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Prologue
5 July
The Michigan Inn, Illinois
He knew before he opened the door.
On the other side, Princess Juliana was waiting for him. Damn if his fingers didn’t twitch restlessly for the want of touching her. At almost thirty-three, he was old enough to recognize lust when he saw it. The punch of it was unmistakable.
When he’d met the woman—no, girl—in April at the national team training center, he’d known she was trouble. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he and Princess Juliana didn’t run in the same circles. He wouldn’t find her in the pub near his flat, where he would meet Tristan. There was no way she would hang in the underbelly of the stadium after a match. And although some of his hobbies were considered high-end, his off-season riding wouldn’t bring him into her vicinity.
Then, she’d shown up at the World Championship Cup as part of the royal delegation, the palace pandering to the people’s obsession with football. Even then, they moved in parallel lines, never intersecting.
Except today, they had done just that.
Rowan made his money on the pitch by a spatial awareness of everything going on in front of him. As the game’s best center back, he was both commander and defender. Yet this child had taken him by surprise. And once her mouth had landed on his, every single thing faded to black. The bevy of reporters with their clicking cameras and gleeful explosions of surprise dwindled to muted cacophonies of sound. His twenty-three teammates, many of whom would have changed places with him in a heartbeat, were silenced. The only thing he was aware of was the warmth of her mouth, the sweetness of her taste, the softness of her skin, the hardness of his cock. His teeth nipped her bottom lip, and they parted in surprise. He took advantage of the invitation and swept inside like a marauding conqueror. He felt the cool touch of her fingers on the nape of his neck and then the bite of her grip as they tightened on him. As if in answer, his hands were on her hips, rhythmic squeezes pulsing his approval.
He didn’t know what pulled him back from the brink of drowning, where the lifeline came from, but he suddenly remembered where they were and the circumstances of how they had come to be there. His withdrawal was not the gentle, lingering release. Instead, it was a snapping of a rubber band, the ping a rousing rejection. He pulled away from her to a prolonged flutter of flashes and the loud shouts from their audience of the press. In the ruckus of activity around him, he distinctly heard Caleb’s snicker. Then, his brain came back online, and he surveyed the chaos.
Tristan stood next to him, his gaze fixed in the direction where Ele had been seconds before. By the time Rowan looked toward the Ice Princess, there were vapor trails; her security detail had already whisked her away. And when he’d returned his gaze to Juliana, she had been ushered out after Ele, leaving Rowan to deal with the fallout.
He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. Ire and frustration and embarrassment and regret – a lethal cocktail of regret. Why had his body betrayed him like that?
Now with her standing outside his room, he gave a quick shake of his head, and then gathering his wits, he strode forward and opened the door.
“Hello,” she said, her voice soft and gentle.
Her green eyes were framed by thick tawny lashes and outlined in dark makeup. She wore black tights that hugged her lean, long legs. A black T-shirt hung from one shoulder and read Gosh, being a princess is exhausting in glittery silver letters. Black high-top Chucks were on her feet, and a black trucker hat corralled her ponytail. She looked ridiculous and young and utterly enchanting.
His heart double-tapped. And his anger flared. He stiffened and wanted to slam the door in her face and run like the devil was chasing him. But he breathed deep and stepped aside. Then, he glanced around the corridor, looking for her security team. When he saw that it was empty, he experienced a caveman-like rage that he fought to control.
He closed the door and followed her inside. She paused at the sofa and faced him. Her nerves were tangible in the space between them—her fingers interlaced together and hung demurely in front of her, but the thumb was thumping in a staccato pattern. Otherwise, she looked completely composed. He knew better.
He gestured to the couch, inviting her to sit without offering a verbal invitation. She bit her bottom lip and then sank elegantly down. Her back was ramrod straight, and her feet were crossed at the ankles, but her gaze ping-ponged around the room, betraying her calm. He should have been making this easier on her, but she’d made him a cheating asshole and meme, all in one fell swoop, and he wasn’t ready to forgive her. He remained standing, further adding to the awkward atmosphere of the room.
She inhaled softly and finally looked at him. “I wanted to apologize for today. I owe you one.”
Rowan crossed his arms over his chest. He gave nothing away, but to her credit, her eyes never left his. Their gazes locked, and like earlier, he was sucked into her vortex. Everything narrowed, but he fought it this time.
With a quick shrug, he moved back to the door and reached for the handle. “If that’s it, it’s been a shit day, and I’m pretty knackered.”
“Wait!”
He swung his head around as she stood up. She held her hands up in a placating manner.
“I want to explain,” she stated. “I didn’t mean to drag you into our drama, but I needed to …” She paused and looked away from him. He waited, but she stayed stubbornly quiet. “Bullocks,” she muttered so softly that he almost missed it.
“Your sister was here. She told me.”
Juliana’s eyes widened, and when she blinked, he could see surprise. “What did she tell you?”
“About her panic attacks and how you were diverting attention from her.”
Juliana fell back on the couch, the statement seeming to knock her off her feet. “Brilliant!” she said.
And those next couple of seconds fucked with Rowan Beckwith’s carefully ordered life.
A smile spread across Juliana’s face. She looked like someone had plugged her into a socket and lit her up. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed with delight, and when her hands met in a girlish clap, a joyful, full-throated laugh spewed from her mouth. She stood, like her excitement couldn’t be contained in her seated position. “You might not appreciate how incredible this is. I mean, you can’t appreciate it. That she came to your room is big enough. Normally, she has to schedule things at least a month in advance, so she can get herself comfortable with wherever she is going.” She paced in front of him, and he watched her in a fascinated stupor. “And she told you?”
When Rowan continued to stare at her mutely, she walked to him, placed her hand on his crossed arms, and looked up at him. “She told you?” she asked again.
Rowan merely nodded.
“I can’t believe it. I’d hoped. I mean, things have changed so much since she met Tristan, but for her to admit to someone outside of her circle, to someone she hardly knows? Fucking incredible.” Her eyes danced, and she practically vibrated with excitement. Her over-the-top enthusiasm should have highlighted her youth, but instead, it cracked the allure of sophistication and distance so carefully constructed.
He could resist the princess and the supermodel.
But the woman in front of him, whose excitement for her sister flowed out of her like a gushing waterfall, she tested his resolve.
