Page 96 of The Unlikely Spare

And there’s Nicholas, second in line to the throne, serving food alongside regular volunteers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Would you like some gravy with that?” He smiles at an elderly woman with eyes that have seen too much hardship.

“Yes please, love,” she replies, seeming more interested in the food being put on her plate than the fact she’s being served by actual royalty.

I scan the room for the thousandth time, logging potential threats, exit routes, suspicious movements. But while my eyes are doing their job, my mind keeps dragging me back to last night.

To the feel of Nicholas beneath me. The taste of his skin. The sounds he made when I?—

Jaysus. I’m fucked.

I’m so incredibly, monumentally unprofessional.

Pierce’s words echo in my mind. “We’ve chosen you because we trust your judgment, O’Connell. Don’t let us down.”

And what did I do with that trust? I shagged the principal I was assigned to protect. The royal I was meant to keep safe from the very real threats circling him like sharks.

I’ve spent my entire career building a reputation for integrity, for doing things by the book even when it would be easier not to. All those years fighting twice as hard to be taken seriously, to prove that a kid from Belfast’s Limestone Road estates could rise through the ranks on merit alone.

And I threw it all down the jacks for one night.

One fucking spectacular night. The kind of night that ruins you for everything else, like your first proper pint after years of that watered-down shite they serve tourists.

That’s the problem. I can’t bring myself to regret it.

I force my attention back to the present. Nicholas is chatting with a young mother now, crouching to eye level with her children as he serves them extra Yorkshire puddings.

“Save room for dessert,” he tells the wide-eyed kids. “I hear there’s Christmas pudding later, and I have it on good authority that Santa might have left some gifts in the back room.”

Nicholas glances up, catching me watching him. The corner of his mouth ticks up, and he holds my gaze a beat too long. Heat crawls up my neck as memories of last night flash behind my eyes—his fingers digging into my shoulders, his head thrown back in pleasure, the way he gasped my name when he?—

I force my eyes away, focusing on a paper snowflake dangling from the ceiling fan.

Christ. I need to get a grip.

Nicholas makes his way to the dessert station, his path deliberately taking him past where I’m standing.

“Looking very festive today, Officer O’Connell,” he murmurs as he passes. “Though I must say, I prefer you with fewer clothes.”

My jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack.

“Careful, sir.” I keep my voice low. “I’m pretty sure antagonizing your security detail isn’t recommended in the royal handbook.”

“The royal handbook also frowns upon protection officers leaving bite marks on their principals.” His fingers brush his collar in a gesture that looks casual but draws my attention to the exact spot where I marked him last night. “Yet here we are, Officer O’Connell, both guilty of handbook violations.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me fighting for composure.

The absolute bastard.

Officer Singh appears at my elbow. “All clear on the perimeter. Though I’m not sure about that group by the east entrance.”

I follow his gaze to where three men in worn jackets are huddled near the door. My instincts prickle, but after a moment’s observation, I determine they’re just tired, just hungry, just human.

“They look fine. But keep an eye on them anyway, just in case.”

Singh nods and moves off. My gaze follows him.

Is Singh the sleeper agent? Is he feeding information to people who want to harm Nicholas? The thought sends a chill through me.