Royally Endowed(70)

I nod sharply. “Yeah, so you said. You let me know when you’ve done that.”

I pull on the door again, but it doesn’t budge. Because he’s so fucking strong and it pisses me off too.

“Ellie, I’m—”

“Let me out! I should be able to go if I want.” My voice rises. “You don’t get to keep me here just because you can!”

When I try the door again, his hand is gone. It opens and I’m flying across the porch, down the steps.

“Wait.” Logan’s hand grips my arm, not hard, but insistent.

And then James’s steely voice comes from where he’s standing by the car.

“Let her go.”

Logan’s head snaps up, and his eyes ice over.

“What’d you say?”

James moves nearer to us. “I said, let her go, Logan. Now.”

Logan doesn’t. And I suddenly feel like a gazelle wedged between two very pissed-off lions, just itching to rip each other’s throats out.

“Are you fucking serious, mate? You honestly think I’d hurt her?”

James’s tone is calm, but forceful—leaving no room for argument. “I think you’ve been hittin’ the bottle and you’re upset. And you’re grabbing her arm. If you were anyone else you’d be on the ground right now with my foot on your throat. I know you, Lo, I know you’d never want to hurt her. But I’m tellin’ you now, you need to back off, cool down and let her fucking go.”

Logan stares at his friend—his brother in arms—for a few long moments. Then he shakes his head and without another word or glance my way, he drops my arm, turns around and walks back into his house—slamming the door behind him.





THERE’S A POUNDING, POUNDING, FUCKING pounding in my head. It knocks around, echoing inside my skull like a bullet. There’s warm sunlight on my face, and when I finally creak my eyelids open, it feels like a laser beam shooting through my eyeballs, frying my brain.

I’m on the floor. And the morning sunlight has found me from the window above the sink. I should’ve hung Ellie’s bloody kitchen curtains.

After she left last night I drank myself stupid . . . stupider . . . in the kitchen. Apparently, I slept here too. I rub my hand over my aching face, remembering my argument with Ellie, almost coming to blows with James, how she left because of what I did—didn’t do.

Christ, how’d I turn into such a cunt so quick? It’s like magic.

The pounding sound comes again . . . more of a knocking now . . . and I realize it’s not coming from inside my head—it’s coming from the front door.

Who the fuck would come see me? Now, at—I check my phone—six in the morning? With my tongue feeling like sandpaper, I pull myself up and take the long, painful walk to the front door.

Why’d I buy a house that’s so bloody big? That’s right—’cause I’m a dickhead. Definitely.

I open the door and wonder if I’m dreaming. Or still drunk.

Because there’s a prince on my porch.

“Morning, Logan,” Nicholas says.

I consider bowing like I know I should—but no, not happening. I’ll fall the fuck over or puke on him.

“Morning, Your Highness.” I glance behind him and spot James standing beside the car. He waves jovially. I lift my chin in return, grateful that there are no hard feelings about my being an arse last night.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I brought tea.” He hands me one of the two lidded paper cups “James thought you could use a strong cup.”

James was right.

“Thank you.” I finger the edge of the lid. “If you’ve come to talk about Ellie—”

“Actually, I didn’t. But . . . I would avoid Olivia if I were you. She brought her bat from New York and the growing belly hasn’t affected her swing.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

The Prince looks up at the porch roof, then glances around my shoulder into the house.

“I wanted to see how the house was coming along.”

“The house?”

He nods. “Yes. Ellie mentioned you’re doing all the interior work yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought I could come by and lend a hand.”

No—too early. My brain does not compute.

“Lend a hand?”

Nicholas seems insulted. “I’ve built homes before, Logan. On three continents. I’m not totally helpless.”

I shake my head. “No, I know . . . I just—”

“And putting up walls is a two-man job. Unless one of the other boys is coming by . . .”

“No.” I shake my head, trying to clear the fog. “No . . . Tommy’s mum still won’t let him out of his room. Everyone else is working. So, I’m doing it myself.”