Paper Princess (The Royals #1)(79)

I stop in my tracks and meet his eyes. Not a good idea, because I know he can see the longing on my face. It causes his gaze to grow shuttered, and I bite back my frustration.

“You like me,” I announce.

His jaw tics.

“You want me.”

Another tic.

“Dammit, Reed, why can’t you just admit it? What’s the point in lying?”

When he doesn’t answer, I whirl around and march off, my bare feet kicking up sand. Suddenly I’m yanked backward, and my shoulders collide with a solid male chest, stealing the breath from my lungs.

Reed’s chin comes down to rest on my shoulder, his lips millimeters from my ear. “You want me to say it?” he whispers. “Fine, I’ll say it. I want you. I fucking want you.”

I feel the hard length of him pressing against my butt and I know he’s not lying. As a thrill shoots up my spine, Reed twists me around and his mouth crashes down on mine.

The kiss is hot enough to turn the Atlantic into lava. My lips part and he slides his tongue past them, devouring my mouth in greedy strokes that leave me breathless. I cling to his broad shoulders, then slide my hands down to his trim waist.

He groans and cups my bottom, rotating his hips so I can feel every inch of him. Then, after one more drugging kiss, he releases me and staggers backward.

“I’m leaving for college next year,” he says hoarsely. “I’m leaving, and chances are I’m never coming back. I’m not selfish enough to start something I can’t finish. I’m not gonna do that to you.”

I don’t care, I want to say. I’ll take him any way I can, even if it’s for a short time, but I don’t voice the words, because I know they won’t sway him.

“Let’s go back to the house,” he mumbles when my silence drags on.

I follow him without a word, my lips still tingling from his kiss, my heart still aching from his rejection.



* * *



I’m just drifting off to sleep when my bedroom door creaks open. I groggily lift my head. Within seconds I’m wide awake.

Reed climbs into bed beside me. He doesn’t say a word. The room is too dark, so I can’t see his expression, but I can feel the warmth of his body as he slides closer. The heat of his palm as he strokes my cheek before grasping my chin and tilting my head toward his.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

His voice is pained. “I decided to be selfish.”

Happiness explodes in my chest. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. His lips hover over mine, but he doesn’t kiss me.

“Just for tonight,” he tells me.

“That’s what you said last night, too.”

“This time I mean it.” And then he kisses me, and any protest I might have expressed gets lost in the hurried joining of our mouths.

He groans when my tongue touches his. Strong hips rock against me, his hard-on rubbing my thigh. I move so that we’re on both on our sides, face-to-face, mouths fused together.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, and then his hand slips under my shirt. Into my panties.

His fingers tease me, pressing against sensitive spots that make me moan against his lips. We touch each other, running our hands over all the bare skin we can find, neither one of us coming up for air as we practically eat each other’s faces off.

It isn’t long before the knot of tension inside me breaks apart in a million little pieces. Pleasure soars through my body as I gasp into his mouth. Reed trembles against me, and this time I’m the one swallowing his groan of pleasure.

Afterward, we lie tangled up together, kissing for what feels like hours. I never want him to go. I want him to stay in this bed forever.

But just like last night, he’s gone when I open my eyes the next morning.

I wonder if I dreamed it, but when I roll over, I smell him on my pillows. His shampoo, his soap, the spicy aftershave he wears. He was here. It was real. The loss hits me hard, and not even the sunshine streaming in from the curtains can ease the disappointment I wake up with.

But then the disappointment is replaced with a jolt of panic, because a high-pitched shriek suddenly rings out through the mansion. I think it came from the front parlor, and I jump out of bed, throwing open my door just as another shriek assaults my eardrums.

“You are not getting away with this!” Brooke is screaming. “Not this time, Callum Royal!”





30





I reach the railing at the same time Easton pops out of his bedroom. His dark hair sticks up in all directions, and his eyes are bloodshot as he comes up beside me. “What the hell,” he mumbles.

We both look down at foyer, where Brooke and Callum are facing off. It’s comical almost, because she’s more than a head shorter than him thus posing the least threatening picture on the planet.

“It’s my right to be there!” Brooke shouts, jamming the center of Callum’s chest with one sharp fingernail.

“No, it isn’t. You’re not a Royal and you’re not an O’Halloran. It’s not your place.”

“Then tell me, what is my place? Why do I put up with all your bullshit then? You treat me like I’m your mistress instead of your girlfriend! Where’s my ring, Callum? Where the fuck is my ring?”

I can’t see Callum’s face, but I don’t miss the tension in his shoulders. “My wife’s body is barely even cold!” he roars.