Read Online Going Royal 02 - Some Like It Scandalous by Heather Long - Free Book Online
Authors: Heather Long
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the press has to say on the subject.” The truth of their predicament seemed to be eluding her. “They can speculate I sleep with sheep. It’s the threat against you that’s the problem.”
“But if the press lets it go...” She was reaching and he wanted to let her hold on to that naïve idea.
He really did.
“Fanatics don’t care about press reports unless it reinforces their beliefs. You’re a target because I care and I can lie myself blue in the face to the press, but the simple fact is, if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself. So you can hate me and you can be angry with me... Until we sort this out, you are staying here, Anna, and end of discussion.”
She sank back onto the chair. “So speaks the prince royal—”
And he’d had more than enough of that attitude. Letting go of his patience, he grabbed her chair and jerked it toward him, launching her forward into his arms. His mouth slanted across hers and their lips fused. She came to rest against his chest, half on his lap, with his legs bracketing hers. She froze, but when he massaged her lips, her mouth opened. Her fingers curled against the fabric. Then she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his, and he was home.
The last light of reason went out in his head.
Chapter Five
Her breath hitched in her throat. He grabbed her chair and jerked her forward. She all but fell against his chest, the last thing she saw was the anger flaming in his eyes. Her protest died unspoken when he dipped his head and claimed her mouth. She planted her hands on his chest, intending to shove him away, but her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, her anger dissolving beneath the passion in his kiss.
This is Charlie...
The thought floated, disconnected, above the surge of emotion. Her blood went hot, blazing through the wild fever of her temper. Irritation—with herself, with him, with the whole damn situation—melted under the assault of his lips. But no matter the quiet fury in his eyes, the kiss was gentle, possessive and utterly disarming. His lips glided over hers—tentative, remembering—and when her mouth opened, his tongue slid into stroke against hers.
Oh God. Nothing tasted as good as Charlie did. Nothing battered right through the years of hurt, regret and loneliness like the soft, wet kiss of his lips and the warm glide of his hands slipping down her body. She wasn’t in the chair anymore. He dragged her across until she sat on his lap, lost in the sweet surrender of being close to him.
He sucked on her tongue and heat unfurled like a great sail snapping open to catch the wild wind. Her heart beat so fast it had to be trying to escape. When he released her lips to kiss down the side of her neck, she moaned.
The essence of them—the quick passion, the fury of it taking them—it was all there. It didn’t matter who reached for whom, or where they were. The world disintegrated, falling away to leave only them. His teeth grazed the pulse point in her throat and she slid her hands up into that dark tumble of hair. Soft and silky—just like she remembered it. Memory and reality crashed together, tumbling her beneath the riptide.
Her nipples strained against the bra, the fabric rasping against their sensitive tips. Dear God, she wanted him. She needed him. She’d told herself for ten years she didn’t—she lied to herself and let the lie keep her warm at night, but the icy chill of their long separation exploded. She dug her nails in, impatient with their clothes.
He pulled away and pushed her back to her own chair.
It was so fast, her head spun and she couldn’t catch her breath. She opened her eyes and tried to hold on to him, but he left her, shoving his chair back and rising before she could catch his hands. His eyes were black—the pupil having swallowed the iris—and they were intense with desire.
“Charlie...”
He shook his head and circled away from the table, raking his fingers through disheveled
“But if the press lets it go...” She was reaching and he wanted to let her hold on to that naïve idea.
He really did.
“Fanatics don’t care about press reports unless it reinforces their beliefs. You’re a target because I care and I can lie myself blue in the face to the press, but the simple fact is, if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself. So you can hate me and you can be angry with me... Until we sort this out, you are staying here, Anna, and end of discussion.”
She sank back onto the chair. “So speaks the prince royal—”
And he’d had more than enough of that attitude. Letting go of his patience, he grabbed her chair and jerked it toward him, launching her forward into his arms. His mouth slanted across hers and their lips fused. She came to rest against his chest, half on his lap, with his legs bracketing hers. She froze, but when he massaged her lips, her mouth opened. Her fingers curled against the fabric. Then she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his, and he was home.
The last light of reason went out in his head.
Chapter Five
Her breath hitched in her throat. He grabbed her chair and jerked her forward. She all but fell against his chest, the last thing she saw was the anger flaming in his eyes. Her protest died unspoken when he dipped his head and claimed her mouth. She planted her hands on his chest, intending to shove him away, but her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, her anger dissolving beneath the passion in his kiss.
This is Charlie...
The thought floated, disconnected, above the surge of emotion. Her blood went hot, blazing through the wild fever of her temper. Irritation—with herself, with him, with the whole damn situation—melted under the assault of his lips. But no matter the quiet fury in his eyes, the kiss was gentle, possessive and utterly disarming. His lips glided over hers—tentative, remembering—and when her mouth opened, his tongue slid into stroke against hers.
Oh God. Nothing tasted as good as Charlie did. Nothing battered right through the years of hurt, regret and loneliness like the soft, wet kiss of his lips and the warm glide of his hands slipping down her body. She wasn’t in the chair anymore. He dragged her across until she sat on his lap, lost in the sweet surrender of being close to him.
He sucked on her tongue and heat unfurled like a great sail snapping open to catch the wild wind. Her heart beat so fast it had to be trying to escape. When he released her lips to kiss down the side of her neck, she moaned.
The essence of them—the quick passion, the fury of it taking them—it was all there. It didn’t matter who reached for whom, or where they were. The world disintegrated, falling away to leave only them. His teeth grazed the pulse point in her throat and she slid her hands up into that dark tumble of hair. Soft and silky—just like she remembered it. Memory and reality crashed together, tumbling her beneath the riptide.
Her nipples strained against the bra, the fabric rasping against their sensitive tips. Dear God, she wanted him. She needed him. She’d told herself for ten years she didn’t—she lied to herself and let the lie keep her warm at night, but the icy chill of their long separation exploded. She dug her nails in, impatient with their clothes.
He pulled away and pushed her back to her own chair.
It was so fast, her head spun and she couldn’t catch her breath. She opened her eyes and tried to hold on to him, but he left her, shoving his chair back and rising before she could catch his hands. His eyes were black—the pupil having swallowed the iris—and they were intense with desire.
“Charlie...”
He shook his head and circled away from the table, raking his fingers through disheveled
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