Page 25 of Resisting Royal

CHAPTER 13

BIANCA

“I don’t know what happened, Natalie.” I paused to check both directions before pulling off into traffic. “One minute we were eating, the next minute Royal’s tongue was down my throat, and I was rubbing against him like a cat in heat.”

Instead of showing me support, she laughed at me. “Well, I mean. . . it has been a while for you, sweetie. Did you landscape?”

“Yes,” I grumbled. “I landscaped. For the record, it was for myself, not because I found myself suddenly hitched to Royal.”

Although, finding myself suddenly hitched to Royal was definitely an encouragement to go the extra mile in that department. It was one thing living alone and knowing no one was going to see me naked, but sharing a bed with a man with the possibility of him getting a peek was a massive difference. Not that I was about to encourage his viewings or anything, but the option was there.

“I bet. But, if the chance arises, you’re taking it, right?”

I heard her wrestling with a wrapper. “No, why would I?”

“Because he’s hot. Look, if you’re not going to fuck him, can I?” She bit into what sounded like chips, the sound being obnoxiously loud through the speaker of my phone, echoing in my car.

“You chew like a cow. And no! Last time I checked, you were engaged,” I pointed out, but even if she wasn’t engaged, I still wouldn’t let her touch him. He was mine, at least that’s what the paper we both signed said. We were partners, slightly dysfunctional partners, but partners nonetheless. Even though I knew she wasn’t serious, the thought of her touching him left my stomach sour. My sense of ownership left me with a feeling of bitterness at the thought of sharing what was so obviously mine.

“We have an arrangement. There is a list of people who, if you ever got a chance to have sex with, you could do it, and the significant other would be okay with it. It’s a common knowledge thing,” she clarified.

“And my husband was on your list?” I asked her, making the turn to go home.

“What concerns me is he isn’t on yours. It’s not like you live under a bubble. Everyone in town knows who Royal is, yet you walk around with blinders on. How is that even possible?”

I made a sound of indifference. “I prefer not to concern myself with the goings-on of the world around me; life is so much more peaceful that way.”

“You’re such a hermit.” She talked around a mouthful of food.

“And you're disgusting. Couldn’t you wait until I was off the phone to stuff your face?”

“Whatever.” She made sure to crunch extra loud. “I’ve got to go anyway, peace out, bitch.”

She hung up the phone, leaving me to drive in silence, my own thoughts taunting me. My memories of the kiss at lunch replayed in my head. My damn desire already awakening.

I went to bed alone and woke in the morning to the shower running and steam billowing through the door. Peter was lying on Royal’s pillow, and his side of the bed had indeed been slept in, signifying he had come home last night . . . which I guess I sort of requested inadvertently at lunch. It also meant that I sleep like the dead. It’s the sheets.

I reached over, rubbing Peter’s ears as the shower turned off. The door opened, and a new rush of steam flooded the room. Don’t peek, don’t peek, don’t peek. I tried my hardest to not roll over and look for him, but, apparently, my body had a mind of its own.

He was standing in front of the sink, a white towel secured low on his hips as he typed out a message on his phone. Whatever he was typing was lengthy, and after what had to be close to a minute later, he said, “I can feel you watching me.”

I turned my head away. “I’m not even looking at you.”

“You were, too.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw he put down his phone and used a spare towel to wipe down the mirror.

“I was not! How would you know? You were looking down the whole time.” Without even turning away from the mirror, I saw his cheeks pull up in amusement. Crap. What I had just said registered in my mind a little too late.

“Not looking at all, right, Mrs. Russo?” He took out a shaver from a drawer and leaned over his sink.

I declined a reply, instead opting to change the subject. “I see you got to sleep with Peter, are you boys getting along okay?”

“Your bunny is a menace, and you know it.” Why was the sight of him shaving in only a towel so appealing?

No. Stop it. I gave myself a mental scowl and rolled over to my back, giving myself plenty of ceiling to stare at. “Peter is a sweet, innocent bunny. If anyone in this room were a menace, it would be you.”

He stopped, pointed his shaver at me, his face half shaved. Damn it, I was looking at him again. “That sweet, innocent bunny bit my toe.”

I made a dismissive gesture with my hand. “You were probably taking up his spot in bed.”

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