Royal Brit Bastard: a badboy stepbrother romance by Alice May Ball Page B
Authors: Alice May Ball
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to join us, and the business of our meeting was as straightforward as Marston had predicted. Still, he and I concocted an excuse for one more meeting before I returned to the States. Just for the look of the thing. Well, maybe not only that. We’d see.
As he showed me out, Mr Quinn was positively courtly. He told me, “I’m sure you know that we are ethically prohibited from having personal relationships with clients, Mrs Chatterton. For that reason alone, I heartily wish that your legal business were elsewhere.”
“But if it were, Marston,” I said, “then we wouldn’t have met, would we.”
His perfect teeth gleamed as he said, “Teasy, isn’t it.” And he made a courteous little bow, exactly as the elevator ding’ ed its arrival. He had given me something to think about.
I spent the rest of the day shopping, and I finished up with afternoon tea and scones in a pretty little cafe on Piccadilly. In the evening, I was back at my hotel and relaxing at the bar.
Next to me sat a fine young specimen of an English gentleman. Strong and well-built, with deep sapphire blue eyes and impeccable manners. He wore a red tunic with gold buttons, just like the soldiers outside Buckingham and St James’ palaces.
I asked him, “Excuse me, but are you one of the palace guards?”
His eyes tilted up at me. He said, “I have that honor, Miss,” and his look set something inside me rolling like a bowling ball. “Lance Corporal Adrian Balcombe-Smythe, at your service,” and he made a little bow.
I love how they do that here. Then when I introduced myself, and corrected him about the ‘Miss,’ he lifted my fingers to his lips. I was thinking about canceling my flight home.
I told myself, These gorgeous men are thrillingly polite and courtly. Enjoy, but it’s no more than that. Marston Quinn had been paying me compliments, but that was probably all. Brits are just brought up polite. I was sure that his was only the young guardsman’s way of being civil. No doubt he was was humoring me. They aren’t going to be interested in a mature, experienced woman, they’re just like any men. All they want is tight, fuzzy young flesh. Like their own.
I asked him, “That uniform is bound to get you draped in girls. Are you in here hiding from the crowds?”
His eyes flickered down to his drink, “I do get the odd one or two, but I’m never sure what to say to them.”
“You’re probably nervous because you know what you want to say, but maybe you don’t know quite how to say it. Could it be something like that?”
“I know what you mean, Mrs Chatterton, but I really don’t know what I want to say.” The turmoil in his sad young eyes said that he meant what he was telling me. I rested my hand gently on his to reassure him.
As our skin made contact, a bolt like lightning shot through me. I saw Adrian’s eyes flash and I knew that he felt it, too.
He took a moment to form his thoughts into words, “You see, Mrs Chatterton, that was a real thrill. The young girls, you know they don’t make me feel like that, they just make me feel awkward and silly.”
My hand was still on his and I felt the pulse rise in my body. “You don’t seem awkward to me now, Adrian,” I looked into his eyes and the current in my body plunged through the bottom of my stomach.
His voice was low and husky, “Maybe that’s because I know that you wouldn’t be interested in a young man like me, Mrs Chatterton.” The heat in my panties was rising so much, I had to let my thighs part a little.
My breath caught in my throat and my own voice dropped an octave as I said, “Whatever makes you think that, Adrian?” As we looked into each other’s eyes, another young man in a red tunic appeared at Adrian’s side.
With a strong voice like warm, dark syrup, the soldier said, “Not wasting off-duty time, Lance Corporal Balcombe-Smythe. Glad to see,” then to me he said, “Young officer isn’t wasting your time I
As he showed me out, Mr Quinn was positively courtly. He told me, “I’m sure you know that we are ethically prohibited from having personal relationships with clients, Mrs Chatterton. For that reason alone, I heartily wish that your legal business were elsewhere.”
“But if it were, Marston,” I said, “then we wouldn’t have met, would we.”
His perfect teeth gleamed as he said, “Teasy, isn’t it.” And he made a courteous little bow, exactly as the elevator ding’ ed its arrival. He had given me something to think about.
I spent the rest of the day shopping, and I finished up with afternoon tea and scones in a pretty little cafe on Piccadilly. In the evening, I was back at my hotel and relaxing at the bar.
Next to me sat a fine young specimen of an English gentleman. Strong and well-built, with deep sapphire blue eyes and impeccable manners. He wore a red tunic with gold buttons, just like the soldiers outside Buckingham and St James’ palaces.
I asked him, “Excuse me, but are you one of the palace guards?”
His eyes tilted up at me. He said, “I have that honor, Miss,” and his look set something inside me rolling like a bowling ball. “Lance Corporal Adrian Balcombe-Smythe, at your service,” and he made a little bow.
I love how they do that here. Then when I introduced myself, and corrected him about the ‘Miss,’ he lifted my fingers to his lips. I was thinking about canceling my flight home.
I told myself, These gorgeous men are thrillingly polite and courtly. Enjoy, but it’s no more than that. Marston Quinn had been paying me compliments, but that was probably all. Brits are just brought up polite. I was sure that his was only the young guardsman’s way of being civil. No doubt he was was humoring me. They aren’t going to be interested in a mature, experienced woman, they’re just like any men. All they want is tight, fuzzy young flesh. Like their own.
I asked him, “That uniform is bound to get you draped in girls. Are you in here hiding from the crowds?”
His eyes flickered down to his drink, “I do get the odd one or two, but I’m never sure what to say to them.”
“You’re probably nervous because you know what you want to say, but maybe you don’t know quite how to say it. Could it be something like that?”
“I know what you mean, Mrs Chatterton, but I really don’t know what I want to say.” The turmoil in his sad young eyes said that he meant what he was telling me. I rested my hand gently on his to reassure him.
As our skin made contact, a bolt like lightning shot through me. I saw Adrian’s eyes flash and I knew that he felt it, too.
He took a moment to form his thoughts into words, “You see, Mrs Chatterton, that was a real thrill. The young girls, you know they don’t make me feel like that, they just make me feel awkward and silly.”
My hand was still on his and I felt the pulse rise in my body. “You don’t seem awkward to me now, Adrian,” I looked into his eyes and the current in my body plunged through the bottom of my stomach.
His voice was low and husky, “Maybe that’s because I know that you wouldn’t be interested in a young man like me, Mrs Chatterton.” The heat in my panties was rising so much, I had to let my thighs part a little.
My breath caught in my throat and my own voice dropped an octave as I said, “Whatever makes you think that, Adrian?” As we looked into each other’s eyes, another young man in a red tunic appeared at Adrian’s side.
With a strong voice like warm, dark syrup, the soldier said, “Not wasting off-duty time, Lance Corporal Balcombe-Smythe. Glad to see,” then to me he said, “Young officer isn’t wasting your time I
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