"Colton! Over here! Can I get your autograph?"

Colton King pulled his roller bag through the throng of media crews and diehard fans standing between him and his waiting car. Women's hands groped him. Paparazzi photographed him. Men held out jerseys with the number twenty-one to be signed.

He should be used to the routine, but today, he was done with the attention. His head throbbed, courtesy of the excessive booze he'd consumed the night before. He'd unsuccessfully tried to drown his regret at being conned into participating in one of the stupidest publicity stunts in the history of Major League Baseball. Not exactly the kind of accolade he was going for.

Another damn World Series ring would have been better.

He made a run for it through the final crowd on the sidewalk outside his New York City loft, diving into the back of the waiting limousine. The doorman slammed the door closed behind him, instantly bringing the roar of the crowd to a manageable level.

"Your fans love you. I couldn't be more pleased that you're on board for our little project," Gavin Wallace observed.

"That makes one of us," Colton retorted under his breath.

His friend, and agent, Van Vencinti shot him the evil eye from the seat directly across from him. Considering this stupid stunt was Van's idea, Colt doubled-down.

"Did you bring a copy of the contract? I'd like to review the penalty section again. Just how much will it cost me to abort this nonsense right now?"

He was only half kidding.

He continued before the men could interrupt him. "It's bullshit that you conned me into this during the playoffs. You know damn well I wasn't focusing on the details." He looked his agent in the eye and added pointedly, "You're supposed to be protecting me from doing further damage to my reputation."

Van had been with him from the beginning. He was probably the only person on the planet whom he could count on to give him the unvarnished truth, which made his answer all the more damning.

"This is about more than your reputation. It's about your legacy. You're thirty-six-years- old. You may be the king on the field, but it's time to start thinking about what comes next. You have two… maybe three good years left to tie up the MLB doubles world record, but then what?"

Colt was tired of this conversation already.

"I don't see how this dog and pony show is gonna do squat for my post-career."

"You said you wanted to break into broadcasting."

He scoffed, "And? This is the antithesis of that."

"It's TV. You've got a reputation for being aloof. You may be royalty on the field, and the fans adore you, but you need to work on your insider relationships."

"Last time I checked, it was gonna be six women and me, not baseball or network executives. How the hell will this project move those important relationships forward?" he questioned.

Gavin injected, "Maybe Van didn't mention it, but I don't normally produce reality television for Showtime." He paused, pinning Colt with a glare. "My primary gig is producing athlete interest spots for ESPN."

Ah… now we're talking. Colt glanced at Van who was grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Fine. I guess I'm gonna do this, but why me?"

"Why not you? The name of the show is Royalty, American Style. Each season we'll feature a different member of American royalty. Only A-Listers. We already have seasons two and three lined up with a Grammy Award winning rock star and a People's Choice Award winning movie star. But because ESPN is pulling the strings, we got to choose our leadoff man, and we chose you, the king of baseball. You should be flattered."

More like terrified. "This is just so old. It's been done over and over. I'm a confirmed bachelor. Moreover, I like it that way."

"Why do you think we shopped this to the cable channels? This isn't going to be The Bachelor with chaste kisses and rose ceremonies."

While that assurance relieved him, it equally confused him. "Then I think you'd better explain what it is going to be like, because I haven't got a fucking clue."

Gavin and Van glanced at each other. Colt got the distinct impression they were deciding who got to break the bad news to him.

Van lost. "Think of this as an R-rated Bachelor. We've cut the field down to six women. All smoking hot. All with very different attributes they bring to the table. All you need to do is have fun and get to know them. Try them all on for size. Decide if any of them might fit into your future."

"Uh-ha. And when you say R-rated you mean…"

"Your reputation precedes you. You're a playboy. So play. We want edgy. The only rule is nothing non-consensual. The women have all signed NDAs and ironclad contracts. We'll be able to lock anything down from making it on air if we need to. The only thing you can do that will get you in legal trouble is rape. They've signed on for everything else, and since there are cameras in literally every room in the house except the shitter, you don't need to worry about any he said/she said."

"Wait a damn minute. I knew I'd have a crew following me everywhere I went. No one said anything about cameras planted in all the rooms. I expected to have a production schedule. Time off."

"You expected wrong. This is reality TV. There is no script. There will be a filming schedule to support the structure of the show, but for the next six weeks, you're on 24/7."

"Jesus Christ. So let me get this straight. I'm supposed to live with, and sleep with, six women at the same time, all on camera? You're turning me into a porn star. That ought to be a nice transition after baseball. My lifetime .339 batting average will come in really handy… not."

Gavin tried to reassure him. "Settle down. It will be a tasteful show. Of course we won't show everything. Keep in mind, with forty-six cameras running 24/7, we could potentially have thousands of hours of footage. Less than one percent of that will make it into the show. That's why we are taping now, but the debut isn't until January. It'll take that long just to produce the finished product. Just be yourself. Have fun."

He was feeling a bit better until Van added, "And anyway, how is this any different than your normal week? It's not unheard of for you to have six woman going at any given time."

While that may have been technically true a few times when he was younger, Colton felt the need to defend himself. "Listen, the women I date know the score."

"As do the women on the show. Really, this should be business as usual for you," Gavin reiterated.

"Except for the cameras… and that they will be living together and comparing notes… not to mention the fact that I'm supposed to down-select and choose just one of them at the end of the show."

"It'll give you an opportunity to show your acting skills. Who knows? Maybe this could land you a Hollywood contract. You've certainly got the looks and the body for it. You'd bring instant recognition to any project. Look at this as a six-week screen-test."

Colt bit his tongue. What was the point in complaining now, anyway?

The driver weaved them out of the Manhattan traffic and onto the I-95 North, picking up speed as he hurtled Colton towards his doom waiting at the Connecticut mansion. Colt might have tried to look at this as a six-week vacation in the country except for the fact that he now knew it would be more like living under a microscope.

Colton closed his eyes, trying to enjoy his last hour of freedom from prying eyes, but he had to endure listening to the other men in the car plotting his demise. He replayed the last two days in his head, details finally falling into place. The show had sent a camera crew to Manhattan to interview him for the first episode and promo shots. It had been fun to show off the luxurious loft he'd worked hard to make his own. They'd followed him as he'd received the VIP treatment out on the town; dining in a five-star restaurant; dancing in an exclusive club; drinking top-shelf liquor. Shit. And getting a blowjob from that groupie under the table. He sure as hell hoped they hadn't filmed that.

He must have dozed off, because when he jarred awake, they were off the highway, weaving through thick woods surrounding curved roads. Despite the trees being bare in the November chill, he could see the serene beauty of the rural setting, bringing back memories of his childhood. The only signs of life were gated entries every half-mile or so, the driveways they protected so long that no houses were visible from the road.

At the top of a hill, the driver slowed, stopping at the electronic keypad stand next to a twelve-foot wrought-iron fence. The opening of the gate coincided with a lurch of Colt’s stomach. His light lunch was threatening to reappear.

Unaware of his passenger's discomfort, the driver wound them around a curve that opened up to a long, tree-lined driveway. To the left was a well-manicured lawn with what looked like several seating areas centered around fountains and monuments, giving it the feel of a secluded park in the city.

But it was the right side of the lane that held his attention. A white fence enclosed a meadow where over a dozen magnificent horses grazed, several looking up from their meal as they passed.

"We lucked out getting this place. It's been on the market for almost a year. The owner passed away and the executor of the estate is holding out for big bucks. The good news is that it was still furnished and available for us to rent. They had retained the caretakers to maintain the stable and the property. All we needed to do was supplement with our support personnel. There are nine bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, a movie theater, gym, pool… you name it. Think of it as a vacation."

"A vacation where every word I say and every action I take is being recorded."

"And how is that different from your normal day? You're in the spotlight every time you leave your house."

"Precisely. But you're telling me this is my house for the next six weeks. You see my dilemma."

"You're worrying over nothing. This is right up your alley."

The car had stopped. The driver was holding open the door. Colton stepped out to what felt like his doom.

* * *

Colton took one last look at his reflection in the full-length mirror, liking what he saw. The producers had filled his temporary closet with a wide array of designer clothes, most custom-made specifically for him by his personal tailor in the city. One of three expensive watches from the dresser complemented his black suit. He'd asked the hair and makeup guru to leave a day's scruff on his chin to remind the ladies he was about to meet he wasn't all polished and clean like his appearance might lead them to believe.

He'd had enough time to think through his game plan. Gavin and Van had led him on a tour of the property, helping him devise a plan to divide and conquer the contestants of the show. And that is what he'd think of them as—contestants on a game show. It may be a fucked-up kinda game, but it was one he knew well.

He wound his way through the opulent home, too distracted to stop and look at the ornate workmanship of the wood trim or the richness of the carpets and decor. He needed to stay on point, focus on making a good impression, not only on the six women he was about to meet, but on the support staff as well since he was intimately aware that they would be deciding what snippets of his life over the next six weeks made it on screen and which would fall to the cutting room floor.

The show's narrator and host, Ryan Remmings, waited for him at the bottom of the steps of the grand foyer. As Colton made his way down the curved staircase, he allowed himself to get a bit excited at the thought of watching six beautiful women take the same path. As much as his head lamented his rash decision to participate in the show, he was equally confident his cock was going to enjoy the challenge immensely.

"Colton, perfect timing." Ryan reached to shake his hand. Colt tried to ignore the movement of the cameraman off to his right who was trying to get the shot and yet stay out of the action. The host must have noticed. "Just try to ignore the cameras. After a few days, you won't even notice they're there."

He seriously doubted that.

Ryan went on, unaware Colt was only half paying attention. A heavenly aroma wafted to him, smelling very much like his favorite dish from his favorite restaurant. It distracted him just long enough that he almost missed Ryan's invitation to look up the stairs.

Colt turned back towards where he'd come just in time see a drop-dead gorgeous woman waiting at the top stairs, holding there until their eyes met, ensuring she had his full attention before beginning her descent.

When her high-heels hit the marble floor, he noticed she stood at his height. Tall and lean, the brunette with long, thick hair and olive skin looked like she should be on a runway.

Ryan made the introductions. "Colton, I'd like to introduce you to your first lady, Cleo Tavares. Cleo, this is Colt King. Among other things, Cleo was born and raised in Brazil. She was the runner-up in the Ms. Universe pageant three years ago and has since been working full-time as a runway model in Paris, New York, and Milan."

Okay, so maybe this wasn't going to be such a bad deal after all. He reached out to take her hand, bringing it to his lips in a show of chivalry. "Nice to meet you, Cleo."

"Very nice to meet you as well." Her accent was thick, but sexy as hell.

"Where do you call home these days?" His charm had flown out the window, surprisingly intimidated by the Amazon beauty.

Stay calm. She's just another target.

"I prefer to stay in New York City, but unfortunately, I have had some pesky visa issues. Luckily, the show was able to influence immigration to allow me to stay."

So… Colton read that as a good sign. She was play-date material, but would be out of his hair once deported. Then he wondered if she were participating to try to catch herself a rich American husband.

Well, fuck that shit.

Thankfully, Ryan wanted to keep things moving along, inviting her to proceed into the next room where the long dining room table would host their nightly dinners together.

"Ready to meet our second lady?" Ryan asked, but he didn't bother waiting for Colt's reply, turning instead to the staircase to nod at the blonde at the top of the stairs.

She looked familiar, but Colt couldn't place her by the time she stepped on the foyer marble. She'd chosen a sporty outfit with a frilly mini-skirt, and the scooped neckline of her blouse showcased her ample breasts. The spray-on tan looked fake, but the defined muscles of her arms and legs were the real deal. This chick worked out.

"Colton, this is Kylie Kelly. You might recognize her. She's the queen of the tennis world these days, much as you are the king of baseball. We thought you two might enjoy a chance at hitting it off."

As soon as Ryan mentioned her name, things clicked into place. Colt followed Kylie's Instagram and Twitter accounts where she regularly pulled thousands of hits within minutes of her postings. Not only an athlete, she was a walking marketing machine. This was potentially something his reputation could benefit from, if it went well—or something that could bring him down, painting him as the bad boy, if it didn't. Just what he needed, to get thousands of Kylie fans hating him.

The third woman to stand at the top of the staircase was as different from the first two as possible. Dressed in a floral sundress, despite the November weather, the strawberry-blonde moved cautiously down the steps—less sophisticated, but just as lovely. Her eyes focused more on her feet than on the bachelor waiting for her, and when she reached the foyer and looked up at him, her pale green eyes widened, complementing the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

"Colton, I'd like you to meet Sophia Steward. We found her through one of the contests we setup around the country. She was chosen by our producers out of the four-thousand women who sent in videos to compete to be here. She's from Iowa City."

"Hi, Sophia." He leaned in for a quick hug, noting how she felt as stiff as a board.

Her simple, "Hello," was lovely. Unlike the first two women, Sophia felt more like the girl next door. Not exactly the kind of woman he spent a lot of time with these days, but honestly, she seemed to be a lower risk of blowing up in his face when things went bad.

By the time the fourth woman stood at the top of the staircase, Colton had started to put together exactly how much trouble he was in. These women were all drop-dead gorgeous and seemed to be lovely on the inside as well. How the hell was he supposed to portray his playboy routine with all of them living under the same roof? He said a small prayer that the remaining women turned him off, in hopes of narrowing the field early on.

It wasn't meant to be. Contestant number four was Aviana Perry, a high-powered tax-attorney from Manhattan. Her tailored business suit was cut short to showcase her long legs. She could have been a model, like Cleo, had she chosen that path, but when she opened her mouth, he knew she was as intelligent as she was beautiful. He looked to his left at his friend Van who was hanging out behind the cameraman. His agent gloated, knowing Colton's weakness for intelligent women.

Sure the remaining women could not possibly surpass the first four, Colton was at first relieved to see contestant number five walking down the stairs. While there was nothing wrong with the young woman, there was equally nothing spectacular that stood out either. In fact, he glanced at Ryan, confused as the woman closed the final feet between them before launching herself into his arms, hugging him so hard that she actually lifted her feet off the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist and squeezing as if they were about to do the down and dirty then and there had they not been fully dressed and surrounded by a dozen people.

Colt chuckled as Ryan explained. "This is Lucy Scott. She won her spot on the show by competing against hundreds of other Colton King enthusiasts. She describes herself as your number one fan, heading up the Austin, Texas, chapter of your fan club." Ryan tried to help Colt peel her out of his arms, but it got harder when the men realized she was sobbing against his shoulder.

"I can't believe I finally get to meet you," she cried. "I swore I wasn't going to make a fool of myself, but here I am crying like an idiot."

Colt would have pegged her as a Texan just from her accent. Like a gentleman, he pulled the handkerchief from his inside pocket, handing it to her to dab at her eyes and blow her nose.

"It's nice to meet you, Lucy."

"Oh. My. God. You said my name!"

Ryan looked alarmed. "Lucy, we talked about this. You're going to be spending six weeks here with Colton. You don't need to act like he's never going to speak to you."

"I know. I know. I'll pull it together. It's just so exciting. You can ask me anything. Go ahead. I have all of your stats memorized." When Colt didn't speak, she prodded him again. "Go ahead! Ask!"

Well, okay then. "So, Lucy, what is the total number of double-base hits I've racked up in my major league career?"

"That's too easy! You ended the season at 699, in fifth place for the all-time record. You only have twenty-five to go to tie Ty Cobbs for fourth, and ninety-four to take over the number one slot. If you hit thirty-one each of the next three seasons, you'll take the record, which should be easy for you because you…"

Ryan had to hold his hand up to get her to stop talking. The moderator tried to laugh it off, but Colt could see exasperation in his expression. "As you can see, you have a super-fan. There were few others in the competition who were as big of baseball fans as Lucy here."

"I don't doubt it."

He already knew he'd need to keep his distance from this one. She was too impressionable, and a little attention would go a long way.

"And finally, last, but certainly not least, we have Maya Romanovski joining us all the way from Moscow. Maya is a dancer."

Something in the way Ryan said the word dancer made Colt glance his way. The men shared a knowing glare just before he looked up to see a woman who could easily be mistaken for a hooker in the outfit she was wearing. Skirt cut up to her ass, top cut down to her tits and the part in the middle poured into the skin-tight spandex strips that exposed her pierced bellybutton. She swayed her way down the steps slowly in her platform heels, rocking her hips to unheard music while undressing Colton with her eyes. Her makeup was heavy, and his twisted mind couldn't help but picturing her falling to her knees on the marble floor to suck him off as her salutation. The deep red of her lipstick would make a nice souvenir on his groin because sure as shit, he knew she could deep-throat any cock pointed her way.

Speaking of cocks, his was currently doing a nice rendition of a salute, which was only made worse when Maya leaned into a full-body hug, daring to grab his package and squeeze it through his pressed trousers.

"I see you are glad to see me too, sweetheart," she said slyly.

Colt cleared his throat, trying to extricate himself from her wandering hands, knowing that the cameramen were setup at the perfect angle to capture every sordid detail of her greeting.

"Nice to meet you, Maya," he added lamely, trying to focus on calming his erection down before she pulled away.

That effort was made impossible when she leaned up to whisper in his ear loud enough for everyone within ten feet to hear her. "My room is the farthest down the hall. I requested it so we wouldn't keep the others awake all night when you visit me."

Colton couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. The whole scene was so ridiculous that it was funny. The smooth narrator, Ryan, was left speechless as Colton played it up, stealing his first kiss for the camera from the sexual animal in front of him. While she wasn't really his type, the one thing Maya had going for her was he knew he wouldn't be hurting her feelings when he ditched her at the end of the game. The other five women, he couldn't say the same.

As she sashayed away to join the others, Colton whispered, "I'm guessing you guys stocked up on condoms?"

Ryan slapped him on the back, finally snapping out of his trance. "Oh, never fear. We've stocked up on lots of things."

Colton didn't know exactly what that meant, but he suspected he might have some fun finding out.