Prince Albert (A Step-Brother Romance #4)

This time, she laughs. “Because I find you irritating?”


I put my hand over my chest. “I’m hurt, Belle,” I say. “Truly. But I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe that I find you obnoxious?” she asks. “Because I can assure you, I really do. Even more so now.”

“Just because our parents are getting married?” I ask. “You didn’t find me irritating in Las Vegas.”

“Tequila has a way of making anyone entertaining,” she says. “And anyway, I hardly remember it. It’s all a blur.”

“Is it?” I ask. The way she says it, her voice hesitating slightly, makes me doubtful. Even through the haze of the alcohol, it’s hardly a blur in my head.

“Truth or dare,” she says, sinking back against the leather of the limo seat. Her hair spills down over her shoulders, a cascade of brown that’s so silky I want to reach out and touch it. “Or… never have I ever. Yes. That’s it. I know nothing about you, and I’m sitting in your limo driving around Vegas. It’s insane.”

“Never have I ever,” I say. “You’re going to lose this one, luv. There’s a lot of things you’ve never done. I can tell.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. Because you’re so worldly,” she says sarcastically. “Never have I ever driven around Vegas with a total stranger.”

“That’s not how you play,” I say, my eyes lingering on her expression, her lips parted just slightly. The thin strap of her dress is hanging halfway off her shoulder, and I want to pull it the rest of the way down, but I don’t. She’s drunk. No matter how fucking hot she is, that makes her off-limits. Even so, I can’t help teasing her a little bit. “Never have I ever been so wet in the back of a limo, driving around Vegas with a total stranger.”

She looks at me for a long time, and her lips fall open farther. She raises her eyebrows like she’s appalled, but flicks her tongue over her lower lip, and I know without a doubt that if I were to reach between her legs, I’d find she’s just as wet as I think she is. But I don’t. “That’s not how you play, either,” she says. “And, besides, it’s not true.”

“Liar.”

“The entire thing is completely a blur,” she says. But her voice wavers.

“Liar.” I whisper the word, close to her ear, watching as goose bumps dot her skin on her arms in response to warmth of my breath. “You remember everything.”

I pull away from her, just far enough to see a flush rise to her cheeks, pink coloring along her cheekbones that makes me wonder how she looks after orgasm, whether that flush deepens and she gets a dewy glow like she has right now.

I can’t help but feel smugly satisfied at the way I bring that flush to her cheeks.

Then she steels her jaw and looks at me. “Barely,” she says.

Barely. That means definitely.

“I could help you remember,” I say.

“Thanks for the offer,” she says. “But I’m busy. And besides, you’re a prince, after all. Don’t you have better things to do? I’m sure there’s a damsel in distress somewhere who needs rescuing.”

“You’re wandering these halls like you’re the one who needs rescuing.”

She chokes back a laugh, but there’s no joy in it. “Unless you have the ability to produce my passport, you can’t help me.”

“Your passport? Are you leaving?” I can’t help but be annoyed at the possibility of her leaving when she’s gotten here. Can I help it if I’m intrigued by the thought of spending the summer getting under this girl’s skin?

Belle shrugs. “Maybe,” she says. “I don’t know. But I can’t find it. And at the very least, I want to make sure I have it.”

“You have someplace better to be for the summer?”

“Something that’s better than being paraded around like some kind of trophy in media interviews and whatever else I’m supposed to do as the child of the new Queen of Protrovia?” she asks.

“How about getting to know your new family?” I ask. “Getting to know my father? Or Protrovia. It’s not such a bad place. You might find there’s a lot to like about our country.”

Her face softens. “I’m not trying to be ungrateful,” she says. “It’s just that everything has happened so fast. And you already knew about the engagement. I was the only one in that room that had the news sprung on her.”

“Well, it was a surprise to me when I got back from Afghanistan,” I say. “I haven’t been back here that long, you know. The Vegas trip was to blow off steam with my friends, American-style.”

“You were in Afghanistan?” she asks.

“In the military,” I say. “The Royal Protrovian Army.”

She studies my face for a moment. “I didn’t know they sent people like you to Afghanistan,” she says.

“People like me?” I ask, laughing.

“That is not the way I meant it,” she says, and her face colors, the flush on her cheeks deepening to an entirely different shade of red.