Broken Prince: A Novel (The Royals Book 2) (28 page)

D
inner in D.C. is fun
, but I’m happy and relieved when the plane touches down on the private airstrip. I missed Reed, and I don’t like knowing that he’s been alone and in pain all night.

“Want to watch a movie with me and Reed?” I ask Easton as we climb out of the back of the Town Car.

He looks like he’s on the verge of agreeing when his phone buzzes. One glance at the screen and he’s shaking his head. “Wade’s inviting me over. He’s got a friend who needs an audience.”

Callum walks faster to avoid hearing his son’s plans. Me? I’ve got no choice.

“Be careful,” I tell Easton. Rising on my tiptoes, I give him a kiss on the cheek.

He ruffles my hair in return. “Always. I always wrap it up.” He yells after his dad, “Just like I was taught.”

I can’t tell in the dim light, but I think Callum flips him off without turning around.

“You be safe, too,” Easton teases. “Never know if Reed’s gonna try to trap you with a baby.” I grimace and he winces. “Sorry, stupid mouth.”

“No, it’s fine. Besides, she’s going to take that paternity test, so we’ll know who the father of the demon spawn is in a few days, right? Or a week.”

Easton hesitates. “You sure it’s not Reed’s?”

“He swears it isn’t his.”

“So it’s my dad’s?”

It’s my turn to hesitate. I wish I wasn’t keeping these secrets. I don’t know why Callum doesn’t tell his sons about the vasectomy. “No, I don’t think it’s his either.”

Easton exhales in a rush. “Good. We only have room for one more Royal in the house and you’re it.” Then he gives me a sweet kiss on the forehead and sprints for his truck.

Inside, the twins have taken themselves to parts unknown. Callum’s light is on in his office. The upstairs hallway leading to my bedroom—and Reed’s—is lit softly, and the quiet walk up the stairs is eerily similar to the night I found Brooke and Reed together. At the top, I stare down the long hall and my heart pounds a little faster.

I remind myself that things weren’t what I thought they were last time and that there’s no reason for anyone to be in Reed’s room but him. Still, my heart’s beating fast and my palms are damp with sweat when I arrive at his door.

“Reed?” I call out.

“In the bathroom,” comes his muffled response.

I breathe a sigh of relief and twist the knob. The room is empty, but light spills out of the half-open door to his private bath. I stick my head in, gasping when I spot him.

His bandage is off and there are bloody gauze pads on the sink. “Oh my God! What happened?”

“I pulled a couple stitches. Just changing the bandage.” He tosses the pink-stained dressing into the wastebasket and slaps the fresh white bandage onto his side. “Help me tape it up?”

I’m beside him in a heartbeat, a frown on my face as I pick up the roll of medical tape off the vanity. “How did this happen? Were you moving around a lot?”

“Not really.”

I spear him with narrowed eyes. That wasn’t a denial; it was an evasion. “Liar.”

“I moved a bit,” he concedes. “It’s no big deal.”

His blue eyes are hooded and dark. Was he downstairs working the bag? Still beating himself up over Brooke? As I rip a piece of tape, I peek at his knuckles, but they don’t look bruised.

“I knew I should have stayed behind,” I grumble. “You needed me. What were you doing while I was gone? Lifting weights?"

Instead of answering, he leans down and kisses me, hard and brief. Pulling away, he says, “I swear it was nothing. I was reaching for something, felt my stitches pull, and here I am.”

I purse my lips. “You’re not telling me something. I thought we had a no secrets rule.”

“Let’s not fight, baby.” He grabs my wrist and tugs me out of the bathroom and over to the bed. “It was seriously nothing. I took another painkiller and now I’m feeling nice and loopy.”

He gives me a lopsided grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But at least he’s looking at me. I search his gaze for answers and notice a tightness around his mouth that I attribute to pain. Whatever happened tonight can wait until morning. He needs to get to bed.

“I don’t like seeing you hurting,” I admit as we get comfortable on his bed.

“I know, but I promise you it doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“You were supposed to rest.” I slap the tape on his skin, almost not caring when he winces. “See, you’re in pain.”

“No shit, babe. I was stabbed, remember?” He captures my hands and pulls me tight against him.

His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. It could all be taken away from me—the cars, the planes, the dinners in really fancy restaurants—but I can’t bear losing Reed. Anxiety churns in my stomach as the true reason that I’m so upset bubbles to the surface.

“It’s my fault you got stabbed.”

His lips turn down. “No, it’s not. Don’t even say that.”

“It’s true. Daniel wouldn’t have come after you if it wasn’t for me.” Absently, I stroke the hard planes of his pectorals, down the shallow valley between his ribs, grateful the damage wasn’t worse.

“Bullshit. I’m the one who beat the crap out of him and then told his date she was having dinner with a rapist. His beef was with me.”

“I guess.” I don’t believe it, but I know I’m not going to win this argument. “I’m just glad he’s gone.”

“Dad took care of him. Don’t worry about it.” Reed rubs his hands up and down my back. “How was dinner?”

“Good. Very fancy. The menu was full of things I couldn’t pronounce.” Foie gras. Langoustine. Nori.

He grins. “What’d you order?”

“Lobster. It was tasty.” So was the langoustine, which I learned was a smaller lobster. I skipped the foie gras (duck liver) and nori (seaweed) because they both sounded icky when explained to me.

“I’m glad you had a good time.” His hands slow down, his comforting caresses turning into something more…arousing.

I try to shift away, embarrassed at how easily he turns me on. I can’t take advantage of him in this state. Not when he’s injured.

“I missed you,” I confess.

He gives me another quick peck. “Missed you, too.”

“Next time, you’re coming with. Obviously you can’t be trusted by yourself.”

He inhales deeply and then gathers me close. “Done. Next time Dad jets off somewhere, we’ll go together.”

“You know that sounds crazy, right?”

“Which part?”

“The jetting part.” I drop a kiss on his shoulder. “The togetherness is good.”

“How good?”

The only light in the room is from the partially open bathroom door. It casts interesting shadows on Reed’s body. I run my nose along the column of his throat, smelling soap and shampoo. “The best.”

“Baby…” He clears his throat. “You gotta stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

He peers down at me and I stare back, bewildered.

“Touching my chest.
Sniffing
me,” he says hoarsely. “You’re making me think bad thoughts.”

The corners of my mouth tip up. “Bad thoughts?”

“Dirty thoughts,” he amends.

My smile widens. Whether he’s saying it because it’s true, or because he wants to distract me, or both, it works. I bend down, allowing my hair to form a curtain around our faces, and press my lips to his. He glides his tongue along my lower lip, asking for silent permission to enter. I part my lips and he takes full advantage by deepening the kiss.

“We shouldn’t do this,” I murmur against his mouth. “You’re hurt.”

He pulls back with a grin. “Then make me feel better.”

“Is that a challenge?”

He’s laughing when I bring my lips back to his. This time it’s my tongue torturing
him
, devouring his mouth until he forgets how to breathe. And my hand is in motion again, skimming down his chest toward his waistband. I slip under his boxers to find the evidence of how much better he’s feeling—hot and hard and thick.

When he arches off the bed with a groan, I immediately glance up. “Are you okay?”

He growls. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“What part of you hurts?” I ask coyly. I love seeing Reed like this—total putty in my hands.

“Every part. Seriously, I’m wounded all over. Particularly here.” He pats his crotch. “I need you to kiss it and make it better.”

“You want me to kiss
that?”
I say in mock outrage.

“Oh yeah. I want you to give me a full-on, open mouthed, lots of tongue kiss right
there…
unless you don’t want to.” Uncertainty colors his last words.

I hide a grin and scoot lower until I’m kneeling between his legs.

His eager hands push down his shorts until he’s fully exposed. He wraps one hand around himself and looks at me with an expectant and hopeful expression.

“You poor baby,” I murmur, tracing a fingertip over the back of his hand.

I duck my head and he immediately reaches down to sweep my hair away from my face. The moment my mouth closes around him, he hisses in pleasure.

“Oh shit, yes.” His tone is agonized, and whatever pain he’s in now, I’m causing. It’s a delicious, powerful feeling. His trembling hands find their way into my hair again.

“Baby…Ella…” he chokes out, and then he doesn’t have any words, only noises. Husky groans, ragged sighs, and mangled pleas. He tugs on my hair hard enough that I let him go to look up into his face that’s now loopy from lust…and maybe even love.

I lower myself again, taking as much of him as possible. He’s big and heavy, but the weight of him on my tongue and against my lips is more of a turn-on than I ever thought was possible. Beneath me, I can feel his desperation and desire. A heady sense of power washes over me. If I stopped now, I could probably get Reed to promise me anything.

But I don’t want anything. I just want him. And knowing how much he wants me in return makes me crazy hot. Using my hands and tongue and lips, I drag him to the brink.

“Stop…I’m gonna come,” he groans and weakly tugs at my hair.

My lips curve around him. I want him to. I want him to lose control. I redouble my efforts, sucking and licking until his big frame tenses and then he explodes.

When his body finally relaxes, he pulls me upward to rest at his side.

“Reed?” I whisper.

“Yeah?” His voice sounds like gravel.

“I, ah, love you.”

“I…love you, too.” He buries his face in my neck. “You have no idea how much. I…” He swears softly. “You know I’d do anything for you, right? Absolutely anything to keep you safe.”

Warmth unfurls in my belly. “Would you?”

“Anything,” he repeats roughly, and then he kisses me until we’re both breathless again.

M
y phone screen
says it’s two in the morning, but there’s no alarm going off, at least not in my room. But there’s an incessant dinging sounding in the house somewhere. I glance over to see if Reed’s awake, but he’s sprawled over two-thirds of the mattress, dead to the world.

I shove the pillow over my head and close my eyes again, but the ringing doesn’t stop. Not only that, but now there are footsteps running down the hallway, followed by loud banging on a door.

Reed sits up, his dark hair mussed and his expression groggy. “What the hell…”

An angry voice can be heard from the foyer. “Just a damn minute.” It sounds like Callum, but it’s hard to make out what he’s saying. “I told you I’d get him.”

Oh, crap. Reed and I jump out of bed. It’s one thing for Callum to know about us, but he wouldn’t be thrilled to find us sleeping in the same bed. My jeans are halfway up my legs and Reed’s tugging on his shirt, when the noise stops outside my door.

We both freeze at Callum’s incensed shout. “That’s my seventeen-year-old ward’s door and you’re not going in until she’s decent!”

You’re not going in?

“Who’s out there?” I whisper to Reed.

He gives me a wide-eyed look of confusion.

“Ella,” Callum barks from the hall, “we have company. I need you to get dressed and come downstairs as soon as possible.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be right down.” I cringe as I realize my voice is coming from Reed’s room.

Callum hesitates and then says, “Wake up Reed and bring him with you.”

Awkward
. I hastily pull my jeans up and grab a sweater from the dresser. Reed’s taking his sweet time.

“Babe, it’s going to be fine. You’ve still got your V-card. I’ll tell Dad that.”

I fly over and slap my hand over his mouth. “Oh my God. You will not. We’re not talking about this with Callum. Ever.”

Reed rolls his eyes as he moves my hand off his face. “Don’t worry about it. All he’s gonna do is yell at us.”

“Why’s he waking us up in the middle of the night to do it?” I ask.

“It’s more dramatic that way. He gets to make a big point about how we need to be careful, and shit like that.” He winces when I drag him toward the door.

I instantly drop his hand. “Does your side hurt?”

He winds his arm slowly, testing the wound. “Just sore. I’ll be good to go in a few days, don’t you worry.”

Now it’s my turn to give him a disgusted look. “I wasn’t even thinking about that. You did do something while we were at dinner, didn’t you?”

He gives a small shrug, “Nothing important. I told you, I pulled a couple of stitches, but it’s no big deal.”

Callum greets the two of us at the landing that bisects his wing from ours before the stairs descend to the main floor. He has a pair of trousers on and a white dress shirt that’s misbuttoned.

“Dad,” Reed says warily. “What’s up?”

His father’s wild eyes dart between us. “Where were you tonight?” An unsteady breath flies out. “No, don’t tell me. The less I know right now, the better.”

Reed takes a step forward. “What the fuck is going on?”

Callum rakes both hands through his hair. “The police are here. They want to talk to you about your whereabouts tonight. Don’t say anything until Grier gets here.”

I recognize Grier as one of the names lettered on the door in gold at the lawyer’s office where Steve’s will was read.

“Is it about Daniel? Did they catch the hoodie guy?” I blurt out.

Silence. The longest silence imaginable, leaving me plenty of time to conjure up the scariest, most gruesome scenarios. But none of them come close to triggering the panic I hear when Callum finally answers.

“Brooke is dead—”

What?

“—and Reed is a person of interest in her murder,” he grinds out. His eyes are locked on Reed’s face, which has gone completely pale.

Oh my God.

Instinctively, my gaze drops to Reed’s side, where his bandage is probably turning bloody as we speak. Then I look back at Callum, my mouth opening and closing and opening and closing.

“How did this happen?”

“I moved a bit… It’s no big deal.”

The moment the thought surfaces, I want to slap myself for even thinking it. No. No way. No matter how much he hated her, Reed would never…he would never…

Would he?

You know I’d do anything for you… Absolutely anything to keep you safe.

“Mr. Royal,” a voice calls from the bottom of the stairs. A tired man in a rumpled suit places a hand on the banister and a foot on the first step. “The warrant’s been signed. Your son will have to come with us.”

“Who signed that bullshit?” Callum demands as he charges down the stairs.

The man holds a piece of paper up. “Judge Delacorte.”

As Callum snatches the paper out of his hand, the man charges up the stairs followed by two police officers I hadn’t noticed before. One of them grabs a silent Reed and turns him around, pushing him up against the banister.

“There’s no need for that.” Callum sprints back up the stairs. “He’ll go with you willingly.”

“Sorry, Mr. Royal. Standard procedure,” the man explains, but he looks awfully smug about this.

“Do not say one word,” Callum instructs his son. “Not one.”

Reed’s eyes burn as he stares at me.

I love you.

I love you, too.

I’ll do anything.

We need to find a way to get rid of her.

I want to erase Brooke from our lives.

I love you.

“I love you,” I whisper as the officer drags him away.

A fierce look passes over his face, but he doesn’t say a word—and I don’t know if that’s because he’s afraid to say anything or because he’s following his dad’s orders.

My entire body starts shaking. Callum slides an arm around me. “Go upstairs, get some shoes on and I’ll take you to the police station.”

“The boys,” I say weakly. “We should get the rest of them.” I can see he’s on the verge of saying no, but it’s the wrong call. “We need to show Reed we support him as a family. They’d want to come.”

Callum finally nods. “Get them.”

I turn and run down the hall, knocking on Easton’s door and then the twins’. “Wake up, you guys!” I yell. “Wake up.”

The doorbell rings again. I race back, thinking for some reason that it’s Reed and he’s going to tell me this is all a tasteless joke. A stupid surprise. An early April Fool’s Day gag.

Callum reaches the door first, flinging it open in a fast blur. He marches forward, only to freeze a second later. He stops so abruptly that I slam into his suddenly stiff back.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” he breathes.

I have no idea why he stopped. I can’t see past his broad shoulders.

While Callum stands there like statue, I peer around his large frame and blink in alarm.

There’s a man standing at the bottom of the limestone steps. Oily blond hair hangs down to his shoulders. A full beard devours almost his entire face. His khakis and polo shirt seem to hang off his lean body, as if they’re two sizes too big.

He looks oddly familiar, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him before in my life.

I meet his eyes. They’re light blue, framed by dark blond eyelashes.

My heart speeds up, because now I’m second-guessing myself. I think I
do
know him. I think he’s—

“
Steve
?” Callum exclaims.

* * *