Crown Jewels

by Ella James

  For a few minutes, she was walking just a pace or two in front of me, and I was looking at her ass. Then my eyes moved up her narrow back, then to her shoulders, down her arm and to her hand. I wanted to touch her, so I grabbed it.

  Stupid. But she makes me feel so fucking good.

  We should find something to drink at the lodge when we get there. Everything with Lucy is so fucking pleasant and relaxing. It makes me want to drink, like scotch would be the cherry on the sundae.

  I’ve noticed Lucy never partakes, but she doesn’t seem to mind that I do. Kicking back is more fun when she’s around, because I don’t need alcohol the way I did before she showed up. I don’t feel like I can’t breathe when she’s here. I feel…hopeful.

  Unfounded, the logical side of me reminds this dumbass side.

  But right then, Lucy stops on our wooded trail and points to a little painted sign. “Hot springs? We can go to hot springs?” She’s grinning like a little fucking kid. I find myself nodding, smiling back at her.

  “You want to go there?”

  “Hell yes!” Her brow rumples. “Wait—how hot are they?”

  “They’re not very hot, actually. A little warmer than lukewarm. Kind of like a bath, but not a hot tub. Maybe they should be called warm springs.”

  “No—that’s perfect.” She grins back at me as she drags me up the springs trail. Her eyebrows are wiggling. “Can we get in? We’ll both behave ourselves and just relax and watch the sun go down. Oh my God, is that it up there?” She points to the terrain up above us. “That little vein of water near the top of that mountain?”

  I nod. “It winds around the peak and makes a pool.”

  “Oh my goodness, that’s amazing! This is seriously paradise.” I see the shadow flit across her features as the words fall from her mouth. As if it might upset me that she’d call the island where I lost my mother paradise.

  “It’s beautiful,” she amends, squeezing my hand. “I’m grateful that you brought me here.”

  “I don’t come often, but I wanted to bring you.” It’s kind of awkward confessing that, but it’s the truth. I wanted Lucy to see this place.

  In the past, if I ever do come here, it’s just for a couple of hours, and I’m by myself. I come here to think of Mum and feel alone. I only do it every other year or so.

  Lucy tugs me closer, till we’re walking almost shoulder to shoulder.

  “I was wondering at first if this was where you brought all the ladies. I imagine you have girls come and hang out around the castle pretty often.”

  I press my lips flat, giving her a poker face—not because it isn’t true, but because it is. Suddenly, I wish it wasn’t.

  “Sometimes,” I hedge.

  “It’s okay.” Her hand squeezes mine. “I know I called you a manwhore, and I thought of you that way. And I don’t know how you are with them—maybe you are. But I like you, Liam. That’s not all there is to you, and I can see that now that we’re friends.”

  It makes me feel so fucking good, the way she says it. Lucy’s fingers stroke my hand, and she leans against my arm as we walk.

  “I haven’t had a guy friend in a long time,” she says softly.

  Fuck. I want to ask if that’s because of him—that sick fuck, Bryce Parsons—but I’m afraid of upsetting her.

  “That surprises me a little,” I say instead.

  “Because I’m so much fun?” She gives me a silly grin.

  “Yeah. Because you’re fun. And beautiful. You’ve got this whole…this thing going.” She seems so real. “It’s like…you’re honest. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

  “With you I am. I’m not trying to impress you or seem like I’m somebody I’m not. Probably because of how things started off between us.”

  “That night at Dec’s?”

  She nods.

  I squeeze her hand. “I like it that you’re this way around me.” It makes me feel different, too. Like I don’t have to be anyone specific when I’m with her. “A lot of girls aren’t like that.”

  “I’m sure they’re not. Do they all want to be your princess?”

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  “I’m sure that’s got to get tiring.”

  “It does,” I say, and I’m surprised to realize how much. I’ve tried to make it fun these last few years, to live it up, especially after what happened earlier this year, but… “It is tiring.”

  Lucy snuggles up against my arm again. “You’re a real boy, Liam, not just a prince. Is that right?” She sounds like she’s teasing, but her face is sympathetic and sincere.

  “I’m a man,” I tell her with a smirk.

  “You better cut down on sexy comments. I’m trying to keep my chastity in tact, you know.”

  “And I thought I was the slut here.”

  Her mouth falls open. She punches me in the arm. “I can’t believe what you’re implying. No manners, Prince Liam. None at all.”

  I shrug. “Isn’t that your forte? Southern girl.”

  “It is. And I have excellent manners.”

  “Do you?” I tease.

  “Abso-freaking-lutely.”

  We’ve been walking uphill for a while. I can see the summit clearly now. “You keep your composure in any and all situations? Stay polite?”

  “Of course I do. I’m a Southern belle.”

  “That right?”

  “That’s so right.”

  “Okay.” I smirk, and give her a look that lets her know something is coming. When we crest the top of the trailhead a minute later, looking over the steaming springs and the mountain behind them, I scoop Lucy up, toss her over my shoulder, and bolt down the path toward the water.

  Lucy’s shrieking, banging on my back. I hold onto her tightly, taking her down into my arms when we reach the dock and swinging her around in a circle.

  “Noooo,” she wails, clutching my shoulders. “You can’t throw me in!”

  I chuckle. Then I toss her.

  The springs feel great. I know they do. They’re always the same temperature, and we have them checked regularly for bacteria and things like that.

  Lucy comes up with a gasp, then starts flailing on the side of the dock, shrieking like a girl and struggling to get up. I can tell she’s okay, so I start to strip my shirt and pants off.

  I’m in my boxer-briefs by the time she gets onto the dock and lunges at me. I think about moving at the last second, so she falls back into the springs, but I can’t seem to make my feet obey, so she bulldozes into my abs, wrapping her arms around my lower back and pushing me as hard as she can.

  I can’t help a chuckle.

  “Go, you heavy motherfucker!” She pushes harder, and we both go into the water.

  I let go of her as soon as we’re both submerged, then start feeling for her with my hands. She’s wearing clothes; I saw her swim on TV so I know she’s a strong swimmer, but… There.

  I brush against her arm, blink, and see her treading water out in front of me, long strands of hair pasted to her cheeks and forehead, mouth in an “o” of pseudo-fury.

  “Liam, you dirty bastard!”

  Something about hearing her say “motherfucker” and “bastard” in that sweet, drawling voice makes me laugh my ass off.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  She splashes my face.

  I can’t help grinning.

  “Tell me why! Because I’m wet—” she splashes me again— “and in my clothes?”

  I chuckle. “Maybe.”

  She treads closer to me, swatting at my hair; then her fingers catch a piece and she tugs.

  “Ow!”

  She splashes me again, then swims off in a huff. Then turns around and raises both eyebrows, giving me a look of mock fury. “This friendship is over.”

  I know she’s just joking, but my chest tightens a little.

  “Don’t say that, now.”

  “Oh, it’s over. You ambushed me!”

  “For a good cause.”

  “And w
hat’s that, pray tell?”

  I smile slowly. “So I can see you when you get out.”

  “I’m taking your dry clothes!”

  “That’s why I took them off.”

  She raises one brow.

  “What? I’m a gentleman.”

  She swims a little closer, splashes me again. “I won’t fall for that act again.”

  And now it’s my turn: I tread closer to her, close enough so I can touch her; my fingers come down lightly on her collarbone. “Don’t say that, Lucille.”

  “Am I hurting your feelings?” She shoots me a skeptical look.

  “Maybe you are,” I tell her softly. But I’m smiling. Because being with her makes me fucking smile. I can’t control it.

  Now it’s Lucy’s turn to come nearer. I feel her foot brush my calf, then her fingertip is dragging lightly down the bridge of my nose. “Don’t be sad.” She runs her finger over my nose once more. “Did you break it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How old were you?” She moves her finger; I can feel the echo of her touch after it’s gone.

  “Not very.”

  “Was it sports?”

  I tread water a little harder. “Not exactly.”

  “There’s a story here. I can tell.”

  Fuck me, but I’m not quick enough to fabricate one. Not with Lucy throwing me off the way she does.

  I realize that I’ve got my lips pressed shut, something the family PR people are constantly schooling me on, but which I’ve done so often, the media has learned to make a fuss over. It makes my dimples show.

  “Oh, so not a fun story,” she says softly.

  She’s right in front of me, not even two feet away. Little ripples from the fanning of her arms under the water crest over my pecs. And suddenly, I want to pull her closer. Close enough that she can’t see my face, but I can feel the softness of her breasts against my chest.

  Instead, I back up just a little, and I try my best to give a little smirk.

  “Wait—now you said you were little. It couldn’t be a funny sexcapade. Could it?”

  My eyes shut briefly on their own. I pry them open, force my face to remain neutral. “Just an accident. Nothing exciting.”

  “So what happened?”

  That was what he said. I try to swallow and I find I can’t, so I turn around.

  “Fuck, was that a fish?” I choke out.

  “Oh God, are there fish in here? Big ones? Like Loch Ness monsters?”

  There I have my save. I go under, swimming deep and blinking in the green water until I see her flailing feet. Then, of course, I grab one—grab a toe. I watch her body bob, as if she’s trying to jump out of the water. By the time I surface, laughing, that hot feeling in my head is gone.

  Lucy smacks me in the shoulder, mimes slapping my cheek.

  “I’m going to get you, Liam. I’m going to get you really good, when you’re not expecting it.”

  “I’ll be expecting it.” I smirk.

  Lucy splashes me. I’m grinning as I rub my wrist over my eyes.

  “You get feisty.”

  “Don’t you call me feisty, Mr. Prince Boy.”

  That makes me laugh. I find myself closing the distance between us, reaching out for her and wrapping both my hands around her forearms.

  “You have little arms.”

  “Maybe you just have big hands,” she murmurs.

  I can tell she wants me by the way her face relaxes—too much; I can almost see her eyes slip shut, her tongue slide out over her lips. I’m hard as hell and I just want to set her on the dock and fuck her brains out.

  No.

  I let her go. Lucy looks a little flustered for a minute, slightly awkward, like being close to me has made her nervous.

  Good, says the part of me I need to silence.

  I watch her as she treads water, moving in a circle so her back’s away from me and she can see the peak.

  “So tell me more about making apps.” She turns back toward me. “Does it take a lot of time?”

  I shake my head. “I do most of the coding and designing in the first phase by myself, with Todd helping at times. The development—the broader things to get something ready for distribution—that’s not my part. I don’t test or package anything. That’s all done by teams that Todd runs.”

  “But that first phase, you enjoy it?”

  “I like building things.”

  “Is your cousin impressed?”

  I shrug. “He always knew I liked that kind of shit.”

  Lucy nods slowly, stretching out on her back. “So does he usually live at the castle, Heath I mean?”

  “We both travel around a lot, but he’s there some.”

  “Where is he right now, again?”

  I tell her about him playing for the country’s polo team.

  “Wait—you used to play too, didn’t you?” She shifts from her back, so she’s submerged in the springs again.

  “I did.”

  “You quit?”

  I nod.

  “Just tired of it?”

  I nod. Liar.

  “So this summer you guys traveled a lot.”

  “Yeah. Everywhere.”

  “And you’ve been chilling at the castle since then? By yourself? I swear, I always pictured you having a harem.”

  I arch an eyebrow, making a mysterious face.

  “I bet there has been one, at one point.”

  “I prefer just one.” I grin.

  She splashes me. “You flirt.”

  “I thought I was a slut.”

  She splashes me again. “You are. A slutty flirt.”

  But I can tell she likes me. I can tell she wants me. I swim behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. “You like it.” I feel her backside wiggle against my cock and swallow back a groan.

  Before I lose my shit and rub myself against her, I shift myself away, treading water while I work her pony-tail out of the hair it’s still holding. My hand covers her nape, and I lean closer to her ear.

  “Go under, Luce.”

  She does, and when she comes back up, her hair is floating all around her. I rub a palm over the plume of silk.

  Then, before I find her mouth with mine, I swim around in front of her again and shift so that I’m floating on my back.

  “Tell me something about you, Lucille Rhodes. Something no one knows.”

  She treads beside me, pressing her lips together thoughtfully. “Hmmmm. Well. I rode my bike without training wheels on the first try.” She gives me a bright smile.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep.” She nods. “I was a very athletic child. Not sure what happened.”

  Nothing. I watched enough Rhodes of Concord to know that. On this one episode, she was skateboarding, having never tried it before. Rather than ask about that and reveal exactly how many episodes I watched, I change the subject slightly. “What was it like to be the youngest?”

  “Annoying. I wore everyone else’s clothes as a little kid, especially Celia’s—since we have similar coloring, and we were born a month apart.”

  “When’s your birthday?”

  “May twenty-fifth.”

  “So you’re a…Taurus?”

  She shakes her head. “Gemini. What about you?”

  “You don’t know my birthday?”

  “No.” She splashes me. “You bighead. Do all the other girls know it? Do they send flowers?”

  “Of course.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You get courted pretty hard, huh?”

  I smirk, because I have a dick and she said hard.

  “Oh, give me a break. But you really do, don’t you? I bet your whole life has been a long line of women throwing themselves at you. They probably know your birthday and your favorite color and your family history and all your old polo stats.”

  “You know it’s true.”

  “They want to be a princess or a queen.” She makes a face, in which her nose scrunches. “Blame Disney.”

  I loo
k at the veil of trees that fringe the water’s nearest edge, considering for not the first time who exactly is to blame—or what. Of course, the answer is no one and nothing. It’s just human nature to want what you can’t have. “I’m surprised so many people want those things to be part of their real life,” I finally say.

  “I know, right. It’s so weird, how people see something like that—like royalty, or like a TV show—and want it to be totally real. As if it really is just some fairy tale. It’s a fantasy. We had our moments with the show—I think my family still does, for sure—but it’s got to be worse when you’re an honest-to-God royal.” She paddles on her back, and I stretch out and kick, so I can stay beside her. “How did your family come to power anyway? Anointed by the faeries?”

  I can’t help smiling. “What do you think?”

  She reaches out and thumps my bicep. “Tell me. I don’t know, you goose.”

  “A war,” I tell her, smiling at the audacity of being called ‘goose’. “In 1494, the island was sparsely populated. A few dozen what you might call Irish lived here, descendants of those who came in the twelfth century. There were also several Scottish clans—war-like groups of people who had been here when the Irish arrived, run out of Scotland, most of them. But the Irish and the Scottish Gaels had made their peace, and even intermarried some. And then, in late 1494, the English came, under Henry VII. My family’s clan, the Gaels, was a mixture of wild Scots and the immigrating Irish, who’d intermarried. They were settled near Clary.

  “The legend goes, my many-times-great grandfather, the leader of the clan, rode across a bridge on horseback, leading an army, and defeated the small group of English. Mind you, they weren’t necessarily here to fight.” I arch my brows, and Lucy shakes her head, smiling just a little like she finds all this amusing.

  “There’s a volcano on the mountain range, don’t know if you noticed, but no one knew at the time it was inactive. My grandfather and his crew wailed on the English, then retreated—screaming about the volcano erupting. So the legend goes, it was a dark day, with very dark clouds. The English bought it, and they made a hasty exit. From that point forward, the other clans revered him. And so he became the King of Gael. His son perpetuated the myth by sucking up to the regional religious powers, which by the time of the fifteenth century did include some Catholics.”