Page 40 of American Royalty

Chapter Eight

“I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self.”

—Aristotle

When I was told the prince had invited me, you definitely weren’t what I had in mind.

Her voice, sweet and husky with a slight southern drawl, rained over Jameson like a hot shower, on a cold evening, after a long day.

She was here.

The woman who’d starred in his fantasies numerous times over the past couple of months was now standing in his drive.

In the flesh.

It was surreal. His mind had conjured and brought her forth.

Her, but not her.

Irritation had been his constant companion from the moment he’d received Louisa’s voice mail informing him that Duchess was arriving today at Primrose Park. He’d been finishing up some research at his office, but he’d jumped in his car and raced home, trying Louisa’s cell the entire way. He didn’t know what the woman,or his grandmother, had planned, but he wanted to make it clear that under no circumstances should they expect him to entertain the rapper.

His initial and continued explosive reaction to her meant he needed to keep his distance. She was too dazzling, too tempting, too... inappropriate.

He wasn’t going to be the second prince in his direct lineage to lose all sense of propriety because of a woman.

Pulling up, he could see he’d been too late. Louisa was there with a woman who was clearly familiar to him, but who looked different than he’d expected.

Oh, it was her. Duchess. Same creamy brown skin he’d trailed his fingers across in his mind. Same big brown eyes he’d lost himself in. Same body that could bring a man to his knees. And had. In one of his fantasies, Jameson had been prostrate behind her, his hands gripping her small waist, his lips pressed to a rounded derriere that had made him eager to be christened an “ass man.”

But if Duchess’s online persona was an eleven, in person it was more muted. Like an eight. It didn’t detract from her beauty. If anything, she was more enticing without the distraction of her usual outer trappings.

Blood rushed to his cock and Jameson prayed the tailoring of his pants would successfully hide his lack of control. He firmed his jaw and forced himself to discard those thoughts. He didn’t care how she looked or how vibrant she was. It didn’t change the fact that she was an American rapper who roused him like no one else ever had and she couldn’t be here.

“Excuse us.” He steeled himself against her obvious dismay and gestured for Louisa to follow him. He moved several yards away and kept his voice urgent but low. “What is going on? I thought she was staying in one of the cottages.”

“A leak. And since you’re her host—”

“For the celebration,” he clarified. “Her hostfor the celebration. She’s early.”

“I know. But she needed to get away.”

Needed to get away?That sounded like a vacation, and Primrose Park wasn’t some hotel or bed-and-breakfast.

“The celebration doesn’t begin for another three weeks.”

“Very well. But if she stays in London, how long do you think it’ll take the press, not to mention Prince Julian, to find out?”

Jameson slid his hands into his pockets and stared out over the lake.

He’d give it less than a day. And the moment Julian was alerted to her presence?

Julian had brought Duchess up often, telling the press he was “most excited” for her performance. Her being here early would shift the focus away from the purpose of the celebration. That was the last thing Marina would want.

Or Jameson himself, for that matter.

John had done important work, during a time when others weren’t interested. He deserved everything this celebration promised and shouldn’t be upstaged by an American entertainer and her possible affair with the married heir apparent.

Duchess joined them, narrowed eyes and a pinched expression replacing her earlier teasing openness. “Is there a problem?”