Royally Screwed - Lynn Van Dorn Page 0,65

that scent of his. But would he feel the same way tomorrow or next week? Angelo had no more idea than Yuri did.

“Yeah. That mouth of yours should probably be illegal. I need to put something inside it.”

Yuri raised a very royal eyebrow, looking every inch the image of his father, the king of Mirea. Then he ruined the illusion by saying, “Let me guess. Your cock.”

That startled a laugh from Angelo. “Uh, no. Thank you, but no.”

“I wasn’t offering.” Yuri puffed up like an indignant kitten. “The Yuri shop is closed for rest and recuperation.”

“Good.” Angelo stood and went to put on his clothes. Enough to not scandalize Philippe, at least. “Because I was thinking about crepes.”

Crepes were far more a Mirean thing than Tanzhirian, but because Yuri loved them, Philippe had learned how to master them. In addition to more traditional savory fillings like ham and raclette cheese and chicken with mushrooms, Philippe also made a version with stewed lamb that was very similar to a Tanzhirian curry Angelo had grown up eating. Angelo was surprised to find that Philippe had the ingredients on hand to make them for Angelo, but seeing how Yuri dug into the crepes with the lamb filling, Angelo had to conclude they were a favorite of his, as well. The meal was finished off with two types of sweet crepes—mango with raspberries and lemon curd—and a mound of clotted cream that Angelo eyed with suspicion. He loved the taste, but knew it would make him feel sick later if he indulged.

Philippe smiled at Angelo and put down a second mound of cream, this one much whiter and fluffier than the first. “This one is made from coconut milk, your highness, and will not make you ill. It’s also particularly good with the mango and raspberry crepes.”

Yuri took some of both types of crepes and topped them with the regular and the coconut cream, then he dug in, putting the food away with an impressive rapidity that reminded Angelo again of King Claudius. The king ate enough to be every bit as rotund as Henry the VIII of England after his injury, but Claudius looked far more like one of his ancestors—the very svelte King William II of the Netherlands. Yuri favored his mother in looks, with her golden hair and blue eyes, but in body, it seemed he was all his father.

Angelo looked down at his own plate and sighed, pushing the remains away with regret. Unlike the unfairly blessed Yuri, Angelo kept in shape by eating a good diet and exercising regularly. The crepes, while heavenly, would require extra time on the gym’s treadmill.

He wondered how many calories sex burned off and how much sex he’d have to have with Yuri to work off a steady diet of crepes and whipped coconut cream. It was an intriguing, if likely unwieldy, idea. There probably weren’t enough hours in the day.

Yuri pointed his fork at Angelo. “You’ve been quiet. Too quiet. Worryingly quiet.”

“I was debating the feasibility of replacing my treadmill runs with lots of acrobatic sex with you. I’m not sure it would be as good a workout, but it would be a lot of fun to find out.”

Yuri’s eyes crossed, then he blinked and his face went back to normal. “Uh, huh. And how would that work, exactly?”

“No idea. I think it’s doomed to failure.”

“Probably.” Yuri closed his eyes and pushed away his spotlessly clean plate. “Angelo?”

“Yes?”

Yuri opened his mouth to say something but he closed it and seemed to change his mind.

“Yuri, what is it?”

He shrugged, looking ill at ease. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

Angelo looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was just past midnight. “It’s late.”

Yuri yawned in response. Angelo had a strong urge to lean in and kiss his bare throat. “Too late to take a train back to London tonight.”

Angelo had no idea what the train schedule was. “I could call and have my security drive the car here to pick me and Roger up and take us home.”

Yuri’s face, already scrubbed blank of emotion, solidified into porcelain. “Is escaping that important?”

His cold, brittle tone made Angelo frown. “No, but—”

“Stay here. I’ve got plenty of room.”

“I’ll say. That bed of yours is bloody enormous. Is it custom-made? It’s got to be.”

The only movement that betrayed Yuri was the rapid blinking of his eyes. “Yes,” he said at last. “I had it custom built. I like to sprawl in my sleep and I was done with sleeping