No. You’re not fucking the Prince of Anglefell.
I stamp down on the desire and press my mouth into a firm line. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Actually, you are. We’re getting married and everything, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean we have to fuck!”
“Language, Daisy. We’re in company.”
I glance at the couples nearby. “Shit, sorry.”
He rolls his eyes. “You can’t keep this cute act up for much longer, love. It’s obvious you want me.”
“The only thing that’s obvious is your inflated head.”
A gentle finger under my chin lifts my head slightly, forcing me right in the line of Liam’s gaze. Mere centimeters separate our lips, and all I can think about is how they taste. I could pull back. I should pull back, but I’m rendered immobile by his blazing touch.
Then he moves an inch forward to claim my lips. Passion roars inside me like a wild animal desperately beating against the bars of a cage. I kiss him back as gasps lift in the crowd around us. They’re the only reason I’m not crushing my mouth against his, reaching down to grab the cock I briefly felt not long ago.
We break apart, breathless, and his face seems to mirror what I feel.
“Once we’re married, I will claim my rights to your pussy. And you’ll love it.”
I twist in my sheets as though the constant turning will somehow dislodge Prince Liam from my frustrated brain. It’s getting harder and harder to remind myself why, exactly, I can’t sleep with him. What harm would one night do?
He left me alone after that kiss, either forgetting his promise to run his tongue over my curves or tactfully choosing to lure me into a false sense of security before returning to the attack.
My heart stings every time I think about how great it felt to kiss him. He’s not Ben, he could never be Ben—
You’re saving yourself for a dead man.
The vicious thought slams into my head.
No, he’s not. I—I never thought of him as—
He’s dead, the voice says, sounding like Liam. Dead as a fucking doornail. Are you going to stay celibate the rest of your life?
There’s no room for anyone else in my heart.
You don’t need to love him to fuck him.
I toss the sheets aside, blocking out the insipid Liam voice. I stand up to move aside the sheer curtains and gaze over the endless lawns and the forest. It’s so different from California. Everything is moist and green and quaint and there’s hardly any noise at night.
How long am I going to stay in a place where I’m so obviously unwelcome?
“Daisy, get up.”
Liam raps against the door hard as though to jolt me from sleep.
“I’m up—Jesus.”
The door flies open. Liam’s already dressed in his signature khakis and polo-prince outfit, irresistibly reminding me of WASPs.
I tug the large t-shirt over my thighs. He gave me one of his soccer t-shirts to sleep in. His gaze lingers on my bare legs for a few moments before he grins at me.
“It’s time to take your etiquette lessons.”
Shit. That’s right. “Who’s teaching?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Me.”
“You?”
“I’m a prince, you know. I’ve had these lessons my whole life. The difference is, I follow them when I want to. You, however, are a girl, and you must act like a princess at all times.”
“That’s a bullshit double standard.”
“I don’t make the rules, love.”
He shows me the screen of his iPad, which is open to a giant photo of me attempting to curtsy in front of the king.
ROYALLY PEEVED: PRINCE LIAM ENGAGED TO YANKEE GIRL
My face flushes as I scroll through the article and the scathing comments.
“You really don’t want to read those.”
“‘Prince Liam chooses some Yankee slut to be his wife? Is he daft or insane?’” Infuriated, I yank the iPad from Liam’s grip and read another one. “‘Stupid Americunt doesn’t even know how to greet the king.’ Wow, at least now I know how they think of me. Don’t hold it back, Anglefell.”
He winces, pulling the iPad from my hands. “Rule number one: never read the comments. You could be Anglefell’s sweetheart and you’d still get shat on in the comments.”
“Great. Just fantastic.”
I follow him outside my room to the weird coffee table piled with a laptop, a backpack—
“That’s my stuff!”
Liam takes a step to the side, blocking my way. “I got them back for you, but on several conditions.”
Of course.
“What?” I say through my teeth.
“You are not to talk to journalists. If anyone asks, you came to Anglefell and fell in love with me, and that is the story we are sticking to.”
“That will not make sense to anyone who knows me.”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you keep your trap shut. I helped you get out of a horrific sentence, and you’ll help me by keeping quiet about it. All right?”
“I—fine. That’s fair, I guess.”
“I mean, it Daisy. You can’t tell your parents, your professor, anyone what really happened. We’ve got to sell this to the public, and we can’t do that if it falls apart in the first week.”
“I understand.”
“Good.”
Liam fishes a phone out of his pocket and hands it to me. It’s mine. I grab it and light up the screen, noticing he changed the background to a seductive photo of himself dressed in the suit he wore at the engagement party, the shirt open.
“Nice. Thanks for this.”
“Don’t mention it, love.”
“Right. Well, we have a lot to do today, so we better get on with it.”
“Should I get changed?”
He considers me for a moment. “I see no reason why you have to get dressed to learn etiquette.”
Good God.
“Just give me five minutes.”
He snatches my wrist out of the air before I can take a step away. “Daisy, we don’t have much time.”
“It’ll just take a minute!”
The breath catches in my throat as he yanks me into his chest, still holding my hand. I can’t handle him when he’s that close.
“I think I’ve been very patient with you. I’ve tolerated your Americanness because it amuses me, but now you’re my fiancée and you’re not even wearing your engagement ring.”
“So?”
The calm behind his hazel eyes shatters, and suddenly he yanks me hard to the side. Liam throws me over his legs as he sits down. What the hell is he doing? The t-shirt flies over my back as the cool air stings my naked skin, and then suddenly a broad, heavy hand rips over my ass.
“Ow! What the fuck!”
“Princesses must not swear, especially in another royal’s presence.”
Slap!
The sound cracks the air as I bend awkwardly over Liam’s legs, my ass burning from his fierceness of his blows. I’m paralyzed with the shock of lying across a grown man’s knees, feeling his hand slowly caress my burned skin.
“You swear all the fucking—ah!”
“Princesses must not swear.”
“You can shove your princess up your—”
Slap!
Every finger burns. I can feel the outline of his hand scorching my skin.
“That was preemptive,” he chuckles, kneading my swollen skin. “Rule number one: wear your fucking engagement ring.”
I twist my head around. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Disciplining my fiancée.”
“‘Disciplining’? Are you from the fifties?”
“I’m from the era where princesses behave with a certain decorum that is required of them.”
“I’m not a princess, and I didn’t say you could put your hand on my ass!”
“Do you make every man you’re with ask permission for everything
?”
“We’re not together, you crazy jerk!”
“Oh yes we are. We’ll be photographed and interviewed together every day for the next few weeks. You need to act the part of my sweet, loving, even-tempered princess. It’s my job to make you act like one, and if I have to give you a bit of a spanking to get you ready, so be it.”
I struggle to a sitting position, determined to vanish into my room, but his hand pushes down on the small of my back.
“Fuck!”
Slap!
My skin explodes with the sensation of his palm, which lies on my tender flesh.
“No swearing,” he repeats quickly. “Other basic rules: Never touch or speak to a royal unless they address you first. Never, ever turn your back on the king. When dining at the table with the king, royals stop eating when he stops, no matter how hungry you are.”
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. So I’m supposed to wolf down my food before he ends his meal?”
His hands fly to my shoulders, and then he pulls me upright so I’m sitting on his lap. The world spins for a moment as the blood drains from my head.
“Do not criticize our culture.”
The fabric of his pants is rough against my skin, but it’s oddly comforting to sit on his lap with his hand wrapped around my waist. For a moment, the desire clawing up my thighs feels normal. Then he buries his hand in my hair and tugs. His voice hisses over my neck like a blade.
“Get up. Let me see your posture.”
Trembling, I stand. Within seconds I get a stinging slap on my ass.
“Shoulders back. Head high. Suck in your waist. More. You must walk as though there’s a string attached to your head.”
I attempt a few paces, lifting my head and thrusting my shoulders back. God, what a pain in the ass. Liam nods his approval as he remains seated.
“You realize the irony of spanking my ass while teaching me etiquette, right?”
“I thought it might be a fun game. You screw up, and I get to touch your ass. Either way, I win.” He stands from the chair, smirking. “Now let’s see how you sit.”
“I don’t need lessons on how to take a seat.”
“I’m betting that you do. Sit.”
And he points as though I’m a dog.
“Yes, Your Fucking Highness.”
I nearly dodge the blow, but he wraps an arm around my waist to pull me close, and I clench my muscles.
Slap!
It fucking smarts, but he strokes my skin immediately. It’s sensual. He gropes me. Definitely sexual. What the hell is wrong with me? The old Daisy would have given him a good old kick in the crown jewels.
A smile staggers over his face. “I’m starting to think you’re actually enjoying this, Daisy. You’re such a naughty girl.”
Naughty. No one who knows me would ever call me that. Not even—no, I’m not going to think of that. Not when Liam’s holding my ass and he’s making that sound in the back of his throat.
“There’s one more rule I haven’t told you yet.” He squeezes me. “You must never refuse a royal’s cock.”
He laughs as I shove his rock-hard chest, unable to dislodge him from his spot.
“I’m done playing these stupid games. Stop. Touching. My. Ass.”
“Like you actually want me to stop.”
“I do though. That’s what I’m trying to get through your abnormally thick head. You’re not my type.”
“I’m every girl’s type. I’m the man you think of when you touch yourself late at night. Like I said the first day we met—you want a pearl necklace all over your tits. Just think about that for a moment.”
I do. I image myself spread-eagle on the bed, Liam bent over me with his cock jutting out of his fist, the hot, pearly cum lying on my breasts. Maybe I’m a prude, but I’ve never done it before. It just seemed so—dirty. That’s what he is. He’s a filthy, sex-crazed maniac wrapped up in a pretty-prince package.
“See?”
I throw my hands up in the air, dismissing him. “I’m done with this.”
Just block out his irritating, sexy voice.
“Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean you won’t like me inside you.”
“Shut up!”
Now that I have my phone back, I can’t stop obsessing over the many—many—horrific tabloid articles about me. The Royal Exposé is having a fucking field day with me: Daisy Walker: Knocked Up by the Prince?, Yankee Wife-to-be Embarrasses Locals, Daisy Walker: Is She a Slut? There are long articles citing “sources” who claim to know me here in Anglefell, which is a bit rich since I’ve only spoken to a handful of people since my arrival.
News of my engagement has already reached American media. I keep getting emails from concerned friends and family: Is this true? Please write back! My Facebook page is filled with anxious comments demanding to know what’s going on. I know what I can’t tell them, but not what would make them stop writing. Shame burns deep in my chest as I spot Ben’s parents in the list of emails. The subject line reads: Congratulations!
They have no idea what the fuck is going on.
I close the phone and sit back in the car’s leather interior. Liam’s staff gave me a wool dress to wear and a pair of light brown leather heels. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, just that we were riding to town.
The skies are light gray filled with lots of rolling clouds and dappled sunlight. I’m struck again by the charm of the village. People run out of their homes to wave at the car as we drive by, and Liam sticks his head out with a brilliant smile and waves to them. Should I do the same? I look down at my iPhone, rereading some of the nastier headlines, and I decide not to.
The car stops at a large building with art deco writing: Betty’s Tea Café.
“Are we going inside here?”
“Yes, I thought we might have afternoon tea at a place locals are bound to see us.”
“Afternoon tea is so English.”
I’m very pleased to see Liam’s smile falter. “Careful, love. My hands are still a bit twitchy.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Liam’s security leaves the car and opens the doors for us as I try to remember how I’m supposed to exit vehicles.
Fuck it.
There are people waiting for us outside, and the small crowd erupts into happy cheers as Liam waves at them.
“Is that her? His fiancée?”
Their whispers erupt around me almost immediately as Liam walks to my side and takes my arm. I try to remember everything he taught me. Head high. Shoulders back. Walk like a princess.
Then the photographers start blasting us with flash. My eyeballs burn as I’m forced to stand there like a mannequin and smile.
“Prince Liam! Prince Liam, a word, if you please!”
“Is she pregnant?”
Oh God.
A horde of reporters strain against the guards, jumping at him like rabid dogs, shouting the most profane things.
“Did you get her pregnant? Is that why you’re getting married?”
The paparazzo notices my potent glare and shoves his iPhone in my face. I want to slap it out of his hands.
“Come, dear.”
Instead, I follow Liam’s gentle pressure inside the gilded doorframe of the tea café. The hostess inside, dressed in a slick, black dress, immediately curtseys. “Your Highness.”
“My fiancée and I fancy a table.”
“Of course, sir. This way.”
It’s a big place. There is a bakery attached to the tearooms, and square tables with white tablecloths.
“So, I didn’t want to make you nervous, but there will be a reporter joining us.”
“What? I thought we were just having tea!”
“Relax. She’s a reporter sanctioned by the royal family. She’s here to make you look good.”
“I’m in no way ready for an interview!”
“You need to give one. It’ll be painless.”
Jesus Christ.
We f
ollow the hostess’ rapidly swinging ponytail into the depths of the café, and she leads us to a table tucked in the corner with one other person already sitting there. She looks to be about my age. She stands as Liam introduces us.
“Daisy, this is Kate Daughtry. Kate, this is my fiancée.”
Oh crap. I’m supposed to shake her hand first because I’m royal, or going to be royal.
Kate takes my hand, and I study her apple-like cheeks, the wisps of blonde hair floating around her face. I like her, and I don’t understand why. Maybe she just reminds me of myself. She gives me a warm smile. “So very nice to meet you, Daisy.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
We all take a seat as snakes twist in my stomach. Here we go. Liam orders a pot of tea from the waiter, and shortly it arrives, along with a small tower of cakes and finger sandwiches. My stomach growls as I stare at the cucumber sandwiches. What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to eat, or am I supposed to just sit here prettily and pretend to eat?
What is he doing?
Liam pours hot water over the tea bag. He already has a sandwich on his plate, but as I recall, princesses are held to a higher standard.
Whatever.
I reach across the table and grab the pot of hot water, pouring it into my empty cup. Then I rip open the package and dip the tea bag in the cup.
Liam’s eye practically bulges out of its socket as he stares at the cup of tea, his jaw making a strange tic. Suddenly, under the table, his hand grabs my knee.
What?
Whatever it is, he looks absolutely embarrassed. His face slowly turns beet red. Is it the way I poured the fucking hot water? Jesus, day one and I’m already screwing up this shit. Another, more childish part of me is elated at his shame.
I decide to ignore him as Kate engages me in conversation.
“Daisy, tell me about yourself. Where are you from, and what were you studying in school?”
“Um, well, I’m from Berkeley. In California. It’s sort of this ultraprogressive, very hippy place. Grew up there, and I’m going to school at UC Berkeley. I’m majoring in journalism.”
Kate leans in, smiling encouragingly. I lift the tea bag out of the cup and place it on the saucer, and then I raise the cup to my lips. It’s boiling hot, but I take a small sip.
Dirty Prince Page 7
