Page 34 of Resisting Royal

“Is that . . . him?” Natalie squealed. “He sounds so sexy, boo. Like, if you don’t ride him, I’m more than willing to.”

I cleared my throat. “I have to go.”

“You kids have fun, make sure to report back to mama,” she directed.

I skipped the goodbye and hung up. “I’m going to have to pass on your offer.”

Royal bent down and put my rabbit on the carpet. “It’s just a matter of time before you will, and there will be no reporting back to mama.”

“You’re awfully confident for a man who just got bested by a baby gate,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, well. I hadn’t a chance to learn how the thing worked, being as we don’t have BABIES.” He glared down at Peter. “You really need to cage that thing. At least a little. I just can’t figure out how you sleep like the dead with that thing constantly zooming around. It’s maddening.”

“That thing is my child, and I prefer that you use his given name.” I unplugged my hair wand, trying not to outwardly laugh at this whole conversation.

“Given name? He’s a damn rabbit. He has a given name?” Royal plopped down on the bed, staring at me, his legs crossed at his ankles and his arms crossed at his chest.

“It’s Peter Buster Max Moretti II,” I admitted.

“I don’t know what’s more baffling, the fact that you know all these kids’ shows to name him after, or that he isn’t even the first bunny with that horrendous name.” I looked over at him, shaking his head from his spot on the bed.

“You seem to know the shows just fine,” I pointed out to him.

He shrugged. “My men bring in the kids sometimes. That stuff stays with you. It’s like a damn loop playing in your head.”

“My ex had a kid, and he named it,” I offered, right before Royal growled. “What?”

“I don’t approve,” was all he said.

“Don’t approve of what? A kid naming my rabbit or my ex-boyfriend.”

He growled again and stood, his body taut as he stalked toward me. His eyes never left my own as he neared. When he got close, I stepped back, the back of my thigh hitting the sink vanity. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve had no past relationships.”

His words were a rumble from his throat, dark and husky. “It didn’t last long,” I offered, swallowing hard.

“Long enough to name two bunnies.” His hands found the back of my thigh and lifted me easily, placing me on the sink ledge.

“Well, yeah. But to be fair, Peter Buster Max Moretti the first died within a week from an unfortunate accident involving a door left open and the neighbor’s dog. Peter Buster Max Moretti II was so I didn’t have to break a little boy’s heart by telling him the truth,” I clarified, feeling nervous that he was so close, especially when he picked this exact moment to fit his hips between my thighs.

I do not want my husband. I do not want my husband.

I tried to convince myself, repeated over and over again on how much I really, really didn’t want to be turned on by his nearness right now.

He is not a good person. He will suck in bed. He is a manipulator.

Royal leaned into me. “Peter Buster Max Russo has no other lineage.”

Fuck. Why did he smell so good? I sucked in a breath, trying to pretend like his scent didn’t have my hormones in overdrive, ignoring the fact that my robe was suddenly gaping open, the tie in my husband’s crafty fingers. “Are you claiming my bunny as your own? I didn’t know you cared so much.”

He leaned in, inhaling deeply and humming. “I like my last name attached to you.”

“Did you just sniff me?” My voice sounded shaky, even to my own ears.

“Uh-huh.” His head leaned into my shoulder, his tongue darting out and running a trail down my collarbone. “And tasted you.”

Shit. Fuck. Damn it. I do not want my husband.

He chuckled against my skin. “You said that out loud, Amore.”

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