Royally Wicked Read online

  I can just see the headlines. Prince blows wad in Vegas Casino!

  I’m not your typical prince. I don’t really give two shits about what the American tabloids print about me. My exploits make a certain sweet little Harry look like a monk.

  But if I were caught having public sex, my parents would lose it. Particularly my father, the king of Belvaria. And my older brother, the future king of Belvaria.

  A part of me doesn’t want to give a shit. That part wants to shove my hot-bodied little American against the wall and drive my dick deep inside her.

  It would be fun. And highly gratifying. In so many ways.

  But no, I can’t. I won’t.

  And it has nothing to do with my father. Or my older brother.

  It’s her. This sweet little woman. With the lush lips. And soft hips. And delightful spark.

  She’s so uninhibited. It’s as if she doesn’t know who I am. Of course, she must. No modern day European noble travels, even in the United States, without being recognized. The American girls are all looking to live that ridiculous Prince Charming fantasy.

  Well, I’m no Prince-fucking-Charming.

  A fucking prince is more like it.

  A prince who will be fucking this hot girl soon. After the game.

  I wish now I hadn’t agreed to play poker. I’m tempted to just hand my entry fee and gambling cash to the first asshole I see and bow out. Or let one of my bodyguards play for me. But I didn’t want to screw the other players out of a good game. And, as for my bodyguards, I’d given them some much-deserved time off. They’ve been on the clock for three days. Non-stop. I’m an asshole. But I’m not that big of a dick. Everyone deserves some time to himself. Especially when they’re in a place like this, where any vice is within reach.

  Sex.

  Alcohol.

  Drugs.

  Gambling, of course.

  Kinks of all variety.

  It’s here.

  And I’m going to play fucking cards.

  Ah well, I’ll make the best of it.

  I take my hot little princess’ hand and lead her out of the main casino. Our game is in the high-stakes room, where most Vegas visitors will never step foot.

  Where I’ll play with antes of no less than a thousand US dollars.

  I rarely lose, but I’ve had a few bad days. It’s more likely I’ll walk out of the room with over fifty thousand dollars. But I don’t give a shit about money right now. All I can think about his the woman holding my hand and cheerfully reciting facts from my country’s tourism website.

  It’s then that I realize something shocking: she may not know who I am.

  It is possible?

  I glance at her and she blinks wide, sooty-lash-framed eyes at me. They’re glittering with excitement. Not because she’s holding hands with a prince. No. She’s excited because she’s in Vegas, and in Vegas anything is possible. At least, that’s what she’s telling me.

  She has no idea how true that statement is.

  Here anything is possible.

  Anything at all…

  Anything...

  A crazy, insane idea pops into my head.

  I could get married. Here. To this girl. I could marry her and she wouldn’t even realize who she was marrying until after the vows had been said.

  She wouldn’t know she’s marrying a prince. Cleo’s Bachelor of the Year.

  She wouldn’t be marrying me to gain a title. Or money. Or fame. Or any of the other perks most of the gold-digging princess-wanna-be’s are looking for by marrying me.

  If she married me, she would be marrying me because she likes me. At least, what she knows about me so far.

  Which isn’t much.

  Interesting.

  It’s tempting.

  “Have you heard, then, of Belvaria’s royal family?” I ask when she breaks from her impressive recitation of Belvaria tourism facts to take a (probably much-needed) breath.

  “No,” she says, tossing her free hand, the one not tucked into mine, with a dismissive wave. “I don’t follow those people. They don’t live in my world. They live in fairytale-land—way too far removed from my reality to matter to me. Like American celebrities. I don’t care about any of those people. With their money and big mansions and stuff.”

  Interesting answer.

  But I’m not a total idiot.

  I know she could be putting on an act, pretending she doesn’t have a clue who I am. Normally, that’s what I would suspect. But, oddly, I believe her.

  “I know what you mean,” I say with a nod.

  “Yeah. All they care about is going to fancy parties and ribbon-cutting ceremonies…and producing heirs for the next generation of ribbon-cutters.”

  “So true,” I agree. In reality that isn’t my life. At least, not entirely. I’m the second son of a king. I run a business. I work hard. And I play hard, too.

  And I cut the occasional ribbon.

  “Those people don’t know what it’s like graduating from college and having no idea where you’ll work or what you’ll do, or how you’ll afford to pay rent,” she tells me.

  “Absolutely. I take it you need a job?”

  Her lovely eyes widen. The more I talk to this delightful creature, the more I like her. She’s so grounded. And honest. Almost to a fault. But it’s refreshing, not having to guess what she’s thinking. “Why? Do you know someone who’s hiring?”

  “I might.”

  She does this cute little hop. “Then I’d be grateful if you give me their contact information so I can send them a resume. That would be so awesome. You have no idea.”

  “I’ll do that. Sure.”

  She beams. Like a fucking supernova.

  I fall in love. Right there. Right then.

  Who wouldn’t? My God, look at that smile!

  I’ll do anything to make her smile like that again.

  “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and sweet.

  “You’re welcome,” I answer.

  I glance at her hand. Her fingers are slender and long. I’m guessing she wears a size six ring. Maybe even smaller. But a six will be a safe bet.

  Ring.

  I’m thinking about buying a ring!

  I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this. I’m thinking about buying this strange girl a wedding ring.

  She hesitates at the door to the private gambling area. “Wait. We’re going in there? It says ‘Do Not Enter’.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Who are you? The owner of this casino?”

  “No. I’m just a guest. Like you.” I push open the door, showing her the inside of the room I’ve spent far too many hours in this week. I decide today’s game will be my last. For a while. A long while.

  The other players are waiting. They look our way.

  “What is this?” she whispers.

  “A private game. With some friends. Come. You can sit with me.” The other players eye me with hostility as I lead my maybe-soon-to-be-wife to my spot at the table. I sit and pull her onto my lap, where she won’t be able to see any of the other players’ cards. Her diminutive size means she’s light and small and fits just perfectly tucked up against me. My dick likes the way her soft ass feels against my upper thighs. I pull her hair to the side and lean into her, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. “It’s important while we’re playing, that you don’t talk. At all. Or move. Okay?”

  Monette, sitting to my right, clears his throat. “What the fuck are you doing, Drinova?”

  Monette. Terrible card player. But a decent enough fellow. If he’s worried about losing because I have a hot woman sitting on my lap, he shouldn’t be. If anything, she’ll distract me. “I’m teaching my girl how to play cards.”

  “Let him alone,” my friend Bienhoff says. “This is just a friendly game.”

  “No. I won’t,” Monette growls. “He can’t play with a bitch on his lap. That’s against the rules. Nobody but players in this room.”

&nb
sp; “Fine.” Unperturbed, I stand and coax my sweet little American into my chair. “She’ll play too.”

  She blinks huge eyes at me. “B…but I don’t know how.”

  “It’s okay.” I wave to the casino’s rep, the guy who brought in and counted our chips for us. “Give her half my chips.”

  “Yes, sir,” he says, lifting a rack and placing it on the table in front of her.

  Her eyes widen even more at the sight of the stack of chips. She’s afraid. I can tell.

  “It’s okay,” I reassure her. “Just have fun. Don’t worry about winning or losing.”

  “Okay.” She grins. “If you say so.”

  “We’ll play something simple,” I tell the dealer. “Make it Five Card Stud.”

  “Yes, sir.” He deals the cards for the first hand and the game begins.

  An hour later, I’m up by I don’t know how much. I don’t count at the table. Ever. To my surprise, my princess is holding her own. She is either a fast learner or she knew how to play—at least a little—before today.

  I can’t believe how sexy it is to watch her play. It’s a fucking miracle I haven’t lost all my chips yet, since I’m more focused on her than I am my cards.

  This will be the last hand. I already let everyone at the table know it. I’m done. I have better things to do tonight than sit around with these assholes, swapping chips.

  This hand is down to three players. Me. My princess. And Monette. She ups. It’s Monette’s turn. He looks at me then at my princess. “You’re cheating,” he growls. “I don’t know how, but you have to be. This girl isn’t a fucking beginner.”

  “Are you folding?” I ask, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his contention. I have my own suspicions there.

  He smacks his hand down. “Yes.”

  I smile. I have an idea. A brilliant idea. One that will guarantee I’ll get what I want.

  I don’t know why I hadn’t thought it of until now, but it isn’t too late. “Call,” I say to my very able opponent. “But I’m going to ante. If I win, you have to answer the next question I ask with a yes, no matter what it is.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Any question you ask?”

  I nod.

  “And if I win?” she inquires.

  I set my entire rack of chips into the pot. “It’s yours. All of it.”

  Surprise flickers through her eyes. Then her brows furrow. For the first time since play began, her poker face isn’t so stony.

  I’ve got her.

  I think.

  She nods and flips over her cards.

  A pair of queens.

  I win.

  I can’t help grinning as I turn mine over.

  Full house.

  I don’t wait. I wave to the casino’s cashier, telling him to cash me out, circle the table, and haul her to her feet, bending into her to place my mouth on hers at last.

  I’ve waited too fucking long for this kiss.

  And it’s only the beginning.

  Time to claim my prize.

  Chapter 3

  Riley

  I lost.

  I think.

  I can’t be one hundred percent sure about that.

  Because this kiss…ohmygod this kiss. It’s a win! A huge win!

  In fact, I’ve never been so glad to lose a poker game in my life.

  And that’s saying something because I could’ve had a lot of money if I hadn’t lost. At least, from the looks of that pot. I don’t even know what those little chips were worth. Could be a dollar each. Or a hundred dollars. Or…maybe even a thousand.

  Whatever the case, there were a lot of them. That kind of money sure would’ve looked great sitting in my bank account.

  My empty bank account.

  Not to mention, I don’t even know what I’ve lost.

  He expects a yes? What does that mean?

  It has to be quite a question. One hell of a question. If that’s all he wants for his win. My yes to his question.

  Hmmm.

  Based on the way his tongue has taken up residence in my mouth, and his hands are gripping my ass through my hooker dress, I’m guessing he is expecting me to say yes to sex.

  Well, of course I’ll say yes to that! He didn’t have to win a game of cards, either.

  I tell him yes with my tongue and lips.

  I tell him yes with my body, as I smash against him like a total slut.

  I tell him yes with my hands as I claw at his shoulders.

  Yes, yes, yes! I will have sex with you!

  Someone clears his throat and I remember we aren’t alone in a hotel room.

  We’re in public.

  Woops.

  I tug the back of my skirt down. It was riding mighty high.

  I glance over my shoulder. The man who had brought the poker chips for the game is standing in the doorway, pretending he hasn’t seen my ass. But the color of his cheeks and neck say otherwise.

  “Sir, I’ve cashed in your account and have your check. Is there anything else I can do for you?” the red-faced casino rep says.

  “No. Thank you.” My hottie strolls over to casino guy, accepts the envelope he hands over, and tucks it into his jacket pocket. Then he turns back to me, giving me a stunner of a lopsided smile. “Now, where were we?”

  “We were…” I cough. “discussing my loss. Or rather, the question to which I am obliged to answer ‘yes’.”

  He takes my hand in his. “Come with me.” He waves at the other players. “Later, Bienhoff, Monette,” he says to them.

  On a mission, he leads me through the casino. We don’t stop at any of the restaurants or bars or stores. I’m assuming we’re on our way upstairs to his room so he can collect his prize.

  We pass the elevators.

  Huh. We need to go upstairs if we’re going to his room. There aren’t any guest rooms on this floor.

  “Um…” I point.

  “This way.” He keeps going, down a quieter hallway that houses a handful of high-end boutiques. At the end I see a sign for the chapel.

  Where the hell is he taking me?

  I check out the big display windows of the shops as we hurry by them. Coach. Louis Vuitton. Chanel.

  We’re running out of real estate.

  Is there a hallway that cuts off of this one?

  He stops.

  Finally.

  In front of the closed chapel doors.

  He drops to one knee.

  What the fuck is going on?

  He’s holding my hand. Looking up into my eyes.

  Ohmygod! It’s a joke! I start laughing.

  “Will you marry me?” he asks.

  I laugh harder. Ohmygod, how funny!

  A crazy wedding proposal! In Vegas! How cliché! It’s like that time when Brittany Spears got married to that guy. I can’t remember his name.

  He blinks.

  Wait.

  He isn’t laughing.

  Or even smiling. Well, he’s kind of smiling. But it’s not a yeah-it’s-a-joke smile.

  It’s a say-yes-please smile.

  Holy shit!

  I stop laughing.

  He can’t be serious.

  “I lied,” I confess, trying to wiggle out of our bet. I never, in a million years, considered this possibility. “I don’t know anything about your home country. I Googled it.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But...You’re serious? You want to…” a big blob of something (terror?) congeals in my throat. I swallow. Hard. “But I don’t know anything about you!”

  “You lost the bet,” my would-be groom reminds me.

  “I didn’t think the question would be a marriage proposal!”

  His brows scrunch. “Are you reneging?”

  “No, but...”

  My head is spinning. I need to sit down.

  I sit. On his knee and loop an arm over his shoulder to try to keep from falling over.

  “We don’t know each other,” I say to the floor because I can’t seem to look th
is guy in the eye right now. “This is crazy! I mean, I know crazy shit happens in Vegas. That’s why I came here. Because I wanted to do some fun and crazy stuff. But getting married wasn’t on my Vegas Must-Do list.”

  His hand slides around my waist, coming to rest on my hipbone. Certain parts of my anatomy like it. The gray matter tells them to shut up.

  There’s more to marriage than sexual chemistry.

  There is, right?

  Gah!

  I let my head fall forward. I can’t marry this guy.

  But I promised.

  And I like him. At least, I like the parts I’ve met so far.

  Which isn’t saying much.

  “If you change your mind about being married to me at any point, I will allow you to annul the marriage,” he reassures me.

  So I have a Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card.

  Hmmm.

  I considered my options.

  Marry this stranger? Or go home and…and…?

  “Will we be living in Bolivia?” I ask when the and doesn’t come to me right away. Truth is, I have no idea what I’ll do when I get home. That scares me.

  “Belvaria. Yes.”

  A warning screeches in my head.

  Belvaria is another country. Which means I would be leaving the good ole US of A.

  With a stranger.

  Holy crap! Is this a scam?

  Is he a human trafficker? Promising a girl a wonderful life abroad, only to throw her into a sleazy brothel somewhere?

  Could be.

  I’d be an absolute idiot to go anywhere with this guy. So what if he’s the best kisser in the whole freaking world?

  And he is insanely gorgeous.

  And rich (from the looks of that poker game).

  None of those mean he’s an okay kind of guy.

  “I can’t,” I tell him.

  “You promised,” he reminds me.

  “I know. But try to see this situation from my side. I don’t know you. You could be one of those slimy human traffickers who steal women and sell them as sex workers. I’m up for some fun. And maybe,” most definitely “sex, but I draw the line at leaving this building until I know I’m absolutely safe.”

  He nods. “Fair enough. I didn’t think of that, of the human trafficking angle. It’s a valid concern.”

  “Then you understand?”

  “Sure. I just have to prove you’ll be safe with me and then you’ll marry me, right?”