Prince Albert Read online

  told where to go and what to do. Photo shoots, interviews, appearances, one right after the other. I shot some television commercials, but I don't even know what the products were. Cologne, I think – nothing bike-related. And an ad for one of those little canned coffee drinks. It's all a blur.

  And in the middle of that blur is Delaney. Always Delaney. I'm still hooking up with her, sneaking into her hotel room at night after Chelsea has gone to bed. The sex hasn't changed – it's still as hot as hell. That in and of itself is a fucking miracle. I've never had so much sex with one girl.

  The thing is, it's bugging me.

  I want – shit, I don't know what I want. I want to be around Delaney all the damn time. I can't get enough of her laugh, or the way she blushes when I embarrass her, which is a lot, or how she's so professional when we're out somewhere and she's handling me…and then she's mine, totally mine, in bed. When I'm with her…it's just easy.

  Except that everything has felt off since the flight. Or maybe it's not off for her -- I can't tell. I don't know why the hell I brought up dating, anyway. I wouldn't know the first thing about dating some girl, much less Delaney. Delaney is sure as fuck not any regular girl, even if she weren't kind-of related to me. The whole stepsister thing doesn't bother me like it apparently does her, anyway.

  I answer the knock on the door because I know it's Delaney. Pulling on my Marlow Oil polo shirt, I yank it open. Delaney is wearing black slacks and a polo shirt that matches mine, her hair in a ponytail, messenger bag slung across her chest. Her face is still flushed. "Good morning, Ms. Marlowe," I say.

  It's a great fucking morning, actually. Delaney is coming from her hotel room and her shower, but only because she sneaked back over there this morning after a little morning sex.

  She rolls her eyes. "Good morning, Gaige," she says. But she's smiling.

  Reaching forward, I grab the front of her shirt and pull her into the entryway of my room, out of the hallway, so I can kiss her.

  "Stop," she whispers. "Chelsea will be out here any second."

  "When are you going to stop giving a shit what that bitch thinks?" I ask.

  She slaps me lightly on the chest. "When there's no chance of my father finding out what we've been doing," she says. "Now, are you going to go over answers to questions? Remember the product placement. Do you have your hat?"

  "I'm not talking about the interview with you," I tell her. "I'm bored with this shit. Pick another topic. Like how I want to unbutton your pants right now and put my fingers inside you."

  "You better take this seriously," she says. "You have an interview in two hours."

  "Then you should make sure I'm prepped."

  "Your version of prepped and mine are not the same thing."

  I hear a door slam and Chelsea comes into view. Delaney takes a giant step back from me, and the fact that she steps away pisses me the fuck off. The fact that Delaney gives a crap what Chelsea thinks pisses me off.

  "Has Delaney prepped you on the interview?" Chelsea asks, her voice clipped. She doesn't wait for an answer. "Well, come on. Traffic will be terrible and Delaney, do you think that this time, you could make sure to ask for a cab with air conditioning? The heat and humidity in this hellhole are going to kill me, I swear."

  "I'll do my best," Delaney says as we walk down the hallway. When I open my mouth, about to say something smart-assed to Chelsea, Delaney elbows me and shakes her head no.

  And I, Gaige O'Neal, master of not giving a fuck about anything, refrain from telling Chelsea where she can put her air conditioning just because Delaney gives me a look. I just held myself back from telling someone to fuck off because a girl asked me not to.

  Hell really must be freezing over.

  Or I might really like Delaney.

  Shit.

  I'm not sure if the sinking feeling I get is because of the elevator, or if it's me.

  "Are you listening?" Chelsea asks. We're standing in the lobby and Delaney is talking to the concierge in Japanese. She nods and giggles, her mannerisms different when she's speaking the language.

  "Look," I say. "Delaney might think she has to put up with your condescending attitude and your bullshit, but I really don't have to. And if you talk to her again the way you did a second ago, I'll make sure Beau knows exactly how uncomfortable I am working with you."

  Chelsea steels her gaze at me, but by the time she opens her mouth to say something, Delaney is back.

  "The cab is out front," Delaney says brightly. "Air conditioned. And we're only fifteen minutes from the hotel where the interview is. Are you ready?"

  Chelsea looks back and forth from me to Delaney. "Absolutely," she says. "Thanks so much for negotiating that, Delaney."

  Delaney gives me a questioning look when we get in the cab, and I shrug. Chelsea's politeness should feel like a victory, but I just hope it doesn't blow back on Delaney.

  * * *

  Two days later, the blowback happens.

  "Her phone is off," Delaney says. "It's going to voicemail. It never goes to voicemail."

  I shrug. "We were supposed to meet here at eight, right?"

  "That's what my schedule says." Delaney checks her phone for the hundredth time. "It's the dinner with Akira-san. I don't think anything changed. What do we do?"

  "Do you have his number?"

  "I have his office number," Delaney says, giving me a look. "I don't have his personal one. I left a message. What should we do? It was supposed to be a business dinner and then he was taking us out on the town."

  I slide my hand around Delaney's waist, right there in the hotel lobby, and she smacks it away. "Gaige, don't," she says.

  "There is literally no one here watching us."

  "Only because it's impolite to stare," she whispers. "PDA is not appropriate here. And people will watch but not tell you you're doing something wrong, because that is not polite. But someone will notice. Trust me."

  I exhale heavily. Delaney is standing there, looking insane in this white dress that shimmers under the lights. It's simple and elegant and looks like it was made for her, skimming over every curve and showing off her amazing legs.

  I want to take it off her immediately. But she walks away and talks to the concierge. I see her gesturing, her forehead wrinkled up in the face she makes when she's upset, and then she bows slightly and returns to me.

  "Well, that's weird," she says.

  "What?"

  "The concierge says that Akira picked Chelsea up already. They left."

  "Sweet." I'm not even going to pretend I wanted to have dinner with the businessman who had his eyes on my girl.

  My girl. The thought just popped into my head like it was supposed to be there. I have the sudden impulse to say it out loud, just to make it real. Just to see Delaney's reaction. My girl.

  Fuck that guy. I've had to be in the same room enough with him already.

  "What do you mean, sweet?" she asks. "This is terrible."

  "Fuck that guy," I say, my voice a little too loud, and Delaney looks around, hushing me and taking my elbow. She leads me to the elevator and pushes the up button, hard. Then again, a second later.

  "I think it takes more than a half a second for the elevator to get here," I say.

  Delaney glares at me. Shit, she's pissed. "You can't say that here," she says.

  "I can't talk about the elevator?"

  "You know what I meant," she says. "You can't say fuck anyone here."

  "The fuck I can't," I say. "Fuck him and fuck Chelsea." The elevator door opens and we get inside.

  "Why would she leave without us?" Delaney asks. "You're the most important part of this trip. The dinner and the tour were a big deal."

  God, I can't resist the way she looks when she's upset. She's so damn cute when she's angry that I want to hug her. But more than that, I want to tear her dress off. I put my hands on her arms, and press her up against the side of the elevator.

  "Gaige, what are you doing? Not here," she protests.