Defiant Prince: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Black Rose University Book 1)

by A G Henderson

  Carter knew exactly what he was doing in the bedroom, but his movements were practiced—born of experience more than red-hot need.

  The sizzle that Ambrose ignited low in my belly? That was need.

  My feet carried me into the classroom before I could second-guess myself. Picking the seat beside Ambrose at the very back where no one else dared to tread? I could only blame the dull throb between my legs that intensified each second he watched me.

  And he did a lot of that.

  When the teacher finally stood and started going over the basics.

  When printouts got passed around.

  When class eventually wrapped up and people darted out the door like a wasp was chasing them.

  The whole time. He just sat there staring. I’d been completely unable to focus on anything other than his attention on the side of my face, and my heart had sped for so long that I was out of breath when I looked at him.

  The thin slash of his lips parted. “What do you think you’re doing, cupcake girl?”

  I lifted a shoulder and dropped it casually, but I wasn’t even fooling myself. The rush of being near him, of not knowing what to expect, was back in full force. The edge was so tantalizingly close I could almost dangle my toes and see the drop, wondering what was on the other side.

  “It’s a free country, isn’t it?” I asked. “Or do you get to decide that too? Last I checked, I could sit wherever I pleased.”

  Before I could react—a testament to his speed since I’d learned my lesson about being caught off guard—he leaned in and caught my neck in one hand.

  My heart traded in its legs for a sports car and really took off.

  I knew exactly how to break his hold. Where my arm needed to land in the crook of his elbow to make him release me. Except I did nothing but stare into eyes so dark they sucked me in, tumbled me around, and refused to let go.

  “Whatever game you’re playing,” he whispered carefully, making the hairs on my arms stand up, “you don’t understand just how dangerous it is.”

  He stood, taking me with him. My pulse pounded and his fingers flexed against my neck, dancing along my jugular. I hadn’t taken more than a sip of air since he grabbed me, and the light-headed, floaty feeling only got worse when he turned me around and crushed our bodies together.

  Just like I knew he would be, he was hard. Everywhere. Hard chest. Hard abs. Hard, thick dick that nestled between my ass cheeks like it had been overseas and finally found its way home.

  Oh my God, what am I thinking?

  His head dropped to the curve of my neck. I felt his nose tracing back and forth over my shoulder, leaving fire in its wake. He inhaled deeply, that solid chest expanding so much it pushed me forward.

  Briefly—and I was talking split second—I glanced at the open door. The teacher could come back, or a student. Fuck, anyone could walk by, see us, and jump to conclusions.

  My efforts to not make a splash could turn to ashes in a heartbeat.

  Still, I didn’t move away from him. If anything, I pressed closer. It was a small shift of my hips, almost unconscious. And it molded me against those hard angles in the best ways.

  Even as I did it, my face burned. He would notice. Ambrose didn’t miss the small details.

  I waited for him to laugh and mock me.

  The low growl, the way his grip tightened again, was both better and worse.

  Better for the humiliation that didn’t come.

  Worse for just how wet I was, so slick between my thighs I was going to need to change before I went anywhere else.

  His teeth caught the edge of my ear. I shivered and clutched his forearm like it was keeping me upright. Which he was.

  “I have a destiny to fulfill, Emily Brennan.” Say it again, please. “A legacy to uphold. Whatever this is—“ He rocked himself against me in a delicious wave of motion. If we weren’t clothed, he would’ve slid inside me. “—you don’t want to be a part of it.”

  I turned my head, trying and failing to catch his eyes. That was okay. I knew he saw the smirk curling my lips anyway. I could feel it in the change to his posture.

  “You think this is funny?” he hissed. His other hand found my side, the edges of his finger so close to my breast.

  I gasped.

  His phone rang, shattering our cocoon of lust.

  He let me go and I had to lean on the desk to keep from dropping while I caught my breath.

  Ambrose answered the phone with a raspy, “What?”

  I peeked at him from beneath my lashes. His dark eyes didn’t move from my blue ones until I brushed my fingers against my neck. I didn’t have a name for the emotions that swam through his eyes before he drowned them.

  Once my legs could support me, I made my first good decision of the last hour.

  I hightailed it out of there.

  I felt his glare long after I was out of sight.

  And when I stopped in the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, I got trapped again.

  The indentations on my neck held my attention. They wouldn’t bruise, but they stood out against my pale skin.

  And instead of chastising myself, my thoughts turned to the fact that he’d warned me away.

  But he’d never said he felt nothing.

  He never denied that there was something between us.

  A thousand thoughts kept me awake that night, and that one remained front and center.

  I couldn’t have been more grateful for the separate rooms.

  I didn’t fall asleep until my fingers drifted into my shorts. And I didn’t find my release until I played the sound of him saying my name on repeat.

  12

  Ambrose

  There were perks to a close-knit family. Having them be all up in your business wasn’t one of them.

  I knew it was a fucked-up thing to think. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how lucky I was.

  Chrom’s mom owned a hotel chain with locations across the globe. Ms. Salvatore already spent most of her time abroad or on planes before her husband passed a couple of years ago. Now? She maybe showed up for a day or two every few months.

  He acted like it was no big deal, but I knew him better than that. He was...different. Eager to get his hands dirty no matter how he hid the violence beneath football and a chill attitude.

  Baron’s parents were both cutthroat lawyers, ruthless and so efficient I sometimes thought they had wires in their veins instead of blood. The motto for their firm was, “We believe in nothing less than excellence.” They held their son to that same, impossible standard, treating the slightest mistake like it would show up on his permanent record.

  Erik and his dad could hardly exist in the same room together. Mr. Brennan looked at his son like he’d already lost him, and Erik never failed to return that look with anything other than disdain or the occasional allotment of outright hate.

  So while I crept toward the massive house, cursing myself internally for leaving my movies here and having to make this trip, I knew I had no room at all to complain about what I had.

  Mom and Dad were the dream team of this town, the golden standard by which others measured themselves and came up lacking.

  Childhood best friends. High school sweethearts. Engaged while they attended Black Rose. Married and inseparable the moment they graduated.

  Dad took her last name, and if marrying into a legacy worth billions bothered him, he never showed it.

  They always formed a united front and kept their arguments behind closed doors, and the rare, raised voices tended to devolve into...other noises that had me putting my headphones in and pulling a vanishing act when I still lived here.

  In short, my parents were superstars. I loved them even when my debt and the changes I was making to the status quo around this town put us at odds. That was happening more and more lately, which explained my need to be unseen and unheard as I quietly opened the door to the kitchen and slipped inside.

  Because they actually cared, they would ask quest
ions if they caught me.

  About how I was.

  About how school was going.

  About the Tarots.

  Usually, I could answer the first two of those and leave the third in silence. I hated lying to them. Today, I wasn’t sure I could answer anything truthfully.

  The truth meant admitting I didn’t know how I was.

  Admitting school had just gotten a lot more interesting because of a girl who’d tattooed cupcakes up and down her arm and fit against my body like she was made for it.

  Admitting that Chrom, Baron, Erik, and I might not be as ready as we thought when it came to being the pinnacle of authority. Not just at Black Rose. But for the town as a whole.

  I didn’t want to have that conversation. We would make this work. We had to. All we needed was a balance to keep us from going over the edge.

  You’re supposed to be that, said an insidious voice.

  I clenched my fist and shook it off, hating that I couldn’t deny it.

  The lights popped on, blinding me, and my heart jumped. I managed to wipe the surprise off my face before Mom’s voice rang out behind me.

  “You have a key to the front door,” she said slowly. I got the deliberate way I chose to speak from her. People paid better attention when you gave them a reason to. “Is there a reason you’re sneaking around like a deviant instead of using it?”

  Lip twitching—only she would use the word deviant unironically—I turned to face the kitchen table tucked against the far wall.

  Madeline LaCroix didn’t look like she’d been the iron fist for an entire generation, not at this time of night at least.

  She wore a silk pajama set and fuzzy slippers, dark hair loose around her shoulders. The glass of wine in front of her was almost empty, but she had the bottle handy. Sharp, amber eyes ruined the relaxing portrait the rest of her painted.

  If Mom ever let her guard down completely, I’d never seen it in eighteen years. Although the mistake that earned me my penance had come close.

  “A deviant, Mom?” I tilted my head. “Are you for real?”

  Her focus dropped to my neck. “It would explain why on earth you chose to put your tattoo there.”

  I grinned and said, “I had my reasons,” mostly because it was the vague answer I always gave, and it annoyed her to no end.

  Why she expected a different response when she had a black book of secrets thicker than an encyclopedia was beyond me.

  Resigned to my current fate, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and sat down across from her, helping myself to the wine. I didn’t usually drink, but I was hoping the alcohol would numb the part of my brain stuck on cupcakes and skin that tasted like Emily smelled.

  Sweet. Delectable. Irresistible.

  The glass was to my lips when Mom spoke up.

  “You know you’re spending the night once you drink that.”

  An argument was on the tip of my tongue. This was supposed to be a brief stop before I returned to the house I shared with the other three. But maybe it shouldn’t be.

  Maybe I needed a night away from Black Rose and everything it represented.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked, taking a sip and barely holding in my grimace. I never had to worry about becoming an alcoholic because none of this shit—beer, liquor, wine—agreed with my tastebuds.

  Mom’s grin was mischievous, and her eyes twinkled. “Asleep. I wore him out.”

  “I didn’t need to know that.”

  “I wiped your ass before you knew how to do it yourself. There’s no such thing as over-sharing between us.”

  I shook my head and let it drop. “What are you still doing up then?”

  She shifted, tucking a leg beneath her. “Couldn’t sleep.” Her attention drifted over my shoulder, but her eyes weren’t focused. “I have a lot on my mind.”

  I stopped nursing my glass, already regretting how much I’d poured. “Like what?”

  When she didn’t answer right away, my attention sharpened on her, sweeping with a more critical eye. I didn’t notice anything until she tapped her nails against the side of her glass. Some of her nude polish was chipped.

  It was a minuscule detail, nearly irrelevant for anyone who didn’t know her. I did. She went to great lengths to always remain presentable. Something had to be really important for her to forget something like that.

  “Is it Thornwood again?” I pressed, leaning forward. The rival school—hell, rival town—on the other side of town had been quiet since the last time she put them in their place.

  I never did find out what she’d done, but whatever it was made sure they’d kept to themselves. Her solution must’ve been illegal. Nothing else affected people who already lived on the wrong side of the law.

  Most parents would’ve brushed the question aside and changed the subject or given some spiel about adult matters.

  Not Mom.

  Her posture straightened and she looked me dead in the eye. “I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you as many times as I need to. Until your house is in order, I will continue to oversee certain aspects of our legacy.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with—“

  “Don’t you dare lie to my face.”

  My gut clenched and I looked down. “Mom...”

  She reached across the table and took my hand. Her touch was a comfort, but it didn’t lessen the sting of her words. Of knowing that as hard as I was trying, she still believed I was failing.

  “Honey.” She waited for me to meet her eyes again. “This wouldn’t hurt so much if you didn’t know it was true.”

  I pulled my hand back, ignoring how her eyes tightened. “I’ve done everything you told me to do. Everyone in this town knows us and respects who we are.”

  Mom shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. Somewhere along the line, you lost sight of what it means to intervene in fate’s path. You’ve garnered plenty of fear, but true respect is out of reach.”

  My hands became fists beneath the table. “You’re the one who told me once before that sometimes fear is what it takes.”

  Her sigh made my chest tight.

  “For your enemies, Ambrose. Sometimes fear is the only thing that teaches them where the line is. But you can’t rule on fear alone. It breeds resentment, and resentment is a pot full of toxic waste that inevitably spills over until it’s out of your control.”

  “Maybe I never wanted to rule,” I whispered, wanting to snatch the words out of the air the moment they formed.

  Too late.

  The story of my fucking life.

  Always a bit too late.

  Mom slid out of her seat and moved to my side, propping her head on my tense shoulder. “Those most fit to rule are often the ones who want it the least.”

  Her words settled into my soul, a pinch of stardust against the darkness. She still believed in me. Even after I disappointed her, defied her, and continued to do so.

  I took a desperate sip of wine to keep my throat from closing, but my voice was rough when it emerged.

  “What do I do? I put us on this road and now it’s like the goddamn wheel is stuck.”

  “Language,” she murmured.

  I had to crack a slight grin.

  “You need balance,” she continued. “All of you do. Each of you wear the mark.” She turned her wrist over, absently rubbing at the tattoo of a black rose. “You’ve claimed your titles, but you don’t embody them.”

  “Your Fool risks himself instead of daring others to achieve.”

  Erik.

  “Strength has made a weapon of his will, forgetting that it can also be a shield.”

  Chrom.

  “The Magician hoards his knowledge, using it as leverage instead of a gift.”

  Baron.

  “Your High Priestess wants nothing to do with you.” Renata. “And you haven’t claimed the rest.”

  I wanted to stop listening. She was right. And it hurt more because we hadn’t been this way in the beginning. We’d been on the r
ight path when we first stepped into our roles.

  Then the accident happened. The debt was established. Nothing remained the same afterward.

  “And me?” I prompted since I was being a masochist today.

  “Death’s duty isn’t meant for punishment and silence alone.” She turned, wrapping her arms around me. “It also represents change. But as long as Death remains stagnant, stuck holding onto the past, the change never comes.”

  “I can’t let go,” I forced through gritted teeth.

  I don’t deserve to.

  “As long as you believe that, nothing will change.”

  “So that’s it? I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place?”

  Mom let me go and stood, briefly cupping my cheek. “You put yourself in this situation by not taking my advice.”

  “Your advice was cruel,” I snapped. She flinched, barely, but I felt like a giant asshole anyway. “I’m sorry.”

  Way to go, fucker. Take it out on your Mom when it was your dumbass mistake that set things in motion.

  She recovered quickly, giving me a sad smile. “Sometimes fear and cruelty go hand in hand. They can be the only things capable of protecting the people we love. And I love you, so I worry.” Her lips tipped up. “You could even say it keeps me up at night.”

  “I’ll figure this out,” I promised. The vow filled my bones and I stood, letting her see the sincerity in my eyes.

  She ruffled my hair, although she had to stand on her toes to do it. Of course, I let her.

  “I hope so, honey.” Her voice was soft, sleepy. “I’ve done what I can from the background, and I have to hope my trees bear fruit. But a storm is coming, and right now? Your shelter is built on sand.”

  “Make sure you get some sleep,” she said like she hadn’t dropped information that was both worrying and cryptic. “I expect to see you in the morning.”

  That was my reminder that I’d agreed to stay here and not drive anywhere.

  Mom kissed me on the cheek and padded out of the room. I watched her go, wondering how she’d figured all this out years ago. How she’d managed the role of Death and leading the Tarots so well that people in this town still spoke about her like she hung the moon in the sky.