Page 27 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

Nothing good will come of this.

Naturally, my next step is to program his number into my phone.

And I text:

Fraternizing with the enemy is strictly forbidden according the rules of Renaissance Man.

My phone lights up a moment later.

So what’re you doing messaging me then?

Someone sitting by the phone by any chance? I thought you’d be busy trying to bring me down… x

I can’t resist throwing that in.

Hey, it buzzed. Can’t blame me for looking. You started it. And I only try to bring you down during the work week between 9 to 5.

Fair. Also, why did you give me your number?

Of course, I have some very good ideas about why he has given me his number. I’m eager to explore these ideas—with my mouth. There’s a long pause. I can see him typing for a while. A smile stretches across my lips as my phone lights up, and I flop back into the cushions on my bed.

Why did you message me? For an interrogation?

To see what you’re doing, obvs. x

I’m texting you. Obvs.

I laugh with delight.

Tonight, I mean. x

O rly? Why do U care?

Looking for plans, actually. You may be in them. x

Bold, YRH.

You can say no, of course. A reasonable man would. xxxx

What if I say yes?

Then we’re going out. x

There’s another long pause. Then he’s typing and typing. I groan, flopping back into the cushions as I wait for him to finish his essay. Finally, I’m rewarded with an address, a code, the name Jesse, and 9 p.m.

See you then. Axxx

* * *

I dress for the night appropriately in a loose silver sequin top, equally flowing pink trousers, Gav’s hat, and my tortoiseshell sunglasses, along with a stack of bracelets and boots.

I toss on a zip-in hoodie and leather jacket over the whole ensemble and pack a pair of statement glasses.

Thankfully, there’s air-conditioning in the car.

As planned, I have a driver take me to the address, which of course turns out to be a Golden Hotel and, more specifically, the entry for the private residences.

I step out of the car, hands in my pockets as I approach the concierge and ask for Jesse.

The concierge allows access to the private elevator.

When the doors open on the forty-fourth floor, there’s Thomas, looking amused, and then his face lights up in a grin.

I step out of the lift, give him a broad smile, and spin in return.

For his part, he’s wearing a silk patterned T-shirt that shows off his muscles to full effect and black trousers and shoes.

“Mm,” he says in frank admiration.

We stand face-to-face in a white marble entry. He reaches up to remove my sunglasses, and then I slide my arms around his neck to kiss him till I’m sure blood is pounding in both of our ears and quite possibly somewhere lower.

“Right,” he gasps. “I mean, do you want to go out or…”

“Greedy boy,” I tease, skimming my hands over his shoulders. There’s a lightness in the core of me. “Of course we’re headed out. Are you ready?”

“Ready. If a bit distracted.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

He orders up a car, and we head back downstairs. Thomas leans his chin on my shoulder in the lift. And I grin at him. He now has a hat of his own and a jacket and sunglasses, jaw shadowed with stubble.

In the back of the car, I offer him a flask of vodka from my jacket. He looks at me in surprise. “Pre-drinking,” I explain, “if you want. Generally, avoiding the bar is good. Less notice. In the uni days, it used to be cheaper.”

“I would’ve thought you had a stipend for hedonism.” Thomas traces my arm.

“A fixed budget, I assure you.” I lean into him, savoring his closeness far away from the prying eyes of the show.

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“The Odyssey. Dancing. Like you need to ask. I’ve made reservations.”

Thomas laughs, bobbing his head. He takes the vodka and drinks it before passing it back.

“I hope you have your ID,” I say. “Jesse.”

“Whatever, Dave.”

“I had some new ID made. See?” I pull out my driver’s license to show him. “Dave Downing.”

“Is that some kind of niche political joke?” Thomas asks, linking his fingers with mine. His eyes sparkle.

“Combo, actually. Thought I might make it official, after that first night.”

The car pulls up to the curb in front of the gay club. We share a lingering kiss that melts me to my core before we finally emerge. After we breeze through the entry without any issue, we check in our jackets and hit the dance floor.

“God,” says Thomas admiringly as I pull him tight and we move together. “You didn’t tell me you were a shit hot dancer.”

“You never asked. As your liege and God.”

“Does your adoring public even know?”

“They have no fucking idea. Besides, I need to do something in my room aside from wanking.”

Thomas laughs, a magical sound. Already, this is one of the best nights I’ve had in a very long time, beneath the dazzle of the mirror balls and the shifting colored lights. The dance floor is hopping, the DJ whipping everyone up to a frenzy.

Then we’re dancing too hard to keep up any conversation, real or faux. I close my eyes, arms over my head, lost in the music. Thomas grinds behind me, rubbing a firm promise for later, and I can’t stop smiling. I don’t want to stop smiling. I haven’t smiled like this in ages.

Even if it’s for pretend.

Right now, I’m all for getting down. I turn and slide my arms around Thomas’s neck, and he grasps my arse with both hands.

So I spin him and spin him, and we’re in some kind of dream. We dance till finally, I’m breathless and Thomas is ready for a break. So we hit the VIP tables and have a booth to ourselves at the back.

Where we’re snogging till oblivion, my hand down Thomas’ jeans, freeing him. And I work him and work him till he’s desperate. He bites my shoulder. “God, Auggie.”

“Name.”

So, with a look around, no one pays us any heed. Without further delay, I bend down and take his hardening cock in my mouth. His fingers are tight in my hair, and he’s groaning.

“Noisy,” I tell him, “You’ll need to be quiet.”

“Yes, Your R?—”

“—don’t make me use teeth.”

Thomas stops. “Sorry,” he gasps.

And I’m back to work, the rhythm of my mouth and hand intense, given I only have so long before someone notices, even if it’s dark back here. He’s thrusting into my mouth, his arse up off the seat in his greed for me.

“Fuck,” he gasps.

I draw him deep and tease his balls, and he comes with a muffled gasp. I continue till he jerks back and sags into my arm.

At last, I straighten and smile.

“Holy fuck, Dave.” He kisses me thoroughly.

I shrug, and then we place a drink order when the waitress turns up a few minutes later.

“You want to take this to the bathrooms?” he asks archly.

“Fuck, no. You’re waiting till later.”

“Power move,” he teases, leaning over for another kiss, and I’m all too willing to kiss him again.

“You have no idea, believe me.”

He slides his arm around me, and I lean into him.

Together, we lose ourselves in the night out, ignoring the world beyond and messages on our phones. I switch mine off. Thomas glances fleetingly at his phone at one point before he slides it away in his pocket, a slight frown on his face, which quickly smooths over when he meets my gaze again.

It’s very late when we’re in his flat. “Let’s stay up all night.” I nudge him in the kitchen as we down some water after the earlier drinks. “I’ll need to go early.”

“Stay.”

“You know I can’t stay. Besides, sleep is overrated. I’m used to getting by on not enough sleep, don’t worry.”

“I’m afraid you’re not selling insomnia, Auggie. But I want to spend all the time I can with you tonight.” He takes me by the hand to the plush modern sofa. We sink into the corner of the sectional together.

I chuckle, reflecting. “Probably my best sleeps are at Balmoral or Sandringham, usually when I’m out of London.”

“I think you need to get out of London more often, then. Why all the rotten sleeps?”

My breath catches at that.

“Probably my sleeping got worse again after I had to give up horses. Well, not quite horses, but competing.”

Thomas is unfazed by my shift in topics. He gives me a curious look. “What happened?”

My lips twist, and I continue to study my fingertips, feeling heavy.

“I think I need to back up a little first so it makes more sense as I explain. My mum meant the world to me. Aside from that, she did a lot of things, helping people. But before that, she was an athlete, representing Britain as an equestrian. She went all the way, gold medal in individual events, silver for the team events. She was incredible. When she had me, her career as an athlete ended, by her choice. She met my father at a show at some point. Cue fairy-tale romance and a grand wedding in a cathedral, the works. And I was born a year later. Though they dated for several years before they married. I mean, you probably know this all already.”

“I want to hear this from you. I mean, we’ve all heard about their fairy-tale romance.

” Thomas continues to hold my hand, listening.

I don’t know if I’ve ever opened up to anyone quite like this before.

It feels vulnerable—and welcome. Even if he spills everything to the pap one day.

Though he would probably have about as much as I do to lose if the paparazzi’s in his business.

“So,” I continue, glancing fleetingly at him, “with my mum, Anne and I were on horseback ever since I can remember. We both loved it and loved spending time with our mum like that. I started to compete when I was little. When she died a couple of years ago, I promised her I would make her proud of me. Before then, I competed fiercely as a teen like my life depended on it, even in boarding school with special arrangements. I was qualifying not only nationally but internationally—and I qualified for the Olympic team.”

“Holy shit, Auggie.”

Talking about it kind of feels like talking about something that happened once to someone I know rather than myself. “It was some time ago. Years.”