Royally Endowed(54)

So I stroke his back and whisper, “It’s okay—it’s okay, Logan. I’m here. Shhh . . . I’ve got you.”

A shudder tears through him. “You weren’t there.” He moans against my neck. “You weren’t there and no one knew . . . I couldn’t find you.”

He pulls back, his face heartbroken and furious at the same time. He holds me by the arms, shaking me a little. “Don’t do that again. Ever!”

“Okay,” I soothe, stroking his face, feeling his rain-soaked cheeks. “I won’t ever do it again. You’ll always be able to find me—I promise.”

“Always,” he insists, dragging me against him, pressing our bodies together.

“Yes. Always.”

I barely get the words out before Logan’s mouth is on mine. Covering me, possessing me. His hands slide into my hair, gripping almost desperately, holding me immobile as he presses his lips hard against mine, moving and tasting, groaning roughly.

It’s not a gentle, joyful kiss—it’s urgent and demanding. Frantic. Whatever happened, it’s shaken him badly, and I know deep down, he needs this—to just feel me. Logan’s lips move to the corner of my mouth, across my cheek and my closed eyes, trailing harsh kisses up to my forehead. He lingers there, his lips shuddering against my skin.

And the rain comes down on us, weighting our clothes, dripping from the ends of our hair, running in rivulets over our hands. Logan presses his forehead against mine but keeps his eyes closed tight.

His words sound lifeless. Vacant. “There was a fire at The Goat. It’s gone.” He flinches then. “I thought you were gone too. I thought I’d lost you.”

My hands are on his neck, his jaw, pulling him closer. And the horror of what he’s saying seeps into my mind and swells in my throat. “Oh no! I’m so sorry, Logan. I came here, for you—I didn’t know. You didn’t lose me. I’m here—I’m right here.”

And I’m crying now, tears streaming down my face with the rain.

Logan opens his beautiful brown eyes and sparkling drops of water cling to his heavy, dark lashes. And his voice is clear and deliberate.

“I think of you.”

My breath catches. “Really?”

He brushes my wet hair back, his forehead still pressed to mine.

“All the time.”

Logan strokes my cheek. “I like you.”

And then I’m crying and smiling at the same time. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He sweeps his thumb across my lower lip and looks into my eyes.

“I feel it too, lovely Ellie.”

“You do?”

He nods against me. “I always have. From the very first.”

My fingers skim the stubble on his jaw, his chin, his neck—I just want to touch him.

And then, so gently, Logan takes my face in his hands and kisses me. It’s a whisper of a touch, at first, a soft stroke of his lips. I reach up and press against him, kissing him back, feeling his soft, full lips, taking as much as giving, savoring every sensation. I sigh when I feel the stroke of his tongue. Slow and exploring but firm against mine. It slides and flicks and my lower stomach clenches in the most desperate, amazing way. Logan covers my upper lip with his, sucking just a bit; then, with a breath that feels regretful, he pulls away.

His hands move down my hair to my shoulders, over my arms, like he can’t stop touching me.

“We have to go to the palace. Your sister . . .”

“Oh God—Liv—she must be a mess.”

I’m the worst sister ever. Someone needs to get me a plaque.

“I have to call her.”

Logan stands us up, keeping hold of my hand, and walks me through the rain to his car in the muddy driveway. “I have my phone—call her on the way.”





THERE ARE TEARS AND HUGS when I get Ellie back to the palace. We go to the yellow drawing room, because the Queen herself would like to see that Ellie is alive and well. Henry and Sarah are there too, as are Prince Nicholas and Olivia. She tackles Ellie the moment we walk in, sobbing, and then Ellie is sobbing too. And apologizing. The way she tells the story, she left The Goat to get some air, wandered off and got lost. Then, hours later, she just happened to pass me on the street as I was walking home from the hospital.

It’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard. It doesn’t even make sense . . . but they’re all just so happy, so relieved that she’s safe, that no one questions it.

I don’t confirm what she says; I remain straight-faced, neutral. I won’t lie to Nicholas—ever. But there are conversations he and I need to have—and I have no intention of having them tonight.