Riley Pine - My Royal Sin

“Stop,” he says. “Not yet.”

Because he is my prince and also my employer, I obey.

He pours two goblets of wine and hands one to me.

“Ruby.” His voice is gentle. “I’m sorry for what happened in the Square this morning. That was unacceptable.”

I press my lips together and shrug. “I didn’t belong there,” I say matter-of-factly.

He sips his wine and shakes his head. “You belong wherever it is that you want to be.”

My throat tightens, and because I don’t know how to respond, I take a long, slow swallow of the expensive crimson liquid, as well.

“I hope you did enjoy your private shopping spree of sorts, though.”

I grin and stand, offering an exaggerated curtsy in my favorite of all the pieces Monique Mantissa herself gave to me.

“I felt like a princess,” I say. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

He clears his throat. “Benedict. Please, call me Benedict.”

Sure. He’s just a guy in my borrowed home, a guy in a great-fitting T-shirt that hugs an always hidden muscular frame, yet he’s not hiding it from me. Still, he is more than just Benedict. I can pretend many things, but I cannot ignore his lineage—or my own.

“This gown is beautiful,” I tell him. “But for what you’ve hired me to do, well...” I reach for my zipper again and pull to where it stops just below my hips. I stand, and the dress falls to the floor, revealing what I’ve been hiding.

No bra. No panties.

“No more pretense,” I tell him, and though he stares at me with ravenous eyes, this feels nothing like the ogling, the leering of what I expect from a client. At twenty-two years old, I am not without experience when it comes to men, but that does not mean I ever thought this would be easy. But the prince is nothing like I expected.

I am comfortable—safe beneath his gaze. Whatever happens next, I trust the man before me.

After laying the gown neatly atop the pile of other Mantissa samples, I take my seat across from him, sip from my goblet and note the varying drawers in the small table. I open one up and pull from it a deck of cards. My teeth skim across my bottom lip. Then I smile and raise a brow.

“So, Benedict.” I draw out his name, getting a feel for it on my tongue. “Would you like to play a game?”

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