Page 63 of Heavy Crown

“No.” It’s the truth. No matter how much I care for Rory, she can’t come ahead of Bellerive. The country must be above any of my personal wants or desires. Indulging in an affair with her for six weeks is equal to jumping off a cliff when I’m not sure how deep the water is. I could be completely fine, or I could end up broken beyond repair. “I love our country. I want to be king. I just thought if you were encouraging me to be irresponsible, you should understand where that could lead if I was a lesser man.”

Brice chuckles. “So we’re good then? You’re the better man, we’re the lesser men.” He pours a shot for himself. “In all seriousness, you looked happy last night with her. Actually happy. I always say you take your happiness where you can find it because you never know what’s coming next.”

Except I do know. An arranged marriage to a woman I’ll have met a handful of times and the inevitable loss of Rory. Brice’s advice is how he lives his life. Largely consequence free. It’s never been how I’ve lived mine.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I say.

“Nick’s wedding,” Brice says, and he gives our brother the side-eye. “Ask him anything, and I bet he doesn’t have a clue.”

“Let’s talk travel.” Nick ignores Brice and pours everyone another drink. “We’ve been lots of places together and separately. Neutral territory.”

We drink our shots, and since no one seems eager to throw out a country, I start. “Tell me where you’ve been in Canada.”

twenty-four

Rory

A sound wakes me. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to come again. I’m on the cusp of drifting back to sleep when it comes a second time. A knock. Someone is knocking on my door at—I check the bedside clock—one in the morning.

Either it’s an emergency or it’s Alex.

God, what if something has happened to Alex?

My heart thuds heavy. Alex. I spring off the bed and fly to the door, throwing it open without looking through the peephole.

“Did you even check to see who it was?” Alex’s words have the faintest hint of a slur, and he rocks on his feet.

The panic gripping my chest eases once I’ve given him a quick scan. He’s not injured, and though he doesn’t seem like himself, the relaxation in his stance isn’t from illness.

“Are you… drunk?” I narrow my eyes and cock my head. Disheveled suit and smells like tequila. “Oh my God. Did you play Truth and Tequila with Brice?”

“And Nick. ’Twas a short-lived game.” He leans into the doorframe, and his gaze travels over my short shorts and tank top. “Not quite what I pictured. But I am not disappointed.”

My cheeks heat, and I cross my arms over my braless chest.

“Are you going to invite me in or make me stand out here in the cold?” Alex asks.

I suppress a smile. “Oh? Is it cold out there? Your tropical paradise is betraying you tonight?”

“Bloody freezing. Might catch hypothermia at any moment. The best remedy is skin-to-skin contact.” His gaze sears me with its intensity.

With his first comment on my nightwear, I wasn’t sure if he was hitting on me or merely drunk. Now I’m sure he’s flirting with me. Not pity flirting either. This is unabashed interest… in me. There are so many responses rising to the surface, I’m dizzy with them. Banter back, tell him to leave, or invite him in, but make it clear his drunken moves aren’t going to win me over.

Except, I’m already won over, aren’t I?

Be smart? Or do what I want?

“Maybe I’ll let you stand out there for a few more minutes to make my first aid more effective,” I say with the hint of a smile tugging at my lips.

A flash of surprise registers on Alex’s face. “You’re that confident in your first aid skills, are you?”

“No. I’m that confident in my skin-to-skin skills.” I give him my cheekiest grin. His unexpected appearance has given me a burst of confidence. Sober Alex would diffuse this conversation and let me down easy. What will drunk Alex do? Anticipation stirs in my belly. Drunk Alex didn’t come here to talk.

His gaze heats with an unmistakable flare of desire an instant before he pushes off the doorframe and digs his hands into my long hair, drawing me into a kiss. I rise on my toes to meet it, to welcome him.

His kiss is demanding and sure of itself, exactly how I’ve longed to be kissed. There are no half measures, no room for uncertainty. We are united in our hunger for each other.

My body is a chorus of finally, as though I’ve been fasting and am now receiving my first taste of food. He’s sustenance, strength, life. Like everything else between us, we fall into a natural rhythm of tongues and hands and lips. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we’d kissed before. So many times before. There’s not a hint of awkwardness, just blind passion.