Page 41 of American Royalty

“No—”

“Yes—” Jameson said, irked with himself for his inability to ignore the seductive sway of her hips. “This isn’t going to work. I did not agree for you and your entourage to take over my home for three weeks!”

Duchess’s brows rose. “Entourage? Dude, you act as if I’m rolling ten deep with my homegirls. Look around. I’m the only one here.And, just so you know, this is as much a surprise to me as it is to you!”

Dude? Did she just call me Dude?

Her full lips had tightened, color had blossomed on her cheeks, and she’d jammed her hands onto those delectable hips.

Damn, she was sexy!

He hated that he noticed.

And had responded.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Duchess waved a hand. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“Not you. Me. You should address me as ‘Your Royal Highness.’”

He ignored Louisa’s incredulous stare as well as the prickling of unease at the back of his neck. He wasn’t one to require people to address him formally. Hell, he usually went out of his way to avoid it. But something about her was stoking powerful urges within him, upsetting his usual equanimity. At least if she was irritated with him, she’d keep her distance, making it easier for him to keep his.

Duchess cocked her head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“Of course,” he said, nodding his head graciously, purposefully mistaking her statement.

Her features didn’t shift, but her eyes? Fuck, they were amazing. Rich, molten dark chocolate, they sparked to life. She was furious. He imagined all the things she would say to him, the energy radiating from her enough to power the small village nearby.

And as if he were some bloody masochist, awareness and heat shot straight to his already engorged, throbbing cock.

A tiny smile curved the corners of her lips, though he wasn’t fooled into believing it contained any warmth.

Come on, Duchess. Give me all you’ve got.

“Your Royal Highness,” she began, the words emerging garbled, as if from gritted teeth.

He waited, anticipation skipping up and down his spine.

“I—” She closed her eyes. Exhaled. Opened them. “I... understand. I wouldn’t like it if someone showed up on my doorstep uninvited, asking to crash for two weeks. I’ll get my bags and be on my way. I’m sure my team can still get my suite at the Baglioni.”

She headed to the steps leading up to the house.

Jameson stilled. That was... unexpected.

Louisa eyed him quite urgently. “Do something!”

He shrugged, trying to decipher his own disappointment at her easy acquiescence. “What do you want me to do?”

“Amos, I need your help,” Duchess called to the driver standing next to the car.

Amos glanced over to him and Louisa for clarification. Apparently, Duchess had thrown them all for a loop.

“Never mind,” Duchess said, grabbing the large Louis Vuitton overnight bag and walking back to the car.

“The queen will not be happy about this,” Louisa promised.

Jameson sighed. She was right. If Louisa had arranged for Duchess to stay here, it was done with the queen’s knowledge and approval.