Page 75 of The Unlikely Heir

Sure enough, I have a stream of messages from Callum waiting for me.

So, we didn’t really get a chance to talk last night.

You should know that I think I’m pansexual or bisexual. But I’m guessing you figured that out from the fact I kissed you, right?

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to turn things awkward between us.

Can we talk about it?

Callum has no pretenses. It’s one of the things I like about him. He’s never going to play games with me. Sometimes my whole relationship with Garett felt like a giant game of Risk, where we battled it out on the different continents of intellect, humor, and sex, one of us always vying for dominance.

It’s not like that with Callum. At all.

With Callum, it’s like his edges and mine were designed to interlock perfectly to make a complete picture.

I stare at his last message. If I reply to Callum, what am I going to say?

Sure, let’s talk about the incredible, mind-blowing kiss we shared last night. And while we’re at it, I guess we should talk about the fact that you’ve gotten under my skin like no one else ever has, and I can’t begin to put a name to these feelings I’ve got for you, and I don’t want to try because I’m honestly scared about what will fit the most accurately.

My throat clenches.

My whole body, my whole being, wants to continue this thing with Callum. To kiss him again. To take that kiss to its natural progression, to touch him and discover exactly what pleasure looks like on Callum.

For a split second, my mind goes there, and I imagine Callum trembling under my touch, arching his body up towards mine. Imagine myself trailing my lips over his body, lingering over him, him looking at me half-lidded and breathless.

I press my hands to my temples as if I can physically remove those images.

He’s the Prince of Wales. He will one day be king.

And I’m the prime minister.

We can’t be in a relationship without consequences, consequences that could destroy one or both of us.

There is no way I can continue a friendship with Callum and not want him. I instinctively know that continuing to message him, talk to him, spend any time with him will be like adding sunshine and water to that want, making it grow and grow until it’s out of control.

I’m the man who couldn’t hold together a straight-forward marriage to the perfect political spouse while also being prime minister.

My fingers shaking, I tap out a reply.

Sorry, Callum. We can’t keep doing this.

Ten seconds later, my phone starts to buzz with an incoming video call from Callum.

My heart contracting, I press Decline.

Then I toss my phone on the couch and head into my study to pour myself a scotch.

ChapterEighteen

Callum

It’s been a week.

A week without talking to Oliver.

Oliver won’t respond to my messages. He won’t answer my calls.

I didn’t think I was that bad of a kisser, but the evidence might suggest otherwise.