Heartless Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 2)

by Lilian Monroe

  It has to be Charlie.

  I know he’s taking the throne to protect Gabe and me, and I appreciate it.

  So, if it means I’ll have to pretend to be into some chick that happens to be one of the Kingdom’s most recent enemies, so be it. That’s fine. The only reason I’m able to pursue medical school in the first place is because I’m not the heir to the throne.

  I owe that to Charlie. I know his relationship with our father is tense, so the least I can do is pretend to be into Dahlia.

  I glance at Charlie, who’s biting his lip and running his hand through his hair again. He looks stressed out of his mind.

  Charlie said ‘unique’. I like ‘unique’, I think. At least, I can pretend to like ‘unique’ for my brother.

  When we get to the run-down house on the edge of the border between Grimdale and Farcliff, I bite my lip. This doesn’t look like somewhere a future Queen or a member of court would live. Charlie jumps out of the car and strides toward the front door. I jog to catch up.

  My eyebrows arch when the door opens and I meet his girlfriend, Elle. She’s tall and athletic, with short brown hair. She’s not at all the kind of girl I’d expect for him—but when I see his eyes soften and his lips curl into a smile, I know he’s completely head-over-heels for her. He kisses Elle and a little twinge of jealousy courses through me.

  My brother—the womanizer, the Kingdom’s most notorious bad-boy, official playboy and heir to the throne—has somehow found a good woman to love, who also loves him back.

  Me, on the other hand? Strait-laced, plays by the rules, unlucky number two?

  Love doesn’t even enter my vocabulary.

  Not that I’d want it, anyway. There’s too much rot inside me. I can’t love anyone for the same reason I can’t be King—I’m no good. I’m spoiled to the core. Unredeemable.

  As Charlie whispers something to Elle, I try to stop myself from heading down a spiral of self-loathing. I know where that ends up, and it’s never pretty.

  But I don’t have to try too hard to stop my thoughts, because at that moment, Dahlia Raventhal turns the corner.

  She’s definitely unique-good.

  She’s also definitely completely, buck-ass naked. Not a stitch of clothing on her. My eyes widen and every drop of blood in my body floods between my legs. My mouth waters and my hands itch to reach out for her.

  She’s short, with small, perky tits that are begging for my touch. Her hair is a rainbow of pastel colors, and—Farcliff-fucking-Almighty—her pubes are dyed to match. I’d kill to watch myself pumping my shaft in and out of that rainbow.

  She’s a petite, fairy-like creature, and she looks like she’d be fucking insane in bed.

  I aim to find out.

  Charlie asked me to pretend to be dating this chick, but there’s only one way to be truly convincing. I don’t want to pretend at all.

  Why should Charlie have all the fun?

  It doesn’t have to be love between Dahlia and me. I might have a black heart, but I can still enjoy a woman’s company.

  Dahlia glances at Charlie, Elle, and then me. She doesn’t yelp or cover herself. She’s not embarrassed to be seen without any clothing. She doesn’t react like any other human being I’ve ever met.

  No, the naked Dahlia Raventhal fucking waves at us. She flashes a smile and lifts her arm up, as if nothing at all was strange.

  And I need her. Badly.

  My body is burning up. My blood is sizzling through my veins. I can’t think of anything except the rock-hard cock between my legs, aching to fuck that pixie princess.

  I’m dizzy, barely able to stumble my way to the kitchen. When Dahlia reappears, she’s wearing a sparkly purple robe and the only thought in my brain is that I want to see her naked body again.

  Preferably on top of me. Or underneath. I’m not picky.

  I could tangle my fingers into her multi-colored hair and claim those soft, pink lips. My mind flies in a thousand different directions, and every single one of them involves Dahlia Raventhal and me in various states of ecstasy.

  Is she a screamer? What does my name sound like when she’s moaning it into my pillows? What does that hair look like when it’s twisted into my fist?

  I can’t take my eyes off her. She opens the refrigerator and grabs a fucking chicken leg, of all things, and watching her eat it is the most sensual thing I’ve ever seen.

  She licks her fingers, and my mouth hangs open. I wish those were my fingers between those perfect pink lips of hers.

  Charlie is talking, but I hardly hear a word.

  Elle is freaking out, but Dahlia’s eyes are on me and all I want to do is drag her back to the castle, lock her in the tallest tower, and fuck her into oblivion.

  “Can we just back up for a second?” Elle stands up. “What the hell is going on?”

  I can understand her reaction—this is a weird situation—but right now, I’m more than happy to help them out if it means I get to see Dahlia again.

  “Look, it’s no big deal,” I interject. “My brother likes you, but he’s the Crown Prince, so dating you is complicated. He needs a bit of time to figure out how to make that work. If our father thinks he’s into Dahlia, it means you’re safe. If our father thinks he’s into no one, even better. I’m going to buy him some time by saying that I’m the one who’s into Dahlia.” I glance at Dahlia, and she smiles. “You two will be free to keep seeing each other without fear of retribution. Simple.”

  My heart is palpitating. Her smile sends a thrill straight through me, and all I want to do is tear that robe off her perfect body and plunge myself inside her.

  Dahlia looks at Elle. “Seems simple to me.” She shrugs and takes another bite out of the chicken leg.

  The four of us come to a bit of an understanding. For a moment, Dahlia hesitates, but then she looks at Elle and I see her resolve strengthen.

  I do my best to try not to look too excited at the prospect of seeing Dahlia again, but my eyes keep drifting over that sparkly purple robe of hers, picturing the body that I saw a few moments ago.

  Charlie and Elle disappear down the hallway. Dahlia’s eyes flick to mine and she sits down at the table next to me.

  She intertwines her fingers, and I notice that her nails are painted with pink glitter. “We should probably come up with a back story,” Dahlia says, tilting her head and studying my face.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  I love the way her lips tug upward, and how she twirls a sparkly pink finger around her teal, pink, and purple hair. I watch the movement, mesmerized. How would those pink fingernails look if her hand was wrapped around my cock?

  “Well, maybe we could say we met at Farcliff University, or something?”

  “I get private tutoring. Apparently, it’s distracting to have royalty at college.”

  She chews her lip and the shoulder of her robe falls off. I catch a glimpse of her breast, sending another wave of heat through me. She tucks it back over her shoulder absent-mindedly.

  Dahlia lets out a soft sigh and shrugs. “Maybe we met at a networking event, or something? At the Prince’s Ball last month?”

  “Were you there? I feel like I would remember you.”

  Her smile widens. “No, not me—but ‘Dahlia Raventhal’ was,” she says, nodding down the hallway. I guess Elle went in Dahlia’s place. That must be where Charlie met her.

  I grin. “Okay, so we met at the ball and I dazzled you with my brilliance.”

  That makes Dahlia laugh, and I’m not sure if it’s insulting or not. I don’t really care. I want to make her laugh again.

  “Right,” she nods. “Maybe we met there, and we’ve been seeing each other a few times a week ever since. We study together, or something.” She chews her lip as she thinks, her leg bouncing up and down. Her robe falls open again and my head starts to spin.

  Does this girl not care that I’ve seen her naked multiple times, and I only met her fifteen minutes ago?

  “Are you okay?” Dahl
ia puts her hand on my wrist, and heat zips through my arm.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  Probably because all my blood is currently occupied somewhere between my legs.

  “I’m good.” I smile, and she pulls her hand away. I resist the urge to catch her fingers between mine.

  Charlie reappears in the hallway way too soon. He nods to me. “We should go. Thanks for helping out, Dahlia.”

  “No worries.” She smiles and gives us another wave before disappearing back into her room. Charlie drags me away and I throw one last, wistful glance at her door.

  When we get outside, the sunlight hits me way too hard and I stumble forward.

  “You all right, Damon?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “Totally fine.”

  Charlie is grinning at me. He shakes his head. “I’m guessing you’re okay with this plan, then?”

  “I mean, I’m a romantic at heart. I’ll do anything for you and Elle.”

  “Uh huh.”

  We head back to the castle and I go straight to my room, lock the door and empty myself of everything Dahlia awoke in me.

  DAHLIA

  RUSHING to scribble down the last of my notes, I slam my notebook shut and stuff it into my bag. Ever since Prince Damon’s visit to my house yesterday, I’ve felt completely off-balance. I know it’s just a dinner party at the castle, and I know that my aunts think I should try to integrate with court life a bit more, but it still makes me nervous.

  I said yes for Elle, because I know she needs me. And maybe—in a small, forbidden part of my heart—I also said yes because I want to see Prince Damon again.

  I sling my bag over my shoulder and hurry out of the auditorium. That was my last class today, but I need to rush to the library before all the good desks are taken. It’s getting to midterm season, and everyone at Farcliff University is starting to freak out. At least studying will give me an excuse to not think about the dinner party.

  The cold whips through my thin leggings as I make my way outside and across the Farcliff University campus. The science building is on the opposite end of the campus as the science library—which will never make sense to me. They should at least build an underground tunnel or something between them. It gets cold in Farcliff during the winter.

  It’s nearing the end of February now, and I can’t wait for winter to be over. Farcliff is a small Kingdom nestled between Canada and the United States, to the east of Lake Ontario. The winters here are long and brutal.

  My teeth are clacking by the time I make it across campus. I’m angling toward the door of the science library when something catches my eye.

  No, not something—someone.

  Prince Damon of Farcliff, to be exact. The very man that I’ve been trying to get out of my head for the past twenty-four hours.

  He’s leaning against a sleek, black car with his hands tucked into his pockets. When he sees me, he straightens up and lifts an arm.

  “Dahlia!”

  Heat zips through me and I forget how cold I am. How does he do that? Even yesterday, when he was in my kitchen, I could barely breathe.

  It’s just because he’s royalty, I think. It’s definitely not the way his forearms flex, or how his shoulders tug against the fabric of his top.

  And right now, the heat zipping through me is just from the open science library door. It’s definitely not Prince Damon’s gaze.

  I change my trajectory and walk toward the Prince. His face splits into a smile and his eyes drag all the way down to my faux-fur lined boots and then back up to my eyes. A current of electricity flows wherever his gaze lands.

  “Hey.” I try to sound casual as I walk up to him. My tongue feels too big for my mouth. Am I nervous? It must be the cold.

  He nods to his car. “I was thinking we could go for a coffee and get to know each other a bit better—you know, since we’re supposed to be in love, and all. Work on that back story of ours.”

  Why does that make me blush? I never blush. I’m the one who makes guys blush! I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah, sure. I mean… I was going to study, but…”

  Damon’s eyebrows arch.

  I shrug. “Whatever. I can study later.”

  What is it about the Princes of Farcliff that makes us girls go all gooey? Elle is wrapped around Prince Charlie’s little finger, and I’m basically salivating at the mere sight of Prince Damon.

  It’s not like me.

  He opens the car door for me, which makes me blush even harder. I put my backpack down at my feet and watch the Prince as he walks around the front of the car toward the driver’s side. He carries himself with his shoulders thrown back and his head held high, as if he owns the ground he walks on.

  Which, I guess he does, in a way.

  When the Prince slips inside the car, I inhale the scent of his cologne and my heart skips. I didn’t notice that when he was at my house. His scent is fresh and earthy, and it makes me want to bury my head in his chest. My eyes drop down to his hand on the gear stick and I watch the way his muscular forearm flexes a bit. A flutter passes through my chest.

  I guess I’m a forearm kind of girl—I hadn’t realized that until I saw the ones attached to Prince Damon’s body. He glances at me and smiles before starting the car.

  “There’s a quiet café about ten minutes away. We can go somewhere closer, but I’m afraid we won’t have time to talk to each other if people start recognizing me.” He pinches his lips and his cheeks turn pink, as if he’s embarrassed that he’s famous.

  I grin. “Ten minutes is fine.”

  We drive in silence for a couple of minutes. Then, the Prince glances at me. “I like your hair.”

  “Nothing in this world is harder than speaking the truth, nothing easier than flattery.”

  “What?”

  I look over at him, shaking my head and grinning. “Sorry. It’s a quote by Dostoyevsky. It pops into my head whenever someone gives me a random compliment in an awkward situation.”

  “Is this an awkward situation?”

  I think for a moment. “Not exactly awkward. Unusual, maybe.”

  “Do you always quote Russian novelists?”

  “Only when it’s appropriate.” I glance over to see a grin on his face. My heart thumps. “What about you?”

  “Do I quote Russian novelists?”

  “No,” I laugh. “Have you ever dyed your hair.”

  Prince Damon chuckles. “No. It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate princely behavior, as my father loves to say.”

  I scoff. “What about your brother Charlie? He has tattoos from head to toe. Is that ‘princely’?”

  “He and I are pretty different.”

  “Mmm,” I say. I glance out the window and try to still my beating heart. Is the Prince doing this to me? Am I nervous?

  Let’s get one thing straight: Dahlia Raventhal does not get nervous around guys. I make them nervous. I bring guys home whenever I want! I’m the one who has them begging for more—and this whole good-guy act that Prince Damon has going on isn’t my thing.

  I like guys with a little edge. Not goodie-two-shoes princes giving up their royal privileges to study medicine.

  So, why is my pulse so erratic?

  I hear the Prince take a deep breath and I can feel his gaze on me. I close my eyes for a moment and smooth my hands over my black leggings. By the time we get to the café, my palms are sweaty and my mouth is dry.

  I’m definitely nervous.

  I shouldn’t be with him. His family had my mother thrown out of the Kingdom. They’re the reason I didn’t even know my last name until I was sixteen years old.

  My mother warned me about the Farcliff family, but seeing how Charlie cares about Elle, and meeting Damon makes me suspect that my aunt Theresa is right. Maybe there’s nothing to worry about. What happened with my mother was a long time ago.

  Maybe this dinner party is the best thing that’s ever happened to m
e. Maybe it’s my opportunity to find out the truth—and in the process, get rid of this silly superstition about a curse.

  Plus, Prince Damon has a point. We need to come up with a good back story if we’re going to convince the King that we’re in love.

  When we arrive, the Prince opens the car door for me again to get out, and holds the café door open for me, too. Mr. Goodie-Two-Shoes is a gentleman, apparently.

  Not my thing. I’m definitely not into him.

  Still, I smile at him, ducking my head as I walk inside. The café is cozy and quiet, with fabric draped over the ceiling and dim, colorful lamps on every table. It looks like a boho dream.

  I grin. “I like this place.”

  “I thought you might,” Damon replies. His eyes twinkle and it makes my heart do that funny flip again. “Here.” He leads me to a low table in the corner with a bunch of cushions around it. We sit down, Damon lounging and stretching his long legs across to the other end of the table. He leans on one elbow, flicking those bright, blue eyes up at me.

  We stare at each other for a moment, and my mouth goes dry. I lick my lips and his eyes follow the movement. Heat teases the edges of my stomach and I clear my throat.

  “So—this dinner. What’s that about?”

  Damon sighs. “My father is worried about Charlie. He’s got this idea in his head that Charlie has to marry a suitable wife, but he and Charlie don’t exactly see eye to eye about the definition of ‘suitable’. We just have to throw him off the scent.”

  The Prince’s lips tug upward in a mischievous kind of grin. My insides melt.

  There’s a spark in Prince Damon’s eye that I didn’t expect to see. Something that says there’s more to him than they write in the papers.

  Or maybe I’m just hoping there is, because my body is rebelling against me.

  He’s one hundred percent not my type. Prince Damon always has his hair cut short, he’s clean-shaven, and he’s a star student. He ticks all the boxes that he’s supposed to tick.

  Me, on the other hand? If someone asks me to tick a box, I usually end up covering the page in glitter. I’ve managed to make it into one of the best microbiology programs on the continent at Farcliff University, but I’m far from conventional.