Seducing the Princess Page 3

  He knew it.

  She knew it, too, he’d bet.

  Earlier, paparazzi had been spotted hanging around the back entrance. Her team had left that way to throw them off her scent, and she was currently hurrying across the foyer so the two of them could leave unnoticed…elegantly, of course.

  Rushing past her, he opened the door for her. She shot him a quick look, her bright green eyes meeting his, but then she looked away. She was still gorgeous, even though she’d gone all princess-mode on him. Her long blonde hair shined like diamonds on tiny silk strands, and she had tiny dimples in her cheeks when she smiled.

  Royal dimples.

  Everything about her, from her head to her toes, screamed of elegance and composure. She was so damn put together, he’d bet she didn’t even sweat or cry out when she came in bed. Hell, she probably didn’t even come at all.

  Way too undignified for royalty.

  She walked through the door, brushing against his chest as she did so. He stiffened, a fist of need punching through him. Something had burned between them in that dark hallway, when he hadn’t known who she was, and now there was no stopping it.

  It was there.

  Had she known it was him? She should have. There had been no fake accent to throw her off. She stopped in the foyer, blinking outside. “Um…”

  “Yeah?” He followed her gaze. It still poured outside. When she didn’t move, but instead toyed with the hem of her dress, he raised a brow. “Is there a problem, Princess?”

  She shot him a look that told him to shove his nickname for her up his ass—regally, of course. “It’s raining.”

  No shit, Sherlock, he said in his head.

  He barely stopped himself from saying it out loud. She was a princess, after all. He was supposed to treat her with respect. “Yes. Yes, it is. Quite the astute observation,” he said drily.

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “I don’t have an umbrella.”

  “Ah,” he said, looking outside. “Princesses don’t run in the rain, huh?”

  “No. We don’t run at all,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Unless it’s on a treadmill in a private gym.”

  He stared at her. He’d been mostly teasing her with that comment, but damn if that wasn’t actually her problem. She didn’t want to look undignified. “Wow.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “What?”

  “Nothing. I just didn’t realize you weren’t allowed to run through the rain like a normal person,” he muttered, running his hands through his hair. He shrugged out of his jacket. “Put this on and wait here. I’ll pull the car up for you.”

  “I don’t want your jacket. There’s no time to worry about jackets and rain. We have to go before they realize I’m not with my team. Do you have an umbrella?”

  “No. I just get wet.”

  “Princesses don’t get wet,” she murmured.

  Yeah. He could tell. “You don’t say,” he drawled, shrugging back into his jacket, since she’d refused it. “Ever?”

  Her cheeks went even pinker, but that was the only sign she gave of acknowledging the innuendo in his tone. “Ever.”

  “But—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. He really didn’t want to go down that road. “I mean, stay here. I’ll run out and pull the car up to the door, and you’ll only have a little bit of rain to regally walk through then.”

  “No. I have to blend in. Act normal.” She shifted on her feet and scanned the street outside. It was empty. “We’ll have to make a run for it. Come on.”

  He offered his hand. “If you insist, Princess. But at least hold on to my hand in case you slip.”

  “Which one is yours?” she asked, still mangling the hem of her dress.

  “The red one over there.” He pointed to his car. “Next to the silver truck.”

  “2014 Ford Mustang. Nice.”

  He blinked at her. “You know cars?”

  “Of course.” She dropped her dress and slid her hand into his. “I might be a princess, but I know a fabulous car when I see one.”

  He couldn’t have been more shocked if she ripped off her dress and started singing the “Star Spangled Banner” in the middle of the restaurant. “Holy shit. I mean…uh…”

  She laughed, making her bright eyes light up in ways he hadn’t realized were possible. She didn’t look like a regal princess right now—she looked like the woman he’d been flirting with in the coffee shop. All woman, and he felt all man.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  “I was born ready.” He tightened his fingers on hers. “After you, Princess.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded.

  He opened the door for her. She rushed through it, as if she might be scared to hesitate and chicken out, dragging him behind her. He picked up speed and matched his pace to hers easily enough. She squealed when the water pummeled them but didn’t sound upset. She sounded…thrilled. As if she loved doing this.

  As if she felt alive.

  He watched her out of the corner of his eye as they sprinted for his car. She laughed and swiped her free hand over her forehead, her previously flawless blonde hair plastered all over her cheeks and neck like a child’s first finger-painting. By the time they reached the car, they were both thoroughly drenched. He unlocked the passenger door and opened it for her, before bolting around the car to his door in record speed. He slid into his seat and slammed the door shut, shaking his head like a wet dog. “That was cold.”

  “Yes!” She laughed and wiped her face with her hands. “Oh my goodness. That was so much fun.”

  He grinned and turned to her. “See? You have no idea what you’ve been—”

  Missing. That’s what he’d been planning on saying, but the word died on his lips when he caught sight of her. She sat in his car, looking every part the straight-spined regal princess as ever, but she was completely different at the same time. Her hair was no longer straight, and her eyes shined with laughter. The dimples were out in full force, and her smile wasn’t as practiced as it had been all night.

  It looked real. Abso-fucking-lutely real.

  And so did she.

  On top of that, her white dress hugged her curves with way too much mind-numbing detail, showing him exactly how womanly she was under all that princess crap she wore like a shield. It did little to hide her breasts, and she must be wearing a sheer bra—because he could see her hard, rosy nipples through the lacy fabric.

  She was breathtakingly stunning. He wanted her to be his so badly. He shifted in his seat to accommodate his hard cock. “Fuck me.”

  The smile faded, and she met his eyes without any hesitance or shyness. “Excuse me? I barely know you, and you’re my—”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. You’re…uh…” He motioned to her tits, averting his eyes so he didn’t stare and get his ass fired. But, man, it just might be worth it. “Your dress is now see-through.”

  “What?” She looked down, gasped out loud, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh my God. No, no, no.”

  His jacket was soaked and freezing, so he took it off and tossed it in the back seat. With his eyes locked on the windshield, he undid the top button on his shirt. “It’s okay. I’ve seen boobs before.”

  “Not mine. Wh-What are you doing?” she asked, her gaze pinned on his hands as he undid his dress shirt. “Why are you taking your shirt off?”

  “So you’ll take yours off, too.” He shot her a look from under his ducked head. “I’ll even go first, in good faith.”

  “Gordon.”

  “Just teasing. Relax. I’m going to give you this to wear so no one sees you.” He paused on the last button, his gaze dipping down her body of its own accord. “At least, I assume you don’t want anyone seeing you like that? It doesn’t seem very princess-like.”

  “Neither is being seen with a shirtless man, while wearing his shirt,” she groaned, dropping her head back against the leather seat. “Please tell me you have a shirt on under that?”

  He snorted. “No, but men
can walk around shirtless in America, Princess.”

  “I know,” she hissed. “But we can’t go to the hotel like this. My people, not to mention my parents, will throw a fit if I’m seen looking anything less than perfect—with a shirtless American man, no less. I can’t afford to mess up right now.”

  “We can go to my house if you’d like,” he stated calmly, hoping it would rub off on her or some shit like that. He took his shirt off and offered it to her. “It’s only five minutes from here. You can wear a robe while we’re there, and I’ll dry your dress in the dryer before I take you back to the hotel. No one will know.”

  She looked at him as if he’d killed a puppy. “This is Chanel. It can’t go in the dryer.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Okay, how about this? Tell your people you’re with me, and I’ll tell mine the same. Tell them…you got something on your dress, and we’re addressing the issue accordingly.” When she didn’t answer or take the shirt, he looked at her. He’d been trying to avoid that temptation, but he was worried he’d broken her or something. “Well? Do it.”

  She sputtered. “People don’t tell me what to do. I tell them.”

  “Yeah, well, get used to it, Princess. Call them. Now.”

  He expected her to argue, but she picked up her phone and made the call. While she made a hurried excuse about her absence, and assured her people she’d be perfectly safe in the company of the guard they’d hired, Gordon texted his boss.

  When he finished, he slid his phone into his damp pocket and checked her out again. She still sat there, the phone to her ear, her appearance as tempting as ever, but she watched him now, too. She was focused on his chest—or maybe his abs—and she looked like she was about five seconds from jumping him.

  There was no mistaking the desire in her eyes, and there was no denying his own answering surge of lust. It was the elephant in the room that he’d tried to ignore, but refused to shut the hell up.

  After a few more words, she hung up, her attention still glued on his chest. “We’re…we’re…good…”

  “Princess?” he asked, his voice deepened with desire. “You okay over there?”

  “I…I’m…” She licked her lips, her gaze still pinned on his shirtless torso. Her cheeks flushed bright pink, but she didn’t look away. “Oh God. You’re…I’m…it’s so hot in here. What’s wrong with me?”

  He stiffened, not liking the tone in her voice. She acted as if there had to be something wrong with her if she liked the way he looked without clothes on. All because she was a princess, and he was just a normal guy. Fuck that. “What’s the matter, Princess? Is it the tattoos that threw you off? Are they forbidden in your country? Or is it that you’ve never seen a shirtless man before?”

  Her head snapped up at that, finally meeting his eyes. She looked pissed as hell. “That’s none of your business.”

  Damn it, she was right. He was supposed to be protecting her, not provoking her. He needed to get his shit together. “Princess.”

  She shook her head, her mouth pinched tight. She looked like her cranky assistant lady. “Furthermore, you can’t talk to me like that. It’s not right.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” And that’s the closest he’d get to saying he was sorry. He didn’t do apologies and regrets. “Buckle up, Princess.”

  She huffed but didn’t argue. Thank God. He’d known dealing with a princess wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t realized just how damn hard it would be, either. Hell, he hadn’t realized how hard he’d be around her.

  It was an unwelcome reaction, truth be told.

  He didn’t want to want her. Didn’t want her to want him, either. She couldn’t handle him. He liked to be in control in bed. He liked his women confident, experienced, and willing to try just about anything. She wasn’t any of those things. She was like a scared little mouse stuck in the middle of a room.

  She had no fucking clue what she was doing.

  “You need to show me more respect,” she said, her hands latched in her lap as if she held on to her dignity with all her might. “I’m not used to men acting as if I’m a…a…common harlot.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem,” he muttered, glancing left to make sure it was clear to turn. “You need to be treated that way in bed—”

  “Gordon.”

  His fingers flexed on the wheel at the sound of his name on her lips. It sounded good. So good he wanted to make her say it again, only this time all breathlessly and with a tinge of desperation as he went down on her in his bed. “Look, Princess, I’m not one of your subjects. I don’t bow down to anyone, and I damn well won’t curb my tongue for anyone, either. I’m me, and I’m not changing. That said, if you’d like to request a different guard, you’re more than free to do so. I can call Cooper for you, real easy.”

  She stayed silent for a few heartbeats. “No. I don’t want to switch. It’ll just…it’ll take some getting used to.”

  He didn’t realize how much he wanted to hear her answer until she finally opened her mouth, and his entire body relaxed. He released his death grip on the wheel, nodding once to accept her reply. “Do you drink? I have wine at my house. It’ll help pass the time as I figure out a way to dry your dress without ruining it.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. His shirt still sat on her lap. She hadn’t put it on. He forced his eyes back on the road before he caught sight of her rosy nipples again and crashed them into a ditch.

  “I do like wine, yes. Red.”

  Red. Of course. She had red written all over her, from her fancy shoes to her flawless pearls. “I have some of that.”

  They fell silent and remained that way for the rest of the ride. He kept forcing his eyes to stay on the road, but he wanted to look at her. Study her. Understand her. She had some weird pull on him that he couldn’t shake loose. It was driving him insane. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and show her how to really live.

  Show her what fun really was.

  Not that he wanted anything serious with her, of course. She was a fucking princess, and he was…well, him. He wasn’t looking for happily ever after, or any shit like that. Just happy for tonight, or this afternoon, or whatever.

  He wasn’t afraid of commitment or anything like that. He just hadn’t found a girl who made him want to commit. So he went through his life, living meaningless encounters with women, one after another, and that was fine with him.

  And he had one rule and one rule only when it came to his lovers: He wouldn’t touch anyone who belonged to anyone else, and he wouldn’t have two women at once.

  Not after what he’d seen as a child.

  Images of his father leaving with yet another woman under his arm, while his mother cried herself to sleep, hit him. His father had come from a rich family, while his mother had been a teacher. He’d never even hesitated before throwing that back in her face as he’d left them. After watching his mother slowly die from pain, he’d sworn never to do that to anyone else. He’d sworn to avoid anyone who was taken by another—no matter the circumstances.

  And he’d never broken that rule.

  He pulled into his driveway and shut off the car. He sat there for a second, staring up at his quaint two story. She probably lived in a castle that was ten times the size of his home. Hell, twenty. What he used to think was charming and old-fashioned now just felt small and old. Why did I bring her here?

  She bent and looked out the windshield. “Is this your house?”

  “Yeah.” He opened the door, not one to fuck with time over his own insecurities. If she didn’t like his house, that was her problem. Not his. Again, he wasn’t going to apologize for being himself. “I know it’s not a castle, but it’s all mine.”

  When he opened her door for her, she shot him a glance. “I didn’t expect you to live in a castle. You’re not a prince. And for your knowledge, a lot of princes don’t live in castles, as well.”

  “For your information.”

&
nbsp; She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “That’s the saying. For your information. And, no, I’m not a prince, and I didn’t know that not all of them live in castles.” He shut her door behind her, took his shirt out of her hands, and tossed it over her shoulders. “I’m trying to be polite and all, but if you keep pointing your tit—uh, breasts at me in that see-through dress—I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  She crossed her arms, shooting him a narrow eyed glance. “I’m not ‘pointing’ my breasts anywhere. I’m simply standing here.”

  “If you say so.” He grabbed her elbow and led her up his walkway.

  She didn’t argue, but he could tell she had a few things she wanted to say to him. Her impeccable manners just didn’t let her. “You’re impossible.”

  “That, I did know.” After he unlocked the door, he motioned her forward. “After you, m’lady. I’ll hold the door for you, m’lady. Let me kiss your feet, m’lady.”

  “Now you’re just mocking me.” She brushed past him. “I might be a naïve princess, but I know sarcasm when I hear it.”

  He shut the door behind them and switched on the light in the foyer. She faced him, her hands at her hips, and her see-through dress looking even more so in the bright light. Jesus, she was going to kill him. She wore black panties.

  Lacy black panties, from the looks of it.

  He fisted his hands. “It’s not sarcasm.”

  “Whatever word you Americans use for it.” She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not respect; it’s the opposite.”

  His lips twitched. “Teasing. It’s called teasing.”

  “Well, then.” She tossed his shirt at him, and he caught it reflexively. “Please stop, and show me where that robe is.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it—it was nice when she showed spunk. “Yes, m’lady. Right this way, m’lady. After you, m’la—ow!”

  “Stop. It.” She smacked his arm even harder than she had seconds before. “Don’t make me order your beheading for your impertinence.”

  “Please.” He started up the stairs, her following close behind. “I’d like to see you try to get me down.”