might be asking for it,” I say, holding out my hands and making the tickle motion.

  “This is how boys flirt in middle school,” she says, with another laugh.

  “Maybe some boys don’t grow out of it,” I tell her, taking another step until I’m right up against the couch, inches away, my fingers wriggling.

  The most determined, wild look comes across her face as she quickly reaches out and grabs my wrists with an iron grip. “If you tickle me, I will knee you right in the balls,” she says through grinding teeth. “I don’t care if I do any damage. I already got your sperm.”

  Now I’m laughing. “Say sperm again, it was incredibly sexy with that Danish accent of yours.”

  “Shut up,” she says.

  I make the move to tickle her but then her knee comes up and I have to think quick, blocking my junk just in time before she makes contact.

  The movement causes me to fall over onto her.

  “Ahh,” she cries out and starts to squirm, but I press my weight on top of her and pin her hands behind her on the couch.

  “Gotcha,” I tell her, my face inches from her.

  It takes all of my strength, not to keep her pinned, but to keep myself from kissing her.

  Those lips.

  I know what those lips taste like, what they feel like.

  How they make me feel.

  I don’t know how it’s even possible at this point, but I’ve missed her.

  She’s been by my side here on this island for a few days, and yet I’ve missed her in the deepest parts of me.

  Mainly my dick, but other parts too.


  “Get off of me,” she says, the words come out rushed and soft. Her eyes keep flitting between mine and my lips. I like it. This push and pull. The way I can tell that she still wants me but is doing everything she can to keep her needs at bay.

  “Let me guess, this is dangerous too?”

  “Yeah, for you,” she says, and makes an attempt to knee me in the balls.

  She manages to just graze me. It’s enough.

  Fucking hell that hurts.

  “Ow,” I cry out, rolling to the side and onto the tile floor with a thunk.

  I try to keep my wails to myself and suck it up, but even so, she’s giving me an assertive look as she lords over me from the couch. “You know that pain? Now multiply it by a million and that’s what it’s like to give birth.”

  I manage to get to my feet and groan. “So what you’re saying is, you’re going to do that a million times over the next nine months?”

  “It depends if you deserve it or not.”

  “So I take that as a yes?”

  “We’ll see,” she says. I reach down and grab her by the elbows, hauling her to her feet. “Don’t you have a cat to go find?”

  “I’ve got a pussy right here.”

  Her eyes roll to the back of her head. “So that’s why you like cats. All the pussy jokes you can handle.”

  “Trust me, I can handle a lot of pussy.”

  She giggles and places her hands on my chest. “You need to stop,” she warns me, a lazy smile on her lips. It’s like for a moment she’s forgotten than she’s been trying to keep her distance from me for the last few days.

  But then her expression changes. Brows come together, jaw grows tense. She remembers.

  “I think I’m going to get changed and go for a swim,” she says, clearing her throat.

  Her hands drop away from my chest and she walks away, up the stairs to her room.

  I watch her go and then feel a pang of disappointment. I’m normally a lot smoother than this. My seduction tactics worked on her the first time around, but now it’s like she’s immune to me. I know she’s still attracted to me. I can see it in her eyes, the way she bites her lip, I can practically smell it on her. She wants me just as badly as I want her.

  But she doesn’t want to act on it and I’m not about to convince her otherwise.

  Then again, it’s me.

  Of course I’m going to try and convince her otherwise.

  Mew.

  I turn around to see Mokey sitting in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at me curiously and mewling.

  Speaking of pussy.

  “There you are,” I say, going over to him. I scoop him up in my hands and hold the little orange rascal close to my chest. “You funny little thing.”

  We managed to take him to the vet yesterday where he was given a flea bath and some shots. When I get back to Monaco, I’m supposed to get him neutered too. Apparently Cyprus has a huge stray cat population—1.5 million, which is half a million more than the people who live here. Every cat that gets taken out of here and given a home is for the best.

  I take Mokey through the French doors and to the terrace outside. I bought a travel kennel at the vet and replaced the cardboard box that was previously his home. Inside is lined with towels and he has his food and water dish outside. He’s free to roam wherever, but at this point he keeps returning. As long as he’s around tomorrow morning, then he’s coming with me.

  Tomorrow. Just like it did when I was at the palace in Copenhagen, the last few days here on Cyprus have felt like a dream. A dream in which I’m not tied to my duties and my future, a dream in which I’m allowed to just be me.

  And I’m allowed to be with her, even if it’s just to be in her company.

  Tomorrow that dream comes to end.

  If I had her in my life in the way I want, it would become a dream I’d never have to wake up from.

  You don’t even know what you want, I tell myself. You’re as messed up as she is. Listen to yourself.

  I am listening to myself.

  Maybe for the first time ever.

  I place Mokey down by the kennel and he goes straight over to the cat food.

  I look over to the sea. The sun is starting to set. It feels like the sun is always setting here. I keep getting Elton John’s “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” in my head on repeat.

  “It’s always so beautiful.” Stella’s voice rings from behind me.

  I look over my shoulder to see Stella walking toward the pool.

  I’m stunned.

  I blink.

  I’d say she’s the one who is always so beautiful, but in this case I would be lying because the word beautiful isn’t enough to describe her.

  She’s wearing just her bathing suit, a turquoise string bikini that leaves very little to the imagination. I’m not sure if she bought that here or what, because I always pictured Stella wearing something a little cuter and more modest, but right now she’s working it and my jaw is on the ground.

  She glances at me and gives me a shy smile before hurrying to the pool.

  “Where’s the fire?” I ask her, and I’m totally aware that I’m leering at her. Aware but unwilling to change.

  She shoots me another look over her shoulder, one I can’t read with her backlit by the orange glow of the setting sun, but I’m sure it’s a look that’s telling me to mind my manners.

  You know what? Not sure that I will tonight.

  We leave tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll see her again. I don’t trust that she’s actually going to keep me in her life.

  Tonight might be all we have.

  And there’s no time for boyish flirting and all the games.

  There’s no time for anything but the truth.

  I watch as she gets in the pool and swims to the end of it, where it drops off into infinity and there’s nothing but beach and sea and sky beyond, currently turning molten.

  Then I strip.

  Take off my shirt, my shorts, kick off my sandals until I’m completely naked. It’s still so hot out that it actually feels better this way.

  She’s not watching me. Her back is to me, her eyes on the horizon.

  I walk over to the pool, my cock already hard, betraying me, and slowly sink into the water.

  She finally turns around, surprised to see me.

  I give her no room to move out of the way. I’m tall and broad-shouldered and I’m a fast swimmer. I cut through the water like glass and then I’m at her, my arms on either side of her body, bracketing her in as she stares at me.

  “I’m not sure what I’m doing,” I tell her, my voice coming out low and rough. “But I just know that tomorrow we’re both leaving and I don’t know what that’s going to bring.”

  She swallows, watching me with eyes that dance between desire and determination. “I don’t know either,” she says softly. “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

  I frown at her, at the way she keeps playing it so cool, as if she’s not carrying my child, as if there isn’t so much as stake here. “What do you want?” I whisper. “Tell me. Talk to me.”

  She takes in a deep breath and stares at my chest, at my tattoo. “I want . . . I just want everything to be okay.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her, cupping her chin with my hand. “I promise you that.”

  “How can you promise that when you’ve made a promise to someone else?”

  Fuck.

  “I’m going to try and make it all right. You deserve that.”

  “But doesn’t Zoya deserve it too?”

  “This isn’t about her. This is about you and me. I . . .” I reach over and brush a strand of hair behind her ear, her hair that is growing coral and pink in the dying sun. “I can’t explain how I feel about you and I’m not going to try. But I’m strangely drawn to you, Stella. Your name means star and there’s nothing more fitting. It’s like when the sky is black and there’s that one bright light shining above you. It doesn’t matter where you look, your gaze
is drawn to that star every time you look up.”

  She stares at me for a moment and I see the softness come over her brow, as if she’s letting herself believe me. But then it fades. She frowns. “You’re just saying that because I’m the mother of your unborn child.”

  She says it like a joke, but for once I’m not smiling. “It’s not just that,” I tell her, hoping she can see the sincerity inside me. “There’s something deep inside me that sees something deep inside you. It sees we are the same.”

  “We are not the same.”

  I bring my face closer to hers, see the rounded glow of my reflection in her pupils. “We are the same. And we want the same things. We do. And most of all, we want each other.” I brush my thumb over her lips as my body grows tight with need. “There’s no use denying it. Wanting each other is what got us in this situation to begin with.”

  “You mean mess,” she says against my thumb, her voice low.

  “No, not a mess. This isn’t a mess, Stella. This is life.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “And life is complicated already. So what’s another wrench thrown into the gears? At least this way, I get to make you come.”

  Her eyes go wide and before she can say anything I’m pulling her into me, my cock sticking straight up between us, my lips smothering hers in a long, hard kiss.

  She whimpers into my mouth, seems to fight against me, against this, and I’m about to pull away when suddenly a growl seems to rip out of her. Her hands go to my shoulders, down my arms, to my back, her nails digging in as she holds me in place. Her mouth opens to mine, greedy and hungry and I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on in my life.

  This is complicated.

  So fucking complicated.

  But it’s also insanely beautiful.

  “Stella,” I whisper against her lips, my mouth moving down to the soft skin of her neck, wet from the pool and tasting faintly of sweat and chlorine. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”

  “Uh huh,” she bites out through a groan, as her hand comes around to my cock, making a fist over it. “I can draw my own conclusions.”

  A deep moan spills from my lips as she squeezes me, and I’m left nearly breathless.

  “Careful,” I manage to say, my fingers deftly untying the straps of her bikini. “I’m not coming until you are.”