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She’s looking for trouble. Well, here I am.
…That all goes to hell when she barges into my world. Duchess Riley Noles – blonde, blued-eye, and five-foot-four of pure f**king trouble.
She’s wild, out of control and all sorts of challenging – a pretty little hurricane crashing right into me. And when I catch her red-handed screwing with my car, oh, there’s going to be hell to pay.
But then, this tempting little firecracker may have just found exactly the trouble she’s been looking for. And when her soft moans tease through my ears, and her sweet curves press against my hard body, the last of my meticulous control might just be broken.
She’s all sass and vinegar, but as King, I always get what I want. And with her, I’ll have it all – her body, her heart, and her sweet submission, over my knee and saying “yes please”.
You know what they say about pretty little rich girls who look for trouble: they always find it.
And Duchess Riley is about to find it with me.
…every inch of it.
Hear ye, hear ye! A Queen-sized helping of insta-love, kindle-melting steam, and a filthy-talking alpha, all for you. Hang on to your crown, and buckle up – this is going to get ridiculous real fast.
Ludicrously over the top, out of control, and pure dirty fantasy. As with all my books, this one is safe, with no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.
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I swore as my toe banged off the flagstone of the walkway, pain buzzing through my whole leg. I hissed, swearing again and flipping off the uneven stones of garden path. I whirled, storming deeper into the rose garden before my heel twisted on some other bullshit “weathered” stone, twisting my ankle along with it as I swore again.
“Goddamnit I hate this wedding,” I muttered to no one, since I was alone in King Milton’s gardens. I yanked my heels off, wincing as I rubbed my tender toe and sore ankle before I padded barefoot down the path some more.
I mean, it was one of my best friend’s wedding, and I knew I was supposed to be all fucking smiles and selfies and champagne. But yeah, no. Here I was giving the finger to pathway stones as I stole away to get a moment to myself. And really, Callie, the bride-of-the-hour, should’ve hated this wedding too. And she did actually, I mean she was marrying King Milton for God’s sake — this awful troll of a king, all so he would settle her parents’ debts. It was a pretty shit deal if you asked me. But then, I wasn’t one to talk much either. I had my own crap to bitch about.
Which is exactly the reason I was sneaking out through the side garden entrance of King Milton’s castle to sneak another drink and some alone time with my thoughts. I knew I should have been back there with Callie on her sham wedding day, and I would, later. But first, I indeed to decompress.
I glanced around, muttering another string of swears under my breath as I reached under my knee-length bridesmaids dress and snagged the little metal flask tucked into my garter belt.
Hey, this girl comes prepared.
The whiskey burned, but I swallowed it back, feeling the heat ease through me. I needed the burn — the escape from my whole predicament. And from him.
Welcome to the twenty-first century, where women of royalty were still expected to marry people they didn’t want to. In Callie’s case, it was to settle a debt and save her kingdom. That was actually pretty noble, even if it was a raw deal for her. But me? Nope, I just came from old fashioned, hard-ass, snob-nosed family, who’d “decided” it was time for me to get married. At nineteen. How shitty is that?
And even worse, they’d decided that my friend’s sham wedding was the perfect place for me to be formally introduced to my future sham husband. Fitting in a way, and I might have laughed at the irony if didn’t want to swear at it and drink instead.
Which is exactly what I was doing.
Prince Franklin Smothers, the fourth. I mean God, even his name was like a wet blanket. Smothers. I was going to be smothered by Prince Smothers. I really wish I could have laughed about it, but all I could manage was a pathetically forced chuckle. I’d always been a free spirit. Well, that’s what my aunt called me. My parents called me a problem child — a hellion. And they were maybe a tiny bit right. But I just saw it as my duty to rebel against the bullshit they imposed on me, you know? Where they had rules like brick walls, I was going to be a damn wrecking ball. And even if I knew I had to meet Prince Wet-Blanket-McSmothers, I wasn’t going to do it with a smile on my face, that’s for sure.
Not this Duchess, thank you very much. Or at last, if it was a smile, it’d be one painted on there with alcohol. I ambled through the gardens, past roses and exotic plants. Callie might be marrying a troll, but his rose gardens were pretty amazing. So, she’d have that I guess.
I meandered past the bushes, through some stone arches into a side field. This one had been turned into a temporary parking lot for the various limos, town cars, and foreign sports cars of all the royalty here for the wedding. My eyes lingered on one drab grey, boring, old looking town car, and I wondered if that was Prince Franklin’s.
I mean, it wasn’t quite as horrible as Callie. She’d never even dated — meaning Milton was going to be her first and only.
I wasn’t supposed to have dated either, what with my “position” and our family’s “reputation,” but that hadn’t stopped me. I’d even gone all the way with one guy. It’d been pretty lame, and really fast, but at least I’d gotten it out of the way. It’s not like I “didn’t get what the big deal with sex was.” I knew it was supposed to be amazing, it’s just that my one time had sort of sucked. But at least I’d had that on my own terms, and I wouldn’t be losing my v-card to Prince Franklin Smothers.