AN HOUR HAS PASSED BEFORE I realize it, and Spearmint has worked up a good sweat. “I think that is enough exercise for you today, boy. Sabina will be scolding me.” I slow him to a steady walk, shifting myself in the saddle on a hiss of discomfort. “And my backside can’t take much more friction,” I tell him as we head back to the stables, stopping at the water trough where I swing my leg over his saddle and jump down.
“He looked good,” Sabina calls across the courtyard, her arms full of tack.
“He did beautifully.” I assure her as she nears. “Is everything okay, Sabina? With Colin, I mean.”
“Yes. Doctor Goodridge was giving me an update.” She gives me one of her famous soft smiles and carries on her way.
I let Spearmint get his fill of water before I lead him to his stable and strip him down. Slipping his saddle over the stable door, I pull off his cloth and spend some time brushing him. I need to do this more often. It’s so therapeutic. I reluctantly finish on his mane, stopping before I brush him until he disappears. “You’ll do,” I say, smacking him lightly on his muscled rump.
“Is it my turn for a rubdown?”
I swing around and find Josh with his forearms resting on Spearmint’s saddle where it hangs over the half-height stable door. “Oh bloody hell,” I mumble, not nearly as quietly as intended. My relaxed, serene state quickly changes to tense and shaky, and my bucking heart does not assist in helping me fix that. Josh’s grin is almost angelic, contradicting the devilish intentions in his eyes. And just like that, I am ambushed, not only by countless flashbacks, but by a formidable desire I really don’t want to feel.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
“How did you get in here?” I ask, taking my brush back to Spearmint, ignoring the fact that his skin is probably numb from being groomed so much already.
“Why are you ignoring my calls?”
“Maybe because I don’t want to speak with you. Again, what are you doing here?”
“The King offered my dad the use of one of his horses.”
His rough accent drips over me in the most infuriatingly pleasing way. “That was very kind of him.”
“I thought so, too.”
I hear the bolt of the stable door slide. Oh no. My hand falters in its sweeping motion across Spearmint’s coat. “You shouldn’t come in here.” It is way too cozy already.
Of course, he completely ignores me. “You don’t sound happy to see me.”
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
I breathe in and force myself to face him, except now I have the full length of him, and the sight, in addition to his stunning face, is all too lovely. His cream chinos are a perfect fit, and with his shirt hanging out, he looks all relaxed and yummy. And his hair . . .
I drag myself back from the brink of pathetic and level Josh with a cool expression. “I am rather busy.”
“Is that an answer to my question? Because if so, I won’t get in your way.”
“You are already in my way,” I retort as he steps forward and I step back. He stops and smiles, and then takes one more step forward. Instinctively, I move back. My only escape is around the back of Spearmint, and being behind a horse should be avoided at all costs. And it seems now the cost is my dignity, because if I remain here a moment longer, there is a huge chance I may grab Josh Jameson and tackle him to the hay. I can’t seem to control myself around this man. It’s dangerous. Possibly more dangerous than escaping him around the back of Spearmint. Damn it!
“You won’t even know I’m here.” He pulls an imaginary zip across his mouth.
“Not likely,” I mutter to myself, facing my fear and walking forward. I stop before him when he doesn’t move, cocking my head and fighting back the want consuming me. I knew this would happen. I just knew I would wind up wanting him again. It doesn’t make much sense to me. “Excuse me,” I say politely.
Josh steps back, opening up my path, and I make quick work of collecting Spearmint’s tack before escaping the stable. The huge horse isn’t the only thing taking up all the space. It is also the thick chemistry, and it’s overpowering. I scuttle to the tack room, holding everything in my arms tightly to avoid revealing my trembles. Christ, why him? Why does his mere presence have my heart racing like a pathetic little school girl with a crush?
“You look fuckin’ awesome in your riding gear, by the way,” Josh says casually.
I dump the saddle on the saddle horse with far less care than I should, and loop the tack over a hook hanging from the ceiling. “Thank you.” I wander over to the sink and fill it with warm water.
“Want some help?” Josh appears next to me, brushing my arm with his, forcing me to put some space between our close bodies.
“You want to help me clean tack?” I ask, amused, grabbing a sponge and plunging it into the water. I squeeze it out and make my way to the saddle horse, Josh on my tail.
“Yes, I want to help.”
I start to wipe over the leather, my eyes dancing between the saddle and Josh, who is roaming the room with his hands buried in his chino pockets, casually looking around. “What do you know about horses and their care?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he admits, turning his eyes onto me. They’re bright blue today. I could melt under that gaze. Quite easily. “But you can teach me.”
I laugh, looking away from him before I do actually melt, and concentrate on cleaning Spearmint’s saddle. “You want me to teach you about horses?”
“Yes. Seems fair, since I gave you a few lessons last night.”
My working hands pause, and I look at him. Don’t ask! “Lessons?”
His smile is smug and victorious. “In submission, Your Highness.”
“Excuse me?” I choke.
“You heard.”
“I think I heard.”
“Oh, you heard.” He meanders over to me, placing himself on the other side of the saddle horse. There is a huge wooden stand between us, but it still feels like he could be touching me, and my skin erupts in tingles. He smiles, like he is aware of my condition. “The notoriously headstrong Princess of England is submissive,” Josh whispers. “Who would’ve thought?”
“I am not submissive,” I argue weakly, remembering how I succumbed to his every demand, how I took everything he dished out to me, and how I willed him on, begged for it.
Loved it.
The sense of freedom, the weightlessness, the relief of surrendering control. Of not having to think, just do. Of being at someone’s mercy, and most significantly, wanting to be. The whole time I was lost in Josh Jameson, bending to his will, I didn’t feel the stifling containment of my everyday existence. I was free. I want to feel free again.
I swallow and glance down, disturbed by my revelation. I have never once considered submitting power to a man in the bedroom. Why would I when I fight so hard to keep it in my life? But I guess, now I am enlightened, I should ask myself if it is built into me, or whether my apparent subservient nature is reserved only for Josh Jameson. “What do you want to know about horses?” I ask quietly, my mind sprinting.
“Everything you can tell me.” He fondles with the bridle hanging from the ceiling hook, and I just know he is imagining tying me up with it, maybe even whipping my arse with it. I swallow and shift in my stance, feeling my tight jodhpurs rubbing at my sensitive bottom. “What’s this?” he asks.
“That is a brow band.”
“And this?”
“A throat lash.”
Josh’s eyes widen, and I hear the thrash of my belt connecting with my upper thigh. “Lash,” he whispers.
I make a hasty getaway from his suggestive gaze, tossing my sponge in the sink, grabbing the pot of saddle soap, and swiping a clean sponge around the inside of the container. “Anything else?” I rub at the leather of the saddle like a madwoman.
“What’s this?” he asks, fingering a metal piece of the tack.
“A bit. It goes in the horse’s mouth.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Oiling the leather.”
“With?”
“Glycerin.”
“Oh,” he says, drawing out the word on a long exhale as he swipes a fingertip across the seat of the saddle. “Like lubricant, right?”
I stop and inhale, straightening and facing his cheeky smile. He’s adorable in the most annoying fashion. “Yes, like lubricant.”
“Wow. Throat lashes, mouth bits, lubricants.” He gazes around the tack room languidly, before dropping those starry eyes onto me. “A sexy princess, too. I think I might like it around here.”
I breathe out on a laugh, astounded by his front. “You are a cocky American arsehole, Josh Jameson.”
He’s around the saddle horse in a flash, seizing me and pinning me against the nearest wall. I don’t get a moment to gather my bearings, or to warn him off. Not that I want to. His hard body is flush with mine—touching everywhere—and it feels amazing.
Nose to nose with me, lips almost touching, he breathes in my face. “Actually, I’m a cocky American asshole. But whatever. To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
My smile is unstoppable, and so is the want flooding me.
“Kiss me, Your Highness,” he whispers, and that’s all it takes. One order, and I am his. I push my lips to his and drop the sponge in my hand so I can hold his shoulders. Soft lips roam mine, a soft tongue swirls through my mouth, and his body softens against me, molding to my every curve, fitting perfectly. He smiles around my mouth—happy he has me—and nibbles gently on my bottom lip. It is worlds away from the command he had over me last night, but commanding nonetheless. And the sense of freedom that sweeps through my body with the pleasure indicates I really am in trouble here. His soft touch caresses my cheek as his eyes wander across my face. “How’s your ass?” he asks, sliding a palm down to my bottom and stroking gently. “Sore?”
“Yes.”
“Regret it?”
“No.”
He grins and smacks me lightly on my bottom. “Me neither.”
“You hardly suffered.” I laugh, pushing him off my body to free myself. We’re at the stables. Anyone could walk right in at any second.
“I assure you, I suffered.”
“How?”
“When I left,” he answers candidly, and I shoot him a surprised look. His shoulders shrug under his shirt, his smile shy and boyish. “Don’t make a big deal of it.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“You didn’t want to leave?”
“It was the last thing I wanted to do, actually.”
I don’t know what to do with that information. Or even know what to say, and I think Josh must sense that because he jumps in with a quick subject change. “So, you gonna teach me how to ride, or what?”
“Yes,” I answer without thought, because—and maybe I should be worried about this—I want to spend more time with him. More time when he is not whipping me into submission, that is.
Josh smiles, a knowing smile, one that I mirror on a shake of my head. What has this man got me doing? “We’ll call it our first date,” he declares, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Where do we start?”
“We need to saddle up.”
His rubbing hands cease to rub, his eyebrow hitching in interest. “I like the sound of that.”
“Of course you do.” I laugh, fetching Stan’s saddle.
“Stan?” Josh questions, looking at his name above the wooden peg. “What about Spearmint?”
“He’s in training. He has already been over exercised today.” I dump Stan’s saddle in Josh’s arms and grab his bridle. “And I don’t know him well enough to trust him with a beginner. Stan’s reliable. I know him best after riding him for the past seven years.”
“Lucky Stan,” Josh quips, following me back through the stables. “What do I have to do to earn those privileges?”
“What, me riding you every day?” I ask over my shoulder, laughing when Josh moves the saddle down over his groin area, giving me a warning look. The thrilling feeling of knowing I can have the same effect on him as he does on me satisfies me deeply. “Okay?” I ask.
His jaw tenses from his clenched teeth. “Ever got the feeling you might regret something?”
I laugh on the inside, hysterical laughter, because there is a potentially huge regret following me. “As a matter of fact, yes.” I offload Stan’s bridle and relieve Josh of the saddle. “You need to change.”
Josh looks down his front. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Those trousers don’t look like they have much stretch.”
He bends at the knees until they pull taut. “Sure they have.”
“Suit yourself.” I continue saddling Stan, quick and efficient after years of practice.
“What’s that you’re doing?” Josh asks, making me smile. He’s like an inquisitive child.
“Making sure Stan’s girth strap is not too tight.” I slip two fingers between the leather and his ribs. “Always two fingers.”
“Two fingers? This gets better.”
“You are incorrigible.” I chuckle, nodding to the stable door for Josh to open, which he does speedily on a charming smile.
“Your Highness.”
“Thank you,” I say as I pass him, tugging Stan’s side reins until he clip-clops after me. “Sir.”
“Adeline.” My name is a warning, delivered slow and clearly, and I secretly smile, playing Josh Jameson’s game with way too much ease. “If you’re lucky”—Josh falls into stride beside me, dipping to get his mouth close to my ear—“for letting me ride your horse, I might let you ride me later.”
“Very lucky me,” I whisper back, every nerve ending in my body sizzling electrifyingly. I am struggling so badly to repel the effect he has on me. His game is too easy to play, too much fun, and the sense of abandon is all too addictive. I pull Stan to a stop where the hats are stored, grabbing mine from the hook before selecting a suitable one for Josh. “I’m really not sure if we have a hat that’ll fit your big head,” I say seriously, scanning the rows.
He grabs me around the waist and sinks his face into my neck, mauling me, making me shriek with a mixture of shock and undeniable enjoyment. “Very funny.”
I smile like mad, turning my face to his, being blinded by the sparkle that greets me. Eyes locked, breaths suddenly strained, we stare at each other, my smile slowly falling away. It’s a game, Adeline. Josh plays games. But my thoughts wobble when Josh starts to lower his mouth to mine, and suddenly, the only thought running rampant in my mind is how amazing it is going to feel with his lips on mine again, to taste him, savor him. His flesh has barely brushed mine when a loud clatter sounds, snapping me from my carelessness. I withdraw and scan our surroundings for peeking eyes. We’re alone.
Goodness, how stupid of me. But Josh makes being stupid easy. Almost . . . right. Grabbing a hat, I hand it to him, but he doesn’t take it. “This looks like it will fit.”
“I want you to put it on,” he declares quietly, closing the distance I’ve put between us.
I try not to let his request faze me, handing him my own hat to hold so I can follow his request. He takes it and dips a fraction, allowing me to rest the hat on his head. “Lift your chin,” I order softly, having to bat down my admiration when his throat stretches, presenting me with the challenge of not licking his taut, stubbled skin. My fingers work fast adjusting the straps, that wretched tremble returning and making my task trickier than it should be. My eyes jump up to his, finding him watching me closely.
“Concentrate,” he commands on a small smile. “It’ll hurt like a motherfucker if you pinch my skin in that clip.”
“Please, do not tempt me,” I warn, pursing my lips playfully. It will be a small price for him to pay for the torture he put me through last night. And I don’t mean the pain.
“Does it suit me?” he asks.
“Very much so.”
“How come your hat has a fancy red cover with a gold emblem, and mine’s plain, boring black?”
“Because I am a princess.” I step back and take my hat from his hands, putting it on. “The emblem is the British Monarchy’s coat of arms. The cloth is a silk.”
“Silk, leather . . .”
I grin and reclaim Stan’s reins. “Come on.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I lead Stan on, bringing him to a stop by the giant mounting block, while Josh tails me, faffing with the strap under his chin, constantly stretching his neck, as if realizing my battle not to stare. Or touch. Or lick. “Climb up,” I order, shaking my thoughts away.
“Onto that?” he asks, eyeing the huge lump of concrete.
“Yes.”
“I see something better I’d like to climb,” he mumbles, going around the back of Stan.
It is terribly hard, especially after that almost smoldering kiss, but I disregard his cheeky wit. “Always give a horse a wide berth if you are behind them.”
Josh moves away speedily, eyeballing Stan with caution. “He’s a big dude, isn’t he?” He plods up the steps to the top of the mounting block.
“Seventeen hands.”
“You’re enjoying all this talking in code, aren’t you?”
“Not at all. Slip your foot into the stirrup,” I say, pointing to it.
“I know what that is.”
“Then do it.”
“Are you telling me what to do?”
“Yes, and I’m enjoying it. Don’t spoil my fun and do as you are told.” I smile a sweet smile. “Please, sir.”
His eyes narrow to warning slits, and I can literally see him mentally plotting his revenge. A revenge I will no doubt enjoy. Slipping the toe of his shoe into the stirrup, he searches for somewhere to hold.
“Here.” I take his left hand and place it on the pommel. “Use that to pull yourself up and throw your leg over the saddle.”
Josh does it with surprising grace. “Okay?” he asks.
“Okay. Just keep hold of the pommel.” I walk Stan a few steps away from the block so I can access both sides.
“Pommel?”
“Yes, and there is no sexual spin you can put on that.” I flip him a small smirk.
“Oh, I don’t know. Let me think about that one.”
I find myself laughing again. He’s just too cheeky for his own good. And handsome. And talented. “Drop your legs.”
“What?” Josh gives me surprised look. It is so totally false.
“Take your feet out of the stirrups and drop your legs. Your knees are too high. I need to adjust the stirrup leathers.”
Josh follows my order, and I push his leg back so I can flip the saddle flap. “Are you trying to spread my legs, Your Highness?”
I smile as I work, unbuckling the leathers to release them a few notches before taking his foot and placing it back in the stirrup. “Better?”
“Much.”
“Good.” I walk around to the other side and match it, and then stand at the front of Stan to make sure Josh’s legs are even. “Perfect.” Claiming the reins, I look up. “Ready?”
Josh smiles down at me. “Are you?”
I prepare to fire some smart counter, I’m not sure what, just something that will shut him up, but I am interrupted mid-thought when I hear the clip-clop of hooves from behind. I turn and find Senator Jameson leading Bob, one of our resident horses, out to the field by his reins.
“Hey, y’all,” he croons, his strong southern accent drawling, and so very different to Josh’s smooth, almost dulcet tone.
“Pops.” Josh definitely sighs through his greeting.
“Good morning, Senator Jameson,” I say politely.
“Your Highness.” He bows his head. “What a pleasure. I didn’t get the opportunity to speak with you at your garden party.” He eyes his son atop Stan with interest, and I look to Josh to find he is no longer looking cocky, and his lips are firmly shut.
“Heading out for a hack?” I ask Senator Jameson, wondering what has made Josh so quiet all of a sudden.
“Yes.” Josh’s father mounts Bob and gets himself comfortably and expertly into position. “I don’t ride nearly as much as I want to these days.”
All that’s missing from him is his cowboy hat, but then, as if by magic, it appears from a saddlebag and he pops it on his head. “Back to my roots on the ranch.” He winks, nodding to his son. “What’s my lovely boy roped you into?”
Roped? I flick Josh a nervous look, and, of course, he’s now sporting a devilish smirk. “A few riding lessons,” I reply.
“Lessons?” Senator Jameson belly laughs, looking at Josh with a shake of his head. “You ass.”
I frown and look at Josh, getting a sheepish disposition in return. And then it hits me. “You bugger,” I exclaim, smacking his leg. “You know perfectly well how to ride a horse.”
“Thanks, Pops,” Josh mutters, flipping off Stan in a swift, acrobatic move. “I thought you were already out in the fields.”
“On my way now, son.” He directs a warning glare Josh’s way before he clicks Bob on. “Have fun.”
I turn my narrowed eyes onto Josh. “You fraud.”
He laughs through a shrug. “I can’t help it. I like playing with you.”
“Lesson over,” I declare indignantly, marching on my way with Stan in tow.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Josh claims my arm and pulls me to a stop. “I’m not finished playing yet.”
“Well, I am.”
“C’mon, Adeline. Stop being so stuffy. Let’s ride together.” He lowers his chin when I deepen my scowl. “On Stan, I mean, of course.”
When he says ride together, I sense he does not mean him on one horse, me on another. I’m just about to declare it impossible for us to ride double due to Stan’s size, but, of course, I can’t now that I know Josh has an expansive equestrian knowledge. Any horse enthusiast would look at Stan’s sturdy frame and know he will carry both of us with ease. “I don’t think so.”
“I do.” He starts to unfasten Stan’s saddle, his motions quick and confident.
“You are surely not suggesting that we ride bareback?”
Josh bursts out laughing, and I cringe, wanting to grab the words and stuff them back into my stupid mouth. I know what is coming as he continues to strip Stan of his saddle, chuckling his way through his task. “I hope one day we can.” All this horse business is making being around Josh Jameson even harder. “You offering to take care of birth control?”
I balk at him. I honestly don’t think I have ever met such an arrogant male in my life. “You are assuming there will be another encounter.”
“Oh, I know there’ll be another encounter.” He unhooks Stan’s side reins from the D-rings and pulls his saddle off, pushing it into my hands. “We’re going for a romantic ride together, Your Highness. Go get a pillion saddle.”
I pout. Romantic? I would say it’d be impossible for Josh Jameson to be romantic, but I remember him cuddling into me last night after he had screwed me mindless, and I remember him wanting to fetch me water. Silly, but still. It was nice. And then I remember everything that came before that small window of affection. The dominance. The control he took with such ease. How much I loved surrendering to him. My heart flutters and those flutters work their way down to my tummy. “I think I’ll pass,” I say, stepping back. Josh Jameson is about as far from grace as I could fall. And, worse, I want to fall. Or throw myself off the edge. It is obscene for me to think that way, because I know it will result in an agonizing crash to the ground. I like him. Way too much for a princess to like a man like him. Because I will never be able to have him.
“What are you afraid of, Adeline?” Josh asks, his features softening. “Having real fun instead of the manufactured fun you claim maintains your free will?”
“I have fun,” I counter quietly. Unconvincingly.
He huffs a little bout of amusement, and then breathes in deeply, reaching for my cheek and stroking down my skin with the pad of his thumb. I close my eyes and relish his gentle touch, forgetting everything in that moment except for him. “I’m in London for a week. I like hangin’ out with you. Let’s make the most of it, yeah?”
I’m having the most fun that I’ve had in . . . forever. With someone I rather enjoy spending time with. What harm can a week do? “Yeah,” I breathe easily.
“Go get the pillion saddle,” he orders again, this time gently.
I back away and do what comes instinctively to me where Josh is concerned: what I’m told. Trekking to the stables, I hand Stan’s saddle to one of the stable girls and request a pillion one instead, then spend the few minutes it takes her to deliver it trying not to think about the potential deeper trouble I’m about to get myself into. A week. We are just hangin’ out, as he says.
“Would you like me to saddle him up, ma’am?” the girl asks when she returns.
“No need,” I say, getting on my way.
When I make it back to the courtyard, Josh is chatting to Stan. He looks up when I approach, taking the saddle and putting it on. “Stan and I are best friends,” Josh declares.
“He already has a best friend.” I frown at my beloved horse as I take a sugar lump from my gilet pocket and hold it out for him.
“Oh, playing dirty, are we?”
“Dirty is your way of playing, Josh.”
Slipping his foot into the stirrup, he swings himself into the saddle and holds his hand out to me. “Side-saddle, my lady?”
“No,” I laugh, placing my hand in his.
“You like to straddle?”
“A horse, yes. You want me in front or at the back?”
His eyes gleam. “After last night, I think I’ll try the front.” He pulls me up as I giggle like a silly little girl, once again wondering how he does this to me. The butterflies. The smiles. The lightness that could easily be weighted back down if I think too hard about what on earth I’m doing. So I’ll simply not think about it.
I come to rest in the saddle and hiss at the unrelenting soreness of my backside.
“Still hurting?” he whispers in my ear.
“Very much.”
He laughs, a light laugh full of satisfaction, as I take a hold of the pommel, feeling Josh’s chest pushed flush with my back. I gulp involuntarily, straightening my spine as he reaches past me and takes the reins. I can hear him breathing, as well as feel it. “Don’t move too much,” he warns. “There’s no more room in this saddle for any guests.” His hips push into my lower back, and I look to the sky for help. “Ready?”
That’s the operative question, isn’t it? “Ready,” I reply, and he kicks Stan on, heading toward the lane that will take us to the bridle path. Stan falls into an easy, meandering pace, and I start to relax into Josh’s chest, content with him taking the reins, so to speak. Besides, he does it so well. In all areas of our involvement, it seems. The atmosphere is easy and comfortable. It’s refreshing not having a man fussing and so keen to strike up boring conversation in an attempt to keep my attention.
“Is that your car?” Josh asks.
I look up as it rounds the corner onto the lane. “Yes.” I had completely forgotten about Damon, and I had also completely let it slip my mind that I’m not supposed to leave the stables without him. I can only blame the present distraction. “He should be accompanying me.”
“This will be even more romantic than I planned,” Josh quips as Damon slows to a crawl. I see his window slide down as he approaches us, and I smile when his thumb appears out of the window, hovering between up and down. “Is that some sort of code thing you guys have going on?” Josh asks, bemused.
I smile and give my head of security a thumbs up as he passes. “Do you have your phone?” Damon asks, and I tap my pocket. “Don’t pass the boundary,” he orders, with all the threat he means. “You have half an hour.”
“Thanks, Damon.” I smile and he nods, rumbling up the lane toward the stables.
“I get a thumbs up?” Josh murmurs in my ear, causing all kinds of funny sensations to spring into various parts of my body. “Does that mean I get to keep my head?”
“Yes.” I laugh as he steers Stan onto the bridle path.
He sighs, inching forward in the saddle a little more, as if he doesn’t feel close enough. “Then why do I worry that I’m already losing it?”
I smile at the endless space before us. “What, you? The irresistible Hollywood heartthrob? Behave. With the amount of women throwing themselves at your feet, I bet you are losing your mind weekly.”
He drops a light kiss on my cheek. “I’m a single guy. I date.”
“A lot of women.”
“I get bored easily.”
My lips purse. That right there is another reason to rein myself in. “I must remember that,” I reply quietly.
“I don’t think I could ever get bored of you, darlin’.” I don’t want that statement to warm me. Yet it does. “And that’s bad news.”
“Why?”
“Because you are quite literally the only woman in the world that I can’t have.”
“One week. Fun.” I force the words over the worry clogging my throat. Josh doesn’t reply, and my thoughts become further warped with what he might be thinking.
We walk for a while, the silence easy, the fresh air luscious and refreshing. The sky is a tie-dye of powder blue and fluffy white, the sun drifting in and out of the clouds. The springtime breeze licks my cheeks as we amble along in a blissful haze, the only sound that of nature. The English countryside cannot be rivaled—the various shades of green, from subtle to vivid, canopying the path we’re taking down the side of a field. A tractor rumbles in the distance, cows graze, and birds swoop the sky as free as I’m feeling right now. Every so often, a bunny darts across the path, and a couple of times Josh has to calm Stan when he is startled by one of the speedy little creatures.
“Whoa.” Josh pulls on the reins when a swan waddles out of a nearby clearing and stops slap bang in the middle of our path.
“Just hold him still,” I tell Josh, as Stan starts to tread on the spot. “There is a lake through these bushes.” The swan starts to hiss, warning us back.
“Nasty little fucker,” Josh mutters. “If we were back home, I’d have my shotgun. Boom. Bye-bye, Mr. Swan.”
“You can’t kill it.” I laugh.
“Why not?”
“Because it belongs to the King.”
“He has a pet swan?”
I shake my head, thoroughly amused by his ignorance. “The King owns every unmarked mute swan in UK open waters.”
“He does? Fuck, that must keep him busy.” He nudges me in the back with a light thrust of his hips, and I laugh. He does it so easily. Makes me laugh, just as easily as he makes me a wanton mess. “So what do we do?” he asks.
“About the swan?”
“No, about this.” Another thrust.
“Will you stop?” I swat his hand in front of me, and squeal when he sinks his teeth into my neck.
“Having fun?” he asks around a mouthful of my flesh. “I mean real fun?”
“I am.” I push the side of my face into him. “You can walk on now,” I say as the swan relents and waddles out of our way.
“We should probably turn back before they send out a search party for you.”
I sag, disappointed. He is right, of course. We have been gone for twenty minutes, and it will take another twenty to make it back. I’m already going to be late. “No, keep going,” I say, not wanting our time to be up just yet. “I’ll text Damon.”
“I’m not going to argue with you.” He kicks Stan on while I tap out a quick message to Damon, telling him that I’m fine and we’ll be another half hour.
“Your father’s accent is different to yours,” I muse, clicking send and slipping my mobile back into the pocket of my gilet.
“I’m a southern boy, darlin’,” Josh drawls, his accent now as thick as the senator’s. “Born and raised, but fifteen years bouncing between New York and LA diluted it. I grew up on my father’s ranch in Alabama.”
“So you’re a true cowboy?” I smile, imagining Josh in boots and a Stetson. It is a ridiculously hot mental image indeed.
“Until I was eighteen. Rodeos, mountain trekking, you name it. Two hundred acres of unspoiled beauty.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
He breathes in, not that I hear it, more feel it from the expansion of his chest against my back. “It wasn’t really all that awesome.” He pauses for a few long seconds, and I look back to him. He smiles, but it goes nowhere near his starry eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He returns his attention forward, prompting me to do the same, though I do it reluctantly, wondering what is playing on his mind. “It’s weird how so much space can be suffocating.”
“I know how that feels,” I agree, casting my eyes across the vast beautiful land before us. Feeling damned and blessed is so conflicting.
“My hometown was in the middle of nowhere. Population 1341.”
“That’s tiny. How did you meet people?”
“I didn’t. Everyone knew everyone or was related to you in one way or another.”
“So how did you get into acting?”
“Anyone would think you want to get to know me,” he muses teasingly. “Isn’t that off limits for you?”
“Everything about you is off limits. Yet here I am on a romantic horse ride in the English countryside with you.”
I feel him smile against my cheek as he moves the reins into one hand, his spare now pulling up the sleeve of my jumper. “Quite a contrast to last night, huh?”
I look down and see him fingering the red welts glowing around my wrists. “Quite.”
“Do they hurt?”
“Not as much as my bottom.” I say as he lifts my hand and gently kisses my reddened flesh, heating the dying burn. “Have you always been so . . .” Drifting off, I ponder the right word.
“Kinky?” he finishes.
“Or brutal.” I shudder for effect, earning myself another bite of my neck.
“You loved it.”
I really can’t oppose him. “So have you always been kinky?”
“Not really. I guess my tastes developed as I did. My first time was a very clumsy affair.”
“Who was your first time with?” I ask, smiling to myself.
“I’ll tell you, but remember I told you I was from a small town, okay?”
I frown. “Okay.”
“My third cousin.” I feel him juddering behind me. “Nice, huh?”
“That’s not so bad. My great grandparents were first cousins.”
“They were? That’s kinda . . . wrong.”
I shrug. “It wasn’t unusual. It kept the royal bloodline strong.”
“Rather than diluting it with vulgar American commoners such as me?” He dips and rests his chin on my shoulder, and I peek out the corner of my eye on a grin.
“You are not vulgar.”
“Why, thank you, Your Highness. Does that mean you like me?”
“You’re all right, I suppose.” I return my attention forward, smiling like crazy on the inside when he flexes his hips into my bottom. “So tell me about your acting.”
“I left Alabama when I was eighteen. I caught a part in a low-budget series. In fairness, no one held out much hope for the network taking it from the pilot episode.” He laughs. “I look back and cringe my ass off. It was a pile of trash, but they bought it. Six years and six seasons later, total hit.”
“What was it called?”
“The Wanderer. I was a bounty hunter in the late eighteen hundreds. My horse and I roamed the West and wreaked havoc on the vigilantes. And the women.” I hear the smile in his tone and turn my face into him, finding a smile, too. He shrugs. “I was quite good on a horse.”
“And on a woman.”
“A pro,” he replies, biting my nose. “Tell me about you.”
“Me?” I ask abruptly, turning away from him. “Doesn’t the world know everything there is to know about me?”
“I’m not talking about Princess Adeline of England that the papers talk about. I’m talking about the real you.”
“That is the real me.”
“What, the style icon? The headstrong royal who doesn’t believe in marriage?”
“I do believe in marriage. Just marriage to someone I love. Not someone unsuitable for me but suitable for my family.”
“Is Haydon Sampson unsuitable?”
“Grossly,” I mutter.
“Not according to the British Monarchy.”
“What do they know?” I ask, resentment tingeing my words. “Half the marriages in my family are loveless. Arranged to strengthen the crown.”
“You want to be loved for who you really are, not who your family wants you to be.”
His words come from leftfield, startling me a little. “Is that a statement or a question?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “A statement.”
“That’s very observant of you.”
“You don’t need to be observant to realize that.”
“How come no one else has, then?”
“Because you’ve not let them close enough.” He pulls Stan to a stop and takes the reins in one hand, using the other to slip around my waist and pull me back into his warmth. I go with ease, no resistance at all, despite not liking our direction of conversation. Nuzzling into my face so I am forced to turn into him, Josh looks so deeply into my eyes, I fear he may have found my bitter soul. “The question is, have I got the real Adeline?”
I don’t realize my hand is over his on my stomach until he laces our fingers and constricts, and I don’t realize I am holding my breath until I release it on my answer. “I don’t know who the real Adeline is anymore.”
He doesn’t say anything in return, he just kisses me, tilting his lips onto mine and gently working them in a delicate, dreamy dance of tongues. “I don’t think you’ve ever really known,” he murmurs, and I know he is right. I haven’t. And I’m not in a position to figure it all out at this moment in time, when I’m lost in his deep, meaningful kiss. I’m not sure which side of Josh I like the most. The domineering, controlling, brutal lover. Or the gentle, soft, and giving gent. I’ll take both. Both sides of him ease me, settle me in one form or another. I hum my contentment and fall deeper and deeper and deeper. “You taste fine, Your Highness.”
I’m floating away, but I am cruelly yanked from my dreamy moment by the sound of a roaring engine, and I pull away, all too breathless, blinking back the stars from my vision until I see a Land Rover racing across the field in the distance. I’m about to curse whoever is at the wheel, knowing if they come much closer at that speed, Stan will get distressed, and with two of us in the saddle he’ll be harder to control. But then the vehicle slows, and the blurry form of the driver becomes Damon. I have seen Damon mad only once in the time he has served me. It was not a sight I relished. And it isn’t now. He looks fuming.
“Damon?” I question when he gets out of the Land Rover, his shiny leather shoes sinking into the soft muddy ground. He looks down and breathes in, his jaw tight.
“Your Highness.” He addresses me properly but tightly. “We agreed half an hour.”
“But I texted you,” I argue, getting my phone and pulling up my messages to prove it. “Oh.” I stare at the red icon telling me the message failed to send. “I must have lost network.” I hold up my phone to Damon and give him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.” At that moment, with my phone held high, obviously catching a few bars of service, Damon’s phone dings and mine notifies me of a dozen missed calls.
He shakes his head. “I believe it’s time to get back, ma’am.” He sounds calmer than he’s clearly feeling. “Kim is on her way to the stables and wishes to see you urgently.”
“She couldn’t have waited for me to get back to Kellington?”
“Apparently not, ma’am. I believe Felix has accompanied her.”
Felix? Stupidly, I wrack my mind for another Felix who works for the household. Any Felix. Any Felix other than the head of communications at Kellington. The fixer.
Damon clears his throat, obviously seeing the questions and worry in my expression. “Something about a bank, ma’am.”
I recoil without thought, and Josh catches it, tightening his grip of me. A bank? Or a banker? “Oh . . . umm . . . yes.” I nod decisively. “Then I suppose I ought to get back.”
Shit, shit, shit.
There is only one reason Felix would make a trip to the mucky stables, where his fine threads and Italian loafers are at risk of being polluted by horse manure. There is a crisis that needs fixing. With a banker.
Damon motions to the Land Rover. “I suspect they’ll have arrived by now. May I suggest Your Highness drives back with me?” He looks past me to Josh, communicating silently everything he means. I have to agree. I trust Kim wholeheartedly, but I won’t hear the end of it from her or Felix if they catch me riding back into the stables with Josh Jameson wrapped around me. Especially after Kim caught sight of my blemished wrists this morning and answered my phone to him.
I look at Josh, who has remained respectfully quiet, but I can see the questions in his eyes. “Do you mind?”
“Sure thing.” He drops a chaste peck on my lips and helps me down from Stan. “He hasn’t had a good run yet. I’ll ride him back.”
“Thank you.”
Josh makes no big deal of it and turns Stan, before kicking him into a trot, and quickly breaking into a full-on canter. And I stand there, watching in awe as he rides away like the pro he is, his strong legs keeping his body out of the saddle with ease.
“Ma’am?” Damon nudges me from my daydream and I sigh, wandering to the Land Rover as I remove my hat.
“I’m sorry, Damon.” I know he’ll have been on the edge of losing it while I was enjoying my trot through the countryside. I like romantic Josh.
“All is well, ma’am. Let’s not make a big deal of it.”
I laugh on the inside, but I choose not to mention the epic speed at which he appeared over the horizon of the field, like he could have been in pursuit of my kidnapper. I know he was probably sweating while he couldn’t get hold of me. If the King found out Damon had allowed me out in the fields alone, his job would be on the line. The fact that I wasn’t alone would not make a teeny tiny bit of difference. In fact, the matter would be a whole lot worse.
I’M FULL OF DREAD WHEN Damon pulls up at the stables, especially when I see Kim and Felix step out of a shiny Mercedes, both looking stiff and stony. “I’m in trouble,” I mumble, unclipping my belt.
“I’ll take care of this.” Damon takes my hat from my lap.
“Can’t you take care of them?” I ask, giving him pleading eyes. “Please?”
He laughs softly, the fine lines around his eyes deepening, and then his face is deadly serious. “No.” His answer is abrupt and flat as he gets out of the Land Rover.
“Great.” I wouldn’t usually wait for Damon to open the car door for me when here, but it buys me a few more seconds to mount my defense. “Thanks.” Stepping out, I straighten my shoulders, all confident . . . but I still have no words in my defense.
“Your Highness.” Felix nods as I approach, as formal as ever, grimacing at a small mark on his Italian loafers.
“Felix.” I greet him before nodding at Kim, tilting my head in question. I get discreetly widening eyes in return, but she doesn’t say a thing. I sigh. “Whatever could be so urgent that you needed to come to the stables? I was rather enjoying a long overdue hack.”
Felix clears his throat. “There’s a matter of concern, ma’am.”
“There is?” I ask, bracing myself.
“About Gerry Rush, ma’am.”
The banker. “What about him?” I try to sound nonchalant, but my stomach sinks and I swallow, betraying my forced front. I was assured those pictures were intercepted; I don’t know how and I tend not to ask.
“Mr. Rush has been trying to make contact with you, ma’am.”
“Pardon?”
“He would like to see you.”
Needless to say, that isn’t going to happen. “Whatever for?”
“It would seem he’s been bewitched, ma’am.”
I laugh. “After one night?”
“Yes.”
“That’s utterly ridiculous.”
They look at each other out of the corner of their eyes, as if it is I who is the ridiculous one. “Ma’am,” Felix pushes on, “we have blocked his attempts to reach you, of course. But it seems he won’t heed our warning. Mr. Rush is married, as you know.” Felix cocks a sarcastic eyebrow. I don’t appreciate it, and my deep breath of impatience tells him so. “It goes without saying that we need to contain this. Rest assured, there won’t be an issue if we handle it swiftly and diligently.”
“Handle it swiftly and diligently, then,” I retort, far shorter than I should. They are only trying to avoid me getting caught in a potential scandal. “Thank you. Both of you.” I unbutton my gilet, feeling a little hot, and shrug it off before pulling my hair from its ponytail. But my motions slow as it occurs to me to wonder, again, why they’re here at the stables telling me all this.
“There is one other small matter, ma’am,” Felix goes on before I get the opportunity to ask.
“What?” I sound as cautious as I feel.
“We need to discuss how we’re handling this situation.”
“We do?” That’s not normal. The communications team do what they do, and I’m rarely consulted in the methods they adopt to clean up my mess, whether I want them cleaning up that mess or not.
“Yes, ma’am. It appears Mr. Rush has been enjoying some extracurricular activity.” Something in the way that Felix speaks tells me that I am not the extracurricular activity he’s referring to.
“But not from me?”
Felix hands me a file, and I open it to find some photographs. “What is this?” I ask, flicking through, trying to make something out in the darkened shots.
Kim reaches forward and takes a photo, turning it the right way up. I still at the sight of what is all of a sudden a perfectly clear image. Too clear. “That, ma’am, is Gerry Rush in the throes of passion.”
Yes, isn’t it just. His face is strained, his body rigid, as he holds on to a woman’s hips who’s bent over a chair. My heart jumps too many beats as I pull the picture closer, trying to make out the woman’s face.
“It’s a prostitute, ma’am,” Kim tells me matter-of-factly, and I look at her, unable to be relieved that it isn’t me. She steps back, as if nervous.
“What?” I drop the file, retracting my hands to my chest. “A hooker? When was this?” I suddenly want a shower.
“A few weeks ago, ma’am. We thought you should know in case—”
“In case what? I choose to see him again?” I laugh, thinking these two should know me better. “I can assure you, that is not going to happen.” I look at the pictures on a grimace as Kim gathers them up. “Not after I saw the picture of him with his wife, and especially not now.”
“Just needed to be sure,” Kim says, tucking them away.
I don’t understand. Gerry Rush is a respected man, with kids and a gleaming reputation. If he doesn’t back off and stop trying to reach me, I just know those pictures will make it onto the desk of some editor at some tabloid in London. He will be ruined. Where’s his sense? Then again, he took me back to his hotel room and has been trying to contact me. Clearly he has no sense. I know better than to ask how Felix got hold of those photographs. That won’t be information I will be privileged with. A hooker?
My lip curls. “Do whatever it takes to get rid of him,” I order, swinging around and marching away, shuddering as I go. The dirty, rotten womanizer. A hooker. So much for clean-cut image. He wants to see me? Bewitched? The nerve.
My thoughts trail off and my pace slows as I catch sight of Stan trotting up the lane with Josh, both of them a little out of breath. All agitation eating me alive melts away at the sight of Josh’s smile when he spots me. When he slows to a walk, I give him wide eyes, discreetly flicking my head in an indication that he should be wary of the people in close proximity.
“Your Highness,” he greets me rather formally, yet those words and his accent, in his voice, still caress my tingling skin.
“Mr. Jameson.” I nod as he passes, heading straight for the stable block.
I let Felix and Kim pull away before I wander in after Josh to help him strip Stan down of his saddlery. He is nearly done by the time I make it to him. “He’s worked up a good sweat,” I say as I take a brush to Stan’s coat.
“He’s had an awesome time, haven’t ya, boy?” Josh lightly smacks his neck. “Are you okay? You look . . . stressed.”
“I’m fine.”
“So your people were here for their health, were they? Because they didn’t look like the riding type.”
“Small matter now dealt with.”
“A matter like you and I could be?” he asks casually, clearly reading between the lines and getting the gist of my small matter.
Shame eats me from the inside out, remorse and guilt, too. Why do I care what Josh thinks of my exploits? He is hardly Mr. Straight-laced himself, dating woman after woman and getting bored. Besides, it’s not like I knew Gerry Rush and his wife were trying to reconcile, or that he dabbled in hookers. I shudder at the thought again. “It was a family matter,” I lie, if hesitantly, earning a quick flick of Josh’s eyes to mine. I look away, feeling my cheeks heat with guilt. “Did you enjoy your hack?”
“I did. Thanks for lending me your horse.” He smiles, looping Stan’s tack over his shoulder.
“Anytime.” I shrug nonchalantly, although I don’t feel very nonchalant. Not at all. Damn it, I like him. Josh Jameson brings a smile to my face, calm into my world. Few people in my orbit elicit such reactions. Inside, I wish he could turn up at the stables every morning and make each day wonderful.
His phone rings and he pulls it out. He definitely deflates a little. “Yeah?” He starts to pace the stables, scuffing his boots as he goes, kicking up the hay. “Sure. Give me five.” He cuts the call and holds up his phone. “My driver’s here.” He looks at his watch and laughs a little. “Early.”
I force back my disappointment. “It was nice to see you.”
He seems amused as he returns his eyes to me. “Nice to see me?”
I shrug. “Well, it was.”
“Nice?” He paces forward, and I step back until I collide with a pile of hay and tumble to my back on a yelp. Josh is on me like a wolf, pinning me down by my wrists above my head. “Nice?” he asks again, pushing a lock of hair from my face with his nose. I try to catch my breath, loving the hardness of his physique pushing me into the softness of the hay. Before I can even think to find another word to replace the one that clearly displeases him, he attacks my mouth with a profound, familiar force, exploring deeply with his tongue. I wonder whether his suspicions regarding my matter has him all green-eyed and he’s marking his territory. I have a sneaky suspicion I’m right.
His power and passion steal my breath, and I don’t get it back once he has ripped his lips from mine. “Nice,” he pants, rolling his groin into me.
My back arches, pushing my breasts into his chest. “I’d give you another word,” I breathe, “but I’m rather blank at the moment.”
“Let’s see if we can wake up that mind, then,” he muses, securing both of my wrists in one grasp and reaching for the hem of my roll-neck sweater. As soon as his skin skims mine, my mind does wake up, providing me with many words, most of them ones of a pleading nature.
“Josh.” I’m unsure whether I’m begging him to stop, or encouraging him on. Anyone could catch us.
My sweater is yanked up, my bra down, and he’s on my breasts in the blink of an eye, swirling that god-loving tongue around and around, wide and firm. Then his teeth sink into my hard nipple and I buck, tinkering on that dangerous edge between pleasure and pain. He hums, he moans, he growls. “Shit, you are so fucking delicious.”
“Your Highness.” Damon’s voice calling me doesn’t penetrate the haze of pleasure holding me captive, doesn’t have me darting up in a panic or fighting Josh off me. I’m lost.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Josh mumbles around my flesh, kissing the tip of my nipple before pulling the cups of my bra into place and my sweater down. “Playtime is over.”
I pout, falling into instant mourning for my loss.
“Ma’am?” Damon sounds slightly concerned, and without Josh’s tongue distracting me, I suddenly appreciate how close he is.
“Quick, up you get.” Josh hauls me up from the hay and brushes me down before turning me by the shoulders and pushing me toward the stable door. “I’ll hang back.”
I gather myself and straighten my shoulders, aware of the many people floating around the stables. For a moment there, I completely forgot myself. I need to find some control.
I steal one last glimpse of Josh as I leave, wishing I could bottle the smile he gives me and store it forever. I’m desperate to ask him when I’ll see him again, but my pride, as well as a sliver of sensibility, won’t allow it. “See you.”
“See you,” he mimics, his smile now thoughtful.
I round the corner, working hard to wipe the permanent grin from my face and the goosebumps from my tingling skin.
“There you are,” Damon mutters, clearly fed up with my disappearing acts today. “Time to get back.”
“Back to my prison? Oh joy.”
He gives me a funny look, stopping me in my tracks to the car.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Damon takes up his professional pose, the one where he stands with his joined hands behind his back and his chin lifted slightly.
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Have fun in the stables?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I head to the car, pushing a blush back from my cheeks.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“You have hay in your hair,” he says, opening the door for me.
I reach up and brush at my free locks, the blush now unavoidable. “Damn it,” I curse, catching Damon’s wry smile.
“Fun?” he asks again.
“Oh, behave,” I breathe, slipping into the back seat, not at all worried. I don’t only trust Damon with my life, I trust him with my secrets. And Josh Jameson is one gigantic secret.
As we pull out of the stables, I see a Range Rover heading toward us, every window blacked out. I fall back in my seat and twiddle my fingers in my lap, trying not to let my mind venture to silly places. Places I am not allowed to be, and usually would have no interest in staying. But Josh is broaching my walls. And I cannot allow him that level access to my heart. Because it could easily be broken when he’s wrenched away.