JAMES

  James:

  Ridiculously Royal #3

  by Kate Tilney

  Copyright © 2020 by Kate Tilney

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Cover Photos by

  nemetse/ depositphotos

  feedough/ depositphotos

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  JAMES: Ridiculously Royal #3

  James

  Alyssa

  James

  Alyssa

  James

  Alyssa

  James

  Alyssa

  James

  Alyssa

  James

  Alyssa

  Epilogue | Alyssa

  About the Author

  Prince James

  It is never good to wake up in Las Vegas with a pounding headache and a gold ring on your finger. When you are the son of a king, it is an international disaster. The press long ago dubbed me the “Royal Screwup,” but this catastrophe takes the cake.

  Yet as I get to know the gorgeous, curvy bombshell now wearing my ring, maybe getting hitched is not a mistake. Maybe it is time to put my playboy days behind me to settle down with my bride.

  Alyssa

  My editor told me to get close to the prince of Rhodon while he was here in America. But marrying him in a quickie Vegas wedding might be going a little too deep undercover. Especially because my new husband doesn’t know I’m a reporter.

  Now it’s a rush against the clock to avoid becoming the news myself. And it isn’t easy when every part of my body aches to be with him.

  Ridiculously Royal is a series of standalone, insta-love steamy shorts about royals finding true love and happily ever afters that are anything but common. Check out JAMES if you like curvy reporters and alpha princes who accidentally get hitched.

  James

  The phone buzzes on my nightstand. Before I even open my eyes, I can tell today is going to royally suck.

  For one, my mouth feels like it has a wool sock shoved inside of it. And, the last time my head hurt this badly, my rowing team at Oxford had just won the Royal Cup. We had all gone on a two-day bender. By the time we finally crashed, we all swore we would never get that pissed again.

  It would seem I broke that promise last night.

  On top of that, I am rock hard. The last time I was this hard without relief, I . . . Come to think of it, I cannot remember a time my cock was this hard. With or without a beautiful woman’s help. And there is never a shortage of beautiful women when you are the King of Rhodon’s youngest son.

  A body stirs in the bed next to me, and a grin spreads across my lips. Perhaps today will not be as bad as predicted. I just need to pop some Tylenol, chug a bottle of water, and I’ll be ready to work out one of my situations.

  My eyes squint against the light. As my vision clears, my smile grows brighter.

  Jackpot. The woman lying next to me is stunning. With long, blonde hair that falls in waves over her shoulders, her skin is like strawberries and cream. Long eyelashes fan over high cheekbones.

  With her wearing only a lacy bra and panty set, I have a full view of her curvy body. Full hips, fuller tits, and an ass I would like to examine more closely. My fingers long to begin their full study of her body, but first things first. I should find out how she likes her eggs prepared.

  Pity I don’t remember much beyond meeting her last night.

  The phone rings again. Groaning, I flip over to reach for it and frown.

  “What the . . . ?”

  There’s a thin gold band on my left hand. It was not there last night. Come to think of it . . . I sit up to take a better look at my surroundings. This is not my hotel room in New York City. Where I am supposed to be attending a world economic forum on the king’s behalf.

  Then I catch a glimpse of the Las Vegas strip outside the window.

  “Bloody hell.” My father is going to have my neck when he finds out I am in Las Vegas. With a gold ring on my left hand. A gorgeous stranger in my bed. And a hangover the size of the royal family’s treasury.

  Forget having my neck. My father will have my head—and my dick. And, to make matters worse, my wife is an American. He still has not gotten over the fact that two of his children have already settled down with Americans. The news that I—his favorite—have done just that, will give him a heart attack.

  And the last thing my sister—the future queen, who is currently in the hospital with severe morning sickness—needs is a premature coronation.

  I can practically see the headlines now.

  The Royal Screw-Up Strikes Again

  I swear loudly before I can stop myself. The woman next to me jerks awake. Her eyes fly open. She blinks furiously as she pushes herself upright.

  Then she comes face to face with me. Now the hazy memories become a bit more clear. I met her at a bar after the forum. She was wearing a smart blazer and had her hair tucked into a tidy bun. After that it gets blurry again. I want to say her name is Melissa . . . No, Alyssa.

  “Morning,” I say dryly. “Fancy a cup of tea.”

  She covers her mouth, barely masking a scream.

  “What . . . where . . . who . . .” She shakes her head. “What’s going on?”

  I spot the gold band on her own left hand and sigh. “It would appear, my dear, that we are husband and wife.”

  Her emerald green eyes widen as I hold my hand next to hers.

  She gasps and clutches her head in her hands. “Oh, I thought it was a dream.”

  “So you remember?”

  “Vaguely.” She shakes her head and winces. Apparently I am not the only one with a headache. “How did we get here?”

  “That sounds like a conversation for breakfast.” I reach for my phone, which is ringing once more. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take this.”

  For some reason, my wife’s sincere shock comforts me. Unless she is the world’s greatest actress, I at least do not have to worry she is a fortune hunter looking to bag a prince.

  Closing the door to the bedroom behind me and stepping into a living room area, I take the call from my oldest brother Henry.

  “Do you have any idea what time it is here?” I ask, noting that it is just after five local time.

  “Do you have any idea where you are?” Henry asks. “You ditched your security detail and never made it to your room last night.”

  “I needed a break from the meetings,” I lie. “You know how dry they can be.”

  I hear Henry’s heavy sigh through the speaker. “Who is the girl?”

  “What makes you think a woman is involved?”

  “You have been out of communication for the better part of a day. Of course a woman is involved.”

  I cannot fault his logic. Particularly since it is spot on. And, to be honest, I am not sure I can fix this on my own.

  “Look, I screwed up. But I am going to fix it.” I take a deep breath. “Could you possibly run interference?”

  He sighs again. “How much time do you need?”

  “A day.” I hope that is enough to get an annulment. It seems that if you can get married in minutes in Vegas, you should be able to get un-married quickly too.

  “I will do my best. But you owe me.” More than Henry will ever know I hope. “I hope she was worth it.”

  I wish I co
uld remember if she was.

  Alyssa

  Almost the second the bedroom door closes behind James, I release the breath I was holding. There’s nothing like a jolt of fear to wake you up from a booze-infused sleep. Here’s hoping the adrenaline will last long enough to ride out the worst of the hangover.

  What the heck happened last night?

  One minute, I was sidling up to Prince James of Rhodon at a bar hoping to overhear some juicy gossip that I could text back to my editor. The next, he was offering to buy me a shot.

  Me. A lowly research assistant at a trashy gossip magazine.

  And so, even though I was on the clock, I said sure.

  From there, things escalated quickly. Snapshots of several more rounds of shots and a bottle or two of champagne come to mind. Then I vaguely remember pulling up my magazine’s travel app and booking us tickets on the next plane to Vegas. I remember getting on the plane and then nothing. Just waking up this morning with a freaking wedding ring on my finger and the need to puke or pee really badly.

  I sure picked a hell of a time to get blackout drunk for the first time.

  If any of the reporters I grew up idolizing could see me now, they’d revoke my journalism license on the spot and tell me to find a new job. Which would really suck, because I still have a mountain of student loan debt to pay off just for getting that degree. And if my parents back in Nebraska knew what I was up to, they’d have our whole church praying for me around the clock.

  I’m way out of my element. I see that now. It’s my first real in-the-field assignment. And based on the number of text messages and missed calls from Ned, my boss, it’s probably my last.

  Sneaking into the bathroom with my phone, I empty my bladder and double-check to make sure the door is locked.

  Taking in a few deep breaths, I brace myself for the worst and return Ned’s latest call. He answers on the first ring.

  “The next words out of your mouth better be ‘I’m with the prince right now’ or your ass is fired.”

  “I’m with the prince right now.” Oh, God. I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.

  There’s a moment of silence while Ned probably picks his jaw up off the floor. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not even a little.”

  At least if I get fired for this, I’ll have the most insane story to tell for the rest of my life.

  “So that’s why you booked a plane to Las Vegas late last night? To travel with the prince’s entourage.”

  Apparently.

  “The prince said he was going. He asked if I wanted to come along. There wasn’t time to ask, so I booked a flight.”

  There’s a fifty percent chance that story is true.

  “Good thinking. That kind of hustle is exactly what will get you ahead at our publication. Especially if you come up with an exclusive angle.”

  “Oh, my angle is about as exclusive as it gets.”

  Especially if it turns out I am in fact married to the prince. I don’t actually have any recollection of walking down the aisle or exchanging vows. For all I know, the prince and I are kleptomaniacs who stole his and her wedding bands from an unsuspecting couple.

  “Can you give me another day to follow up on this?” I ask.

  “Sure thing. Just answer your phone next time. And Alyssa?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Keep this up and you’ll have your own beat in no time.”

  Ned hangs up before I can respond. Planting my hands on the counter, I take another couple of breaths as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

  This is easily the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever done. Times a hundred.

  I briefly think of Mr. Darcy, my tuxedo cat, who is probably waiting for me at home. Fortunately, thanks to the crazy hours I often keep, I invested in an automatic feeder, water fountain, and self-cleaning litter box a few months ago. While he might be angry when I get home, at least he’ll be fed and clean.

  On the other side of the door, I hear shuffling. My hubby must be done with his own phone call. I could always just stay in here until he leaves. Then I can slip out never to see him again. Until he inevitably decides to marry one of the models or actresses he’s frequently pictured with, and he needs to track down his accidental wife.

  Or I could be a grown up and face the consequences of too much tequila and bubbly.

  Pulling on a robe, I brace myself and open the door.

  The prince has pulled on his pants and has his white shirt on, but unbuttoned. I try not to stare at his rock hard abs, or the tiny trail of hair that disappears under his waistband.

  He glances up. “It is Alyssa, right?”

  I nod. “James?”

  “You’ve got it.” He grins. “We probably have a lot to discuss, but could we do it over breakfast? I would kill for a plate of hash browns.”

  “Sure.”

  I reach for my own pants and shirts keeping watch of him out of the corner of my eye. He’s acting so ordinary. You’d think a prince who just found himself married to a reporter would be a little more upset.

  Unless . . . is it possible he doesn’t remember who I am? If that’s the case, I could really maybe get out of this whole situation relatively unscathed.

  James

  I almost groan with pleasure as I take my first bite of hash browns drowned in sausage gravy. My father might think Americans are less civilized, but they know how to do breakfast right.

  My twin’s girlfriend introduced me to the haystack a few months ago. I will never be able to see another potato without wishing it was shredded, fried, and drowned in gravy, eggs, and meat. I feel a twinge of guilt in my gut at the thought of James. I have at least a dozen unanswered calls and texts from him on my phone. But as he, like Sarah, is actually living in the palace right now, I cannot risk having my father intercept my messages.

  I will just have to trust Henry to call off the dogs and make sure everyone believes that I am alive.

  “So, Alyssa,” I say after taking a few bites. “You’re from New York?”

  Her fork freezes an inch from her mouth. “Do you really want to do the whole first date talk?”

  “It seems appropriate since we’re most likely married.”

  “Oh, we’re married.” She sets her fork down and reaches for her phone. She punches in a few buttons and hands it to me. “See that charge? It’s for a twenty-four hour wedding chapel.”

  I wince. “I suppose it is all the more reason to get to know each other.”

  Her jaw drops. “You don’t really want to stay married, do you?”

  “No, I think not. But we can still be friends.”

  Now she laughs. “Friends. I don’t know where you live, and you don’t know what I do for a living.”

  “Touché.” Relief washes through me. She really does not know who I am. “Okay. I propose a truce. You do not ask me about my real life, and I repay the favor.”

  “That seems fair.” If I am not mistaken, she looks equally relieved. “Okay, it’s a deal.”

  “Deal.” I start to take another bite but pause. “I should probably apologize for getting us into this mess.”

  She starts. “Why? I don’t remember anyone holding a gun to my head and forcing me on an airplane.”

  “So you do remember last night?”

  She shrugs. “Bits and pieces.”

  “Same.” And for the first time, we share a grin. “Do you know how we got here?”

  “I am pretty sure I put it on my company credit card.”

  “And the wedding?”

  “That one is on my personal card.”

  “I will reimburse you for both. I have the resources,” I finish lamely.

  We fall silent a moment, then Alyssa pulls out her phone.

  “I did some research. From what I can tell, as long as neither of us objects, we can sign the paperwork later today and have everything go through within twenty-four to seventy-two hours.”

  I have to admit, I’m im
pressed. When did she have time to do all this research? I barely had my wits about me to get dressed and order a car. “You are a regular detective.”

  She flinches at my words. Have I hit upon a nerve? I shrug off the thought, because hopefully in twenty-four to forty-eight hours, this will all be behind us.

  Oddly enough, that thought gives me a twinge of disappointment. Of course there can be no future for us. But if circumstances were different, I would want to get to know this gorgeous, unpretentious woman tucking into a plate of waffles across from me.

  I am momentarily distracted by the whipped cream on her lips. I would like to taste it—both the lips and the cream. Which is not the thought a man should be having toward the woman he accidentally married.

  Unfortunately, my dick has never particularly listened to my brain.

  Alyssa catches my grin. “What?”

  I shake my head. “It’s nice to eat with someone who shares my affinity for breakfast foods.”

  “Let me guess, you usually share your breakfast with women who order cups of hot water with a side of lemon on the side.”

  She has a sarcastic streak to her. I like that.

  “But I never married any of them.”

  She just shakes her head at that. No, out of all the beautiful women who have been on my arm, none of them ever tempted me to drop to one knee and propose. Yet something about the woman across from me prompted me to do just that.

  She is beautiful and funny. But there must be more. I wonder if I will have the opportunity to find that out while we do damage control.

  Alyssa

  James asks the Taxi driver to drop us off a block away from the wedding chapel. I’m not surprised. While he hasn’t been recognized—yet—I imagine he wants to avoid as much of a trail of witnesses as possible.

  Besides, after gorging myself on a waffle, hash browns, and eggs, I could use the exercise, such that it is.

  When we set foot inside the chapel. With pink walls, an over-the-top chandelier, and the gaudiest fountain I’ve ever seen, the place screams of vintage Vegas. And tackiness.