Wanted Too: A Scorching Valentine Royal Romance (Wanted Trilogy Book 2)

by Dee Palmer

  I did not just say I take it up the arse to my main investor. Way to go, Hope, classy even by my standards.

  “And you are against the idea of marriage,” he says without missing a beat, carrying on to the completion of his list. I’m relieved, if more than a little confused.

  “What gave that away? I’m sorry for the rant, it’s been a long week, and I’ve usually had at least one Porn Star by now. Cocktail that is, not an actual porn star.”

  “I did get that.” He chuckles, a soft, low sound that is barely audible above the growl of the sporty TT engine. I find I like that sound very much.

  “Still, needed to clarify that after that tirade of TMI. Really, I’m sorry, not very professional.” I offer up the massive understatement with a light shrug. It’s done now, no point dwelling.

  “Don’t ever apologise for being honest.”

  “So much for not doing chit chat, hmm?” I exhale a long breath. If I’ve never blushed before, I swear I can feel my cheeks pink right up. I brush the back of my hand over one side, but its cool to the touch. The embarrassment I feel must be buried a little deeper.

  “This isn’t chit chat; you asked me a question. I’m giving you my answer.”

  “You’re very thorough.”

  “In all things.” He states the words slowly with purpose. His voice drops an octave, and there’s that chill again, or is it a sensual shiver?

  “So tell me about you.” I try and generate some moisture in my parched mouth to shift the lump that’s now wedged in my throat. He offers me a sip from his bottle of water, and I take a long pull before handing it back and waiting for him to respond to my request.

  “No need to be coy, Ms Williams. How about you tell me what you have already learned about me.”

  “I may have googled your name, but honestly, my recon is nothing on yours. I know you’re rich; you have old family money but also your own. You are a widow; you married your childhood sweetheart, no children, and you’re something like tenth in line for the Danish throne.”

  Derision keeps his reply very matter of fact, but there is a hint of sadness in his tone. “It’s rather depressing when your life and all it’s achievements can be summarised in a Wikipedia sound-bite.”

  “At least you have a Wiki page.”

  “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

  “And I really don’t mean it to be. Fame, or infamy more like, is this generations’ drug of choice. I can’t think of anything worse than being in the public eye. That level of intrusion is obscene for the most part, and at extreme levels, it’s plain reckless. I don’t understand the desire to join the circus.”

  “Sometimes it’s not an option.”

  “I guess if you’re born to it. Still, your page and other articles I found were vague, to say the least.”

  “My privacy is the most important thing to me.”

  “I’ve never thought it a thing to even consider. Not until you started listing off everything you know about me, like a bloody shopping list that is. I know most things are online, but how the hell did you know about Barnaby?”

  “Barnaby?”

  “My imaginary friend. Was it my mother? Because she can be a bit of an over-sharer.” I smile with a mix of pride and mortification of the number of times my mother has disclosed way too much. She’s not even a drinker, so there is really no excuse other than she is just a very open person.

  “It wasn’t your mother.”

  “Well, I don’t talk in my sleep like Finn, so I’m out of guesses.” I’m only partly joking because I’m extremely curious.

  “Your personal introduction letter for the position at the Samaritans.” His calm delivery still feels like a slap on the wrong cheek.

  “What the fuck, Jørgen!”

  “I didn’t realise we have moved on to first names, Ms Williams?” he retorts, with absolutely no inflection, no rise in volume, increase in pitch, and no sense of apology. Ice-fucking-king.

  “I think the level of intrusion you’ve just admitted to is way beyond me calling you by your first fucking name, Jørgen.”

  “Calm down, Hope.”

  “Man, you have got some nerve. I tell you what, Mister Jensen, how about we go back to silence before I say something that will turn this deal sour. I’ve worked too hard to mess this up now just because you’re pushing buttons you have no right to touch.”

  “I believe my seventy million pound investment gives me a free rein to push any button I desire at this stage of the negotiation.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I may be a slut, but I’m not a whore, and I’m just as happy to tell you to stick your seventy million pounds where you obviously think the sun shines.” I’m fuming as my white knuckles are steering us through the winding lanes of the countryside, and I’m just pleased we’re nearly there. I have no idea how I’ve not swerved off the road to kick his very fine arse all the way back to the city.

  “You would throw away this opportunity because I did my job and thoroughly researched whom I was investing in?” he counters, intrigued and amused, which is really not helping with my boiling rage.

  “I’m not throwing anything away. I’m clarifying what your investment is buying, and it isn’t me.”

  “I see.” He tips a curt nod just as I swerve up the overgrown drive to Greycoat Manor. The drive is one of the many things that needs fixing, and the car groans and lurches from one pothole to the next. It doesn’t help that it’s pitch dark and there’s not another dwelling for at least ten miles as the crow flies.

  “Good.” I bite out the word with a tight, cold smile, swinging the car to an abrupt stop and yanking the hand break.

  “I said I see; I didn’t say you were correct.”

  I have to stop myself from letting my jaw gape. He likes that he’s affecting me, and I’m not going to give him even a fraction of that pleasure. “This arrogant asshole thing work for you? With the women, I mean?”

  “Don’t confuse confidence with arrogance.”

  “Oh, I’m not,” I snap and hold his narrowed gaze. The car’s interior is dim, and his eyes are now bottomless pools of darkness where brilliant blue used to mesmerise. I shake myself. Not now, Hope, and not with this guy…ever.

  I point my finger to the gothic mansion that looms eerily against the wintery night sky. It’s such a magnificent building. Even as a ruin in much need of some tender loving care, it’s perfect. I can’t help but smile, too briefly, though, and it’s gone before I feel the effect. “Okay, here we are, let’s get this over with.”

  “Over with?”

  “Yes, the sooner we get this tour over with, the sooner we can get this deal signed and sealed, after which, I believe, other than the standard quarterly reports, your involvement will end.” I step from the car and wait until he has done the same. He lays his hand on the roof of the car and leans forward, rooting me to the spot with the darkest gaze.

  “It’s not the end, Hope; it’s just the beginning.” His words strike an unfamiliar chord, somewhere deep, that shakes my core and scares the living shit out of me.

  What the hell?

  Present Day

  “HEY, HOPE! ARE YOU OKAY?” I shake my sleepy friend awake with a gentle prod of her shoulder.

  “What? Yes, yes, of course, why?” She startles awake, sitting bolt upright and frowning with a mix of nervousness and confusion. She squints behind her glasses and flops back into the seat, reoriented and relaxed.

  “You were moaning in your sleep. Are you in pain?”

  “No, I’m fine, just a weird dream. Are we here?” She waves her hand, brushing away my concern. She still looks a little flushed, which could easily be the heat of the midday sun. It’s scorching hot. There’s a haziness distorting the view on every side. Still, it doesn’t stop her from gaping wide when her gaze follows my pointing finger. “Oh, wow!” she exhales. The view from the plateau is stunning; there are no other words. As far as the eye can see, the wild terrain is part of a protected reserve
and is untouched. A naturally breath taking landscape that has remained unchanged from the days of the Wild West

  “We’re not far now. See that little building over there, nestled in the trees next to the lake?”

  “The shed?”

  “It’s a cabin, but yes, the ‘shed’. That’s it, so hang on to your titties, lady, it’s off-roading time,” I advise and laugh when Hope grabs her breasts with both hands.

  “I’ve got the girls; you hit that gas.”

  She squeals when the Jeep lurches down a steep incline, and I have to drop a gear and floor the gas to make the sudden and rough change to scale the immediate uphill gradient when we hit the bottom. We bounce and jerk our way across the open field until we reach the edge of the plateau before he head down to where the cabin is. I pull the jeep to a stop and kill the engine.

  This is my favourite view, outside of the sun setting from mine and Charge’s bedroom window, that is. I step from the Jeep and pull my camera bag from the back seat. It’s one of my new hobbies, and until I get my green card and can get a proper job, it helps to keep my idle hands occupied.

  “Come on, I want to show you something,” I say in a hushed voice. Taking my super flashy Canon out of the bag and clipping the zoom securely, I motion for Hope to follow me.

  “Oooh, that’s fancy.”

  “Wedding present from the boys and my new favourite toy.” I grin, putting the neck strap over my head.

  “Because you don’t have enough to keep you occupied.” Hope raises a brow, and the salacious tone of her innuendo makes my shoulders sag. I stop and turn to face her, only mildly irritated but still enough to set this straight.

  “If, for the sake of the same ‘jokes’ getting a little tired, we can assume I don’t spend twenty-four seven on my back juggling four cocks, I do have a life outside of the bedroom.”

  “Sorry, I’ll let it go.” She zips her mouth shut with an imaginary lock and key only to unlock it. The expression on her face is pained with the obvious need to speak.

  “What?” I drop my hip and brace myself.

  “It’s just, now I have a visual of you cock juggling.”

  “Hope…” Exasperation carries the breath from my body.

  Hope’s shoulders shake with contained laughter even as she schools her expression to at least try and look contrite. “My bad; I’ve stopped,” she assures me and changes topic, much to my genuine relief. “Now what is it you want to show me?”

  “This way.” I lead the way, and after only a few footsteps, I turn and stop her in her tracks. Taking her shoulders in my hands I hold her confused gaze. “I don’t want you to stop being you. Just maybe the adult version of you and not the one that very much resembles a fourteen-year-old school boy.”

  “I think it must be you. You bring out the adolescent in me. I’ll behave, I promise, no more cock jokes,” she declares, and I have to roll my eyes at the unrealistic offer.

  “You’ll explode; just tone it down. Shh, we’re here. Scooch down and look over there.” I crouch down and tug the hem of her skirt.

  “What am I looking at?” She narrows her eyes in the glare of the bright sun, and I hand her my camera for a much better look, pointing the lens exactly where I’m hoping for some activity.

  “Those rocks in the valley bed, see the thick dark line? That’s a coyote den and they’ve just had pups.”

  “Coyotes? Aren’t they dangerous?” She looks at me with a flash of worry in her sharp emerald eyes. She is quick to look back through the lens.

  “Which is why we’re way up here. Look, I took these the other day.” I take the camera back and click through until I find the images I captured last week.

  “Ah, they’re cute. Is that the father?” She scrolls through, pausing at the image of an adult watching over two of the cubs play fighting.

  “No, that’s the mum, this is the father.” I flick to the next image. The proud papa has a golden coat, a full bushy tail, and is something really special.

  “Yeah, okay, he looks a little scary. God, those eyes are gorgeous.” Hope zooms in on his face on the screen and takes a second look.

  “He’s really rare, I didn’t know when I took the pictures, but Pink told me that blue grey eyes on a coyote is like one in a million.” I can’t hide the pride in my voice. He even persuaded me to send the picture to the local wildlife society.

  “Will the pups be the same?”

  “They all have blueish eyes when they’re born but will most likely change to some colour anywhere on the golden spectrum. They’re still too young to tell. They’re cute, right?”

  “Adorable.”

  “I knew you’d like them. The guys think I’m crazy. Coyotes are pests here, like foxes in the UK.”

  “Ah, I see. Even if I wasn’t an animal lover, I still prefer pests like foxes to humans most of the time.”

  “Yeah, me, too, present company excluded.” I nudge her, and she puts her arm around my shoulder and squeezes tight.

  “Of course.” She kisses my cheek and then goes back to staring at the rock for a further five minutes. “Look! There they are!”

  “I wasn’t sure they would come out, it’s hot, and they prefer to hunt at night.”

  “They’re not hunting; they’re babysitting. Look at the cubs. How many are there?”

  “Three.”

  “I can only see two and no Papa.”

  “Probably still sleeping.”

  “Yeah, typical man.” She snorts and sits back on her bottom, crosses her legs, and starts to take pictures. We’re in the shade of a lone tree on the hill, but it’s still too hot, and after ten minutes, I call time.

  “Come on, let’s get to the cabin.”

  “Yeah, I’m sweating my bollocks off.”

  “Nice.”

  “I said I’d cut back on the cock jokes. I never said the rest of the male genitalia was off limits.” She tips her sunglass up and winks before walking off and jumping back into the Jeep.

  The Jeep judders and rattles our bones as I steer us toward the small woodland in the dip on the horizon where the cabin sits at the edge of the farm’s second lake. The tall pine trees offer some much needed shade as we approach, and I park up at the rear of the cabin, reversing right up to the back door. Jumping down from the vehicle, I amble round to the back to lower the tailgate. Hope slides from her seat and slowly lifts her sunglasses to sit on top of her head. I beam to myself as I recognise that very look.

  This place is something.

  I grab the first cool bag of food and walk up the three wooden slats to the back door. There is a small porch that houses the generator and stacks and stacks of firewood. Unlocking the door, I’m hit with a musty waft of dust and pine. Light splashes across the floor with the newly opened door; however, the shutters are closed, so it’s mostly dark inside. Occasional shards of light sneak through the cracks and highlight the thick suspension of dust now swirling in the stale air. Dropping the bag on the countertop in the kitchen I start the job of opening up the place. I grab a broom from the tall kitchen cupboard and make my way outside to the veranda, calling for Hope who has already made her way to the shoreline of the lake. I don’t blame her, the brilliance of the aquamarine colour and the way a million diamonds sparkle when the breeze gusts across the surface of the water is mesmerising.

  “Hope, can you give me a hand?”

  “I can, but this looks so good, I just want to dive in.” She points to the shimmering lake and pouts when I shake my head.

  “You can later. I just need a little help with the shutters.” Skipping with an exuberant spring in her gait, she rushes back to me. Taking the broom from me she spins it in her hand like a bo staff.

  “Am I just sweeping this area or do you want me to do the whole place?”

  “Actually, it’s neither. I’m going to pull these shutters open and you are going to sweep whatever falls to the floor clean off the veranda, got it?”

  “Whatever falls…what are we talking about
here, Finn?” She stops twirling the broom and grabs the long wooden handle with both hands, white knuckled, and with a trace of fear in her eyes she waits for my answer.

  “Let’s just pretend its balls of dirt, shall we?” I wave my hand in a limp wristed dismissal.

  “Balls of dirt with eight legs?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Oh, fuck!”

  “Big girl panties time, Hope. Ready?” I step back and unlock the latch of the first shutter. I begin to ease the heavy shutter open.

  “Not ever going to be ready for eight legged freaks. And when did you get all brave?” Hope holds the broom in front of her, no longer the fearless weapon-wielding warrior.

  “Who says I’m brave? You’re the one with the broom and flip flops.” My eyes drop to her exposed feet, and we both shudder with the thought of creepy crawlies skittering across her glossy painted toes.

  “Shit, wait! Give me your boots.”

  “Fuck off!” I bark out a curt laugh with my instant response.

  “What happened to being my best friend?”

  “Your best friend is just as scared of spiders as you.” My humourless laugh is pitched squeaky with nerves. I hate this part of staying here, and in fairness, I rarely have to do it, so I don’t blame her in the least. I straighten my back and man the fuck up, at least for appearances sake. “Come on, Hope, I’ve got to open the place up. I promise I’ll do the rest on my own, but this is a two-person job.”