Page 47 of Handle Me

Lola sighed and looked at me. “I need to go to bed.”

I didn’t dare tell her what I was thinking—that she didn’t need to go to her bed. She needed to go to mine.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” I asked.

She glanced at her mother, who rolled her eyes but shooed us away. “Quickly. Your father is bringing the car around.”

When we were alone, I dragged her into a dark hospital room. “Why don’t you come with me, boss? I might get into trouble in London by myself.”

“Anders.” She swallowed, and my mouth tracked the movement of her throat. “I can’t. If I leave with you, my mother will know.”

“Just tell them you have to tuck me in,” I coaxed, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she said. “I. Am. Exhausted.”

“Then we’ll sleep,” I suggested.

There was a moment of hesitation, and I knew I wasn’t going to like what she said next. “I need to think.”

I went still. “About what?”

“Last night was…” She didn’t need to finish that sentence. Every adjective ever created applied to last night. “But there was a reason I made rules.”

“Rules are meant to be broken,” I said.

But she shook her head. “What happens if you break the rules on the track?”

“Disqualification.”

“Or worse, right? You’ve crashed before. You know what can happen if you break the rules.”

“I didn’t break any rules when I crashed,” I said tightly.

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?” I asked, letting her go.

“What we’re doing is dangerous. I have to think clearly. It’s my job to think clearly.” She twisted her hands together, looking at me like she expected me to understand.

But I didn’t. I wasn’t built like her. “Your control isn’t going to keep you safe, boss.”

“And being reckless will?” she challenged.

“You know what.” I pointed a finger at her as I backed away. “Go run home and hide, but every time you feel that soreness between your legs, every time you soak yourself thinking about me, remember this moment.”

I was nearly to the door when she spoke. “The moment where you were a total asshole?”

“The moment where you quit before you started the race.” I left her there without another look.

It wasn’t a flat or a house or an apartment. It was a bloody castle. Somehow on the ride from the hospital to Kensington Palace, I’d convinced myself it wouldn’t be too bad. It wasn’t as if my brother had asked me to shack up at Buckingham. It wasn’t that bad, at least.

But it was close.

I shifted away from the window as Brexton Miles—my new bodyguard or whatever the hell he was—drove us past the gates and into the private parking reserved for royals who lived inside. Since the Palace itself sat on the edge of a large green spot open to Londoners and tourists, more than a few people were milling near the fence, hoping to catch a glimpse of royal life. I was not about to let them catch one of me.

“Relax, those windows are tinted,” Brex said as he pulled into a spot and turned off the engine. “Once we’re to the gate, no one can really see the passenger, and no one starts paying attention until a car pulls up to the gate. But if you want to keep a low profile, you can ride in the back. I won’t mind.”

“I would.” I wasn’t certain what would be worse. Someone catching Brex delivering me to the palace, or being so snobby I sat in the back while he drove me. “I’m not sure why Alexander thinks I need security.”