Jameson

The pounding on my bedroom door was as relentless as the headache that was currently making my life a living hell.

“Go the fuck away!” I yelled, rolling over and tangling my naked body in the sheets.

The door flew open, and I flipped over to see who had the audacity to blatantly disobey.

“I most certainly will not!” Charlotte yelled from my doorway.

I grabbed the sheet to my waist.

“What the hell do you want, Charlie?” I snapped.

She walked in, the personification of grace, beauty, intelligence...royalty. She dodged the clothes I’d left on the floor last night with tiny steps and —fuck me—the sexiest pair of heels I’d ever seen on her feet.

“Are you still drunk?” she accused, her kissable lips pursed.

“Maybe.” I shrugged. The last two weeks since Xander had decided to abdicate had been a blur of bad mistakes and worse ideas. Seriously. Who the fuck wanted me to lead them? It was Xander’s right. He was the one who had been trained by our father to rule our nation. Sure, I could make a girl come a few dozen different ways, but that wasn’t going to help me win the hearts of parliament...at least, not the male ones.

“For the love of God, Jaime. It’s been two weeks. Pull your shit together.”

I blinked.

“Did you just swear at me?”

“I did.” She turned, going into my closet and coming back out a moment later with a button down shirt and slacks.

“Yeah, I’m not Xander. You can’t pick out my clothes and assume I’m going to do what you want, Charlie.”

“Don’t call me that!” She seethed. Fuck, I loved riling her up. “Now listen. Neither one of us wants this. I get it. But unless you want riots in your streets—which is a real possibility if you haven’t turned on the news—you’d better get up and lead. The coronation is scheduled for six weeks from tomorrow, and the wedding is in four weeks from today.”

“What wedding? Not sure if you noticed, but Xander eloped with Willa.” I knew exactly what she was talking about, but wasn’t going to give her the pleasure.

She arched an eyebrow at me. “And I’m happy for them. Truly, I am. How the hell did I get stuck with you?”

“With me?” I asked, flexing. Her gaze wandered to my biceps, then down my chest and abs. “Keep looking, Charlie, and we’ll be taking your clothes off instead of putting mine on.”

“You’re gross.” She crossed her arms under her incredible breasts.

“So you don’t want me?” I tilted my head. She’d always been the one woman I couldn’t arouse, couldn’t tempt. She was the one woman who had always belonged to my twin brother.

“Come on, Jaime. You’ve slept with half the damn country, and I’m...what did you call me last year? Frigid?”

“Okay, you took that totally out of context. And considering the fact that we’ve been friends since we were born, if you’re going to start rehashing stuff from years ago we’re going to be here a long time.” Damn, my head was pounding, and she wasn’t helping matters. Now my cock was throbbing, too. It was always like that around Charlotte, and considering I was naked and she was three feet away from my bed, this could only end badly. “Look, we’ve always gotten along—”

“Which is the only reason I’m willing to stay for the next four weeks and help you find a wife.”

My heart fucking dropped. “You what?”

“I’m going to help you find a wife,” she repeated.

I blinked. “So you’re not the one…”

“Hell no, I’m not marrying you! We could never be anything more than friends!” she shouted, losing her trademark cool. “I’m well aware that you think of me as a sister. That you don’t want this or me. Hell, after Xander, I’m used to it, and I’m done with it.”

“You’re done with it.”

“Done with not being wanted. With being second choice. Done with saddling myself to a life without love. Yes, I’m done.”

“Charlotte, I really think you need to leave.”

“So what? So you can go back to the bottle of scotch on your night stand?” She gestured to the offending liquor.

“Charlotte. Get. Out.”

“No. I’m all you have left on your side. The public may love you as the resident playboy, but not the leader of Elleston. I’m willing to help you find your wife, but I’ll be damned if I’m stuck in some kind of arrangement like I was with Alexander.”

My brother. Her ex-fiancee. The guy she’d been intended to her entire life. He was the heir. I was the spare. The fucking spare who enjoyed doing whatever and whomever I wanted whenever I chose to.

But now I was the Crown Prince of Elleston.

And the one woman I thought I was going to have to marry for the last two weeks was rejecting me...because she refused to be with someone who didn’t want her.

“Charlotte, get out before I strip you out of those prim little clothes, drag you into this bed and show you exactly how much I want you, exactly which depraved fantasies of mine you’ve starred in since you grew into those legs of yours.”

“Wh-what?” she asked, taking a step back. The blood rushed from her face, and her hand flew to her heart like she could guard her modesty or something when she was still completely covered in Alexander McQueen.

I leaned forward, pressing the advantage. “I said, get out, or get in my bed. I know exactly how to remove the stick up your ass, and it has to do with my tongue against your clit.”

Her mouth popped open, and surprise quickly turned to anger.

“Okay, you know what? Be an asshole. Whatever. Lying to me—trying to talk dirty to me like I’m one of the...whores you bring in here night after night isn’t going to get me out of your face. I’m staying until our monarchy is secure. You have to pick a bride, Jameson. Once you have an heir, you can screw whomever you like behind closed doors. Then I can go back home and do the same with whomever I choose for once. You have to pull yourself together, or your country is going to rip itself apart.” She shook her head at me. “Now get dressed so we can meet with the freaking wedding planner and start going over the dossier of every available aristocrat who is stupid enough to marry you.” She turned her sexy ass around and marched out of my room, slamming the door behind her.

I leaned back against the headboard, and lazily stroked my erection.

The only man she’d be fucking was me.

Help me choose my bride? Fuck that. I had four weeks until I was supposed to marry, and I’d be damned if it was anyone but Charlotte Carlisle. The woman who had been my brother’s. The woman I’d spent years pushing away with snide comments and affairs I’d flaunted openly, hoping to put even more space between us, only to hate that I’d succeeded. The woman who loved me like a brother, and didn’t mind my antics as long as they didn’t involve her.

Yes, that Charlotte Carlisle.

I should let her go, take her up on her offer to find another aristocrat to be my bride. Give her the freedom she’d more than earned with the shitshow she’d just been put through. But I couldn’t. Because I was a selfish, arrogant asshole, and while I was aware that she merely tolerated me for my brother’s sake, and generally despised everything about me, I couldn’t let her go.

I’d been in love with her since we were children.

Now I just had to make her fall in love with me.

In four weeks.

I was so royally fucked.