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  Praise for The Royals

  “Geneva Lee convinces with fluid writing that’s full of drama, ups and downs…”

  People Magazine

  “Romance and drama…when it comes to dirty talk, the British heir to the throne can hardly be topped…”

  The Huffington Post

  “Sexy, sinful, and downright delightful! Geneva Lee is the queen of writing drama, angst, and the heroes of your dreams.”

  Cora Carmack, New York Times Bestselling Author of Losing It

  “A royal tale unlike any other. Heart-stopping, mesmerizing, a delicious treat with every page turned. I only wanted more.”

  Audrey carlan, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Calendar Girl

  Also by Geneva Lee

  THE ROYALS SAGA

  Command Me

  Conquer Me

  Crown Me

  Crave Me

  Covet Me

  Capture Me

  Complete Me

  * * *

  THE ROYAL WORLD™

  Cross Me

  Claim Me

  Consume Me

  * * *

  STANDALONE

  The Sins That Bind Us

  Two Week Turnaround

  CROSS ME

  Copyright © 2019 by Geneva Lee.

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Ivy Estate Publishing

  www.GenevaLee.com

  First published, 2019.

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-945163-22-7

  Cover design © Date Book Designs.

  Image © prometeus/Bigstockphoto.com.

  Contents

  Preface

  1. CHAPTER ONE

  2. CHAPTER TWO

  3. CHAPTER THREE

  4. CHAPTER FOUR

  5. CHAPTER FIVE

  6. CHAPTER SIX

  7. CHAPTER SEVEN

  8. CHAPTER EIGHT

  9. CHAPTER NINE

  10. CHAPTER TEN

  11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

  12. CHAPTER TWELVE

  13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

  20. CHAPTER TWENTY

  21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Obsession is only the beginning…

  Thank you!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To Audrey,

  For turning on the light

  Welcome to the Royals Collection

  Dear Reader,

  I wanted to take a moment to introduce you to the Royals Collection, a multi-series world of books, that feature my beloved, but fictional, British Royal family.

  Wild King, the first book in the Sovereign Series, starts a new adventure for favorite characters Alexander and Clara as they navigate their new roles as King and Queen of England. It’s a continuing love story mixed with danger, intrigue, and scandal. I promise to keep you turning the pages well past bedtime! You can dive into the Royals Collection with Wild King, but if you’re new to these characters, you might be interested in the beginning of their story starting with Command Me, which is free on all platforms. To claim a copy, please visit: royalssaga.com

  I hope you enjoy the ride and let me be the first to say, welcome to the family.

  Geneva

  CHAPTER ONE

  ALEXANDER

  Whoever said it was good to be King had clearly never had the pleasure.

  The Royal family has come under increasing scrutiny the last two years due to the controversial actions of Alexander, who recently succeeded his father to the throne. Alexander’s decision to marry a half-American was the subject of contentious public debate. The crown seemed intent on making an even bigger statement with Alexander’s recent approval of Prince Edward’s marriage to Scottish man David McClane. Vocal minorities and religious organizations throughout the world have attacked the king’s support for the union. The Catholic Church issued a statement condemning the act and it’s been the source of much media speculation in America. Other activist groups, however, applauded the Crown’s progressive stance, stating that Alexander and his family are breathing fresh life into stale Royal traditions. Will public opinion swing in favor of the king’s choices, or is Alexander threatening the stability of the Crown? Only time will tell, but—

  The television snapped off and I glanced over my shoulder to find my wife leaning against the bathroom’s doorframe. “It’s too early for bad news, X.”

  She had voiced opposition to mounting a television in the bathroom, but given that I was expected to be up on world news and that I had very little time in the day to catch up on what the media was saying, I had overlooked her concerns. I reached behind me and took the remote, flipping the television back on, but changed the channel to a cable sports station. “I was just checking the times.”

  “Since when are you into racing?” She was calling my bluff, but what my wife didn’t know was that I had recently become much more interested in racing. When I didn’t answer, she hit me with, “You don’t even like driving.”

  “I like driving you.”

  “Driving me crazy maybe.”

  I continued to shave, which was a dangerous proposition because my eyes kept drifting from my own reflection to hers. The dawn light had begun to filter into the bedroom, haloing her in a soft glow that accentuated her luscious curves and made her look like God’s gift to man. She was certainly God’s gift to me. Her dark hair cascaded over creamy shoulders. Last night I’d pressed my lips to them as I rocked her to two climaxes. In the mirror, her own lips twisted into a knowing smirk as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. As I was usually thinking about finding a way to get her naked—something I had never kept secret from her—the smugness was warranted.

  She moved towards the counter, hips swaying slightly. Her smile slipped as she studied herself. In the harsher artificial light of the bathroom, I could see what was making her frown. Faint blue smudges circled her eyes and she looked even more pale than normal.

  “Have you considered the houses I found for Edward?” she asked.

  I’d looked at my wife’s list yesterday. She’d been obsessing over his wedding present since we’d returned from the holidays and he’d left on his honeymoon. “I’d like him closer.”

  “Windsor is close,” she gurgled as she brushed her teeth.

  “Windsor Castle is a bit extravagant for everyday use, Poppet.”

  She shot me a look. “Have you seen our house? There’s a smaller house in Windsor that sounds perfect and its only half an hour from the city.”

  “That place?” I shook my head. “It’s unacceptable. Practically falling down.”

  “You need to make a decision soon or they’ll never come home from Seychelles.”

  I wouldn’t if I were my brother. I kept this to myself. It would be taken care of, but for now I had more pressing concerns.

  “Are you feeling all right
? I heard you up earlier this morning.” I tried to keep the concern in my voice to a reasonable level, but it was a struggle.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but it did little to reassure me. At the moment, my wife’s moods swung between angelic calm and hysterical rage. I had learned the hard way not to get up and join her when morning sickness hit. I didn’t want to allow her to go through it alone, but since my presence seemed to upset her even more, I’d had to keep a restless vigil from the bedroom.

  I found other ways to manage her care, though, waking our daughter and doing my best to help Clara get extra rest. That was the hardest, because it usually meant keeping my hands to myself, even when I wanted to spend a few quiet moments together before the rest of the household intruded on our lives.

  “Did you get enough sleep?”

  “Sure,” she said noncommittally as she glared at her reflection. “I look terrible and I have the Child Watch Symposium this afternoon.”

  She turned the faucet on in the marble sink and bent forward to splash cold water on her face. I took the interruption to quickly wipe remnants of shaving cream from my jaw.

  “You know, maybe that’s a sign you should stay home,” I said, stepping behind her. I stopped my arms around her slender torso, one hand resting over the tiny bump that only we knew about, while the other took a slightly less sentimental path up to her breast. My thumb circled its furl through the thin satin of her nightgown. Clara responded with a soft moan.

  “Are you trying to distract me?” Although, even as she pretended to be annoyed, she leaned into me, allowing better access. I slid my hand under the flimsy nightgown and continued my gentle assault. “Because you aren’t going to convince me not to go.”

  We’d been having this argument for some time. After I’d proposed, Clara had struggled with her decision to leave her career behind. When I’d asked her to marry me she had known that one day I would become the King of England. It was inevitable. Before our wedding, I’d promised her plenty of opportunities to continue working on the social programs she’d overseen for Peters & Clarkwell. None of that had gone according to plan. I’d still convinced her to marry me, but both of us had taken on new responsibilities so quickly we might have suffered whiplash. My father’s assassination had backed me into a corner, forcing me to ascend to the throne years before I had expected. Clara’s discovery that she was pregnant had pushed us both into parenthood, something I’d always thought I didn’t want. For the last year and a half, we had been adjusting. I’d had Clara exactly where I wanted her—by my side, in my bed, and, most importantly, home, where I could keep an eye on her personally. Now, despite being pregnant again, she was determined to finally rise to her public responsibilities as Queen. No amount of charm could dissuade her.

  “I can think of much better ways for you to spend your day.” My other hand abandoned its protective vigil and slid to the hollow between her thighs, working its way past the fabric to the wet heat there.

  “You have meetings all day,” she breathed. I couldn’t help but detect a note of challenge. The message was clear: if I wanted her to abandon her plans for the day I would have to do the same, something we both knew was impossible.

  “My meetings are all going to be here.” I coaxed her legs farther apart with my knee to give me better access to the prize I was ready to claim. I earned a soft shudder accompanied by a moan of approval as my thumb found its target. “I’m here and you’re here. Other people can wait.”

  My lips whispered temptations as they trailed along the soft skin behind her ear and down to the freckles I’d been fantasizing about only moments ago. I drank in the sight of her languorous body in my arms, the mirror reflecting exactly what I wanted out of life: to possess her completely until she knew nothing but the safety and security I’d promised her.

  Clara opened one eyelid, lazily meeting my greedy gaze. “So in this scenario, I’m here waiting naked in your bed—right, X?”

  She didn’t sound as annoyed about this prospect as she usually might. Of course, I was actively lowering her defenses.

  “Something like that,” I said silkily.

  “No way in hell.” She turned her head, though, allowing her face to come a breath away from my own. “But I don’t mind if you keep trying to convince me.”

  “Challenge accepted, Poppet.” And then my mouth closed over hers.

  * * *

  Two discussions later and I’d failed to persuade her to stay home. She said goodbye to me, glowing like a lightbulb, which would no doubt contribute to speculation that she was with child again. If she was going to insist on going out in public, we would have to confirm this pregnancy sooner rather than later. It would be easier if she would just stay here. But her defiance was what had first drawn me to Clara Bishop. I’d never take that away from her. I would never want to. Still, it made things more complicated.

  My fingers raked through my hair as I buried my head in my hands, wondering what a simple life looked like. What was it like to be a normal guy whose pregnant wife went off to work? I’d never know. Not for the first time I wished I could trade my birthright in for a less regal model.

  “Alexander?” A deep voice interrupted my thoughts. I didn’t have to look up to know it was my old friend and longtime personal guard, Norris, because he was the only person on my payroll who didn’t constantly address me as Sir.

  If he was here, that meant my day was about to start. Then again, Norris shouldn’t be here. I frowned, not bothering to hide the reproach written all over my face. “I thought you were going with her.”

  “The Prime Minister’s visit today. The household team had to split duty. Brexton is with her.”

  My frown deepened. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust my old friend and Royal Air Force buddy, it was simply that I trusted Norris more. If I couldn’t be with Clara, I always felt better when he was there. Norris didn’t look like a bodyguard. With his thinning blond hair and average build, he blended in, looking more the part of the fatherly advisor than the trained killer. He was lethal and he wouldn’t hesitate to protect her. “I’d prefer these decisions were run by me first.”

  “Her Majesty was quite determined on the point.” His lips pressed into a thin line, recalling an unpleasant memory. “She said I fuss over her too much.”

  My eyebrow cocked at this bit of information. Perhaps my attempts to persuade her this morning had backfired. Now, not only had she gone out, she had sent a defiant message as well. Clara knew that I preferred for Norris to be with her, so sending him away in favor of a team led by Brex was her way of telling me to back off. “I’ll discuss this with her later.”

  “If you don’t mind me saying so.” Norris finally stepped into the room, his hands behind his back and his expression unreadable. I had no idea what he wanted to say to me, but I suspected I was about to get a lecture. “Clara seems a trifle emotional these days. Perhaps you can trust her to make her own plans. I think she would prefer that.”

  “Which one of us is the politician?” I grumbled. Norris had chosen his words carefully, but the meaning was clear. I hadn’t confided the news of her pregnancy to him yet. She had wanted to keep it private and only begin to tell people once it was confirmed by the doctor later this week. Norris had clearly guessed what was going on. “I don’t know why I try to keep secrets from you.”

  “Well, Alexander, you have been strutting around here like a prize stud for the last week,” he said dryly. “She’s out to teach you a lesson. I caught her crying twice last week. We’ve been here before.”

  I did take an inordinate amount of pride in knowing Clara was carrying my child again. Watching her body transform with the proof of our love and knowing that she had chosen me was a massage for my ego, admittedly.

  “Plus,” Norris continued, “there’s the matter of you both acting like damned fools.”

  “Excuse me?” His criticism broke me away from thoughts of my wife. It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak to me that way. It was that he rar
ely did.

  “She’s obviously making a point that she won’t be told what to do and where she can go, which makes me suspect that you tried to tell her what to do and where to go this morning.”

  I held my hands up in surrender. “I tried to convince her.”

  “Are you certain you didn’t try to command her?” Norris had been privy to many of our premarital arguments. He’d witnessed the few moments where I’d almost lost her because of my controlling nature. He was well aware of my tendency toward possessiveness.

  “I asked. Nicely.”

  He didn’t have to know what I meant by nicely. Clara, however, had obviously seen this morning differently. I reminded myself that my wife was pregnant and therefore prone to mood swings, but despite that, my palm twitched. I had to fight my urge to dominate her outside of the bedroom. If my best efforts were going to be rewarded with passive aggressive actions meant to test me, it would be harder to maintain that boundary.

  “It’s none of my business,” he said with the air of somebody who felt it was very much his business. Norris was like a father to me. Because of the terrible relationship I’d had with my real father, I usually appreciated Norris’ insight. Today, with the prospect of a morning meeting with the Prime Minister and briefings all afternoon, I wasn’t in the mood.