Risky and Wild(172)

“I have to head out of here in a minute, but I wanted to talk you before I left,” Royal says, tilting his head to the side and examining me carefully. There's so much between us, so much that needs to be said, talked about.

“Who were those guys last night?” I ask, reluctantly reaching out and dragging the ice cream into my lap. A surge of panic goes through me before I realize that it's Sunday. Sunday. No work. Nobody will know I'm missing. I breathe a small sigh of relief.

“Bunch of fucking tossers that have finally lost the plot.”

“Wow. You don't sound at all like you've ever lived in London,” I say with a small smile and Royal grins at me. The expression fades almost as quickly as it came and his mouth tightens, the muscles in his jaw ticking.

“I don't know how to say this,” he begins and my heart stutters frantically. The way he kissed me last night, the look on his face, how scared he sounded on the phone … he's not kicking me out, is he?

“You want me to go?” I ask and he blinks at me like I'm the one that's lost the plot. Royal reaches into his pocket and grabs a smoke, sliding it between his lips and talking around it, his dark hair thick and clean and perfect. Must've showered already. I stare into his dark brown eyes and wait for him to answer me.

“Now you really must be taking the piss with me. Lyric,” he begins as I set the ice cream aside and turn to face him, looking down at his tattooed hands instead of his face. The roses seem more red today, the vines more green, the pistols more … dangerous. “I don't know how to do this shit, and frankly, I don't really care. Look, here's the thing.” He takes a deep breath and glances over at the bedroom door like he's expecting someone to come in at any moment. That's when I hear the deep rumble of a man's voice. Someone responds to him, but I can't hear what they're saying. So there really are people out there.

Royal turns back to face me.

“You've gotten wrapped up in this shit, even though you shouldn't be.” I open my mouth to protest, but he just keeps talking. “You calling in Brent … ” Royal grits his teeth. “Don't ever mention that to anyone ever again. You hear me?” I raise my eyebrows but he just stares me down.

“I hear you,” I say, knowing that if he's telling me this, it's probably for a good reason. Look what happened to Sully.

“But what happened with Landon, and all of this,” Royal sucks in a breath, “none of that is your fault. And I … ” He grits his teeth again and then throws his cigarette on the bedside table. “I'm a dumb shit, and I know that this thing between us, it's a fucking nightmare waiting to happen.” Royal leans in and cups the side of my face with his hand. “But it's too late now. I'm fucking invested.”

“Invested?” I whisper, my heart pounding hard against my chest. I should care more about what happened last night, demand answers about who and what and why. But I can't. And I don't. This, right here, I need to know about this. “What do you mean?”

“Pint-Size, you ever consider a different life? Something that's … it's not exactly a walk in the park. You figured that out last night.”

“A different life?” I ask and Royal rolls his eyes, leaning in and putting his forehead against mine.

“I'm asking you to be my woman, Lyric. Even if this all falls to pieces and goes to hell in a handbasket at some point, right now the only thing I want to hear from you is yes. The details, we can work out later.”

“My dad,” I begin, but then Royal puts his mouth against mine, kisses me the way he did last night against the side of his truck. Mine. I open up to him, put my arms around his neck. Yours.

This isn't going to end well, is it? I wonder in the back of my mind. But my heart doesn't care. Not one bit. Right now, this man … he feels wicked and brutal and tender and perfect and … his tongue is tracing my bottom lip and bringing goose bumps up on my arms. How can I say no to that?

“You know why they call me Royal, right?” he asks me as he pulls back and leaves me panting. That dirty grin of his splits his face as I close my eyes and take in the smell of leather and earth, Royal's smell.

“Why's that?” I ask, opening my eyes and meeting his hungry gaze with one of my own. “Is it because it's your name?”

“Cheeky twat,” he says, slapping me on the knee and standing up, a vision in leather and denim. “It's because I'm king, love. And I need a queen. Just tell me okay, so I can get the fuck out of here and come home to find you waiting in my bed for me.”

I should tell him that I have work in the morning, that I still want to be a senator, that we met a week ago, that … I'm stupid and young and in love. But I won't say it. Yet. I don't think he will either. Later, maybe, when we're both ready. Yes, definitely later.