Page 70 of Royal Trouble

“Mmmhmm,” was her garbled reply. Surely he didn’t expect her to form intelligent responses when he was—oh shit. His tongue circled her clit, and stars exploded behind her eyelids. He repeated the motion. Once. Twice. Three times.

Her hips bucked against his mouth. She needed more pressure. Needed him to fill her as he’d done at Scarsdale Manor and apparently she wasn’t above begging in her lust-filled state. “More, please.”

She was rewarded when he slipped a finger inside of her, giving her exactly what she needed.

“Oh my God. That feels so good,” she murmured, all of her senses laser focused on the part of her body where he stroked her lazily, as if he intended to draw her pleasure out for hours instead of mere minutes. It was torture. Every nerve in her body was begging for release, the tight coil of tension between her legs ready to explode. She opened her eyes, prepared to tell him as much, but when she did, it took a moment for her brain to process what she was seeing. “Fire.”

Xander groaned, his cheek smooth against her thigh. “I know, love. So hot.”

“Shit. No!” She smacked him on the shoulder, panic rising in her chest. “I mean the range is on fire!”

…

What the fuck?

Xander whirled to the oven, which was indeed on fire. Flames licked at the glass door, but for now at least they seemed to be contained inside. Bollocks. What was the protocol for a kitchen fire? He didn’t have the slightest clue. He wasn’t a fucking chef, and as evidenced by the flaming roast, he had no future in the trade.

So much for wooing her with food.

Focus. Fire first. Everything else second.

It was moments like this where his military training served him well. Calm descended, and he quickly assessed the situation, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the cabinet below the sink. Keeping an eye on the flames, which were trying their damnedest to escape from the corners of the oven door, he shut the blasted thing off. Smoke leaked from the range in dark tendrils, setting off the overhead smoke detector. An ear-piercing shriek that could probably be heard the whole way up at the palace filled the kitchen. He ignored it, watching as the flames in the oven died down.

Bloody fucking hell.

He was never going to live this down.

When he was sure the fire had fizzled out, he opened the oven door, careful to stand to the side so he didn’t catch any residual sparks. As it turned out, the fire extinguisher wasn’t necessary, but dinner was burned to a crisp.

Literally.

He fanned the smoke with his hands, and behind him, Everly dragged a chair across the floor. While he pulled the charred roast from the oven, she climbed up on the chair and tried to disable the smoke detector, her bare arse on full display as she stretched her arms up over her head. And just like that, he went from horror stricken to hard as steel.

Christ. If they kept this up, his cock was going to get whiplash.

Everly gave a cry of victory as she shut off the damnable alarm, and though his ears were still ringing from the shrill bleat of its warning, it was a considerable improvement. He opened the window above the sink so the room could air out, and Everly climbed down from the chair.

One glance at the blackened roast and she was back to busting his balls. “Now that’s what I call cooking with fire.”

Before he could reply, his mobile vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and accepted the call from palace security. “Nothing to worry about,” he said, trying not to sound like a total arsehole. “Just a little kitchen fire. The situation’s under control.”

“Should we send someone over?” the duty guard asked, concern evident in his voice.

“No need. There’s no damage, but I’ll need a professional to come out and look at the oven sometime this week.”

“I’ll take care of it, Sir.”

He gave his thanks and disconnected.

Everly was fighting a grin when he turned back to her. “Sorry about dinner.” He planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the mess. The kitchen was an absolute disaster and all for nothing. He had to be the biggest arsehole in the history of the world, catching a bloody roast on fire.

Bollocks. Was Elena’s bad luck rubbing off on him?

“Don’t worry about it,” Everly said. She closed the distance between them, wrapped him in a tight embrace, and rested her head against his chest. Though the smell of smoke lingered in the air, he focused on her citrusy scent. It was quickly becoming his favorite smell and had the uncanny ability to soothe his nerves, no matter the circumstances. “I don’t need fancy dinners and candlelight. I just need you.”

The sentiment meant more than she could possibly know, which was why he owed her the truth. “I’m glad to hear it, but I have to be honest. There’s something I want to ask you, and I’d hoped to warm you up a bit first.”

She pulled back and looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you were going to ply me with food and sex in hopes of getting a more favorable answer?”