“Because we fucked?” she asked with a devilish grin. “If you call missionary position under the blankets with the lights out fucking,” she said, chuckling against the glass at her lips, “then I feel sorry for you and the sex life you must live now.”
Touché. The girl was still as witty as ever. And once again, my cock jerked with the knowledge that she too wanted more out of fucking than vanilla, concealed, bashful banging like two innocent, naïve teenagers would do. She just revealed to me that she wanted to really fuck. And I was just the man to give it to her.
Silas cleared his throat. “Sir, if you don’t mind. I think I will go find a seat at the bar and give you two some time to catch up.”
I nodded at Silas with a large smile. “Go right ahead, my man. Order whatever you want. Just add it to my account. Cigars, booze”—I cleared my own throat—“ladies. Whatever you want. You earned it. You delivered my soon-to-be wife safe and sound. There’s vodka and caviar in the ice room. Also, I have my own keep in the humidor room that you are free to utilize. I do know you enjoy those luxuries from time to time.”
I didn’t have to tell Silas twice. Before I could continue, he was up and excusing himself with as much etiquette as a dirty old bastard on a mission could do.
“I see you are still the spoiled rich boy you always were,” Cheri said as Silas left.
“Rich man,” I corrected with some force. “I am an extremely rich man. And it won’t be long until you’ll see how much of a man I truly am.”
“By forcing me to marry you? Or by forcing me to fuck you?”
“Oh trust me, my Cheri. I won’t be forcing the fucking. You’ll be begging for it.”
“Ha!” she snorted. “You are so full of yourself, Roman.” She shook her head, but I could see the smile she was struggling to hide. She’d always liked when I was an arrogant asshole. It had amused her.
“You miss me. Admit it,” I said as I reached out for her thin and delicate fingers.
She glanced at my hand but didn’t take it. “No. Not in the slightest.” Her lip quivered. It always quivered when she lied. She was still so easy to read. Some things never changed.
“You do. You may have left to play hobo in Mexico, but you miss this. You miss me.”
She shook her head again, but her lip still quivered. “Costa Rica. I was in Costa Rica, and no, I didn’t miss you one bit.” She looked around the club and sighed. “I definitely didn’t miss this opulent bullshit. That’s for sure.”
I watched her eyes as she perused the room again. “No, you never did like all the fancy shit. But I know you missed me.”
She glanced my way and shrugged as she finished the last of her bourbon in one sensual gulp. I couldn’t help but imagine her swallowing my seed instead.
“Welcome back to royalty, Cheri. Welcome back to me.”
Chapter Three
Cheri
Was it possible to hate a man but want to fuck him at the same time? I couldn’t blame tequila on this one, or the fact that he was a vagabond. Roman was definitely not a Costa Rican vagabond. He was simply an asshole. A sexy as fuck asshole. And the truth of the matter was, I didn’t hate him. I didn’t hate him at all. It practically killed me to admit that to myself. Things would have been so much easier had I truly hated the man.
And he was right. I did miss him. I hadn’t realized I did until the minute I laid eyes on his dark hair. I remembered how it used to curl at the ends after a day of hanging out at the pool sipping on lemon coolers squeezed from fruit we had picked fresh off the royal grounds ourselves. And his brown eyes. I remembered how they used to stare into mine with such a boyish naivety when we were young. And his smile. It had always been so easy to make him smile and laugh. There was no effort at all in getting Roman to release a big belly laugh that always made me giggle right alongside of him. He was my best friend. We sometimes would play with Roman’s brothers, but they were older than we were and always preoccupied with something else. We were basically all we had in the crazy and sheltered lives we were forced to live—almost as if we were rare birds trapped in a gilded cage. As children growing up—only two years apart in age—we knew we were arranged to be married. Everything was planned out for us to the finest detail. Not a single decision was to be our own. But we paid little attention to all that stuffy nonsense at that age. All we cared about was playing, having fun, and running wild while the palace staff had to chase us down. It had been the perfect childhood. Our idyllic kingdom.
Then we grew up. Friendship got confusing—really fucking confusing. We had sexual urges, and desires we couldn’t understand. Hanging out at the pool was different. It felt different. Our eyes wandered and lingered in places we both had never paid attention to before. We both wanted more. And eventually we had more. So much more. Prince Roman was my first kiss at the age of sixteen under a starry sky with the call of gulls and slap of waves in the background creating our soundtrack. He was my first sexual experience at the age of eighteen in one of the guest rooms in the palace during one of the many parties the palace hosted. We both had a little too much to drink, but it had felt right… it was right. Prince Roman was my first everything.
And here he was—years later. Sitting in a leather chair with the twinkling chandelier above his head casting little rays of light that highlighted his perfectly chiseled face. No doubt that beneath his black suit, with his collar opened just enough to show his rich sun-kissed skin beneath it, his body was just as chiseled.
I wanted him. More than I had ever wanted a vagabond in a coastal bar in the midnight hours, and that was truly saying something.
“My mother. Why?” I asked as a lump formed in the back of my throat. “Silas told me you purchased the estate to save it from foreclosure, and that you are funding her lifestyle.”
The cocky smirk washed off his face as he took a slow sip of his drink. Was he buying time to come up with the right answer? “It’s no big deal.”
But it was a big deal. A very big deal.
“May I have another drink?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. Should I thank him? I certainly couldn’t have saved the estate nor keep my mother in the lap of luxury. I had a trust that I’d sworn I’d never touch, determined I could make it on my own. But, even if I did liquidate it, the money wouldn’t have made a dent in what was no doubt owed. But then because of Roman’s act of kindness, he owned me. He had the control. He knew what he was doing. He knew. This was all a calculated plan. It was how the royals worked. Everything about them had always been calculated, and clearly Prince Roman was no different than the rest.
“So why? Why did you do it? So you could force me into marrying you? Blackmail of sorts?”
“Is that what you think?” he asked calmly. “That I would force you into marrying me?”
“Well, aren’t you?”
Roman didn’t answer my question but rather signaled for the waitress to bring us more drinks. This was dangerous. Bourbon and Roman were going to lead to bad things. Very bad things. I could feel it.
“Are you still writing?” he asked.