Something in the Heir (It's Reigning Men, #1) (16 page)

“You’re turning me into a shameless hussy,” she said, moaning yet again as her head fell back in sheer pleasure. Between Adrian’s mouth and hands she figured she had all of about thirty seconds before she went over the top.

“I would argue you’re anything but shameless,” he said. “You’re practically glowing you’re so perfect. No shame in enjoying a little pleasure. No shame at all.”

Emma’s instincts were telling her to grab a hold of that sheet and rip it off and mount the man,
stat
, but then again her instincts clearly left a bit to be desired. Plus, he was taking care of her just fine, so maybe she could let him finish his business and she’d worry about the rest if she could just—

“What was that?” she asked, her ears perking up, sure she heard someone outside the door.

Adrian, meanwhile, had begun inching down her body, landing small kisses and licking a trail right to where his hands had been masterfully working their magic.

“Did you hear that?” she asked again.

But Adrian ignored her, shimmying those boy shorts off in one swift move, spreading wide her legs, and when his tongue finally,
finally
found her center she nearly screamed out loud, which would surely have been the worst day of her life, sending her parents rushing in, fearing as they would for her safety, only to find their on-second-thought-maybe-he’s-not-so-gay houseguest with his head buried between their daughter’s most willing legs. Instead she pulled a pillow over her head and bit down on part of the pillowcase while she pressed Adrian’s head closer still, telling him in no uncertain terms that what she said and what she meant might have conflicting intentions, but to just do what he was doing and the rest they’d worry about later.

For a few minutes Emma just let herself yield to the pleasure of this man’s mouth stroking her just in the right places. For a moment or two she didn’t think about the fact that he was royalty or damn near betrothed to some other woman (well, not willingly, at least). Instead he was just a red-blooded man with a toolbox full of useful skills and, hey, she sure could use a handyman every once in a while, right? Emma thrust her hips toward Adrian as she grew closer and finally she reached climax, trying so hard not to scream into the pillow and instead focusing her energy on clutching on Adrian’s head, willing his mouth to remain till he’d wrung every last bit from her.

As she lay there panting, she realized she was mentally wrestling with whether international protocol required that she reciprocate the honors, which of course meant she was still on board with this plan that she purportedly was opposed to. Meantime, Adrian scooted back up toward her and took her mouth in his, pressing his very expectant self up against her. What was a girl to do under the circumstances? After all, it was only good manners, right?

Except then the doorbell rang, and a minute later Emma’s mother was banging on her door and oh, my God, what now? She said there were visitors, Caroline and some man?

Adrian, meanwhile, was shaking his head no, back and forth, back and forth, groaning and muttering something about being so close, but yet so far.

“W
hat
about the words ‘I want to be alone’ did you not understand?” Adrian whispered through gritted teeth to his friend. “I was this close.” He held up his hand, and you couldn’t fit a tiny sugar ant in the narrow space between his thumb and pointer finger. “But no, you have to go trying to land her friend by persuading her to take a little road trip to rain on my parade.”

“I’m telling you, mate, I didn’t know I was going to be barging in on anything,” Darcy pleaded. “You know I’m not that kind of guy. After all, I’m your wing man!”

“Yes, well, use those wings and fly off somewhere far, far away,” he said. “It’s bad enough I’m dealing with the parents.” He nodded toward Emma’s folks, who were chattering with Caroline for a minute at least.

“They seem like friendly folks,” Darcy said.

“They think I’m gay,” Adrian said.

“Gay? What the-—?”

“Don’t ask,” his friend said. “In the confusion of their late-night arrival and interrupting me from a sound sleep, somehow Emma thought it would be a brilliant idea to suggest I was a gay graduate student with an obsession with royalty. Oh, and they think some chap named Darcy is my ex-lover. So welcome to the club.”

“You’ve gone and changed my sexual preference without even checking with me?” Darcy said, eyes wide open, jaw dropped. “How am I going to work my wiles with the lovely Caroline then?”

“Gee, sorry. Looks like you’ll need to get a room,” Adrian said. “Go ahead and charge it to the family. It’s the very least my mother can do at this point, pay for us sinners with her vast cash reserves. Considering neither of us would be here were it not for her.”

“Speaking of your mother,” Darcy began.

“Is she all right?” Adrian asked, worried.

“Oh, she’s as right as can be. Maybe even as right as humanly possible, in her mind at least,” he said. “But I took the liberty of strongly expressing your opinion on your behalf. I hope you don’t mind.”

Adrian winced. If this could get any murkier. But he couldn’t even be bothered with such nonsense at this point: he was busy trying to devise a situation in which he could get Emma alone and willing all over again. And worried he’d need an act of nature to get to that point. Which he was willing to work toward, if need be.

They gathered from the shift in the direction of the nearby conversation that their attention was being enlisted.

“So this is your Darcy?” Emma’s mother asked with more than a hint of curiosity, lifting up his arm and inspecting him as if it was the sleeve of a sweater hanging on the sale rack at
Macy’s
.

Adrian nodded. “Indeed, my good pal Darcy.”

“But I thought you two had broken it off?” she said.

Caroline cocked her head and squinted her eyes, and Emma elbowed her softly in the ribs in the hopes she’d keep her mouth shut.

“Oh, right,” Adrian said. “We did, but we’ve been friends for too long to let any hard feelings get in the way.”

“Absolutely,” Darcy said. “If Adrian wants to run around with other men and flaunt his eligibility, that’s his business.” He shot his friend a sly wink.

Luckily Emma’s father broke into the conversation, dressed in the infamous Statue of David apron, spatula in hand, to announce breakfast. Thank goodness. Perhaps with everyone being busy tasked with chewing food they’d not flap their lips needlessly.

~*~

A
s they walked through the small house to get to the kitchen, Darcy was struck with the odd labels all over the walls.

“What’s with the words everywhere?” he asked Emma. “You teaching someone the English language?”

Emma laughed. “That’s my father’s little quirk,” she said. “One of many. He has this labeling machine. It’s like a gun-shaped thing and you punch in words and they print out on a sticky label. Dad likes to be sure we know which light switch lights up which light fixture. Same with the fans. You’ll notice he also has little informational bits about where the locks can be found for the sliding glass doors and such. Just in case you can’t seem to find them yourself.”

“Don’t think I’m not picking up on your sarcasm, young lady,” her father said, swatting her with his spatula. “You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood. Now eat your sausage.”

Emma looked at Adrian and nearly burst out laughing. If only she’d gotten that far earlier in the morning. Poor Adrian could only be reminded of the state in which she left him, scrambling as they were to throw on some sort of clothes and race to the bathroom to wash up with their friends lingering in the doorway.

“Ah, is it bangers and mash, then, Mr. Davison?” Adrian said. “Replicating your daughter’s little royal wedding brunch, are we?” He winked broadly at Emma, who frowned back.

Darcy was confused, what with the danger of an actual potential royal wedding on the horizon, one that his friend was desperate to avoid.

“Royal wedding?” he asked.

“Emma! You told him about us?” Caroline said. “How could you, under the circumstances?”

Emma had pulled Caroline aside en route to the dining room table just to brief her, and so she kicked her beneath the table as a reminder.

“Circumstances?” Ellen asked in her squawk of a voice.

“Caroline just meant we never told any guys about that,” Emma said. “But Adrian and Darcy aren’t exactly ‘guys,’ are they? I mean not in that sense. I mean of course they’re guys. Just not
guys
!”

“Precisely,” Caroline added. “Telling these two would be like confiding in your hairdresser. And of course I’d tell my hairdresser about our party.”

“Tell him? He was there!” Emma said.

“Wait a minute,” Darcy said. “Let me get this straight. You had a royal wedding party. In the middle of the night. Complete with bangers and mash. And hairdressers.”

“And those huge hats, with feathers like weapons,” Bob chimed in.

Shoot me now
, Emma thought.
Put me out of my misery
.

“Were they working hairdressers, or just guests?” Adrian asked.

Emma blushed. “It was just for fun. They offered to do our hair. We had lots of food and we stayed up drinking all night. It wasn’t as weird as it sounds.”

“And every time the announcers said certain words, we all had to chug our mimosas. Curse that Pippa girl,” Caroline said.

The guys looked at each other knowingly. The last thing they’d want to do with that Pippa girl was curse her.

“You Americans sure do know how to have fun,” Darcy said with a laugh. Emma frowned.

The cheeky bastard
.
We can’t all gallivant off at royal balls and off-shore Mediterranean yachts for our jollies
. Emma knew she couldn’t say that aloud, not with her parents nearby. She had to remember to smack him one for that later on.

“Well, this is an unexpected surprise, having all these houseguests here,” Ellen said, holding up her glass of orange juice to toast everyone. “Welcome to our home!”

“Not to worry, Mrs. Davison,” Adrian said. “You don’t need to worry about hosting Darcy and Caroline. They’ll be fine staying at a nearby hotel.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it! And please, we’re Ellen and Bob,” she said, beaming.

“No, really, ma’am,” Darcy said. “We wouldn’t dream of imposing on you. In fact, Caroline and I have already checked into a hotel room, haven’t we?”

Her eyes grew large, wondering what his plan was with that. “Uh, er, yes, lovely. Seashells everywhere, very cute room. Nautical theme.”

“That’s no huge surprise, being that we’re at the beach,” Emma said. “I’d be worried if you told me it had an alpine ski theme.” She couldn’t help but throw that one out there. It was how she and Caroline were with each other. The smart-assier the better.

“Touché.” She said, then mouthed
I’ll remember that
to her friend.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality, Ellen, but I think you’ve got your hands full with my friend Adrian,” Darcy said. “Having him here can be like hosting royalty.”

Adrian nearly spat out his scrambled eggs on that one. As it was Emma choked enough that her mother felt the need to whack her on the back to dislodge any potential asphyxiation hazards.

“You all right, dear?” her mother asked, worried.

“Yes, thanks Mom, I’m fine. Must’ve gone down the wrong pipe.”

“Funny you said that, what with him studying royalty for his graduate degree and all,” her mother said to Darcy.

Emma needed to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “Hey! You guys want to rent bikes and ride along the beach road?”

“Sorry, your father and I are tuckered out,” her mother said. Which was fine, because the last person she wanted joining them was her mother. Or her father. The whole idea was to escape their prying eyes. Shame she and Adrian couldn’t get that hotel room. Though they probably could. But the truth was that would be a bad, bad plan. Once again, she had already girded her loins, those ever-so-satiated loins, so to speak, to resist his temptations.

“That would be lovely,” Adrian said.

“Can I ride a bike in heels?” Caroline asked. The woman was never in anything less than three-inch heels.

“We’ll find a way,” Emma said. “Darcy? You game?”

‘Indeed,” he said. “I’d love nothing better. In the meantime, why don’t Adrian and I clear the dishes after this lovely meal?”

Oh, how he enjoyed watching Adrian play amongst the rabble. This would be too fun.

Once at the kitchen sink they were able to speak sotto voce.

“So you take the scrub brush here,” Darcy said, holding the brush in his hand. “And you rub the bristles against the dirty plate, like this.” He rinsed the food away.

“You’ve got me in stitches with your hilarity,” Adrian said. “You’re practically ready for your own stand-up routine. For your information I’ve already helped to cook a meal. Before you know it I’ll be ready to live on my own.”

“Rue the day,” Darcy said.

“You never know, my friend,” he said. “If push comes to shove.”

“Speaking of shove,” Darcy said. “I gave your mum a little bit of push-back. Just softening her up for you.”

“Oh, God,” Adrian said with a groan. “Is she sending out Interpol in search of me?”

“Not yet, but I do think she’s suspicious of what’s going on.”

“Please tell me you didn’t say anything hurtful.”

“Nothing hurtful. Honest, maybe, but not hurtful.”

“Honest?” As in ‘I’m being truthful, Mother,’ or as in ‘Yes that dress makes you look fat’ honest?”

“The former, absolutely,” Darcy said. “I wouldn’t call your mother fat!’

“Of course not. You would never get me into hot water with my dear mother. So spill.”

“Well, I might have suggested you needed to cut the apron strings. Or she did. I can’t remember who had to do that.”

“Perfect. I’m sure that went over well.”

“Then I said even though she’s never had to wear an apron since she doesn’t cook.”

“I’m sure she warmed up to that one.”

“And I said something about needing to be a man.”