by R. S. Lively
That got my interest. I lean forward, placing my elbows on the small breakfast nook in the kitchen. “Okay? I’m interested.”
“I’ve brought Kimmel Infrastructure here. I want them to rebuild our community. The houses are in poorer condition than I thought. I want office buildings, too. I want people to be able to build their dreams.”
I sag against my seat, wondering what made him change his tune. I hate how skeptical I’m being. I’ve been in such a bad mood lately, and it makes me think my doubts are on me, and I’m taking them out on everyone around me. I hold my hand out and smile. “I’m glad to hear it. When is the meeting?”
He turns his wrist to look at the gold watch his father gave him. “In forty-five minutes.”
“Is everything ready? Are there any last-minute preparations?”
His laugh makes his shoulders dance. “I just wish that damn bridge worked.”
I’m not touching that conversation again. It gets us nowhere. “Okay. I’m going to take a quick shower before our guests arrive. I’ll see you in a half hour.” I leave my father alone at the table, and he picks up the book I’m reading, finishing the cup of tea. He never leaves anything to waste.
I pound my way up the staircase and turn left, then take an immediate right. This entire area of the castle is my wing. I have my own kitchen, living room, and guest rooms, but I never use any of it. I’m a family man. I like seeing my mother and father when they aren’t traveling and making appearances all over the place.
Closing the door to my room, I unbutton my shirt and take it off, laying it on the red Victorian style chair in the corner. A king-size bed sits in the middle of the room, the finest sheets with a gold comforter lying on top. I reach into my pocket and lay the pearl bracelet on my dresser, staring at the beads with questions. “Where is she?” I ask, hoping they give me a clue, but they aren’t magic, and they aren’t crystal balls.
I shuck off my pants and walk into the shower, not bothering to wait until the water heats up. I lean my hands against the tile wall and hang my head, letting the heated spray wash over me. My hair falls in my face, and I shut my eyes, imagining her, and remembering the one and only night I saw her.
I’ll never forget how she captured my attention from the staircase, like she did everyone in the room, but her eyes met mine. There was a reason for that. I believe it. When my eyes ran over her exquisite form, the memory of her creamy tits made my cock go from lying against my thigh to hard and erect, standing straight up, surpassing my navel.
Like every other night since that night, I wrap my hand around my cock and stroke it to the memory of her. I imagine myself ghosting my lips down the slender column of her neck, the swell of her breasts, and licking my way up, tasting the salt off her flesh until I make my way to her lips. I’ll dive my tongue inside her mouth again, taking her lips, owning her body, claiming her being as my own.
“Fuck,” I groan, slamming my fist against the wall as the grip around my steel shaft tightens, needing more friction. Water flows into my mouth from my lips parting. I drink it down; thirsty while knowing water is a poor substitute for what I need.
My thoughts drift to taking off the dress that molded perfectly to her torso. Her beautiful skin would bathe in the glow of the moonlight, mesmerizing me with ethereal vision bared before me. I can’t stop myself from reaching out and cupping her ass with my palm, squeezing the firm apple before sinking to my knees and baring my face between her legs. I’d eat her from the back, dipping my tongue in the tight cauldron of her pussy, tasting her sweet cream.
The memory of her inexperienced kiss makes me believe she remains untouched, primed and made just for me. She would offer her innocence to me, and I’d treasure it because it’s meant to be mine.
“Rosie,” I whisper, missing her without knowing her.
Thrusting my hips into my palm, I fuck my fist harder and faster, chasing the orgasm I wish I could have with her. I hit the wall again and bite my bottom lip as the picture of her legs spreading before me and my cock slipping inside her virgin heat milks the come from me.
Shouting ecstasy into the ceiling, I tremble as my seed gets washed down the shower drain. Like every time, the aftershocks wrack my body for a few minutes before I can finally catch my breath. Once I get my wits about me, I fling my head back and wipe the water from my face. Muscle memory takes over now. I suds up my loofah, wash my body, and then my hair, all the while thinking about the woman who has haunted my mind, body and soul for months.
She’s never far away—even when I don’t find myself thinking about her, she’s still in the back of my mind. I plan on taking a trip to the States next month to look for her. I have to know where she is. I have to know if this feeling is real because I can’t live like this anymore. Yearning for something that is close to being a figment of the imagination starts to make a person feel crazy.
I grab a heated towel off the table, dry off, and wrap it around my waist. It’s time I get my head back in the game. I can’t be lovestruck like this forever. Hell, I won’t be able to be the king if I don’t get over it. Staring at myself in the mirror, I take some product and style my hair, telling myself that from this moment on, Rosie has to be a thing of the past.
With a few squirts of cologne, a couple swipes of deodorant, and a fresh suit, I’m out the door and prancing down the swirling staircase. My father is there, and I want to roll my eyes when I see him wearing his crown.
“Right on time,” he says, staring out at the royal entrance.
It isn’t much different than the draw bridge. It’s on the other side of the castle, and instead of a bridge, it’s a damn door. “I told you I would be.”
We stand there for a few more minutes, and no one comes through. “Are we just going to wait here like we don’t have anything else better to do?”
“We don’t. I cleared the schedule for this.”
Of course he did. Another five minutes pass before the door opens, and Marcel walks through along with two others following close behind. One is a man, a younger man who I do not trust just by the looks of him, and then a woman.
And what a woman she is.
She takes slow, deliberate steps in the castle, keeping her hands braced on the walls on either side of her. She can’t seem to decide where to look. Her eyes are darting all over the place, but it isn’t hard to miss her beauty. Long tendrils of brown hair frame her face and pink lips. The white of her eyes shows from the shock of where she is, bringing a smile to my face.
Americans.
When the sun beaming through the skylight above us hits her face, everything around me stops. Something about her seems so familiar. Her eyes are brown, reflecting off the light, resembling pools of honey or an amber gemstone. Truly stunning. She looks down just in time before missing a step. The man with her catches her and says something into her ear.
I don’t like the look of discomfort on her face. Her body language screams for him not to touch her. Is this her boyfriend? Husband? She finally pulls away from him and stands next to Marcel, who whispers something in her ear. Her cheeks turn red, but she nods, following the hallway down to where my father and I are standing.
The closer she gets, the harder my heart pumps. Rosie screams in the back of my mind, but I can no longer live in a vanishing dream, a fantasy gone in a blink of an eye.
Chapter Ten
Rosie
Taking this place in is impossible. There is so much to see; I don’t think the eye, or the mind can catch all the details. After fumbling a bit in the beginning and Mr. Kimmel catching me, whispering how no matter how many times I fall, he’d be right there, I finally gained my sea legs, and I’m walking down the hall like Marcel told me to.
I think he is catching on with how Mr. Kimmel makes me uncomfortable. He doesn’t know us yet, but body language is a powerful thing. There isn’t much to know about anyone as long as you can read the expression on their face, and mine must scream help. After passing a beautiful, hand-painted portra
it of a woman with big blue eyes, I take a left and see two men standing there with their hands behind their backs.
One is older than the other, but still very handsome. They must be related with how much they look alike. Father and son, maybe. Wait, are they the royalty? No one told me what to do. Do I bow? Curtsy? Hug? Handshake? I have never been taught this in my twenty-three years on earth.
“Um, hi.” I decide to bow because a lot of places do that, and it seems to be acceptable.
Both men smile at me, but the younger one is looking at me like he has met me before. “Hello, welcome to Addington Royal Castle.” The older man with the crown said.
The older man with the crown.
The gold, sparkling crown.
He’s the king.
I squeal on the inside. I just met a king! “Thank you for having us.” I keep my tone soft and low.
Marcel clears his throat and introduces everyone. “King Addington… Prince Addington… This is Graham Kimmel of Kimmel Infrastructure, and his assistant, Ms. Caldwell.”
I can’t stop staring at the younger royal. He is so very handsome. He is tall, with broad shoulders, dark hair, and blue eyes, just like the woman in the painting I saw earlier. Those eyes. I’ve seen them before, but not from the painting. I take a small step closer, trying to get a better view, and at that exact moment, he turns his attention toward me.
“Caldwell?” the prince asks as he holds out his hand for a proper introduction.
Shit! He caught me staring. Language, Rosie. I clear my throat, knowing my pale skin is the brightest shade of red ever invented.
“Ms. Caldwell? Answer the man. Don’t embarrass me. I brought you for a reason,” Mr. Kimmel nudges me, and it makes me trip over my own foot.
I yelp, falling straight into the prince’s arms as he catches me. Wow, he is stunning. A strong, sharp jawline that reminds me of Luca’s. A few days’ worth of stubble scattered alongside his face, and those eyes… I bet poetry has been written for them. My hand squeezes his very hard, big bicep. His arms feel familiar and safe, the safest I’ve felt in months.
It could have something to do with being in a royal castle, but I’m not so sure anymore. “I’m so sorry for falling like that. I am Ms. Caldwell. That’s correct.”
He sets me back on my feet, staring at me with familiarity. “As in Caldwell Industries? That Caldwell?”
My smile fades as he brings up my father. The fire of hatred for Tabitha and her daughters ignites after being buried for so many months. “The one and the same,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I don’t want to talk about this at all.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. I was there the night he passed. I was supposed to have a business meeting with him.” He slides his gaze over to Graham, narrowing his blue icicles into slits. I shiver from the intensity, but not from how cold he makes the room with one look, but from the immediate desire I feel for him. I haven’t felt like that since Luca.
“Prince Addington. I’m so sorry if she meant you any harm. She can be caught in the headlights; you know what I mean?” Mr. Kimmel nudges the prince’s side.
I take a step back when I see the look of disgust travel across the handsome man’s face. He glances down where Kimmel touched him and looks up, giving him a glare that says he’d better back away. Graham has never been good at picking up hints though.
The prince takes a step toward my boss, sending a wave of fear through the room that makes the air drop a few degrees colder. “I don’t know how you were raised to treat women, but I was raised to treat them with respect. One more disrespectful word about her, and I’ll cut your tongue out. Understand?”
The violent threat shouldn’t make me so hot and bothered, but it does. It makes me feel protected. I’m not the kind of girl that jumps bones, but I will jump his if he ever gives me the opportunity. No regrets.
“Now, now, Luca. Play nice with our guests,” the king says.
“No. We aren’t dealing with them.” Prince Addington steps back next to his father.
“We have to,” his father says, confused. “There isn’t anyone else that can do the job.”
“Sorry, but this meeting is postponed. There is always someone else for the job, King. Please, Marcel, show the guest to their rooms. Dinner will be at six,” the prince states.
Marcel bows. “Right away, Sire. Follow me, please.”
“Sure,” I reply. I turn to follow Marcel to my room and grab my bag. The prince called everything off—does that mean we have to leave right away? I really want to stay. Frigging Kimmel and his mouth. I wonder how his business stays afloat when he can’t keep his mouth shut.
A deep voice stops me in my tracks. “Everyone but you.” Prince Addington grabs my wrist, searing my skin from how hot his touch is.
My boss gives me a dirty look, one that plants terror in my body. He follows Marcel, disappearing down the path we just came from.
“I’m going to go check on your mother. It is nice to meet you, Ms. Caldwell.” The king bows to me, leaving me a little shocked.
“Aren’t I supposed to bow to him?” I ask.
“Like I said, we treat women differently here,” he says.
We stand in front of each other, the air crackling with electricity, making my body buzz. “So, you’re a prince,” I say, wanting to bash my head against the wall. How lame.
He laughs, putting his hands in his pockets. “I am.”
“That’s cool.” I could curse myself for saying something so American.
“Cool is one way to describe it. If you don’t mind me asking, can you tell me about your boss?”
I breathe a little easier knowing he is asking about Kimmel and not me, but at the same time, a part of me that’s been longing for Luca emerges, and I’m disappointed that this man doesn’t want to hear more about me.
“I’d like to show you to your room. If I may,” he holds out his hand, gesturing toward the spiraling staircase.
I get a flashback of the ball. I remember Luca being at the bottom of the steps, holding out his hand for me to take. He isn’t asking for my hand though, he is only showing me where to go, and I can’t deny a request coming from a prince. “Sure.”
We walk up the stairs, but we don’t say anything. And I don’t feel the need to. The silence is comfortable. I’ve never found it to be so reassuring before. We steal small glances at each other, like he is also trying to figure out how he knows me.
I follow him down the long, grey corridor. “This is my room,” he says, and my heart practically stops beating. Is this him asking me into his room? Is this the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life?
“Don’t look so scared. This is your room.” He points to the door across from his, and I let out a breath of relief.
“You really thought I’d put you in my room? I’m not that kind of man, Ms. Caldwell.” He opens the door to my room and stops in the doorway as he peeks over his shoulder at me. “Not yet, anyway.”
I’m pretty sure my gulp can be heard from where he is standing, but there’s no way to hide it as I try to swallow my nerves, my want, my desire for him. I almost feel guilty because I’ve had Luca in my mind for so long. Prince Addington reminds me of him in a lot of ways. His eyes, his jawline, even the way he speaks.
When he steps aside to allow me in, I forget about everything else when I see the room that is meant for me. I spin around in circles, not believing what my eyes are showing me. I’m in the tower! The actual tower, like the princess from Tangled. I just want to let down my hair and let my knight in shining armor rescue me. I run to the window and open it, watching the people down below. “This is amazing! Thank you. I’ve always wanted to be in a castle. It’s luck that I’m here. Wow, I can’t believe a place like this exists. I’ve only read about them in books or seen castles in movies. I never thought I’d actually get to see one, or stay in one, or meet royalty, but here I am.” I sigh, laying my head down on my arms as I get comfy on the windowsill.
> “I’m glad you like it.”
“I’d love to go on a tour. Maybe Marcel, your assistant, can take me?” I ask, not wanting to step on any toes.
“Nonsense. I’ll take you.” He sets my bag down on the floor. “Now tell me about your boss. Is he someone I need to worry about?” He unzips my bag and starts unpacking it, putting the contents of it into the dresser.
I run over to him and take my clothes out of his hands, touching his fingers for a moment before pulling away. “I can unpack.” I nudge him like Kimmel did, but he doesn’t give me a death glare. I pick up another stack of clothes and let out a deep, relaxing breath. “You know, if you would have asked me that a few weeks ago, I would tell you he is a good business man. He is obviously successful with having created such an amazing empire at such a young age. It’s admirable.”
“Do you like him?” he questions, his voice primal and deep, filled with gravel, like the idea would bother him if I do.
“No. He makes me very uncomfortable. He does things and says things. I came here for the money because I help my brother ever since our father died. He didn’t leave me anything, so every dime counts, right?” I roll my eyes. “Not that you have to worry about money. I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear about this.”
“That’s all I need to know,” Prince Addington replies with finality. He gently tugs on my elbow and stops me from unpacking my suitcase further. “And I am sorry to hear about your father. He seemed like a good man. I only met him once.”
Not really caring about what he is going to do with Kimmel, I drop that subject. Who am I to interfere with royal morals? “I’d like to hear about that sometime. It’s been hard,” I say, wondering what his interaction was with my dad.
“I’d like to hear about that sometime, too,” he says, bringing my hand to his mouth to place a kiss.
I gasp when another image forms, copying itself right in front of me. The only other man that has ever kissed my hand is Luca.
