It was the chill in the air that woke him, but it was the vacant spot next to him that, had Hank bolting upright in bed. He’d been up most of the night with his little vixen—jet lag be damned—and even when they’d finally drifted off in the wee hours of the morning, he’d kept her close at his side.

Usually he preferred to sleep alone. Not that he couldn’t spare the room. His bed back home was fit for a king. Literally. Hand carved from the wood of Viking ships, his four-post bed stood nearly ten feet tall. Not that the height posed a problem for the castle’s vaulted ceilings, but the width was another story. The epitome of American mattress luxury was something they referred to as a California King, but when you were an actual king, or would be one day, nothing was standard issue. As a result, his mattress back home had to be custom made. It was large enough to accommodate not only one guest, but two or three, something he might have known from experience, although as a gentleman would never publicly admit. Yet no matter what his evenings held, his mornings were mostly solitary, which was just the way he liked it.

Until now.

He hadn’t invited her to spend the night per se. It just sort of evolved as they worked their way across most every surface in the room. After a soak in the claw-foot tub they’d wrapped themselves in a towel built for two and collapsed in a tangled mess on top of the down mattress. That was the last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him, although he had fuzzy memories of reaching for her several times during the night, her warm, soft curves molding to his hard planes as if they were two pieces of a puzzle.

But now she was gone and an unfamiliar emptiness beat inside his chest. While overnight guests were a rarity, waking up in a bed that wasn’t intentionally empty was unprecedented. Hank ran a hand back through his unruly hair as his sleep-deprived brain ran through the events of the last few hours. She’d enjoyed herself no doubt, something the people in the next room could likely attest to, and had seemed keen to stay, so why did she take off without so much as a simple goodbye?

Hank looked around the room. There wasn’t a trace of her to be found. No clothes, no jewelry, not even a smudge of chocolate. It was if she had never been there. In fact, if it wasn’t for the mirror above the dresser hanging slightly askew, Hank might have wondered if the whole thing had been an alcohol-inspired hallucination. But while his sexy pastry chef might have been a dream come true, she was most certainly not a figment of his imagination.

He reached for his phone to check the time. There were several texts from Clayton and one from his father, all of which would have to wait. At the moment all that mattered was finding his sweet vixen.

His hand dropped to the mattress beside him. It was still warm, which meant she hadn’t been gone long. If he hurried maybe he could catch her.

Quick as a shot, he threw back the duvet, grabbed his jeans off the floor, and yanked them up his legs. There was no time to hunt for his shoes but since his T-shirt hung conveniently from the bedside lampshade, he snagged it on the way. It was still in his hand as he swung the door open to find his sexy pastry chef in the hallway just outside his room. She looked even lovelier than he remembered. Her hair was down, cascading to her shoulders in unruly waves, and her cheeks were a rosy shade of pink, still flushed no doubt from the night before. If she was tired she hid it well, because her bright green eyes showed no trace of their late night. Her lips however were a different story—full and slightly swollen, she had the look of a woman who had been well kissed, something he was anxious to do again. There was only one problem. At the moment his vixen was deep in conversation. With another man.

White-hot jealousy pulsed through his veins. Who the fuck was this arsehole and why was he standing so close to her? Hank clenched his hands at his sides to keep from wrapping them around the man’s throat. “There you are, luv,” he said as his vixen glanced up. And just to make sure the bloke knew he should sod off, added a quick, “The bed was getting cold without you.”

But then the arsehole turned around and all at once Hank knew the worst part of what had just happened wasn’t that he was acting like some sort of crazed lovesick pup, it was that he’d done it in front of his mate.

Matthew’s mouth gaped open as his eyes shot back and forth between the two of them. “You two know each other?”

“You know Matthew?” Hank and his vixen said at the same time.

She laughed. “I’m his sister.”

Sister? Fuck me, Hank thought, realizing that acing like a love-sick pup in front of his mate was now the least of his concerns. “College roommate,” he offered before poking his head through the neck of the T-shirt he’d had locked in a death grip.

Matthew refocused his attention solely on Hank as he pulled the cotton down over his torso. His steely gaze took in every detail from his freshly fucked hair to his unbuttoned jeans and bare feet. “How do you know Cassie?” he asked through a smile that was in direct contrast to his clenched teeth.

“Cassie? Wait, I thought your name was Sue?”

His mysterious pastry chef’s green eyes grew wide. “You thought my name was Sue?”

Fucking hell. It was bad enough he’d just announced that his mate’s sister had spent the night in his bed, but now he’d revealed that she’d done so without him even knowing her name. Although to be fair, he thought he did, a distinction that at the moment seemed to matter very little to Matthew.

“At the shop last night,” Hank offered in a feeble attempt to look like less of a manwhore than he apparently was. “It was written on the apron you were wearing.” Surely he’d said her name at some point, if not in the bakery then most certainly in the heat of the moment. Why hadn’t she corrected him?

Little Vixen.

He’d no sooner thought the words when a sheepish grin spread across his stranger’s blushing face and all at once he realized he’d never said her actual name out loud.

“It’s not my bakery,” she explained. “I’ve just rented it for the weekend.” Which would explain why a few wedding themed baked goods were the only items in the shop. There were no pies or Danishes, not even a few random muffins. Why hadn’t he realized there wasn’t any stock in the glass cases? Because you were too busy acting like a manwhore.

Matthew glanced between him and Cassie so quickly Hank thought he might be having some sort of seizure. When he finally spoke actual words, they weren’t the one’s Hank had been expecting. “What were you doing at the bakery?”

That was what he wanted to know? Why Hank had been at the bakery below the inn? Seemed as though there were a lot more pressing questions, but at least this was one he could easily answer. “I was lost.”

“He stopped in looking for directions,” Cassie said, picking up the conversation and running with it at warp speed. “Obviously I don’t really know my way around town, but he had this crumpled map, so I figured I could take a look. You know, to try and help him out. But then we got to talking and before I knew it the last batch of cupcakes was burning—oh, but don’t worry, I made a new batch so they’re all set for the dinner tonight—and I was just cleaning up when he stopped back in to see if he could offer some assistance and even though I’d already baked and frosted the new batch Hank insisted on helping me get a jump on today’s list, you know, so I wouldn’t be behind.”

Matthew stared at her for a moment. If he was thinking the same thing Hank was, then he was most likely wondering how she’d said all that without taking a breath. “Is that so?”

Cassie nodded so quickly she reminded Hank of one of those little bobbly head toys people loved to put on the car dash. “I would have probably been up all night if it wasn’t for Hank.”

Judging by the look on Matthew’s face, he was damn sure Cassie had been up all night anyways. And if his scowl was any indication, he would have much rather it had been due to baking,

“Well, Hank,” Matthew said, putting extra emphasis on his name. “Sounds like you’re a real knight in shining armor.”

“Oh, he absolutely is,” Cassie agreed. The glimmer in her eyes told him exactly what she was about to say next, but the train was too far down the tracks for him to stop it. “I twisted my ankle and he was such a gentleman, he insisted on carrying me up the stairs.”

And there it was. Not the best story to tell her big brother, but at least she didn’t add “then he put me on the dresser and fucked me senseless.”

“Carried you up to his room, eh? Wow, forget knight in shining armor. Hank, you’re a real life Prince Charming.”

Fuck.

The color drained from Hank’s face as he braced himself for what would come next. But whatever Matthew was about to say, he never had the chance.

“I better get going,” Cassie said as she started to back away. “Need to put the drizzle on the strawberries. We never got to that last night . . . I mean, the chocolate hadn’t set well enough before we . . . You know what, I’m going to just stop talking now and go take care of that,” she said, putting an end to her nervous ramblings. With that she turned and dashed down the back staircase, leaving the two men alone.

Hank opened his mouth, to say what he wasn’t exactly sure, but it didn’t matter because Matthew was already in motion. He took the front stairs two at a time, never breaking stride as he made his way across the parlor and through the double doors.

Hank was tight on his heels as he tried his best to keep up. Matthew bounded down the porch steps without so much as a word to anyone, his head down and his pace quick. They’d gone a full block before he finally spoke.

“Does she know?” Matthew asked as they reached the center of town. He didn’t say what, but he didn’t have to.

Hank shook his head.

“That’s pretty low.” Matthew bit down so hard on his molars, a vein in his temple bulged. Never a good sign. “You said you wanted to keep a low profile so you could have an average weekend, not so you could run around town lying your ass off.”

“To be fair, I haven’t lied. Well aside from the name. But isn’t Hank sometimes a nickname for Henry? So even that’s not really a lie.”

Matthew shot him the same look he’d given him back at uni when he’d tried to justify sneaking a peek at the final exam questions after a nooner with their professor. Henry had insisted it wasn’t cheating seeing as how she’d just left them lying about for anyone to see. Well, anyone who happened to be in her office when she’d been so detracted by amorous pursuits that she’d forgotten to put them in her briefcase. But Matthew had been equally insistent and in the end Henry had done the honorable thing and told the young professor of her accidental gaff. She’d been so appreciative of the honesty he’d shown, not to mention the three orgasms he’d given her that day, that she’d awarded him an “A” in the class anyways. Matthew had mumbled something about a golden horseshoe stuck up Henry’s ass, but in the end all had been well. No permanent harm was done and everyone left with a smile on their face. With any luck, the same fate would apply here.

“Look,” Hank said. “I didn’t mean to deceive anyone when I came up with this whole idea. I just wanted a weekend where I could be ‘one of the guys’ as you Yanks like to say.” He ran a hand back through his hair. “I had no intentions of trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes.”

Matthew stomped up the stairs of the gazebo, sending a flock of small birds into flight. Not that Hank could blame them. He’d fly off too if he could. Lucky bastards.

“You said you were okay with it,” Hank reminded him.

Matthew spun around to face him. “When I agreed to go along with this, I had no idea you would drag my sister into the whole mess.”

Hank held his hands up in innocence. “I swear on my grandmum’s life, I didn’t know she was your sister. It’s like she said, I was lost so I stopped at the bakery for directions, she was the only one there and when she came out of the back wearing that apron I just assumed . . .” The thought of his beautiful pastry chef wearing nothing but that red gingham apron popped unbidden into Hank’s mind and he felt his cock begin to stir. Fucking hell, he’d shagged his mate’s sister, under false pretenses no less, and even when he was supposed to be begging forgiveness all he could think about was doing it again. Disgusted with himself, he sank down onto the nearest park bench. “Christ, I’m a prick,” he admitted on a heavy exhale.

Matthew stared him down. “Damn right you are. A fucking royal prick.”

Hank lifted his head. “I swear I didn’t know. I would never have fu . . .”

Matthew winced.

“I mean I would have never made lo—”

“Just spare me the details okay?”

Hank nodded. After a few tense beats he added, “I really like her, mate.”

Matthew regarded him for a moment then came to sit next to him on the bench. “You have to tell her the truth.”

“I know,” he said, dropping his head into his hands.

“The sooner the better. She hasn’t had the best track record with men. Seems to be some sort of homing device for lying assholes. No offense.”

Hank looked up. “None taken.”

“And fair warning, she might look all sweet and innocent but that sister of mine has a temper. You’ll be lucky to head back to Europe with both your balls. Well, you might still have them, but they’ll be in your carry-on bag.”

Now it was Hank’s turn to wince. “All due respect, and at the risk of losing both my nuts, I’d like to wait until after the ceremony tomorrow.” Matthew tried to speak but Hank held up his hand. “I know it makes me a selfish bastard, but I can’t help it. I want more time with her as Hank.”

“Hank doesn’t exist.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, mate. Hank is the guy you’ve always known. Henry”—he sighed—“Henry is the one who isn’t real. He’s the one who puts on the sword and rides around like a dandy, nodding and waving at ceremonies. Don’t you remember what it was like at uni, when nobody knew who I was?”

“People knew who you were.”

“A few maybe. But even they didn’t really care.”

“That was before you became . . . what did that tabloid call you? Ah yes, the poster boy for overindulgence.”

“You can’t believe those rags. C’mon, mate, you know me. I mean really know me. Hank is the guy you lived with all those years, the one who helped you cram for exams and then took you out for drinks when they were done and you were absolutely certain you’d failed even though I knew damn well you’d have the highest marks in the class. Hell, Hank’s the one who taught you how to play pool at that little pub near campus.”

“You mean the one where I had to bribe the owner not to sell the photos of you doing tequila shots off that barmaid’s stomach? You still owe me for that by the way.”

“Perhaps,” Hanks said, glossing over the incident as he continued to recount examples of when his real persona rang true. “But I’m also the one who got you her best friend’s phone number.” His face lit up as another memory came to mind. “And the one who pulled your head out of the toilet before you drowned in your own vomit.”

“After you challenged me to see who could reach the worm first. I still think your bottle had water in it.”

“Bullocks. And who was the one who cut you free the next morning after your hungover ass woke up shrink-wrapped to the sofa?”

Matthew lifted a brow. “Who was the one who bought the plastic wrap?”

“Okay, not the best example. The point is, Hank is me. And he’s the one your sister met last night. I just want to spend a bit more time getting to know her before the proverbial shit hits the fan.” Hank grew more serious. “Everyone thinks being born of a royal bloodline is like hitting the lottery, but you know the downsides, mate. You saw it firsthand that weekend we spent in Paris. Once the truth comes out, so will all the baggage; and that’s a lot for anyone to take in, let alone someone you just met.”

“But she’s not just someone. She’s my sister.”

“And I swear, I will tell her everything tomorrow night. Then she can decide for herself if she wants to be part of the circus I call my life.”

Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose, and Hank knew he was considering it.

“And besides, if this blows up before the wedding, my balls won’t be the only ones in the to-go container.”

Matthew dropped his hand and narrowed his eyes. “How do you figure?”

“You think sweet Emily will be very happy about having her wedding crashed by TMZ?”

Matthew groaned. “How is it after all these years you still manage to drag me into your mess?”

Hank cracked a lopsided grin. “My boyish charm? Or maybe my rugged good looks?”

“Rugged? You are such a pansy. I could take your ass right here but there’s probably a SWAT team lurking somewhere.”

“Good point.” Hank squinted down the street. He hadn’t seen Clayton since the night before ,but if he had to guess, there were at least three members of his team within earshot.

“Where are your shoes?” Matthew asked.

Hank glanced down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. “Didn’t have a chance to put any on.”

“Your grandmother would be so proud.” Matthew said dryly.

Hank chuckled. “I think my bare feet are the least of Her Majesty’s concerns.”

“Still not sure why she hasn’t demanded a DNA test. There is no way you could actually be related to her.”

“Bugger.”

“Wanker.” A hint of a smile formed on Matthew’s lips. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you for sleeping with my sister.”

Hank grew serious. “I know.”

“But she’s a big girl and as much as it pains me to admit it, needs to make her own choices. Just promise me you’ll tell her the whole story as soon as the ceremony is over.”

“You have my word.”

“Oh, and so you know, if you hurt her I’m going to pay Clayton to smother you in your sleep.”

“Something tells me if I hurt Cassie, he will do it all on his own.” It was the first time he’d said her name out loud. Cassie.

Hank stood and slung his arm around Matthew’s neck. “C’mon, let’s go check out the breakfast half of the B&B. I’m starved. Must be all the—”

Matthew stopped short and shot him a look.

“Fresh air.” Hank laughed. “Was going to say it must be all the fresh country air.”