Bad Boy Prince: A British Royal Stepbrother Romance (13 page)

“Thank you for containing him until I returned. Lead the way,” Rex tells the doorman, his expression going hard. “Actually, Sam, will you send him up to my flat, please? We might require some privacy.”

“Of course. Will you need some security?”

“Have them ready, but I hope we can resolve this without those kind of measures.”

The doorman nods and we head upstairs. I’ve barely had a chance to put my purse down when Charles strolls into the foyer, a briefcase clutched in one hand.

“Don’t,” Rex says before Charles can say anything.

“Be quick about it. What do you want?”

Charles gives him a dirty look, then glances at me.

“You’re still here,” he says. “Guess you haven’t told him, huh?”

“Shut up,” I snap.

“No, no,” he says with a shark’s smile. “It works out best for me. See, your money’s not good enough anymore. I need something from
him
.”

“You’re deluded. I’ve already alerted the palace that you’re trying to blackmail Kit. The Queen’s guard is going to be all over you in no time flat. I’d be thinking about hitting the road, if I were you.” Rex stares Charles down with a forbidding expression, crossing his arms.

“Mmm, yeah,” Charles says with a laugh. “Thing is, I’ve brought Dianah into it now. She’s got copies of everything I have on Kit, and instructions to release them to the press if I’m arrested.”

“The royal family will crucify her,” I say, shocked. “Why would she go along with anything you tell her to do?”

Charles grins at me.

“She’s as stupid as you are. Dumb bitch says she loves me, wants to keep the baby,” he says, arching a brow. “Have to say, it’s quite a windfall for me. Her family has more clout than yours, Katherine, and they actually have money to back it up.”

“You’re going to let her have the baby, thinking you’re going to be a supportive husband and father?” I ask, shaking my head. “You’ll cheat on her before the baby’s even born, I bet.”

“Well, I’ve learned my lesson,” he says with a shrug. “I’ll be slipping birth control pills into the next one’s food, I think.”

“
STOP
!” Rex thunders, glaring at both of us. “That’s enough.” He turns to Charles. “What the fuck do you want? Talk quick, before I put my fist down your fucking throat.”

Charles smirks.

“Katherine is going to keep paying me, like we agreed.” I drop my eyes so Rex’s glare isn’t quite so painful. “And I want a race. I want you to
throw
a race, Rex, to be specific.”

“You want me to throw a Formula One race?” Rex asks slowly. “Are you mad? A single error at that speed could mean death. Not to mention the fact that I don’t have credentials to race anymore.”

Charles scoffs.

“No, no. That would be unreasonable,” he says with a laugh. “I want you to throw a drag race. Street race, whatever you people call it over here.”

“A race against…?” Rex prompts.

“Tamil Boys. I’ve got it all set up,” Charles says casually.

“You want me to throw a street race with a fucking Asian street gang?” Rex asks, his voice going to a threatening gravel.

“Those are my terms, yes,” Charles says, an icy smile playing on his lips.

“Charles, no. Just leave,” I say, stalking over and pressing the button to call the elevator.

“Mmm, I don’t think so. I think you’re going to keep paying me. And your boyfriend here is going to do the race. Otherwise, I think the press is going to be really interested in my story.” He opens the briefcase and pulls out two photos.

One is a photo of me standing outside a doctor’s office, wiping tears from my face as I stride to my car. It’s very zoomed in, but I can tell that it’s me at Planned Parenthood, where I went back then to maintain my anonymity.

The second is a photo of me and Rex, taken at a party just before our upper forms graduation. We’re looking at each other in a way that makes no secret of our relationship, like we’re about to lock lips any second.

How stupid we were
, I think.

“Where did you get this?” Rex asks Charles, plucking the photo of us together from my hand.

“That’s my business, not yours,” Charles says.

“It’s sure as hell my business. I’m not fucking doing anything for you without the negatives of everything and a signed fucking non-disclosure agreement, you can bet your fucking life.”

Charles crosses his arms. The elevator doors glide open, and I want to shove Charles inside and never see his face again. The fact that I ever cared for him, kissed him…

I shiver, feeling ill.

“Then I spill it all to the press, including some rather ravishing photos of you two making eyes at each other in the present day. I think it’s quite a compelling story, don’t you? Young lovers torn apart by a dark secret. Reunited when they’re about to become siblings…”

“Stop talking,” Rex sighs. “I can’t make a decision right now. Get out.”

“You have four days to decide,” Charles says, turning toward the elevators.

“Only if you’re still breathing,” Rex says, and I can tell he’s not kidding in the least.

“That threat means nothing if you’re not willing to kill Dianah and her unborn child,” Charles says.

“Go,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t dig yourself a deeper grave, Charles.”

“Talk to you soon, I’m sure,” he sighs. Then the doors close on him, and he’s gone.

“
Fuck
!” Rex groans after a second. “I need a damned drink.”

He kicks his shoes off and heads for the wet bar in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Macallan Scotch and two glasses. He heads for the terrace without a word, expecting me to follow him.

Royal blood will out, apparently.

We take the two chairs by the balcony, both seething. I kick my heels off and pull the hem of my dress up with a relieved sigh. Glasses clink as Rex pours us both a measure of Scotch. Me, a single finger, him four times that.

He holds his glass up and I tap mine to his, then we sip.

“Blugh,” I say, wincing.

“Just let it burn,” he says with a sigh.

“The Scotch?” I ask, trying to be funny.

“That, and just… fuck, all of it.”

I take a deep breath.

“I’m really sorry this is happening, Rex.”

He looks at me, his brow creased. “It’s not really your doing, Kitty.”

“It’s my secret,” I say, scrubbing a hand across my forehead. “It’s my burden.”

Rex swirls the amber liquid in his glass, looking contemplative.

“The secret has to do with me, doesn’t it?” he asks.

I look away, silent.

“I can’t work it out, Kitten. I’ve gone through a hundred things in my mind, but none of them get us to where we are right now. What could he possibly have on both of us that’s more than just our relationship?”

I consider how in the hell I’m going to put him off for the thousandth time.

“You know, my reputation and my pride aren’t the only reason I’ve kept the secret,” I say, curling up in my seat and running a fingertip around the rim of the glass.

“No?” Rex asks, but I can see he’s losing patience with me.

“No. It would hurt people.” I take another sip of the liquor, feeling it burn all the way down my throat. “It’s like that aphorism. Let sleeping dogs lie. The secret isn’t something that would be better aired out, something that people would be glad to know. It’s long buried, and I think it’s better that way.”

“And you get to decide that?” he asks.

“If it’s going to hurt someone I lo—” I stop, correct myself. “Care for. If it’s going to hurt someone — hurt
you
, Rex… Then yes, I get to decide.”

He looks at me. Really, really looks at me. He heard my slip, heard me nearly admit to something that’s growing between us.

I don’t know if it’s that or sheer frustration at my continued refusals, but he lets the matter drop.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, kicking his feet up on the balcony.

“Yes,” I say, cautious.

He cracks a smile. “Other than the secret, I mean. I’m giving you an out, darling. Changing the topic.”

“Oh.” I smile too. He’s irresistible that way. “Well, sure. Ask away.”

“If you could live any life you want. If you weren’t royal blood, and nothing was expected of you, what would you do?” he asks. “Keep in mind, you’d have to earn your own way through the world.”

I’m a little taken by surprise at his question.

“Anything?” I wonder aloud.

“Absolutely anything,” he says.

“Well… I think I’d do something where I got to travel a lot, and help people. Maybe like… work for the U.N., or help Medecins Sans Frontieres or something.” I think about it for a minute longer. “I’m not sure exactly, but if I could help children, that would be really fulfilling.”

“Interesting choice. Did you know my sister Camille works with an organization that builds schools and water treatment facilities throughout the third world?”

“Camille?” I ask, shocked. “She’s so… um, mild mannered?”

Rex laughs.

“She’s got her own spark, you just have to get to know her better.”

There’s a weird moment that passes where I’m trying to figure out if he means he wants
me
to get to know his sister better, or if it’s just a hypothetical.

“I guess I should talk to her about that, see if she has any openings in the charity,” I say, unable to puzzle it out. “What about you, what would you do?”

“Well, I’ve already got my charity going, and that’s going well. Actually, they probably don’t even need me anymore. I’m more trouble than help at this point,” he sighs. “I suppose my answer isn’t terribly different than your own. I’d like to travel.”

“Didn’t you get quite a lot of that in the Royal Air Force?” I ask. “You even saw combat, right?”

Rex presses his lips together and nods. I set my glass down and he does too, reaching out and lacing his fingers with mine. It lights me up inside, feeling his touch, knowing he’s craving my touch as bad as I am his.

“Yeah, but it was mostly bombing targets from the air. I didn’t exactly get too hands-on, not like I was a SEAL or something. Still — going back to those same targets on royal diplomatic amnesty missions… that fucks with your head.”

“So you’d, what? Travel to those places again? Fly around the world in a single-engine plane? What?” I ask, trying to lighten his mood.

He looks at me, somber as a graveyard, and says, “Honestly? I’d just go wherever you went.”

His words, the way he’s looking at me… I burst into tears and fling myself into his arms, pressing my lips to his. When we finally break the kiss, breathless, he grins against my lips.

“That brings me to my second wish,” he says. “If I could do absolutely anything in the world…”

“Yeah, what’s that?” I ask.

“I’m about to show you,” he says, rising with me in his arms. Carrying me toward his room, he whispers in my ear, “I’ll give you a hint, it ends with you begging to come and screaming my name…”

“You’re awful,” I whisper back, but of course I love it.

Because I love everything Rex does. Because…

I love him
.

Oh, fuck, I am in trouble…

“
Y
ou can’t remove
me as CEO,” I growl into my cell phone, pacing the terrace at my flat. “It’s written in my contract that I have to choose to step down.”

“We’re not trying to remove you,” Eliza says. I can actually hear her grinning on the other end.
Bitch
. “We’re asking you to take a leave of absence until the royal family is less of a hot-button topic. We’re getting nonstop calls from the press right now, and every single inquiry is about you, or your father, or some such nonsense.”

“I can’t control what His Royal Highness does,” I sigh. “It isn’t as if I’ve violated my contract.”

“Violated it
again
, you mean.”

If I could go back in time and change things, sleeping with Eliza would be near the top of my list. I wish I’d seen her for the jealous, hateful, bitter woman that she is… instead of thinking with my cock, as usual.

“How long is this ‘leave of absence’?” I ask, knowing there’s no use fighting with her. She wouldn’t be calling if she hadn’t already whipped the votes in her favor.

“Oh, a few months, a year… who knows, really? It depends on the royals, I should think,” she says.

“I assume that you’ve already lined up an interim CEO?” I ask.

“Why, yes. As a matter of fact, I’ll be filling your shoes. Better hope I’m not
too
good at it, Rex.”

“Somehow, Eliza, I’m not too worried about that. Try not to fuck any of the other board members if you can help it, eh?” I ask.

Slut shaming her is beneath me, but I’ve let my temper take over. I disconnect the call before she can respond.

I toss my phone onto the table and groan. The hits just keep coming this week.

Normally to blow off steam I would head out to the track and do laps in my personal car, running it as hard as I can until I start to shred the tires.

Today, I can’t do that. It would only complicate matters further.

I wish Kit was here
, I think. She wouldn’t be able to fix this, of course, but she could certainly make me feel better.

She’s gone to see to the opening of Auberge House, to make sure all is ready for her mother’s arrival.

Soon, Kit will be gone from me, too. Living at Auberge House, under her mother’s supervision. And with Countess Saville newly single, Kit will have a lot of family obligations and not a lot of time for errant, jobless assholes like me.

This little bubble of calm happiness we’ve found is about to burst, and that makes me even angrier.

As I head into the kitchen, a tabloid lying on the coffee table catches my eye.

Prince Magnum Living the High Life Once Again!!!
it says, with a four-year-old photo of me standing shirtless on a yacht.

Yeah, right. I fucking wish. I’d give just about anything to be on a yacht right now, pouring champagne into Kit’s open mouth as she stretches out on the deck under the glinting Aegean sun.

The intercom by the front door buzzes as I’m grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. I frown. No one I know ever comes here, and the doormen keep strangers at bay. Who would be trying to access the elevator to the penthouse??

I stalk over and take a look. There on the screen is a blurry Bram, clutching a fedora in his hands and looking into the camera nervously. I frown and press the receiver button.

“Bram, why didn’t you call?” I ask.

“Uh, last minute stop, Rex,” comes his tinny voice. “I was just… in the neighborhood. Can you send the elevator down for me?”

“Sure, just a second,” I say, shaking my head. Bram’s being a little weird, but he’s like that sometimes.

Specifically, when he’s high. I hope to fuck that’s not the case right now. Bram’s kept his addiction issues under wraps for a while now, but it’s unnerving, never quite knowing what to expect from him.

Am I being a paranoid jerk, or is Bram just too unstable to be a good friend?

When the elevator doors roll open, I groan out loud.

Not only is Bram absolutely loaded, but he’s brought a guest. Kit’s blackmailing ex strolls in like he owns the fucking place. In Charles’s deluded mind, maybe he will. He’s probably planning to move onto me once he’s tapped out Kit’s limited funds.

“What the fuck are you doing with him? Why are you bringing him into my
home
?” I snap at Bram. “Are you insane? Seriously, Bram, you’ve fucked it this time.”

“Ahh, now, don’t be too hard on Bram. His little junkie brain is just trying to keep up with the rest of the world,” Charles says. “Well, that and he knows that if he didn’t bring me here, I’d release photos of him snorting smack to the press.”

I look to Bram for verification. He’s staring at the floor, too stoned and ashamed to meet my gaze. I guess that’s answer enough, then.

“Fuck, Bram.” I shake my head and turn to Charles. “What do you want? Kit’s already contacted you to tell you that I’m not doing the race. If you push forward with this, the Royal Police and the Queen’s guard will have you stitched up so tight that you’ll regret your whole miserable bloody life.”

“Can we sit, like civilized people?” Charles says, beckoning to the living room. “I think you’ll want to be sitting down when I tell you exactly what I have on your precious girlfriend.”

I raise a brow. Part of me wants to know, so bad, but part of me realizes that revealing her secret is part of Charles’s game.

“I want you to leave,” I say after a second.

“What about your cousin?” Charles asks.

I look at Bram, then shrug. “You’ll have to find some other way to leverage your photos.”

Charles’s expression goes black as a thunderclap.

“I was trying to go easy on you, Alasdair, but it’s clear that I have to tell it to you straight.”

“Get out.” I point to the door.

“Kit was pregnant when she came to the States,” he says.

I’m moving to grab him, to get him out of my fucking house. His words reach me only slowly, and I stop.

“What?” I ask, shaking my head. Like my ears are broken, like I’ve mistaken the ugly words he just spoke.

“Yeah. She’s never admitted who the baby daddy was outright, but I’m almost a hundred percent certain it’s you,” Charles says, a foul grin spreading across his face. “Well, you
would
have been the father. She miscarried, right on the steps of the student health center. And since you were nowhere to be found, she called on her good buddy Charles.”

Before I know it, I’m gripping him by the lapels of his cheap suit, slamming him up against the wall as hard as I can.

“Liar,” I snarl. “She would’ve told me.”

Charles blinks a couple of times, then his malicious grin reappears.

“Apparently you told her that she was your dirty little secret. Broke her heart, poor naive Katherine. She told me she didn’t want to burden you—”

“Stop. Talking,” I hiss, slamming him into the wall to punctuate each word. “Do you have proof, or is this all just rumors you’re planning to circulate?”

“Medical records,” he grunts. “Two sets, for confirmation. From her doctor, and from the student health center. Both show positive pregnancy test results, and one has a list of prenatal checkups. She got five months along before she lost the baby.”

I release him, feeling winded, like someone’s punched me right in the gut.

A baby?
I want to rebel, to beat the shit out of Charles’s lying face, but… it does make a sick kind of sense.

The way she talked to me the last night we were together, how weird she was acting.

The way she disappeared, and the next thing I knew she was already overseas.

The way she never answered a single call, text, email… nothing. No contact.

“Get out of my flat,” I tell Charles and Bram. There’s no heat in my voice now. Everything is turned inward, a swirling vortex of dark questions.

Charles pulls out an orange flyer and thrusts it at me. “Take this. You’re going to need the race times. I’ve already entered you in the second race of the night, against Tamil Boys.”

“I’m not racing.” I press the elevator button and the doors open. “Now go.”

“Do you want the whole world to know that you knocked up your high school sweetheart? I think the press will like it more than your grandparents will,” Charles says.

“I’m three seconds from planting a fist in your fucking face,” I warn.

Bram finally stumbles forward and grabs Charles, dragging him into the elevator.

“Are you really going to let Katherine’s private shame get out there for the whole world to see and comment on? She’ll never recover from that,” Charles says, sticking his hand out to stop the doors from closing on him.

Shit.
He’s right.

“Besides, if you don’t do the race, Bram here’s your second. He’s completely inexperienced, and he’ll probably be high as a kite. Do you really want another friend’s death on your conscience?”

I grab the elevator door when he releases it. I pull it open and jump on him, releasing an inhuman snarl. Bram slides away, hiding in the corner, and I proceed to pummel Charles to a fucking pulp.

“Fucking! Cunt! If you ever come NEAR her again, I will fucking KILL you. I want to!” I howl, all my confused rage releasing on him in a punishing torrent.

Thwack. Thump. Thwack
. I move from his face to his body, my fists throbbing and aching, my throat raw from the way I’m screaming at the guy.

“Jesus, Rex, enough!” Bram screams in my ear.

I freeze, then straighten to stand. Blood drips from my hands, both mine and Charles’s.

“Don’t come back,” I say to both of them, turning and walking back into the flat.

The doors glide shut behind me, and I step to the intercom. I buzz the front desk.

“Yes, Your Highness?” one of the suited doormen says.

“There’s a problem in the elevator. I need it taken care of. Discreetly,” I say.

“Of course. Think no more of it,” the doorman says.

“Thank you. Oh, and if you see either of those two men in the building again, I want them detained for the Queen’s guard. Neither of them can get near Lady Katherine, do you understand?”

“Of course.”

I release the button and look down at myself. I’m bloody and tattered, my navy dress shirt ripped at the cuff and the elbow. My freak out is going to have to wait for a minute while I clean up evidence of what I just did to Charles.

I know that the doormen will take care of the mess in the elevator. I just have to get myself straightened out. In my current mindset though, it’s easier said than done.

I strip off my shirt and then my jeans, then toss them in the hamper in my walk-in closet. If the RAF did anything for me, it taught me to be neat and precise, even in times of stress.

I head into the huge dark stone and glass shower, pressing a button that activates all five of the shower heads. I turn the heat up high and step in as soon as steam starts to curl and rise. Once I’m under the shower’s comforting heat, though, I’m at a loss.

I keep trying to focus on Charles, on the race and the blackmail scheme. On how furious I am at Bram, that he’d let himself get in so deep that he’s compromising me. And Kit, who barely even fucking knows Bram.

But at every turn, I have to think about Kit, and that inevitably leads to the same series of questions. Those questions lead to the same answers, and I can’t handle the way those answers make me feel.

Was she really pregnant?

I thought we were so careful. But I can smell a liar from a mile away, and I don’t think Charles was feeding me bullshit about any of it…

Why didn’t she tell me?

She didn’t trust me. I was an insensitive prick about her father’s scandal, and she realized I’m not exactly father material. Or at least I wasn’t at nineteen years old.

Is there some way that maybe it wasn’t mine?

No. What Kit and I had back then, what we have now, it’s deep and real. There’s no one else, never has been. I can’t imagine a single scenario where she gets knocked up and it’s not mine.

I keep kicking these same thoughts around, a vicious cycle, and wondering what I’m supposed to take from it all.

Am I that terrible, that Kit couldn’t confide in me? What was she going to do, go raise it by herself in the States and never tell me about it?

The thought of Kit as a single mother, trying to raise my kid alone, it just guts me.

When Asher died, I thought that the years of being a spoiled, privileged playboy had finally caught up with me, that I was getting what I was owed from the universe. All that pain, all that self-loathing, I clung to it, blaming myself.

And yes, I was partly to blame. I’ll always bear that burden.

But this… this thing with Kit, her getting pregnant… She’d just lost her father, her family name was worthless, her mother had vanished into herself, and all Kit really had was me.

And fucking asshole that I am, my response to her questions about our future?
Maybe… we could keep it secret… I could meet someone else…

I lean against the shower wall, water pounding down on me, and I struggle to draw breath. If I was the crying type, I would cry. If I was a junkie, I would get lit right this fucking second.

This feeling, this weight, it’s unbearable.

I have to
do
something. Before today, I would have given Kit the world just to see her happy.

Now, I feel like I
owe
it to her.

I turn off the shower when it finally goes cold, yanking a towel from the warming rack and wrapping it around my body. I walk over to the huge vanity mirror over the sink and wipe away the steam, looking at my reflection.

I wince; I don’t like myself right now, considering that all the shit I did in the past created the motherfucker I’m staring at in the mirror.

I turn and leave my reflection behind, toweling off and getting dressed in brusque motions.

In all the confusion and turmoil, I know one thing: the story can never, ever get out.

Not for me, not for the sake of the royal family.

For Kit. Because I don’t want the thing that I did, that
I did to her
and made her go through alone, to ruin her again. That fucking story is never going to see the light of day. She’s never going to feel public shame over this, because she’s already carried too much of this weight on her own, in secret.