Hello.

It was a good thing I wasn’t still carrying the tea tray because I would have dropped the whole thing all over the floor. Whoever he was, he had been toweling his hair off when he walked into the room, so he hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t his “mate.”

But I noticed him. Oh, dear god did I notice him.

He was tall and lean and built. And naked. Did I mention the totally naked part?

It had been a long time since I had seen a naked man. And the last naked man I had seen had nothing on this guy. He was big. All over. He was all muscle, his bicep flexing as he rubbed the towel over his still obscured face. His legs were strong and covered in a dusting of dark hair. He had a six-pack, possibly an eight-pack, though I’d need to move in closer to confirm that. My foot took an automatic step towards him before I could stop myself. Of course, that was the exact moment he pulled his towel away from his face.

“You’re not Declan,” he said, looping the towel over his shoulders, totally unconcerned with his nudity.

I shook my head, telling myself to keep my eyes on his face.

Not that it was that difficult. It was a damn good-looking face. Blue eyes that had a naughty twinkle to them, dimples in each cheek, a square jaw, and a head of messy black hair. He was better than Henry Cavill and Tom Hardy combined.

“I’m lost,” I blurted out, realizing I had just been standing there staring at him for who knows how long.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you certain?” he asked, finally wrapping the towel around his waist. “Because I’m pretty sure you look like my good luck charm.”

I blushed.

“I’m looking for the equipment manager’s office,” I stammered.

He reached for a pile of clothes that was sitting on a bench nearby.

“Jeff?” he asked before shaking his head. “Naw, Jeff doesn’t deserve a visit from a pretty American girl like you.”

His accent practically made me swoon. Not that his looks hadn’t gotten me halfway there already.

“Me, on the other hand . . .” He pulled on a pair of shorts and, regrettably, a shirt. “I’ve been very, very good lately.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” The retort came out before I could stop it.

He laughed and the sound made my nipples hard. He was so gorgeous. And he was looking at me like he thought I was pretty fantastic as well. Or like he was a lion and I was a gazelle. Either way, I was feeling very, very flushed. And wishing more and more that I had some of Paige’s flirtation skills.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“What’s yours?” I wanted to know.

His eyebrows went up as if he was surprised. But he recovered quickly, and held out a hand.

“I’m Charlie,” he told me.

His hand was rough and warm. Sexy. I couldn’t help imagining what it would feel like against my skin. All over my skin.

“Emmy.” I released him and stepped back. Focus, I told myself. You still have to do your job. You still have a tea tray to deliver. “I, um, should go,” I told him.

“Now that’s a shame.” He sat down to pull on a pair of shoes.

“If you could just tell me how to get to the equipment manager’s office, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Would you believe I don’t mind you in my hair?” he asked, his blue eyes twinkling.

I couldn’t stop blushing. But he was so, so hot.

“I really should take this to him.” I gestured toward the tray.

“He’s three doors over.” Charlie had finished putting on his shoes and stood. “To the left.”

“Thank you.” I was about to turn, but he put his hand on my arm.

Sparks of electricity shot through me. My knees wobbled, but I managed to stay upright.

“You know, I have a tradition.” He moved closer to me, and I could feel heat coming off his body. My heart pounded in my chest. “Something I like to do for good luck.”

“Oh?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but failing completely.

He grinned. “Oh yeah.” He came even closer, his hand sliding down to my hip. “I don’t suppose you’d like to help me out with this tradition.”

“Depends on what it is.” My voice sounded all breathy.

“Just a little kiss,” said Charlie. “For luck.”

I realized then that he was wearing a white tennis uniform. I was in the locker room with a Wimbledon player who wanted to kiss me for luck. It was crazy. It was unreal. It was something that would happen to Paige, not to me.

But it was happening to me. And suddenly all the reasons I had given myself and Paige about why I wasn’t interested in a fling totally flew out the window.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed Charlie’s shirt in my hands and gave him the best good-luck kiss I could muster.

His lips were firm and hot against mine. If he was surprised by my forwardness, he didn’t dwell on it, immediately taking charge of the kiss. His arm went around my waist, pulling me flush against him as he ran his tongue along the seam of my lips. Mmmm . . . I could feel his muscles flex beneath my hands, which I had uncurled, spreading my fingers across his chest as he deepened the kiss. His tongue tangled with mine and his other hand slid downward, cupping my ass and hauling me even tighter against his body.

Damn.

It was the best kiss I’d ever had in my life and I couldn’t get enough. He tasted all male, sweat and heat, his tongue taking control of my mouth. He knew exactly what he wanted and I was more than happy to give it to him. I had never felt so desired—the evidence of this pressing hard against my stomach.

Arching against him, I felt him groan and it empowered me. I slid my hands upward, twisting in his damp hair, wanting more, more, more.

Through the haze of desire, I heard the door open behind us.

“Davenport!” a voice barked, forcing us apart.

Standing in the doorway was a man in his mid-forties with a frown on his face.

“What the bloody hell is this?” he demanded.

I felt my face go red, and I crossed my arms over my chest, staring down at the floor as if I had been caught doing something bad. Which, technically, I probably had been. Or had been about to be doing.

“Just a little kiss for luck, Coach.” Charlie put his arm around my waist, but I scooted away, reality sinking in.

This was so embarrassing. So unlike me. I didn’t just make out with guys I had barely met! Guys who I had seen naked only a few moments before. This was all happening out of order. And it wasn’t supposed to be happening at all.

“I should go,” I murmured, keeping my eyes down.

Before anyone could stop me, I had grabbed the tea tray and edged out the door. It didn’t take long to find the equipment manager’s office after that, and he was kind enough to give me clear directions on how to get back to the tent, even though I was certain his tea was far past cold by now.

I walked back to the tent feeling as if I was in a daze. What had just happened? I wasn’t fully convinced it actually had happened. I had been in London less than twenty-four hours and I had already kissed someone? It took me eighteen years to get my first kiss, and that one hadn’t been half as good as the one I had just shared with Charlie.

Charlie. A guy I didn’t even know.

“You look flushed,” Jules said when I got back to the tent.

I nodded and she poured me another glass of water.

“There you are!” Paige came over, looping her arm through mine. “Where have you been? I have to train you before people start arriving!”

It was the perfect distraction. I had worked at a coffee shop during college, but I quickly learned that American coffee was nothing compared to British tea. Especially cream tea, which involved scones, jam, and something called clotted cream. Even with a couple of seasons watching The Great British Baking Contest under my belt, there was a lot of new information to absorb, and it was exactly what I needed to keep myself from replaying the kiss over and over in my mind.

“Phew.” Paige leaned against the table once the rush of customers had thinned and the first match had started. “Exciting, isn’t it?” she asked.

I nodded, keeping my attention on clearing the dirty dishes left on the tables. Paige and I were best friends. There wasn’t much I could keep from her. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell her about what had happened with Charlie, but for some reason I didn’t want to tell her just yet. I wanted to keep it to myself. Just for a little longer.

“Come on.” She took my arm. “Let’s go spy on the games for a little bit.”

I didn’t know much about tennis, but Paige was a fanatic. We snuck over to the court, standing in the aisle towards the back, straining to see what was happening. I could barely see the players, but Paige, who was several inches taller than me, apparently had a better view since she was able to give me a play-by-play.

“Oh! The prince is playing,” she squealed. “I was hoping to see him. Everyone has been talking about him.”

“The prince?” I asked. “There’s a prince here?”

“Third or fourth in line for the throne,” Paige said with a wave of her hand as if that was nothing. “He’s supposedly a beast on the field. All passion, no polish.” Her eyes were darting back and forth. “But damn, he’s got passion in spades. Check it out.” She pushed me forward.

I stood on my toes, trying to get a glimpse of the field. I saw the net first, then one of the players, a tall red-headed guy, sweating and flailing as he struggled to return each volley.

“Which one is the prince?” I asked, still unable to see the other player.

“The brunette,” Paige pointed.

I finally found him, and my knees buckled. Because the prince was none other than the person I had just been playing tonsil tennis with.

Charlie Davenport.

AKA, His Royal Highness Charles Edward Alexander Davenport the Third.