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Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Feature and Giveaway: Royal Pain by Tracy Wolff


He’s a womanizer. He’s cocky. He’s not exactly a prince. Only he technically is. Meet your new royal obsession in this addictive novel from New York Times bestselling author Tracy Wolff.

Being rich opens a lot of doors. When you’re rich and royal, those doors lead to a new bedroom every night. I should know. The tabloids call me His Royal Hotness, Prince Kian of Wildemar. Women across the world see me as a naughty fairy tale, an image I’m happy to indulge. As the spare to the heir, I’m the prince with none of the power . . . and all of the perks.

Then my twin brother is kidnapped, and suddenly I’m the one who could be king. The crown chasers start circling—and yet it’s a luscious waitress who catches my eye. With a smart mouth and the curves to back it up, Savannah Breslin is as brazen as I’d expect an American commoner to be.

But Savvy’s not interested in playing Cinderella. As sexy as she is, she’s no stranger to heartbreak. Besides, a nice guy wouldn’t drag her into all the drama that comes along with royalty. Lucky I’m not a nice guy. And, as it turns out, I might not even be her first prince . . .

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“Here,” she says, seconds later as she deposits the phone on the bed beside me.

“Why’d you have to go and do that?” I demand, even as I plug in my password.

“I thought we’d already discussed how heavy that crown you’ve got is,” she says as she grabs a robe from her closet and belts it around her. “Call whoever it is back while I go make some breakfast for us.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her as I pull up my phone log.

“Sure, I do.” She shoots me a grin from the doorway before continuing down the hall toward the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”

A glance tells me I’ve missed two calls from Roland. I vaguely remember my phone going off a little while ago, but since my cock was in Savvy’s mouth at the time, I hadn’t paid any attention to it.

I start to text Roland back—if this is just another reminder of some bullshit interview he wants me to do, then he can cancel the damn thing. I’d much rather spend the day with Savvy, making love and badgering her with a million questions about herself, than I would smiling at yet another reporter as I lie through my damn teeth.

But I barely get the chance to hit send on a text to Roland before someone’s pounding on Savvy’s front door—and by pounding I mean knocking so hard that she could be forgiven for thinking it’s a warning that Armageddon has finally arrived.

I know better, however. I’ve heard that knock numerous times in my life and while it’s rarely good, it’s rarely as bad as the pounding makes it out to be.

Still, I haven’t forgotten about the king’s ultimatum to Pierre and Jean-Luc, and I get out of bed a lot more quickly than I usually would under similar circumstances. Which is a damn good thing, since I’ve barely gotten my jeans over my bare ass before Niall bursts into the room.

I expect some quip—that’s how these things usually go—but Niall looks deadly serious as he tosses me the shirt I left in the living room in the middle of the night.

“What’s going on?” I demand as I pull it over my head.

“Meeting at the palace in forty-five minutes, full security council and heads of all the intelligence agencies.”

Shock slams through me, followed quickly by elation. “The lead panned out.” I take the shoes he hands me and shove my feet into them, sans socks. “Holy shit, Niall. They found something!”

He tries to look cautious, but we’ve known each other long enough that I can see the excitement he’s trying to keep under wraps. “It looks that way, Kian.”

“Forty-five minutes? We’ve got to go.”

“That’s why I’m standing here trying to forget what your bare arse looks like.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to bring that up.” I head for the kitchen—and Savvy.

“One of these days I’m going to write a tell-all book. It’ll include the number of times in my career I’ve had to drag your bare arse out of some place or another. And it will include pictures.”

“Make sure you get my best side.”

“Don’t you mean your best cheek?” Lucas asks, from where he’s leaning against one of the kitchen walls, a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Making yourself comfortable?” I ask, sarcasm ripe in my tone.

Avery springs to attention, setting down his own coffee mug with a clatter. “I’m sorry, sir. Savannah offered—”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” I skirt the counter to wrap my arms around Savvy from behind. She’s standing at the stove, cracking eggs one handed into the skillet and putting bread in the toaster with the other hand. “I haven’t sent anyone to the dungeon for drinking my coffee in at least a year.”

“Technically speaking, it’s my coffee,” Savvy says, shooting an amused look over her shoulder.

But the moment our eyes meet, the wooden spoon in her hand falls to the floor. “Oh my God. You heard something about Garrett.” Her hands go to my shirt, her fingers twisting in the thin material. “Is he alive? Is he—”

“I haven’t heard anything yet,” I tell her, gently pulling her into my arms to soothe her. And myself, if I’m being honest. I know her concern for Garrett is reasonable and I appreciate it—I do—but there’s a part of me that can’t help wondering what’s behind the concern. That can’t help wondering if, maybe, the reason she’s so upset is because she’s still in love with him.

I hate myself for even thinking like this—everyone in this room is excited that there might be a lead on Garrett, I remind myself viciously. And she obviously loved him at one point—why wouldn’t she be excited that he might be alive?

It makes perfect sense, I know it does. Just as I know I’d be offended if she didn’t care that there might be a lead on Garrett. But all that is logic speaking. The mini freak-out going on in the back of my mind has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with jealousy.

Acknowledging it might not make it go away, but it makes it a hell of a lot easier to tolerate. I drop another kiss on Savvy’s cheek, even as I signal for my detail to leave us alone for a couple of minutes.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” I tell her.

“Don’t be ridiculous! He’s your brother—and the Crown Prince of Wildemar.”

“I know, but it’s still pretty shitty to make love to a woman and then run out on her at first light.”

The look she gives me is half-perspicacious, half-annoyed. “I’m pretty sure these are extenuating circumstances. Go take care of whatever you need to take care of. I’ll be around when you’ve got things under control.”

“You’re really great, you know that?”

“That’s what all the boys say,” she answers with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh, yeah?” I wrap my arms around her again, then pull her back against my chest. “How many boys are we talking about here?”

“Don’t worry, Your Royal Hotness. You still beat my record by a hell of a lot.”

She’s playing around, teasing me like I was teasing her, but the words strike a chord anyway. And for the first time in my life I’m embarrassed by my reputation—and the copious amount of women that I’ve screwed and made no pretense of even being interested in.

Garrett always told me my promiscuity would come back to haunt me, but I never really believed him. The fact that it is now, with a woman he met a long, long time before I did, just makes the sting a little worse.

“I need to go,” I tell her.

“I know.” She turns around in my arms, hugs me tight as she presses soft kisses into my neck and jaw. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

“Sure. What do you need?” Right now I’d give her anything, give her everything, if she asked for it. The fact that I know she won’t only makes me want to do it more.

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Tracy Wolff lives in Texas and teaches writing at her local community college. She is married and the mother of three young sons.
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