Our eyes finally meet—he’s still staring at me, lips parted. And I can’t get a read on his expression. As the moments stretch on, a bud of nervousness blooms in my stomach, its vine wrapping around my vocal chords.
“I…I wasn’t sure what you had planned for tonight. You didn’t tell me.”
Those long lashes blink, but he doesn’t say anything. I raise my hand toward the kitchen.
“I can go change if this isn’t—”
“No.” Nicholas steps forward, his hand up. “No, don’t change a thing. You’re…absolutely perfect.”
And he’s looking at me like he never wants to stop.
“I didn’t expect…I mean, you’re lovely…b-but…”
“Wasn’t there a movie about a king who stuttered?” I tease him. “Was he a relative of yours?”
He chuckles. And call me crazy, but I swear Nicholas’s cheeks go slightly pink.
“No, stuttering doesn’t run in my family.” He shakes his head. “You just knocked me on my arse.”
And now I’m beaming.
“Thank you. You look pretty great too, Prince Charming.”
“I actually know a Prince Charming. He’s first-class prick.”
“Well. Now that you’ve tarnished a precious piece of my childhood, this better be some date,” I tease.
“It will be.”
He holds out his hand to me.
“Shall we?”
My hand slides into his. Easily. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like it belongs there.
OLIVIA’S NERVOUS. Her hand trembles slightly in mine as I lead her toward the limousine, and I can see the rapid throb of her pulse at the base of her delicate neck. It stirs a twisted, predatory instinct in me—if she feels like running, I’ll certainly chase.
Especially in that dress. And those fucking boots. For several moments all I could picture in my head was peeling the pale blue fabric from her body—slowly. The way her hands would dig into my shoulder blades and her nails would rake my back. The sounds she’d make—little whimpers and pants that I’d lick from her lips. And I’d lift her onto one of the tables in the coffee shop, then have her in every way I could think of—and probably a few that I haven’t.
And I’d leave those boots on the whole time.
But her anxiousness draws out my protectiveness as well. The urge to wrap my arms around her and promise that everything will be all right.
I don’t think she has anyone in her life who does that for her.
My thumb rubs small, soothing circles against her hand as James opens the car door for us.
Olivia waves to him.
“Good evening, Miss.”
Inside the car she greets Logan and Tommy in the front seat.
Logan nods, and gives her a smile in the rearview mirror.
“Hello, Miss Olivia,” Tommy replies—with another damn wink. Tosser.
I raise the privacy glass so it’s just she and I alone. It’s also mostly soundproof—she’d have to moan my name very, very loudly for anyone to hear, but I bet I could make it happen.
“You don’t have to do that, you know.” My chin lifts toward the front of the car.
“What, be polite?”
“They wouldn’t think you were rude if you didn’t say hello. They’re good lads, Olivia, but they’re also employees, and employees don’t expect to be addressed. They’re like…furniture, not really noticed until they’re needed.”
“Wow.” Olivia leans back against the leather seat, regarding me. “Somebody’s pompous tank is pretty full.”
I shrug. “Occupational hazard. And as prickish as it may sound, it’s still true.”
She pushes her hair behind her ear, fidgeting, as if she doesn’t wear it down often. Which is a shame.
“Are they always with you?”
“Yes.”
“What about when you’re home?”
“Security’s there too. Or maids. My butler.”
“So you’re never just…alone? Can’t walk around naked if you feel like it?”
I imagine Fergus’s reaction to my bare balls resting on the sixteenth-century Queen Anne sofa—or even better, my grandmother’s reaction. And I laugh.
“No, I can’t. But the more important question is—do you walk around naked?”
She lifts one alluring shoulder. “Sometimes.”
“Let’s hang out at your apartment tomorrow,” I tell her with an urgent, straight face. “All day. I’ll clear my schedule.”
Olivia squeezes my hand like she’s telling me to behave, but the gentle flush on her cheeks says she’s enjoying the conversation.
“So, the first night we met, if I’d gone back to your hotel room with you, they would’ve been there while we were…”
“Fucking? Yes. But not in the same room—I’m not into audiences.”
“That’s so weird. It’s like the ultimate walk of shame.”
She lost me.
“How do you mean?”
Olivia’s voice lowers shyly, even though the boys can’t possibly hear her. “They would’ve known what we were doing, maybe even heard us. It’s like you live in a perpetual frat house.”
“You’re presuming they give a damn—and they don’t.” I raise her hand to my mouth, kissing the back. It’s soft against my lips, like a rose petal. And I wonder if she’s as soft all over. “When I head into the lavatory, on some level they realize I’m going to take a piss, but it’s really not high on their list of things to think about.”