Stealing Kisses With a King (Kings of Carolina #3)- Sylvie Stewart

Stealing Kisses With a King
Chapter 1

Malcolm

Dear Alice,

Well, I hope you’re happy. My entire bloody life is imploding, and you’re off God knows where, leaving me to chart a course all on my own. You know how hopeless I am at directions.

I’ve, of course, taken on a new assistant since these arseholes won’t tell me where you are, but she appears entirely incapable of reading my mind. She’s called Victoria, and her skirts are too tight—which normally wouldn’t be an issue, so I must be coming down with an illness of some sort.

But you clearly can’t be bothered with minor issues like my health or my impending ascension to the throne of an entire sodding country, so I don’t know why I’m even bothering with this letter. I hope whatever it is you’re doing is worth abandoning me in this state.

Sincerely,

Prince Malcolm

P.S. If nothing else, please respond with the name of your perfume. I find the scent soothing and am confident having a bottle nearby will help with my nerves. It has absolutely zero to do with me missing you.

I read the letter over again and cursed for the tenth time in as many minutes before crumpling the sodding thing into a ball. It belonged with all the others, so I tossed it in a perfect arc right into the oversized vase occupying too much space in the corner of my office. What kind of person required such a ridiculously large receptacle for flowers anyway? Last I checked, we weren’t living in Jurassic Park. If Alice were here, she’d undoubtedly have a detailed explanation to satisfy my curiosity. But she wasn’t, so I returned my attention to the emails Victoria had marked as urgent and put my former assistant firmly out of my mind.

Again.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I had a crisp lodged in my throat.”

“I see.” My brother folded his hands on his lap as he surveyed me from across the room, his gaze far too suspicious for my comfort. “And exactly what kind of crisps were you consuming thirty seconds before addressing an entire ballroom of donors who were enjoying a gourmet—and very crispless, I might add—meal?”

“Walkers Cheese and Onion, naturally. Any more ridiculous questions?” I did my best to meet his eyes, but he’s been known to read me better than anyone—well, almost anyone. So I might have wavered the smallest bit.

“Just one.” Leo leaned forward in his chair, casually resting his elbows on his knees like the smug bastard I’ve always known him to be. “Are you absolutely sure your inability to speak in front of these people had nothing to do with, say, some escalated level of stress you’re experiencing of late?”

“Me? Stress?” I added a mocking chuckle for good measure. “The world has never known a cooler cucumber than the one standing before you, dear brother.” My shoulder rested against the threshold to the sitting room, reinforcing my innate composure. “I am steady as Eddie—nay, chill as Bill.” I raised my chin, confident I was communicating the appropriate vibe.

His only response was another, “I see.”

Bugger.

Leo unfolded himself from my favorite armchair—the one I knicked from Grandfather’s old palace offices—and approached in his dress slacks and loosened tie and shirt. I maintained my cucumber-ness. “Because no one would blame you for letting the pressure get to you, Mal. It’s not every day that a man goes from leading a carefree life of—well, whatever it is you do—”

“The word you’re looking for is women,” I interjected, causing his brow to furrow in confusion—or was that frustration? “A carefree life doing women.” I forced the corners of my mouth to lift, though I was feeling anything but cheerful.

Leo shook his head as if clearing his ears of water. “Right. As I was saying, it’s not every day a man goes from a carefree life of… whoring… to assuming leadership of a nation.”

Not that he needed to know, but it had been bloody ages since I’d fucked anyone. Clearly, there was something dreadfully wrong with me, but Leo couldn’t help, much as he got off on all his bloody intellectual gymnastics. I was beginning to fear no one could help—apart from Alice.

I hoped the sharpness of my responding exhale conveyed my annoyance. “Yes, Leo, I am aware of the events in my own sodding life, and I have it handled. So, thank you for your concern, but the only problem I have is with Walkers for making their crisps so irresistible, I cocked up a simple