I was silent as I digested her bombshell.
Bridget, the future Queen of Eldorra. Holy shit.
She was right in that most women would kill to trade places with her. But Bridget was the girl who once ran out in the middle of a thunderstorm and danced in the rain. Who spent her free time volunteering at an animal shelter and would rather stay home watching TV and eating ice cream than attend a fancy party.
To her, becoming queen wasn’t a dream; it was her worst nightmare.
“It was never supposed to be me. I was the spare.” Bridget blinked, her eyes bright with unshed tears. My chest squeezed at the sight. “It was never supposed to be me,” she repeated.
I grasped her chin and tilted it until she was looking at me. “You’re a lot of things, princess. Stubborn, infuriating, a pain in my ass half the time. But I promise you, you’re not a spare anything.”
She let out a weak laugh. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Another small laugh, one that faded as quickly as it had come. “What am I going to do?” Bridget whispered. “I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”
“You’re Bridget von Ascheberg,” I said. “You’ll be ready.”
Bridget excelled at everything she did, and being queen would be no exception.
“In the meantime…” I hoped I didn’t regret what I was about to say. “You’re going to live your life the way you want. As long as it doesn’t involve Vincent fucking Hauz.”
If I ever saw that fucker again, I would break every bone in his body just for touching her and occupying space in her thoughts. He didn’t deserve any inch of her.
Bridget brightened a bit. “Does that mean you’ll fuck me?”
Definitely still drunk.
I groaned, well aware of the erection that hadn’t waned at all this entire time. “No, princess. That’s not a good idea.”
She frowned. “But it’s on my bucket list.”
Oh, Jesus. I was almost afraid to ask, but… “You have a bucket list?”
Bridget nodded. “For before I return to Eldorra.” She ticked off the items on her fingers. “One, go someplace where no one knows or cares who I am. Two, eat and read and sunbathe all day without having to worry about an event later or waking up early the next day. Three, do an adrenaline rush activity my grandfather will yell at me for, like bungee jumping. And four, have an orgasm I didn’t give myself.” Her shoulders slumped. “It’s been a while.”
Fuck. Now the mental image of Bridget giving herself an orgasm would forever be etched in my mind.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. How the hell did I get myself into this situation? The night had gone so far off the rails I couldn’t see the tracks anymore.
“One is probably off the table,” Bridget said. “But you can help me with four.”
She was going to achieve something neither my mother nor the military had. She was going to kill me.
“Go to bed,” I said in a strained voice. “Alone. You’re drunk, and it’s late.”
Bridget stared at my groin, where my obvious arousal tented my pants. “But—”
“No.” I needed to get out of there. Stat. “No buts. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
Before she could protest further, I left and headed straight to my bathroom, where I took the world’s longest, coldest shower. It did nothing to slake the heat of my arousal. Neither did fisting my cock until I reached a wholly unsatisfying orgasm.
Only one thing could take the edge off my frustration, and I’d turned it down like an idiot.
I shut off the faucet and dried myself, resigned to a sleepless night.
Meanwhile, the terrible idea that had been brewing in the back of my mind since Bridget told me about her bucket list wouldn’t go away. Instead, it sounded more and more like a good idea.
It was crazy and possibly dangerous. I had no time to prepare, and it went against all my training and protective instincts.
But I couldn’t get Bridget’s sad eyes or words out of mind.
I want to savor being normal for the last time.
“I’m going to regret this,” I muttered as I stepped out of the bathroom and flipped open my laptop.
It didn’t matter.
Because as much as I wanted Bridget safe, I wanted her happy more.
16
Bridget
Was it possible to die of humiliation?
Forty-eight hours ago, I would’ve said no, but as I ate breakfast across the table from Rhys, I found myself firmly in the yes camp. I would either explode from how red my face was or melt into a puddle of mortification, whichever came first.
“More bacon?” He pushed the plate in my direction.
I shook my head, unable to meet his eye.
I woke up that morning with a pounding headache, throbbing heat between my legs, and a horrifically clear memory of the things I’d done—and said—last night.
Fuck me the way you just promised.
Four, have an orgasm I didn’t give myself. It’s been a while.
I choked on my toast and broke into a coughing fit.
Rhys’s eyebrows rose. “You okay?” He’d been cool and calm all morning, like nothing had happened, and I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or offended.
“Yes,” I gasped. I grabbed my water and downed half of it until the coughs subsided.
“You should eat more carbs,” he said mildly. “Might help with the hangover.”
“How do you know I have a hangover?”
“You had five shots last night, all containing different liquors. It’s a safe guess.”
His acknowledgment that any part of last night happened only intensified my embarrassment. I wished I could wipe all the events post-Borgia from both our minds.
Since I couldn’t, I was tempted to play it off and pretend I didn’t remember what happened, but I did remember, and if I didn’t address it, it would haunt me forever.
“Listen. About last night…” I forced myself to look at Rhys. “I was drunk and not thinking clearly, and I said some things I shouldn’t have said. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”
Something akin to disappointment flickered across Rhys’s face before it disappeared. “So did I,” he said. “Call it even.”
I don’t want to kiss or make love to you. I want to fuck you. I want to punish you for mouthing off and letting another man put his hands on you. I want to yank up that tiny fucking dress of yours and pound into you so hard you won’t be able to walk for days.
A bead of sweat popped out on my brow. I shifted on my stool, trying to ease the throbbing in my clit, but it only made things worse.
I shouldn’t have said the things I’d said, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t meant them. When Rhys had me bent over the dresser with his cock pressed against me…
I gulped down the rest of my water to ease the heat flaming across my skin.
“In that case, the best path forward is to pretend last night didn’t happen and never speak of it again.”
I really needed more water. And air conditioning. And possibly an ice bath.
“Fine by me.” Rhys leaned against the counter and rested one hand on the countertop while sipping coffee from the mug in his other hand. It was a casual, everyday movement that had no business being as hot as it was. “Except for one thing.”