Crown Jewels (Off-Limits Romance #1)(49)

“God. I love cheese.”

Liam grins. His arm goes around me, and he leads me past the bar area where we sat last night. Today, two youngish looking guys are chopping veggies there. A blonde girl who looks a little younger than us is telling them an animated story while she works what looks like dough.

“Hello, Liam,” she says as we pass. Her eyes jerk to me. “You’re the girl from telly. Rhodes of Concord,” she says in what I realize is an English accent.

I nod.

“Just Lucy while she’s here, Beth.”

“Right.” The girl nods, then gives me a wink. “Don’t worry. Liam will have my head if I violate the NDA. Says so right there in the contract.”

Liam snorts. “Beth is a bit dramatic, if you couldn’t tell.”

She flings her arms out. “I’m exciting. Unlike Liam.”

He shakes his head, and we walk into the hall. “Beth is Mora’s adopted daughter. Mora found her in an alley in London when she was four. She’s fifteen now. And don’t worry, they really do sign NDAs. No one will know you’re here.”

“It’s okay.”

I’m surprised when Liam’s hand closes around mine. His arm presses against mine as he leads me toward the stairs we took up last night.

“I meant it when I said you’ll have a good time here. No worries, Lucy Su.” His eyes find mine as our fingers twine together, and I give him a funny look.

“How’d you know to call me that?”

“What, Lucy Su?”

I nod.

“Lucille Sutton Rhodes. That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but Lucy Su?”

He smirks. “How do you think?”

“TV?”

“Guilty as charged.” His hand squeezes mine.

“Was that really on the show? I didn’t realize.”

“Sometime in season two, I think.”

“You watched more than one season?”

“Didn’t everyone?”

“But you?”

“What’s so special about me?”

He stops as we reach the landing to the second floor, giving me a cheesy smile that makes my heart pound slightly harder.

“I don’t know.” I smile back. “Just seems like you’re always busy, traveling and stuff.”

“Only this summer. Wanted to get away,” he says as we start down the lavish hallway.

“Bored?” I ask.

“Something like that.”





TWENTY Liam





“Is it stressful, all the royal stuff?”

I look down at Lucy, finding her eyes bright and curious, her lips pursed slightly—so I want to kiss them.

Is it stressful? My pulse races at the question. I have to fight the urge to shut my eyes and take a deep, slow breath. One of the ones I learned on the yoga video I’ve watched a few times in my rooms.

“Sometimes,” I manage.

Her thumb strokes the top of my hand. “I remember you said you had trouble sleeping.”

“Did I?”

“Well, you called me in the middle of the night. I think you said that.” She leans her head against my arm. “Every family has its stresses. I just figured yours might have more than average. Mine does too, in a way.”

“I’m sure.” I can’t help leaning my down, so my cheek is pressed against the top of her head. Damn, she smells so fucking good.

“Are you smelling my hair?” she asks me in a teasing tone.

“What do you put in it?” My own voice is low and gruff.

“Magic love potion. Is it working?” She looks up at me, batting her lashes.

“No.”

Her eyes widen in mock hurt. I give her a grin that lets her know I’m lying. Then I lean away from her and let go of her hand.

“You want to take a nap or something? Read a book? I’m going to work out. You could come with me too. There’s a gym upstairs, right under the roof garden. Glass walls and stuff.”

“Roof-top garden? That’s what I’m talking about. Is anybody up there?”

“Only the birds.” I smile at her again, a stupid smile that I can’t stop. Why can’t I stop smiling at her?

“Well, I think I’m going to lay out with the birds. I bet it feels amazing! I love a cool breeze. Don’t tell anyone, but I hate the heat.”

“Why can’t I tell?” I flip a piece of her hair. Lucy grabs my hand, curling her fingers around it.

“Because I’m from Georgia.”

“Are you a traitor to the Confederacy?”

“Yes, totally a secret traitor. I don’t do sweet tea or grits either, but those are also secrets.”

I can’t help laughing my ass off at that. More so, because she actually looks guilty.

“Fried okra?” I ask.

“Now that I like.” Her brows rumple and her head tilts slightly. “How do you know about fried okra?”

I tap my temple. “Smart like that. What about fried green tomatoes?”

“Yes.”

“Fried Oreos?”

“No way.” Her face sours. “That’s not a Southern food.”