by Kate Tilney
Alex:
Ridiculously Royal #2
by Kate Tilney
Copyright © 2020 by Kate Tilney
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Cover Photos by
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Alex (Ridiculously Royal, #2)
Alex
Nikki
Alex
Nikki
Alex
Nikki
Alex
Nikki
Alex
Nikki
Alex
Epilogue | Nikki
Also by Kate Tilney
About the Author
Prince Alex
With my sister’s wedding fast approaching, duty and honor call me back from military service. As third in line for the throne, my only real responsibility is to show up to the church on time and make sure Aunt Muriel doesn't hit on the priest.
Then a run-in with a celebrity baker—who is every bit as sassy as she is sweet—changes everything. Duty and honor take a backseat when I’m filled with the overwhelming need to see if she tastes as delicious as her wedding cake.
Nikki
Landing a star-studded wedding—for the crown princess of Rhodon at that—is a dream come true. My career and I are on the cusp of make-it or break-it. I don’t need any distractions, which means no men. Not even a totally hot, totally eligible prince, who is into me.
Unfortunately, I’ve checked the label on my apron, and it’s not princess material. And while my career has to come first, it’s going to be hard to resist a temptation as savory as Alex.
Ridiculously Royal is a series of standalone, insta-love steamy shorts about royals finding true love and happily ever afters that are anything but common. Check out ALEX if you like curvy bakers and alpha princes who tempt each other with a hot romance.
Alex
I never thought anything could be more intense than the heat of battle. I suppose, in a way, attending the wedding of the crowned princess of Rhodon is not so different from a combat zone. Especially because the bride-to-be is my sister and my father—the king—has called all hands on deck.
Talk about the heat of battle.
With so many of the royal families and dignitaries from around the world staying in the palace this week, it is rather like the close quarters we have in a barracks.
And like in the military, we all have our responsibilities and duties. When I am in the field, I am a helicopter pilot transporting soldiers and equipment as necessary. While I am still awaiting all my marching orders for the wedding, I’m fairly confident mine will involve transport of some sort. Especially if my mother’s Aunt Muriel has any champagne before the ceremony. The last time that happened, she ended up hitting on the priest before passing out beside the altar.
Even though my sister has been pretty lax about all things wedding, I imagine she would rather avoid having a drunk, amorous relative upstaging her nuptials.
Then again, she may not notice. These days she only has eyes for her fiancé.
At least she’s marrying a normal guy. Ryan, the newly dubbed Duke of Orkhis, is a former soldier who likes his football. Unlike some of her ex-boyfriends—mostly a pretentious lot of rich kids and nobles—you can actually have a proper chat over a beer with him. Even if he shows his American cards by calling football soccer.
The whole affair could be worse.
Still, I would rather be back on the base with my men than here dodging the floral arrangements and piles of fabric that seem to pop up everywhere.
Sitting at attention in my father’s throne room, I wonder if I somehow got the time wrong for our meeting when my sister strolls in through the door.
“Father isn’t coming,” she says.
I stop myself just before rolling my eyes. Instead, I rise to my feet. “Then I think I will go find a way to be busy.”
Following me out the door, Sarah stays close behind me. “Actually, here are a couple of things you could help me with.”
I freeze and Sarah nearly rams into my back. I turn to steady her. It’s then I get a good look at her. She seems shaky on her feet, her hand gripped in mine. If I am not mistaken, she is a little pale. Her dark brown eyes—the exact shade of my own—seem strained.
“Are you quite alright?”
She takes in a shallow breath through her nose and nods. “I am sure it is just my schedule getting the best of me. Father has been relentless. He is insisting I keep all of my regular engagements even though I am getting married the day after tomorrow.”
That sounds like our father. He probably thinks it will make my sister look strong to our people. When we discovered she—and not her twin Henry—was heir to the throne a few months back, not everyone in Rhodon welcomed the change with open arms. While public opinion has softened somewhat thanks to the excitement of a royal wedding, our father will not stop until every person in our country accepts that Sarah will one day be queen.
Not for the first time, I am grateful my own twin brother, Alex, and I were born a year after Sarah and Henry. There has never been any danger that the crown could land on my head.
I wrap an arm around Sarah’s shoulder and give her a squeeze. She pats my hand and glances up at me.
“You can absolutely say no,” she says. “But if you have any time, could stop by the kitchen to make sure the cake baker is here and comfortable? She came all the way from New York, and she’s the one part of the wedding that Ryan and I were allowed to choose without . . .”
She trails off before saying it, but I know. The cake was the only part of the wedding our father gave up control on.
Sarah wobbles again, and I tighten my grip. “I can stop by the kitchen.”
Her face lights up. I feel like a monster for hesitating to help for even a moment.
“You are the best brother ever.” She leans up on her toes to kiss my cheek. “And if you ever tell Henry or James, I will say you are a liar.”
Chuckling, I give her one more squeeze. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Positive.” She gives a weak smile. “But if I still feel poorly tomorrow, I will go to the doctor.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She leaves me then for whatever our father has scheduled for her next. I briefly wonder what I would do in her shoes, but quickly dismiss the notion. For one, my feet are too big—and I have no interest in high heels—to ever fit in her literal shoes. As for the figurative? There is no point in considering what I would do if I were the future king.
I am not a superstitious person, but it seems like thinking about it just welcomes bad luck.
It takes me several minutes to make my way to the kitchen. With the sprawling palace my ancestors built, it can take half an hour to get from one end to the other. That is not the kind of home I would want for myself someday. If I ever move back to the city full-time, I would rather get my own place than set-up permanent residence here.
As I step into the kitchen, I nod at a footman leaving and take in the scene before me. About a dozen people in white chef’s garb scramble about measuring cups of sugar and cracking open eggs. Though everyone is working in their own station, there is a rhythm to it all. And at the center of it is one wo
man.
She turns, and my breath catches. With thick, reddish blonde hair piled into a bun on top of her head, skin the color of cream, and full lips painted red, she reminds me of a strawberry shortcake. My favorite dessert. Only, I bet she tastes better.
My gaze travels down her curves. Though it is hard to make out her form in the shapeless chef’s wear, I can tell she has full hips and even fuller breasts. Both are the kind a man likes to hold onto as he buries himself inside of her.
My cock twitches at the thought.
If I had to guess, this would be the celebrity chef herself. For once I wish I watched reality TV so I could have seen the televised baking contest she apparently won earlier this year.
I want to know everything about her. Need to know everything about her.
I take a step toward her just in time to watch as she catches her heel on the edge of the counter and flies forward.
Nikki
I don’t have time to scream as my feet fly up from under me. In a blur, my life flashes before my eyes. There’s winning Bake Your Sweets Off earlier this year. Seeing my face on the cover of People magazine. Walking the red carpet at the Emmys. Pictures of my mother and dozens of her boyfriends I was supposed to call uncle.
They all rush through my head at lightning speed as I fall to my death.
I close my eyes, preparing for impact when two arms wrap around my back.
My eyes fly open again and stare into a pair of eyes the same color as the rich chocolate I used in the Buche de Noel that was my winning dish on Bake Your Sweets Off. They’re set in a tan, concerned face covered in a light scattering of whiskers.
Either this man is a dark angel here to take me to some afterlife, or he is the most beautiful man I have ever come face to face with. I forget to breathe as my heart pounds in my chest.
“Are you okay?” my dark angel/savior asks.
Somehow, I bob my chin up and down as several more worried faces surround me. While I vaguely register them—and their cries for my safety—I am unable to tear my stare away from the man now holding me to his chiseled chest.
“Can you speak?” he asks.
I nod again, but also manage to let out a meek, “Yes.”
His lips curve up one one side, revealing the hint of a dimple. And as the blood rushes from my head to a certain part of my body, I am all too aware of how much I’d like to have my crew clear the room so I can give this man a proper thank you.
Which is so not what I should be doing here.
Shaking my head, I find my footing again. Feeling my cheeks flush dark red, I grab hold of the counter pretending to be interested in a crate of lemons.
“Thank you.” I reach for a lemon in a poor attempt at normalcy. “I should have been paying more attention to where I was walking.”
Just like I should be more careful of every step I take around this man who is practically oozing sexual pheromones. But like a moth drawn to flame, I can’t quite keep myself from casting him a sidelong glance.
He’s resting a hip against the counter with an ease that tells me he’s right at home here.
“Are you always in such a hurry?”
“Actually, yes.” I find a grin then. “You don’t win baking contests by going slow.”
“But you also keep both feet on the ground.”
“True.” I sober quickly, realizing that with his smart suit and prim accent, this man is most likely a palace representative. Or, worse, a reporter sneaking into the palace for a fresh angle on his royal wedding story. “Is there something I can help you with? This is a closed kitchen.”
His eyes crinkle around the edges, and I am once again struck with the urge to smile back or breathe into a bag. “I am here on behalf of the princess.”
My stomach flutters. I’m not sure if it’s the princess reference or his smoldering stare affecting the butterflies.
“Did the princess have any special requests?”
He shakes his head. “Just to make sure you have everything you need.”
“Everything I need and more.” I glance around the well-lit kitchen with every state-of-the-art appliance a baker could ask for—and more—at my disposal. “This is probably the best, most efficient kitchen I’ve worked in.”
“Even better than your kitchen at home?”
“Oh, I don’t have my own bakery yet.” Or even a kitchen at home. Or a home. “It has been such a whirlwind the past year, I’ve had pop-up bakeries around the U.S.”
His dark eyebrows raise. “Do you like being away from home then?”
“I don’t mind.” There’s no point telling him that I’ve never lived anywhere long enough to call it home. “It’s good research to find the best place to eventually set up my own shop.”
He gives a short nod. His eyes narrow a second before his hand raises to my face. I jerk back instinctively and he pulls his hand back.
“You have a bit of frosting under your ear.”
My hand flies up, and sure enough I find a sticky dollop of sugar and butter.
My face flushes again. I hold up my finger. “Finding frosting in strange places. That’s an occupational hazard for bakers.”
“Sounds delicious.” He takes my hand in his. The warmth from it radiates through me.
I wish I would have let him clear the frosting away with his own firm hands.
His gaze darkens as he brings my finger to his lips. He pulls my finger into his warm mouth. My whole body tingles as his tongue licks the frosting off.
Okay, I’d really like to clear the room now. But that is dangerous thinking. Before I can recoil again, he drops my hand and grins.
“I was right,” he says. “Delicious.”
The flutters are back. “I’ll have to save you a piece of cake later.”
“You do that.” He shoves his hands into his suit pockets. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help you out?”
I don’t think asking him to fuck me until I can’t stand straight falls under his job description. Even if it did, I can’t lose track of why I’m here. To bake the best wedding cake any royal family has ever had and earn enough money to open my own bakery.
“I’m good.”
“I will see you around then.” He winks. “Keep up the good work.”
As soon as he is a few feet away, I can breathe again.
Lulu, one of my assistants, giggles as he leaves. “He’s so charming. I think he’s totally into you.”
I shrug at that even as I bite back a grin. He really was charming. And he did seem to be flirting a little. Still, I can’t get caught up in flirtations. I have a job to do. One that could set me up to finally have enough money to open my own bakery without having to depend on loans.
“We need to make some more buttercream,” I say.
“But doesn’t it seem like fate brought you and him here together?” Lulu asks, still staring after him starry-eyed. “I mean, a man like that. In a royal palace. It’s like a freaking fairytale.”
“I don’t believe in fairytales.” And even though a handsome man just literally swept me off my feet, I’m not about to start. I hand her a whisk. “Now start stirring.”
Alex
I parry and thrust with a vigor and intensity that would make my childhood fencing instructor proud. I wish I was working up a sweat with a certain curvy baker, but trying to knock my brother on his ass is a decent enough substitute.
“Enough!” James cries out, tugging off his mask. His chest rising up and down. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“You would not be so out of breath if you spent a little more time in the gym instead of chasing women all over Oxford and London.”
“And you wouldn’t be so sexually frustrated if you spent a little more time using that other lance of yours on a fair maiden.”
There is one woman I would not mind finding in my bed right now. But I can hardly admit that to my brother. For years, we have been trying to prove which one of us is right. I am not about to concede defeat n
ow just because he is right on this front.
Instead, I cock my head to the side, my eyes narrow. “I suppose we have each found a way to sow our wild oats.”
James grins. “My way is more fun.”
I throw my mask at him. He narrowly dodges it, laughing in full force now. I am about to throw my lance at him too, when the sound of heels clicking on the floor draws our attention to the door.
In walks the very woman who kept me up half of last night
“Oh.” She glances between us. Confusion mars her otherwise perfect face. “I definitely got turned around.”
Interest crosses James’s face, and I am once again struck with the urge to lance his face. “Where were you hoping to find yourself, gorgeous?”
I see red and take a step toward her, giving James a glare. “Ms. Sommerset. What a pleasure to see you again. How about I help you?”
Correctly reading the situation, James steps back. While we may be embroiled in a lifelong competition to one up each other, we have always respected one another’s territory where women are concerned.
And though she may not realize it, Nikki Sommerset is mine. I very much intend to make her so before long.
Setting aside my lance, I offer her my arm. “I realized I did not properly introduce myself yesterday. I am Alex.”
“Just Alex?” she arches an eyebrow.
“Just Alex.”
“And what do you do here?”
I freeze mid-step. Is it possible she does not know who I am? Quickly recovering, I walk her back toward one of the main pathways in the palace.
“I am a captain in Rhodon’s military.”
“And they have you here working the wedding?”
“Something like that.” As far as my father is concerned, we are all of us always on duty. “Now about where you were going . . .”
She shakes her head. “I was trying to find my way back to the kitchen. The king asked me to bring samples of the cakes and desserts for tomorrow. I had a guy in a suit—a footman, I guess you’d call him—show me the way there, but I lost my guide.”
