Bad Boy Prince: A British Royal Stepbrother Romance (6 page)

Rex storms off, leaving me to follow in the wake of his furious curses. When we climb back into his car, he pulls out of the front drive with a squeal of tires.

“Put your fucking belt on,” he grits out.

“Jesus, slow down,” I say, scrabbling to get the seat belt across my body. “Are you mad?”

“As a fucking hatter, Kitten. I’d think you’d know that by now,” he growls. “Now be good girl and stop talking to me for a bit.”

That shuts me right up. I cross my arms and stare out the window, fuming the whole way to Rex’s apartment.

When we finally walk out of the glass elevator and into the marble foyer of Rex’s apartment, we find several people moving boxes and garment racks inside.

Some of the same boxes and garment racks I’d never unpacked at the apartment I shared with Charles, it appears.

“Damn, the palace moves fast,” Rex sighs, skirting two men wrestling an oversized trunk inside. “You have too much stuff, Kit.”

“This isn’t even a quarter of it, I assure you.”

I follow the movers and see that they’re putting trunks and boxes in neat stacks in the biggest guest bedroom, the one that could double as a second master.

I should dig up all my work stuff right away, and have them bring my drafting table over…
I think.

Rex is behind me, suddenly, close enough to send a shiver up my spine.

“Coffee?” he asks.

I turn and look up at him, and something electric passes between us.

“Okay,” I find myself saying, all thoughts of productivity fleeing.

I follow him back into the kitchen. The apartment is made for entertaining, with a big open kitchen, a slick fully stocked bar, and a huge open concept lounge area grouped around a big drop-down TV screen.

“Sit,” Rex says, pointing to the long marble bar counter that defines the beginning of the dark-tiled kitchen.

I pull out a chair and sit to watch him take out a coffee grinder, a French press, and a kettle. He proceeds to put the kettle on, then he turns and gives me a long look.

Folding his muscular arms across his chest, he leans against the kitchen counter.

“We need to set some ground rules here,” he says.

I roll my eyes and cross my own arms, giving an undignified snort.

“What, you’re worried I’m going to intrude on your party schedule here?” I challenge him. “We’re both grounded like teenagers, if you’ll remember.”

Those deep blue eyes drop from my eyes to my mouth, then my chest, and lower. He sighs.

“I have a lot going on in both my personal and professional life, and I don’t see any reason why you should intrude on that,” he says.

“Right,” I say, waving a hand. “Because this is what I wanted, being trapped here with you.”

A dimple flashes in his cheek, and I know he’s about to say something bad.

“I can think of worse fates. At least we both know you find me interesting.”

Ah. Well that wasn’t so bad, I think.

“And by that, I mean you think I’m the sexiest man you’ve ever seen,” he finishes. “I know it’ll be hard, but you’re going to have to try to keep your hands to yourself, Kit.”

My look of angry surprise makes him laugh.

“You are so full of yourself!” I manage.

“You don’t deny it, though.” I want to smack the smug male satisfaction right off his face. “Chemistry might never die, but that doesn’t mean you can be throwing yourself at me every minute of the day.”

“I would never!” I cry.

“No? What about last night?” he asks.

I make a strangled sound. “
You
kissed
me
, asshole!”

“I remember it differently,” he says.

“In your fucking dreams,” I grit out.

He looks contemplative for a moment.

“I mean, sometimes,” he says with a smirk and a shrug. “Can’t control my dreams. I’m only human, and I have so much history to reflect on…”

“You aren’t seriously telling me that you fantasize about our shitty teenage…
fling
,” I hiss.

“Isn’t a fling just a few times?” he asks. “That doesn’t seem right. How many times do you think I had you, Kitten? A dozen? Maybe more.”

The kettle whistles. Rex turns his back on my expression of outrage and grinds some coffee, then pours the boiling water and coffee into the French press.

When he turns around and sees that I’m still beyond pissed, he laughs.

Dick
.

“Are you going anywhere with this delightful little chat?” I ask. “Or are you just… I don’t know, gloating?”

“Yes. I have a full work schedule the next few weeks. It’s posted on the door to my office, next to the bedroom you’ve taken over.” He opens a cabinet and pulls out two matching white mugs. “I don’t care what hours you keep, but I expect respectful silence on the nights before I have to work early.”

“Fine,” I say. “Anything else, Prince Magnum?”

His smile dims for the barest moment. Interesting.

“Yes,” he says. “When I…
entertain
… I expect you to stay out of my way.”

“Are you seriously making a
no cock-blocking
rule? You are beyond ridiculous.”

Rex shrugs. “Maybe I just want you to stay out of my business affairs, hmm?”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

“I also want you to stay out of my darkroom. Last door on your hall. There’s a ton of material in there that could be damaged.”

I narrow my gaze.

“You develop photos here?” I ask.

He nods. “And everything in there is highly light sensitive.”

He’s full of shit, and I know it. Yeah, you can damage photos if you open the darkroom door while someone’s working. But outside of that, there’s no harm in opening the door.

Still, I don’t argue.
What do I care about his stupid little hobby
?

“Fine,” I say. “I have some rules of my own, though.”

His brows rise as he presses the coffee and pours it into waiting mugs.

“What makes you think you get to make rules?” he asks.

“Don’t be an ass. You need me. Or at least, you need me to stay out of the press. We have a shared fate now, remember?”

He stands there for a moment, holding both mugs of coffee. For a second, I think he’s about to turn and dump mine in the sink.

Instead, he drops it before me with a hard
thunk
. The amusement of moments before has vanished, which makes me happy in a weird way.

If I’m not happy, he shouldn’t be either, right?

“I’d love to hear what your rules are, Lady Katherine.” His sarcasm is nothing short of withering.

“You didn’t always have such a temper,” I tsk, picking up my coffee cup and taking a sip. “And my rules are simple. I want the same respect you’ve asked for, plus one more thing.”

“Do tell,” he says, his voice a throaty rumble.

“Clothes. I want you to stay fully clothed in communal areas,” I say. “Kitchen, living room, office.”

His expression goes from bewildered to massively amused in the blink of an eye.

“Damn, you are hard up for it, aren’t you?”

I set down my coffee cup.

“I’m sorry?”

“You didn’t get your jollies with Charles, I know that much. I think you’re worried that if you see me walking around
au naturel
you’ll be unduly tempted.”

“That is NOT it,” I assure him. “It’s just… you know, being respectful. I don’t need an eyeful every time I want a glass of water.”

“You don’t want to
get wet
every time you walk into the living room, you mean?”

I stand, my face growing hot.

“That’s enough of that,” I say, trying to sound as stern as possible.

“Seems like you missed out on that, too.”

“Missed out on what?” I ask.

“On having a real man around to talk dirty to you. Charles didn’t fuck you, didn’t even fuel your fantasies.” He sips his coffee and shakes his head. “Sounds like you probably have an awful lot of pent-up desires, huh?”

Then he laughs and shakes his head.

“Damn, I just realized that I’m the only one who’s ever fucked you, Kitten.”

If my face gets any hotter, I will actually
become
lava.

“Shut up,” I say, not bothering to deny it. “I hope you enjoy your little
memories
from upper forms, because they’re all you’ll ever have of me.”

His lips curl in a challenging smile.

“You think I couldn’t seduce you if I wanted to?” he asks, his voice soft and husky, sending a tingle low in my body.

“No, I don’t
think
,” I snap. “And besides, considering our circumstances, I don’t know why you’d
want
to.”

“Because it’s taboo now, you mean?” he asks, his eyes sparkling. “I’d think you know that’s right up my alley.”

“Just… stop,” I say, growing frustrated. “I like you better when you’re just ignoring me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to start unpacking. It looks like I might be here a while.”

I pick up my coffee and head toward my new bedroom.

“Don’t forget the rules!” he calls after me, but I don’t stop.

The whole way to the back hallway, I can feel his eyes on me.

I only wish I didn’t
like
it so much.

I
spend
the next couple of days watching as Kit’s possessions start to take over my flat. The whole place, usually sleek and modern, is slowly filling with
her
things.

Seeing a pair of her floor lamps and a leather armchair tucked into the corner of the living room is the final straw. She can put all her shit in the spare bedrooms, pack them full of her junk if she wants.

But the living room was designed by a famous interior decorator, for fuck’s sake. It’s already perfect as it is, without Kit’s personal touches.

“Kit, for the love of god,” I say, pushing open her bedroom door.

She whirls, her hands coming up to cover her bare breasts. She’s in nothing but a pair of lacy panties, a nice little surprise for me.

“Rex, get
out
!” she screeches. “Don’t you fucking
knock
?”

“It’s my flat,” I say, leaning against the door frame and looking my fill.

Her tits are bigger than I remembered, overfilling her hands as she tries to cover herself. Damn, those legs are long and gorgeous too. She was beautiful in upper forms, but now Kit’s fucking
devastating
.

“Can you get out?” she growls. “Don’t just stand there staring at me like a fucking pervert.”

“I want to talk to you.” I smirk at her, loving the way she blushes all the way to her pretty blonde roots.

“Asshole.”

“Quit giving me ideas. I thought I was supposed to be the dirty talker,” I fire back.

She gives me this aggravated expression, and I can’t completely smother my grin.

“At least turn around,” she hisses.

I roll my eyes and turn around, the picture of reluctance. I hear her scrambling to pull on clothes, which only makes me grin harder.

“You need to get your stuff out of my living room,” I tell her.

“What? Why?” she huffs.

I turn my head and she’s got a t-shirt on. No bra, though; her tits bounce alluringly as she hops up and down to get her skintight jeans up her legs.

“Quit looking!” she says.

“I’m not the one hanging out naked,” I say, but she doesn’t rise to the bait.

“What’s wrong with my chair being in the living room?” she asks.

“You’re staying here
temporarily
, not nesting,” I say. “It doesn’t fit with the rest of the furniture.”

“Oh, am I ruining your barren bachelor pad?” she asks, throwing her hair into a pony tail. “Seriously, stop staring at my chest.”

“It’s not my fault that you’re bouncing around over there.”

Her angry growl just eggs me on, of course.

“Rex, I am not moving my stuff. There’s nowhere for it to go, and I need someplace to read other than here in bed. Deal with it.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?” I ask, moving a little closer. “Maybe we should test it out together, make sure it’s good enough for you.”

She gives me a wary expression, brushing past me, leaving behind the close quarters of her bedroom. I follow her, right on her heels just to annoy her further. I swear, she makes it way too easy to get her worked up.

Not worked up in the way I’d truly like, but more’s the pity.

“You are impossible,” she sighs. “Is there something else you wanted?”

“Yeah. I have to head into the office today. I thought you might want to come along, get out of the house.”

She pauses, turning to eye me with the most distrustful expression imaginable.

“Why?” she asks.

“Why would you want to get out of the house? I don’t want you getting cabin fever and trying to kill me in my sleep,” I say.

“No, why are you trying to do something nice,” she says.

“That stings. I’m always nice to you, Kit.”

Her answering glare says that Kit disagrees.

“Look, are you coming along or not?” I ask. “Your mum called and asked me not to let you
hang around and mope
, as she put it.”

“I am not moping. I’m working,” she says.

“I really couldn’t care less. Are you coming to the track or not?”

I can tell that mentioning the track has captured her interest.

“You work at a race track?” she asks, seeming curious despite herself.

“Seriously? Stop asking questions, come see for yourself.” I pause. “Maybe put a bra on first, though. Unless you want to give all the guys the thrill of their lives.”

“They must have pretty boring lives,” she says, heading back to her room. “Give me five minutes.”

True to form, she reappears a few minutes later, transformed. Though I personally liked her tight jeans and t-shirt, the filmy white sundress and red heels she’s donned take her to a whole new level.

I suppress a groan when she stalks up to me, her dress so short that I see another flash of garter. White this time, which for some reason does terrible things to me.

The innocence of the color, the boldness of the lingerie…

Grown-up Kit is way, way too tempting for her own good. Especially because, judging by her ex’s bland looks, she doesn’t seem to realize just how fucking hot she is.

Yep, I’m already hard, forced to sneakily adjust myself before she sees.

Worse than the garters or the miles of bare, toned legs is the way she looks at me. I’ve changed into formal garb too, dark dress slacks and white button-up.

Her eyes travel up and down my frame, her throat working for a moment as she swallows.

“You clean up nice,” she says.

For the barest moment, I see the same desire I feel reflected in her big gray eyes. Then it’s gone, and she’s gathering her purse.

“Let’s go,” I say, maybe more curt than I mean it to sound.

Her brow puckers as she frowns, but she just follows me to the car. I spend the whole elevator ride down to the car trying not to look at or think about her, or grabbing her by the waist and pressing her up against the glass wall.

Kissing her, pulling her dress up and exploring just what those garters lead to. I get a flash of memory, of the sexy little gasps she used to make when I’d touch her intimately, when my fingertips pushed aside her soaking panties…

Jesus, fuck. Stop it already. You need to get laid.

Only when I’m walking around to open the passenger door for her do I realize that I’m being weird. She’s surprised by the gesture, watching me intently, but I just usher her into the car.

You’re not on a fucking date
, I remind myself.

I drive aggressively, keeping to my usual routine of stopping for coffee at my favorite place. When I pull up outside I don’t ask Kit what she wants, I just growl
stay with the car
and jump out.

When I return, wordlessly handing her a cafe americano to match my own, she narrows her gaze.

“Are you honestly so turned over about the damned chair?” she asks.

I blink.

“No, I’d forgotten,” I say.

“Why are you being such a prick, then?” she asks. She sounds more than a little hurt, which for some reason makes me even angrier.

I take a deep breath, sip my americano, then pull the car out onto the road.

“It’s not intentional. I have a lot on my mind,” I say.

Yeah, like fucking my would-be stepsister, mostly.

“How far out is the race track?” she asks.

I glance at her.

“Half an hour.”

“Can we just have a truce while we’re in the car together, then?”

I arch a brow, then shrug.

“Fine.”

She sips her drink and looks out the window. When she turns her hand, I see a small splash of ink on her inner wrist. A tiny heart.

“Is that a tattoo?” I ask, shocked. “Kit, what are you doing with a tattoo?”

She glances at it and shrugs.

“Why haven’t I seen it before?” I ask.

“I cover it up with makeup.”

“Let me see,” I demand.

When she turns her wrist up for me to examine it, I see that it’s actually a broken heart, split down the middle with a jagged line.

“What does it say, underneath?” I ask.

“
Remember
,” she says.

“Remember what?”

She slides me a look and bites her lip.

“Nothing,” she says, turning away from me again.

Suddenly I start to wonder about her life in the States, wonder if something important happened to her there. The first thing that flashes into my mind is,
did she meet someone there? Not Charles, but someone she loved? Someone worth getting a tattoo for…

“When did you meet Charles?” I ask.

She glances at me, seeming unsettled by the change of topic.

“Um, pretty soon after I started university. Our first semester at Brown.”

“You had classes together?” I ask.

Another look from Kit.

“Yes.”

“And you started dating right away?” I ask.

If so, it would have only been a couple months after…

After she left me without so much as a word.

“No,” she sighs. “We were in the same study group, became friends. He was… nice to me.”

Her mouth dips at the corners, a bitter look on her face.

“You had trouble making friends or something?” I ask. “That’s not like you.”

When she looks at me, there is something in her eyes, some emotion I can’t quite name. Almost… blame? Anger? Sadness?

What the fuck happened to her over there?

“I wasn’t really myself, after… after my dad died.”

I stiffen. Of course. I’d nearly forgotten about her father’s scandal and suicide, but it would have been traumatic for Kit.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

She looks away.

“That’s why you left?” I ask, unable to help myself. “I admit, I wondered…”

She turns to me, her eyes bright with emotion, and I stop.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she says. “Ever.”

If she wasn’t so close to tears, I would press her. I have so many questions left in my mind, the same ones that have hammered around in my skull since I woke up one day and she was simply… gone.

Does she have any idea that her absence ripped a hole in my life, sent me into a downward spiral that didn’t end until someone else was dead?

Not that Asher’s crash was her fault. It was squarely mine, but my descent into that madness began the moment I found her absent from my bed, and then my entire life.

“I’m more curious about Charles,” I lie, shifting the topic. “What did he show you the other night, back at the club?”

Kit’s whole body tenses.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she blurts out.

She’s still a terrible liar. At least that much hasn’t changed
, I think.

“Kit. He held a photo or a paper or something up in front of your face, and then you slugged him,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Clearly there was something going on there.”

“I was drunk,” she says. “He was being a jerk. That’s all.”

She sips her drink, and I decide to let it drop. Roles have reversed, and now she’s the one being uncommunicative.

We ride the rest of the way in silence, giving my thoughts time to churn and roll in my mind.

I don’t know what it is about the way she left, and the way she refuses to discuss the whole topic, but something about it is bothering me.

There’s more to it than her father’s death, I just can’t figure out what.
It must be something truly terrible, for her to react like this.

And the way she keeps it secret, keeps the truth so close to her chest, it’s like it’s… shameful.

What the hell could it be, though?

In the distance, I can see the track, with the stands and the administrative building behind it. I’ll escape from my claustrophobic thoughts there, but it seems awfully far away.

I finally pull into the track’s lot and drive straight up to the pit, where several of the Formula One cars are being tuned up.

“Those look… dangerous,” Kit murmurs.

“Relax,” I tell her. “No one’s forcing
you
to race. Just… observe.”

We both climb out of the Aston Martin and I leave it there with the keys in the ignition, in case someone needs to move it. Everyone here is well-trusted, enough that I know my car won’t come to any harm.

The second that Kit steps into the pit, all four men working stop and stare at her.
I get it
. She has that effect on nearly everyone she meets.

Actually, seeing the way the guys are looking at her, I vaguely wish I’d told her to stay in her jeans and t-shirt.

Possessive, much?

“Rafael!” I call to the tall, dark-skinned mechanic standing closest. “What’s happening, man?”

“Alasdair,” he says, slinging his long dreds over one shoulder and brushing off his blue mechanic’s jumpsuit. We embrace, and he steps back to eye my suit.

“Meeting with the board of trustees today, no?” he asks. His thick French-inflected accent trips me up for a second, though we’ve known each other for years.

“Fucking enunciate, will you?” I joke.

“Yeah, okay,
Your Highness
,” he fires back. “Who’s the girl?”

I glance at Kit, who’s standing with her arms crossed, looking utterly out of place.

“Everyone,” I call to the group. “This is Lady Katherine. Kit, this is Rafael, Bernard, John, and Oliver.”

“Rafe, Burnout, Jack, and Ollie, to you,” Rafael says, grinning as he shakes Kit’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure,” she says, giving me a curious glance.

Finally, I get to be the mysterious one for once.

“Kitty here is grounded, so I’m babysitting her,” I tell the guys.

Kit snorts.

“Right,” she says, shaking her head.

“No one believes a word this guy says,” Ollie assures her.

I can’t miss the up-and-down glance she gives Ollie. He’s the dictionary definition of tall, dark, and handsome — if you can look past all the grease on his face and clothes.

It seems like Kit doesn’t mind a dirty guy, because she grins at Ollie’s jest like it’s the best thing anyone’s ever said. She’s not even trying to flirt, that’s just how Kit
is
.

“Any of the cars ready?” I ask Jack, the short ginger guy who works as our head mechanic. He shakes his head.

“Nah, we haven’t gassed them up yet. After your board meeting, yeah?”

“Alright. Can you all keep Lady Katherine occupied for a bit?” I ask.