I grab a dirty pillowcase from the pile and give it a little shake before tossing it onto the red pile. I watch as his discomfort grows. Well, damn. Is he richer than stock-market-rich?! Because stock-market-rich is seriously rich.
He glances over at the eavesdropper before he turns back to me, voice lowered. “Sadie, I wasn’t joking when I said I live in a palace.” I look up and our eyes meet. I want to laugh because there he goes being ridiculous again. The guy’s such a joker. Except, right now, he looks more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “I’m a prince,” he says softly. “I’m the grandson of the queen of Ridgeland.”
I’m trying to figure out whether I should roll my eyes or punch him in the shoulder. He’s obviously pranking me.
A wry smile slowly curves one corner of his mouth. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
I grab the detergent and pour a measure of the pungent blue liquid into the bottle cap. I’m so not falling for this. “You do have an ego of royal proportions,” I say sarcastically, “but that alone doesn’t qualify you to be a prince.”
I hold my breath as he rounds the edge of the counter. Standing in front of me, he takes the bottle of laundry detergent from my hands and watches me solemnly. He doesn’t flinch as the words leave his mouth. “Sadie, I’m not joking. I’m Prince Xavier George Andrew Henry Cambridge of Ridgeland.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Second in line to the throne.”
“You’re being so annoying.”
“Duke of Rochdale.”
“Stop playing around.” My eyes widen a touch. My giggles fade.
“Earl of Dunwich.” How can he say these things with a straight face?
I puff out a shallow breath and whisper. “You are such a liar.”
He shrugs slightly. “Okay, we’ll I’m pretty much out of titles now, so...” Still no signs of levity on his face and I'm starting to consider the possibility that maybe he's telling the truth.
“You’re a prince?” I squeak out.
Laying down his bag of chips, he holds both of my hands in his and nods. “Yes.”
I freeze for a second then pull my hands away from him. "Like a prince prince?”
He tries not to laugh. “Yes.”
I narrow my eyes with suspicion. “But you’re standing in a laundromat. In Copper Heights.”
His eyes dart around the room. He nods. “I am aware of my current surroundings. Yes.”
“Shouldn't you have security? Like some mounties or something?"
Incredulous, he snorts at my ignorance. “The mounties are the Canadian paramilitary police force, darling.”
I wave him away, annoyed. “Oh, I don’t know the technical terms. But you know what I mean.” I plant both fists on my hips.
He smirks in response. “I ditched my security and then skipped the country. Frankly, I’m surprised my grandmother hasn’t sent her bloodhounds to find me as yet.”
"Wow..." I fall back against the edge of the table. This craziness might actually be true.
I'm almost there but I still need a little more convincing.
I thrust a hand out to him. “Pics or it didn’t happen,” I demand.
He scoffs, like he can't believe I'd doubt him. But I don't back down. I hold his fiery gaze even though it makes my heart bounce around in my chest. "Fine," he grumbles like a cranky child giving in to something he'd rather not do.
His massive hand dips into the pocket of his jeans and his phone emerges. While he's tapping around, I get the washer going and dump another load in. When I turn back to him, he stretches the device out to me. It's a selfie of him with a very, very familiar face. All smiles. I gasp. "Me and Mrs. Obama at the American embassy in Ridgeland,” he says pointedly.
Before I can stutter my way into a coherent sentence, he scrolls around again and produces another photo.
"Harry and Meggie have a nice little hideaway tucked into the valley not far from Folkshire Palace where I live."
"Meggie?" is all I'm able to choke out.
He laughs. "The duchess hates when I call her that but sometimes I can't help myself. She looks like such a 'Meggie’. Don't you think?"
I would laugh except I'm still struggling to process all this new information. Meanwhile, Xavier pulls up another photo. This one really blows my mind. It's a wedding portrait. A group of regal-looking people are gathered in front of a purple velvet wall with ornate golden molding and elaborate crystal chandeliers hanging above their heads.
Xavier stands in the back, off to the left side, looking devastatingly handsome in a royal blue ceremonial military uniform. He's scowling. In fact everyone in the photo is frowning aside from the gorgeous bride who is grinning like she just won the lottery and the groom who looks like he can't wait to get their wedding night on and popping. The noticeable bulge at the front of his pants confirms it.
Xavier points at the groom. "My father—Edmund, the Bastard, as I call him—is next in line to the throne. This is wedding number three. "
"God—the bride is gorgeous," I gush.
He clucks his tongue. "She'd better stay that way," he tells me snidely. "God knows Edmund has never been shy about trading in for a newer model. My mother learned that the hard way when the first handful of mistresses started popping up.”
And even despite Xavier’s disarming smile and his brash swagger, as he speaks I can see the shadows, the hurt. Something is amiss beneath it all and I'm intrigued to know what it is.
I think he senses that I might ask about it, because he quickly diverts the topic. "This is the Queen, " he says, pointing to the stern-faced, white-haired lady sitting primly in the ornate armchair at the front of the frame. "She is as scary as she looks." He laughs easily. I do, too.
He goes from person to person, pointing out cousins and uncles and aunts. It's finally starting to sink in for me. "Wow, you're a prince..." I don't mean for my voice to sound as dreamy as it does.
His eyes rotate into his head. "Oh, god. Don't look at me like that."
I furrow my nose. "Like what?"
"Like I'm some sort of cut-out ripped straight from a Disney movie." He clasps his hands over his heart and bats his eyelashes like a ridiculous cartoon character.
I guffaw. "You wish. I'm just starting to understand where that epic ego of your comes from." I make the comment sarcastically but there's a grain of truth to it. I've never met a man as confident as he is, a man with this much natural swagger. He's effortlessly dominant. A real alpha male without even trying.
He's a prince. Excuse me but you'd be fascinated, too. At least a little.
But of course, he's gotta go and pop the bubble I'm floating in. "So now can you just acknowledge how cool I am for a second?" He puffs up his chest, fists his hips and angles his chin irreverently, like a valiant knight posing for a portrait following a successful conquest.
But this girl is not one to swoon...openly. I've got to cut him down to size. “You’re not that cool.” I give a tiny shrug as I pop a freshly-washed load into the dryer.
“Not that cool? I’m royalty, Sadie Nichols. What does a bloke have to do to impress you?”
My stomach tingles at the thought that he’d care to impress me. It’s a joke, Sadie. He’s joking around. “Dude, you don't know how to do your own laundry. Doing laundry is, like, the basic tenent of adulting."
His throaty laugh is my new favorite song. "You're being silly."
"Am I really?" I throw him a challenging look as I saunter back to where he’s standing.
Tilting his head, he gives me an are-you-serious? look. "I can learn to operate a laundry machine. I'm a quick study. Now that I've seen you do it once, I'll be able to do it all by myself next time."
"Yeah, I'm sure," I mutter under my breath.
He leans across the table, reaching a long arm out ahead of him. "I’ll show you. Here—let me help.” He swiftly grabs an itty bitty tiger-print thong from the top of the colors pile. "I'm thinking this little number would run through the ‘de
licates’ cycle, am I right?" He holds up the panties in the air, the elastic waistband stretched out and pinched between the fingers of both hands.
I glance over and see Mr. All-In-Black smothering a laugh as he peers in our direction.
"Give me that!" I hiss, trying to snatch the underwear from Xavier.
He ducks too fast, holding the thing out of my reach. "I think I should do a quick sniff test before tossing these into the wash. Y'know—I need to make sure they're really, really dirty."
"Hey!" I yelp as he tries to bring the scrap of clothing to his nose. I grasp wildly, my arms flailing in the air. "Hey!"
"Mmm..." He emits a raspy groan. "I don’t think these need washing at all. They smell good enough to eat!"
When his lips open to shove the thong into his mouth, I chuck all remaining shards of decency aside and lunge at him, my whole body heaving forward.
Laughing hysterically, he falls back onto the table and I land on top of him. Snatching the thong from his lax fingers is easy since he's laughing so hard.
"Hey! That's my learning aid!" he protests, a satisfied quirk dancing on his full lips as he makes a feeble attempt to regain possession of my dirty undies.
"You are a freak!" I admonish, trying to be stern despite the laughter bubbling in my own chest.
It takes a while to register that my body is lying flush against his on the table.
I feel his heart hammering against my chest.
I feel his belly shaking with laughter.
I feel his semi-hard length pressing up against me.
And suddenly, it's spring break in my panties.
Before I do something stupid (like dry humping the hell out of him in the middle of the laundromat with at least one witness present), I slide off of him and I land on my shaky feet.
He sits up, wiping tears of laughter away with his forearm. "Freak. That's a title I can live with."
"Well, it's definitely not a compliment,” I tell him, amusement waning as I straighten my hair and clothes. My cheeks are hot and my body is pulsing. I'm wetter than the load I just pulled out of the washer.
Xavier is still watching me as his laughter fades out. The lust on his face is explicit. So is the reaction in his pants.
Something is happening between us. Right here, right now. The air is thickening, crackling, taking on an electric charge that's impossible to ignore. This is what chemistry feels like.
His eyes settle on my lips and I know he's imagining himself with his mouth on me, his hands on me. I'm not at all opposed to making that vision a reality because his lips are full and red and I know his stubble would feel like heaven beneath my fingertips.
A loud, tinny crack jolts us from the spell we've fallen under. Both of our heads snap over to the man in the corner. He gives us an innocent stare as he lifts his Diet Pepsi to his lips.
Xavier yanks his collar away from his throat. He blinks several times and his demeanour shifts completely. "I've got to, uh, I should go." Suddenly, he’s cold and withdrawn.
My tongue laps at my dry, tingly lips. "Yeah...of course, yeah."
My body bristles, heated and hyperaware, as he moves quickly toward the exit. He throws me a final look before moving out the door. "Have a good evening, Sadie. "
And I'm too stunned, too breathless to respond.
6
Sadie
When I get home from work the next day, my front door is wide open. Peering through the opening, I see a broad, shirtless body kneeling at the back door with a box of tools spread out around him and a smartphone clenched in his hand.
An overzealous female voice pours in through the phone. “…So girlfriends, the first step in installing your deadbolt lock is making sure you put the ‘twisty’ part on the inside of the house and the ‘locky’ part on the outside of the house. Because obviously, if you put the ‘twisty’ part on the outside of the house, an intruder can just let himself in and that’s the last thing we want, right? Can I get an amen?”
Xavier joins the chorus of women who scream out. “Amen!”
The instructor speaks again. “I know this step may be a bit intimidating but it’s just society’s gender programming that’s keeping you in fear. You don’t need a man to ensure your safety. Just keep reminding yourself, ‘I can install this deadbolt on my own. I can install this deadbolt on my own.’ Just keep repeating it as a mantra.”
I struggle to contain my laughter as Xavier, nods along, repeating the affirmation low under his breath. “I can install this deadbolt on my own…I can install this—”
Unable to hold back one second longer, I bust up laughing.
He startles and his head snaps in my direction.
“Hey…” I step over the threshold, dropping my backpack and rollerblades by the front door.
He quickly stops the video and shoves the phone into his back pocket. “Hey…”
That impish smile makes my heart beat faster, causing me to totally forget to make fun of him. It’s not fair for a man to be that gorgeous. And when he drags a big hand down the front of his chest, chasing away his sweat, I momentarily consider grabbing his hand and sucking each of those big, thick fingers in turn. Sadie, that’s totally gross.
Anywho…
He rises to his feet and saunters closer, propping a shoulder against the wall across from me. Dammit—a shirtless prince standing in my hallway.
“You’re home early,” he tells me. “I thought I’d be done installing this lock before you got here.” His eyes do a quick sweep of my body, riding over the slope of my breasts in my red sports bra and my pierced belly button and the wide spread of my hips in my star-spangled boyfriend shorts.
A wave of heat rolls up my neck and I turn toward the kitchen to hide it. My balance falters. Be strong, knees. I believe in you. “My boss came to check in on the shop this afternoon so she let me take off early.” I quickly wash my hands and grab the little container of store-bought lemonade from my freezer.
Xavier is hot on my heels. “Good for you. I can’t understand how anybody can get any type of work done in this heat.” He drops into a chair at the kitchen table. I throw him a glance over my shoulder as he draws his forearm along his sweaty brow.
“Well, I’ll tell ya—I haven’t been getting much sleep in here…y’know with my air conditioner being broken and all. And if I dare to wear anything more than a pair of panties to bed, I have the sheets sticking to my skin in sixty seconds flat.”
His eyes widen when I say that and his gaze sweeps my body again. I can tell that the vivid image I just painted is playing out before his mind.
Excuse me while I go remove my foot from my mouth.
Normally, I wouldn’t be embarrassed making a comment like that. But with Xavier, now I’m feeling self-conscious and more than a little hot and bothered. Especially after that strange flirting episode at the laundromat yesterday.
I can’t lie—I spent a good part of last night recalling the feel of his cock pressed up against me and imagining the sound of his voice in my ear, whispering naughty things in that hot accent. I tried to stop myself but the fantasy got me all keyed up and had to take care of the problem, riding my battery-operated boyfriend until I collapsed in a sweaty, exhausted heap and promptly fell asleep.
And thinking these thoughts while he’s sitting right here at my kitchen table is a dangerous idea because I feel my body revving up to make the fantasy a reality.
I’m so attracted to this guy. It’s hard to just be normal around him. That’s why I made the conscious decision not to Google him. Which is monumental because he’s a prince and naturally, I’m really curious about what exactly that means. But the thing is, he’s already so overwhelmingly hot to me. I’d rather get to know him in an organic way. Because if I let myself find out just how much of a big deal he is, I might lose my nerve and make an even bigger fool of myself around him.
Anyway, I’m relieved when he abruptly changes the subject of conversation. “Tell me about all these heavy, dog-eare
d textbooks." He picks up one of the business school manuals sitting on the table in front of him and playfully curls it like a dumbbell. His bicep bulges with the movement. “You don’t read these for fun, do you? Because if you do, I’ll have to recommend some far more pleasurable activities to you.”
I ignore the innuendo as anxiety begins to take root under my skin. I’d rather not talk about this. The disappointment stings too bad. “They're for school,” I tell him.
"School? You’re in school? What are you studying?"
I straighten my shoulders and say it with pride. "Business. I've been working on my business degree..." ...for the last one hundred years.
His brow mounts his forehead. He seems more than a little surprised. I get that a lot. The whole carefree girl vibe doesn’t always sync up with the strait-laced business person stereotype.
"What?" I ask, feeling defensive, preparing for a fight as I set a glass of cold lemonade in front of him.
“That’s just not what I was expecting you to say.” He shrugs a shoulder and brings the glass to his lips, cringing at the acidity of the juice. “You know that business school is a joke, right?"
I’m back at the counter, pouring myself a glass. "No, I didn't know that. I must have missed the memo." My tone is dry and snide.
That doesn’t deter him.
“I was in business school for a while. Oxford in London. Didn't learn shit. Only lasted one semester anyway. The parties were the best part of the whole thing. I was in the business of partying."
My blood curds in my veins. Jealousy erupts in my gut. I try my best to keep the emotions in check.
Xavier chuckles under his breath as he observes my sour expression. “You aren’t mad that I said that, are you?”
Am I mad? I am mad, actually. Very fucking mad. I hate that he’s taking this so lightly. To him the opportunity to earn a degree means nothing. To me, it’s what I want more than anything.
“Lighten up, Sadie,” he says in an appeasing tone. “I was just joking.”
Slowly, I set my drink on the counter and turn to face him. "When I was a little girl, I would sit on my dad's bed and watch him in the mornings. He'd drape his cheap, ratty tie around his neck and he'd do his best to tie it into a knot. It would be crooked every, single time." I laugh a little even as anger screams on the inside. "And I would ask him where he was going. He would say, 'On business’. At first, I didn’t understand but he'd pick me up and spin me around and promise me that soon we'd be rich and he'd buy me a pony…”
Rich Boy: A Royal Landlord Romance (Blue Collar Bachelors Book 5) Page 7
