ROCK HARD (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE) (36 page)

Dalton lit up. “Such as…?”

“The original patriarch of the Carlyle Fortune, your ancestor Reginald, had a second will drafted… one that was able to counteract the first,” she answered. “One that was
also
signed by the Crown, with a later date to prove successive displacement of the original terms. There’s a slight amendment to the way the inheritance works.”

The entire room hung on every word.

“As it were, Reginald Carlyle sympathized with his older brother Abner more than history recalled. It turns out that, not only did the disgraced Windsor-Carlyle truly love the Crown Princess, but Reginald foresaw this possibility happening in the bloodline again. It turns out that the man believed very firmly in destiny. ”

Dalton and I shared a meaningful look.

“Once five hundred years had passed, the terms of the
second
will were to be followed… they stipulated that, in the event of the money defaulting to the Crown over a matter of
love
, no matter how disgraceful, all money and resources would default to the otherwise rightful inheritor, and the terms and conditions of the Carlyle Fortune would henceforth be disbanded.”

Raleigh’s lips quivered. “You don’t mean…”

“That’s correct,” Riana Carlyle smiled. “As it turns out, the 500
^th
anniversary was approximately two decades ago. The moment you disavowed Dalton Carlyle his inheritance, and he proved in front of us all that he would gladly turn down the money and power to be with this young woman… our grandson won.”

Everyone was silent.

“Dalton, I must appeal to you now,” Riana spoke, stepping forward and taking his free hand in both of hers. “The Carlyle Fortune is no more, and the money is yours. The family attorneys will see to the succession with you. I ask, my darling grandson, that you allow us a stipend to continue living on, and that you give us time to move out of your rightful manor.”

“Grandchildren typically spend some time in their grandparents’ homes,” Dalton answered. “A weekend here, a week there, to get to know those before them. There’s a certain familial bond to the practice. However… I’ve never slept in Carlyle Manor. That mansion is just another oversized, overblown dot on the English countryside to me. I have no personal attachment to it, or ambitions for it.

“Feel free to keep the manor. I’ll let you have whatever money you need, so long as it defaults back to me in the end.”

Riana bowed her head graciously. “Thank you, Dalton. I deeply appreciate that.”

Her husband looked positively defeated. He sank back down into his chair, staring off into space miserably.

It was William who spoke next. Loud enough for everyone to hear, he turned to my mother and mentioned offhandedly: “You know, Sarah, he wouldn’t be a bad son-in-law to have…”

“And why is that?” Mom snapped.

“Well, besides convincing all of us that he loves your daughter with every fiber of his being, and that he’ll protect her until his dying breath… Dalton just became a multi-millionaire.”

I
glance
over my shoulder at Clara as she’s ordering us some lunch on my card. With a small, affectionate smirk, I turn back in front, kicking back at the café table. The crisp air hits me while my eyes gaze around at our surroundings, and I feel refreshed by its touch.

Long-since indoctrinated military instincts kick in as I continue to lazily survey the immediate surroundings, scanning for threats while out of the States.
All clear
, I think to myself.

My thoughts mellow out, and I appreciate the architecture of the surrounding buildings from this street-level vantage point. My Marine friends were right – Paris is
beautiful
this time of year.

Six months has passed since that fateful meeting with our entire family. In the intervening time, we’ve finished up our semester at college before pulling out for the following term in advance. We still intend on finishing our degrees, but we thought we’d take a quick detour first.

You see, Clara and I decided to travel the world together after all.

I love how well Clara has adapted to this life. Once she let go of her comfort zone and hopped into this adventure with me, if you’d believe it, she became even more beautiful to me.

The best part is that I don’t have to do this alone. In my deepest dreams, I’d never thought I’d have someone by my side through this journey, someone reliable whom I loved with all my heart. I’m willing to put an expiration date on this voyage to come back to the States and see her through the rest of her education… and I guess the rest of mine, too.

I haven’t quite decided what I’m focusing on, but that’s sort of not an issue for me.

Despite his wishes to the contrary, I separated out and dispersed a large portion of the Carlyle Fortune for Father and Sarah. After all, it should have been his from the start. It took a while for them both to come around – Father was comfortable without it, and Sarah was still acclimating to my relationship with her daughter. However, we had put things behind us, and we definitely were on the road to a healthy in-law relationship.

Naturally, I left my grandparents a large chunk of the money to continue living on, and they are free to keep Carlyle Manor as well. I have no intentions of maintaining that dusty old mansion when they die, but I’ve been giving some thought to converting it into an international home for shell-shocked war veterans. I haven’t quite worked out the logistics, although the lawyers I’ve consulted have told me that it’s probably rather doable.

With all of that said, you’ll have to forgive me. There’s something
far
more important than money on my mind right now.

The great Bill Murray once told a twenty-something at his bachelor party that the best way to prove you found the right woman is to walk the world with her for months, roughing it and relying on each other at your darkest or most miserable. When you arrive back at the final airport, if you still love her, marry her on the spot.

With only a couple of months under our belts, I had all the convincing I needed. That’s why my fingers are sliding around this ring box in my pocket right now – because tonight, we’re going to be watching fireworks from atop a German castle.

I’m proposing to her, right there and then.

Natalie had even commended me via text message on my choice of ring… and was eagerly waiting to hear the news. As much as she’d done to be in my corner of the ring when it came to Clara… I just couldn’t exclude her from that part.

The future that we have ahead is bright and full of wonder. I’m already wondering where we’ll go when our schooling is over.

No matter what happens, or what lies ahead for us… we know that we have the support of our family, the warmth of each other’s love, and the strength to circumvent any obstacle.

Clara and I will face that future down.

Together.

D
id you love Arrogant Brit
? I’m not done with you yet dear reader! Turn the page for ANOTHER sexy British Bad Boy, because I’ve included a free copy of ROYAL PRICK for all my loyal Nikki Wild fans! If you haven’t had a chance to read it yet, I hope you enjoy!!!

-Nikki

“
T
ristan
… oh, my God. If we’re caught…”

Gwendolyn Pierce was staring up at me with her wide, soulful eyes and her pretty pink lips all agape, her heart beating so hard if I listened closely, I swore I could hear it. I was close enough to feel it, too, pounding through the thin fabric of her camisole, making her pert nipples quiver against my chest.

I’d caught her in her nightclothes, a modest ensemble of flannel pajama pants and a lacy top with no bra underneath. The latter clung to her small frame, the full, tender globes of her breasts outlined in delicious shadow.

I slid my fingers up along her ribs, returning her gaze, the bare skin of my chest grazing her trembling arms. “Nobody needs to know, Gwennie. It’s just you and me.”

Gwen took in a sharp breath, and for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered, but trailed off when I began inching her cami up her stomach, revealing more of her pale skin than was appropriate, given who we were to one another.

Gwendolyn was my stepsister. And I was her stepbrother, and heir to a duchy. We were both hot and barely past eighteen and pumped
full
of hormones. We were dangerous. A scandal waiting to happen.

And I wanted it to happen. I was sure Gwennie did, too. No matter how hard she’d dug her heels in about adapting to British culture—something her mother had insisted upon, accent and all—my stepsister couldn’t shake that rebellious nature of hers. She wasn’t meant for the aristocracy. Then again, neither was I.

“We can’t,” she breathed. God, I could taste her on my lips. She tasted like desire, betraying her words, which came out almost like a squeak. It made my cock hard to no end. She was such a little mouse, but I got the feeling she would turn into a wildcat in bed, once somebody popped that sweet cherry of hers.

Somebody who would, hopefully, be me.

“We can,” I insisted. “See?” And I ever-so-lightly brushed the pad of my thumb over one of her nipples.

“God!” she hissed a little too loudly, and I leaned down to cover her mouth with my own, to stifle the seductive sounds dripping from her mouth. Gwendolyn turned her face away at the last second, panting hard as I teased the nub of puffy, sensitive flesh beneath the fabric of her shirt.

“Let me do this for you,” I whispered in her ear. Her back arched, forcing her hips against my hard-on. “I want you so badly, Gwennie. And I know you want me.” I took one of her hands and placed it on my cock; in response, it lurched toward her, desperate for more contact, so full of want and need that it physically hurt. “Do you feel what you do to me?”

“Tristan,” Gwendolyn said, her doe-like eyes somehow growing even wider. “You’re…
pierced?
Down there?” She touched the surgical steel embedded in the head of my cock.

“Do you want to see it?” I asked her, shivering as she stroked it. Oh, God, I wanted her to keep going, and to never stop.

“I…” She looked up at me through her lashes, her gaze so curious, so full of wonder. “Um…”

“Come on, Gwennie. Live a little.”

“I can’t,” she said, pushing me away by my chest. My dick slipped from her hand and I groaned. “Not like this, Tristan. Not… here. When you’re only doing it to make your father…
our
father… mad.”

I leaned against the pantry shelves and rubbed my face, trying to scrub away the frustration boiling in my nuts. When I looked at Gwen again, there was such sadness on her face. I thought that, even in the darkness, I could see the glint of tears in her eyes.

I realized then that, for her, this was so much more than youthful desires. I realized that she might even have feelings for me—genuine feelings, ones that transcended a mere compulsion to be naughty. For me, this was just a passing interest, one of many I’d had since I realized girls didn’t actually have cooties—well, most of them, anyway.

I wanted to fuck Gwen and get her out of my system. She wanted to fuck me, too, but then she wanted to live happily ever after. I was
not
the man to do that with. She needed to lower her expectations.

And why not? Everyone else had.

“I see,” I sighed, shaking my head. “Bloody hell, Gwennie. I thought you were an adult now. That you’d grown up a bit. But you’re still clinging to that Mickey Mouse, lovey-dovey horseshit, aren’t you?”

Gwendolyn blushed. “I just want it to… mean something. Is that so wrong?”

I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t a Disney movie, Gwennie. You’re not a princess, Gwennie, regardless of who your mother married. And I’m not your Prince Charming, your knight in shining armor, or whatever the hell else you expect me to be. But I
am
hot, and I
am
good in bed, and I
am
willing to teach you a few things you can use to snag a husband later on in life. It’s a good deal, love. You should take it.”

I waited, my cock thrumming to the beat of my heart as Gwendolyn stared at me. Only this time, there wasn’t a war waging behind those pretty eyes. She wasn’t struggling between propriety and desire. This time, she was hurt. Pissed. Shocked that I’d ever speak to her that way.

Good. Somebody had to bring her head down out of the clouds.

“You’re an asshole, Tristan,” she whispered. “A real prick.”

“
Royal
prick,” I corrected her. Then I shrugged. “Anyway, the offer stands. You know where to find me.”

I opened the pantry door and stepped out, leaving Gwen huffing and puffing behind me. This was exactly why I didn’t go for the innocent types. They always wanted something they couldn’t have, something I couldn’t give. They watched too much TV and read too many books. Real life wasn’t
The Princess Diaries.
Real life was more like
The Bachelor,
where you ended up with someone based on prior arrangements and how good they were in the sack—after you’d test-driven all your options, of course.

This was the reality check Gwendolyn needed, and I was confident she’d come after me. After all, I was leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow, a newly enlisted member of Her Majesty’s Royal Army. She wouldn’t let me go off to war without something to remember her by—she was, as I’d said before, a
romantic.

I chuckled and shook my head.
Virgins…