Page 37 of The Unlikely Spare (Unlikely Dilemmas #3)

“Isn’t it always?” He laughs, the sound hollow. “The perfect prince. The charming spare. The royal insurance policy.”

There’s something raw in his voice that cuts through all my professional defenses.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself with the commissioner’s daughter.”

Fuck. It appears I’ve failed to keep the jealousy from my tone.

Nicholas’s eyes flash, something dangerous and alive coming into his expression. “Do I? I must be a better actor than I thought.”

“She certainly seemed interested.”

“She’s interested in my title, not me.” His mouth twists into a bitter smile. “Though that hardly matters for a one-night diversion, does it?”

The casual way he dismisses it makes something hot and primitive surge through me. The heat spirals low in my stomach, mixing fury with desire in a cocktail that makes my hands shake with the effort to keep them at my sides.

“Is that what you’re looking for? A diversion?”

His ability to turn even this into a game of strategy is something I should find infuriating. Instead, it’s like watching fire burn. Dangerous, mesmerizing, impossible to look away from even when you know you’ll get burned.

Every gesture of his is calculated, every glance a move on a chessboard I never agreed to play.

But I’m not conceding the game now.

He steps close enough that I can smell his cologne, see the way his pulse jumps at the base of his throat. “She’s beautiful, intelligent, eager. Perfect distraction from—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.

Then he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What the hell is stopping me from taking her home and showing her a great time?” he finally continues.

Before I can think better of it, I close the distance between us until we’re nearly touching. “Because you’ll be thinking about me the whole time,” I growl in his ear. “And that’s not fair on anyone.”

Nicholas’s face drains of color. He stares at me, shocked into silence, his lips parting slightly.

For a heartbeat, we stand frozen, staring at each other.

Then he takes a careful step back.

“I should return to the reception,” he says, his voice strained. “Before anyone notices my absence.”

“Of course,” I reply.

He moves past me toward the door but pauses with his hand on the handle. “The car leaves in twenty minutes,” he says, not looking back. “I don’t believe you’re on duty tonight, but I have some questions about my security that require your presence in my suite.”

It’s not a question. The implication hangs in the air between us.

He’s right. I’m not scheduled on rotation tonight, but no one will question me entering his suite if he requests my presence to answer any questions he has—not after Darwin. Hell, Cavendish would probably commend my thoroughness.

The perfect cover for what we both know has nothing to do with discussing threats and everything to do with the threat we pose to each other.

My jaw aches from clenching it too tight.

It’s been so long since I’ve taken anything for myself.

My whole fucking life has been triage—Da drinks himself to death, so I become the responsible son.

The building collapses, injuring Malachy, so I become a responsible brother.

I become a cop so I can pay Malachy’s bills and fight the system that let it happen.

I’ve measured my life in other people’s outcomes. Cases closed, criminals caught, Malachy’s medical bills paid.

I’ve got so good at swallowing my own desires that I forgot what hunger felt like.

Until him.

And maybe that’s why Nicholas terrifies me. Because he makes me want things that have nothing to do with anyone else’s needs. Makes me want to be reckless and selfish and human in ways I’ve trained myself to forget.

Because I’m beginning to realize that whatever flash fire was ignited in that maintenance shed, it won’t be extinguished by good intentions and professional distance.

This constant war between what I want and what I should do is bleeding me dry. Every time he gets close, my control fractures a little more.

“Understood,” I answer.

Nicholas gives a short nod before returning to the reception.

I’m left alone in the garden, my heart pounding and my body humming with tension.

What the fuck did I just do?

The remaining twenty minutes of the reception pass in a blur.

I maintain my position, going through the motions of surveillance while hyperaware of Nicholas’s every movement.

He doesn’t approach the commissioner’s daughter again, instead engaging with various dignitaries with perfect royal courtesy.

Occasionally, his eyes find mine across the room.

Each glance from him is like a physical touch.

By the time we reach the car, I’m wound so tight I feel like I might snap. Nicholas sits silently in the back seat, staring out the window as Auckland’s lights blur past.

At the hotel, Nicholas acknowledges the night staff with his usual charm, but I can see the strain around his eyes, the too-rigid set of his shoulders beneath that perfect dinner jacket.

In the lift, it’s just the two of us. The small space feels impossibly confined, his cologne filling my lungs with each breath. Neither of us speaks.

When the doors open on his floor, Nicholas steps out first, walking toward his suite with measured strides.

I follow, automatically scanning the corridor for threats even though I know MacLeod’s already on duty. She’s standing at her post outside the presidential suite, alert despite the late hour.

“MacLeod,” I acknowledge with a nod.

“O’Connell.” She straightens slightly. “All quiet. No issues to report.”

Nicholas pauses with his key card, then turns to me. “O’Connell, I’m slightly concerned about those protesters we saw when we were leaving Government House. Can I have a quick chat about how I should respond if the protesters get too close at tomorrow’s events?”

It’s a reasonable request. MacLeod won’t question why Nicholas wants an additional perspective on security concerns.

“Of course, sir.”

MacLeod steps aside as Nicholas opens the door. I follow him in, the door closing behind us with a soft click.

The presidential suite offers spectacular views of Auckland Harbor. The city lights reflect off the dark water, but I barely register any of it.

I make a show of checking the main living area, a habit I can’t break. Nicholas watches me, setting his phone on the side table with deliberate calm.

When I complete my brief circuit, Nicholas has removed his dinner jacket and stands by the windows, his back to me. Christ, he’s beautiful like this—those shoulders I’ve felt beneath my hands, the graceful curve of his spine, the way his trousers cling to his perfect arse.

“So, you wanted to talk about how to respond to protesters.” I keep my voice at a normal conversation level. Playing the part.

Nicholas turns slowly to face me. He’s loosened his bow tie, the black silk hanging undone around his collar. The top button of his shirt is open, revealing a sliver of skin. It draws my gaze like a magnet.

When I raise my gaze to his, his eyes are cool and assessing.

“I know there are professional boundaries. Ethical considerations. Rules.” The last word drips with contempt. “But that doesn’t seem to change the fact that you keep looking at me like you’re starving and I’m a feast you can’t touch.”

My pulse hammers in my throat. “Prince?—”

“And I’m sick of pretending I don’t want you.”

The bald admission hits me like a punch to my gut. “Nicholas?—”

“I think we need to do this once, get it out of our systems because it’s unbearable for us to keep circling each other like this.” His voice drops lower. “I can’t take it anymore, Eoin. Can you?”

Hearing my name on his lips has my skin pricking with sudden heat. I stand there like a man carved from stone, though inside, I’m pure fire.

My breath catches painfully in my throat. Each inhale brings more of his cologne. More of him.

“I’m not asking anything,” he says as he moves toward me. “I’m offering. Just tonight. Just this once. No expectations beyond that.”

He’s standing so close now that his breath ghosts across my skin. His eyes are darker than usual, almost navy, pupils dilated with want.

He’s taking rapid, shallow breaths, his fingers curling at his sides, knuckles white with restraint.

This man is on the verge of shattering. I understand because I am too. I’m vibrating with a need I can’t control, a desperate hunger that burns through my veins like whiskey and gunpowder combined.

So I do the only thing that will save us both from shattering.

I lower my lips to his.

This kiss is different from our first. It’s no less desperate and fierce, but it’s deliberate rather than impulsive, charged with conscious choice rather than pure adrenaline.

A soft sound escapes Nicholas’s throat as his hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. Then his fingers are tangling in my hair as he deepens the kiss.

His mouth opens beneath mine and the taste of him from the other day—now tinged with champagne—floods my senses until my mind goes blank.

There’s no room for anything else. No room for any thoughts other than this man.

This man.

My hands move to his waist, fingers digging into the muscle beneath his shirt as I back him toward the nearest wall.

When his shoulders hit the surface, he groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me. I break the kiss to trail my lips along his jaw, down his throat, feeling his pulse race beneath my lips.

I’m finally getting to touch him like I’ve been craving for far too long.

Even better, he’s touching me back.

His hands slide beneath my suit jacket, pushing it off my shoulders. I shrug out of my shoulder holster and his fingers pull at my shirt, tugging it free.

Those cool blue eyes meet mine in a challenge.

“You assured me I’d be thinking of you anyway, so now that we’re here, I guess you better ensure my mind isn’t wandering off to other places.”

Fuck. I had no idea witty barbs were what did it for me. But the sight of Nicholas disheveled and breathless from my kisses, still managing to challenge me with that sharp tongue, causes desire to course through me.

I capture his mouth again, harder this time, my hand sliding into his perfect hair to tilt his head how I want it. He yields with a shiver, his body arching against mine.

We kiss like it’s the only purpose we were made for, like each kiss is a battle for survival. It’s messy and desperate, the kind of kissing that doesn’t give a damn about tomorrow’s regrets.

When we break for air, his eyes are dazed, lips swollen.

“Is your mind wandering now?” I rasp.

His eyes flash, blue and burning. “Not right now. But I’ve heard consistency is important, so perhaps you should keep convincing me.”

I press my hips against his, letting him feel exactly what he does to me. His breath catches, pupils blown wide with desire.

“I think you are used to running rings around people with that pretty tongue of yours,” I growl, nipping at his lower lip, “but tonight, you’re going to find better uses for it.”

A shudder runs through him at my words.

I fumble with the buttons of his shirt. I need to feel him, to taste more of him.

When the fabric finally parts, revealing smooth skin over muscle, I lower my mouth to his collarbone, tasting salt and expensive cologne.

Nicholas makes a broken sound, his head falling back against the wall. His hands grip my shoulders hard enough to leave marks, his hips rolling against mine in a rhythm that threatens to unravel me completely.

“Bedroom,” he gasps, the word more command than suggestion.

I respond by lifting him, my hands gripping his thighs. His legs wrap around my waist, and a startled laugh escapes him as I carry him across the suite.

“Very impressive.” But the haughtiness in his tone is undermined by the way his voice breaks when I nip at his throat.

I lower him onto the bed, following him down without breaking contact. The feel of him beneath me, the heat of his chest against mine, the way his breath hitches when I move against him… It’s intoxicating.

Addictive.

I rub my groin against his, feeling the slide of our cocks together.

“Eoin,” he breathes. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me back to his mouth for another hungry kiss.

We only have one night.

I want to lose myself in him, in the taste and feel of him, in the sounds he makes when I touch him.

All the reasons this is a terrible idea fade away, drowned out by the thundering of my pulse and the desperate need to claim him completely.

Tomorrow will bring consequences. Tomorrow we’ll remember who we are. The prince and his protection officer. Separated by duty and station. Tomorrow I’ll be back to being the hired muscle, and he’ll be back to being untouchable.

But tonight, in this room, with Auckland’s lights glittering beyond the windows, we’re just Eoin and Nicholas.

Two eejits who’ve been circling each other for too long, finally giving in to what they both desperately want.

And for now, that’s enough.

Even if I’m going to hell for it, at least I’ll have good memories for the journey down.