Ravishing Royals Box Set: Books 1 - 5 Read online

  With perfect timing, a footman arrives with my backpack. Slipping it on, I give Sacha a two-finger wave.

  “Where are you going?” he calls as I give him my back and head for the front door.

  “Anywhere,” I say, not bothering to turn around. “Anywhere but here.”

  “You smell,” Sacha says, and it’s the last thing I hear before I’m out the door.

  Alex was right. I should have installed a shower in the jet.

  Also? I should have never come home.

  Chapter 2

  Poppy

  “I’ll take one of those,” I say, taking a seat on a barstool and pointing to the cocktail at the top of the menu. I don’t even stop to see what it is. Right now, anything will do.

  The bartender nods and gets to pouring while I hang my purse on the hook under the counter and sigh. It’s a beautiful evening in Copenhagen, made even more excellent by my location at a beachfront bar with open walls. A breeze drifts in from the water and tickles my cheek.

  “Rum and coke,” the bartender says, setting the tumbler on a napkin in front of me.

  I arch an eyebrow. They put rum and coke on their menu here? One of the simplest and most common drinks in maybe the whole world?

  Well, all right then. I can get down with that.

  Raising the glass to him, I take a drink and set it back down with a lip smack. It’s a good drink; my preference all through college, so I’m not complaining.

  The blond bartender lingers nearby, cutting up limes. “American or Canadian?” he asks.

  “American,” I smile.

  “On vacation?”

  “Not really, no. I’ve been working in Sweden for the last half-year or so. I came to Copenhagen after that job ended.”

  I fiddle with the black straw in my drink. “I’m about to go home, though.”

  “Europe did not bring you all the dreams you hoped?” He grins.

  “It was everything I wished for and more.” I chuckle. “It’s just time to go home.”

  “Did you come here by yourself?” he asks.

  “Sure did.” I turn my hands up. “Friends in half a dozen countries, but I don’t know a soul here.”

  “That’s not always so bad,” the bartender says.

  “True,” I agree.

  “Let me know if you need another one.” He gestures at my drink then moves down the bar to serve a middle-aged couple that just showed up. Turning in my stool, I study the orange and pink washing the sky above the ocean.

  I could have gone into specifics with the bartender, but I chose not to. The fact of the matter is that I’m going back to New Jersey because I’m dead broke. What last bit of money I had from my most recent job I spent on a one-way ticket for a plane that leaves tomorrow night.

  Since the ski instructor job was seasonal, I squirreled away every bit of the money it paid me I could. That job ended a month ago, and I’ve been staying in a hostel in Copenhagen since then.

  And searching for a job. Endlessly.

  At first, I looked for things I wanted to do. Winter sports are my favorite, and I’ve been skiing, snowboarding, and ice skating since I was a kid. I’ve really dropped the ball on the summer end of things, though. It wasn’t until I started searching in desperation the other week that it became clear I should have gotten that CPR and lifeguard certification.

  So I moved on to other jobs. Store clerk. Barista. Maid.

  No. Bite. Anywhere.

  Pulling my phone from my purse, I read the text my sister sent me yesterday.

  “The kids are super excited to see you!!! Be safe getting here.”

  Tapping my finger against the side of the phone, I chew my bottom lip—a nervous habit that after twenty-seven years of life, I still can’t seem to shake.

  I haven’t texted Laura back yet because doing so makes the act of leaving Europe feel even more real. More real somehow than buying that plane ticket.

  Returning to New Jersey wasn’t part of my larger plan.

  Granted, my larger plan was extremely vague. Three years ago, when I got my passport and packed my one suitcase, all I understood was that I wanted to be anywhere other than New Jersey. Europe seemed like as good of a place as any other.

  I wasn’t trying to forget my prior life. I only wanted to start a new one, to leave the past years where they needed to be: in my memory. In New Jersey, I was surrounded by everything that had been. Everything that could be no more.

  A sharp, metallic taste hits my tongue, and I realize I bit the inside of my lip so hard I’ve drawn blood.

  This time, I ignore the straw in my drink and go right for the chug. The bite in my mouth burns from the sting of alcohol, but it’s good.

  I’m a casual and social drinker. I don’t hit the bottle to forget my worries, but tonight might be an exception. I got awfully close there to thinking about things I’d really rather not.

  The ice clinks in my glass as I set it down, and I’m just about to signal the bartender for another one when a man enters the bar.

  And the world goes upside down.

  He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with dark, wavy hair and a thick beard. I know I’ve never seen him before—I’d remember him for sure—but there’s something so compelling about his presence. Familiar and warm. I have to be near him.

  Which means I don’t move an inch. My butt is glued to the stool, and I stare, most likely drooling, as he goes and props his elbows at the end of the bar.

  Shaking my head, I grab my phone. While I’m waiting to get smashed on my next drink, I might as well text Laura back.

  “I can’t wait to see you guys. Flight is on time, as of now xx”

  I put my phone back in my purse and wonder if Laura’s two kids even remember me. I visited them last summer, but they’re both too young to probably even have a concept of time. Either Laura is exaggerating when she says they’re excited, or she’s told them I’m bringing presents.

  Which I am. What kind of aunt wouldn’t?

  And I’m excited to see them, too.

  It’s all just really, really bittersweet. I’d much rather be going to the States for a visit than because I’m out of all other options and have to move back there to recuperate.

  Glancing at the end of the bar, I notice the dark-haired guy is gone. My lips fall into a frown. He left so soon. Now who am I gonna go gaga over?

  But then I catch sight of him again. He hasn’t left, after all. He’s on his phone in the corner of the bar, but he keeps tossing glances my way. In between the looks, his shoulders rise and fall with tension and he gesticulates aggressively.

  Except for when he’s looking over at me. Then, he relaxes. Even seems to forget about the conversation he’s in the middle of.

  Our eyes catch, and my whole body warms. Holy smokes.

  What is it about this man? Obviously, he’s handsome, but there’s something more there too. Something I need to uncover.

  Hanging up his phone, he makes a beeline to me. My heart starts hammering.

  “Like what you see?” I ask before he’s even stopped walking.

  The rum’s gone straight to my head, and I don’t care. I’m not usually shy around men, and I’ve asked them out a number of times, but this takes the cake. We haven’t even said hello and I’m hitting on him.

  “Yes. I do.” He smiles, deep brown eyes flicking back and forth between the two of my green ones. “Good evening.”

  His voice slinks around me and settles in my stomach, and I know I’m a goner. When you feel a man’s voice rather than hear it, oh boy. That’s either a very good or bad thing, but it sure as heck isn’t a neutral experience.

  “How’s it going?” I ask.

  He inclines his head. “It’s… well. Are you waiting for someone? Would you mind if I join you?”

  I practically shove an empty stool at him. “Please. Sit down.”

  It’s funny that he’s being so polite considering how I greeted him. It makes me like him even more.

  �
�Thank you,” he murmurs, watching me the whole time he settles in. “I must be honest, I noticed you the moment I walked in here.”

  “There aren’t many people in this bar,” I laugh. “But thank you.”

  “There could be hundreds,” he says seriously, “and I would have still taken note of you.”

  I can’t find the words. I just want to keep hearing him talk.

  “And you?” He jerks his chin at me. “Do you like what you see?”

  I can barely get my tongue working. “Yes.”

  He gestures at my drink, and before I can respond he has the bartender coming over.

  “Two more of what she’s having,” the dark-haired stranger says. He looks me over. “I know this will sound cliché, but…”

  “Go ahead,” I say. “I promise you, tonight is probably not one where I’ll get offended by that.”

  “Very well. For such a pretty woman, you seem awfully sad.”

  My shoulders sink. “It’s that obvious, huh? I was hoping I’d already drunk the pain away.”

  His laugh is deep and vibrant, even better than his voice. “What number are you on?”

  “This will make two,” I say as the bartender puts our drinks down.

  The man raises his eyebrows. “One drink to end all pain?”

  “Silly, right?”

  We clink glasses, smiling at each other, and take the first sip in unison. A shot of heat travels to my toes, and it’s hard to say if it’s from the drink or this man’s intoxicating presence.

  “Care to talk about what’s bothering you?” he asks.

  My tongue presses against the tip of my teeth, and even though I want to forget all about having to leave Europe, the place I’ve been traveling around and living it up in for the last three years, I’m tempted for a second to tell him everything.

  But I shake my head.

  There’s nothing he can do to help me, and right now talking about things would mean wallowing in them.

  “No, thank you. It’s nice of you to offer, though. It’s something that I don’t need to think about tonight. It can wait until tomorrow.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says, never taking his eyes off my face. He’s been watching me intently this whole conversation, but it doesn’t feel weird. His attention makes me feel like he’s trying to figure me out.

  “And you?” I ask. “What’s bothering you?”

  His thick, black lashes flutter as he blinks. “How can you tell something is bothering me?”

  “I saw you talking on the phone over there. You seemed tense.”

  He sighs. “Yes. I was talking with my friend about some…” He clears his throat. “Family issues.”

  “Care to talk about what’s bothering you?” I ask, repeating the same question he tossed my way.

  He smiles, his eyes lighting up a bit. “No, thank you. Like with you, my troubles are something I would rather put from my mind.”

  I nod. “So what then? What do we do now?”

  “We are in Copenhagen. One of the most exciting cities in the world.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I ask, just to be sassy.

  “I’ve seen most of them, so yes.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask, in between sips.

  “You disagree?”

  “No. I agree. I love it here.”

  Thinking about leaving has me wanting to cry. Turning my face away from him, I notice the last bit of light is leaving the beach. The stars will be out soon.

  Realizing I haven’t gotten his name, I look back to him.

  “I’m Poppy.” I offer my hand.

  His grip is so firm and his skin so soft I almost don’t hear him when he says, “Max. A pleasure to meet you.”

  “Max,” I murmur, unable to resist repeating the name. I never knew it sounded so good.

  “Maximillian, to be specific,” he says, clear bitterness there.

  I laugh. “You don’t like your full name?”

  He gives me a look like he doesn’t think anyone could.

  I shrug. “It’s nice. Regal.”

  His brows start to knit together, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then he takes a drink of his rum and coke instead.

  “But Max…” I stress, “Now that’s a great name.”

  “Not as great as Poppy.”

  “My dad named me.”

  It’s another subject I really shouldn’t be touching on, and it makes me down half my drink. Because, you know, more alcohol will get me thinking more clearly.

  “To forgetting the past and paying the future no mind.” I raise my drink.

  He does the same. “I can toast to that. Especially considering the present is far more appealing.”

  Our glasses clink, and the sound, slight as it is, reverberates deep inside of me.

  Chapter 3

  Poppy

  The toast has us finishing our drinks, and Max signals for another round.

  “So.” I lace my hands and, placing them on top of my knee, turn in the stool to face him straight on. “I like your accent.”

  “I like yours.”

  He sounds so genuine that the honesty itself makes me laugh.

  “Really?” I ask.

  He nods, a smile stretching his face and showing off perfectly white and straight teeth.

  “Yours is… hm.” I scrunch my face hard, trying to place it, but I can’t. “Yeah. I don’t know. It sounds local, but not quite. Like a dialect I haven’t heard yet.”

  “I’m from around this area,” he says, breaking eye contact for perhaps the first time since he sat down. “Or close enough, anyway. And you?”

  He’s looking back at me, smiling again.

  “I’m not from around here,” I say.

  “Yes. I gathered. You have an exotic accent. You are from somewhere quite far away.”

  “Oh, wow.” I roll my eyes. “That’s the first time I’ve heard New Jersey referred to as exotic. It’ll probably be the last time as well.”

  “I have never been there.”

  “It’s on the East Coast of the United States.”

  “Yes. Right by New York?”

  “Yeah.” I look at him in surprise. “I take it you’ve been to the Big Apple.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  His eyes scroll over my face, and again I feel like he’s trying to figure me out. I don’t know why. I can’t be that much of an enigma.

  “Why Copenhagen?” he asks.

  My mouth is open, but instead of answering, I’m laughing.

  “What?” Max’s eyes sparkle as he laughs along.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” I say over the last of the giggles.

  He takes a long breath and looks up at the bar’s ceiling. “It’s a good place to lose yourself.”

  There’s a twinge of pain in the answer, and my heart aches for him. I don’t even know Max, but the way he talks about things, I feel we probably have a lot in common.

  “I hear you there.”

  I take a drink of my rum and coke. My head’s gone a little woozy, but I’m still sharp enough.

  “I wish I didn’t have to leave it,” I murmur.

  “What’s that?”

  My face warms. “Nothing.” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  Max finishes up his drink and lays some bills on the bar. “How about a walk on the beach?”

  “Count me in.”

  I grab my purse and wait for him to lead the way, but then it becomes clear he’s waiting for me to make the first move. He trails right behind me as we walk across the bar, but at the exit he hurries ahead to open the door for me.

  “Thanks,” I say. It’s not often that men are this chivalrous. Props to whoever taught him such good manners.

  The crashing of the waves seems particularly loud, and I don’t know if it has something to do with the hour or my mood. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve come down to the beach in the last six months, so I’m not exactly famili
ar with how things should be here.

  At the point where our feet hit the sand, Max stops and takes his shoes off.

  Not me. I keep mine where they belong, on my feet, and walk alongside him as we edge closer to the water.

  We stop at the breaking of the waves and stand there quietly. A woman and her dog walk by, the Golden Lab running in and out of the water, and down the beach some a fire glows.

  It’s a nice scene, but the part I like best is the city lights.

  I’ve stayed in a number of places the last few years. Barcelona. London. The French Alps. Switzerland. By far, though, Copenhagen has been my favorite.

  Maybe one day I can come back here, but that’s a one day that feels impossibly far away.

  I’m an unemployed college drop-out. Even if I had finished my English degree, I’m not so sure it would be helping right now.

  I’ve been working at random, seasonal jobs for years. I don’t have a career, and since I don’t have a career, I don’t have money. Since I don’t have money, I don’t have much freedom.

  It’s pretty simple math.

  A hot tear slides down my cheek. Thank God it’s dark out here, because if Max saw me crying, I would probably die from shame.

  “I love the water,” he says.

  I swallow as much emotion as I can before speaking. “Yeah. It’s nice.”

  Probably full of all sorts of creepy things, too.

  “Let’s go for a swim,” he says.

  My jaw drops. “Uh…”

  “Come on.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. My eyes are adjusting enough for me to see his broad smile, and even though it makes my stomach do a flip, it’s not enough to get me moving.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  “Ah.” He drops my hand. “Yes. After a few drinks, it’s probably not the wisest idea.”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m fine.”

  I scrunch my face. Why did I have to be so honest? He just gave me the perfect excuse, and I blew it.

  “Can you not swim?” he asks.

  “I swim okay.” I eye the dark water and suppress a shudder. “I’m just not great at it. Winter sports are more my thing.”

  “Really?” he asks, sounding intrigued.