I shrugged into my Armani suit coat and straightened my tie, perfecting the knot. I’d always shunned having someone else dress me. I wasn’t five for fuck’s sake. Fastening my watch, I walked from the closet into my bedroom.

It was a little after nine a.m., and I was due to meet with the Prime Minister in twenty minutes. We’d been in Elleston less than twelve hours, and it was time to get to work.

The edge of my king-sized bed depressed slightly as I sat on the edge and watched Willa sleep for a second. I’d kept her up for hours after we’d landed, making sure there wasn’t a square inch of her body I hadn’t worshipped. Maybe it was knowing we only had a limited amount of time together, or maybe it was simply Willa herself, but I couldn’t get enough of her.

She was all those stupid fucking trite sayings. Water in the Sahara Desert, sunshine after rain, food after being starved. But she was more than that. She made everything disappear until my very universe centered on her. For someone who usually had the world on his mind, she was capable of the impossible: quieting my soul.

“Good morning,” I said gently, running my finger along the soft skin of her cheek. I stayed away from the rest of her naked, sleep-warmed body, knowing I’d miss the meeting if I didn’t.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she woke, still drowsy and unbelievably sexy. “Hi there.”

“I have to go to a meeting, but I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after nine. Sleep off the jet lag, and I’ll wake you when I return.” I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and pulled back. If I was leaving, it was now.

“I adore you, Xander,” she muttered as her eyes drifted shut. Had she even woken fully?

Her confession hit me in the heart. She hadn’t said that she wanted me, needed me, even desired me. She adored me.

“Not as much as I adore you, Willa,” I whispered to her already-sleeping form.

I left my bedroom as quietly as possible, shutting the seventeenth-century mahogany door with the utmost care. The palace had been built the same time as Versailles, and some said was even more beautiful. To me, it was simply home.

“Looking well-rested, your Highness,” Oliver said, keeping pace as I headed down the hall that lead out of the residence wing.

“Shut up, Oliver.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I didn’t miss his smirk.

We crossed into the sitting room, and I was met with all one hundred and twenty pounds of my baby sister.

“Xander!” Sophie cried, her arms tight around my neck.

“Sophie,” I sighed, and hugged her tighter. “Are you okay?” I waited until she loosened her grip and then set her back on her toes.

She brushed her auburn hair behind her ears and blinked those green eyes up at me. Sure, she was twenty-two, but she’d always be the baby to me. “We’re okay. Well, I’m okay. Brie’s fine of course because she isn’t here…”

“Where in the hell is Gabriella?” And why the fuck wouldn’t my younger sister stay put? Not that Brie did anything she was supposed to. There were black sheep, and there was Brie.

“Monaco, I think?” Sophia shrugged.

“Still? Great. We have a near riot on our hands, and Brie is gambling. Fantastic. Can’t wait to explain that one to the Prime Minister in fifteen minutes.”

“Ten,” Oliver corrected from behind me.

“Fuck.” I cringed as Sophia scrunched her nose. If one of us was ever meant to live out the royal fairy tale, it was Sophie. She was kind, smart, well-educated, soft spoken, and beloved by our people. I half-expected woodland creatures to put her clothes away for her. “Sorry,” I apologized for swearing.

She rubbed my arm. “It’s okay. I’m not ten anymore.”

“Nine minutes,” Oliver said.

I threw him a glare. “Got it. I have a secretary, you know.”

“Actually, you don’t. She quit just before we left for America,” Oliver corrected me.

Damn it. “Salary?” I asked.

“Jameson,” Sophia answered quietly.

Mother fucker can’t keep his cock in his pants.

“Got it. Sophia, I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting.”

“Get to it,” she ordered with a smile. Then she turned and nodded to Oliver. “Oliver,” her voice softened.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said with a curt nod of his own.

“Sophia,” she corrected him, “or even Sophie, Oliver.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” he confirmed, leaving me with an arched eyebrow as we made our way to the conference room where the Prime Minister was waiting. I’d met Damian McAllister when he was running for office and had always been impressed with him.

Hell of a resume, too. Best universities and graduate programs in Elleston, foreign internships in England and the United States, a moral compass that didn’t steer far from center and quite the specimen, if the gossip rags had it right. He also leaned left, into Anti-Monarchist territory which made him a threat, no matter what his title.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Alexander—”

I walked through the doors into the conference room, blowing off the rest of the introduction from the footman. Jesus, it’s not like the man didn’t know who I was.

“Mr. Prime Minister,” I said, shaking his hand with a firm grip.

He raised an eyebrow and met my grip with one of his own. “Your Royal Highness.”

Got it, you have a big dick. But mine is bigger.

“Please, call me Alexander. We’re going to be working together for quite some time,” I said, taking my seat across from him.

“Or at least until the next election,” he said with a grin.

A corner of my mouth lifted. He could have meant a vote for a new Prime Minister or a vote to oust the monarchy. I wasn’t stupid. “Or until then.”

“And please, call me Damian.” His eyes were clear and blue, his hair a nordic shade of blonde. At only thirty years-old, the minimum age for Prime Minister, he looked far more suited to an Abercrombie ad than as Prime Minister, but that was probably why he was Elleston’s number three most eligible bachelor.

I was number one.

“Tell me,” I said as he took his seat. “What exactly is this uproar about?”

“You mean the rioting while you were in America?”

“Leave us,” I directed every servant and secretary in the room. They scurried to do so. “Protests,” I corrected Damian. “Riot is a word I would use very carefully. And yes, besides wanting the dissolution of the monarchy, what are they upset about?”

“Other than the royal family spending millions of tax dollars with no direct benefit to them, they’d like a democracy.” he asked straight-faced.

This man didn’t pull his punches.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“So they’ve gathered. Our response was measured, no civilians were hurt, and other than gathering worldwide attention, your country is much the same as how you left it.”

“They marched on the Opera,” I lowered my voice. “Where my baby sister was in attendance.”

“They did. I was also there, and Princess Sophia was not harmed. Her guards removed her—us—quickly. The police force monitored the ri—protest, and after a few arrests for destruction of property—”

“You mean the police car they set on fire?”

“—they disbanded after midnight.”

“So what you’re saying is that other than setting a car on fire and generally demanding that my family not be the Royal Family of Elleston, there’s nothing we can help them with? No policy suggestions or demands?”

“They have only one demand, and that is to dissolve the monarchy. In their statement to the press, they see this transition period between the King’s passing, God rest his soul, and your ascension to the throne, as a historic opportunity to move our government to a democracy.”

In that moment, I missed my father more than ever before. He would have known what to say, what to do to appease a group of people who simply could not be satisfied with less than the impossible.

“And you side with them?”

Damian swallowed, his first sign of weakness since I’d walked in. “Your Highness, as Prime Minister, I side with this government, and all that she entails.”

“I’ve done my research, McAllister. I’m neither deaf nor blind. You have always leaned against the monarchy.”

He opened his mouth, but I stopped him with a single uplifted finger.

“Now, if we were to judge everyone by what they did while at University, our world would look a bit different, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded his head once. There was little give to this man. It was how he’d risen politically so fast, and as much as I admired him for it, I also knew how dangerous youth and inexperience were. I was walking proof.

“Unless you’ve brought me something that I can do for you, Prime Minister, I believe this meeting is over. I’ll look over the reports.” I rose, as did he.

“What would you like me to say the official position is?” He asked, his gaze unwavering.

I looked to my right, where our family portrait hung. Tradition. Honor. Duty. Loyalty to our people and our name. My father had embodied all of those qualities, and now it was my turn.

“Prime Minister, Elleston has been ruled by the Wyndhams for a thousand years, and a Constitutional Monarchy since 1692. You form this government in our name, and only with our permission. Last time I checked, we have the power to veto laws, advise new ones, and when absolutely necessary, disband parliament at our discretion—to include the seat of Prime Minister. We are nearly self-sustaining from our vast holdings, and what tax dollars we do collect fund millions in charity. Does any of that seem as if I’m willing to throw centuries of tradition down the drain because a group of university students thinks they’d be better off voting for their representation? Oh, wait. They can already do that.”

“Prince Alexander—”

“Unless you have a list of demands that I can help with or a way in which our government has failed these Anti-Monarchists, then our discussion is done.”

His eyes blazed, but he nodded. “Yes, your Highness.”

I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. “Damian, if they have a legitimate grievance, I’ll hear it. If not, they’re acting like petulant toddlers.”

His posture softened. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay. Give me something to work with.”

I reached across the table and shook his hand, never one to abide by the hands-off-the-monarchy rule.

“Your Highness, in light of these…protests, I wonder if it might be prudent to…” His lips pursed.

“Spit it out, Damian. There’s no room for vagueness between us.”

“I wonder if Princess Gabriella might…show a bit of temperance.”

My eyes would have widened if I hadn’t been taught to control my facial expressions. “You mean her trip to Monaco?”

He reached into his briefcase and laid out four different tabloids, all dated yesterday, all showing a different picture of Brie and whatever bar she was dancing on.

Fuck. My. Life.

Headlines ranged from, “Fiddling while Rome Burns,” to “The Princess Ga’bar’ella.”

I sucked in a quiet breath and then smiled. “I’ll take your advice under consideration.”

Without another word, I left the conference room. The door shut behind me and Oliver was quickly on my heels as we walked through the crowd I had dismissed from the conference room.

“Find my mother. Then get Brie on the fucking phone,” I said once we were out of ear-range of the Prime Minister’s entourage.

“Or I could get you a secretary,” Oliver muttered.

“Not today, Oliver.”

All I wanted was to crawl back into bed next to Willa, to sample the peace she brought me. To fuck her senseless and find myself in the process. Then show her this country I loved so much. Instead, I’d already put out one fire, and another one had popped up in its wake.

I held my temper until I reached the residence wing, and that was by sheer force of will.

“Xander?” Sophie asked, the worry evident in her voice as she rose from the sofa and placed her coffee on the end table.

Her secretary stood. I’d obviously walked in on a meeting.

“Where’s mother?”

“She’s dressing,” Sophia answered. “What’s happened?”

“I need Brie on the phone now.”

“Then use your cell phone. I’m not your damn secretary,” she bit at me, standing.

Shit. I sighed. My phone was in my bedroom, and if I went in there, where Willa was waiting naked, there was zero chance in hell I was coming back out to this circus.

“Here, it’s ringing,” Jameson said, rising from a corner chair where I hadn’t seen him.

I took the phone and nodded my thanks to my twin.

“Jaime, what do you want?” Brie’s sleep-fogged voice asked through the phone.

“It’s not Jameson, it’s Xander, and what I want is for you to get your ass home,” I snapped. If Sophie was the sister who most resembled me in her sense of duty, then Brie clearly got her tendencies from Jameson.

“Well, I don’t give a good fuck what you want, Xander. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Gabriella, you are on every page of every major tabloid dancing on a bar in Monaco during the exact times we’ve had demonstrations that bordered on riots in the capital. Get. Your. Ass. Home.”

I heard her two slow breaths.

“I’ll be there in eight hours.”

“Four, Brie. Four hours.”

I hit the end button and tossed the phone to Jameson.

“Look, for the next few months while we get the Anti-Monarchist movement under control, and the coronation in place, do you think maybe we could all not act like assholes? Maybe?”

Mother cleared her throat behind me, and I slow-turned to face her. Impeccable timing as always.

“Mother. Good morning.”

“Xander.” She was dressed impeccably in a skirt-suit. Chanel no doubt. “If by assholes, you mean not bringing back American girls and installing them in our beds like the latest foreign concubines, I couldn’t agree more.”

Sophie’s eyes flew wide and flickered between mine and Oliver’s like he would tell her the truth. I almost laughed when I saw him shake his head at her, but I was out of patience for the day.

“She’s not a concubine, Mother because she’s not my mistress. She’s my…” well, shit. “She’s my girlfriend. And until you slap those royal marital handcuffs on me, she’ll stay in my bed.”

“And when the public learns that you have some rainbow-haired, low-class American in your bed instead of your betrothed?” She looked up at me with reserved emotion as always.

“And that, ladies, is our cue to leave,” Jameson said. Within a handful of breaths, the room was clear save myself and my mother. Even Oliver had fled to stand guard at Willa’s door.

“She’s not low-class, and I don’t need to defend our relationship to you. And my betrothal isn’t public knowledge, Mother. Just a rumor.”

“A decades-old rumor that has never been refuted in this house. It’s as good as fact. You think you’re a normal man, don’t you? Capable of screwing whomever you’d like. Having a fling. An affair.”

“Capable of dating? Yes, I do. And I intend to right up until the law says I can’t.” That damned law.

“And how does your American feel about that?”

My eyes glanced back toward the hallway where Willa slept. “She knows the score. We both do. But I have a limited time to be with her, and I’m going to do just that. I couldn’t care less if the public knows we’re dating—”

“That would be a disaster!” Mother snapped. “We are in the middle of a crisis. You’re not crowned yet, and with Gabriella being...Gabriella, the public opinion could turn against us. You are the one they will look toward to follow the rules, to do as your duty dictates.”

“And what of love?”

Love.

“Oh, this isn’t love,” Mother laughed. “You dear boy. This is lust, an infatuation. And I’m tolerating it only because I know you’ll do it anyway, but she must be removed from your bedroom.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

I fixed a glare on my mother. “No. I said no. And if you push it, I will take her to the nearest hotel, where she and I will share a suite for as long as we damn-well choose. I am twenty-eight years old, and you have no control past that damned betrothal agreement you signed.”

Her hand flew to her chest. “Xander.”

“No. She is the one thing you will not take from me. We’ll be discreet because I understand my duty, but I’m not giving her up.”

“What will you do, Alexander? Fall for this woman? Love this woman? It will be twice as painful to let her go if you continue than it would be to end it now. Spare your heart the pain, spare the monarchy the scandal.”

The thought of letting Willa go cut me to the quick. To never see her again, never touch her, never hear her laugh or watch her devour junk food. To never feel her body under mine or kiss her sweet mouth...it was unfathomable.

She. Was. Mine.

“I’m not letting her go,” I said in a near whisper.

Her eyes drooped in sadness before her customary nonchalance took over.

Shaking my head, I left her standing in the sitting room.

Passing Oliver, I threw open my bedroom door, uncaring that it slammed shut behind me. The quarters were as they’d always been, a sumptuous bed chamber, a small sitting area, a massive walk in closet, all decorated in various shades of mahogany and blue.

But no Willa.

A faint splash came from the bathroom, and I stripped out of my clothes, leaving a trail all the way to the french doors of the bathroom. Dropping my boxer briefs to the marble floor, I found Willa in my massive jacuzzi tub, bubbles covering everything I needed to claim. The soft swells of her breasts floated in the water, and my body hardened.

“Xander?” Her voice was soft as she sat up. “Is everything okay?”

I didn’t answer her, simply stepped into the tub and lowered myself into the water. Then I reached for her, gripping the soft curves of her waist and pulling her to straddle me. I kissed her hard, my mouth almost punishing—her, me, both of us for what we’d done, offered ourselves the taste of the other knowing we weren’t a possibility.

She softened immediately, and so did my mouth. My tongue tangled with hers, rolling, sucking, claiming the recess. I kissed the skin beneath her ear as my cock rose between us against her belly.

“I need you,” I growled into her neck.

“I’m yours,” she said. No questions, no demands. She simply accepted what I could give her without asking for more. It both humbled and angered me. She was worth so much more, and I was the asshole who was going to take it all.

My thumb found her clit, and I pressed and rolled, my fingers finding her body slick with more than just water. “Please be ready, because I can’t wait,” I said and positioned her over me.

“I’m ready the minute you walk in a room clothed, let alone naked,” she panted with her forehead braced against mine. Her arms looped around my neck as her body undulated against mine, her pussy riding my hand.

I moved my hand and thrust through her tight folds, savoring her gasp in my mouth as I kissed her. This was what I needed, to bury myself in Willa. To brand her as mine for as long as I possibly could, because she’d already left her mark on me.

The water sloshed over the sides of the tub as she rode me, her tight pussy squeezing my dick like a fiery vice. She pushed me back against the tub and kissed me hard as she took me over and over again, our bodies slippery and wet.

I worked her clit with my fingers until she arched against me in pulsing waves as her orgasm took her. Fuck, the woman was perfect. Gorgeous, sexy, funny, smart, and mine. So mine.

I growled that sentiment into her neck as I came, spilling into her in rhythmic thrusts as pleasure clouded my brain and cleared it at the same time.

“Yours,” she agreed with a soft kiss to my temple.

Our breathing slowed as the temperature of the water cooled, Willa sprawled on my chest. “Oh my God. Willa, I’m sorry. That was animalistic.”

“That was fucking phenomenal.” She smiled up at me. “I don’t know what happened, and you don’t have to tell me. Just know that I intend to use you in the same exact way when I need to.”

I cupped her face and kissed her gently, the complete opposite of the way I’d just taken her. Or let her take me. Whatever.

A knock at the door sounded.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

“Duty calls,” she sang merrily, hopping out of the tub and wrapping her delectable body in one of my towels. I loved the sight of her in my things. Apparently, a few days with Willa and I was going cave man.

I stood up and did the same, wrapping a towel around my waist as the knocking went from persistent to demanding.

I swung open the door to find Oliver mid-knock.

“Jesus, what could possibly be that important? Are we on fucking fire?”

The solemn look on his face was harsher than any words could have been.

“Oliver?”

He raised a stack of tabloids—these dated today—and shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Xander.”

I looked down to see a full page picture of me kissing Willa in the lobby of our hotel in New York. Our faces were clear, as were the other pictures of us walking hand in hand. “Prince Alexander’s Yummy Yank,” was the first headline.

Rage simmered in my veins. I was used to having my privacy violated, but Willa? This was bullshit. Utter bullshit.

“It gets worse,” Oliver said.

“How?” I snapped.

He pointed to the caption beneath the picture.

They had her fucking name.

“So much for being discreet.”