The Prince and the Pop Star: Rich and Royal Romance (True Royalty Book 3)

by Miranda King

  He might as well have slapped her. Friends? He now only wants to be friends after they slept together?

  “Oh, don’t give me the ‘let’s be friends’ spiel.” She thrusts her hands on her hips. “Just tell me the truth. Did you sleep with me to score and brag to your friends?”

  “No.” One word, but it’s a simple and honest one—or so it seems.

  She swallows her pride like sour milk and her stomach churns. “So what you’re telling me is that you’re simply not attracted to me that way.” It isn’t a question, so much as a working hypothesis.

  But if that’s true, he certainly fooled her last weekend, over half-dozen times. So what did she do wrong? There’s no other explanation, unless…

  “There’s someone else?” she blurts her thoughts. “Because when I saw Dante in the hallway, he said something about you being Han Solo and getting the girl. What girl was he talking about?”

  He shrugs. “You know Dante and his man-crush on Han Solo. He said nearly the exact same thing to me before he left here, and he was talking about himself. I’m pretty certain he’s hoping you’ll introduce him to some of the girls in the show tonight.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Sounds like Dante.” Still, even though she usually half-listened to Dante when he referenced his Star Wars movies, there was something in Dante’s voice that curled into her consciousness and every word, exactly as he had said it, sat there. “Regardless, I need to know, is there someone else?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I really don’t understand why you would ask me that.”

  “And I really don’t understand what happened between last weekend and now.” Her pride burns in her throat like acid reflux, but she has to ask. “And why didn’t you call me? You usually do.”

  “Dante and I were on a mission. We couldn’t even hint to anyone of our plans.”

  Yet clearly, the mission must be over. “But you didn’t call when you got back.” She tries not to sound accusatory, but it probably comes off that way. “I was worried.”

  “I got hit with something unexpected.” There is a sharp edge to his voice, like someone has a knife to it.

  Something isn’t right here. “Do you want to talk about it?” she presses further.

  “No.”

  “Maybe tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  “Sometime this week then?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “No, as in you don’t want to, or no, as in you can’t.”

  “No, I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t do us.” He shakes his head. “At least not the way it was before.”

  She inhales a deep breath. “Okay, we can work with that. We can fix whatever is a problem. If I’ve done something wrong, just tell me.”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Listen, the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you. But it’s best that we take a step back and just be friends.”

  “Friends.” The word rolls around on her tongue before she spits it out, not liking it.

  He nods. “Nothing more.”

  Nothing more… nothing more… nothing more.

  There’s a finality to his words that lodges a kink between her heart and lungs. It’s hard to breathe. As if everything in her body is out of sync. As if her whole world is collapsing into a happily never after. As if all his hints of a fairytale future together amounted to nothing more than a wedding cake abandoned outside during a hurricane.

  Get it together. Breathe. Let it go. Breathe. Move on. Breathe. Chin up. “I still feel like I did something wrong. I wish you would just tell me.” Her mouth apparently didn’t get the memo on the just “let it go” bit.

  “Why are you assuming you did something wrong?” He comes closer to her. “You’re the Sexiest Woman on Earth, for three years running. No one else in the world has ever done that. And you’re talented. Adored by millions of fans. You. Are. Eden. Knight.”

  “Darned right I am.” She says with borrowed bravado. The Eden Knight only exists on stage and media appearances. Around him, she’s just been Eden, and once again, Eden isn’t good enough. “Not so lucky in love.” She shrugs. “But hey, at least I’m Eden Knight.”

  He winces, as if her words physically cut him. “No, don’t say that.” He’s so close now, he could touch her. “Any guy would be the luckiest man in the world to have nothing else but you, Eden,” he says in a near whisper.

  Then ever so briefly, that she almost misses it, he roves his eyes over her like a warm breath over the rim of a wine glass, revealing its lip prints. Like he’s making sure the imprints from his lips, from his hands, from his body still mark her as his.

  The steam generated in that look is definitely more than let’s-just-be-friends, despite whatever he tells her. If she had to place money on it, she’d bet he still wants her, and not just as a friend.

  Hmm… perhaps sometimes a man doesn’t appreciate what he’s has until he loses it.

  “You’re right. Any man would be lucky to have me.” She coos the way she does on stage. “I’ve got a show to do tonight in front of hundreds of men.” She sways one of her shoulders forward and thrusts her hip to the side—one of her signature moves that shows off her curves. “Surely I can find at least one of them who will… appreciate me tonight.”

  His dark eyes blaze fire.

  Good. He’s jealous. He wouldn’t be if he doesn’t have feelings for her.

  “As my friend,” she smiles mischievously, “do you have any suggestions on which one I should choose?”

  “None of these men are right for you.” His voice is gruff.

  “Oh really? Strong, virile men in their prime, are not my type?” She shakes her head and laughs. “They are all exactly my type.” She winks.

  “I can already tell being your friend is going to be challenging.”

  She grins like her hand just got caught in a cookie jar and she has no shame. “What’s so challenging about a little advice? Isn’t that what friends do for each other?” She straightens her shoulders, about to sashay her butt out of the room, when…

  Zip. Zap. Zizzle.

  The lights go out.

  Faster than the darkness falls, Logan pins her to the floor. She’s flat on her back, and he braces himself over her using his biceps.

  How could he react so impossibly fast? One second they’re standing in front of each other, and the next he’s on top of her. Not that she is complaining. Her every sensation is fine-tuned into his overpowering presence.

  She breathes in rapid sync with each of his breaths. Each time she inhales, her breasts skim across his chest, and the tips of her nipples tingle. All while the curves of her breasts push up against the huge girth of his biceps. It’s enough to make her head spin.

  But his thighs… oh, his thighs touch against her thighs, with his knees straddling her. The hardness of him sends shockwaves straight to her core.

  He tilts his head to scan her body and then surveys the room, or what’s possible for him to do with the limited light streaming in from the windows. Seemingly satisfied, he returned his gaze to her.

  “Are you all right?” He slowly peruses every inch of her face. It’s a hungry look.

  She licks her lips and manages a nod.

  “The backup generator should kick the lights on in a few minutes,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

  She isn’t. Not with this man protecting her with his body. His skin is warm, and she draws closer to him. Or is he pulling her closer?

  She smooths her hands over his flexing biceps, the length of his broad shoulders, and the sexy stubble on his chiseled jawline.

  “I like it when you don’t shave.” Her voice is breathy. She caresses his chin and the sides of his cheeks with soft strokes, marveling at his masculinity.

  “I’m throwing away all my razors.” He closes his eyes.

  She slips her fingers into his sable hair. Ever so gently, she massages the back of his head.

  She t
wirls her fingers in the loops of his hair and pulls him even closer. She slides one hand down the side of his chest, along his muscled ridges. She twists a fistful of his T-shirt into her hand and untucks it enough to slip her hand onto his bare skin.

  He sucks in a breath and his muscles contract under her fingertips. That she has such an effect on him sizzles her veins.

  She runs her fingers along his six-pack abs, giving attention to every hard-earned muscle, reveling in each contraction and breath he sucks in at her touch. “So you just want to be my friend, do you?” She kneads him. “Maybe you care more about me than just as a friend and you don’t want to admit it.”

  He opens his eyes, almost pleading with her to stop. “No, just a friend.” Yet he caresses her cheek with his fingers.

  “Because I need you as a friend.” She wraps a leg around him and glides her hand to his back, pressing him closer to her core. “Do you need me?”

  He rubs up against her and moans. “Yes.”

  He slides one hand through her dress’ cutout slit at her side and strokes slow circles on her naked skin, trailing his fingers to the curve of her hip. His hand is warm, yet she shivers beneath him.

  He locks his eyes with hers. “I need you, Eden.” For endless heartbeats, he scans her face. As if he is tracing every feature of her on a canvas in his mind. As if she is his Mona Lisa. As if she is priceless to him.

  Pieces of her insecurities strip off in layers until there is nothing left to expose. Yet instead of feeling vulnerable under his gaze, she senses a power she wields over him.

  Their eyes lock again. She rubs her lips together, flicks her tongue across them, and parts her mouth in invitation to him.

  He sweeps down and claims her lips with his own. It’s a near-savage possession, a fierce plundering of his lips against hers. But it’s pure pleasure. She touches, teases, tastes his lips, savoring the onslaught, welcoming his sensuous masculinity against her sensitive lips.

  His tongue plunges into her, stroking and sucking with an urgency that consumes her like a fire burning out of control. His rhythm is deep and fast, moving inside her with unleashed desire. He rocks his body against hers. She whimpers and writhes against him, her body demanding more.

  She delves a hand between their hips. “So I’m just a friend, am I?” She boldly unbuttons his pants and unzips them. “A friend who does this…” Her fingers taunt him sinfully.

  “Oh, God.” He dips his forehead to touch hers.

  The blood in her veins turns to fire. Her fingers find what she’s looking for. “And a friend who does this?”

  “Yesss.” His breathing comes in short pants. Fast like the flicks of the fingertips massaging him. “Tell me you need me…”

  His body buckles. “I. Need. You.” His words are strained.

  There’s a scuffing sound in the distance and his body stiffens. “Eden,” he groans. “We shouldn’t…” He captures her hand with his, yet the glow in his eyes suggests they definitely should.

  She revels in the power over him that he doesn’t want to admit. “I’m just trying to be a good friend.” She licks her top lip as if the words are a dollop of cream there.

  He stares at her mouth and tilts his head to taste her.

  Flash.

  A bright light cuts through the darkness and beams hot on their faces like a police floodlight. They swivel their heads towards the open door. A military officer holding a flashlight shines a spotlight on them.

  “Dammit, Ollie,” he says, “A little warning would’ve been nice.” He shields her partially from view with his body.

  Ollie discreetly coughs. “For God’s sake, man, the door is wide open.” He redirects his flashlight out of their eyes.

  How could she not think to shut the door when she walked in? Because she wasn’t thinking at the time.

  “I hate to interrupt on this…,” Ollie stalls, “on this, umm…”

  “Conversation,” Logan supplies, trying to button his pants. He lifts himself away from her, taking his warmth with him.

  He reaches for her, and she eagerly clasps his hand, not wanting the connection between them to end so soon.

  He helps her up. “Eden, I’d like you to meet my friend Ollie. He was in the Academy with Dante, me, and… Milton.”

  Milton. Her brother’s name shoots straight to her heart. God, how she misses him. If only Dante and Logan would leave the military before something happens to them.

  She notes Ollie’s uniform. He’s a lieutenant, like Dante. That’s just like Logan not to mention a title, even when he outranks everyone.

  She straightens her dress and smooths her hair, although why is she even bothering? She’s already been caught in a compromising situation with her dress hiked up her thighs.

  But Ollie doesn’t seem to be judging her for it. Although he looks tired, he has this twinkle in his eyes that suggests he finds humor in even the worst situations.

  “Thank you for your service to our country.” Her words are heartfelt, not just political mumbo-jumbo. “It’s a true honor to meet you.” She extends her hand for him to shake, and instead he bows and kisses it with a flourish.

  “It’s an honor to meet you.” Ollie doesn’t release his grasp of her hand.

  Logan steps in and pulls Ollie away from Eden. “Okay, break it up, Ollie,” he says playfully, but then says it again not so playfully. “Break it up.”

  She almost giggles at these two men vying for her attention.

  Ollie holds his hands up and chuckles. “Can’t blame me for trying.” He smiles, changing the subject. “That phone call go okay?” he asks Logan.

  “I’ve got to call my grandfather back, but I’ll do it another time.” He fixes his eyes on her as if she is the reason why.

  Hmm… so that’s who Logan had been talking to—the king, his grandfather. Sometimes it’s easy to forget Logan’s title. And he’d hung up on the call early because of her.

  He hung up on the king—for her.

  That’s not something he would do for just a friend. Whether he admits it or not, she means something to him. Yet he’s holding back on his feelings for her. Why?

  “I’m such a big fan of yours, Eden.” Ollie gushes, reminding her that Logan isn’t likely to spill out his innermost feelings for her in front of another person.

  “Well, I feel like I practically know you because I’ve heard your name so often in tales of how my brothers and Logan wrangle you into all their shenanigans.”

  “I think it’s the other way around.” Logan laughs. “Ollie’s proving to be quite the ringleader of instigating us into shenanigans.”

  It’s Ollie’s turn to laugh. “You get into shenanigans all by yourself.” He points to Logan’s clothes. “Your pants, man. Your pants…”

  Logan’s pants are still unzipped, and he swiftly takes care of it. “I trust you’re not going to tell anyone.”

  “Everyone already knows she’s in here with you, even if they didn’t see exactly… umm, what I did—or didn’t see.” Ollie shrugs. “Sorry, man, even the General knows she’s in here.”

  “How did that happen?” she sighs. Well, it possibly could’ve happened when she asked a trail of people tonight where to find Logan.

  “You’re the Eden Knight,” Ollie says a bit too star struck. “All the guys know your every move because they’ve all been hoping to… umm…”

  “Get my autograph?” she offers helpfully.

  “That, and maybe to score—”

  “That’s enough,” Logan growls.

  “I was just going to say a picture, Logan. Score a picture,” Ollie snaps.

  “I’ll bet that’s all they wanted. And what about you?” Logan squints his eyes at Ollie. “If you knew it was just me and her in here, why’d you think I needed you and the help of your big ‘ol flashlight on us?” He crosses his arms. “As you just witnessed, I’m more than willing to… take care of her myself.”

  That last sentence is laced with so much sexual innuendo that both
she and Ollie raise their eyebrows at him.

  Is Logan staking a claim on her in front of Ollie? His primal male instinct to indicate she is his makes her insides quiver.

  But then Logan mutters a string of words and she catches something about a “damn prom—,” whatever that would be, and he breathes in sharply. “As I would do, of course, because she’s my friend.”

  Back to the friends thing.

  He once again hits the brakes on their relationship with that word, giving her whiplash.

  She huffs. “Well, as a friend, I’m sure you must’ve noticed that you didn’t quite take care of me.” She’s too incensed to care that she says this in front of Ollie, who seems good-natured enough, and besides, already caught them with their pants down—or at least Logan’s.

  “Oh, I take care of my friends.” His gaze settles on her. “I seem to recall that I took care of you multiple times last weekend.” Logan talks like she’s gotten under his skin, or at least his pride.

  Darn it, he’s getting under her skin with his whole Let’s Just Be Friends campaign. He might as well put it on bumper stickers, T-shirts, and condom wrappers. At least that would save him the trouble of announcing it to the rest of the world that he slept with her and now just wants to be friends.

  “Humph, last weekend does nothing for me now.” She examines the shiny pink polish on her nails. “I’m beginning to think you just had beginner’s luck.” She throws him a side glance from beneath her lashes.

  “Beginner’s luck?” He steps closer to her. “Sweetheart, luck couldn’t have done what I did to you. That takes skill.”

  “You call what you did skill?” She angles to give him her full attention and slinks a little closer to him. “I could’ve just as easily done that to myself.” Well… not exactly, but let him think it all the same.

  “I’d like to see you try that.” He inches so close to her now that his rapid breaths are a warm fan against her cheek. Why do his eyes have to suggest that he wants to be so much more than friends? His words and his body give her such mixed signals—what’s the truth?