"There's no need for attitude, James," she calls as I close the door.
When I slide behind the driver's seat, she kicks one leg up, the heel of her shoe on the dashboard. "So, where are we going?"
"This is your country, princess. You tell me." I drive away from the palace, trying to ignore the fact that she's sitting the way she is right now, with her thighs slightly spread. The black slip she's wearing pools around her hips, giving me an unobstructed view of her inner thighs.
I have to force my eyes to focus onto the road ahead.
"Don't you have a plan?" she asks.
"I didn't have a plan," I realize.
This was spur-of-the-moment, much like everything else that's happened with this girl. I don't do spur-of-the-moment. I don't do impulsive. I don't do rash or ill-considered. Yet, here I am, doing exactly that.
"You always have a plan. Now, you're telling me that we're just going to drive aimlessly through Protrovia?"
I shrug. "We can. Or, we can make a run for the border, hop a plane to the South Pacific, and live on an island under assumed names. I'll go by James, for obvious reasons, and you can go by Bonnie. I didn't have anything else going on this afternoon, so the possibilities are endless."
"Bonnie?"
"If you want, I'll be Clyde. But I thought you preferred James."
She grins at me, tucking her hair behind her ear as it falls around the side of her face. I'm surprised by how good that smile makes me feel. "You're alright, bodyguard. You know that? Sometimes, anyway."
"Well, you're occasionally not completely irritating," I retort.
"Occasionally? Well, then, I'm becoming soft. I'll have to up my game. If there's anything I hate to be described as, it's boring." Her hand runs up her thigh, her fingers playing idly with the fabric, and my dick twitches at the thought of those fingers in such close proximity to her pussy. I wonder if she's wet.
If I told her to slide her fingers between her legs right in front of me, I wonder if she'd do it.
I clear my throat. "You're definitely not boring."
"You're not as boring as you seem, either, James." She speaks softly and looks out the window like she's fascinated by the passing scenery.
I'm a lot more fascinated by the scenery inside the car.
"I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you," I tell her. And I mean it.
We drive through town in silence, and then I'm heading in the direction of their summer home, out into the countryside. I don't know exactly where I'm taking her, only that I'm taking her away from the palace, somewhere where it's less crowded. She looks out the window, seemingly content to watch the landscape and not her phone for once.
She only speaks when we've been driving in the countryside for a few minutes. "I know that my brother Albie was the one who brought you to Protrovia. Why did he pick you?"
I shrug. "He wanted you to be safe, I suppose."
She's still looking out the window, but I can feel her eye roll without even seeing it happen. "Tell me the actual truth. What did he say about me?"
"He said that you couldn't keep a bodyguard, and that you needed someone trustworthy around you."
Given the fantasies I've had of the princess, it's safe to say that her brother was wrong about that whole trustworthy part of things.
"You were with him in Afghanistan?"
"That's right." We drive through the center of a little town and out the other side, the countryside spreading out before us.
"My brother never talks about Afghanistan. He always says he did nothing over there except get flying hours."
"Well, he was a pilot, so that was his job." I don’t tell her that the prince flew missions over there, just like every other pilot. He liked to downplay what he did. It's one of the reasons we became friends.
"But you two knew each other over there?"
"We were in the same camp for a few months. I got to know him before I knew he was a prince. I knew him as Al."
"Al?!" The princess bursts out laughing and repeats the word a few times in a deeper, manly voice. "Al. That's very … American."
I laugh. "I know. It's terrible. Always made me think of Al Bundy."
"Who?"
"Married with Children?" She gives me a blank look. "Never mind. It's an American TV show."
"What did you do in the military?"
"I was a company commander in the Marine Corps."
"I don't know what that means."
"I was in charge of a hundred and fifty guys."
"Did you – was it dangerous?"
"Sometimes."
"Why does my brother trust you so much?"
"You'd have to ask him that question," I tell her.
She sighs. "Albie doesn't talk about that stuff."
"Let's just say that I helped get him out of a tight spot once."
"A tight spot, like a dangerous spot?"
"Yeah."
"So you saved my brother's life?"
"I wouldn't go that far," I say, trying to explain without explaining everything. "We just helped him out once. It wasn't a big deal."
That part isn't exactly the truth. It wound up being a big deal. Prince Albert flew in to provide air support for us in an operation where we were taking fire, and his helicopter went down. He walked away from the crash with hardly a scratch on him, but he got pinned down near the wreck, and my guys and I got him out. I might have saved his life then, but I owed him, too, which is part of the reason I wound up in Protrovia.
"Obviously, it was, for my brother to have reason to trust you."
"Had reason to trust me. I'm pretty sure I've crossed lines with you already that make his trusting me a foolish decision." Like putting her phone down my pants and basically daring her to retrieve it.
"Hardly any lines," she says softly, her fingers still playing with the fabric on her slip.
14
Alexandra
My fingers roll over the fabric of my lingerie, over and over until I think I must be rubbing the fabric raw. The throbbing between my legs is so distracting that I want my fingers to be busy there, not with the hem of my lingerie.
"Trust me," he says, his voice thick. "There are lines I haven't crossed with you."
His words send a shiver through me. Do I want him to cross those lines?
My body craves it.
"Really?" I ask innocently. "Like what?"
He doesn't answer. He makes a rumbling sound low in his throat and abruptly pulls the car over to the side of the road. It's deserted out here, a long stretch of paved road that wanders through the countryside. My heart beats faster as my mind immediately wonders if he's prepared to cross any of those lines right now.
He gets out of the car and crosses to my side, pulling open the door. I immediately picture him pulling me out of the seat, bending me over, and fucking me right beside the car. "Get in the driver's seat," he directs me.
I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed that he doesn't order me to bend over. He takes my hand, helping me out of the car, and it doesn't escape my notice that his eyes skim over my body. It also doesn't escape my notice that I seem to have lost the ability to think about anything except the fact that his hand is still on mine as he guides me over the rocky area beside the road and to the driver's side of the car.
"Are you sure you want to be at my mercy?" I ask, referring only to driving, except it sounds like I'm talking about a lot more than that.
"Would you rather be at mine?" He pauses, dangerously close to me. For a second, like it's out of my control, my hand goes to his chest, my fingers on the button of his shirt, and I think about how easily I could just undo it right now.
I could tell him to fuck me right here and now, up against the side of the car, out in the middle of everything.
But the moment passes, and he steps back, telling me to get behind the wheel. Before long, he's teaching me how to drive a car for the first time. It only takes a couple of shaky lurches before I'm on the road and driv
ing.
I have to admit that the whole driving thing is pretty cool. Soon, I'm flying down the road (well, not "flying" exactly, because Mr. Rule-Obeyer is very, very adamant about the speed limit).
"Why haven't I done this before?" I ask, rolling down the window and letting the almost-summer breeze fill the car. My hair gets swept around, strands landing in my face but I don't care.
When I reach for the radio, Max turns it off. "Keep your hands on the steering wheel and eyes on the road."
I turn it back on. "It's been, like, fifteen minutes and I haven't gotten us into a car accident."
He turns it back off, shaking his head. "Yeah, you're on a real winning streak so far. But there haven't been any other cars on the road, and here comes one now. So, let's see if you can stop hogging the entire street."
"Shit, shit, shit," I mutter under my breath as I veer to my side of the road. I move the steering wheel a little too sharply, though, because my tires go off the pavement and into the dirt, sending a momentary pang of fear through me. Then the car passes and I overcorrect in the opposite direction, right back into the middle of the road.
When I glance over at Max, he has his hand on his chest. "It's okay, my life only flashed before my eyes for a second there. Nothing to worry about."
I giggle. "Shut up. If that was scary to you, you probably shouldn't be my bodyguard."
"I probably shouldn't be your bodyguard for a lot of reasons, least of all that," he says, his voice thick. He clears his throat and points ahead. "Keep driving. I don't know where this road goes, but we'll see. Oh, and try not to hit anyone."
"Yes, sir."
I think he growls under his breath, but when I glance over at him out of the corner of my eye, he's looking out the window.
"I just can't believe no one ever bothered to teach you how to drive," he says.
"It's not that no one bothered," I tell him, although that's kind of it, too. After my mother died, things were different around the palace. My father was preoccupied, Albie and I were grieving, and I was busy getting into as much trouble as I could. But I don’t explain all of that to him. "Royals don't drive themselves. It's not considered … appropriate."
"Can you do anything for yourself?"
"Okay, Mr. Rude. I'm pretty good at rappelling down palace walls."
He laughs. "You are, I'll give you that. And you're great at evading your security."
"If you meant to ask if I can cook or do laundry or anything of that nature, the answer is no."
"So you'd be shit out of luck in a zombie apocalypse."
"I take offense to that," I protest. "I don't need to do either of those things in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Besides, I'm a black belt in karate and I can handle a weapon – and I can throw knives."
"You can throw knives?"
"It's true."
"So you can shoot, throw knives, rappel down palace walls, and evade bodyguards. Did your father send you away to a super secret spy boarding school when you were ten?"
"It was a super secret princess boarding school, thank you very much," I joke. "Actually, I was supposed to take archery lessons. Well, I did take archery lessons. Luckily for me, my archery teacher also knew how to throw knives. It turns out that throwing knives is a lot more fun than shooting a bow and arrow. My mom didn't know he taught me knife-throwing or she would have been mad, but I'm quite good. I could split an apple above your head with a knife."
"Thanks, but I think I'll stay away from you and knives, if it's all the same." He pauses. "You're not at all what I expected when I decided to come to Protrovia to guard a princess."
"Are you disappointed that it's not all parades and crown fittings and tea with the queen?" I ask sarcastically, although I do find myself slightly concerned with what he does think about this entire arrangement, but especially what he thinks about me.
He laughs. "Fuck, no." He's silent for a minute. "I'm not disappointed at all. Watch yourself, here comes another car."
I successfully avoid hitting the vehicle coming our direction and going off the road this time, so I congratulate myself for that. "I'm a pretty amazing driver, I must say."
Max laughs again. "Yeah, you're a rock star. Why don't we go ahead and practice parking now?"
"Is that your subtle way of saying I need to be off the road?"
"It's my way of saying that if you know how to go, you also need to know how to stop – and there's a little cluster of shops or something up ahead. I see parking spaces. Try not to hit any cars."
I'm about to make a smart-mouthed reply, but I'm too focused on not crashing the car as I put on my turn signal, turn, and pull straight into the first parking space I see. "Look! I parked it perfectly! Aren't you proud of me?"
Then I take my foot off the brake and turn to open the car door.
And promptly roll the car into the side of the little stone building in front of us. There's a loud 'clank' as something metal falls to the ground.
I look over at Max, who has his hand over his face. He groans loudly. "Always remember to put it in 'park' before you take your foot off the brake."
"That might have been helpful advice to know before I hit the building," I note. "But I'll remember that for next time. I think part of the car might have fallen off, by the way."
An old man runs out of the building wearing an apron and carrying a dish towel. He looks at us and shakes his head.
"I'll deal with the building owner," Max starts, but I'm out of the driver's seat before he can stop me.
The old man stares at me, his eyes wide, although I'm not entirely sure if he's staring because I'm wearing heels and lingerie and just ran into his building; or if he's staring because I'm the princess. "You're – the Princess," he says, bowing. That answered that question, although I'm definitely underdressed, possibly scandalously so, for the countryside. "I was just about to go inside and call for the police. I thought a couple of drunks had run into the bar."
"A bar? Well, this is my lucky day!" I chirp. "Did you hear that, James?"
Max picks a long piece of the car off the ground and stands up with it. "I'm sorry, princess. I didn't catch that because I was picking up the bumper of the car."
I resist the urge to stick out my tongue at him. Instead, I turn toward the old man. "Some of my very favorite places in Protrovia are bars, you know," I tell him.
His fat cheeks redden. "Well, then this is my lucky day, Your Highness. I'd be honored if you'd come in for a pint. And don't worry about the building – it's made of stone. It wouldn't be the first time someone has rolled into the side of it trying to park here."
"Did you hear that, James?" I call. "It's not the first time someone's hit the building."
Max holds up the bumper. "I'll just put this in the back of the car, then," he yells back.
"Oh, that's rubbish!" the man exclaims. "Putting it in the car, I mean, not the bumper. The bumper is still perfectly usable. I'll call Karl down from the auto shop. He'll get that fixed straight away."
"That would be very kind of you. And we'll come into the bar and have a pint," I declare brightly. I toss a grin at Max over my shoulder, and he rolls his eyes, sighing as he puts the bumper up against the side of the building.
"The Princess of Protrovia in my bar," the old man says, sticking out his hand. "Edward Gilroy, Your Highness. Oh, that was rude of me, wasn't it? I don't suppose you go around shaking hands all the time."
I shake his hand. "I try to only limit it to people whose buildings I run my cars into."
He chortles like that's the funniest thing he's ever heard, even though my jokes are definitely not. "Come on inside. I never thought I'd be serving royalty."
Inside, the bar is dim and noisy with a large crowd watching two different games on the televisions, one on either side of the room. Max speaks low in my ear as we enter. "This isn't a good idea, princess. The bar hasn't been cleared."
I roll my eyes at him. "We're not going to be rude. Besides, haven't you ever wanted to
live a little, James?"
"I live plenty, princess."
"Well, then, let's assume that no one here has been planning to assassinate me, since this is an impromptu stop."
"This is a security nightmare," he grumbles. "Of course, that's not any different from a million other places you frequent."
"That's the spirit, James," I chirp.
Edward rings a bell on the wall, and every head in the place turns in our direction. "Can I have your attention, please?" he yells, his cheeks turning red. "As fate would have it, Princess Alexandra – the Princess Alexandra – has graced us with her presence this afternoon. So, try to act like you're not the most obnoxious sods on the planet and class it up a bit for her, eh?"
"Well, I don't know about gracing anyone with my presence," I note, as the crowd in the bar rumbles then breaks into applause.
Edward motions for them to stop clapping. "She's also the one who just rolled her car into the building."
"Edward, you tattletale," I tease loudly. "If I hadn't had a little parking mishap, I wouldn't have gotten the chance to have a pint of beer with you lovely folks."
Cheers erupt again momentarily, and then people are asking to take selfies with me and sign autographs. Max hovers by my side, glaring at any man who attempts to get a photo. I snap a few photos and sign some bar napkins and a few hairy man chests before Edward cuts the crowd off.
"Enough, enough, you're going to suffocate the princess already," Edward says, motioning people away as he ushers Max and I over to the bar. He practically shoves an even older man off of his barstool. "Give her your seat, Dennis."
"Oh, that's okay," I protest.
"Dennis doesn't mind," Edward declares as he scuttles behind the bar, quickly pouring two glasses from the tap. He yells louder in Dennis' direction. "Do you, Dennis?"
"Eh?" Dennis cups his ear at him as Edward slides the beers toward us.
"I don't know if your gentleman here would like a beer, but there you are," Edward says, wiping his hands on his apron.
I laugh. "My gentleman? I'm not sure he's even a gentleman."
Her Bodyguard (Raunchy Royals Book 2) Page 8
