Page 24 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

“He invested a significant amount of my money in a start-up company. The start-up went bankrupt within six months. I lost millions of pounds.”

“Did he have permission to make the investment?”

“Technically, he did. He’s been working with my financial advisors since early in my career.

I’d given him authority to make investments back when I didn’t have any experience in those matters.

However, he typically mentioned his plans to me.

This time he didn’t, so I didn’t have a chance to prevent the calamity. ”

“Had you known his plans, would you have stopped him or is it just hindsight that makes you realize it was a bad idea?”

“Under no circumstances would I have agreed to the investment,” he states with an unquestionable conviction.

“May I ask what the startup did?”

He sighs. “You won’t believe it. They made ugly tennis sweatshirts.”

“You must be joking!” I laugh.

“The only joke was on me. They managed to lose all the money Noah invested for me in mere months. When they went bankrupt, they shipped me twelve cases of the unsold sweatshirts. They were the ugliest, lowest quality sweatshirts I’d ever seen.

They were so bad, I was embarrassed to donate them to charity. ”

“Why would Noah invest your money in something like that?”

“He’d read that people were making millions in ugly Christmas shirts and sweatshirts, so he thought it was a certain winner.”

“No wonder you question his judgment now. He puts you in a terrible position. I’ve heard athletes often find themselves in financial trouble due to poor investments by their managers. Have you recovered—financially, I mean?”

“I’m not broke if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t want to discuss it. It’s painful.”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“The more I think about it, I’m changing my advice. Instead of hiring a manager, you should avoid the headaches of dealing with sponsors and managers. Doesn’t your family have enough money to fund your foundation?”

“They do, but I want to use my passion for tennis to benefit the people in my country. That’s not the case now. Instead, I’m spending my family’s money to fund my tennis. It doesn’t seem right. If I’m allowed to have sponsors and accept prize money, I could change that.”

“In the beginning, I relied on my family to be able to play tennis. The circumstances were different, but I suspect we feel similar guilt.”

“When we ...umm ...spent time together two years ago, you mentioned that your parents had sacrificed everything for you to play tennis.”

“They did. My dad took a second job on weekends. We didn’t go on family vacations.

My parents drove old cars, put off repairs on their small house, and bought our clothes from thrift stores.

Every extra bit of money went to send me to tennis events and pay for occasional coaching. I owe them everything.”

“They must love you very much. I’m sure they’re incredibly proud of you.”

“They’re wonderful parents. That’s one reason I work so hard. I don’t want to disappoint them. I never want them to have regrets or think they wasted their money on me.”

That explains Blake’s reputation for being laser focused on his game. He’s trying to honor his parents’ sacrifices. If he cares so much about them being proud of him, why would he put that at risk by doing anything illegal?

There’s only one reason I can think of. Maybe he needs more money to take care of his family after he lost so much in the bad investment.

Deciding to test my theory, I say, “I’m sure you’ve more than made it up to them since you’ve had so much success.”

“I’ve tried. I bought them a home and insisted they retire early.”

“They must be grateful for your generosity.”

“They are. They deserve so much more though.”

“Do they come to any of your tennis tournaments?”

“Yes. They want to be here now, but I’ve asked them not to come unless I make it to the finals.”

“I can understand that. My parents won’t be here either unless we somehow end up in the finals for mixed doubles. Can you imagine the tabloids if our parents were to meet then? They would have us married before the end of the match.”

“Good god. The tabloids are horrible. But from what you said the night we ...umm ...”

“Wait a minute. Why are we both being so awkward about that night? We fucked. Let’s own it. It was fantastic—at least for me—but it’s not something we have to dance around. Can we agree on that?”

“Agreed. I just wasn’t sure if you had regrets or were trying to avoid the F-word since you’re a princess,” he says.

“I’m not a porcelain doll from the 1800s. Please treat me like a normal person, at least when we’re alone.”

He releases my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me even closer. Being near Blake has a soothing effect. Without thinking, I lean my head against his shoulder and absorb more of the peaceful feeling.

“Your wish is my command. Now back to my question. The night we ...umm ... fucked, all you would tell me was that we couldn’t let the tabloids find us together. Why would that have been such a big deal? Was it because I’m a commoner?”

“Of course, not. My brothers both married commoners. That’s not a big deal in my country. But a princess having a one-night stand is.”

“Didn’t your brothers have a number of—what should I call them—short-term girlfriends?”

“They did, but there’s a double standard when it comes to women. A prince is seen as showing off his prowess or doing what men do. However, the tabloids christened me the ‘Promiscuous Princess’ when I was seen leaving a man’s room in the middle of the night.”

“That’s not fair. I’d have thought in today’s world we would have moved past such demeaning comments.”

“We should have. The real stinger is that I hadn’t even slept with the man.

I was merely helping a friend with a project.

We lost track of time, so I didn’t leave until the middle of the night.

If I was going to take the wrath of the press, I should have at least gotten the benefit of the deal. ” I laugh.

“Is there no way to stop them from printing lies?” he asks, as his free hand pushes a lock of hair off my face.

“Not when you can’t prove what they printed was false. It was better to let the story die over time. There was no way to prove that nothing happened, and regardless, it was none of their business even if it had.”

“I see. So that’s why you’re so careful about the press.”

“That’s one reason. After that instance, they took to following me and making up ridiculous tales of my adventures —very little of what they printed was true. More recently, I’ve avoided being seen alone with men.”

“Will staying at this rental house with me cause problems?”

The concern in his voice is sincere.

“Since they don’t know about our prior night together and there are so many people here, it should be okay. However, it wouldn’t surprise me if they start saying we’re dating. If that’s all they print, I’ll be happy.”

“Or we could give them something to talk about,” he says as his toes brush mine under the water.

“What are you doing?”

“Tickling your toes. I seem to remember you like that.”

“You do, huh?”

“I do,” he says, pulling me onto his lap.

“We can’t do this.”

“Why not? We’re alone. We’re adults. And I can’t stare at your plump red lips for another second without tasting them,” he says, placing his hand at the back of my head and pulling me in for a tender kiss.

Instead of pushing him away, I lean in, entranced by his musky scent and loving that he’s taking control. He’s finally showing me that he longs for me as much as I do for him.

Desire heats between my legs as Blake deepens the kiss, and we press our bodies against each other, seeking more. His kisses are even better than I remember. His soft lips are warm, and their pressure is firm and purposeful. And I feel his hard reaction to me.

There’s no longer any doubt. We want, no we need, each other. I should stop this, but it’s hard to fight the attraction.

When the kiss finally ends, we search each other’s eyes for answers.

“Blake, I—” Before I can finish, he presses the tip of a chocolate-covered strawberry against my lips.

“I bet you can take the whole thing,” he says with a teasing grin.

Damn. He’s trouble.

As I consume the fruit, chocolate sticks to my lips and juice runs down my chin. Blake kisses each spot and murmurs sounds of pleasure.

I arch my neck upward, hoping he’ll kiss the sensitive skin there.

He takes the hint, pushes my hair behind my ear to gain better access as he works his way from the front of my neck toward my ear.

“Oh my god, Blake. Your kisses make me want so much more.”

“I’m going to give you everything you want but be patient. That will make it better, love,” he says as he reaches between my legs, pushing aside the small triangle of my bikini. His finger explores as I wriggle on his lap, nudging him in the direction I want.

“You’re a needy little princess, aren’t you,” he teases.

“If you only knew,” I whisper in a breathy moment of truth.

I wouldn’t want to admit to Blake how long it’s been since someone brought me pleasure. I’ve been relying on my electronic assistant for too long.

He whispers in my ear, “Do you want to come now or with me inside you?”

“Do you have a condom? I’m not on birth control.”

“Not with me. Let’s go upstairs to my room.”

The click of the patio door opening brings me to my senses as Natalie calls out, “Is there room for all of us in the hot tub?”

I sink under the water to straighten my bathing suit and reemerge across from Blake, creating a respectable space between us.

Between the unfulfilled need for Blake and almost being caught, I’m shaking all over despite the heat of the water.

What the hell was I thinking?

As I’m composing myself, Blake covers for us. “There’s room.”

Leaning toward me he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, just a tad embarrassed.”

“They couldn’t see anything from the doorway. We could leave, but I’m the one who would be embarrassed if I stood up. We’re stuck here for now.”

“It’s for the best. I shouldn’t have let things go that far. We need to concentrate on tennis,” I lament.

“I know. I know. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine,” he says as Josh and Natalie join us.

We offer them the strawberries, and I retreat into silence, too drained to make conversation. I close my eyes and try to untangle what just happened.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at Blake. He looks so composed—like nothing happened. Meanwhile my stomach twists itself into knots. I’d hoped he’d say it meant something, even if he thought it was a mistake. Instead, he quickly agreed it was nothing. That stings more than expected.

If I weren’t already drawn to him, I never would have picked such a romantic setting to ask questions. But deep down, was I secretly hoping we’d reconnect? The problem is that I had an ulterior motive: the mission.

I’m sick over the fact that I let things get intimate when he’s the subject of my mission.

Was I trying to use sex as leverage? I swore I’d never do that.

Or am I using the mission as an excuse to get closer to someone I’ve fantasized about for two years?

Is the possibility of Blake being a criminal making him even more irresistible, sending our chemistry off the charts?

How did I twist myself into this tangle?