by Isla Olsen
“Yes, very good hands.”
His words prompt my gaze to drop to the hands clasped together in front of him. Long fingers, neatly clipped nails, golden tan skin. Strong hands. Capable hands. My own fists clench at my sides as I force my brain not to go there. The place I’ve been fighting against for over twenty years.
I glance up to find the American eyeing me curiously. A stray dark curl has fallen over his forehead and I decide to extricate myself from the situation before I do something ridiculous, like reach out to brush it back. With a curt nod, I turn on my heel and stride from the room, making a beeline for my private study where I take a seat at my large mahogany desk and start sifting through the pile of papers that have been left for me.
As the king of a parliamentary monarchy, my role is largely ceremonial, but as the Head of State it’s my signature that’s needed for any laws passed through Parliament to be ratified. And because I prefer to understand everything I’m putting my name to, I spend a fair amount of time reading through parliamentary minutes and examining the wording of new laws that have been passed by the houses. It’s incredibly rare for a monarch to block a law once it’s been passed. The members of Parliament have been elected to represent the people, after all. But even so, I like to keep myself informed. I also need to keep abreast of the Cabinet minutes—the discussions and decisions that happen behind closed doors and without any need for my approval. It’s important I remain as impartial as possible, and while the Prime Minister will keep me in the loop on any major decisions, more often than not it’s the government that will give advice to me rather than the other way round.
At the moment, the biggest issue seems to be Tomas’s schooling. I am eager for him to attend Eton like I did, but the government feels that inadvisable given Britain’s exit from the European Union.
And because he’s likely to be attending school in France or Germany, he needs someone to teach him those languages…
I feel my features bunch in skepticism as I recall my meeting with the young American tutor. I find it hard to imagine him being as qualified as Veronika claimed. He looked as though he’d be better suited to life as an underwear model than a tutor.
My mouth goes dry as an image flicks into my brain: The American wearing nothing but a pair of tight briefs, posing for the camera, nearly every inch of his tan skin on display.
The grip on the pen in my hand is white-knuckled, my jaw tight as I banish the image from my mind. But it’s too late; my body is already responding, the front of my trousers tightening as blood rushes to my cock.
I stare at the page in front of me, my brain failing to process the words as I simply focus on the paper, willing my body to relax and my erection to wane. I can’t have this. Not now.
“Future kings are not faggots!” The sharp echo of my father’s voice is all it takes to sap away any lingering shred of desire.
“Your majesty?”
I startle at the sound of the voice so close to me and glance up to find Lachlan Boyd, the head of my personal security team hovering at the other side of my desk.
“Apologies, sir, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Boyd says in his Scottish lilt. “I was concerned when Lena buzzed through and you didn’t answer.”
Shit. I hadn’t even heard the buzz of the intercom on my desk.
I wave his apology away. “It’s fine. What’s the issue?”
His brows crawl up toward his hairline. “It’s ten o’clock, sir. The Prime Minister’s here for his weekly meeting.”
Fuck. “Of course. Send him in.”
3
JAI
After my meeting with the king—and boy was that an interesting encounter! —I head back to my suite for some private time. I know I should probably be using this time to get the lay of the palace, but I’m just way too exhausted from the long trip, and I’ve got all tomorrow morning to figure things out.
I throw myself onto my plush, queen-sized bed, still pretty much mortified I told the king of Korova I care about his pleasure. I throw my hands over my face and let out a loud groan of humiliation. Haven’t even started work yet and I’ve already fucked up completely.
But can you honestly blame me? If he wasn’t the king—and my boss—I’d be all over that walking wet dream like a dog that needs fixing. So it’s probably a good thing he is the king...
I’ve seen plenty of pictures of King Lukas III, but damn, they do not do him justice compared to the real life version. He’s taller than I realized—at least six three—and although he always appears smartly dressed and well-groomed in pictures, they do nothing to show off just how amazingly a perfectly tailored three-piece suit can mold to the broad shoulders, narrow waist and incredible ass of a man like King Lukas. I also never realized how beautiful his eyes are: deep set in a chiseled face and framed by thick lashes, they’re the kind of green that makes me think of tropical beaches.
But the real clincher? His voice. I’ve never heard him speak before and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. His accent is mostly British from the time he spent at school there, but there’s a faint hint of a Korovan lilt, all wrapped up in a gravelly tone that makes my balls tingle. It’s no wonder this guy’s been voted World’s Sexiest Head of State three years in a row.
I roll over onto my stomach, burying my head in the pillows and letting out another groan of frustration. Why can’t he be old and bald and fat like the last king was? The absolute last thing I need when starting off at this new job is to be chubbing out every time I see my new boss. Or, if right now is any indication, any time I even think about him.
I need to get a fucking grip. Nothing is ever going to happen. And not just because I’m barely a tutor and he’s the freakin’ king. He’s straight. Straight. Straight. Straight. He was married to a woman. He had kids with her. He’s straight.
It was definitely my over-active imagination that saw him subtly checking me out earlier. He was only trying to size me up to gauge my suitability for the job at hand. No way was he staring at my hands and imagining them wrapped around his dick. No way, whatsoever. That was totally in my head.
I hear the ring of my suite’s doorbell and with a sense of deja vu, I reluctantly pull myself off the bed to go answer it. On the other side, I find a woman who I’d guess to be in her late thirties. She’s attractive, with a curvy frame, rich auburn hair, and a sweet smile. But, as we’ve already established, she’s decidedly not my type.
“Uh, hi?”
“Jai Winters—am I right?” Her British accent is most definitely upper-crust.
I nod. “That’s me.”
She sticks a hand out for me to shake. “I’m Penny Tamlin. It’s lovely to meet you.”
My brows shoot upward as I absently take her hand to shake. “You’re Ms. Tamlin? The other tutor?”
She offers a wry smile as we drop hands. “Let me guess, you were expecting a stuffy old woman?”
“Uh, yeah, kind of. Veronika said you’ve been here since Prince Aleksandr was a boy.”
She nods. “I have. I started when I was around your age. I actually went to school with both King Lukas and Queen Lesia, so a smidge of nepotism may have come into play.”
She casts another smile and turns to exit the doorway. “Come on, let me show you around. And you’ll be wanting to meet your charges before you start classes tomorrow.”
I manage to make it through a full week of tutoring unscathed, and all I can say is thank god for Penny. I might be fluent in French and German and incredibly knowledgeable when it comes to Eastern European history, but I don’t know the first thing about lesson planning. But it quickly becomes clear that despite the opulence of the surroundings, the children respond well to a less formal teaching approach, and with Penny’s initial help we manage to get into a comfortable rhythm whereby I appear to know what I’m doing and they seem to be paying attention.
It doesn’t take long for me to fall completely in love with both the royal children, especially seven-year
-old Katerina—or Katya, as she demanded to be called—who has the kind of larger-than-life personality that’s constantly keeping me on my toes. Prince Tomas is quieter and more serious, and I have no doubt the responsibility of being the Crown Prince is something that weighs on him, but he’s an enthusiastic pupil and soaks up everything like a sponge.
Apart from our brief introductory meeting, I haven’t had any more up close encounters with the king. I’ve seen him a few times from a distance, but our paths haven’t crossed again. Which is a good thing, I think, considering I’m still harboring this incredibly inappropriate crush.
But, of course, it was only a matter of time before that would change and we’d be thrust together again. In the most awkward and uncomfortable way.
When my phone starts blaring in the middle of the night, I’m ready to commit murder. Despite the fact I’m starting to find my groove here, it’s been a long week and I’m only just starting to get onto Korovan time, so being woken at two in the morning is not even remotely appreciated. When I see who’s calling, I’m even less enthused.
“Mom?”
“How could you leave the country without telling us!”
Ah, shit. I knew there was something I was supposed to do.
“Uhh, can we maybe do this later? It’s, like, two a.m. right now,” I say with a sleepy groan.
“No, we can not do this later,” she snaps. “A child simply does not leave the country without telling his parents! What if your plane had crashed, or you’d been murdered by Russian thugs? You’d be dead and we wouldn’t even know it!”
Gee, stereotype much, Mom?
I let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, first of all, you’ve been watching way too much TV. And secondly, I’m not even in Russia. I’m in Korova, which incidentally has one of the lowest crime rates in the world. I’d be more likely to be murdered in New York.”
She gasps. “Jai Carter Winters, how could you say something like that?”
Well, you started it! I just barely manage not to snap that petulant thought back at her, reining in my frustration with great difficulty. “Look, Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I got a job and had to leave really quickly. And I’ve been really busy ever since I got here. I was going to call, I promise.”
“What kind of job?” she demands.
“I’m the tutor for the Korovan royal children. I’m teaching them languages and history and I accompany them for their other classes. Well, the princess, anyway. Prince Tomas can pretty much get by on his own as long as he has a guard with him.”
If I thought she’d show a semblance of pride, or maybe even just mere approval, I was bitterly disappointed. As usual.
“Are you acting out because we decided to stop paying your rent?” she asks, basically ignoring everything I’ve just said.
I slump back against my bed, a hand scrubbing through my hair as I force myself not to let out a frustrated groan. As it is, I’m relieved we’re doing this over the phone and not on Skype as we would have if I’d been the one to make contact, because if Mom could see my face right now it would just start a whole new line of criticism.
“No, Mom. This is what you wanted me to do, remember? Get a job. Well, guess what—I got a job. And it’s in my chosen field and everything.”
“Your chosen field is to be a nanny?”
“I’m not a nanny!” I am so basically a nanny. “I’m the royal tutor—do you understand how prestigious that position is? It’s like the equivalent of working in the White House.”
“But if it’s so prestigious why did they ask you?” Do you see? Do you see what I’m dealing with here? Her question doesn’t convey any hint of nastiness or derision; she’s genuinely confused as to why someone would hire me for this job. If anything, that just makes it worse.
“You know what, I have to go,” I say, the exhaustion coming through clear as day in my tone. “It’s late and I need sleep before tomorrow. But it’s been really nice talking to you and not getting your support. I’ll call you soon.”
I end the call before my mother can say anything else and toss my phone back down on the nightstand.
I turn over to my side and thump my fist into the pillow, trying to settle, but it’s no use. This bed might be the comfiest I’ve ever slept on, but right now it feels like it’s made of nails. Giving up on sleep for the moment, I throw off the covers and tug on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, deciding a cup of chamomile tea might be the thing to relieve my stress and help me get back to sleep after that call.
I exit my suite and pad my way down the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen. I haven’t been in there since Penny gave me the tour on my first day, with my meals being taken in the small dining room I share with Penny and a few of the other ‘Upper Level Staff’ as they call us, but both Penny and Veronika have made it clear if I ever need anything outside meal times I’m allowed to access it.
It’s not until I cross the threshold of the kitchen doorway that I realize I’m not the only who had the idea for some late night sustenance. King Lukas is standing behind the counter devouring a bowl of oatmeal as he scrolls through a tablet.
All the oxygen seems to sap out of my brain because he’s god damn shirtless. The king of Korova is standing there in the kitchen without a shirt. Without a shirt, people! I silently will myself not to get hard, because there’d be absolutely no hiding that in these sweatpants. But it is a freakin’ challenge. I would gladly write my masters thesis all over again in exchange for the ability to not get hard right now. I take a few deep breaths, my eyes darting every which way but at those seriously lickable abs and those incredible biceps that would have no trouble holding his weight as he…for fuck’s sake, stop thinking about it, Winters!
What the hell is he doing with a body like that, anyway? He’s a king, not an underwear model. It’s completely unnecessary for him to look like that!
Clearly sensing my presence, he glances up at me, and one look of those sea-green eyes is enough for me to lose my battle with my cock. He notices, of course, and I have no option but to play it cool. “It’s morning in the U.S.,” I say with a casual shrug, before remembering to add, “uh…Your Majesty.”
His only response is a raised eyebrow, before he turns his attention back to his tablet. I take the opportunity to scarper to the pantry and scan the shelves for some tea.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just making some tea.” I locate a box of exactly what I’m looking for—chamomile tea—and grab it from the shelf before going in search of a mug and kettle.
“You could have had some sent up to you,” he grumbles.
“I’m perfectly capable of making my own tea.” I decide not to point out he could have had some oatmeal sent up to him. What is the king doing skulking about the kitchen in the middle of the night, anyway?
He merely grunts and returns to concentrating on his tablet. I decide to ignore him as I locate a mug and concentrate on making my tea. I’m sure I’m screwing up some kind of royal protocol, but it’s the middle of the night and the guy’s not wearing a shirt. It’s a miracle I’m even able to carry out this simple task.
4
LUKAS
“I encountered Mr. Winters in the kitchen last night,” I tell Veronika after she’s done running me through my agenda for the day.
“Oh?” One of her perfectly manicured brows arches up in question.
“Should he be roaming about at night like that?”
“He’s not a prisoner, Your Majesty.”
“I know. I’m just not sure I like him living in such close proximity to the children.”
I can tell it takes great effort for Veronika not to roll her eyes. “Your Majesty, Mr. Winters spends every afternoon with the royal children. I assure you, he’s been extremely well-vetted. You have nothing to worry about.”
Only my sanity. I let out a heavy sigh and reluctantly nod my agreement. She gives me her usual bow of respect before striding off to continue with her day.
/>
I know I’m acting completely irrationally. If we were in the old days of an absolute monarchy I’d be able to snap my fingers and the American would be gone. But that’s not how it works now. Veronika is the Crown Secretary and the hiring and firing of staff is in her hands. Of course I’m allowed input, especially when it comes to the children, but I have no reason for requesting the American’s dismissal. The man has done nothing wrong, except unlock a desire I’ve been managing to keep under control for years.
Christ, when I caught sight of that erection tenting his sweatpants last night, all I wanted to do was drop to my knees, tug down his trousers and take him into my mouth. The mere thought of tasting him had my cock thickening to the point I was unable to move from my position in front of the counter lest he notice my problem and learn the truth. I doubt I could have gotten away with the same flimsy excuse he’d used. Morning in America. I manage to bite back a wry chuckle as I recall the ease of his lie. I’m king of an entire country, of course I’m aware of the time zones around the world. It was evening in the U.S. when we encountered each other in the kitchen, which means there was another reason for that erection.
I try not to consider the idea that he could possibly be attracted to me. That’s a dangerous thought that will make it impossible to pack these ridiculous urges back in that sealed-off box where they belong.
I wipe the entire encounter from my mind before I’m left standing here with another problematic situation and no kitchen counter to hide behind.
Making a decision, I turn away from my office and proceed down the hallway toward the rear of the palace.
“Is there a change of schedule, Your Majesty?” Boyd asks, stepping up beside me.
“I’m going to spend the morning in my garage.”
He gives a single nod. “Of course, sir.”
I’d planned to spend this morning reading through the minutes from last night’s Cabinet meeting, but there’s no chance of me concentrating on that right now. Not until I’ve had a chance to clear my mind and let out some of this tension. And the best way for me to do that is with my cars.
