I straightened my tie and thought about taming my hair into a semblance of order for all of about two seconds before I walked away from the mirror. I was who I was, and everyone was just going to have to deal with it.

I could rule this Kingdom. I could take meetings with Parliament. I could form laws, handle matters of state, and even charm a foreign dignitary or two. Hell, I could stop screwing every woman on the planet...except Charlotte—that was a given in my future.

But I couldn’t be Xander.

Oliver walked behind me as we headed toward the conference room where Damian McAllister waited. Our Prime Minister looked more like a model than a politician, but he was brilliant, determined, and quite the opponent. Xander had won him over, but now it was my turn, and Damian made no secret that he didn’t approve of me.

“Jaime?” Sophie’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“What’s going on?” I asked her as she walked out of the sitting room, her brows creased.

Her eyes flickered to Oliver and back to me.

“I have some scheduling questions. There are a few charities that I champion, and Xander had agreed to put in a few appearances for me, and well…” She forced a shaky smile.

I crossed the distance between us and lightly grasped her shoulders. Sophie was petite but packed a powerhouse of a heart. She chaired the Wyndham Foundation and so many charities that I lost count, and I honestly had no idea how the hell she managed it all. Every single charitable dollar—and there were millions—that our family gave went through the Foundation, and somehow Sophie managed to keep it all straight and send the money where it was most needed.

“Sophie, just get with my secretary and tell her that you have carte blanche on my schedule. I will be wherever you need me to be.”

She released a shaky sigh, her green eyes blinking back a sheen of tears I hated to see. “Are you sure? Because I know how busy you are, and how much you have to get done, and I know it’s not fair what Xander did—”

“Stop,” I said softly. “Xander did what he needed to, and that’s okay. Sophie, I miss him, too. And I know you two were tight. The two good kids of the Wyndhams. But I will be where you need me to, whenever you need me to. I’m so thankful for everything you do for us.”

She blinked up at me, and I wondered how often she’d been told that. How often someone stopped to say how well she held everything together. Brie, our youngest sister, was the wild child, the one who got the most attention because she constantly caused some kind of PR nightmare. Sometimes Sophie got lost in the shuffle.

I kissed her forehead. “I’m serious. Go meet with my secretary.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “Sir.”

“Oliver.” We both turned to look at him. Oliver was only a few years older than I was, but with all that had happened in the last few months, he seemed way older.

“You don’t have a secretary.”

“I what? Where’s Xanders?”

“You...well, she quit, remember?”

Fuck that was right. I’d slept with the woman and then she’d up and quit. Not my finest moment, but not my worst, either.

“How about I get you a new secretary?” Sophie offered.

“Do you have time?”

Her smile was instant. “I will be wherever you need me, whenever you need me. I really don’t mind. We’re all a team here.” She glanced up at Oliver, and I could have sworn I heard her breath catch. “Oliver.”

He bowed his head. “Your Royal Highness.”

Her shoulders fell a little, but her posture remained upright. “I’ll get to it.”

She spun and left, her skirt swishing around her knees.

“Seriously?” I asked Oliver as we continued our trek toward the conference room.

“What?” he asked, but his face was tense.

“She’s been trying to get you to call her Sophie for what? Five years?”

“Seven,” he answered, his voice going as gruff as the slight scruff he wore on his face.

“She’d settle for Sophia, you know. You don’t even have to go full nickname.”

“Noted,” he said before he pushed the conference room door open and entered ahead of me.

The tone in his voice said the discussion was over, and it was never going to happen.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Jameson,” a footman called from the door.

I entered the room to find Damian sitting at the long conference table, another suited man next to him. There were a few other guys lining the walls, a combo of palace staff and security.

Damian rose from his seat, bowing his head as was custom. “Your Highness.”

“Jesus, not you, too. It’s Jameson. Jaime if you’d like to get super comfortable,” I said, offering my hand to shake.

He reached across the table and shook my hand. It was generally against royal protocol to touch a royal, but this was an exception that needed to be made, and I think Xander had made it as well.

“Okay, Jameson, this is Director Jenkins from the RIB.”

I offered my hand to the gentleman who had an early Sean Connery vibe going. James Bond, indeed. RIB, or the Royal Intelligence Bureau, was our answer to the FBI, the CIA, and MI6, all in one location. His eyebrows rose at the offer, but he grasped my hand.

“Your Highness.”

“Director Jenkins.”

“Thank you for meeting with us.” He motioned back to a younger man positioned just behind him at the left. The guy looked appropriately nervous, which I always got a kick out of. I was a man, for crying out loud, not Jesus Christ. “Agent Gardner, who has been assigned to palace detail.”

I nodded at the guy, took my seat, and they directly followed. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“We have reason to believe that the anti-monarchist threat is growing,” Director Jenkins said, handing me a file. “These were not included in your morning brief.”

Morning briefs. Man, I had to get my shit together. Mental note, find out where that fucking thing got delivered every morning.

I opened the file and quickly scanned over the contents.

Threats, and not the magazine cut out kind. The typed, meticulous, detailed kind. Threats against me, the palace, my sisters. I swallowed and reminded myself that this was nothing new. Being born royal meant you were automatically hated by some.

“Are they credible?” I asked.

“We’re investigating. Typically we wouldn’t bring these to your attention, but they’ve increased, and the sentiment since your brother’s abdication isn’t...well, I’ll let the Prime Minister address that.”

Thank you, Xander, for the fucking mess you left me with.

“What are we doing about the threats?”

“We’ll be increasing security around the palace and any public events, especially your upcoming wedding and the coronation. As a matter of fact, I’d like you to consider moving the coronation to a less public venue. Perhaps the ballroom of the palace itself?”

I shook my head.

“Not a chance. Every Wyndham to wear that crown had it placed on his or her head in the public square. I’m not going to throw away a thousand years of tradition over a threat.” I was going to make mistakes as King. They were inevitable, but I wasn’t going to start by shitting on the very tradition that made Elleston… well, Elleston.

His lips pursed. “I understand your position, but if you would reconsider…”

“I won’t, and the discussion is over. It’s your job to make it as safe as possible. The square is close enough to the palace to use the tunnels if trouble happens, and we have the best security detail in the world.”

I would have fist-bumped Oliver, but that definitely wouldn’t have gotten me any mature points in the Prime Minister’s eyes.

“I think he’s made his feelings known, Jenkins. Gentlemen, If you’ll excuse us for a few minutes?” Damian asked, but it really wasn’t a question.

“Your Highness.” Jenkins did the awkward rise and bow, and made his way to the door, taking Agent Whats-his-name with him. Damn, I needed a secretary.

Once the door was closed, and the rest of the staff cleared out besides Oliver, Damian ran his hand through his perfectly styled hair. The guy was just as uptight as Xander. No wonder they’d gotten along.

“Lay it on me.”

“I’m sorry?” Damian said, arching a dark blond eyebrow.

“You cleared everyone out. What’s going on?”

“There are...rumblings in Parliament.”

“About what? Tea? Taxes? Equal Opportunity? No, let me guess. It’s me. They ran off their precious, groomed Alexander, and now they’re stuck with Jameson.”

A slight smile quirked at his mouth. “Something like that. You’re not the King they expected, and with the upheaval in Elleston with the Anti-Monarchist threat, you’re the poster boy for abolishing the monarchy.”

“Yeah, well you can tell them that they created their own monster. Xander told them exactly what he needed to stay as King. Exactly what they could do to ensure the line of the monarchy, and they pretty much shit on him. I’m simply the repercussions of their actions.”

“Are you ready to lead?” he asked, narrowing his blue eyes at me.

“Like you have any right to judge that. Unlike you, I’m not elected. I’m here because when two people love each other and get these physical urges—”

“Fuck that.” He snapped. “This is my country.”

Oliver stepped forward, and I raised my hand, wordlessly ordering him to back off.

“This is my country. No, I wasn’t raised to rule it, but I know how. Had I been the heir, would I have acted differently in the past? We’ll never know. But if you have concerns being thrown at you by Parliament, either by Commons or Lords, then you need to remind them that I’m not something they get to debate. I am supreme, and they serve at my pleasure. As do you.”

A full grin spread across Damian’s face.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your brother said something very similar to me once. You’re more alike than you realize.”

“There, you couldn’t be more wrong. Where Xander is reserved, I’m reckless. Where he gets all the information and takes a long walk to debate his choice, I’ve already acted. And when you neolithic asshats wouldn’t change the most outdated law in the modern world, he walked away. I won’t.”

“How is the bride-hunt going?”

“Fuck you. When you’re forced to marry a stranger in the next four weeks, we can have this discussion. Until then, you have no idea what your asinine laws have caused.”

“I do,” he said softly. “They cost us a phenomenal King.”

Well, fuck if that didn’t sting just a little.

I pushed back from the table and stood, decorum making Damian do the same.

“It’s within my right to introduce new legislation for the approval of Parliament.”

“It is,” he acquiesced.  

“Excellent. You’ll see something from me on your desk in the morning.”

“Your Highness,” he bowed his head.

“Jameson. We’ll be working together until I’m dead, or you’re replaced. At least call me by my given name.”

“Jameson.”

Oliver opened the door for me, but before I left, I turned to face our Prime Minister.

“The people chose you to lead. They didn’t choose me, and I know that. I’m not the King they thought they’d have, or the King I thought I’d have. But I can promise you that I’ll be the King they need. You’ll never have reason to doubt that.”

“Prove it,” he challenged.

I arched an eyebrow at his audacity and left.

* * *

“We’ve cut the field to sixteen,” Charlotte said from Find-Jameson-A-Bride-Central...aka, the conference room closest to the residence.

It had been two days since the cocktail hour from hell and twenty-four hours since I had my first meeting with Parliament. What a fantastic first week.

All but sixteen of the pictures had been removed from the walls. Those who were left had 8X10 glossy headshots followed by a column of facts, history, both academic and social, and a list of pros and cons in Charlotte’s own handwriting.

The only woman I wanted had spent hours detailing why each of these debutantes should or should not become my future queen.

I was just as humbled as I was pissed.

“That’s a good field,” Mom said from her seat next to mine. She was dressed immaculately but had a softer, more casual look than she’d ever had. It was as if she were stepping down in increments, beginning with her wardrobe.

“Is it?” I asked sarcastically.

I was answered with a healthy dose of side-eye.

“All of these candidates are perfectly acceptable,” Georgia said, standing next to Charlotte.

“I don’t think acceptable is what he’s going for,” Sophie answered from the other side of me. Her glance flickered to Oliver who stood in the corner, looking anywhere but at her. “No one’s goal should be an acceptable match, not when he’s got a shot at something better.”

Georgia cleared her throat. “Well, yes.”

“Mom? Any thoughts?”

She stood in one smooth, graceful motion and walked toward the wall-of-women. God, how misogynist was this? Like picking a filly from the herd?

Ironic that all of my advisers were women.

The door flew open, and hurricane Brie walked in, dressed in a Ramones tee, jeans, and last night’s eyeliner. “Sorry I’m late. Did you give out the final rose yet?”

“Funny. Ha. Ha.”

She took the seat next to Sophie and leaned her head on Sophie’s shoulder. “So we haven’t married off our brother yet?”

Sophie leaned back against Brie. The two couldn’t have been more different if they’d been raised on different continent by different families. Only ten months apart, they were Irish Twins, but the year of their birth was where the similarities ended.

Sophie was a crisp mountain breeze, refreshing and soft. Her green eyes were always kind, and welcoming, and her brown hair was usually in a twist of some sort. She thought the best of everyone and reminded us all not to snap to judgment.

Brie was a hurricane with category five winds. Her hair was long, black, and usually in whatever style she’d left it in after a trip to the club. She didn’t just brush against the line of propriety like I did, she danced across it in six-inch heels, laughing the whole time. Sure, she was a little wild, but she was fierce in her love of her family and protected Sophie like she was the older sister and not the other way around.

I leaned back to look at her. “Not yet.”

As I sat forward, I saw a streak of lavender just behind Sophie’s right ear, and immediately leaned closer.

“Is your hair purple?”

Her eyes flew wide and met mine in the timeless sibling indignation of thanks-for-ratting-me-out-in-front-of-mom.

“I already know,” Mom said, turning back to the board-of-brides.

“What?” Sophie asked with a shrug. “Willa and I did it before she left. I can have a little rebelliousness in me, too,” she argued.

I put my hands up like I was under arrest. “Hey, no argument from me.”

“It’s badass,” Brie said, nudging Sophie with her shoulder.

I didn’t miss the way Sophie looked up at Oliver or the way he lost his composure to a half smile when their eyes locked for an instant.

If Sophie were Brie, she would have just fucked him by now.

But Sophie...was Sophie.

“Okay, so Mom, what’s your opinion?” I asked before Mom caught on to the way the two of them danced around each other. She’d have Oliver fired on principle.

I took a sip of the coffee a staff member put in front of me and nodded my thanks to the guy.

Mom tilted her head toward the middle. “This one needs to go. Colleen Gibson is a bitch.”

Coffee spewed from my mouth.

“Jaime!” Charlotte shouted in concern as my sisters broke into an uproar of laughter.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mumbled as the staff rushed to clean up my mess, one of the ladies blotting at my shirt where there was no coffee. “I’m okay,” I told her softly. She blushed and backed away.

“What? She is,” Mom continued. “The way she dressed down the Duchess of Luden was absolutely horrific. She’d be a shrew.”

Charlotte looked at me, and I nodded.

“Then she’s gone,” Charlotte said, taking down the girl’s column.

“Lose Lady Shannon. The Drapery girl,” Brie added.

“Drannery,” Mom corrected with a sigh, knowing Brie for the lost cause she was. “And why? She’s a beautiful girl, and she graduated top of her law class.”

“Whatever, and yeah, after she fucked half of them.”

“Gabrielle!” Mom snapped.

Brie shrugged.

“It’s true.” Sophie’s voice was soft but strong. “And...you might as well take Lady Vanessa Blackcreek off there, too. She’s a fan of the fairer sex.”

Everyone turned to look at Sophie.

“What? People talk. Just because I don’t repeat gossip doesn’t mean I don’t hear it.”

Mom’s eyebrows slowly lowered with a nod. “Okay then, lose both of them.”

“Charlie? Thoughts?” I asked.

She narrowed her eyes in my direction. Her hair was in a perfect french twist, and my fingers itched to pull it loose of the pins, to see her come undone. I’d arch her back so her neck was exposed, and then I’d run my tongue along the delicate column until she gasped.

“Lady Mary...I like her. She’s not high up in the aristocracy, but she’s acceptable to parliament. She’s kind, smart, well-spoken—”

Something inside me snapped.

I couldn’t stand listening to her suggest someone for me to marry. It was like she was approving me to fuck them when I could never do the same for her. God, it had been bad enough knowing Xander would eventually slide inside that gorgeous, lithe body of hers, but now that I had a chance? Hell if I was giving someone else the green light. She was mine.

This whole situation was fucking ridiculous.

“Who don’t you like?” I snapped, raking my hands through my hair.

She looked at me, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t want to know who I like?”

“Not unless you want me to stand in front of a board and help you figure out who you should you be fucking.”

The moment it was out of my mouth I wanted to take it back.

Every face in the room turned slowly to look at me, all wearing the same open-mouthed look of shock.

Well, except Charlotte. She wasn’t surprised.

She was pissed. Furious, if the set of her mouth said anything.

Good. It was about time I got under her skin. God knew she was under mine like a fucking splinter. A gorgeous, sexy, smart, perfect fucking splinter that I had no desire to remove. Hell no, I was going to tattoo around it like the badge of honor it was.

“Seriously?” she snapped.

“As a fucking heart attack.”

Tension filled the room, the silence thick and heavy as Charlotte and I stared each other down.

She marched toward me, her skirt swishing just above her knee, and I stood. There was zero chance she was going to dress me down. Not here. Not in this matter.

“Come. Here. Now.” She snatched my hand and pulled, tugging me behind her as she marched toward the wall.

The door—inlaid perfectly to appear as though it were a part of the wall—spun open, and a staff member carried out a tray. The girl jumped back as Charlotte marched past her with me in tow. The door shut behind us, and Charlotte flipped the lock, then walked a few feet and locked the door that led to the staff hallway, trapping us in what appeared to be a butler's pantry, counter and all.

“Seriously? The prep room?” I questioned her, leaning back against the wall and undoing my tie. The fucking thing was strangling me.

She glanced around like she’d just realized where we were, and then snapped her gaze back to mine. “You need my advice.”

“Sure. Point out the bitches, or the ones you know I’ll walk all over. Point out the ones you know I won’t be attracted to, or the ones who are just after the crown. But you don’t get to point out the ones you think I should marry.”

“I’m sorry?” Her eyes sparkled with indignation. “You have to marry someone in three and a half weeks, Jameson. Don’t you think it would be easier if it was someone you know had the approval of the women in your life? Or is my opinion not valid?”

“My mom, my sisters, hell, even Georgia can point out who they think will fit. They can give me their recommendations, but not you,” I seethed, knowing damn well I sounded like a jackass.

“Oh, really? Because I’m not qualified? Because you don’t care what I think?”

“Because you’re basically telling me who to fuck!”

Her posture went rigid, and she blinked rapidly.

“Or does that get you off? Telling me who to put into my bed?” I stalked forward, and she retreated. “Who to kiss? Who to touch? Who to put my mouth on night after night, mornings, afternoons, anytime I need her...anytime she needs me. I’m not going to take a mistress, Charlie. The woman I crown as my Queen will be the only woman I sleep with. The only woman I make love to. The only woman I fuck. And just as much as her body will be mine to worship, my body will be hers to own.” She bumped into the counter, and raised her chin as I came closer. “Is that really a recommendation you want to make?  Knowing how I feel about you?”

Our bodies brushed, her breasts rubbing against my chest.

“You want to fuck me.”

God, that word out of her mouth...it shot straight to my dick like an aphrodisiac.

“Always have,” I admitted as my hands found the sweet flare of her hips.

She gasped as we collided, and I knew she could feel how hard I was for her. I reveled in the fact that I didn’t have to hide it from her. She wasn’t my brother’s betrothed.

“Jameson…” My name was a whisper on her lips.

I pounced, kissing her hard.

She tensed, and I immediately softened my mouth, sucking her lower lip into my mouth and gently running my tongue across the tender flesh. I drew that one motion out as long as possible, until I pulled back to look into her eyes.

There was confusion there...surprise and a little anger, too. But there was also hunger and longing. I knew because the same emotions echoed in me.

She glanced to my lips, back up and repeated.

Then she was kissing me, her mouth urgent and needy. These weren’t small, sipping kisses. These were as demanding as her hands were, threading into my hair.

Holy shit. I was kissing Charlotte.

Well, Charlotte was kissing me.

With a primal growl, I lifted her by her hips so she sat on the counter, then spread her thighs with one hand and stepped between them.

My tongue traced the line of her lips, but she didn’t open.

God, had she been kissed? I knew she’d dated other guys briefly, but how far had she taken it?

I shifted my hands to her ass and pulled her flush against me. Thank God for the height of the counter, she hit my stomach. I ground my dick against the cabinet and told it to behave.

“Open for me, Charlotte,” I begged against her mouth, unwilling to pull back, to give her a minute to reconsider. If this was the one time I’d get my hands on her, I was going to press every advantage. I’d show her what we could be like together. “Let me in.”

Her lips parted, and I sank my tongue inside her mouth. Fuck, she was sweet and tasted just like her tea. She moaned, her fingers tightening their grip in my hair. I couldn’t wait to hear that sound when I finally got my head between her thighs. Not today, but soon.

She was mine, and I was hers, whether or not she realized it.

She arched against me, her breasts soft against my chest, the silk of her blouse so thin that I knew I’d be able to feel her nipple harden if I took the weight in my hand.

Our tongues rubbed, swirled, danced around each other. I licked at every line of her mouth, every crevice until I knew it as well as my own. Then I sucked her tongue into my mouth, and she whimpered.

She wasn’t a passive kisser. Hell no. I’d jokingly called her frigid once, but I’d been so fucking wrong. She was fire in my hands, her thighs wrapping around my hips, rocking her hips slowly against me.

I ripped my mouth from hers and kissed a line down her jaw, stopping to bite gently on her ear. “You’re fucking perfect, Charlotte,” I whispered.

She shuddered lightly, and I continued, licking a path down her neck just like I’d fantasized in the conference room. She arched wildly, and I returned to that spot, licking and sucking lightly until she damn-near writhed. “So sensitive,” I praised.

Her hands held my head to her neck like she was afraid I’d move back if she let go, but I wasn’t going anywhere. Ever. I could die right here in this room with her under my mouth, my tongue, and be a happy man.

Fuck it, Sophie could rule in my stead.

My hand drifted over her waist until I cupped the exquisite curve of her breast. She felt better than I’d ever imagined, especially when she shifted so she could push more of her breast into my hand. I ran my thumb over the silk blouse, and I’d been right. The material was so light, so delicate that I could feel the outline of the lace bra she wore beneath.

Maybe my Charlie has an underwear fetish.

She hissed when I found her puckered nipple and lightly pinched it, rolling it through the fabric. I couldn’t wait to get my tongue here, to feel her squirm when I’d pull it into my mouth. But I was aware of my surroundings, and sending Charlotte back out there with a wet mark on her blouse would set the gossip flying.

And I’d be damned if anyone talked about her like that.

“Jaime,” she groaned, and I kissed her again, needing back in her mouth more than I needed oxygen. I fucked her with my tongue, deep, rhythmic slides that mimicked what I was desperate to do with my cock.

Her hips rocked against me in the same rhythm, and I nearly pulled her off the counter and dry-fucked her like I was back in high school.

“More,” she pleaded, her voice nearly ripping an orgasm from me.

A single kiss had never strung me out this bad. Sure, I excelled at foreplay, always made sure my partner was ready for me, but this was different. Kissing Charlotte wasn’t foreplay. It felt more intimate than the act itself.

My hand left her breast, and they both landed on the silk of her stockings just above her knee. Without breaking our kiss, I slid my hands up, under her skirt and gritted my teeth as my dick screamed for more.

Fuck, the skin of her thighs was even softer than the silk of her blouse. I squeezed lightly as she used my own move on me, sucking my tongue into her mouth in silent demand. Her nails bit into the skin of my neck, and there was only one word rocketing through my brain. More.

God, her skin. Her smooth, soft, warm….bare skin. I groaned when I brushed the straps that held her stockings up. She had on a fucking garter belt, not full pantyhose. God, I could brush her panties aside and be inside her with a few motions.

“So fucking sexy,” I whispered.

She whimpered in reply, spreading her thighs even wider. “Jaime?” She questioned like she didn’t feel the electricity between us, the tension building.

But I did.

I only needed a few more minutes, and I’d have my sweet, stubborn, off-limits Charlotte coming all over my fingers, and her reaction just told me it would be her first.

Three knocks sounded on the door, and her body went rigid.

Her hands slid from my neck.

No, no, no.

“This had better be an emergency,” I barked.

“Just letting you know that everyone took off for lunch,” Brie said, her voice louder than it needed to be. “So, you know...we’ll be back once you’re done with your...discussion.”

“Got it,” I snapped.

I tilted Charlotte’s head to dive in for another kiss, but her eyes were closed tight, her lips flat and pursed, the muscles in her body as hard as my dick, her hands clenched in fists.

“Charlotte,” I whispered, hoping to get her back, but the moment was gone.

Her eyes opened, but the passion was gone, replaced by a mix of accusation and guilt.

Fuck that.

“Do not look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she asked, those damnable walls going up all around her.

“Like you didn’t feel exactly what I did. Like you don’t want me just as badly as I want you.” I pushed at her emotions, silently begging her to admit our connection, to embrace the very thing we’d covered with animosity for the last fifteen years.

She pushed at my chest, and I sighed in defeat, stepping back from the cradle of her thighs. She promptly slid from the counter, landing as gracefully on her heels as if she’d been wearing Chucks, and smoothed the lines of her skirt.

“Well, that was certainly…” Her chin rose as she struggled with her words, her composure.

“Perfect? Hot? Fucking incredible?”

“Ill-advised.”

I might have told her to fuck off and left her standing there, but her hand slightly trembled as she brushed a non-existent loose strand of hair behind her ears.

She was rattled, and nothing rattled Charlotte.

Except me.

“Bullshit. It was exactly what I knew it would be. Explosive. You can fight it, deny it all you want, but I tasted your desire, felt your nipples harden, held your hips as you rubbed against me, looking for a little relief.”

“Jameson,” she hissed, color blooming in her cheeks.

I took the step that separated us, until our bodies were flush again. If I had to fuck this woman into believing me, I would. I would use every weapon in my arsenal to keep her, and when it came to sex, I was locked and loaded.

“I bet if I slid my hands under your panties right now, you’d be soaked. Wet, and slippery from nothing but a few kisses because that’s how damn good we are together. I don’t want any of those girls on that board, Charlie. I want you.”

I knew she was shaken because she didn’t even hiss at me for calling her that, just shook her head at me.

“You want what you can’t have,” she accused but didn’t move. We were so close our foreheads nearly touched, her breath hitting my lips in spurts that tasted like the peppermint of her tea. “You don’t want me. You want what’s untouched. You want to dirty up what you find so pristine. You want the ultimate notch on your bedpost, the one girl you couldn’t have. Don’t ever forget that I know you, Jaime.” Her soft words were at odds with the fire in her eyes.

“I want you. Do I think it’s sexy as fuck that you’re a virgin?” Gripping her hip with one hand, I ran my thumb across her lips with the other, aching to kiss her again. “Yes. But don’t think that I would care if you weren’t. Even if you’d slept with half the damn country, I would still want you. I want your tongue in my mouth, your hair loose on my pillow, your sharp comments keeping me in line. The fact that no one has ever given you an orgasm doesn’t play into that equation, but believe me, I’m more than happy to hand them out like candy at Christmas if you’ll let me. Just admit that you want me, too.”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “It never has. Not to you, not to Xander, not to everyone who signed me over like I was a herd of sheep.”

She pushed, and I stepped back, even though it killed me a little inside.

She left me standing in the fucking prep room while she exited like the queen she was meant to be, her head held high.

I took deep breaths, calming my heart, and my need to destroy something. Once I was calm, I walked out to find Brie leaned up against the wall, a knowing smirk on her face.

“Seriously, Brie? You have no idea what you just fucked up.” If she’d waited another three minutes, I’d have had Charlotte keening, coming, satisfied.

“I know exactly what I just fucked up,” she said, pushing off the wall. “I stopped you from fucking it up.”

“You could hear us?” I guessed.

She shook her head. “These rooms are damn near soundproof unless you’re up against the door like I was when I stopped you. No one heard anything.”

“Then how—”

She laughed, but it sounded sad. “Jameson, I know you better than any of your siblings. You don’t think I see how you look at her? How you’ve always looked at her?”

I blinked and swallowed, trying to come up with a reply. “She was Xander’s.”

“And you loved her anyway,” she said, no judgment in her voice.

I neither confirmed nor denied.

Now she was the one sighing. “Jaime, if she’s what you want, you have a legitimate shot with her.”

“She doesn’t want me.”

“Oh, I saw her face when she left. She most certainly does. But I can tell you as a woman in our boy-worshipping monarchy, she’s not in any hurry to saddle herself to another contract.”

“Then what the fuck am I supposed to do, Brie? Marry one of these other girls?” I motioned to the wall.

“Fight for her. Go to war for Charlotte. Give her whatever she wants—the one thing no one else ever has.”

“And what is that? Please tell me something that one of the richest women in the world doesn’t have.”

Brie’s eyes flashed with sadness before she quickly cloaked the emotion.

“A choice. Give her the freedom of a choice.”

She spun on her heel and left me standing alone. I stared at the nameless faces on the wall, from the timid Lady Katherine to the forward Lady Caroline.

Fuck this. I could still taste Charlotte, could still feel her skin under my fingertips, hear her moans in my ear. If she’d just give me a chance, she’d see how much I needed her, wanted her. How good we could be together. She’d see everything I could bring to her life.

A lightbulb went off in my head like I was fucking Edison.

Give her whatever she wants—the one thing no one else ever has.

I knew exactly how to get Charlotte.