The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(30)
“Because I’m not a second-best kinda guy.” Tracing one of the red blemishes around my wrist, he stares at it, leaving silence lingering that I try to use to figure out the meaning of his statement. And in this moment of quiet, I sense a kindred spirit in Josh. He lives a life before the focus of many lenses too, has little to no privacy, and quite possibly feels as suppressed as I do. But before I can think more about that, he shakes his head, as if shaking himself from some unwanted thoughts. “So, when are we playing again?” He smirks that devilish smirk and rolls onto his side, settling his hand neatly on my stomach.
I stall, and even though it’s because I’m wondering if playing again would be a good idea, I don’t express my reservations. “I’m a busy woman.”
“Then make yourself unbusy,” he orders, with no hint of amusement.
I laugh anyway. “I am in demand, Mr. Jameson. Representing the Monarchy and behaving for the cameras, remember?”
“Behaving? Oh, behave.” Josh chuckles and shifts quickly, pinning my wrists above my head and crowding my body with his. His nose touches mine, his brow furrowing. “You’re only allowed to misbehave with me in future.”
Creases invade my forehead. Is he telling me no other men are allowed? “I don’t do exclusive,” I say. “You know that.”
“The rules have changed.”
“What rules?”
“The rules of this game we’re playing.” He subtly pushes his groin into mine, failing to hold back his victorious smile when I breathe in and hold it. Bloody hell, there goes my body temperature again, through the flipping roof.
“I thought the game was finished.”
“The game only finishes when I say it finishes.” Landing his lips on mine, he kisses me deeply, backing up his confident words with a confident kiss. And as I lose myself in it completely, I wonder if Josh hiding in the bathroom was because he understands that if anyone catches wind of our encounter, this game really will be over. And the game only finishes when Josh says it finishes, therefore no one can know about us. Which should be fine by me, since a massive part of me wants to play his game. But another part of me, a part I am finding too easy to ignore, is wondering if I should get out before I become too swept up in it. “Aren’t you a little too busy also?” I ask around his mouth. “Films to make, billboards to grace, women to send dizzy?”
He smiles against my lips and pulls away. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Your Highness?”
“I’m simply reminding you of who you are.” When does he imagine we are going to play this game of his?
“Don’t you worry that pretty little princess head of yours.” He kisses my forehead delicately. “All you have to do is as you’re told.”
“You are outrageous. Haven’t you figured out yet that I don’t like being told what to do?”
Taking my cheeks in his palms, he scans me for a few thoughtful seconds, allowing me the pleasure of viewing his lovely face so close. His jaw is perfectly peppered, his eyes perfectly sparkly, and his hair perfectly fucked. Josh Jameson is perfect. “And haven’t you figured out, Your Highness”—he languidly brings his eyes to mine, his pupils dilated, drawing out the blue and green completely—“that you did very well being told what to do when it was me telling you?” He watches as my eyes expand in silent realization, and he nods mildly. “It was easy then, wasn’t it, Princess?”
He’s right. So easy. “Yes.”
“Why do you think that is?” he drawls, his accent enhanced.
“I have no bloody idea,” I admit, and he smiles, white and blinding, clearly relishing my confusion.
A chime of a mobile phone sounds, and Josh looks around my suite. “That’s my cell.”
“Then you had better answer it.”
“There you go again, trying to get rid of me.” He bites my nose and jumps off the bed, answering. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” Josh looks at me and pulls a face to suggest he’s cringing. “Just getting a tour of the royal”—he stalls and skates his gaze down my half-exposed naked body—“palace.” He finishes on a grin. “Awesome.” He hangs up and slips his feet into his shoes. “My driver’s waiting.” Making his way over as he feeds his belt through the loops of his jeans, he dips and kisses me more sweetly than I would have liked him to. Although, apparently, my body is absolutely fine with his affection, my arms twitching with the force it’s taking me to keep them by my side and not cradle his wide shoulders. He needs to leave so I can have a little meltdown and reflect on his claim. Reflect on the fact that I bowed to him without question or hesitance. Without hardly thinking. That is not me. I shouldn’t let it be with Josh. “It’s been a pleasure, ma’am.” He nibbles on my bottom lip. “I’ll call you.”
“How?”
He takes his phone and hands it to me. “Because you’re going to give me your number.”
Like a programmed robot, I punch my number into his phone and hand it back to him.
His smile is victorious as he lands a hard kiss on my cheek. “Sweet dreams, Princess.” He strides out while I wonder what the hell I was thinking giving him my number. Am I mad? I laugh. Yes, quite possibly. Then I ridicule myself for my stupidity, forcing myself not to take any pleasure from the vision of Josh’s solid, defined back as he leaves. I don’t admire him. I don’t analyze every detail, every feeling, every height of pleasure I just experienced.