Slowly, he leans down. I taste his breath—cinnamon and clove—before I taste him.

And then Nicholas presses his mouth against mine.

Possessively. Boldly. Like he owns me. And in this moment he does. I follow his lead, moving my lips in time with his, relishing the feel, the sensation. He tilts my head, positioning me right where he wants me. And then I feel the warm, wet stroke of his tongue.

Holy fuck, does he know how to kiss.

I think I have an orgasm of the mouth.

A mouth-gasm. And it’s amazing.

I moan deep and totally loud—not even a little ashamed. My arms curl around Nicholas’s neck and his hands skim down to my ass, clamping and kneading. Then he’s the one moaning—and it, too, is amazing.

“I knew it,” he murmurs against my lips. “So fucking sweet.”

Then our mouths fuse again, our tongues sliding and tasting. Nicholas pushes his knee between my legs, squeezes my ass and drags me up his leg. And the friction—the glorious fucking friction—would have me gasping yes if my mouth weren’t wonderfully otherwise occupied.

But then a sound comes from above us—a thump that rattles the ceiling. We both hear it, looking up, lips retreating.

“I have to go—my dad might’ve fallen out of bed.”

His hands tighten on my ass, almost reflexively—the way a child would grasp a favorite toy if it was threatened to be taken away. “Let me come up with you.”

I look into his eyes, not embarrassed anymore. “No, it’s better if you don’t.” My fingers comb his thick, soft hair before settling against his jaw. “I’ll be fine, I swear.”

Nicholas is still breathing hard and looks like he wants to argue, but after a moment of searching my face, he gives the smallest nod and slides me off his thigh.

“When can I see you again?” he asks. “Say tomorrow.”

I laugh. “God, you’re bossy. Okay, tomorrow.”

“Earlier this time. We’ll stay in at my hotel—I’ll make you dinner.”

“You can cook?”

He shrugs, and the adorable dimples make an appearance.

“I know how to make sushi, so technically, I can cut. But my cutting is top-notch.”

I giggle again—feeling silly and light-headed. Possibly delusional.

“All right. Your place, tomorrow.”

Then he’s kissing me again. Sucking at my lips in a way that I’ll feel in my dreams tonight.

“This is crazy,” I whisper against him. “It’s crazy, right? It’s not just me?”

Nicholas shakes his head. “Bloody insane.” His hands are on my ass again—a final quick grab. “And fucking fantastic.”

I’M GOING TO HAVE SEX TONIGHT. Lots of it.

I’m going to lay Olivia out on my bed and screw her sweetly, I’m going to hold her up against the wall and fuck her madly. No room or surface will be left undefiled.

Moves and configurations worthy of an Olympic gymnast—fantasies—play out in my head all damn day long. Leaving me hard and aching.

They make the interviews and charity luncheon I suffer through—awkward.

And it’s all because of her. Olivia.

What a sexy, delectable little surprise she turned out to be.

Last night was…intense. I didn’t mean to say all those things—they just spilled out. And, Christ, she didn’t even sign an NDA—it’s not like me to forget such a thing.

But it felt cathartic talking to her. Like we were in our own bubble, on a personal remote island—where no one else in the world could see us, touch us or hear us. Before I left for New York I’d planned to make the most of the freedom I have left—do things I never would’ve considered. And Miss Olivia Hammond certainly fits that bill.

I gave the butler a list of items I’d need for dinner and told him to make sure the suite was stocked with condoms—every room. Cover your knobber before you bob her—that’s what my father used to say. Words every royal lives by.

Words I learned to never forget.

My leg jostles impatiently as the car pulls up in front of Amelia’s just before sunset. I should’ve worked out, burned off some of this energy—or even better—I should’ve jerked off. I’m liable to jump her the second I see her. My balls feel like lead weights in my trousers.

Not very comfortable—in case you weren’t sure.

I spot the CLOSED sign hanging in the window and smile. Closed means privacy. And just maybe I’ll get the chance to act out the fantasy from last night—Olivia lying back on one of those dining tables, legs on my shoulders while I pump smoothly into her.

But those luscious thoughts are scattered to the wind when I walk inside. Olivia’s not there to greet me—her little firecracker of a sister is.

Ellie Hammond is a tiny thing—pretty, with the same shade eyes as her sister, but rounder, less exotic looking. She’s wearing a simple black T-shirt, snug across her chest, and jeans that look like they were chopped off at the knees with a hacksaw. Black square glasses perch over a pert nose and a streak of hot pink in her blond hair gives her a youthful, idealistic look—like a girl who’d be holding a sign at a college campus protest.

Ellie stands in front of me, then lowers gracefully into a perfect full curtsy.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Prince Nicholas.” She smiles.

“Have you been practicing that move?” I ask. “You do it very well.”