Lone Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 7)

by Lilian Monroe

  “Why would you regret it?”

  “You’re a prince.”

  “I’m a man.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Of me?” I frown.

  Rowan smiles, her fingers still teasing my jaw. My neck. Toying with the edges of my hair. She shakes her head. “Of how quickly I’ll fall for you.”

  “You think I’m an asshole.”

  “I make a lot of bad decisions.”

  “So why not make one more?”

  Rowan pulls away, shaking her head. “You’re dangerous, Wolfe.”

  I drop my hand from her waist and grin, catching her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you something you’ll like.”

  14

  Rowan

  I can’t blame the Scotch whisky for what’s going on in my body—this goes much deeper than a shot and a half of alcohol. I’m burning up. I follow the Prince out of the main room and through a doorway, stealing glances at his broad frame. Every step he takes reminds me of the power inside him. Every movement, so controlled and restrained, makes me want to melt into his arms.

  …but I said no.

  I pushed him away and told him I didn’t want to take it any further.

  That’s the right thing to do…right? Sleeping with him would be fun tonight, maybe, but I’d regret it tomorrow. This is work, after all. He’s royalty.

  I’m only a contractor here to do a job. I’ll be gone as soon as the storm clears.

  So why does this taste a lot like regret?

  My heart beats erratically, bouncing against my chest as I struggle to regain control over myself. Every stitch of clothing feels too tight. The cottage feels smaller somehow, as if all the heat of my desire is pouring into the air and stifling me.

  Wolfe pushes a door open and has to bend his head to step through. We walk into a dim space, and the Prince hits a switch. Lights fizzle and pop as they turn on, bathing the room in a soft, yellow glow.

  We’re in a studio.

  Blank canvasses lean against the far wall beside a huge shelf full of art supplies. A stack of easels is propped against the side wall, covered in a thick layer of dust.

  But my eyes drift to the left, where a blank wall has been covered with dozens of paintings. Big and small, they cover the space. I drift over to them, eyes widening.

  “Is this…?” I peer at the first painting, recognizing some of the sketches from the archives, where they’d been reproduced in history books.

  “My great-great-grandfather painted that. I might have missed a great in there.” The Prince grins. “He lived here full-time.”

  “That’s what the palace used to look like?”

  “He helped design it. Showed this painting to the architects and builders, and they made it happen.”

  My jaw hangs open as I stare at him. “This is the original painting?”

  Dipping his chin down, he lets his hand sweep across my lower back. His touch feels so good, I find myself leaning into it. We take a step over, staring at the next set of paintings. A view from the castle out to the meadows in full bloom. A brown bear is in the foreground with a cub.

  I shake my head. “Gorgeous.”

  “When it was first built, the palace served as a place to hold court, too. There were offices and community events here. It was the real seat of power in the kingdom.”

  “And that changed when Stirling became the capital?”

  “Sometime in the last hundred years, the Summer Palace became a vacation home for the royal family. The gates were made taller, and it was closed off from the public, except for approved tours during periods my family isn’t here.”

  “You don’t agree with that?”

  Wolfe lets out a sigh, pinching his lips together. “I think we have an opportunity to give this place back to the people. Show the people that the royal family remembers where we came from.”

  I nod, my eyes lingering on the Prince. He stares at the centuries-old paintings, a wistful look in his eyes. I wonder, not for the first time, who this man really is. Is he the cold, rude man I first thought? Or is he a man who’s seen trauma, death, grief—and wants to give something back?

  “What’s your vision for the Summer Palace?” I ask.

  The Prince flashes a smile at me. “You’re the architect.”

  “You’re the client. You’ve already shot down my first design. I need direction.”

  “We can’t spend millions making a beautiful palace that will look good on postcards,” the Prince says after a pause. “This has to mean something more.”

  “An homage to Nord’s birthplace.”

  “You’ve been doing research,” he says.

  I grin. “You gave me a serious dressing-down when I first got here about not understanding the place.” I flush, shaking my head at my choice of words. “I mean a reprimand.”

  Just a slip of the tongue. It doesn’t mean anything.

  Right?

  The Prince pounces, grinning. “I gave you a dressing-down, too. And I’d do it again.”

  I shove my shoulder against him, turning my back to him to hide my blush. “I don’t believe you were the one to undress me. There was a doctor and a bodyguard there. One of them would have done it.”

  The Prince leans in so his breath tickles the edge of my ear. “You have a mole just above your belly button.”

  My eyes widen as I stare straight ahead. “You…”

  “Right about here,” he says, letting his fingers drift over my stomach. Heat pools beneath his palm as my head spins. Wolfe chuckles, leaning into me. His smell is everywhere. Woodsy and spicy and so deliciously male. I inhale him, not wanting to step away. His chest is so broad against my back.

  Why did I refuse him earlier, again? Why wouldn’t I tilt my chin up and let him kiss me?

  “I’m attracted to you,” I say, staring at the wall.

  “I know.”

  Rolling my eyes, I turn my head and glance up at him. “But,” I start. “I don’t think acting on it is a good idea.”

  “You said that.”

  “You disagree?”

  “Completely.”

  I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, watching Wolfe’s eyes darken. Amber pools of desire stare at me, tempting. Asking. Promising something good. His hand slides from my stomach down lower, resting just above my mound.

  Yes, I want this. I want his hand to move lower still. To touch me. Feel how wet he makes me. Let me come apart in his arms before I have to leave this place again.

  Would it really be that bad if I gave in to temptation?

  I turn to face the Prince, letting my hands slide up his chest. Every bump of muscle sends shivers tumbling down my veins. His body is insane. My hands wrap around the nape of his neck, twisting into the dark locks of hair that curl at the ends. His hair feels silky as my head spins.

  “If we sleep together, it means nothing,” I say.

  The Prince’s lips tug into a wicked grin. “Are you telling me, or yourself?”

  “You,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel. “If we act on this…whatever this is between us, it has to stay here.”

  “Anything you want, princess. So long as I get to have you.”

  “You have to stop calling me princess.”

  His hand sweeps over my jaw, tilting my face up to stare at his. With a flash of his eyes, he grins at me. “But that’s what you are. My princess.”

  Oh, those words. Treacherous, beautiful words. Silly words that make my heart thump and my panties soak through.

  Why do I care if he calls me his? Why does it stoke my fire if he tells me I belong to him?

  The only way this works is if I walk away and there are truly no strings attached. One night of fun. One night of Wolfe. One night to feel like a princess in her prince’s arms.

  As if he reads my mind, Wolfe tilts my head up and crushes his lips to mine. He kisses me breathless. Crashes into me, so I can feel the power coiled within him. His arms wrap around me and hold me to his strong chest,
trapping me against him.

  Not that I’d want to be anywhere else. My fingers twist in his hair. Tugging. Pulling. Eliciting delicious little groans from him that do nothing but make me burn hotter.

  When his tongue slides between my lips, I know I’m done. He tastes like heaven and hell, all wrapped in one. Like good and evil in a tug of war with my heart. He tastes like I might regret this later when I’m nursing my broken heart—but it’s too sweet to pull away. When he whispers my name against my lips, I melt. His fingers sink into my flesh, clawing at my clothing and tugging it free so he can feel my skin.

  My body is in overdrive. My veins are full of molten fire. I moan into his mouth, kissing him harder as his hands sweep over my back.

  I’m in trouble. I’m in too deep. I’m definitely going to regret this later.

  15

  Rowan

  What is regret, really?

  Feeling sad or disappointed about something we’ve done in the past? About something we didn’t do? Feeling the tug of what if?

  So, as the Prince lets out a soft moan, his lips brushing against mine, I have to wonder.

  What would I regret more—if I stopped, or kept going?

  Wolfe’s hands sweep up my sides, his palms leaving goose bumps in their wake. His touch feels too good. My head spins. Every sense is wrapped up in him.

  His smell everywhere, urging my heartbeat faster. The sight of his body straining against the fabric of his clothes. The touch of his fingers against my skin. The sound of those little grunts and moans and groans that slips through his lips when he kisses me.

  But oh, the taste of him. That’s what does me in. My kisses drift down his neck and I let my tongue slide out to touch his skin. Hard and smooth and warm and mine.

  I want more. I claw at him, tearing at his shirt until he pulls it off and tosses it aside. With a grunt, the Prince picks me up so I wrap my legs around his waist. The heat and hardness of his erection presses against my center, and I wish we weren’t wearing so many clothes.

  I need him inside me. Need him on top of me. Underneath me. Everywhere.

  The Prince starts walking, kicking the studio door open and stepping through. My hands tease through his thick, black hair as my lips find his. His stubble scratches my skin, and I wonder how good it would feel if he brushed it against the inside of my thigh. If he teased the very center of me with that deliciously bad tongue of his. He carries me down a narrow hallway and through another door, finally setting me down.

  “You’ve been driving me wild since the moment I saw you lying in the snow,” the Prince says. His eyes are dark, burning with hot fire. He nudges his nose against mine, his hands splayed across my lower back. When he slips the tips of his fingers beneath the waistband of my pants, I let out a low whimper.

  More. I want more.

  “Wolfe…” I tilt my head back as his lips brush my neck, teasing the sensitive skin all the way up to my jaw.

  With a low growl, the Prince pulls away. “I love the way you say my name.”

  I meet his gaze, my vision hazy with lust. “How do I say it?”

  “Like you need me.”

  “Easy, tiger.” I grin. “You’re tipping into arrogant asshole territory again.”

  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” With a grin, the Prince pulls me close. He rolls his hips toward me, letting me feel the length of him. I sigh, my eyes fluttering closed.

  When he gently pushes me away, I let out a low whimper.

  “On the bed,” the Prince commands. He spins me around and marches me to the side of the four-poster bed, watching as I climb on top the plush mattress. I lie back while he flicks the lamp on.

  “I want to see your face when you come,” he says, flashing a grin at me. “See if it looks like what I’ve imagined.”

  “You’re an ass,” I say, biting the tip of my finger. “It’s a good thing you’ve got that body to make up for it.”

  The Prince grunts, scooping his hand underneath me to flip me over. He lays a smack across my ass as I yelp, laughing.

  “You deserve a good spanking for speaking to your liege like that,” Wolfe says.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see his eyes darken. I turn around again, biting my lip. “Technically, I’m not from here, so you’re not my—”

  In one lightning-fast motion, the Prince tugs my pants down to mid-thigh, throws me onto my stomach, and lays another smack across my ass. I squeal, breathless, my face mashing into the pillow as stinging pain flashes across my bare skin.

  And…wow. Another sharp crack of his palm against my skin.

  I like it.

  Again.

  “You’ll learn the proper way to speak to me,” he growls, laying his palm across my ass once more.

  Yes. My yelps turn to moans and my back arches as I push my ass toward him. Dirty, dirty, dirty. I don’t even care. My pants are locking my thighs together and the Prince is spanking me like I’ve been bad, and oh, it feels good. Pleasure rips through my core as his hand slides over my stinging skin, softly, softly.

  When I glance over my shoulder, Wolfe meets my gaze with a wicked grin on his lips. Sliding his hands between my legs, he lets out a soft groan. “You’re wet.”

  I mumble something unintelligible in response. His hand is warm as it slides through my slick folds, teasing every sensitive inch of flesh. As I lie on my stomach, arching my back toward him, my cheeks burn.

  This isn’t what I expected to happen when we came here, but I don’t want it to stop. The Prince teases my opening, sliding a finger inside me as I moan.

  He feels good. His other hand slides over my bare skin, caressing the red imprints left by his hand. Teasing the edges of my lower lips. Spreading me wider and sending more fire racing through my veins.

  When he slides his finger out of me, I let out a whine. He chuckles, tugging my pants all the way down my legs.

  “Turn around,” he commands.

  I comply. Lying on my back, I watch him kneel between my legs, his eyes hanging low as I wiggle toward him. I reach for his waistband, but he catches my hand.

  “Stay there,” he says. Gruff. Commanding. He takes my wrist, pinning it above my head. With his other hand, he skates his palm over my stomach and tugs my shirt up and off. He unclasps my bra and tosses it aside, feasting his eyes on my naked body.

  I love the way he looks at me. How he licks his lips and lets out a soft growl. How his fingers leave the barest whisper of a touch over my sensitive skin, teasing the edge of my breast, circling my nipples, drifting all the way down to my heated core.

  “You have a beautiful body,” the Prince says. He grips my thighs with his hands, pushing them wider. He lets out a soft groan as he stares at me, completely open for him.

  “Touch yourself.” His voice is low and confident, leaving no room for hesitation.

  Am I weak for wanting to listen? Is it wrong that I want to watch his face as I touch myself? I want to do whatever he tells me.

  I let my hand drift down my abdomen, pausing just above my mound. The Prince inhales sharply as my fingertips tease my slit, barely brushing the edge of my clit. I tremble.

  This feels different with him watching. It’s not like touching myself, alone under the covers. It’s not like squeezing my eyes shut with a vibrator between my legs.

  This is something more.

  I bite my lip as my fingers circle my clit, the Prince’s palms making slow circles over my thighs. “That’s it,” he says softly, urging me on. “Show me what you like.”

  It should feel wrong to be spread wide like this. To be displaying something so personal. To be opened up for him to see everything—but it doesn’t feel wrong at all. It feels so right and so fucking hot.

  I play with my clit a bit faster as the Prince strokes my thighs. My eyes drift over every muscular plane of his stomach, chest, shoulders, but they linger on his face. The openness. The pure pleasure of seeing me touch myself.

  Has a man ever looked at me like th
at before? Like watching me pleasure myself is the most sacred thing he’s ever seen?

  As my fingers move faster over my sensitive bud, the Prince slides his hand down my thigh. His thumb brushes my folds ever so softly. I buck toward him, breath trembling. Everything is sensitive. Everything heightened. I can feel the fabric of the duvet against the skin on my ass, still red from my spanking. I can feel his palms. Fingers. His breath. His heartbeat.

  “Don’t stop touching yourself,” he growls, moving his fingers toward my opening. “Do you hear me?” His eyes flick to mine.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Don’t stop until you come on my hand.”

  I suck in a breath, holding his gaze. As the Prince sinks his finger inside me, a moan falls from my lips. I grind against his touch, needing more.

  And he gives it to me. Another finger. A third. Leaning forward, he works his hand between my legs as I pleasure myself. Heat winds tight around my core, pressure mounting with every thrust of his fingers. Wow, that feels good. I close my eyes when I feel his lips on my breast, sucking and nipping and teasing it as his hand works magic between my legs.

  “Come on my hand, Rowan,” the Prince says, his lips brushing against my pebbled nipple. He lays a soft kiss on it, driving his fingers deeper. “Give it to me, princess.”

  The Prince’s teeth scrape across my nipple as his fingers drive in and out of me. My own fingers tremble as they dance over my clit, the heat in my core mounting and mounting and mounting and—

  Ohmygodyes.

  Back arching, sharp inhalation, silent scream. The Prince urges me on, whispering dirty nothings to me as I clench around his fingers. Squeezing my eyes shut as my whole body contracts, I listen to his grunts, and I realize he’s enjoying this.

  My pleasure—he likes it. Loves it, even.

  When he lifts himself off me, dragging his fingers out and bringing them to his lips, I feel flushed. Dizzy. So fucking horny all I want is more, more, more.