I shook my head. “Nope. We’re still wa—”
“She’s here!”
Rob’s head appeared over Jimmy’s shoulder. His eyes were wet with tears, face lit up with excitement.
My heart dipped. Charlie pressed a kiss to my temple.
“Congrats! So it’s a girl?” he asked.
Rob nodded, allowing Kit to pull him into a hug.
“Healthy baby girl. Eight pounds, twelve ounces. Still need the Queen’s approval for the name, but we’re thinking Elizabeth Jane.”
A lump rose in my throat.
“Really?” I said.
Rob grinned. “Really. Just hold off on teaching her the ins and outs of whiskey until she’s eighteen, okay?”
Everyone laughed.
I cried.
“Okay,” I managed, taking the tissue Em held out.
It was our turn to go see the baby—mine and Charlie’s. After washing our hands in a bathroom down the hall, a friendly nurse led us to Aly’s room.
I started crying all over again when I saw her propped up on the bed, the baby in her arms. Rob was standing beside her. He slid the baby’s tiny foot between his fingers, rubbing his thumb over the sole.
They both gazed down at her, pure awe and happiness on their faces.
“Want to hold her?” Aly asked, smiling.
I looked at Charlie.
“You go first,” he said.
I took him up on his offer. Elizabeth—her parents were already calling her Lizzy—was tiny and warm. Holding her in my arms, I pulled back a little so I could see her face. She had Aly’s nose, her mouth, too. But then Lizzy opened her eyes, and I saw that they were brilliantly blue, just like her father’s.
Charlie rubbed my back.
“She’s beautiful,” I said.
“Takes after her mother,” Rob said. His voice was gruff. “Thank God.”
I really started crying when I passed the baby to Charlie. He was a little awkward with her. His arms were stiff, shoulders up by his ears as he tried to stay very still.
It only made me love him more. Because he wasn’t trying to be something he was not. Wasn’t trying to play it cool when it was clear he felt quite uncool. He was just embracing the moment, as complicated and weird and awesome as it was.
It took every ounce of willpower not to pounce on him right there and then.
One of the many things I’d learned being with Charlie was that there were layers to love. When the initial rush of pheromones and constant sex faded a little—I mean, we were still having constant sex, but that was neither here nor there—I discovered there was this contented, mellowed-out adoration underneath it. And underneath that was this fun, funny friendship. Underneath that, something else. The layers were all different but still the same somehow. Still all based on the fact that I chose him every day, and he chose me.
The real him.
The real me.
It wasn’t always bliss. But at the end of the day it was always just us. Me and Charlie in the kitchen, in the garden, on a plane somewhere.
And that, more than anything else, felt right.
“We should get some pink balloons,” Charlie said as we were walking out of the hospital. “Tie them to Rob and Aly’s front door.”
I turned my head to look at him. Of course he wanted to do something sweet and cute and thoughtful like that.
His eyes met mine. He slowed his stride. “What? You’re looking at me funny.”
“Let’s get those balloons,” I said. “But after that, let’s go home. I kind of feel like making a baby with you.”
Those blue eyes of his lit up with surprise. And then, a beat later, the corners of his lips twitched into a small grin of disbelief.
“Shouldn’t we get married first?”
I honestly didn’t care whether Charlie and I were married or not. I’d been down that road before. Marriage didn’t guarantee a happy ending.
But I knew my grandmother would care. So would my brothers.
So would Charlie. He was a romantic at heart.
He’d made me a romantic. And I loved him so damn much for it.
I stopped. Stepped forward.
“Then marry me,” I said, taking his hands.
His eyebrows snapped together. Like he couldn’t quite decide if I was joking or not.
“I mean it,” I continued. “I want to marry you, Charlie.”
“Jane. We’ve been together for, what, seven months?”
“Seven months, two weeks, and fourteen days. Not that I’m counting,” I said with a shrug. “Look. If the timeline bothers you, we can make it a long engagement. I’ll tell the Queen we want to get married next spring or something. Either way, I want to be with you, I want to make babies with you. I want you.”
He was looking at me funny now. “Did you plan this?”
“Not at all,” I said.
It was the truth. I hadn’t planned on proposing to Charlie in the hallway of a hospital on a frosty January morning. But now that I thought about it, the whole thing was kind of perfect. It was all happening on my terms. I was doing the proposing. I was making the decision.
I was in the driver’s seat. Doing what I wanted. Making my dreams come true. It wasn’t fancy. Wasn’t some grand gesture.
But that’s what made it perfect. That’s what made it us.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t hold back.
Neither did Charlie.
“Marry me,” I repeated.
He looked at me for another beat.
Then: “Hell. Yes.”
Slipping his hands onto my face, he pulled me into a hard, deep kiss.
I smiled against his lips. Bloody hell, the man could kiss.
A kiss I’d get to enjoy for the rest of my life.
Thank you so much for reading the Thorne Monarchs series! Be sure to check out my bestselling Charleston Heat series next. I kick off the series with SOUTHERN CHARMER, a slow burn, hot new neighbor romance. Keep reading for an excerpt!
Thank you so much for reading ROYAL ROGUE! I sincerely hope you enjoyed the Thorne Monarchs series. It was a blast to write!
Be sure to check out my bestselling Charleston Heat series next. I kick off the series with SOUTHERN CHARMER, a slow burn, hot new neighbor romance.Turn the page for an exclusive excerpt.
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SOUTHERN CHARMER Excerpt
Eli
“Olivia!” Can’t help it. My gaze flicks down her body. “He—hey.”
Of course.
Of course Yankee girl shows up to The Spotted Wolf looking hot as hell five seconds after I decide to pump the brakes.
What a sick fucking joke.
Thanks for nothing, universe.
Olivia, bless her, is wearing blue jeans that are tight tight tight. Her white button down would be prim if it wasn’t partially see through. The red lace bra she’s wearing underneath—
I can’t.
I focus my gaze on her feet instead. She’s wearing cute Chuck Taylors that are a little scuffed up.
Her hair falls in loose, unruly waves around her shoulders. I bite the inside of my bottom lip, hard, to keep from winding a lock around my finger. I imagine how silky it would feel. How her lips would fall open and her cheeks would flush when I gave it a tug.
I can smell her shampoo. Something clean and herbal.
She smells good enough to eat.
“I finished my
chapter early today, so I thought I’d do some exploring. I saw the lights from the sidewalk and came in for a quick drink…” Olivia puckers her brow. “Eli? You all right?”
“Yep,” I bite out, blinking. “Sorry, I just—uh. Long day. Beer—” Bullshit.
I go in for a hug. It’s awkward, all thanks to me. Olivia has to go on her tip toes to reach me, and I kind of half crouch, half bend over. My brain screams slow. But my body—
Well. There’s a reason I keep my crotch region bowed away from her.
I fall back. Luke gives me a not so subtle nudge.
“Don’t be rude, Elijah,” he says. “Introduce us.”
I tug a hand through my hair. “Olivia, this is my friend Luke. Luke, this is my new neighbor, Olivia.”
“Nice to meet you,” Luke says, aiming his all-American-baseball-player smile at Olivia while extending his hand. “I hear you’re new in town.”
She takes Luke’s hand. “I’m already smitten with it.”
“Charleston’s a great city. Only downside is that this grump lives here.” Luke points his thumb at me.
“I’m not a grump,” I bite out.
Luke shrugs. “See what I mean?”
I resist the urge to punch him in that handsome mug of his.
Grace gives Olivia a hug, and they chat for a minute. It’s obvious they’re friends, both of them laughing and gesticulating wildly as they catch up. I have to say that seeing how well they get along makes me feel all warm and mushy inside. Olivia’s a natural conversationalist. Good listener, thoughtful talker. Grace shoots me a look, grinning.
I like this one.
Because Olivia wasn’t great enough. Now she’s got to go and be wonderful with my sister, too.
Yet another reason to think I might not deserve this girl. I’m gripped by the terrible idea that I have nothing to offer her. Which, in my rational mind, I know is ridiculous. I’m feeding her. Editing her book. Encouraging her to chase after this incredible career she wants. I’m inspiring her in the same way she’s inspiring me.
That counts for something. It has to.
Has to.
“Let’s get you somethin’ to drink,” I say to Olivia during a pause in their conversation. “What’re you having?”
Olivia glances at my beer, then at the empty shot glasses on the bar. “That looks good.”
Behind the bar, Jake nods, checking out Olivia before turning to grab the Fireball.
My grip tightens on my bottle. I am not a jealous guy. But all of a sudden I’m fantasizing about clocking every dickhead in this bar who dares to so much as glance at Olivia.
I spear Jake with a look when he turns back around. He takes the hint, quickly pouring our shots and handing Olivia a beer before busying himself with the dishwasher.
She picks up the shot glass and gives its contents a sniff. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a shot. What the hell is this stuff? Smells like candy.”
“Tastes like it, too.” Luke grabs his glass and taps it to Olivia’s. “Actually, that’s a lie. It kind of tastes like fiery death. But it gets the job done.”
Olivia cocks a brow, smiling. “Fiery death. All right then. I’m in.”
We take the shot together, my eyes glued to her face the whole time. She winces, blinking hard, after she swallows. Her eyes water a bit. I can tell she wants to sputter, or maybe gag, but instead she just shakes her head and grabs her beer, taking a long pull.
“Whew,” she says, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “That is…interesting.”
I’m smiling now, too. God damn she’s cute.
“Yep. You’re definitely gonna feel interesting tomorrow morning, that’s for sure,” Grace says.
The patio is really getting packed. People hang out in front of the stage, waiting for the band to begin. I look up when the lead singer from Buns ’n Roses introduces himself into the microphone. A beat later, the band bursts out into a loud, throbbing version of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard.
Immediately the front half of the patio turns into a dance floor. Hands are in the air, there’s hollerin’ and hootin’ and some pretty egregious dry humping going on.
I turn to Olivia, half hoping she’s got a look of disgust on her face because she hates eighties music and/or Def Leppard. I need a reason to want her a little less. A reason to help me pump the goddamn brakes.
Instead, her face is lit up with a smile as she mouths the lyrics, nodding her head in time to the beat.
“You like Def Leppard?” I say, raising my voice so she can hear me.
Olivia nods, digging her teeth into her bottom lip. “Love ’em. Although Bruce Springsteen is probably my favorite. From the eighties, at least.”
My uncle introduced me to The Boss when I was a kid. I’ve been obsessed ever since.
I meet Luke’s eyes over her head.
Goodness.
I’m in big fucking trouble.
As if on cue, Buns ’n Roses plays “Dancing in the Dark”.
Olivia looks at me. I look at her.
“Wanna dance?” I ask.
She chews on her bottom lip. My heart falls. She’s gonna turn me down again. God, why do I keep doing this to mys—
“Would love to,” she replies with a smile. She looks at Luke and Grace. “Are you guys going to be okay? I hate to leave you…”
“Y’all go have fun,” Luke says, hardly giving us a glance as he turns to my sister.
I shoot him a dark look.
“You two behave.” Then I nod my head toward the band. “Let’s go, Yankee girl.”
She follows me as I try to nudge my way through the crowd. It’s slow going; the patio is really packed. I turn around to see some asshole cutting Olivia off, shouldering her aside.
“Hey!” I shout at the guy, stepping back. “Watch it.”
Then I reach behind me and grab Olivia’s hand. For a second, it stays lax in mine. I worry I’ve made her uncomfortable. But I don’t want her to get lost in the throng. Shit—
But then she firms her grip, fingers curling around my palm. I glance over my shoulder and she meets my eyes.
“All right?” I ask.
She nods, her smile returning. “All right.”
My pulse hiccups. Her hand feels small and warm in my own. She’s trusting me.
I feel like I could fucking fly.
I turn back around and head for the stage, keeping Olivia close. Once, when I stop unexpectedly, she kind of crashes into me. I swear to God I almost bite off my tongue at the feel of her tits pressed against my back. Am I imagining that she lingers there for half a heartbeat?
I keep moving. I don’t wanna do something stupid. We burrow our way to a spot in the middle of the dance floor. The lead singer has busted out a saxophone, and everyone around us is going nuts. Olivia comes to stand beside me, her hip brushing against mine when she shimmies.
I take a chance and give her hand a squeeze.
Olivia smiles, squeezing back.
I can’t let her go. Not yet. I crave this. Whatever this feeling is.
I raise my arm and twirl her around. Then she raises her arm and attempts to twirl me, and even though I bend my back, I somehow manage to fuck it up, spilling beer all over the front of my button up shirt. Her eyes widen when they fall on the stain. She puts the flat of her palm over it. Over my stomach.
“Sorry!” she shouts.
My entire body warms at the simple contact. I don’t wanna read too much into it. That she’s the one touching me now.
But I do.
I lean into it. Into her palm.
Into her.
And she doesn’t pull away.
“Don’t give me an excuse to take my shirt off,” I reply.
Olivia laughs, taking a step closer. “Like you need one.”
I cock a teasing brow, my free hand going to the top button. “Should I?”
“I don’t wanna get kicked out yet. Band’s too good,” she replies, swatting away my hand.
Her playful touching—her flirting—is driving me up the wall. It’s such a fucking turn on. The blood inside my skin feels downright giddy.
I catch her hand, guiding it onto the back of my neck. Her eyes flash with heat, and she steps into me, sliding her other arm onto my shoulder. Pressing our bodies together.
The solid, soft feel of her against me is enough to make me wanna scream. Our bodies fit together perfectly.
Her curves are all over me.
My cock starts to feel heavy when she digs the tips of her fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, gently dragging her fingernails across my scalp.
I curl an arm around her waist and hold her closer. Duck my head to murmur in her ear.
“I like that.”
Olivia’s nose brushes against the line of my jaw. I don’t know if it’s intentional or not. But it turns me on in a really big way.
“Thought you might.”
Her voice is different. A little husky.
The band is playing “Jesse’s Girl” now. Olivia pulls away a little. Just enough to meet my eyes as she starts moving her hips, her body practically writhing against mine.
Don’t get a boner.
Do. Not. Get. A. Boner.
I’m terrified of scaring her off. She’s never been so open with me. So free. Her fiery side has finally come out to play, and I’m not about to send it back into hiding by poking her with my badly behaved dick.
So I twirl her a few more times, hoping to put some distance between us. But then she turns around and presses her ass into my crotch, rolling it to the beat of “1999”, the song the band plays next.
I brush her hair over her shoulder so I can lean down to her ear again.
“You tryin’ to kill me, Olivia?”
She shoots me the sauciest, sexiest, hottest look ever over her shoulder. For a second I can’t breathe.
“What? You really expect me not to dirty dance to Prince?”
Jesus, take the wheel.
By some miracle, I manage to keep my body under control. The night is warm and the music is loud, and Olivia and I dance like we have nothing to lose. No worries. No disappointments. It’s just us and Pat Benatar and U2 and Foreigner underneath a cloudy night sky.
Royal Rogue Page 24
