Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5) by Rina Kent

I’m about to close it when I inhale his spicy scent. It does things to me now. I’m starting to notice it on other people when I’m in the supermarket or at school, and that’s not all. I even stop and think — no, it’s not quite Ronan, not quite as sexy or rough or warm.

That’s the problem with him. He can be rough, can give me what I want, but he can also be warm, like how he hugged me to his side after that nightmare.

I let my fingers run through his tidied shirts and T-shirts. They’re organised by colour, which has Lars’ fingerprints all over it. I’m tempted to ruin them just to get on his nerves.

I’m still contemplating that idea when I see some pink lace sticking out of a drawer. I pull it out, and my jaw nearly hits the floor.

It’s a bunny outfit. Scratch that, it’s one of those stripper bunny costumes with ears and the string-like underwear.

Elsa and Kim always mention Ronan’s bunny hooker fantasy. Hell, he brings it up every chance he gets, but I thought it was just that, a fantasy.

I never thought he took it to the next level by keeping the costume in his wardrobe.

A noise comes from the door and I shove the outfit back where I found it then exit before he can find me.

“Hey,” I say lamely and then wince.

He’s in black jeans and a white T-shirt, his muscles rippling at the biceps. He’s smiling, but the tension I sensed from when he was talking to Eduard still rolls off him in waves.

“Lars mentioned you were here. He forgot the part where you were going through my wardrobe like a stage-one stalker.”

“Shut up.” I pretend to be offended. “Did Lars mention anything else?”

“Aside from the fact that you can get your tea yourself because he’s PMSing and not serving you today, no.” He pauses. “Nice shirt.”

I blush.

I fucking blush.

And the problem is, I also blushed when I ordered this shirt over the weekend and when I snatched the package from Knox’s fingers and when I put it on this morning.

I don’t blush. Ever.

Just like I don’t feel like hugging people, and yet I’ve been doing both of those things lately.

“It’s not about you,” I try to deflect.

“Belle, it says ‘Talk French to Me’. If it’s not about me, I don’t know what is.” He approaches me, still smiling, but this time, it’s not forced or camouflaging pain.

I wonder how he does it, how he hides so much and can be this happy to see me.

“You haven’t answered my texts, trésor.”

“That’s because you didn’t send them.”

“Of course I did.” He brings out his phone then his brows furrow. “Ah, fuck. I sent them to the group chat. Those bastards won’t let me live this down.”

I chuckle; I can’t help imagining their replies to Ronan’s consecutive messages. Deep down, I allow myself a moment of relief. He didn’t actually ignore me over the weekend.

“What are you laughing at? You like my misery?”

“No.” I snort out laughter.

“Okay, I’ve been called a pussy in five hundred ways.” He shoves his phone back in his pocket. “This is all your fault, ma belle. How are you going to make it up to me?”

“Why would I?” I fold my arms, no longer laughing. “I’m the one who’s mad at you, remember?”

“I’m not apologising for that. Cole needed to know you belong to me so he’ll keep his claws to himself. Not sorry.”

“It’s not that.” My voice is so small, pathetic.

His brows furrow. “Then why the fuck did you walk out on me?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Teal,” he warns, gripping my arm in a tight hold. “Don’t make me use force.”

“Aren’t you already?”

“This is only a preview. My actual force includes not giving you an orgasm.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“Tell. Me,” he insists. “Or Lars won’t give you any more dark chocolate. I’m the one who sends them over, you know.”

“You…are?”

“Of course. How would Lars know, genius?” He inches closer. “Now, tell me why you left.”

“It’s stupid, okay?”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“I…” I trail off, staring at an invisible point at my side. “I didn’t want to have sex in that position. I wanted to look at you, and you didn’t listen.”

Silence stakes a claim in the room, and I chance a peek at him. Ronan watches with an intense focus that almost makes me squirm.

“Ronan…?”

“You wanted to look at me,” he repeats, as if not believing the words.

It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.

He pulls me to him by the arm he’s holding and wraps me up in a tight embrace. The same embrace I wanted to give him after I listened to his conversation with his bastard uncle.

“You’re fucking me up, Teal,” he whispers against my head, his hot breaths tickling my hair.

“Not as much as you are me.” There’s so much vulnerability in my voice, so much surrender, and for some reason, I don’t hate it.

“I’m glad you’re here, my crazy but beautiful belle.”