Get your head in the game, Westwood, I snap at myself. Stop pining.

So I make a show out of leading Sophie in a sultry samba. She’s a perfect partner, responsive, quick, and enthusiastic. She’s certainly more pleasing than watching Kit accept drinks from various men as she flirts and dances her way around the club. She’s like her own little solar system, her friends and would-be lovers orbiting around her as she burns brighter and brighter, until I can’t look at her anymore.

Why the fuck is this tearing me up? Maybe if I just talk to her…

“You’re jealous,” Sophie whispers in my ear.

I lose my footing, she’s surprised me so thoroughly.

“Sorry?” I ask her.

“Quit playing the jealous ex. You’re just giving her what she wants,” Sophie says, tsking.

I open my mouth to explain how wrong she is, then stop. She’s got the circumstances all wrong, of course, but she’s right about one thing.

I am acting jealous, for fuck’s sake.

Unwilling to explore the root of my newfound jealousy, I force myself to pay attention to my date. For a minute I manage to keep myself in the moment, enjoy the simplicity of dancing with Sophie.

See? I tell myself. If you just asked her out, she’d say yes. She’d accept. She’d steer you in the right direction, make your grandmother pleased beyond measure.

And it would be so easy.

I could just leave my past behind…

The beginning of a ruckus behind us shatters the moment. I turn and see Kit’s philandering shithead of a fiancé storming into the club, a determined grimace on his face.

“No!” she shouts before Charles even gets close.

He stalks up, holds something in front of her face, and she goes quiet.

“Kit!” I say, pushing through the crowd toward her, Sophie forgotten.

Kit doesn’t even glance back. She vanishes into the back of the club. I see one of the exit doors open. Once, twice. They’ve slipped outside for privacy, but why?

What could that asshole possibly have to say that Kit is willing to hear?

I look around and spot Bramford on the VIP stairs. He looks out and spots me. I point to the back doors and he nods.

I elbow my way through the packed dance floor. By the time I make it to the back door, Bram’s already there. He lifts his chin in greeting and then cracks the door, looking out.

Camera flashes pour in, and he lets it slam shut again.

“We can’t go out there,” he says, his lips thinning. “The paparazzi will go mad if there’s three royals fucking about in the alley together.”

“Kit just went out there with the American twat who cheated on her. We have to go,” I sigh.

Bramford gives me a hard look.

“Aren’t you on some kind of probation with grandfather?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah. So what? I’m not leaving Kit in some fucking back alley, man.”

Bram reaches out and catches me by the lapel, staring me right in the eyes. It lasts for only a second, but then he shoves me back.

“Fine,” he says, “but let me take the lead. No need to tell the press that you’re still hard up for Kit, eh?”

“Bram—” I start to argue, but he just shakes his head and pushes the door open.

It’s not hard to find Kit and Charles. There’s a cruel swarm of photogs just a few feet from the doors, snapping away as Charles grips Kit’s arm, whispering in her ear.

“Get off me!” she screeches, giving a violent shake to free herself.

Bram and I rush toward them; the paparazzi take one look at us and start to froth like mad dogs, backing up to try to get all three of us in the shot.

God knows what kind of headline they’re going to cook up to explain this.

“If you think I won’t tell him, you’re as stupid as you are pathetic,” Charles hisses at Kit as I step up to grab him.

He eludes me just in time for Kit to drunkenly fling herself at him, releasing an Amazonian scream; I can see the murderous intent written all over her face.

“Fuck you, Charles! I’ll ruin you! I’m the one who ruins!” she wails.

I look at Bram, and old school habits kick in. This isn’t the first fight of Kit’s that we’ve broken up, and though it’s probably been two decades since the last, we’re still a good team.

Bram grabs Charles as I grab Kit and we haul them apart. Bram puts a boot on Charles’s ass and sends him sprawling into the biggest clique of photogs while I scoop Kit up and carry her down the alley.

“No!” she whines at me.

“Not another fucking word, Katherine,” I say, using my most authoritarian tone. The tone my training officers in the RAF used on us when we were out of line, somewhere between cowing and terrifying.

She goes still and quiet; I’m not sure if my command worked, or if she passed out.

I’m careful to pull her hair down and put my jacket over her face; I can’t change what’s already happened, but I can protect her privacy from here on out.

Kit doesn’t fight me, she’s way too drunk for that. She just curls up in my arms, pressing her face against my chest and shivering.

Damn, I forgot how fucking tiny Kit is.

The way she feels in my arms, the delicate scent of her perfume, it’s intoxicating.

As I walk past the exit doors, several security guards rush out. Good, they’ll get at least some of the paparazzi’s cameras and reduce our exposure. The paparazzi know better than to get caught snapping on private property.

I don’t hesitate to leave Bram behind. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself. As I bolt down the side alley, a single photog jumps out.

“Prince Magnum!” he shouts, his camera flash momentarily blinding me.

“You can fuck right off,” I mutter, turning toward the club’s valet lot. It won’t be the first night I snuck out this way, but I think it might be the very last.

“Who’s the blonde? Is she conscious?” he asks.

‘None of your business’, and ‘barely’ are my answers, but he’s not getting them.

I shake my head and hop the low fence, whistling to a valet waiting at the far end of the car park. It takes a moment for him to sort my keys, and the whole time the paparazzo is snapping photos from the alley, careful to stay on public property.

He’s smarter than his counterparts back at the club’s exit. This photog may be the only one who escapes with his camera intact.

“Keys, your highness,” the valet says, pressing them into my hand.

“What’s your name?” I ask him.

“Justen, sir.”

“Thank you, Justen. Be a good lad and keep quiet about all this, won’t you? She’s just had too much to drink.”

He looks confused as he opens the passenger door for me. When I settle Kit into the passenger seat and buckle her up, his eyes go wide with recognition.

“Please, Justen,” I ask. I pull out my wallet and hand him my card, along with a fat wad of cash, all that I have on me. “You never saw her, okay? She’s having a rough enough go as it is.”

“Yes, my lord. Of course,” Justen actually bows, and I clap him on the shoulder.

“No need for all that, but thank you,” I say.

I make my way around to the driver’s side and hop in, and we’re out of the parking lot in a flash.

“Kit?” I ask, patting her bare knee. “Kitten, where are you staying?”

“Mmmf,” is the most I get out of her.

“Kit. Kitty,” I say, reaching over to squeeze her thigh. “Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

“Nope,” she says, then sighs. She opens her eyes, the storm gray of her gaze ensnaring me. “I’m just drunk. Rex, I’m sooooo drunk.”

“I know, Kitten,” I say, relaxing and turning my attention back to the road.

“Jesus, what year is it?” Kit asks, leaning her seat back. “Kitten. Don’t fucking call me that.”

“No one’s called me Rex since you left,” I inform her. “So it goes both ways, Lady Katherine. Now where are you staying?”

“God, I don’t know,” she moans. “Take me to Marjorie’s, I guess.”

“Kit, it’s three a.m. I don’t think Marj will appreciate you showing up at this hour.”

“Mum’s, then.”

“…do you mean the palace? Your mom closed your Valencia City house up, I think.”

“She closed Auberge House? Christ, she never told me that,” she sighs.

“Well, it’s obvious that you’re not going there,” I point out.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Take me to a hotel, then. The Wemberley.” She pauses. “Wait. I don’t… I don’t think I even have my ID cards.”

Kit proceeds to pat herself down, then sigh with relief as she pulls a card clip from her pocket.

“Ah, never mind, I’ve got credit cards and stuff.”

“Kit—” I hesitate.

I know I can’t just drop her off at some fucking hotel in the middle of the night, without a reservation or anyone to make sure she gets to her room. She’s not a royal heir, but she’s not exactly persona non grata either.

Shaking my head, I turn the car north, toward the poshest part of the city.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Kit says. I’m not sure how she knows, since her eyes are closed, but she’s right — if I was taking her to the Wemberley.

“You’re coming to my place,” I tell her.

“What?” She cracks an eye open. “Why?”

“I’m not leaving you sloshed downtown all alone,” I say.

“I can take care of myself, Rex.”

The sound of my nickname on her lips makes my hands tighten on the custom leather wheel and my jaw tense.

“We’re almost there already. Are you going to make me drive farther after I’ve been drinking?” I ask her.

In truth, I haven’t had a drink in almost an hour now, maybe more. I’m certainly below the legal limit, and would never drive if I wasn’t sure I was fully in control.

Not after I watched my best friend die in the driver’s seat, saw him breathe his last with no one else there to witness the moment. No fucking way.

Kit’s lips thin with dismay, but she just looks away out the window. Assent, of a kind.

I’ll take what I can get, I guess.

Soon enough we’re pulling into my building, parking, heading to the glass elevator that runs from the ground floor all the way to the penthouse — the level occupied solely by my sprawling flat.

“This is something,” Kit murmurs as we ride up the fourteen floors to the penthouse. “I didn’t realize you’d moved.”

“You wouldn’t know, would you?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself, and it sounds angry.

A horrifying thought occurs: Maybe Sophie was wrong. Maybe I’m not the jealous ex. Maybe I’m the bitter ex.

I don’t give Kit a chance to respond as we step into my place. I don’t want to hear it, if she’s even got an answer or a reason.

“Nice,” she comments from behind me.

And it is nice. The whole apartment is done in cream and mahogany, low furniture scattered about in a layout that encourages people to stay up till the wee hours, talking and laughing and drinking wine. It’s a party apartment, especially the gorgeous balcony and hot tub overlooking the Stanfeld Gardens below.

It’s a leftover from the old me, from my old life, but I haven’t been able to get rid of it yet. Like so many things from my past, like the leftover feelings for Kit that have risen to the surface tonight.

It’s been five years. I’m over it. I haven’t been that guy in a long, long time.

Pushing thoughts of the past out of my head for the hundredth time tonight, I head straight into my bedroom and open drawers, sorting through stacks of fresh laundry until I find a set of flannel pajamas for Kit. They’re going to drown her, they’re so big. Fine by me. Now that we’re here in my apartment, I’d rather her considerable assets be well-hidden than on display and within reach.

She saunters into my bedroom in her bare feet, her hair mussed and lipstick a little smeared. She sits on the edge of my bed.

“Here,” I say, tossing her the pajamas. “I’m the only one who gets to be naked in this apartment. There are three spare bedrooms and a nice couch, find somewhere to crash.”

Kit doesn’t move, just tilts her head. She bites her lip, her eyes traveling up and down my body, and in that moment I would give everything I own to know what she’s thinking.

“You look different,” she says, her lashes lowering to disguise her thoughts. “Taller, at least.”

“Kit…” I begin, but what is there to say? There’s too much left unspoken between us, old riddles and wounds, and this is just not the time to open that door.

Hell, there will probably never be a proper time for it. What good could possibly come of talking about that argument? The night she kissed my lips, crept out of my palace bedroom, and disappeared from my life?

Yeah, I am not in the fucking mood to unravel the mysteries of Kit tonight.

I unlace and kick off my Doc Martens, then pull my shirt off. I won’t say I don’t feel a rush of pleasure at the way Kit’s eyes widen when she sees the effects of all the hours I put in at the gym. Or maybe she’s more shocked at the fact that I’m dripping with tattoos, dark whorls of ink on my shoulders, pecs, arms, and sides.

“See something you like?” I ask. Just for a second, I want to make her as tense as I feel right now, want to see if I can make her blush.

Kit’s eyes leave my chest to lock with mine. They’re a little darker than usual. I wonder if it’s just the alcohol, or if she’s feeling as twisted up and curious as I am.

“Rex…” she says. She shifts on my bed. Her dress hitches up, flashing her black lace garter.

That’s all it takes; I’m hard as a fucking rock, thinking about how the sweet, innocent Kit I used to know has changed. The girl who was so wholesome that it nearly killed her to ask me to fuck her the first time, to take her v-card.

And yet here she is on my bed, garters clinging to her thighs, looking at me with those big doe eyes. In two strides, I’m standing over her. In another beat, I’m trailing a fingertip over that garter.

She’s not wearing stockings, so the garter must connect to something else she’s wearing.

“Rex,” she says again. I don’t look at her, though. I look at the garter, slip my finger under it and test its elasticity. I pull it and let it bounce back against her bare skin with a snap.

“Kit,” I say. “You really shouldn’t be here tonight.”

Her cheeks are flushed this delicate shade of pink, her lips redder than fresh blood.

“You brought me here, Rex.”

I have to touch her; I think I’ll die if I don’t touch Kit, right this second. I can’t seem to stop myself from reaching out and pulling the silky blonde curtain of her hair back over her shoulder.

Her lips part on a soft gasp when I run my thumb over her collarbone, when I tug her earlobe, when I brush the sensitive underside of her jaw.

Her intake of breath is audible. She’s either about to moan or protest, and I can’t stand either, for very different reasons. Her protest won’t make any difference now, not when I’m so close to her.

And her moan, well… Kit’s moans still play in my dreams, sometimes. They’re that powerful, and I don’t want to lose control like that.

Not here. Not with this girl, the one fucking girl I shouldn’t have and certainly shouldn’t want.

So I don’t let her respond. I lean down and press my lips to hers. Her lips are just as warm and soft and perfect as I remembered. The male hunger in me is already thinking about just how those lips would feel wrapped around my cock.

One of many things that I never got to find out, before. Two fumbling teenagers desperately in love, sneaking away once or twice a month during palace functions to fuck in a broom closet.

It’s a miracle she ever let me have her more than once, little as I knew about pleasing women back then.

Kit’s hand comes up to close over mine, which is when I realize that I’ve been cupping her full, heavy breast through her dress. She looks at me, our gazes lock, and suddenly I know that if I don’t get the fuck away from her, we’re going to end up in serious trouble.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I tell Kit. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She leans back, lipstick smeared, chest rising and falling against the thin fabric of her dress.

For a second, I almost give in. For a second, I know that we’re going to fuck, that it’s going to be amazing. I lean closer, closer, until my lips brush hers again, our eyes locked, neither of us able to look away.

I know that she will fill the void inside me, the black hole that’s been eating away at me since the day of the accident. Longer, maybe. Since the day she left.

She will take all of this away, if I put it all on her. If I’m enough of an asshole to do that…

“Fuck,” she whispers against my lips, tears welling in her eyes.

What the hell is she thinking now?

I don’t find out, though. Kit blinks and looks away, and the spell is broken.

I drag in a breath I didn’t know I desperately needed and step back, shaken.

I turn and storm to the ensuite bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I strip and get in the shower, feeling angry at what I almost did, at the fact that I’m still hard for her.

If she hadn’t pulled back…

She may have just saved us both, more than she can know. I am ashamed now, embarrassed at my lack of control.

Around the one person in my life…

Fuck, the one girl who’s made me feel like this before, right before she ripped my heart out and stomped on it.

Our parents, the royal bullshit, none of that need factor into it. Our own history is reason enough.

I can’t go around snogging fucking Katherine Saville.

I can’t want her, not like this. Not so fucking desperately.

And above all else, I absolutely fucking cannot actually have her.

I shower in frigid water, standing under the icy spray until my heart stops pounding, until my cock ceases its demand that I bury myself inside Kit and fuck her senseless.

When I come out, she’s dressed in the flannel pajamas and sprawled across my bed, snoring softly. Her dress is on the floor, along with a pile of silky lingerie that I refuse to let myself examine.

Too far, I tell my libido, getting creepy now.

Though I usually sleep naked as the moment of my birth, I pull on a pair of boxer briefs. Better not to tempt fate, not where Kit’s concerned. I walk around the bed, trying to figure out how to get in without disturbing Kit.

Unfortunately for me, she’s passed out squarely in the middle.

Figures.

With a sigh, I turn out the lights and push back the covers, then adjust Kit until she’s not quite so in the way. She stirs in her sleep as I situate myself, turning and wrapping herself around me in a majorly unfortunate way.

Mostly unfortunate for my hard-on, which has returned in full force.

She mumbles something in her sleep. I shift, trying to get comfortable, and she giggles.

“What’s that now, Kit?” I ask, amused.

“Rex is back,” she whispers. “Did you see him?”

“That I did, Kitten,” I tell her.

She burrows into the crook of my arm, happy as a fucking clam, and goes to sleep.

Me, on the other hand? Good thing I have a lot of training functioning on very little sleep, because I don’t see any happening for me.

Not tonight, not with Kit in my arms.