Royally Arranged (Bad Boy Royals Book 3)

by Nora Flite

  “It’s nice to see you taking this seriously.” But by the way she squinted at me, I knew she was wondering where my change of heart had come from. “Thanks for this,” she said, tucking the jewelry back in the box. “Coincidentally I brought a gift for you, too.” She held up the box she’d entered with. Opening it under my nose, my mother winked. “Aren’t they pretty?”

  There was black velvet inside. Sitting about half an inch apart were several stunning diamond rings. She didn’t have to explain. I knew what these were meant for.

  “Now,” she went on, talking through the pulsing in my skull, “I swiped these from the royal vault with Glen’s help. I’m not sure what they’re each worth, but looking at them, any one of these will do the trick.”

  My entire jaw was suddenly heavy. “Any one, huh?” I mumbled with difficulty.

  “Yes, they’re all suitable. It doesn’t really matter which you pick.”

  “Just like your sons, then.” I backed away from the box. “Long as we get the job done, who cares?”

  She drew herself up, bristling and snapping the case closed. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying Dad doesn’t care who he throws to the Valentines. If Kain or Costello were free, he’d have picked one of them for this marriage before me. Am I wrong?”

  Disgust smoldered in her eyes. I knew mine mirrored hers. “Hawthorne Luca Badd, you need to watch your fucking tone. Your father and I are doing our best with this situation. We’re trying to help you.”

  Her anger soothed some of mine. Lowering my head, I looked at the case in her hands. “You are, Ma. I know that. But you’re kidding yourself if you think Dad gives a shit about helping me.” The memory of what he’d said in the garden cut my soul into ribbons. “I don’t think he appreciates that I’m choosing this family over my own desires.”

  “Ease up on your father.”

  “Maybe when he eases up on me.”

  “You’ve got no idea what he’s been through!”

  I do have some idea. But everything I learned, I learned from other people, I thought sullenly. Pointing my toes to the side, I walked around her, opening the door wide. “You’re right. I don’t have a clue because he never talks to me. Go, please. I need to get cleaned up and dressed.” I gestured out into the hallway.

  Her face fell. Then she lifted her nose high, finding some of her familiar pride as she swept past me. Looking over her shoulder, she waved the box. “What about the rings?”

  Those fucking rings. My hand tightened, white knuckled, on the door. “I don’t need that secondhand trash.” My mother’s eyes widened. I almost felt bad; she’d meant to help. I knew that. It was her cavalier attitude that had gotten under my skin. She thought the ring didn’t matter.

  But I knew it should. Just like I knew I should.

  - CHAPTER SEVENTEEN -

  NOVA

  I’d woken up before daybreak, then spent the hour before the sun tickled the sky doing my hair in the mirror. When the servants my mother had arranged to do my makeup and hair arrived, they’d looked at my work and been unsure what was left for them to do. But I couldn’t help it—I had to stay busy.

  Every minute that I was allowed to think . . . Thorne came spiraling into my mind.

  And then everything got harder.

  Eating.

  Talking.

  Walking.

  It all was swept behind the rest of my synapses that were eager to gorge themselves on Hawthorne. Squirming in the chair in front of my vanity, I pressed my knees together. Following his directions was incredibly arousing. The old me, if faced with his dominant filthiness, would have fainted.

  Just breathe, I reminded myself, touching the stray pieces of hair that had escaped my French updo. Remember how brave you are now. I hesitated. And going all weak in the knees has nothing to do with fear, anyway. He’s too hot for anyone to be unaffected, that includes me.

  With a final press of some gloss on my lips, I left my room. The maids in the hall tipped their chins at me as I passed. “You look beautiful,” one of them said politely. “Like a delicate flower.”

  That was nice—but would she say that if she knew I was naked beneath my dress like some sex-obsessed monster?

  Probably not.

  My mother spotted me when I crossed the steps from the patio that led to the rose garden path. She was sitting at a gazebo, her head covered in a floppy hat. In front of her was Carmina, Thorne’s mother. I didn’t know if they’d been talking before I appeared, but they were tight-lipped now. The only thing their mouths opened for was to drink the Bloody Marys that had been arranged for them on the table.

  “Nova!” Mom called.

  I was tempted to ignore her and just walk into the garden maze. Instead I moved toward her, chiding myself for my wicked thought. I owed so much to my mother. The least I could do was come when she called.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She traced my arm, then her hand fell away, grabbing for her drink. “Are you two going to sit here while the photos are taken?”

  “Yes,” Carmina said, smiling my way. She had sharp eyes; under her observation, I was suddenly cut apart. My dress became too thin, my makeup and hair a sham, my grace an act; a frailer woman would have crumbled, begging to be accepted by her. I came close to it.

  Reaching out, I spread my fingers. “Mrs. Badd, we never really got a proper introduction. It’s nice to meet you, and nice to have you here supporting your husband and son.”

  Her eyebrows inched down slowly. Then she reached out, shaking my hand. The silver bracelet she wore caught the light and glinted. “Thank you. I’ll say that supporting Thorne hasn’t been too hard, he’s a good son. Plus he likes you.” She winked.

  Laughing, I let her go. “Thank you. Love your bracelet, by the way.”

  “Oh!” Her eyes sparkled with pleasure as she showed it off. “Like I said, Thorne is a good son. He bought this for me yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” That was strange, I didn’t remember seeing him buying any jewelry.

  “Speaking of,” Carmina said, rocking her chair to see past me. I twisted around. Hawthorne was striding over the close-cut grass toward me.

  My heart floated up, tasting like butter in my mouth.

  He was wearing cobalt-blue trousers, a matching jacket buttoned once in the middle by a metallic button. I could see the dress shirt he had on beneath—the color of cream, and probably as soft. His collar was high and drawn tight by a slim silver tie.

  Though we’d had sex in the cemetery, I hadn’t seen him naked yet. He’d kept his clothes on, only unbuttoning his pants to slide out his—I shivered, hit by a wave of stability-stealing lust as I remembered his thick cock. I’d seen that twice now.

  But not the rest of him.

  What would he look like on full display?

  “Morning,” he said, dipping to kiss me on the cheek. Champagne bubbles of delight rose up in me. I knew I was blushing. Thorne had shown me again and again that the more time we spent together, the easier it was for him to erase my neutral calmness.

  He turned me into a bumbling girl with a schoolyard crush.

  The smirk on his face said he knew, and he loved it.

  Playing with my dress nervously, I cleared my throat. “Morning. You look very nice.”

  “I tried.” He swept me with his gaze—the stark black centers piercing me. He’s wondering if I did what he told me. Shifting from side to side, I became far too aware of how vulnerable I was between my legs.

  He squinted, trying again to figure me out. Enjoying that he wasn’t positive I’d listened, I grabbed hold of that upper hand and pointed out at the gardens. “I see the photographer is waiting for us. Shall we?”

  Thorne’s smirk pushed out at the corners until it was an amused smile. He curled his elbow around mine, flicking his fingers at our mothers to say goodbye. Together we walked across the grass. He was warm beside me, smelling like oranges with notes of chocolate.

  Bendin
g so his breath tickled my ear canal, he whispered, “Keep your secret. I’ll find out soon enough.” Then, as I was looking flustered, he grinned at the photographer we’d reached. “Hey there! Hawthorne, nice to meet you. Please make me look good today.” He laughed, shaking the man’s hand with both of his.

  He was good at acting relaxed. It let down other people’s guards, I was realizing. That could be wonderful for social interactions . . . but it could also be dangerous. Underestimated men were impossible to predict.

  Thorne graced me with his intense stare. I thrilled, melting under the attention.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Definitely,” I replied.

  We posed as we were told to. A hug here, a fake laugh there; we were performing so that the papers would have something to spread about the soon-to-be king being in love. It was fake love, but it was the closest to the real thing that I’d ever experienced.

  If it became true love . . . unfiltered, real love . . . would I realize?

  I often wondered, even now, if Darla was right about me. That I was some boring, broken person that no one would want. Even after everything I’d gone through to gain my bolder persona, deep down there was a tiny voice that told me I meant nothing to anyone.

  Not my parents.

  Not Thorne.

  No one.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. His onyx eyes swarmed with concern. It froze me where I was. As much as I’d wanted to be seen, it was no small feat to be stared at so intently by Hawthorne Badd.

  And he looked . . . worried. Actually concerned for me. I’d let my fake smile crumble as my mind had wandered. Gathering myself, I reached for his hand and grinned. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course,” I said, shoving him lightly. The camera flashed. “This is what we’re here for.”

  “I just don’t want your heart to explode.”

  I made a face. “Why would my heart . . .” He dropped to one knee. I’d expected this for the photo shoot, but knowing hadn’t been enough to prepare me for the moment. My breathing became shallow—the camera was clicking, capturing the moment when Thorne slid out the red velvet box.

  The ring inside was small, elegant. The diamond on top created a rainbow in the sun as he lifted it free. This is all a show, I reminded myself. We’re marrying for our families. This is pretend. And that’s fine, totally fine.

  “Nova Valentine,” he whispered.

  Oh, hell. Oh no. Oh God.

  My dress was too tight. There was a tiny, high-pitched noise in my ears and it was a full minute before I realized it was me making that sound. Overwhelmed wasn’t the word for this. Thorne is asking me to marry him, but there’s no one recording us. The camera can’t hear his voice. So was he pretending like me? Was this part of the farce to get the perfect photograph?

  He took my hand, the ring poised in front of my finger. “Will you marry me?” He asked it gently. It was a set of knuckles to my ribs. Something terrible had never felt so good. But this was bad, undeniably bad. No one should be swept off their feet by a proposal gained by threats.

  I hoped God couldn’t read my thoughts, because if so, I was going to hell.

  “Yes.” I swallowed the word. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  The ring coasted into place. The photographer said something. I ignored him, too swept up in Thorne. He stood again, blocking out the sun with his broad shoulders. His warm palms captured my face. As he dipped to kiss me, I stood on tiptoe, calves stretching, to reach his lips as fast as I could.

  Our sweet kiss became something else. His hands moved to my shoulders, to my waist, and when he grabbed my ass I became conscious once more that I was panty-less. His teeth slid over my ear as he whispered, “Did you follow my directions?”

  “Yes,” I said, my eyes rolling in my head. The wave of pleasure was blinding me.

  “Ahem,” the camera guy said.

  Thorne kissed my cheek, then he stepped back. He looked extremely proud of himself. “Do you like the ring?”

  Studying it again, I smiled. “Very much.”

  “I’m glad. I was worried you’d know what I was up to when we were shopping.”

  My hands fell into my lap. “You bought this?” That was why I hadn’t seen him buy the bracelet for his mother. He’d gotten them both while I was buying my lingerie.

  “Yeah, though I guess I didn’t need to. Mom brought some spares for me to pick from.” His lashes drifted low as he avoided my eyes. Leaning back, he suddenly smiled at me straight on. “I don’t know. Even if the situation isn’t ideal, it seemed weird to do this without choosing the ring myself.”

  I had no response. It was a relief when the photographer put us back through our paces, an excuse for me to keep my thoughts to myself.

  “Okay, kids,” the guy said. He squinted into the back screen of his camera. “I’ve got plenty to work with. Good luck, tell your parents to hire me for your wedding!”

  I watched him go. When he reached the table in the distance where our mothers were sitting, Thorne circled my wrist with his hand. He wrapped so far around his fingers closed over his thumb; I felt so tiny. “This way,” he said, hauling me into the rose maze.

  Thorne led us into the greenery. The sunlight through the leaves turned us both yellow, insects creating a chorus that matched the hum of my heart. I stared at the back of his head, marveling at his speed. Desperate to keep up—to run as fast—I kicked my heels off.

  He glanced at me as I appeared beside him, breathing heavily. Clinging to his hand, I accelerated even faster into the bushes. We took a corner in the maze, the sky hiding under the clustered roses above our heads.

  Thorne was panting. He didn’t look tired, though. Spinning me around, he wove his hands into my scalp, cupping the base of my skull. Leaves scratched at my bare back where the dress didn’t protect me. His lips fastened on mine, allowing nothing to get between us. He kissed with a barely controlled energy—what had gotten into him?

  Turning away, he ended the kiss. The front of his pants was bulging. “Show me,” he said, his hands slipping down my arms, lifting goosebumps as they went. “Lift your dress.”

  I knew what he wanted to see. Trembling with anticipation, I hoisted my dress hem up my legs. It was cool where it touched, parts of it clinging from sweat after our brief sprint. My mouth hung open, breath coming in short, fierce bursts.

  The front of my dress cleared my hip bones. Air caressed my pussy, my juices sticking to the insides of my thighs. “Fuck,” he grunted. “That’s stunning.” He was transfixed on my pussy, and for a while I was free to study his face as it shifted through honest, unguarded expressions of greed. He wanted me more than anything. If I’d had something to ask for, I could have, right then, gotten it.

  Except what I wanted was him.

  And I already had that.

  “I need to taste you.” He dropped gracefully to his knees in front of me. It was a testament to his male aura that even on his knees, he radiated absolute power over me. Grabbing my hips, Thorne guided my pussy to his mouth.

  “Ah!” I whined. A single lick had sent sparks up my limbs.

  “You’re on edge,” he said, the words dancing over my clit. Another lick; another part of my brain collapsing. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, huh? Since you woke up?”

  “Since last night,” I whispered.

  He stared up at me. Then he bent forward, grinding his nose on my clitoris, his tongue flat as it swept through my swollen labia. He ate me out, his strength all that kept me standing. Without his muscles clamping my thighs, I would have toppled into the grass.

  His tongue wagged faster, eagerly lapping every drop of my juice. Glancing down, I saw it clinging all over his cheeks. Awestruck, I covered my mouth. The sight was so fucking filthy. It would be burned into my memory until my bones became dust.

  “I can’t wait,” he said. “Not anymore.” He scooped me up from where he was, pressing me into th
e cool ground. I saw the vines above—a single white rose dangling there, half-bloomed.

  Kissing me, he shifted around, reaching into the back pocket of his pants. I saw the foil square; a condom. Meeting my uncertain stare, he pulled back, sitting over me. “Listen,” he said, working at his tie. It fell away in a coil of silver. “I know everyone expects us to have a baby. But I’m not ready to jump into that, not yet.” He faltered, trying to read my face. “Is that okay?”

  Reaching out, I plucked the condom up. “They want us to give them an heir, but no one can make us do that before we’re ready.”

  The relief that washed through his smile tugged at my heartstrings. He sat on his heels, going for his belt. “Wait,” I said. “I . . . want to see you without your shirt on. Please.”

  His lips dipped down, then rebounded into a sharp grin. “Please? Oh, sugar, you don’t have to beg for that.” His deft fingertips cut through the buttons of his cream-colored shirt. His muscles bulged, eager to be free.

  Beneath the cloth I got my first eyeful of Hawthorne’s bare chest. He was a masterpiece, smoky ink covering him from his neck all the way down until it vanished into his pants. I’d never seen anything like it in my life.

  My attention went to the crown on his ribs. It was the emblem of his royal heritage. That crown was embroidered on every banner, every guard uniform, and every servant’s outfit. I’d seen it swinging off ships’ masts since I was tiny and visiting my aunt for the first time.

  But I’d never seen it on a real person.

  Shaking through my fingertips, I softly brushed that tattoo among the rest. It was the only spot of color on his whole body.

  Unzipping himself, he motioned for the condom. I gave it to him, fascinated—flushed—by the sight of him gliding it over his engorged cock. I’d had him bare; somehow the latex added a layer of taboo to our sex.

  “Look at me,” he said, laying his weight over my body. “Watch my face. I want to see every eyelash of yours sway as I fuck you into oblivion.”

  He pressed the head of his cock against my seam. If he wanted a response from me, he didn’t wait for one. The first thrust dragged along my flexing inner walls. My nails buried in the dirt, my cheek tearing grass up from how my head tossed.