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I did not need to see that gorgeous cock with its thick Prince Albert piercing one more time…
Christ on a cracker… is that a Jacob’s ladder? Lord almighty, it’s hot in here.
How was a red-blooded Texas girl supposed to resist a tattooed and pierced bad-boy prince disguising himself in a bespoke suit?
Instead of letting my libido get me into trouble, I lifted the cloche from one of the plates and grabbed a fork. As usual, everything was still warm, and the crisp bacon was exactly how I liked it—almost, but not quite as good as Mama’s. A few drops of the homemade pepper sauce she used to make would have been perfect on the fluffy scrambled eggs, but Prince Savva was a heathen and demanded ketchup.
Gross.
The truly excellent coffee and fig preserves on toasted home-baked bread made up for it, and I made a note to hunt the palace chef down and beg for the recipe—not that I had time to put up preserves.
Although I could get the same breakfast in the kitchen, I always ate Savva’s. It seemed dumb to let all that food go to waste, and I was afraid he’d hurt the chef’s feelings when it was returned uneaten.
Then again, he’d probably been doing it for years, and the chef was most likely used to his habits.
Chewing on the last of the bacon, I grabbed my supplies and took care of the ensuite bathroom. Although he often left a few whiskers in the sink, he was generally tidy, which I appreciated since I was the one cleaning up after him.
I was half tempted to dump his drunk ass off the bed, so I didn’t have to come back to take care of the sheets but decided to let him stew in his own funk. He’d be gone soon enough and let me finish the rest of my chores in peace.
SAVVA
Without a word, Damaris took her housekeeping cart from the room and quietly shut the door behind her.
I’d spent days trying to tempt her into my bed to no avail. I was nobody’s prize, but I was also aware of the effect my physical appearance, title, and wealth had on people.
It sounded arrogant—even to me—yet I’d never had to do more than smile and unbutton my shirt to get a woman for an evening. The only person who appeared immune to me was a young American student slash housekeeper who wouldn’t give me the time of day.
Even more insulting was the fact that she seemed to prefer my mother’s company over mine. That wasn’t to say I was unhappy about their cordial relationship. In fact, it would make things much easier for me, but if I wasn’t who I was, I might have begun to doubt my appeal.
Of course, it was possible she was missing her own mother, who had lost her life to cancer when Damaris was in high school. I was more than delighted to share mine.
Damaris was drop dead gorgeous too, with honey blonde hair, light brown eyes, and a porcelain complexion dotted with freckles. Even in the ill-fitting housekeeping uniform, her backside could stop traffic.
I’d jerked off to that ass and her mouthwatering tits more often than I cared to think about.
It was more than her natural beauty though. Her charming accent never failed to get my dick hard—especially when she didn’t think I was listening to her—and she was brilliant.
Of course, I’d known of her intellectual gifts before I had Mother’s butler offer her the housekeeping position at a wage large enough to tempt her. I hadn’t known how genuinely kind she was until I spent a very educational afternoon hacking her laptop while she was exploring the gardens. Her emails to her father had been enlightening—and entertaining.
The food she ate wasn’t my usual fare. When I learned she didn’t eat a morning meal in the staff dining room, I ordered a common American breakfast delivered to my suite, hoping it would tempt her into something more. Instead, she’d waxed poetic about my rudeness and how it must hurt the cook’s feelings when the meals were sent back uneaten.
Damaris Lawton was a nice girl and didn’t deserve what I was about to do. Unfortunately, it was going to happen whether either of us liked it or not. As the sole heir to one of the largest cattle ranches in the world, she was the closest thing America had to a princess. I’d been watching her for over a year, waiting for my opportunity.
My original plan had been to get her into bed and fuck her until she became pregnant. As much as it disgusted me, I’d even had condoms specially prepared to fail. I would have then done the gentlemanly thing and married her quietly, and most importantly… quickly.
It didn’t stop the plan from being the worst kind of assault, but desperate times and all that other nonsense. Her laptop hadn’t been the only thing I’d violated either. I knew when she’d be able to conceive and had checked her medical records. She wasn’t on birth control, and judging by the contents of her bathroom wastebasket over the course of her stay, any time in the next few days would be perfect.
“Fuck.” I got out of bed and strode to the shower. Just thinking of how far I’d go to achieve my goal made me feel dirty.
I didn’t need or want a princess. I needed an American wife with sufficient wealth that mine wouldn’t tempt her, and most crucially, one with no ties to any European government.
Until I found Damaris, I hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of a relationship after the debacle with my last erstwhile fiancée, but the future of Agafonza was too important to risk, and I’d let it go on too long.
Nobody blamed me—at least not to my face—but I was running out of time.
After finishing my shower, I dressed and ate the last of the eggs, then licked the spoon clean of fig preserves. I’d had the kitchen stock the condiment for her after she’d mentioned missing it in one of her emails to her father. Sweet and rich, the preserves held all the promise of summer, and I could easily see an addiction growing.
Thankfully, my research had been incorrect regarding the ketchup. She wouldn’t touch it.
