I register the guy with her for the first time, noting his hungry body language as he leans toward her. My entire body clenches.
“Who’s the loser?” I bark.
“He may or may not be her fiancé,” my brother tells me.
The fuck he is.
Something raw and primitive gives me a vicious shove between the shoulders, propelling me a step or two toward her with no conscious thought. So much for being proud and aloof. But Ryker clamps a hand on my arm, stopping me.
“What?” I snarl, pulling free. I don’t have time for this. What if she slips away again while I’m dealing with this idiot?
“Didn’t I just tell you not to lose your shit?” he asks, incredulous.
“Get out of my way or you’re going to be scraping this floor clean with your teeth.”
Ryker snorts out a laugh that does nothing to improve my mood. “Don’t you want to know who she is before you go off half-cocked?”
I keep one eye on her, but she doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. And my rabid curiosity gets the best of me, because I still don’t even know her last name.
“Who?”
“Her grandmother’s the Queen.”
“Of?” I say blankly.
“England, you stupid fuck. Her father is Prince Edmund. Duke of Montgomery. She introduced herself as Carly, but her full name is Charlotte Montgomery. Princess Charlotte.”
My brain reels while he types something on his phone and presses it into my hand.
“Here you go,” he tells me. “Take a minute to educate yourself.”
I grab the phone, grateful that at least one of us can think clearly.
“You keep eyes on her for me,” I say. “It’s your ass if she walks off before I can talk to her.”
“Aye, cap.”
I quickly read and scroll with growing astonishment, my adrenaline buzz making my hands unsteady. I catch pictures of her throughout her life, from chubby-cheeked cherub until now. Images of her with her father and with—oh, shit—the Queen on the balcony of Buckingham Palace during some big event. Recent snippets about her long-term romance with old Percy over there and speculation about a pending engagement. I also see a recent headline or two about her father’s questionable personal financial situation, which may or may not be dire.
I file all of it away for later. When I have time to do more thorough research.
For now? I have everything I need to know.
“Thanks,” I say, passing the phone back to my brother.
“We good? I don’t want any incidents with you and security tonight.”
“We’re good,” I say, already on my way. I slice my way through the crowd with surgical precision, scrupulously avoiding eye contact with anyone who may want to talk to me.
Now is not the time.
I get there fast. Suddenly there she is, standing right in front of me. Within touching distance, right where I want her. I can’t decide whether I want to wring her elegant neck for putting me through this turmoil or bear-hug her into oblivion.
“Excuse me,” I say, stepping into her line of sight and interrupting Percy mid-sentence. “Haven’t we met before?”
Her breath hitches as soon as I begin to speak, her gaze immediately connecting with mine. I experience a millisecond’s worth of an unguarded reaction from Princess Carly. Her eyes widen. Her cheeks flood with color. A hint of a smile curls her lips before she thinks to stop herself for Percy’s benefit. What do these clues add up to? Unmitigated delight. All of it happens in less than the time it takes for a hummingbird to flap its wings. But it’s plenty of time for me to learn everything I need to know. More than enough time for me to both want her a bit more and hate her a bit more.
If she’s this eager to see me again, why the fuck didn’t she stick around and give me half a chance three weeks ago?
Why did she put me through this?
She opens her mouth. Flounders in the face of old Percy’s avid interest.
The pause gives me the chance to savor her anew. She’s got vivid red lips tonight. That slicked-back ponytail. Those things are different. The chemistry crackling between us is the same.
I snap my fingers. “Kelly, isn’t it?”
Her expression sours. “Carly, actually.”
There it is. That crisp and chilly accent that makes me want to warm her up again.
“That’s right. Carly. We met at Bemelmans about three weeks ago. I was there with my brothers. You were waiting for your friend to arrive. I never forget a face. But I never caught your last name.”
“Montgomery,” she says, doing her best to keep her face neutral but unable to hide the sudden flintiness in her eyes. “And your name is Ruprecht, isn’t it?”
I laugh. I don’t think I’ll be able to get one over on her, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.
“Close but not quite. It’s Damon.” I turn to old Percy and extend my hand. “Damon Black. And you are…?”
“Percy Wilson. Pleasure.”
I survey my competition, prepared to hate him on sight before quickly deciding that this blue blood is no competition at all. It’s right there in his blandly handsome features, double-breasted suit and soft hands. There’s no fire here. This guy isn’t hungry. He’s never sweated over something he wanted or performed a hard day’s work like my brothers and I have. He has no true ambitions, probably the result of being to the manor born with a silver pole up his ass. I was also born with a silver spoon, true, but I’m at least ninety percent true ambition. I want to put the Black family empire firmly in the billion-dollar category. By the end of the year. And I will. Mark my words. I achieve my goals or die trying. A man like this, on the other hand, could never handle a woman with Carly’s spirit—in bed or out.
She may not know that yet. But I do.
I almost feel sorry for the man, who clearly suspects that I want her and that he may well be staring at his replacement in her bed. We’re both way out of our league when it comes to a woman like Carly. But I have a chance at reaching the inner her. He never will.
Satisfied by my assessment, I release his hand and snap my fingers again.
“Hold on,” I say, turning back to Carly. “You’re Princess Charlotte, aren’t you? I saw something about you online recently. Matter of fact, I read something about an engagement. Should I be offering my best wishes?”
They both stiffen, but Carly leaps in to stop the awkward silence before it really takes off.
“You can’t believe everything you read online,” she says. “I’m surprised you don’t know that, Mr. Black.”
A worthless non-answer.
“Call me Damon. More than one online rumor has ultimately been confirmed,” I say brightly.
“We’re not engaged. Not that it’s any of your business,” she says in arctic tones. “Mr. Black.”
“If I have my way, you’ll be offering your best wishes very soon, yes,” Percy says with a pointed look in her direction that makes her frown.
“Ah. Sounds like you’re more engaged than you thought you were, princess,” I say. “Or should I call you ma’am? Or would you prefer your majesty?”
“Feel free to call me Ms. Montgomery, Mr. Black.” By this point, it sounds as though she’s clipping her syllables with a chainsaw. “Only my grandmother is her majesty.”