“Sometimes I feel like this is some part of a plan that Brooke and Dinah have. Like they divvied us up and decided they’d ruin the Royals, one at a time. Steve included.” Reed shakes his head. “It sounds crazy when I say it out loud.”

“You really think Brooke and Dinah planned this?”

“They’re friends. I think Dad was screwing Brooke before Mom died, but I don’t know anything about them. Steve showed up with Dinah one day and she had a ring on her finger. Marrying her didn’t slow him down, though.”

“What else do we know about Dinah? And where do you think she’s keeping the evidence she has against Gid? Do you think she’s shown it to anyone?”

“I doubt it, otherwise Gid would’ve been arrested ages ago.”

“If we can get our hands on those pictures, Dinah has nothing. No leverage at all.” I think it over. “How do we find it? Would she be dumb enough to keep it at the penthouse? Smart enough to make copies?”

“I don’t know. But you might be right. If we can find all the stuff she has on him and get rid of it, we could put this thing behind us.”

“But what about Brooke?”

“Brooke,” he repeats with disgust. “We need a paternity test. I don’t understand why Dad won’t get one.”

“I don’t either.” I chew on the end of my thumb until Reed pulls it out of my mouth.

“You’re going to gnaw your finger off if you think about it anymore. Can we stop talking about Brooke and Dinah? At least for a bit.”

“Why?”

His gaze heats up. “Because there’re better ways to spend our time right now.”

“Like what—”

Before I can finish, he rolls me over and presses his lips against my neck. “Like that,” he whispers.

I gasp. “Oh…okay.”

His clever fingers find a bare patch of skin above my waistband, and while a stronger girl might’ve been able to repress a shiver, I’ve never been able to resist Reed before. Seems pointless to try now. Especially when I enjoy his touch so much.

He burrows his nose against my neck and continues his slow sweep across my waist as if he’s happy to do nothing more than this. And for a while that’s all I need, too. I let the silence sink in around us and enjoy the simple touch. In the peace comes the realization this is the first time in forever that I’ve had a quiet moment with another person.

“Do you really forgive me?” he asks.

I stroke a hand over his glossy, dark hair. When I look at Reed and his muscular frame and his hard face, sometimes I forget that he’s got a heart that’s as fragile as mine. But guys aren’t supposed to be emotional so they hide their feelings behind seriousness, crudeness, or dickish behavior. “I really forgive you.”

“Even though I’m an asshole?”

“Are you done being an asshole to me?” I tug on his hair a little harder than necessary.

He dips his head as if to say, I deserved that. “I was done with that a long time ago. Right after our first kiss. I haven’t even looked at a single other girl since I met you, Ella.”

“Good. And if you treat me like the goddess I am and don’t cheat on me, then yes, I’m cool with this.”

“I can be a handful.”

Meaning he loves too deeply and he’s afraid I’m going to bug out on him again—like I did before, like his mom did permanently. “Yeah…but you’re my handful,” I whisper.

His laughter is muffled as his mouth moves along my collarbone, dotting my chest with soft kisses. The soft lace of my bra suddenly feels scratchy and rough. I shift restlessly. He moves lower, his chest pushing into the softness of my abdomen, resting against the ache between my legs.

My fingers clutch against his hair, not sure if I want to pull him up to my mouth or push him lower. But Reed has his own plans. He lifts the hem of my shirt, dragging the fabric up much too slowly. Impatient, I grab the bottom and whip it over my head.

He grins. “Have I mentioned how much I like your night gear?”

“It’s comfortable,” I say defensively.

“Mmmhmmm,” he murmurs, but the smug smile stays on his face as he reaches behind his back and tugs his own shirt off.

I forget what smart-ass remark I was going to say and stroke a hand over his chest.

He closes his eyes and shudders. His hands hang at his sides, clenching and unclenching. Waiting for me? I like this—that he’s on my leash until I tell him to go.

“Touch me,” I murmur.

His eyes snap open and the heat in them makes me gasp. He pushes me backward and attacks my yoga pants as if they’ve personally offended him. I lift my hips and push the spandex down my legs because I don’t want anything between us either. I want all of him pressed against me.

His fingers reach behind and release the clasp of my bra. Then his mouth covers me, and my whole body starts to tremble. When he kisses my nipple, I make a choked, desperate sound and dig my fingers into his shoulders.

I was wrong. His touch doesn’t soothe. It makes me wilder, hotter, more out of control than I’ve ever been. And the lower he moves, the hotter I get.

“Reed,” I moan, my head thrown back.

“Shhh,” he says. “Let me.”

Let him what? Move down until his shoulders are pushing me more open than I’d ever thought would be okay? Until his mouth is right there and his tongue is doing the most amazing things to that one throbbing spot? Let him touch me in ways I once thought would be awkward and uncomfortable?

He groans out his own delight as I let him work me into a mindless mess. My back arches and my toes curl and I grip the sheets as a rush of pure bliss rushes through me.

Eventually he rises, leaving me shaking and gasping. He lies down on his side next to me, and I don’t miss the tent situation in his boxers.

Reed grins when he catches me staring. “Just ignore it. It’ll go away soon.”

I slide closer. “Why would we want to ignore it?”

He tenses when I put my hand over him. “I wanted tonight to be about you,” he protests, but his eyes are fiery as my fingers slide inside his boxers.

“Well, I want it to be about us,” I whisper.

He feels so good in my hand, and I can tell by his heavy eyelids and ragged breathing that he’s enjoying every second of this.