Page 10 of Some Like It Scandalous (Going Royal #2)

Anna

H er breath hitched in her throat. He grabbed her chair and jerked her forward.

She all but fell against his chest, the last thing she saw was the anger flaming in his eyes.

Her protest died unspoken when he dipped his head and claimed her mouth.

She planted her hands on his chest, intending to shove him away, but her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, her anger dissolving beneath the passion in his kiss.

This is Charlie…

The thought floated, disconnected, above the surge of emotion.

Her blood went hot, blazing through the wild fever of her temper.

Irritation—with herself, with him, with the whole damn situation—melted under the assault of his lips.

But no matter the quiet fury in his eyes, his kiss was gentle, possessive, and utterly disarming.

His lips glided over hers—tentative, remembering—and when her mouth opened, his tongue slid into stroke against hers.

Oh God. No one tasted as good as Charlie did.

Nothing battered right through the years of hurt, regret, and loneliness like the soft, wet kiss of his lips and the warm glide of his hands slipping down her body.

She wasn’t in the chair anymore. He dragged her across until she sat on his lap, lost in the sweet surrender of being close to him.

He sucked on her tongue and heat unfurled like a great sail snapping open to catch the wild wind. Her heart beat so fast it had to be trying to escape. When he released her lips to kiss down the side of her neck, she moaned.

The essence of them—the quick passion, the fury of it taking them—it was all there.

It didn’t matter who reached for whom, or where they were.

The world disintegrated, falling away to leave only them.

His teeth grazed the pulse point in her throat and she slid her hands up into that dark tumble of hair.

Soft and silky—just like she remembered it.

Memory and reality crashed together, dragging her beneath the riptide.

Her nipples strained against the bra, the fabric rasping against their sensitive tips.

Dear God, she wanted him. She needed him.

She’d told herself for ten years she didn’t—she lied to herself and let the lie keep her warm at night, but the icy chill of their long separation exploded.

She dug her nails in, impatient with their clothes.

He pulled away and nudged her back to her own chair.

It was so fast, her head spun, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She opened her eyes and tried to hold on to him, but he left her, shoving his chair back and rising before she could catch his hands. His eyes were black—the pupil having swallowed the iris—and they were intense with desire.

“Charlie…”

He shook his head and circled away from the table, raking his fingers through disheveled hair. “My apologies—I didn’t mean to maul you that way.”

Why wouldn’t he look at her?

“Please, stay here. Security has orders to keep you in the building if necessary.” His husky voice betrayed no quiver. “I’ll—excuse me. I’ll be with you in a few moments.”

And then he was gone.

Touching two fingers to her lips, she stifled the scream of frustration welling up. What the hell had she been thinking? She’d spent the whole morning fuming mad at him—then one kiss and she was ready to get naked?

I am in so much trouble…

“If you’re not together, why are you staying in his penthouse?

” Penny demanded over the phone. Anna should never have told her little sister that she would be staying with Armand.

For that matter, she shouldn’t have agreed at all.

Particularly since his few minutes turned into hours—he simply didn’t return.

She sat at the table like an idiot for over forty-five minutes.

When she went in search of him, she’d discovered he’d left the apartment through another entrance.

One guarded by security.

They’d ushered her back inside and requested that she wait for the prince to return.

Six hours later, waitstaff entered, prepared a meal, then served it and he still wasn’t back. He might have inflamed her passion, but he pissed her off even more. The housekeeper showed her to a room and now she sat—still waiting for him.

“Look, Penny—it’s just for a couple of days until they get this nonsense with the press sorted out.

” The explanation sounded even lamer out loud than it did in her head.

No way in hell would she tell her baby sister about the threats.

Not when icy terror slithered through her each time she considered the last picture.

Whoever they were, they’d been in her room.

“Because moving in with him will show those guys just how wrong they got the story?” Penny snorted. “Is it nice? As nice as that palace they have in Norway?”

“It’s a penthouse. Of course it’s nice. But it’s also empty.

” Not that his apartment wasn’t decorated—but the decorations were impersonal right down to the knickknacks.

No photos of family, not even any paintings or works from Charlie’s favorites.

She sighed. She had to stop thinking of him as Charlie.

Charlie was the lie, Armand the reality.

Accept it—you don’t want the prince; you want your boyfriend back.

“So, is he there? Like right now?” Her sister’s enthusiasm seemed to have diminished during the day.

“No. He went out.” She didn’t mention the kiss or the raging passion that left her restless and aching all day.

“Bummer.”

“If you say so.” She tried for glib and light, but exhaustion warred with need—she wanted him to come home. Then she could yell at him for walking away. Yes, that was what she wanted.

“Anna, are you really okay with all of this? I mean if you’re not really back together…” Bless her heart, give her sister a little while to bask in the pseudo-royal glory and she still returned to earth.

“No.” She didn’t lie this time. “No, I’m not all right. But I will be. Just avoid the press, okay? Don’t go for the Pippa thing. Mom texted me that they had to call the police to shoo them off the lawn.”

“I won’t. I mean…it would be fun and all. But only if you were happy.”

“I love you too, kiddo.”

“I know, I’m fabulous. And there’s Billy. We’re off to the village tonight, new bands playing. Love you.”

“Love you.” Then her sister was gone, her mood ping-ponging from sympathetic and loving to excited for her next adventure.

The eight years separating them seemed vast more often than not, but Penny was good people.

Thankfully, Anna’s phone had stopped ringing nonstop when she switched the cell back on, but the forty-some-odd messages in her inbox worried her.

Mail from the office told her the press showed up there as well, but her staff assured her they had it under control.

They also recommended she stay away from the office. The building wasn’t “secure.”

Tossing the phone on the bed, she paced through the bedroom. The housekeeper told her there were some nightgowns in the dresser and fresh pajamas—all recent purchases, and set aside for guests. Not that she had an overnight bag, or her book, or anything to do…

Abandoning the bedroom, she wandered through the quiet apartment—too quiet. The staff didn’t live in. She wasn’t sure who mentioned that to her, but they were just a phone call away. Star four on the phone would ring to the valet and he would take care of everything.

Valet.

They rode in the back of a luxurious limousine, the deep leather seats sumptuous and if not for Charlie’s hand wrapped firmly around her own, she might have drowned in the surrealism of it all.

The hours since the knock on the door had raced past. His security had shuttled them from their meager apartment, whisking them to the airport in the back of an SUV and through private gates, taking them all the way to a waiting plane.

Her heart ached for him, but as the hours passed, Charlie seemed to vanish before her eyes.

His jaw tightened, his eyes grew more remote and even his manner became more autocratic, isolated and aloof.

Except he still held her hand, held it tightly.

Through the window she glimpsed an estate—no, not an estate.

A palace.

Apprehension shivered across her skin and her pulse raced. What the hell was she doing here? She had finals to take, though she’d been told by a man with a very no-nonsense accent “arrangements would be made.”

What arrangements?

The car glided almost silently past tall iron gates and four heavily armed and decorated military men who stood watch.

When they finally pulled up to the circular drive in front of the palace doors, her stomach sank.

An entire line of people awaited them—all dressed in black-and-white suits or uniform dresses, save for an older woman with dark hair shot through with strands of silver.

She wore a far more ornate black dress, black gloves covered her hands, gems gleamed at her wrists, ears—and dear God, she wore a tiara.

A tiara .

Anna worried she might throw up. Two younger men accompanied the grand lady and behind her gathered others in equally formal, if stiffly dark, dress.

Of course it’s dark, Anna chastised herself.

They’re in mourning. All at once, her attention went back to Charlie.

He stared out the window, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

The vehicle halted and one of the butlers stepped up to open the door.

“I have to exit first,” he murmured in a dull voice. Charlie’s hand trembled in hers—or maybe she imagined it. He withdrew his touch and pulled away.

“Alright,” she replied, but he stepped out of the vehicle and the moment his foot touched the ground, everyone along the line bowed or dipped into a curtsy—every single one of them.

The band around her chest constricted, threatening to cut off her oxygen.

Charlie’s chin came up and his hands fell to his sides as he surveyed all of them.