Pretend Princess With Benefits: A Royal Fake Marriage Romance

by Lara Swann

  She’s safe.

  I tell myself that, but I don’t quite believe it.

  How can I when I know there’s someone waiting to hurt her? When I look around and see every tiny possibility for danger and violence? For someone unexpected to attack before I have a chance to do a thing about it?

  My pulse starts thudding in my chest again, and my eyes keep darting around the theater.

  I can’t see anything. Not enough. It’s dark and the flashing lights make it impossible for my vision to adjust.

  And I can’t hear anyone approach. The music is too loud, too insistent, thumping and clashing and powerful and dramatic.

  There are shadows leaping from every side as groups form and separate on stage - some taking to the aerial equipment and having me cursing under my breath.

  This is impossible. It would be the perfect time to strike.

  I can see myself doing it a hundred times over. Can see the shot, the disappearance, the panic and confusion - or hell, if I’m lucky, everyone mistaking it for a part of the show.

  Why the hell are we here?!

  Except this one hadn’t even been my idea. It had been hers. I should’ve told her no. I should have suggested we do anything but this.

  Fuck. Why didn’t I think about this?

  A sharp crack sounds reverberates through the theater and I can’t help myself, I cry out, my head whipping around to Alana and my body tensing, ready to send us both ducking to the floor. Except she looks fine, apart from a little appreciative shock. No blood. No screaming.

  Fuck.

  I’m tense all over, when that fucking sound happens again.

  I look up and see the movements on stage, the dance group acting out some dramatic clash between two groups, the gunshot-sound coming again and again…

  Oh for fuck’s sake.

  This would be the perfect time. If this guy is going to act, it would be now.

  “Caleb?” Alana murmurs in my ear, and I jump.

  I actually fucking jump.

  Stupid damn body, stupid damn tension, too tightly coiled and ready to spring. My eyes are wide in my head and I can feel my pulse exploding.

  I wanted moments of crazy-intensity instead of nothing happening? What the fuck was I thinking?

  “Caleb, what is it?” Alana’s voice picks up, ignoring however rude others might find the disturbance.

  “Nothing, Alana, it’s nothing.” I murmur back, pissed beyond hell that she’s noticed something is up.

  Of course she’s noticed. You’re about ready to explode.

  I need to tell Sullivan once and for all that I’m not up for this. A hitman is not a bodyguard, and I don’t know how in hell to handle it.

  “Your arm has gone tight as a wire, Caleb, and your breathing is crazy fast. What’s wrong?” She insists, leaning into me, trying to get a better look.

  Another gunshot sounds and I grab for her instinctively. Fucking hell.

  “Fuck it, Caleb, talk to me. You look about ready to have a panic attack.” Alana’s concerned words finally get through to me.

  “I…” I seize the only thing I can think of to get us out of here and away from whoever might harm her. “I, yes…I need to get out of here.”

  She takes one more look at me, then nods without another word, standing and squeezing past Mel and Lily and the other people in the row. I follow, still trying to look around the damned theater, thinking what a bad idea it is to be standing and making ourselves targets…

  When we get into the aisle, I pull her to me. I don’t care what she thinks, I’m not having her walking out exposed like that.

  To my surprise, she doesn’t even object as I shift us so that my body blocks hers from the nearest speaker - that’s where I’d stand if I were a gun man. Maybe she thinks I need to feel her close for comfort or some shit. Hell, maybe I do.

  When we finally make it outside with no incident, and I can breathe in the cool night air and lean against the outside of the building, some of that tightly coiled tension starts to relax - just a little.

  The music and sound effects are muted out here, I can see and there are random people passing on the street. So much safer.

  “Are you okay?” She asks again.

  This time I nod, still looking around us instead of at her. My breathing is calming a little, and I take long, deep breaths to try and convince my body to shift out of fight-or-flight mode.

  “What happened?” She persists.

  I look over at her, but can’t quite summon any of my familiar amusement. I have too many images in my head of her lying injured and bleeding on the floor.

  I want to make some comment about her asking too many questions again, but I can’t bring myself to. Not when I can see the concern and worry on her face, and she came out here with me without objecting once. Just because she cared.

  I push that thought away. I have to play the part here, make this something useful.

  “I…” I glance away, partly deliberately, and partly because I don’t want to meet her eyes as I tell her the half-lie. “I don’t like loud noises. Darkness. Flashing lights. Not like that.”

  I can feel the disbelieving look for a few moments - I did drag her to loud, dim college party only a week ago. But something about me obviously convinces her - maybe the fact that she probably really did think I was having a panic attack in there.

  “Okay…” She moves towards me, pressing close as if to offer support or comfort.

  It shocks me enough that I almost startle away from her, looking down with wide eyes. My body can’t quite adjust to sudden-death-hitman-mode combined by warmth and comfort and company. She gives me a small smile and wraps an arm around my waist, squeezing lightly.

  “That’s okay. We don’t have to go back in.” She continues, showing no issue with my complete lack of response.

  After a moment, I manage to get over my shock at the violent reaction I had to both the dance show and her quiet acceptance out here, and I let myself lean into her. My head instinctively fits over hers, and I inhale the warm scent of her hair, letting that center me again.

  I’m still on half-alert, but I feel so much better it’s almost painful as my body lets its rigidity go.

  I breathe deeply. “Thank you, hun.”

  I should feel awkward or embarrassed. I’m not the kind of guy to get spooked at shadows - hell, anyone back home would have a field day with the idea of it - and I should feel weird about her thinking that. But maybe because I know exactly what could be lurking in those shadows, and just how real that is, I’m not self-conscious at all.

  And if this means we don’t linger in dark alleyways, or go to loud, distracting events? My ego can take the damage.

  “So, what do you want to do instead?” I ask softly, brushing her hair back behind her ear with one hand as she looks up at me.

  For once, I don’t mean it to be suggestive. But it comes out like that anyway - especially as she presses into me again, sparkling warmth shining in her eyes.

  “Well…you could take me back to my room.” She murmurs, and all I can think about is that I don’t want to let her go. I don’t ever want the warmth pressed against me to fade.

  I brush my lips across the top of her head, and something in me lightens a little.

  “Okay.” I agree. No clever comments this time, just a rising anticipation as all my earlier tension shifts and I just know it wants that sexual release I haven’t had for far too long.

  Going back to her room is a good idea. We’ll be safe there.

  At least so long as Sullivan never finds out.

  Chapter Nine

  Alana

  Caleb doesn’t let go of me as we walk back towards our dorm, and I let him keep his arm wrapped around my shoulders. I tell myself it’s because he might still be in shock and I don’t want to break that human contact if he needs it.

  But I’m fucking lying to myself. My heart is beating hard in my throat, my body is on fire from having him so close and knowing wher
e we’re going - and my mind is racing.

  I just keep remembering those scars - and feel a stab of guilt at how carelessly I pressed him for an explanation. It doesn’t stop my mind from trying to jump to all sorts of conclusions, but at least it’s enough to stop me from voicing them.

  With the way he acted tonight, there’s clearly something up.

  Maybe he has PTSD from some traumatic event...

  Maybe he was assaulted. Maybe he had a rough time in his youth. Maybe he was in some sort of gang.

  Fucking hell.

  Stop thinking.

  “Are you alright, Alana?” Caleb looks over at me, squeezing my shoulder. “I’m sorry about how I reacted back there. I didn’t mean to startle you - or for us to miss the rest of the show.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” I say hurriedly.

  I won’t ask. I won’t ask. I won’t ask.

  I give him a brief smile instead. “Just so long as you’re alright now.”

  For once, I actually manage to not fucking ask.

  He nods and smiles back, and I let out a small breath. He certainly seems a hell of a lot better. His body has let go of that tight-wired tension and there’s a warmth and heat to him that had disappeared earlier.

  A warmth and heat that you’re looking forward to seeing more of…

  I smile a little more fully at that thought, and press closer to him, enjoying the strength of his body against mine, and the way it makes me feel so snug and secure.

  All that strength, and underneath…

  There was definitely more to Caleb than I’d seen. Mel and Lily were right - this wasn’t some typical college meat-head. And instead of sending me running, the scars and that almost-panic-attack only intrigued me more. I wanted to know everything about him. Get under his skin.

  In more ways than one.

  “What are you thinking about?” Caleb asks, the cool night breeze shifting my hair back enough to look up at him.

  “I…umm…why?” I stall.

  “You almost missed the turning.” He nods behind us at the road.

  “Oh.” I blink, looking back in surprise. “Well…I was just thinking that you’re a very mysterious guy.”

  I try to twist it a little, not wanting us to linger on things that might just make him uncomfortable. However curious I might be, I don’t want to have him close off from me again - and more than that, I don’t want anything to spoil the sweet warmth between us right now…or what it might become when we get back to my room.

  He smiles broadly at that, and I let out a slightly relieved. “I hear girls like mysterious.”

  I laugh easily. “You seem to have a lot of ideas about what girls like.”

  “Am I wrong?” His hand starts running down my shoulder lightly, caressing my arm and making goose-bumps jump up across my body.

  “Maybe not this time.” I can’t take my eyes off him as we approach the dorm building.

  I’m pretty sure tall, dark and mysterious isn’t my type. But, the way nerves are sizzling across my body right now, maybe I’m the one that’s wrong.

  I feel his eyes on every inch of my body as I walk up the stairs in front of him, and butterflies jump in my stomach.

  What on earth has happened to me that I want this so much?

  He walks past his room without a second glance, and I turn as we finally reach my door.

  I can see the shadow of his slight stubble, his hair mussed and ruffled around his brow after our walk home - but it’s the deep, intent look in his eyes that pins me there.

  He takes a step closer, one hand resting against the side of the door while his body blocks the rest of the hallway. A thrill runs through me and I know I should feel intimidated - but I don’t. If anything, I need him closer. Over me. Pressing me against this door the way they do in films or books or—

  “Well, you’re back at your room now…” Caleb murmurs, his voice fire and ice along my skin.

  “Are you going to leave me here all alone again this time?” It’s a murmured challenge, but I can’t help the hint of vulnerability I feel as our eyes spark against each other.

  If he leaves me with one more almost-something moment, I swear I’m going to scream.

  “Not for a second.” His low voice runs straight through me, and then suddenly he’s over me. Doing everything I was wishing for a moment earlier.

  His hand runs through my hair, cupping my head and tilting it up towards him as I lean forward in anticipation. One step closer and then his mouth closes over mine and—

  Oh, god.

  He’s soft and sweet and sensual and seductive all at once. Rough stubble scraping against my chin and framing a slow kiss that deepens and builds into a fierce passion. I’m torn between wanting to melt against him, or push and grind and touch every part of that rock-hard body.

  His other hand comes up to cup the side of my face, and I don’t get a choice - my body folds into his and I can feel his rock-hard cock pressing against my thigh. My pussy clenches hard in response, and I can already feel the beginnings of wetness. Just from this chaste fucking kiss.

  And then suddenly - it’s not chaste anymore. His mouth opens mine, and his tongue glides in with light, delicate strokes that become fevered and needy within moments. He’s taking over and I can barely breathe - it’s all I can do to clutch onto him and force him closer to me.

  Who the hell thought kissing could be like this?

  I have one moment to think that I’m completely and utterly out of my depth here - that fumbling around with my last boyfriend, or experimenting with kissing boys when I was younger, has given me nothing that could possibly prepare me for this - and then his hand shifts, glides down my side and makes me shudder before it slips past me to the door handle.

  The door disappears from behind me and I have a moment of weightlessness before I’m in his arms, halting my fall as he all but carries me into the small college dorm room.

  Our lips leave each other for a brief second, and I can’t help but laugh at the feeling, my whole body on fire and excited in a way I’ve never felt before.

  Fuck.

  I might have teased and bullied him about his playboy attitude, but fuck me if the results aren’t unbelievably good.

  Maybe I won’t be complaining about that again. Maybe.

  The door shuts behind us and before I have a chance to jump him, his eyes dart around the room and I see that familiar warm-amusement underneath his burning lust.

  “Not quite the neat-freak I imagined, then.” He’s grinning at me, and I finally stop looking at him long enough to follow his gaze.

  And notice the discarded bra and a couple of dresses lying over my rumpled bed, the bag I’d abandoned on top of a couple of stacks of paper on my desk and the still-open pots of make-up beside it and my furiously-blinking phone.

  I whirl back to him in affronted dignity, stepping closer and poking his chest. “Well, maybe If I hadn’t been abducted things would look a little better around here.”

  His arms come around me instantly, sliding down my back and caressing my ass before he captures my finger in one hand and brings it to his lips to kiss. Heat pools immediately in my stomach and my moment of outrage disappears in the face of overwhelming lust. God-damn, this guy knows how to completely throw off every thought I have.

  “I’m very sorry.” He says, looking completely unrepentant as he pulls me closer to him. “I’ll help you clear it up.”

  Tidying my room is the last thing on my mind as his mouth closes over mine again, and I press myself up against the firm muscles of his chest. I moan - unable to help myself now - and shift against him as his tongue goes deeper inside me, tangling with mine and leaving every part of my body aching for more. This close, I can feel his need as his cock hardens against me, and my pussy clenches in matching desire.

  “Caleb…” I murmur, unable to breathe, or think, or talk in the slightest. All I can say is his name.

  He backs me up to the bed, and I can’t believe how ready
I feel for this. I haven’t had casual sex with a near-stranger…ever. And I held off with Harvey for months.

  I open my eyes to see Caleb’s bright green ones burning back at me, and I can’t even contemplate the willpower I’d need to resist this man in that way. I want him now.

  “I fucking want you, Alana.” His voice growls in my ear, an echo of my own thoughts, and I feel my thighs moistening at the need there, the honesty there. It might be the sexiest thing a guy has ever said to me.

  I nip at his lips, kiss him again, not able to respond properly except with my own insistent passion as I open his mouth to me yet again.

  His hands come down to grip me, hold me, and then he’s leaning down and I’m off the floor - entirely in his arms and suspended over the bed. My breath comes out of me in one quick whoosh and I laugh breathlessly as I feel him shift under me, his arm sweeping down to scatter my clothes to the floor.

  Then I land on it and find myself staring up at him stripping off his t-shirt.

  Ooh, yes please.

  I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until he laughs at me and slows down, making a show of taking it off and gradually revealing each gleaming inch of hard packed muscle. My pussy spasms again, and my entire body wants him pressed against me, my skin flush against his.

  My breath catches in my throat as I watch that lustful, arrogant grin, and finally take it as the sexual confidence he richly deserves. Then the bed shifts under me as he crawls onto it, propping himself up above me with one last sweep of his hand to remove an offending dress.

  I glance over at it, amused despite the hot tension running through me. Or maybe because of it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this light and free while simultaneously being so in need.

  “If that’s your idea of helping me clear it up…” I start.

  “Hey, I never claimed I was tidy. It’s as good a place for that as any.” He grins at my outraged expression, then darts in to kiss me and any thoughts of my nice dresses crumpled on the floor disappear completely.

  Instead, I take full advantage of the fact he’s now half-naked, my hands roaming greedily over his body and my own arching up into him as he takes the kiss deeper. He reaches down to my breasts, cupping them and running his thumbs over each nipple, teasing and sending sparks straight down to my pussy.