A Player for A Princess: Dirty Players Duet #2 (4 page)

L
ight streams
through the cheap plastic blinds, and Cal’s arm is draped across my waist. I blink at the ceiling, dying just a little and loving every second of his body against mine.

“What have I done?” I whisper.

He breathes and moves, turning onto his side. His hair is messy bedhead, and that irresistible dimple appears briefly at the corner of his mouth. Every time he almost smiles, he stops himself, and my chest squeezes.

He’s still angry.

He has every right to be angry.

“This is possibly the shittiest bed I’ve ever slept in, and I spent six months in the desert with our military.”

“Spoiled,” I say, sitting up. “This is hardly the worst place I’ve stayed. It’s not even in the Top 10.”

“Those days are behind you.”

He places his warm palm against my bare back as I hug my bent knees against my breasts. My chest aches, and my body is sore like it always is after a night with Cal. We didn’t just make love against the wall. We moved to the bed and did it several more times. Rough, angry, makeup sex. Only, I’m not sure we’re entirely “made up” yet, even though I told him I loved him so many times. An involuntary wince, causes me to cover my eyes with my hands.
What have I done?

“Did those other, better places leave scuff marks on your skin?” he says.

“What?” I look over my shoulder and telltale red abrasions cover my upper back. “That’s never happened before.”

Our eyes meet briefly before I look away again.

“I suppose that’s some distinction. I’m the first lover to fuck you senseless against a cheap motel wall.” Those words from him make my stomach flip.
Damn irresistible MacCallum Lockwood Tate.

“It might surprise you to know I’ve had very few lovers before you.” I run my fingers over my face, suddenly conscious of crusty eyes and morning breath. “I’ve intentionally avoided such things.”

He sits up, and I hear him rubbing his hands over his face behind me. “Time to go. Collect your things. Logan is waiting for us with a car.”

“What are you talking about?” I snap, looking over my shoulder at him.

His brow lowers. “I’m taking you back to Monagasco with me.”

“I’m not going back to Monagasco.” Exasperation is in my tone, but he is undeterred.

“Yes, you are. It’s where you belong.”

Slapping the mattress, I push out of the bed, stomping around the room looking for anything to pull over my naked body. “It’s not where I belong! It was a job, MacCallum. Everything you saw in Monagasco was a job. It wasn’t me!”

The white button-up shirt he discarded last night is on the floor. I snatch it up and pull it over my head. It’s still buttoned halfway, and I fumble with the top buttons. He stands and crosses the room to me, large hands covering mine, heat radiating off him in luscious waves.

“You love me. You want to be with me. I’m taking you home.”

I shake my head. “I’m not a puppy you can rescue off the street. I’m a petty thief and a con artist. Ask Ava—she’ll tell you. I’m no Cinderella. I never even dreamed of being Cinderella.”

“We’ll deal with your checkered past once I know you’re safe.”

“Ugh!” I let out a little scream. “You can’t keep me safe in Monagasco! I was almost killed there before the race!”

Protective anger flashes in his eyes. “I didn’t know what was going on before the race. I had no idea all the shit you were hiding from me. Everything is different now, and I
will
keep you safe in Monagasco.”

He’s so fucking sexy, I almost cave.
Almost
.

Shaking my head, I argue, “Even if that were the case, it won’t work. We’re from different worlds, Cal. Worlds that don’t mesh—they collide.”

His lips press together, and I watch his hazel eyes move around the room as he thinks. The truth aches in my chest. I hate my truth, but at least I know it.

“I could never fit into your world. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” My voice is quiet, and even I can hear my lack of conviction. I’d do anything to be with him.

A few more seconds pass. A beat where I watch him process what I’ve just said. Finally, he speaks. “I don’t suppose we have to leave Tortola right this minute.”

Turning away, he goes to his abandoned slacks on the floor, that damn tight ass flexing as he walks. I give up and sit down on the bed. He makes my knees weak anyway.

“You know I’m right.” I say with an internal swoon as he pulls the black pants over his naked body.

He picks up the tee Patch loaned me last night and holds it up. “Interesting…” he says, turning it to me. Grey text on a grey tee reads
My penis is huge
.

“Oh my god.” I exhale a laugh, covering my face. “It was too dark. I couldn’t read it last night.”

With a shrug he pulls it over his head. “At least it’s truth in advertising.” My eyes narrow, and he tosses me the boxer shorts. “Either way, we’re not staying here another night. Get dressed.”

With a sigh, I pull the shorts over my hips. “Where are we going?”

“Freddie leased a house when we arrived. I’m sure we can extend our time there a day or two.”

Picking up the plastic bag containing my still-damp dress and small clutch, I think about meeting Seth today. As far as I know, he doesn’t have any plans beyond getting his five thousand dollars. How we’re supposed to make that transaction on this small island is anybody’s guess. At least after our con last night, he’s not so tied to me for immediate cash.

I sigh, turning the bag over in my hands. “I need to buy clothes.”

Cal steps in front of me, holding my hands to stop my movements. “We’ll get set up in the house, get the car, and I’ll drive you to one of the shopping malls. It’s an island, but I’m sure it has a few boutiques.”

I study our hands, his larger ones holding my slim ones. “I don’t shop in boutiques. I shop at Wal-Mart… or Target if I’m feeling fancy.”

That tone I love is in his voice. “You’ll have to make do, I guess. Tortola has neither a Wal-Mart nor a Target.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know you’re being difficult. Now come on. Is that all you have?”

With a nod from me, he leads me out of the small room.

The “house” Freddie leased is a freaking villa situated on a cliff overlooking the bay separating Tortola from St. John, the smallest of the U.S. Virgin Islands. It has five bedrooms and five and a half bathrooms. The entire thing is at least ten thousand square feet.

Stepping out onto the wooden balcony surrounding the second floor, I clasp my hands at my chest releasing a little “Oh!” at the panoramic view of the shimmering turquoise waters with the green, rolling hills of St. John in the distance.

While I would never take back my statement that our worlds are vastly different, I could very,
very
easily get used to this part of Cal’s life—the ability to run away to a villa on an island far from the trappings of royalty.

He joins me on the balcony, and I long for the days when I could melt into his embrace. “I’d say this is better than the other place.”

“It’s so beautiful,” I confess. I’d be an idiot to say otherwise, and I won’t lie to him again.

“We can stay here a day or two, but then we have to get back. It’s not secure here, and Rowan needs me at home.” I study the buttons of his shirt until he ducks down to catch my eyes. “Are you listening?”

“Are you?” My voice is soft, not attacking, but he’s not listening to me. “I can’t go back with you, Cal.”

“And I’m not leaving you here, so you’ve got forty-eight hours to figure it out.” He reaches out to lift my chin, and our eyes meet—his still flinty. “Don’t make me have to arrest you.”

Jerking my chin away, I stomp inside the gorgeous home. The floors are covered in wide Spanish tiles and the walls are a mixture of white plaster and huge French doors, half of which are open to allow the sea breeze to fill the room. An enormous king-sized bed is against one wall, and assorted pieces of leather furniture are positioned in front of it in a small sitting area. Two ceiling fans hang from the ceiling—
two!

With a little frown, I shake my head. “Look at this place,” I mutter.

“I’m thinking of buying it,” he says, following me. “It’s for sale, and you won’t always be in danger. At least I hope not.”

His voice has changed, his anger diminished, and I use the one argument I think might work. “Your
people
won’t approve of me.”

“I think the citizens of Monagasco will be more accepting than you believe. I’m not as much of a figurehead as Ro, and you’re actually quite charming when you’re not robbing casinos.”

My chest burns with shame. “That’s exactly what I mean.” I walk to a wooden armchair and run my finger over the bright yellow pillow positioned on it. “I’ve met your mother. I’ve met Lara Westingroot. I’ve seen the disgusted glares from the nobility. They’ll never approve of me.”

“They’ve never approved of me.” He walks slowly to the bed and leans against it. He’s listening to me, and I kind of love him more for it. “I’ve done things that would make your little casino heist look like catechism—and it’s all been captured on film and plastered across social media.”

That makes me grin. “Yes, but they’re stuck with you.”

When I look up, he’s allowed the tiniest smile. “Thanks.”

I still need clothes, and it gives me an idea. “Tell you what. I’ll show you what my life is like, and then you can decide how it fits into your pampered existence.”

“I’m not so pampered, but I’m not staying at that shit hole again.”

A little eye roll, and I exhale heavily. “Other than where we stay, everything else is my call. I set the agenda, and that way you can see what I’m really like.”

“Does it include eating pizza, drinking champagne, and criticizing bad movies?”

I can’t help a grin. “Substitute cheap beer for champagne, and yes. That part of my life was pretty authentic. Outside of the sex marathons.”

A naughty light is in his eyes. “Don’t peasants have sex marathons?”

“Peasants are typically too busy trying to stay alive.” I walk past him into the hallway and down the expansive stairway.

He’s right behind me. “I plan to correct that part of the equation.”

Stopping in the ginormous kitchen, I examine two sets of keys waiting on the bar. “Jeep or Mercedes?” he asks.

Shaking my head, I take the keys to the Jeep off the counter and start for the door. Looks like we’re headed to Waterfront Drive.

I’m wearing faded cutoffs and a white shirt with navy horizontal stripes across it as I drive us to lunch at Smuggler’s Cove. I could never afford a car, but a Jeep is far closer to what I might drive than a Mercedes.

Cal changed into longish cargo shorts and a light blue V-neck shirt. I can tell it’s designer, but I don’t say anything. As much as I can’t jump immediately into the life of a princess, I can’t expect him to embrace the life of a beach bum in one day.

Pulling up at the surfer bar, I shove the stick into park and kill the engine. A colorful shack consisting of sand floors and a thatched roof is in front of us, and just beyond that is the sea. The water is so brilliant turquoise it actually glows.

I lean back in the driver’s seat and exhale. “Look familiar at all?”

His eyebrow quirks and he quickly scans the area. “Should it?”

“They filmed the movie version of Hemingway’s
The Old Man and the Sea
here.”

He nods. “Ahh… Never saw it.” As I sit staring at paradise, he hops out, rounding the vehicle to my side.

Taking his hand, I climb out of the Jeep. “I always hated that story. It’s depressing.”

“It is pretty bleak,” he says in that clipped accent I love. “He catches the biggest fish of his life only to watch as the sharks eat it all the way back to shore.”

We enter the open-air establishment where patrons sit around the bar in various states of relaxation. Some are dressed in bikinis, while some wear shorts and tees. It feels like south Florida to me. Easy life at the beach.
This is home
.

“I know it’s supposed to be a metaphor, but it’s hard to appreciate when it feels so close to reality,” I say.

“Not like movies should be?”

“Right.” I take a seat on the high wooden stool, and he cages me in his arms.

“I can protect you from the sharks.”

For a moment only our mutual attraction is between us. His eyes level on mine, and my chest tightens.

“What if
you
were the biggest fish I ever dreamed of catching?” My voice is low. “I’m not sure I could watch you slowly taken from me, piece by piece.”

“Not happening.” He breaks the moment, pushing away and taking the stool beside me. “How can you lose a dream you never had?”

I’m still recovering from our plunge into intimacy, and I don’t have a comeback. He’s using my words against me. Instead, I look across the bar at the chalkboard listing the day’s menu. “I guess we’re having cheeseburgers and fries,” I say. “And quarter beer.”

Our lunch arrives relatively quickly. I think it’s delicious, but Cal complains the beer is basically colored water. I only roll my eyes.

It’s an honor bar, which means we pay what we think our meal is worth. Naturally, I leave way more than I would probably pay at a regular burger joint. After a big score, I’m always too generous. Or guilty. I suppose it’s why I never seem to get ahead, but I can’t help it. It’s what Ava says makes me “small time.”

A glass case of cigars is near the entrance. Cal studies it as I walk slowly down to the water. The path is worn and the beige sand is packed hard from almost a century of wear. I pass under ancient palm trees with thick trunks like elephant legs. When the foliage opens, I stand for a moment watching the waves breaking softly until Cal joins me, looking out at them. If things were different, I could imagine living here. Starting over and building a new life.

“So you never want to go back?” His voice is quiet. “What about Ava?”

“She’s always in my thoughts,” I confess, looking over at him. The wind moves his golden-brown hair, and I long to thread my fingers in it. Instead, I think about my little sister. “She’s better with Rowan. He loves her. He’s the Prince Charming she always dreamed would rescue her.”