Chapter 6

Brooks

The next morning is filled with back-to-back meetings that leave me little to no time to think about Charlotte or our second night together. It’s better this way, for both of us.

Okay, so it’s better this way for me.

Instead of keeping my distance, I took her to a place I consider a refuge, introduced her to friends that not even my family has met. I’m not ashamed of my life here, but there are times when I feel like two different people.

The country boy from North Carolina who loves to fish and surf…and the man who wants to rule the journalistic world with only the click of a mouse. Whenever I’m with Charlotte, that’s what I’m thinking about—home.

Not entirely, though. I’d say ninety percent of my thoughts are consumed with how do I get her in bed as soon as possible.

Although fucking her against the wall was incredibly hot and exciting, it’s not the kind of thing Charlotte is into. I don’t mind. Being the first guy she almost gets caught with is pretty damned exhilarating, though.

My desire to spend time with her, outside of the bedroom, is fucking scary. This isn’t what I signed up for, but I can’t seem to help myself.

It’s all for the greater good, though. I know she’s hiding something from me—big deal or not—and I intend to get it out of her.

There’s a knock on my door and I glance up to see my twin walk in. He looks exactly like a politician in his suit and slicked-back hair. He even has a miniature flag pin fixed on the lapel of his jacket.

“Your secretary said you were free after twelve,” Briggs says with a southern drawl that irritates me. I think he makes it thicker whenever we’re together, like he’s trying to remind me how authentic he is, how he made the choice to stay true to his roots while I yanked mine up and almost killed the family tree. “Thought we could have lunch.”

“You flew up from Raleigh just to have lunch?” I ask, skeptical and hopeful. I love my brother, always have, but we’re not on the best of terms and I’m unsure how to fix it.

I’m unsure because it’s not normal for us. Growing up, we were inseparable. We played the same sports, hung out with the same group of friends, and even went to the same college. After that, we started to drift a little—I became interested in journalism and tech while Briggs finished law school, only to enter the corporate world and begin working on political campaigns.

While he tried to show his candidates in the best possible light, I exposed every bit of them to the world—the good and the bad. You might say that contributed to our lives growing farther and farther apart.

And you’d be right.

“Not entirely,” Briggs replies. “What do you say?”

I can almost see the olive branch he’s holding out. All I have to do is take it. Besides, if he acts like a blowhard, I can beat his ass with it. “Why not?”

Briggs smiles tightly. “Let’s go.”

“You’re not going to let me pick?” I ask, walking with him to the elevators.

“No.”

We don’t say anything more until we’re in his car, cruising down Fifth Avenue.

I let out a low whistle. “Driver and a limo. Look who’s moving up in the world.”

Briggs slices his gaze to me. “Says the guy who owns a Bugatti and a Range Rover, and uses the same service to get around.”

“Yes, but I don’t pretend to be a man of the people,” I point out. “Vote for me. I’m just like you. Except insanely rich with four houses in three different countries. Man, the likeness between you and your future constituents is remarkable.”

“Can we have a regular conversation for once?” he asks, irritation making his smooth voice rise and me smile.

There’s something about annoying your brother. Something so enjoyable that I’ll never stop.

“About what?” I ask.

“The last time you visited Mom and Dad.”

“Christmas,” I say with no hesitation or guilt. Okay, so there’s a little guilt, but who doesn’t feel like they should visit their parents more often?

“That was six months ago, Brooks.”

“I do have a company to run.”

“So do I, but I still make time for them.”

“Such a good son.” I pat his shoulder. “You always were the favorite.”

“Shit. That’s Hayden.”

I grin, shaking my head. “Only because he had grandkids first.”

“Apparently, you and I are the worst sons in the history of sons because we’re not remotely interested in marriage,” Briggs says. “Next thing you know, our parents will be hosting events just to set us up.”

I narrow my eyes. “That’s why you’re here.”

“What?” he asks, his face a picture of innocence. “Just because they’re hosting a charity polo match next weekend doesn’t mean they’re interested in pushing perfectly respectable women on us in the hopes of something sticking.”

“You sound just like Mom.”

“She’s the one who sent me.”

“What about Dad?”

“He said to do whatever it takes to get you there, including letting you in on the fact that quite a few famous faces will be in attendance.”

I consider the invitation. “Wouldn’t my appearance make them decline?”

Briggs grins. “Not if they don’t know until the last minute, and since this benefits the largest veterans organization in the U.S., they would look like complete assholes if they did.”

“Whose idea was that?” I ask, although I already know the answer. My brother is as shrewd as I am. All Walkers are.

“Mine.”

“I’ll be there and I won’t broadcast it on social media, either.”

Briggs claps me on the shoulder. “Knew I could count on you.”

“Always.” I look him right in the eyes. “You can always count on me, brother.”

“Damn glad to hear it.”

It’s early evening and I’m waiting on Charlotte to join me at Creative Falls Park for an early dinner. She doesn’t know it yet, but I arranged for a private picnic on the grounds. Since it’s privately owned and public hours stop at five, we have the entire park to ourselves. Even better, the park is walled off and her security team can leave us alone, for the most part, anyway.

“Brooks,” Charlotte calls out as she carefully steps on the flagstone path that will lead her to me. She’s wearing a light green dress and strappy sandals. I think my sister-in-law Saylor calls them wedges.

“Over here,” I say, and her face lights up as soon as she spots me, taking my breath away.

Not good. I shouldn’t react this way to her. Yeah, and I shouldn’t have rented an entire damn park for her, either.

“Sorry I’m late. I didn’t realize that the park was so hidden. You can barely hear the traffic.” She walks up to me and kisses my cheek. “Hullo, love.”

“Love, huh?”

She shrugs, her cheeks pink. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know.” A surprising twinge of disappointment hits me, but I ignore it and splay my arms wide. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful and—oh my word.” Her eyes widen. “Is that a picnic set up for us?”

“Just for you and me.”

Her small hands grab mine, a beautiful smile curving her lips. “I don’t know what to say…except thank you.” She shakes her head slowly, a look of amazement on her face. “You are an incredibly good listener and so thoughtful.”

“Hope you brought your appetite,” I say, suddenly uncomfortable with her compliments. I don’t deserve them. Yes, I’m a good listener, but I only brought her here to talk without sex or any other heated moments getting in the way.

Briggs’s visit grounded me, made me remember why I came to New York in the first place. I have to focus on that and keep Charlotte firmly in the hookup area of my life—a place that doesn’t allow for emotions or thoughtfulness.

“I did and I brought some of my favorite books, like you instructed.” She pats the tote hanging off her shoulder. “Since I didn’t have any print versions, I had to pop down to the closest bookstore. I managed to spend nearly the entire afternoon reading. Before that, Gen and I attended a charity breakfast at the— I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that.”

“I want to hear about whatever you want to share,” I say, earning another one of her beautiful smiles.

“Are we allowed to take off our shoes?” she asks, stopping at the edge of the picnic spread.

“Pretty sure a princess can do what she wants.” Deliberately, I take off my shoes and socks, letting my feet sink into the soft, cool grass.

She wastes no time in slipping off her wedges and wriggling her toes in the grass. “This feels amazing, nearly as good as home. We have quite a large garden—lawn there. With an ornamental pond full of fish.”

“Do you like to fish?” I ask.

“I like to…catch and release,” she says slowly. “It’s a horrible conflict I harbor. I’m a lover of seafood yet can’t bear to separate them from their families.”

“I think it means you respect where your food comes from,” I say and sit down.

Charlotte does the same and I grab the plates before she can, serving her first.

“Oh dear,” she says, letting me know she’s uncomfortable. “I’m perfectly capable of fixing my own dinner.”

“I know you are, but I’m a man and it makes me feel capable to provide dinner for you.”

With a little crooked grin, she tilts her head to one side. “Far be it from me to prevent a man such as yourself from feeling capable.”

The wind stirs the loose tendrils of hair around her face and I tuck a strand behind her ear. She shivers at my touch. “Stop worrying so much about what I think and be yourself, sweetheart.”

“Is that why you asked me to bring the books?”

“I know you love to read, especially romance novels, so yeah, I wanted to make you comfortable,” I admit.

“Careful, Mr. Walker, or I’ll start thinking that this is more than just an affair.” Her voice is teasing, but those pretty eyes of hers are luminous.

“It is more—it’s a royal affair.” The glow fades, making me feel like a complete asshole. I clear my throat. “Anyway, tell me about your day before the bookstore. Sounds like you were busy with your sister.”

She nods. “Very much so. It’s getting worse, I think—the attention and the scrutiny. The challenge is to be grateful and thankful without letting your annoyance and frustration show.”

“That’s not hard for you.”

“You’re very kind, but I’m not that nice.”

I cant my head from side to side. “On that I’ll have to agree.”

She makes a face, lightly punching me in the arm. “Stop it.”

“Says the woman who skewered me the first time we met.”

“I only skewered you because you were being a pompous windbag.”

“We really need to work on your insults.”

“Because pompous windbag is actually a compliment?”

I suck in air through my teeth. “Harsh, Princess.”

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “You can take it.”

My gaze drops to her lips. “So can you.”

“Not fair.” Her cheeks turn fiery red. “Don’t fight me with sexual innuendos.”

“But that’s the best kind.” I lean over and kiss her lightly. “We’re not fighting. I’m only teasing you.” I kiss her again, lingering over her mouth and wanting to press her down into the blankets so I can make love to her.

Sex, dumbass. It’s just sex.

“I’m not used to this sort of flirting. Most men I know are in awe of my title or they want to convince me to marry them to gain a title.”

That tidbit of information is more than enough to get my attention and not because jealousy is creeping into my brain. “How many proposals have you had?”

“Quite a few.” She spears some asparagus with her fork. “But I haven’t met anyone I’d want to spend the rest of my life with, or be the father of my children.”

“What about your former lover?” I can’t help but ask.

My soft as cotton princess turns rigid. “He’s not suitable where it counts.”

“He doesn’t have a title?”

“Oh no. He has a title, all right. He doesn’t have a heart or a conscience, is all.” She smashes her lips together and her grip on the fork tightens. “I’ve never told anyone, but he, uh…he wasn’t very kind to me after things became intimate. It’s my own fault. I should have known—there’s no such thing as a Prince Charming, you know?”

“Define ‘wasn’t very kind,’ ” I say, seeing red for the first time in my life over a woman.

She hesitates. “I don’t think I should say. You could decide to publish this conversation and I would be humiliated—all over again.”

“I give my word that what you say stays between us.”

“You know the saying hit it and quit it?”

I nod, my gut churning. “Yeah, I’ve heard it.” In college there were a lot of guys I knew that were guilty of it, but not me. Being up front with a woman was more important than making promises I had no intention of keeping just to get laid.

“Well, that happened along with a lot of bragging. Apparently, persuading a princess to let you pop her cherry is very rare.”

I can only imagine the persuasion that was done to her.

“Except he didn’t exactly stop at that one time…so perhaps I’m not using the best phrase. He used me for his own gain, or rather he attempted to, but my brothers put a stop to it. That wasn’t embarrassing at all.”

She has to stop. Stop telling me things that make me want to be more than just a guy after the truth. “When was this?”

“A couple of years ago. I thought I was being smart by dating someone who had the same pressures as I…and I thought that we had something special. I thought I was falling in love,” she says softly. “That his outward appearance matched his insides. He had such beautiful manners, such charm, and always said the right thing.”

“Is he someone I would know?” I want the asshole’s name, yet I don’t. God help me, I’ll ruin him; I will bury him, and I won’t regret it.

“Probably.” Her lips quiver. “Do you know I thought it was a good idea to keep our relationship a secret? He convinced me that secrecy was our only option because we could be ourselves and not worry about anyone following us. So we only met whenever there were parties given at the royal palace. That’s why it was never reported about in the press. Not even you knew and you know nearly everything about my family.”

“Is that your biggest secret?” I can’t help but ask.

She shakes her head, her shoulder slumping. “No, but I can’t tell you what it is. There are some things that will go with me to my grave.”

My heart punches into my chest. I want to know her secret so bad that I can taste it. Damn it all to hell and back, it’s bitter. “Not even if I promised to keep your secret, too?”

Her gaze fixes on my face. “Not even then. This is only an affair, Brooks. Perhaps if this was something more, something real and true…something that had a future, I might share it, but since it’s not…I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“Don’t apologize,” I hear myself say. “I don’t expect you to give me more than you can.” Some fucking journalist I am, to cave to sad eyes and quivering lips.

And heartfelt, humbling confessions that make me want to find the man that hurt her so I can make him pay. Go all country on his ass. My brothers would be down with that.

As they say in the South, there are some men who are in need of a good killing.

“This is very good, by the way. All of my favorite dishes,” she says, pulling me out of my violent fantasies.

“Thank your Instagram account for that.”

“My foodie one. Yes, that was when I dabbled in the idea of becoming a food blogger.”

“What stopped you?”

“Can’t cook and I’m a picky eater.”

I throw my head back and laugh. Charlotte tosses a spoon at me, but that only makes me laugh harder.

“Couldn’t give up the food, could you?”

“No way. This is delicious.”

“You’re adorable, you know that?” I frame her face with my hands and kiss her again. “So fucking adorable that I want you with me all the time.”

“You do?” she asks breathlessly, and I let go of her.

Fuck. Where had that come from? “Yeah, easier to fuck you when I want.”

“Ah. I see.” She bends her head, studying her plate. “Please give my regards to your chef.”

I want to take the callous comment back, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

Fucking coward.

After eating, we make ourselves comfortable on the large blankets, which means I lie down and tuck my hands under my head so I can stare up at the sky. Charlotte lies down beside me, the side of her body almost touching mine.

The scent of her perfume steals over me, invading my senses. I move my hand, finding hers and lacing our fingers together. So what if that’s not what a man who’s only intent on fucking a woman would do. So what if that’s invalidating my early comment or sending her mixed signals.

“Brooks,” Charlotte says softly.

“Yes, Princess?”

“This is very nice.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” I say, further fucking up my chance for keeping things clear between us.

I won’t worry about that tonight. Tonight, I’ll enjoy her company and tomorrow…tomorrow, I’ll take her to my apartment and screw her seven ways from Sunday so she’ll know exactly where I stand.

Which is exactly why the next stupid words out of my mouth are…

“My family is hosting a charity polo match next weekend at their house in Wilmington. Would you like to be my guest?”

“I’d love to.” She squeezes my hand. “I’ve never been to the coast before.”

I’m so fucked.