Trying It All

by Christi Barth

  Riley pushed her hair behind her ear. That simple gesture sent chills—the good kind—down her spine. She couldn’t wait for him to touch her everywhere again. “I made a whole plan last night. Starting by getting rid of my survival gear. I’m donating it to a Boys Club and training them how to use it. We live in Washington, D.C.—there’s no reason to keep a flint-knapper and water purification tablets in my basement.”

  “I like your plan.”

  He held up a finger. “That just kicked it off. Today, I’m telling my boss I want to stay put in the Highway Division. Because what I do there matters more than my standing on an org chart. Then I’ll email my parents. Give them the news.”

  “By email?”

  “Because the topic isn’t open for discussion. I respect that they want me to do well, to rise through the ranks, but I’ve got a different definition of success. They need to respect that.”

  “Also good.” Nothing, nothing was sexier than Riley Ness laying down the line.

  “But the biggest part of the plan was to get you here. Right here.” He gestured at the corner. There were a couple of women pushing strollers, but Summer didn’t see anything to make the spot special. “We tried falling in love. Except for one bad afternoon, it was a successful experiment. One that I want to recommence.”

  Her heart swelled until it seemed to encompass her entire body. “I love when you get all strategic and technical.”

  “Words can be meaningless. I have to prove to you that I’m ready to try to change.”

  Summer stuck out her tongue. “Oh, this should be good.” Because there was too darned much happiness welling up in her like bubbles in a shaken soda to be only serious. She’d always had fun with Riley, and she’d have fun even now, while they were stripping themselves raw and bare.

  “First off, an official apology.” Riley cradled her hand in his. “I meant what I said in that hospital room, but it was harsh. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I love you, Summer Sheridan.”

  He deserved the same from her. They needed to put all that anger and bitterness behind them before they could move forward. “I meant what I said that day, too, and I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I love you, Riley Ness.”

  That banked fire lit to an emerald blaze in his eyes. “I’m grateful…no, fucking thrilled that you’re in my life, Summer. I don’t have to try to love you. That’s a done deal. Your fearlessness—”

  “No.” She cut him off. That might’ve been how she’d pictured herself all these years, but her recent soul-searching proved it wasn’t true. “You can’t say that about me anymore.”

  “Yes I can. Because you are about so many things. Most of all, you’re fearless when it comes to trying something new. I admire the hell out of that. I love your laughter. The way you stick up for your friends, like you’ve pledged a royal fricking oath to be loyal forever.”

  “You do that. You’re always there to support the ACSs. You always think of other people before yourself. It humbles me. And the way you plan eight steps ahead for everything from not missing the Metro to how you planned a road trip to help Josh find the perfect food truck—it’s all just smoking hot.”

  “Good to know,” he said with a totally deserved smirk.

  Then Riley kissed her.

  Really kissed her. Kissed her with heat and passion, and lots and lots of tongue. It was perfect. “I asked Chloe to bring you here for a couple of reasons. Once I figured all of this out, I didn’t want to wait to tell you how much I love you. How much I need you in my life, pushing the envelope and standing by me.”

  “I can do all that.” And oh, how very badly Summer wanted to do all of those things. “Starting with loving you fiercely and forever.”

  “Good.” He glanced down at his watch. “I’m going to be late to work for, well, the first time ever to have this out with you. Just to say I tried it once.”

  She finger-combed the hair she’d mussed during their kiss. “You are such a rebel.”

  “I told you, I’m proving, with my actions, that I can be the man you deserve.”

  “I don’t deserve you,” she said fervently. “But I really, really want to keep you anyway.”

  “Then you’ll be interested in trying another first with me.” Riley handed over her crutches, and put her leg back down. “We’re meeting here because I want a do-over. Of the day it all changed between us.”

  Everything clicked into place. Sure, the trees were gold and crimson now instead of green, but the place memory leapt into her brain. “The day you first kissed me. We fought, right here.”

  “Yeah. You tried to get me to jaywalk.”

  “I’m such a bad influence.”

  Riley dug in his pocket. Pulled out his Leatherman and brandished it in the air, teasing out knife after file after corkscrew after she didn’t even know what. “I’ve carried this with me every day since we got home from our crash all those years ago. It made me feel safe. Prepared. There’s a lot of essential tools in here. Ones that make me feel safer just knowing I have them. I think you’re the equivalent for my life.” He tossed it over his shoulder into the sewer. “You’re all I need, Summer. And you’re all I want.”

  “Ditto,” she said on a sigh.

  “Want to jaywalk with me?”

  “I do.” She thought better of it. Because Riley Ness, her own sexy control freak, deserved a reward for trying something new. “As long as there’s kissing once we get to the other side of the street.”

  For the man who still thrills me every time I look into his eyes, still makes my heart leap every time I hear his voice, and can make me smile through the worst of times.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, so very much, to all the readers who gave my Naked Men a chance. I’m especially touched by all of you who reached out to share your favorite parts and characters. Writing is a solitary pursuit, so all comments are joyously embraced! Thanks to Gina Wachtel and Sue Grimshaw for putting my Naked Men out into the world—I’m so glad you took a chance on them. Hugs to Jessica Alvarez for jumping in at the end of this series to be my sounding board. Riley’s job only makes sense to readers because of a hugely helpful conversation with Keith Holloway at the National Transportation Safety Board. A bottle of wine for Misty Waters for squeezing in a beta read so I wouldn’t second-guess myself. A huge coffee for Mary Vaughan, who let me borrow her husband’s family history for Riley. As always, there are simply no words to thank Stephanie Dray, Laura Kaye, and Lea Nolan for their constant support, laughter, and friendship.

  BY CHRISTI BARTH

  Naked Men

  Risking It All

  Wanting It All

  Giving It All

  Trying It All

  PHOTO: © AMY JONES PHOTOGRAPHY

  CHRISTI BARTH earned a master’s degree in vocal performance and embarked upon a career on the stage. A love of romance then drew her to wedding planning. Ultimately she succumbed to her lifelong love of books, and now writes award-winning contemporary romance, including the Naked Men and Aisle Bound series. Christi can always be found either whipping up gourmet meals (for fun, honest!) or with her nose in a book. She lives in Maryland with the best husband in the world.

  christibarth.com

  Facebook.com/​christibarthauthor

  Twitter: @christi_barth

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Royal Scandal

  Royals in Exile

  by Marquita Valentine

  Available from Loveswept

  Prologue

  Colin

  There’s no such thing as happily ever after—at least not for a prince exiled to a foreign country.

  I know what you’re thinking.

  You’re a prince, you bloody arsehole—a happily ever after is guaranteed. Birds dig princes with British accents and castles, and fancy cars.

  Ah, but do those very fit ladies enjoy dirty nappies and colic and spit up…and exploding bottles of formula? Because that’s my life right now.

  Literally.<
br />
  “Towel please,” I command, trying to remain perfectly calm as my brother Theo stands there, sniggering like a fool, while formula drips off my face and onto a priceless antique rug.

  He snickers. “First let me take a picture to commemorate the money shot.”

  “Off with your fecking penis, if you don’t help me this instant.”

  Theo puts away his mobile. “Right then.” Grabbing a towel, he smashes it against my face. I catch it before it drops, then wipe off my face as quickly as possible, but there’s nothing to be done about the sticky residue left behind.

  I need a shower and a vacation, but at this moment, neither is possible.

  “Told you he’s not hungry,” Theo says, then grimaces as Pierce starts up again. “It’s the sound of a future tyrant after being told no more kingdoms.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  He shrugs and takes the bottle from me, setting it down on the changing table. “No idea.”

  “Why are you here again?”

  “Because you needed me.” Perhaps I was too quick to judge him.

  “And I was bored,” he adds a beat later.

  I narrow my eyes at him. Nope, I was right on target. “Far be it from me to keep you from your nightly stud services.”

  Pierce lets out another ear-piercing scream, fat tears running down his face. His little tuft of hair is nearly as red as his cheeks. His legs are sticking straight out and his hands are little fists.

  He won’t eat. He won’t sleep, and nearly nothing consoles him.

  “Come now, big boy,” I croon as I toss the towel and pick him up from the crib. “It’s not so bad.” I lick at my lips and grimace at the taste. “Damn. It’s bloody awful.”

  Pierce continues to cry, but as I begin to pace the room, he quiets down to a pitiful whimper.

  “He misses his mother,” my brother says quietly. “And we need a nanny. We don’t know the first thing about raising children.”

  I give him a sharp look over Pierce’s head. “He’s got me. You. Charlotte and Imogen. Sinclairs can do anything they set their bloody minds to.”

  Google and YouTube help as well.

  Theo inclines his head toward the small toddler bed on the other side of the room, where Aiden, bless him, has slept through every bit of his baby brother’s fussing. “He called me Daddy today. I…” Theo swallows. “I didn’t know what to say.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll take care of it.” I say this with much more authority and confidence than I feel, but if I learned anything from our dearly departed parents, it is to never let anyone see you as weak.

  Not even your family…only family is all I’ve got now.

  Aiden lets out a whimper and I inwardly cringe, imagining what a nightmare it will be to deal with a fifteen-month-old toddler and a four-month-old baby.

  “How?” Theo walks to our brother’s bed and touches his cheek softly while murmuring nonsense words until Aiden settles down. “He doesn’t understand that they won’t ever come back.”

  “I realize that, which is why they—I…If they call me Dad, then we won’t correct them, and when the time is right, I’ll tell them the truth.”

  Theo’s blue eyes burn into mine. Admiration flashes in them, but it’s quickly replaced by mischief and a cheeky grin. “Plan to use the single-dad angle to meet women?”

  “When would you suggest I put that to use?” I counter. Pierce snuggles into me, his weight light but substantial. “I have yet to venture beyond the grounds.”

  Theo shoves a hand through his light-colored hair, making it stand up in odd places. “Perhaps on weekends at the local park? What a fetching picture you’d make pushing the pram while Aiden toddles alongside.”

  I cock my head to one side, raising a brow. “You’d give up the manwhoring in order for me to have a go at meeting the ladies?”

  “You say manwhoring.” He waves a hand in the air. “I say community service.”

  Leveling him with a look, I adjust Pierce in my arms, cradling the back of his head with my hand. “Do any of these women actually know how old you are?”

  “Naturally they do.”

  “And that would be?”

  A dimple appears in his cheek. “Twenty-one.”

  “You mispronounced seventeen.”

  He rolls his eyes, unrepentant. “I’m done with school. I have no gap year on the horizon and we’re independently wealthy. What better use of my time than to cheer up lonely women? Honestly, I’m getting an education from them.”

  Dear. God. “You could go to university. Volunteer at a worthwhile charity. Hell, you could get up with the boys in the morning, every now and then.”

  “I need my beauty sleep,” he counters. “The ladies keep me up quite late.”

  How he has met so many ladies in such a short period of time is anyone’s guess, but we’re all dealing with our parents’ death and our family’s exile in different ways.

  I’m trying to gain control.

  Theo wants to lose control.

  The twins have locked themselves in their adjoining rooms.

  It’s a bloody fucking mess and I don’t know how to fix any of it. Hell, my life has been upended. While I’ve learned to change nappies and fix bottles, my mates are in military service, cleaning guns and practicing the finer points of Ymladd Iscuitt, which literally means “fighting shield” or “shoulder,” and is the Isle of Man’s self-defense system used by the soldiers in Her Majesty’s Army. The same army I was supposed to lead once my little sister, Imogen, became queen.

  While I am a crown prince, I am not next in line for the throne. Our monarchy only allows for queens, not kings. So the oldest daughter is the heir apparent, not the oldest son.

  Suddenly, the baby jerks in my arms, his body becoming stiff as he starts to cry again. I want to cry, too. Mostly because I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a stretch of uninterrupted sleep.

  “Then go to bed earlier. And alone.”

  With that, I leave the nursery and make my way outside. Hopefully, we won’t wake the girls or the rest of the staff along the way.

  Beaumont appears at the French doors that lead outside, but he doesn’t open them. Instead he blocks my path. “Evening, Your Highness.”

  “Beaumont. We’ve decided to take a stroll around the pool.”

  My head of security nods, stepping to one side and opening one of the doors. “Very good.”

  “Don’t bother following us.”

  “Of course, Your Highness,” he says pleasantly, then falls into line behind me.

  It can’t be helped and I cannot complain. Beaumont exiled himself to protect us, and for that sacrifice I will be forever grateful.

  Another whimper leads to full-on screaming.

  I groan, my head starting to throb behind my eyes. “At least you waited until we were outside.”

  “Hey you! We need to have a chat.”

  Befuddled, I turn around to see a woman striding toward me, her pale red hair streaming out behind her like a banner.

  Is she paparazzi? An assassin?

  Shit. “Beaumont?”

  “While she is rather angry at the moment, I can assure you she’s been properly vetted.”

  “Don’t move. I know you see me, Sinclair,” she calls out.

  “She seems lovely and well-informed,” I reply wryly.

  “I would not have allowed Ms. Hughes the opportunity to chat with you otherwise.”

  For that reason alone, I allow her to get close to Pierce and me.

  “As for your identity, she merely thinks that the Sinclairs are a wealthy family from the British Isles who, after their parents’ deaths, have decided to start anew in the States.”

  Trust Beaumont to think of everything. “And our identities as members of the House of St. Claire?”

  “Completely scrubbed except for the most tenuous of ties.” Beaumont melts into the shadows.

  Now I’m stuck with facing the woman who obviously is deter
mined to tell me off…plus the fact that my family doesn’t exist anymore—at least not in a way that would directly connect my siblings and me to the royal family of the Isle of Man.

  The lights by the pool shine on her face and I suck in a breath, welcoming the distraction she brings. Her lips are full and wide, her platinum-colored eyes framed by rather dark lashes, and her cheeks are flushed pink.

  She’s young, most likely close to me in age. Her faded T-shirt is stretched over a rather nice pair of breasts and her legs are at least a mile long in her shorts.

  “Eyes up here,” she snaps, then brandishes a piece of paper at me.

  “May I help you?”

  “You can explain why you’ve evicted my family from our house. We’ve lived here for generations, working for St. Claire Estate…and this is how you repay us?”

  “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She fixes her gaze on me. “Why would you care about the little people who live on your estate.” It’s not a question.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, could we please start with the niceties. I’m Colin Sinclair. I’d shake your hand, but mine are rather occupied at the moment.” I nod at Pierce.

  Her light-colored eyes turn nearly black. “Della Hughes. I live right over there.” She points to beyond the pool. “Caretaker’s house. Where all the Hugheses have lived since St. Claire’s was first built.”

  “And,” I prod, my stomach sinking rapidly.

  She crosses her arms, the paper in her hand fluttering with the movement. “You’ve kicked us out.”

  “I’ve done no such thing,” I insist. Although I could have. In the last two weeks, I’ve signed so many bloody documents that it’s possible I sold my kidneys on the black market.

  She takes a step forward, uncrossing her arms. “This letter says otherwise.” She shoves it in my face, up near my forehead, like she’s trying to avoid the baby.

  “Could you hold it out a bit so I can read?”