Royal Affair

by Marquita Valentine

  I look up from my laptop just as my husband appears in the doorway, looking very fine in his tux.

  “Ready to find the darkest corner in the ballroom so I can have my wicked way with you?”

  Grinning, I save the draft of my blog post, set the computer to one side, and push out of bed, then smooth my skirt down. “Only if you promise to be very, very naughty.”

  He pulls me to him, wrapping me up in his strong arms. “Pretty sure I can make that happen.” His hand slips between us, resting on my rounded stomach. “How’s my boy?”

  “He is fantastic. I can’t wait to meet him.”

  “And my other boy?”

  I smile even bigger. “Equally fantastic.”

  A concerned look appears in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to go?”

  “It’s for charity and Theo’s new assistant was the one to plan it all. I really like Merritt. I want her to stay on at Sinclair Enterprises.”

  Brooks cocks a brow. “For her sake or Theo’s?”

  I sigh. “She’s a single mother, love. I can’t imagine raising a child on my own and she’s doing just that. Which has nothing to do with Theo.” Although if a romance were to spark between them, I wouldn’t be opposed. Merritt is truly lovely, inside and out.

  My husband shakes his head. “Visit for a week and this is what I have to deal with.” He winks at me. “One of the things I love best about you.”

  We move to the living room of our suite. “How was work today?”

  “Not easy being the worker bee, but I think I’m going to like it.”

  “Writing press releases for Royal Bee Honey isn’t anything to be ashamed of, you know.”

  “I know it’s not, but there are times when I miss the adrenaline rush of it all…which is why I agreed to be a guest columnist the for The Wilmington Daily.”

  I gasp in happiness. “You did not! That’s wonderful.”

  He nods. “I swear I didn’t apply for the job. They emailed me today and I couldn’t say no. Although, I’ll admit that I should have talked to you about it first.”

  “I think it’s bloody brilliant to get back to your roots.” I cover his face with kisses. “I’m so proud of you.”

  His dark blue gaze searches my face. “You really are, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know why you sound unsure. I’ve always been a fan of your work.”

  “I don’t deserve you,” he says hoarsely.

  “Well, you’re stuck with me, anyway. So do try to make the best of it,” I reply cheekily.

  He caresses my face. “I love you, Charlotte Walker.”

  “I love you, husband of mine.”

  Theo

  MEANWHILE, AT THE CHARITY BALL

  “On a scale of scumbag to potential lawsuit, how bad would it be if I convince Merritt to sleep with me again?” I ask my sister’s personal bodyguard, Devereaux. I like him and I trust him. Plus, he keeps my sister in her place.

  “Potential lawsuit seems about right,” he replies without judgment.

  “And to disregard all that.”

  “Scumbag and I deserve the lawsuit,” I say before he can beat me to it.

  What am I thinking? Except…technically, Merritt isn’t my employee. I hired the PR firm, who sent her over to do contract work for us. Still haven’t quite gotten over that not-so-nasty shock of seeing her again.

  “You could try asking her out on a date?” Devereaux suggests.

  “She turned me down,” I say flatly, then scan the room for her familiar figure.

  Merritt stands near the door, greeting guests as they walk inside. In her elegant mint-green gown, she is perfection. Her black hair is gathered into a loose knot at the back and her whiskey-colored eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles.

  “Why?”

  I glance at Devereaux. “No idea. Simply said no. I’d like to say that’s the first time a woman’s turned me down.”

  “But…” Devereaux prompts.

  With a grin, I reply, “But…nothing.”

  “I can’t imagine why she said no,” he grumbles.

  “Neither can I.” I stroke my chin. “I’m a great catch. Titled. Have loads of money. Charming. Shit-hot.”

  “Again, can’t imagine why she’d say no.”

  Throwing a grimace his way, I say, “You’re of no help.” Honestly, it’s a bloody good thing he’s of no help and even better, he’s not being helpful on purpose.

  Devereaux and Merritt get along, have since she first started nearly three weeks ago. She smiles at him and doesn’t merely tolerate his company. Doesn’t look like she’d rather be anywhere else. Doesn’t pretend she has no idea who he is.

  Oh no, all of that is reserved entirely for me. Bless her. I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.

  As soon as she’s free, I make my move, casually strolling up to Merritt. Her smile falls as soon as our eyes make contact.

  I flip through my Rolodex of female compliments, and settle on one guaranteed to get a reaction. “The crowd is adequate tonight.” I’m lying my arse off. The ballroom is packed to the gills.

  Her full lips twist a little. “I invited everyone on your list.”

  “Oh, brilliant.” Turning to face the crowd, I rock back on my heels and slice my gaze to hers. “Are you pleased, then?”

  “I’ll be pleased when you make it through the entire night without leaving or hitting on the wrong woman,” she says.

  “Don’t plan on doing either. I’m the very model of a gentleman tonight,” I assure her.

  “Then maybe you have a chance of securing Ellington’s business after all.” She starts to walk away but I grab her gently by the arm. “What?”

  “Dance with me?”

  Her dark gaze roams my face. “What about your date?”

  “I don’t have one. Thought it wouldn’t be prudent in light of what Ellington already thinks of me.” I give her a lopsided grin. “Take pity on me, Ms. Sawyer.”

  Her face softens. “I don’t suppose one dance will hurt.”

  Leading her out onto the dance floor, I motion for the band to start playing the opening number—a slow, romantic tune that is sure to make her enjoy every minute she spends in my arms tonight.

  Merritt smiles, adorable dimples appearing in her cheeks as I slide my arms around her. “I love this song.”

  I know she does. While she pretends not to remember that weekend we spent together three years ago, I can’t forget it. This is our song. The one that made me fall so hard for her that I couldn’t see anyone but her that night. That I kept her with me for a weekend and never wanted to let go.

  “Happy to hear it,” I say casually.

  Her lashes flicker and I can feel her gaze on me, but I won’t say another word unless it’s to answer her. I don’t mind chasing her, but…and it pains me to admit as much, if she truly isn’t interested in me, then I’ll accept defeat and maintain a professional distance.

  The music swells and I dip her, keeping her secure in my embrace. Her fingertips dig into my arms as I pull her back to me. I look at her questioningly, everything inside of me lusting after one word from this woman.

  One fucking word.

  She licks her lips and my gut clenches. “Theo…I can’t, not this time.”

  My heart crashes against my chest, even as victory is so close. “Perhaps tomorrow?” I suggest, giving her every opportunity to take back what she said. Even to the point of going back to pretending she doesn’t know me.

  She presses her lips together, then the corners lift. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

  “Not unless you order it.” Shut up, you dumb fuck.

  She hesitates. “I’m not the same girl. I don’t do casual and that’s all you want.”

  “I want what you want.” Actually, I have no damn clue what she wants.

  Her eyes grow sharp. “Fine. Meet me tomorrow at Pullen Park, at eight A.M.”

  Eight in the morning on a Sunday? What could she possible have to do at that time? “
Why so bloody early?”

  “You’ll have to come to find out, but if you don’t”—she shrugs, her bare shoulders temptingly close and silky-smooth looking—“then I know you’re still the same guy and everything goes back to the way it was when I first started working with you.”

  When she pretended not to know me…

  The music ends and Merritt starts to pull away.

  “I’ll be there.”

  To the ones who always thought the villain of a fairy tale should get his say…and maybe a happily ever after of his own.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Sue and Gina, and the gang at Random House for loving this series. Having the freedom to make up your own fairy tales and twist the history of a country in order to invent a royal family is one of the best things about working with y’all!

  Special thanks to my tribe, Sawyer Bennett, Carly Phillips, and Erika Wilde. I couldn’t have written this book without y’all! Can’t wait until next year.

  I’m raising a glass to all my ladies in my Martinis group. Thanks for being such fans…and friends. I <3 you all!

  As always, thank you to my family for supporting me and loving me, even when I’m in cranky deadline mode.

  BY MARQUITA VALENTINE

  Royals in Exile

  Royal Scandal

  Royal Affair

  Take the Fall Series

  Take the Fall

  When We Fall

  After We Fall

  Hard to Fall

  The Brides of Holland Springs

  The Billionaire Bride

  The Temporary Bride

  The Forgotten Bride

  The Christmas Bride

  The Scottish Bride (coming soon)

  The Lawson Brothers

  Love So Hot

  Love So True

  Love So Irresistible

  Love So Tempting

  Love So Perfect

  Love So Unexpected

  Seducing the Billionaire

  Seducing the Billionaire’s Wife

  Seducing the Billionaire’s Secretary

  Holland Springs

  Drive Me Crazy

  Driving to You

  Twice Tempted

  Third Time’s a Charm

  His Christmas Wish

  Just Desserts

  Not Over You

  Be Mine

  PHOTO: © MATTHEW WINSLOW

  MARQUITA VALENTINE is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of sexy contemporary romance and hot romantic suspense. Since first taking the plunge in July 2012 to self-publish, Marquita Valentine has appeared on the Top 100 Bestselling Ebooks Lists on iBooks, Amazon Kindle, and Barnes & Noble multiple times. She’s been called “one of the best new voices in romance” (Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews) and her books have been accused of being “a sexy, fun, and slightly addicting contemporary read” (The Book Queen). When she’s not writing sexy heroes who adore their sassy heroines, she enjoys shopping, reading, and spending time with her family and friends. Married to her high school sweetheart, Marquita lives in a seriously small town in the South with her husband, two kids, and a dog.

  marquitavalentine.com

  Facebook.com/AuthorMarquitaValentine

  Twitter: @marquitaval

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  Read on for an excerpt from

  Walk of Shame

  by Lauren Layne

  Available from Loveswept

  Georgie

  TUESDAY MORNING

  Let’s talk about five A.M. for a second.

  Also known as the worst hour of the day, am I right?

  Here’s why:

  If you’re awake to see five in the freaking morning, it means one of a few things, all of them heinous.

  Scenario one: You’re on your way to the airport for an early morning flight. Heinous.

  Scenario two: You’ve been out all night, and now your vodka buzz is fading, and you’re just sober enough to realize that the rest of your day will likely involve Excedrin, carbs, and indoor voices. Heinous.

  Scenario three: You’ve got a crap-ton on your mind, and you’re lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, hating your life. Maybe hating yourself a little bit, I dunno, who am I to judge? Heinous.

  Now brace yourself, because scenario four is the most heinous of them all: You’re awake at five A.M. because you’re an uptight prick whose schedule is even more rigid than your posture, and your life is an endless string of working out, the corner office, repeat. You’re also likely the type of person who subsists on protein shakes and kale smoothies, and you have been known to utter the phrase the body is a temple, thus solidifying what we already knew about you.

  You have no friends.

  But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

  See, it’s five A.M., and I, Georgie Watkins, am…kind of excited about it.

  I know. I know. Four months ago I’d have bet my favorite vintage Chanel bag that there was exactly zero chance I’d actually look forward to the ghoulish hour of five in the morning.

  And yet here we are.

  I guess you could say there’s a scenario five on reasons to be up this early.

  “Good morning, Ramon,” I sing, pushing through the revolving doors of the luxury high-rise on 56th and Park, the place I call home.

  The concierge/security guard/all-around good guy glances up and gives me a friendly smile. “Ms. Watkins. Good morning.”

  Usually the massive front desk is a bustling, busy affair. Starting at around seven, an army of well-dressed concierges will be smoothly facilitating the needs of impatient residents, as tiny dogs let out sharp, high-pitched barks of greeting from their Louis Vuitton carriers.

  But that’s later.

  Right now, the luxurious lobby is mostly silent, with just the lone overnight guy working the front desk, holding down the fort until the day guys arrive to handle the morning crush.

  My new Tory Burch clutch tucked into my armpit, I hold up the box in my hands and waggle my eyebrows. “Brought you something.”

  Ramon’s smile grows wider, brown eyes lighting. “My wife says you’re going to make me fat.”

  “Tell Marta that the dad bod is totally in style right now,” I say, setting the box of donuts on the counter and lifting the lid. “Unless, of course, you don’t want a maple bacon donut?”

  Ramon is already reaching inside the box, shaking his head in reverence as he lifts the sugary treat. “Still warm.”

  “Well, technically the shop doesn’t open until five, but I’m such a loyal customer, they let me in a bit early,” I say, surveying the array of donuts and trying to decide if I’m in a chocolate kind of mood or if I want to risk the powdered sugar one.

  Since my Alexander McQueen minidress is black (the archnemesis of powdered sugar), I reach for the chocolate as I set my clutch on the counter and fish out my phone: 4:58 A.M.

  Two more minutes.

  “How’s Marta dealing with the pregnancy of baby number three?” I ask, taking a bite of the donut and shifting attention back to Ramon, who’s already polished off his donut and is contemplating a second. I nudge the box toward him.

  “She’s good,” he says. “Excited that we’re finally having a girl.”

  “A girl!” I say, reaching across the counter and squeezing his massive forearm. “Congratulations, I hadn’t heard!”

  “Just found out yesterday,” he says with a happy smile, apparently deciding that the occasion calls for another donut.

  “Oh my gosh, I have the perfect baby gift,” I say, nibbling at a piece of my donut. “I saw this adorable Burberry onesie in Bergdorf’s the other day, with this precious little red bow—”

  “Yes, because that’s what every infant needs,” a low voice interrupts. “A four-hundred-dollar piece of fabric that needs to be dry-cleaned. Don’t be ridiculous, Georgiana.”

  I don’t have to look at my clock to know what time it is.

  Five o’clock.

  On the dot.

  No
t even bothering to turn around, I roll my eyes as my red nails tear off another piece of donut and pop it into my mouth. “Ramon, do you think you could talk to maintenance about adjusting the temp? It just got a little cold in here.”

  Ramon’s been working here long enough to know my request isn’t for real. He’s not even paying attention to me. He’s already set his donut aside and has straightened up, practically saluting the newcomer.

  “Mr. Mulroney. Good morning, sir.”

  “Mr. Ramirez.” The voice is low and serious, a touch impatient, although not quite rude.

  You know that adage that you catch more flies with honey? I’m not so sure it’s true. I bring donuts to the front desk guys just about every morning, and they adore me. I know they do.

  But they respect him.

  Giving in to the inevitable, I finally let my eyes flick to the side, my gaze colliding with a stern brown scowl.

  I put on my widest, sparkliest smile, only because I know it drives him crazy.

  As always, I see a muscle in his jaw twitch as I flutter my eyelashes.

  “Good morning, Andrew,” I say sweetly.

  “Georgiana.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Only my late grandmother has ever called me that, and I’m pretty sure that’s because I was her namesake. Everyone else calls me Georgie. Well, okay, not everyone. Ramon and the other guys still insist on calling me Ms. Watkins, but I’m working on it. See: daily donuts.

  I smile wider and push the box in Andrew’s direction. “Donut?”

  His lip curls. In case you haven’t already gotten a read on this guy, he’s the type that sneers at donuts.

  He lifts a boring black travel mug. “Already have my breakfast.”

  “Blended-up quinoa sprinkled with a few bits of spinach and pretension?” I ask.

  “Whey powder protein shake.”

  “Sounds immensely satisfying.”