Page 29 of Risky Match (Royal Spies #1)

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M orning light filters through the window coverings, nudging me to wake. I groan, not ready to leave the comfort of bed. I’ve never been a morning person, but today, I’m cocooned in the security of a tightly wrapped blanket. I smile and stretch.

Wait.

That’s not just a blanket. Blake’s arm is around my waist. And his leg is tangled with mine.

He never left.

Memories of last night rush in. The balcony celebration he planned was perfect. He trusted me with the issues and fears he’s facing. Then when we could no longer resist our attraction, he treated me with an unexpected tenderness, practically worshipping my body.

He was perfect.

As the morning brain fog clears, reality sets in. My body may automatically crave Blake, but he’s still a suspect. Last night I let my personal feelings interfere with the mission.

How do I fix this?

Then again, it may help me gain his trust. But that thought makes me sick to my stomach. I wouldn’t trick Blake, or anyone, with sex. He’ll think I’m a horrible person if he ever finds out about my role as a Covert Royal. I’d never convince him that last night was about us, not my mission.

Of course, there’s no reason for him to find out.

What’s done is done. Besides, it’s not like we hadn’t done the same thing before. He wasn’t a suspect then. And he’ll never learn about my secret life. No one knows—not even my brothers.

I’m overreacting. Some alone time will clear my head and refocus my attention on the end goal.

There’s only one problem—Blake’s sound asleep and wrapped around me. I’m captive and have no desire to move. Waking up, snuggled tightly in his arms is pure heaven. I could lie here in his warm embrace all day and be completely contented.

Maybe it would be okay to rest here a little longer. I smile, closing my eyes, and drift back to sleep.

Something is nibbling on my earlobe. My parents’ Yorkie must have snuck into my palace apartment again.

Wait.

That’s impossible. I’m at Wimbledon in London.

A deep voice whispers, “Love, you need to wake up. Breakfast will be ready soon.” The nibbling resumes.

“Mmm. Maybe later.”

A hand slips between my thighs. “Fausto will be here with breakfast any minute. You might want to put clothes on.”

I bolt upright. “Did you say Fausto is bringing breakfast? No! He can’t know we slept together. This is a disaster.”

Blake laughs. “He’s just the chef. Why do you care if he knows we were together last night?”

I can’t tell him that I’m worried it will get back to the other members of the Covert Royal team.

“I try to keep my personal life from anyone other than Erin. It’ll make things awkward with Fausto.”

“Then you’ll be glad to know I was teasing. Breakfast is downstairs as usual.”

I playfully smack his shoulder. “That was mean.”

“I tried other more friendly ways to wake you first. When those didn’t work, I went for the shock factor.”

I yawn, stretching my arms above my head. “Now you know my secret. I’m not much of a morning person even after all the years of early practices.”

“I could tell,” he chuckles, rolling onto his back and sinking onto his pillow.

Somehow, he keeps his leg draped over mine as if he’s afraid I’ll try to escape.

“What about you? Do you prefer mornings or evenings?” I ask, as I rub my eyes, yawning.

“With my travel schedule, I cross so many continents and time zones, my body is always confused. Besides, our matches are sometimes in the morning and other times they don’t start until ten o’clock at night. At this point, I’ve forgotten if I ever had a preference.”

“If you were on holiday for three weeks, would you wake up early and go sightseeing or sleep in and party into the night?”

“I’d sleep for the first three days and then figure it out,” he grins.

Rolling onto my side, I curl into him, nestling my head into the crook of his shoulder and draping my free leg over his. “That was a dumb question on my part. With tennis tournaments back-to-back all year, I’m guessing you don’t get many extended holidays.”

“I don’t. A week off is a rare treat.”

“Have you thought about skipping a few of the lower-level tournaments and taking some time for yourself?” I ask, slowly tracing my finger along the contours of his chest and abs.

“Not really. My career will likely end in five to seven years. I’ve always assumed there would be time to rest and do what I want then.”

“We live strange lives, don’t we? There’s rarely any free time. I’m not playing tennis year-round like you, but when I’m not on tour, my royal duties fill my days.”

“What’s that like?”

That’s my cue. He’s given me the perfect opening to turn back to the mission even if it is a mood killer.

I close my eyes, not wanting to betray my feelings, explaining, “When I’m in Catalinius, it’s impossible to go anywhere and not be known.

But I can’t complain too much. My oldest brother has it even worse.

Since he took the throne as king, his photo is now on all the coins and paper money.

Even the people on day trips to the island would recognize him. ”

“Why doesn’t Catalinius use the Euro?”

“It may become our currency someday, but that hasn’t happened yet. I’ve heard that a number of people are collecting our coins in hopes they’ll be valuable if we eventually change to the Euro.”

“I can see that. My grandfather collects coins. I usually take foreign coins to him from my travels.”

My pulse skips a beat. Is this the proof our team has been looking for? Is Blake doing this for his grandfather? That doesn’t make sense though. He could just buy collectible coins and give them as gifts. Why resort to crime?

I press on. “Did you collect any for him from recent tournaments?”

I’m internally dreading his answer.

“A few. Nothing too special.”

“If you picked up any local coins when you played in the Catalinius tournament, I’d love to see them. Our coins capture the history of my family. I could share what I know. Then you could pass it along to your grandfather.”

“That would’ve been great. But I always mail the coins to him before I leave the country. It’s too much hassle to carry them around with me.”

Huh? That doesn’t match our intel. There’s supposed to be a handoff here.

“Oh. I see.” But I don’t really. I’m more confused than ever.

He kisses the top of my head and carefully disentangles us. “As much as I love lounging in bed with you and enjoying your slow morning routine, I need to have a quick breakfast and leave for my match.”

“Of course. I’d rather no one come looking for us anyway. I was thinking about watching you play again today. Would you mind?” I ask.

“That would be fantastic. You were a calming force for my first match. I’d love to have you at this one too. You can be my good luck charm.”

Blake kisses me on the cheek, pulls on his boxer briefs, and gathers the rest of his clothing. He peeks into the hallway, then quickly hurries to his room.

Finally, I’m alone and my thoughts are racing around my head.

Why would he admit to collecting coins for his grandfather. He must assume that I’m not aware of the laws. He didn’t admit knowing that certain coins were illegal to possess outside their home country.

More importantly, is our intel completely wrong?

Does that mean the exchange is not happening at Wimbledon.

Is he simply putting the coins in an envelope and mailing them to his grandfather to get them out of the various countries?

If that’s the case, then am I completely off base looking for hiding places in trophies?

Someone needs to check out Blake’s grandfather. I’ll send an encrypted text to Princes Stephen and Adrian.

Me: Grandfather is a collector. Receives items by mail.

Team: Will follow up.

Me: Thanks.

Now for the next part of my plan.