Royally Crushed: A Crazy Royal Love, Book 1

by Summers, Melanie

  I glance back in time to see her laugh. “I don’t have any hard to reach places. I do yoga and ballet workouts most days.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” I say, with barely enough brain power to form the words. “Good for you. It’s important to stay limber.”

  “Will,” she says, her tone sounding more serious.

  I turn my head to face her again. “More soap?”

  “Are you going to get in or are you just going to pretend you’re not looking at me?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to … It’s just that you’re so …”

  “Get in.”

  Did she just say that? The look on her face says she wants me to come in. “I don’t do yoga.”

  Grinning, she says, “Well, then I can help you.”

  “What about doing the right thing at all times?” I ask.

  “Would it really be so wrong? We’re both single and, if I’m not mistaken, we both want to.”

  Yes! Yes! Yes! “I know I want to, but I also don’t want to be a total scoundrel.”

  “I don’t see how treating me with the respect of letting me make my own decisions is scoundrel-type behaviour.”

  Shit. I’m totally going to wreck this, aren’t I? “It’s just that you’re you, and I’m me, and when we’re not out here, I’m afraid there wouldn’t be much of a future together.”

  “I’m okay with that, Will,” she says with a grin that I have to say looks enticingly naughty. “I came out here looking for adventure. Believe me when I say, I want to try it all.”

  “Well, when you put it that way, I suppose it would be disrespectful of me not to … get in and let you try it all.”

  It takes me all of two seconds to strip down and jump in. Arabella covers her mouth with one hand, trying not to laugh at my overly enthusiastic entry. I stay a few feet away from her, treading water, waiting for her to make the next move.

  She swims over to the rock and lifts some soap out of the container, then swims back to me. “What can’t you reach?”

  “Anything. I’m so buff, I have no flexibility anymore.”

  “Tragic really,” she says, rubbing the soap shavings over my skin, starting with my shoulders and down my arms. Her touch stirs something inside me I’ve never felt before and a desperation to have her takes over every thought. She smiles as she moves her hands over my chest and abs until the soap has dissolved. “I’ll go get some more.”

  I reach around behind her and pull her to me, unable to stand the torture of not holding her for even a second longer. She looks up, her expression filled with lust as she wraps her arms around my neck and presses herself against me. She brushes her lips against mine, and oh, do those ever feel soft and perfect. Closing her eyes, she does it again, and I respond with a gentle kiss, slow and cautious to make sure it’s what she wants.

  I move my hands down to her waist and pull her closer, then let my lips hover over hers. “You are just so damn gorgeous.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “No, but I mean, you are stunning. Just like this. With no makeup and wet hair. Just you.”

  “You’re the only person who will ever see me like this.”

  “In that case, I’ll have to burn the memory of you into my brain on behalf of everyone who doesn’t get to see this for themselves.” I nip at her bottom lip with my teeth, then kiss her again, gripping her hips with both hands.

  She wraps her legs around my waist, and I let my hands slide around to her bottom to hold her up. Oh, we are so doing this …

  * * *

  Wow, so lagoon sex turned into up-against-a-tree-in-the-rain-on-the-way-back-to-camp sex, which lead to tent sex, and now we’ve just finished by-the-fire sex (which got started when we were waiting for some water to boil). And now, we’re wrapped up in each other’s arms, panting and recovering while the rain falls.

  “That was … quite nice,” Arabella says.

  “Oh, quite nice, was it? Like a mincemeat tart or a Christmas card from an elderly auntie.”

  “Well, not that nice. But lovely, all the same,” she says with a wicked grin.

  I lift my head off the ground and narrow my eyes at her. “So, how loud do you scream when you open your Christmas cards?”

  “Much, much louder.” Arabella laughs, tucking her face into my chest.

  I laugh, then say, “In that case, I should scarf down a few bananas. I’ll need my potassium if I’m going to truly satisfy you.”

  “Yes, you will,” she answers, giving me a lingering kiss that wakes me up out of my post-sex haze.

  I lay my head back down and snuggle her close to me, caressing the length of her arm with my fingertips.

  “I want to stay here forever,” she whispers, closing her eyes.

  “Me too,” I say, kissing her on the forehead and inhaling the scent of her skin.

  “I know we can’t, but maybe … could we stay for a few days?” she asks, and there’s something so vulnerable about her voice I can’t bring myself to say no, but I know I can’t say yes either.

  “I know we can’t stay long,” she says. “And I’d never want to cost you your chance at getting your brother’s boat back. I was just thinking maybe because we made up some time using the raft, we could give ourselves this little break from the world.”

  I prop my head up on one arm and look into her impossibly blue eyes. “Is that what you need, Arabella?”

  She nods. “Desperately.”

  My brain tells me to say no, but my mouth ignores it. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  21

  Deliciously Scandalous Outdoor Nude Activities

  Arabella – Three Days Later

  I pray for rain before I open my eyes. More rain means more sexy sex with the sexiest sex god of all of Sexlandia. That’s what I’ve secretly named this entire area of the jungle. Sexlandia. A fitting name for it because between us and those dirty bonobos on the other side of the river, there’s a whole lot of fooling around happening day and night. It stopped raining yesterday morning, and when Will suggested that the smart thing to do would be to get back on the river, I talked him into staying for one more day. Well, I didn’t so much as talk him into it, but rather showed him several fun reasons to put off leaving. After a quick look at the map and some calculations, he decided we could risk another day and still make it back in time.

  Speaking of time, the first time we you-know-what in the lagoon was a-MAZ-ing with a capital amazing. Like mind-blowingly wonderful, multi-orgasmic, wet and wild and free. There’s something about being in the great outdoors that really heightened the experience for me. Or maybe it’s him and his huge … personality and the way he touches me. It’s like he’s gentle and generous and in control the whole time. He’s like a competitive sexlete (which is similar to an athlete or a mathlete, but for sex, obviously). He makes sure I ‘enjoy’ myself at least twice for every one time he has a happy ending. Before Will, I could add up the number of orgasms I’d had with a partner on one hand. But in four days of Wild World sex, I’ve had … well, I’ve lost count already. I honestly don’t know where this is going, but I do know I’m desperate for more. I want us to forget the show all together and just … live right here eating berries and fish and having sex morning, noon, and night.

  Although I suppose that’s not an option because they’ll come looking for us. But what if they couldn’t find us? Hmmm … the jungle is a very big place. Maybe the bonobos would accept us into their clan and help us hide out for the next several years.

  Okay, even the fact that I’m thinking that is bad. Really very bad indeed, because we definitely should not be doing this. I mean, there is literally no future for the two of us. Out in the real world, we have basically nothing in common. Whereas out here, we connect on such a primal level. We’re like two ultra-horny chimps just doing it everywhere we can.

  Maybe, as a society, we've got it all wrong. Maybe this is what life is supposed to be like—just two people foraging for food, building she
lter, and enjoying each other. No thinking about status or money or any other type of obligations of any sort. No letting anybody else decide who you are or what you should do with your days. We wake up and eat and talk and talk and talk and have sex and swim in that beautiful lagoon. Then we eat some more, and have more sex, have a little campfire and we laugh and tell each other everything and have more sex and it's all so amazing.

  The truth is, Will gets me. I mean, he really understands who I am and who I could be. I am Terri Irwin when I'm around him—confident and happy and fearless. I’ve even started swinging into the lagoon on a vine. A slippery, wet vine. I run at it, grab hold and swing as hard as I can, then drop into the water, all the while screaming and laughing like a fool. Or an utterly blissful person.

  I’ve done things I never would've even thought about doing before, because unlike everyone else I know, Will doesn't have the preformed opinion that I am incapable of anything that presents even the slightest challenge. Not that this type of existence is easy, because it's not, but it is infinitely better than my real life.

  Urgh, the thought of my real life gives me chest pains. It was bad before, but that’s nothing compared to what it’ll be like when I get home. Arabella before she went adventuring with a hot, hot man didn’t have a clue what she was missing. She wanted to know what it would be like to be wild and free and utterly uninhibited. But imagining something will be wonderful and actually experiencing it (and finding out it’s ssoooo much better than you even thought it would be) are two entirely different things. The shit part is that as soon as I step on that plane to go home, I’ll be whisked back into a world I don’t want be part of anymore. Only it’ll be much, much worse because: a) I’ve caused a horrible scandal that I’m sure will follow me for the rest of my life, and more importantly, b) I’ll be alone and confined to my stupid luxury box forever without a certain sexlete.

  For the first time, I’m completely free and completely happy all day and all night. I'm absolutely, stupidly, crazy in love.

  Oh, bugger.

  I'm in love.

  With a completely unsuitable man who already told me that my life is his version of hell. Those were his actual words. Well, when I asked him what his version of hell was, anyway. It’s not like he said it out of the blue, but still, he did say it. He is never going to want to get married and have adorable little adventure babies, so if that’s what I’m thinking, I better just forget it.

  I turn over and watch him sleep, reaching out and tracing his beard with my fingertip. I whisper, “Please don't break my heart.”

  But he will. And it’ll be my own damn fault for getting so wrapped up in someone I can’t have. So far, we’ve been playing it casual, like we both know this is just a quick fling that doesn’t mean anything, but the truth is, I want him to be my forever. And that is not going to happen. As soon as we walk out of this jungle, I’m going to get my heart stomped on like a grape in a winery barrel.

  He opens his eyes and grins at me, pulling me to his deliciously warm, naked body.

  Oh, that is very nice. You know what? For once, I won’t overthink what I’m doing. I'm just going to enjoy it, and if it ends the second we get to Mbambole, well then, I am going to have an entire lifetime of remembering this moment right now while he, oh, my, that’s why he woke up. Mmm …

  What happens in a few days is Future Arabella's problem, and I refuse to worry about her. Not when he’s doing that.

  “I thought of the perfect nickname for you,” he says, nuzzling my neck.

  “You did?” I ask in a breathy voice.

  He kisses my collar bone. “Belle.”

  “So, after all that thinking, you just shortened my name?” I give him a teasing smile.

  He shakes his head. “Belle, as in the bravest of all the Disney princesses.”

  “I thought that was Mulan. Or Miranda, you know, the one from Brave?”

  “They’re fine, too, but you remind me of Belle. When the movie starts, everyone underestimates her, but deep down she’s fierce—like you.” He nibbles on my ear lobe, making it impossible to concentrate on what he’s saying. Will props himself up on one arm and traces my lips with his finger. “The way she sacrificed herself for her father and stood up to the Beast? Come on.”

  I lift my head and give him a kiss. “Are you secretly a big fan of Disney cartoon princesses?”

  “Emma made me watch those movies over and over when we were kids,” he says.

  “They are great movies.”

  “Yes, they are, but don’t ever tell anyone I said that.”

  “What you would do if I told someone?”

  He looks up for a second as though considering the question, then grins. “It’s more like what would I stop doing…”

  “Which would be?”

  Oh, he’s going to show me his answer instead of telling me. Mmm. “I’ll never say a word.”

  * * *

  ABN Nooner Newscast – Tuesday Edition

  “Good afternoon, I'm Veronica Platt with the ABN Nooner News. Our top story this lunch hour remains the mystery of the missing princess. It's been seven harrowing days for the people of Avonia without any sign of Princess Arabella. Although palace officials put out a brief statement yesterday morning, hoping to put a stop to the myriad of rumors throughout the kingdom, it seems for many, it's a case of too little, too late.” Veronica stares into the camera with a stern expression. “Giles Bigly, our man on the scene, joins us live from the Langdon library, where a meeting of the Avonian Introverts Society was just held without their patron.”

  The screen splits into two and Giles is seen standing next to a middle-aged man wearing a button-up shirt, a brown bowtie, and a tweed jacket.

  “Giles, can you tell us what the impact is on the Avonian Introverts with regard to this shocking story?”

  “Yes, Veronica, I'm here with Mr. Fred Bundy, president of the—”

  “I’m sorry. Did you say Fred Bundy?” Veronica asks, cutting Giles off mid-sentence.

  Mr. Bundy rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh while Giles says, “That’s right, Fred, as in Frederick.”

  “Bundy,” Veronica says.

  “Let’s move on from that, Veronica. I gather it’s a bit of a sore spot. Anyway, Mr. Bundy is the president of the Avonian Introverts Society, a small group who have enjoyed Princess Arabella's patronage for the past three years. He's one of many Avonians growing increasingly concerned and frustrated with the palace’s vague statement regarding her whereabouts.”

  “Yes, Giles, I'm going to read that statement out for those of our viewers who haven't heard it yet. It was sent to the various news outlets yesterday, and it reads, quote, ‘Princess Arabella is fine and accounted for. There is no reason for alarm, and we assure you she will be returning to public life shortly.’ Mr. Bundy, can you hear me?” Veronica asks.

  The man nods once and mumbles, “Yes.”

  “Excellent,” Veronica says. “Were you given any prior notice of Princess Arabella's disappearance or did you find out at the same time as the rest of us?”

  Giles holds the microphone to him while he speaks quietly. “We got a call on Monday to say she couldn't make it.”

  Veronica nods gravely. “And if I may, who exactly placed that call?”

  “Her assistant, Mrs. Chapman.”

  “And how are the good people of the Avonian Introverts Society handling this alarming news?”

  “Veronica,” Giles cuts in. “Perhaps I could interview my guest since I am the man on the scene.”

  “Of course, Giles,” Veronica says. “Go ahead.”

  “Thanks.” Giles turns to Fred Bundy. “So, how are the folks at the Avonian Introverts Society handling this news?”

  Fred shrugs. “The meeting was pretty quiet because she usually does most of the talking. She’s not an introvert, really.”

  Turning to the camera, Giles says, “There you have it, Veronica. One very quiet meeting.”

  “Giles, have you heard anyth
ing at all about her whereabouts, or if she's, in fact, alive at this point?” Veronica asks.

  “Well, based on yesterday's statement from the palace, I'd say we can safely rule out her death.”

  “Can we?” Veronica asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Bundy,” Veronica says. “Would you agree with Giles in his assessment that the princess is indeed alive at this time?”

  “I would,” Fred answers with a nod. Turning to Giles, he mutters, “Okay, are we done here? Because I’m going to miss my chance to bring home the extra donuts if I don’t get back in there. And Eli brought Krispy Kreme this time.”

  Veronica speaks up quickly. “Would that have been the donut Princess Arabella would have eaten?”

  “One of them, yes,” Fred says.

  Veronica makes a tsking sound. “A donut with no princess to eat it. Could this story get any more tragic?”

  22

  Time to Say Goodbye … to Sexlandia

  Will

  The sun is out in full force this morning as I crawl out of the tent, and although everything looks bright and shiny, the world feels like a much darker place because, as much as I wish I could hold it off, we have to get back on our way. Arabella is up already and has gone to ‘pick berries,’ which is our euphemism for her needing to go to the loo. You can take the princess out of the palace, but you can’t take the palace out of the … okay, that was a crappy analogy, but you get the idea.

  The last few days of being together flow through my mind, and even though I know it won't happen, I find myself wishing she and I could somehow make this work on a long-term basis. And believe me when I say that’s not something I ever thought I’d entertain. Especially not with someone like her.

  After I brush my teeth, I pull out the map again, feeling more than a little worried. We should have left twenty-four hours ago, but after a particularly wonderful round of wake-up sex, I calculated our estimated distance to Mbambole again, and decided we could squeeze in one more night. But because my calculations were done with a ratio of maximum sex to bonus money as the parameter, I’m now realizing I may have been overly optimistic. But what’s done is done, and believe me, it was done well.