Royally Yours: A Bad Boy Baby Romance
Page 1
Table of Contents
Royally Yours
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Exclusive: A Royal Menage
Truth or Dare
First Love
Friends with Benefits
Office Fling
Copyright © 2018 Amy Brent – All Rights Reserved
Royally Yours
A Bad Boy Baby Romance
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As a thank you, I have included an exclusive full length, never before released romance: A Royal Menage, as a bonus after the main story. Enjoy!!
Prologue
Heidi
I awoke to him pacing around my room, his blond brows furrowed, blue eyes narrowed.
I didn’t need to turn on the light to know it was him. Charles—the Prince Charles. That he didn’t belong here in my messy London flat didn’t seem to compute right now.
All that did was what happened the next second: his lips slamming into mine, hand to hand, body to body. Thoughts were swept aside like clothing.
His presence suffocated me. My body was for him to do with what he liked; it was only needed for its usefulness.
And yet, when the only parts that really counted reached each other, he drew back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but this can’t work.” He moved to the door.
“Wait. What do you mean?”
He looked like a model with the way his shirtless, pouty silhouette was illuminated in the doorway.
“Heidi, Heidi, Heidi.” He chuckled darkly. “Truthfully, I don’t think you could handle it.”
My “handle what?” was halfway out of my lips before his hand closed around my throat. His pupils glittered with amusement as they bored into mine. One second became two and then three. Then he relaxed his grip, releasing me.
As he swept out and away, it occurred to me that he must have seen it. He must have been a bit frightened by it, by what had been brimming in my body, throat to pussy: warm excitement.
I opened my eyes.
“Shit.” Liza froze as her pink lips assumed a guilty expression. “Thought I could sneak this out without waking you.”
Her bright-pink nails wagged my aquamarine ombré hairbrush.
I stared at it for a minute, slowly coming to.
“I had a hot dream about Prince Charles.”
“Again?” Liza asked, her blue eyes widening with mirth.
I sat up a bit, still not able to laugh about it myself.
“This one was different, though. He had some sort of dark secret this time, something he couldn’t tell me.”
“Oooh, sounds juicy,” Liza said, cocking a brow, playing along.
“Not at all,” I said simply, realizing it just as I said it. “It was scary actually. I think he’s hiding something from the public.”
Liza paused for a minute. Her blue eyes seemed to search mine for the giggle that wouldn’t come. As ridiculous as it sounded, there was no doubt in my mind that what I had said was true.
Finally, she ran my brush through her bleached-blond locks and winked.
“Okay, Cassandra. Well, I’m going to just go brush my hair in the bathroom. Be sure to tell Prince Charles about your dream when you see him.”
As she left, even I had to laugh at that one. As if I were ever going to actually meet the prince. Even if we were in London, princes weren’t exactly on every street corner or photo shoot.
A shiver ran through me. And then there was the whole issue about his dark secret that plagued him. Even though it had been a dream, it had felt real to the deepest bone in my body.
Chapter 1
Charles
Drip. Drip. Drip.
In Chinese water torture, they said that after enough drops, the water would actually rip a hole in your skin. As I stirred, I didn’t think I was there yet. Not yet anyway.
“Wakey-wakey, old man.”
My eye was tugged open by the perpetrator of said water torture. I smacked my hand into Henry’s chest lazily.
“Sod off.”
He only smirked.
“Is that any way to talk to your younger brother who just got us an invite to the hottest thing yet?”
My other eye opened to survey him quizzically. His dark-brown curls looked as dark and tousled as ever, although there was a telltale glint in his blue eyes.
“Are you going to tell me what it is?” I asked him.
He gave his trademark one-shoulder shrug.
“Are you going to get off that expensive velvet-embossed chaise Mother specifically said we weren’t to sleep on?”
I groaned, moving my mutinous limbs off the irresistibly soft surface.
“Since when do you care what Mother thinks?”
Another one-shoulder shrug.
“Since I got us in a shoot with some American models and you’re all set to sleep through it.”
Never before had I scrambled to my feet so fast. Henry chuckled knowingly with a sidelong glance my way.
“I take that to mean you’re good to go?”
I glanced down. Luckily, I’d been so beat that I’d collapsed onto the chaise in my blue button-up and black pants. No need to change now.
As we headed for the hallway, I paused.
“This isn’t a scandalous sort of shoot, is it?”
Henry fluttered his long lashes.
“Only if you get one of them to suck you off and the photographer to take pictures while you’re at it.”
“My greatest thanks, gift,” I retorted, giving him a elbow in the gut.
“Don’t pretend you don’t love me,” he trilled.
--
“Okay, I love you,” I said seconds after we walked in on the set.
The little hairy attendant who had led us to this far wing had gone off to talk to someone. Now we were standing here still unnoticed and able to take in the scene fully.
Popsicles. That was what the models were licking exceptionally. What a sight to behold! They were clad in tiny, cropped, bright-colored tanks and even the odd sweatshirt along with even tinier pastel boy shorts that could have been underwear for all I knew. And then there were the girls themselves. The sandy-blonde on the end was giving the popsicle-sucking her all. The thin redhead had a hand on her wide hips. And then there was a brunette. Glossy dark hair was flung away from her face hastily, and her green eyes were utterly enwrapped in what she was doing. My gaze lingered on her the longest.
“May I help you?”
And suddenly, the room went quiet. The speaker was the photographer, a bony woman with snow-white hair and white glasses who was surveying us with interest. Her watchful, close-set eyes were about to realize who we were when our hairy companion from before scurried up.
“My apologies, gentlemen. My apologies,” he said in the lowest voice I’d ever heard. He then swiveled on his toes to fac
e the photographer. “Rita, these are the princes you’re speaking to.”
As her face immediately arranged itself into a smile, our companion droned on. “Of course you’re more than welcome here. In fact, I think Rita would agree—”
“You have to join the shoot,” Rita said in a mannish, commanding tone. She glided over, linking one arm in mine and the other in Henry’s.
“It would be…”
Her eyes closed as if she were trying to figure out a word sublime enough on the spot. Finally, her purple lids reopened as she settled on: “Spectacular.”
Henry was already smirking out his reply as I disengaged myself.
“Our greatest thanks for your generous offer. We really appreciate it.”
I shot him a quick glare for even considering the woman’s obviously impossible request.
“And we really appreciate being let in here like this too, but I’m afraid our mother would be outraged if we were to be seen in any sort of modeling campaign, like this one.”
Rita tipped her head one way and then the other as if her thoughts were alternating between an argument to convince us and our counterargument that would render hers null and void. Finally, another one of her big-toothed smiles arranged itself on her face. With a curt nod, she let Henry go and strode back to her camera, which was propped up on a tall craning stand alongside several spotlights.
“Of course. It’s truly an honor to have you here at all.”
The models had stopped what they were doing and were now gathered around Rita’s camera. The four of them spoke in low voices, and then Rita’s head swiveled our way.
“We still have to finish up the shoot,” she said. “But after that, would you… Would it be too much to ask—”
“Private pictures with the models?” the brunette ventured, hardly able to keep her gaze off me as she said it.
I quickly averted mine, feeling those convincing greens locked on me. Henry tugged at my arm, the same way Mother’s strident voice tugged at my mind: “A scandal if any of those were released. An absolute scandal. In the tabloids for weeks and then explaining for months. A complete and total catastrophe.”
Mother had always been a fan of drama and liked to inject a good dose of it into her speech. Even she admitted that only by bringing things to their ultimate finality could people be turned around to see the consequences of their actions. Though currently, the last thing I wanted to think about was consequences.
As I dared a glance at the brunette’s pleading, gorgeous face, my dick answered before my “no” could make it out. “Yes,” I found myself saying.
“Yeah!” The models squealed, clasping hands and skipping around for a minute.
Beside me, Henry was grinning ear to ear. That was the last thing I felt like doing. What had gotten into me? The sensible, safe thing obviously would’ve been to politely refuse, as I had with the photographer. But there was something about that brunette, something that made me feel like we were on the same page even though we hadn’t even exchanged two words yet. I wanted the chance to test out my theory, to exchange a word or two with her.
As the shoot continued, our hairy friend returned with two swivel chairs. There already were regular cushioned chairs strewn around the outskirts of the big concrete-floored room. Clearly, he deemed anything without wheels on the bottom unfit for princes, which was just fine and dandy with me. We lowered ourselves into them after he left. Henry gave mine a push, and I rolled away a few inches. Despite the present circumstances, I grinned back at him. Today so far had been something—that was for sure. Being a prince had quite the array of perks, but this was new: American supermodels and the sexiest ones I’d seen yet.
The models were positioning themselves beside a giant sprinkle doughnut. The redhead and blonde were supporting it with sultry half smiles on their pink lips, while the brunette had her devastating eyes in the center. My dick twitched. If I could just have five minutes to talk to her…
Henry seemed to have something similar on his mind. Nudging me, he asked, “Which flavor?”
I rolled my eyes.
He continued. “Chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?”
Turning to glare at him, I deadpanned, “Remind me why women sleep with you?”
He sniffed, pretending to be offended, but that irresistible smile of his was quick to return, as did the one-shouldered shrug.
“Because I’m a prince,” he said simply. His devilish grin grew as he swiped a hand through his curls. “And outrageously good looking.”
In spite of myself, I had to smile.
“And don’t act like you’re an angel either,” he pointed out.
I frowned, saying nothing. After all, he was right. Over the past few years, I’d had my fair share of trysts. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, raven-haired girls, and even a blue-haired one. Light skinned, tanned skin, dark skinned—I’d loved them all. It had gotten to the point where I’d even set up a house for fun flings.
As the models fanned out for a new pose, the brunette caught my eye again and smiled shyly. Yes, something told me I’d get my time with her today.
An excited shiver went through me. Maybe I could even take her there. The room. I’d only tried it out with a girl or two, but it hadn’t gone well. One thing I’d found was, like men, women liked to talk themselves up, portraying themselves as more adventurous and wild than they really were. But when it came down to it, they were all the same. And I was damn tired of the same.
“You going to just sit there?”
I looked up to see Henry looking at me like I had just tried eating the chair or something.
“What?” I asked blankly.
He swung his hand at the models, who were now all waiting in a line nervously.
“Time for private pictures.” He winked. “Unless you’d rather just sit and watch.”
Immediately, I bounded up.
“Not a chance.”
For the first picture, I beelined for the brunette, but it was the redhead’s turn, as Rita brusquely pointed out to me.
After we smiled and the big camera snapped away, the redhead lingered awkwardly, clearly expecting me to say something. So I asked her, “What’s your name?”
“Amelia,” she said in a heavy American accent, as if I’d just said the most delightful thing possible.
“Well, Amelia,” my brother said, walking up to us and slinging his arm around her waist, “you better prepare yourself, because that smile’s about to get way bigger.”
She burst into birdlike laughter as I strode off. That was Henry for you. He’d never really been good at sharing. Luckily for us, there were more than enough models to go around.
The next picture was with the sandy-blond one, who told me her name was Maria. She was pretty enough, but it was her friend, the brunette, I was excited about.
When her turn finally came, I let Henry go first. I wanted to save the best for last and have enough time to say what I wanted. Although I figured Henry and I could probably take our sweet time hanging around, I didn’t want to hedge my bets or anything.
No sooner had the flash gone off for our picture than the brunette turned to smile at me head-on.
“I’m Heidi.”
Her voice was less accented than the others, although the difference was still unmistakable.
“Charles,” I said with forced calmness, tearing my eyes off those green orbs of hers. They were a deep evergreen you could lose yourself in for minutes at a time. And right now, I was supposed to be in responsible prince mode, not awkward schoolboy mode.
“How have you been liking it here in London?” I asked.
Again, I got that bright smile I wanted to see more of.
“I love it,” she declared. “Everyone has been so nice and welcoming so far.”
She bit her lip, as if unsure she wanted to say what she ended up saying next. “And your museums are to die for too.”
I let my eyes rest on her.
“You’re joking.”
&nb
sp; Defiance flickered in her eyes.
“What makes you say that?”
I flashed her a smile, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Because models don’t go to museums.”
Twisting her head to face me, she let out a laugh.
“And princes don’t go to photo shoots.”
I quirked a brow.
“Are you trying to guilt me into thinking I am not a good prince?”
“Is it working?” she asked.
“As enthralling as this is, I can’t exactly take an endless number of pictures of you two talking to each other,” Rita interjected, adjusting her glasses higher up on her nose with her index finger.
“My apologies,” I said crisply.
Putting my hand on the small of Heidi’s back, I led her over to the swivel chairs. Henry was on the far side of the room, talking to the other two models.
I gestured for her to sit down, and she did while I took the other one.
“So, Heidi,” I said, my gaze dipping irresistibly to the square of midriff revealed by her tie-dye cropped sweatshirt, “how long are you planning to stay here?”
She angled her hand up to cover her mouth, as if to shade just how big a smile my question had brought her.
“Why?” she asked coyly. “You want to borrow some of our clothes?”
I laughed out loud at that one.
“Maybe.”
Grinning now, she said, “This shoot was just for today, but I’m doing a whole series of them with different photographers here in London. My agent booked me a ton back to back, so I will be staying here for a few months.”
“A few months,” I said, liking the taste of the words on my tongue.
Our gazes locked again and bored into each other’s for a few seconds before I asked the only thing I’d been wondering since I first saw her: “So I take it that means you’ll be able to find time if a certain prince wants to see you again?”
Her curved eyes gave away her held-back smile.
“Is that the way you British boys ask a girl out?”
I leaned in so our lips were an inch apart. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to kiss that bratty smile off her lips.
“Is that how you American models say yes?”