Caitlin Crews - A Royal Without Rules

Adriana blinked, and sorted through the possibilities in her head.

“Presumably you mean the Children’s Foundation, of which you and your brother are major benefactors,” she said crisply. “And their annual ball.”

“Presumably,” he agreed, that alertness blending into his more typical laziness, and prickling over her skin no matter how badly she didn’t want to be affected. “I don’t really care, I only follow orders. And Adriana?”

“Yes?” But she knew. She could hear it in his voice. She could imagine that smile in the corner of his mouth, that gleam in his eyes. She didn’t have to see any of it—she felt it. Her eyes drifted shut again, and she hated herself anew.

“It’s never too early for debauchery,” he said in that low, stirring way that was only his. “I’d be delighted to prove that to you. You can make it back to the palace in what? Twenty minutes?”

“You need to stop,” she retorted, not realizing she meant to speak, and then it sat there between them. Pato didn’t reply, but she could feel him. That disconcerting power of his, that predatory beauty. She dropped her forehead into one hand, kept her eyes shut. “I’m not your toy. I don’t expect you to make my job easy for me, but this is unacceptable.” He still didn’t speak, but she could feel the thrum of him inside her, the electricity. “Not every woman you meet wants to sleep with you.”

He laughed, and she felt it slide through her like light, illuminating too many truths she’d prefer to hide away forever. Exposing her. Making that curl of heat glow again, low and hot, proving what a liar she was.

“Rule number four,” he began.

“Would you like to know what you can do with your rules?” she demanded, desperate.

“Adriana,” he chided her, though she could hear the thread of laughter in his voice. Somehow, that made it worse. “I’m fairly certain I could legally have you beheaded for speaking to me in such an appalling fashion, given the medieval laws of our great kingdom. I am your prince and your employer, not one of your common little boyfriends. A modicum of respect, please.”

She was too raw. Too unbalanced. It crossed her mind then that she might not survive him. Certainly not intact. That he might be the thing that finally broke her.

“I apologize, Your Royal Highness,” she said, her voice much too close to a whisper. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Rule number four,” he said again, softly. And meanwhile her heart thudded so hard in her chest that she could feel the echo of it in her ears, her teeth. Her sex. “If you can’t muster up the courage to say it to my face, I’m not going to take it seriously.”

Because he knew, of course. That she was using this phone conversation to hide, because she doubted her own strength when he was standing in front of her. He’d watched it, hadn’t he? Exploited it. He knew exactly how weak she was.

And now she did, too.

“London,” she said, changing the subject, because she had to end this conversation right now. She had to find her balance again, or at least figure out how to fake it. “A charity ball. I’ll pack appropriately, of course.”

“Say it to my face, Adriana,” he urged her, and she told herself she didn’t recognize what she heard in his voice then. But her skin broke out in goose bumps, even her breasts felt heavy, and she knew better. She knew. “See what happens.”

“I should be back in the palace within the hour, Your Royal Highness,” she said politely, and hung up.

And then sat there on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands, and wondered what the hell would become of her if she couldn’t find a way to control this. To control herself .

Because she was terribly afraid that if she couldn’t, Pato would.

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