Two
Royce told himself to stop kissing her. Told himself that she wasn’t for him. She was the Thompson princess, and he the older heir to the Knox kingdom. No matter how poorly suited she and Bran were, or what she’d admitted to Royce in the privacy of the locked closet. He recited those reminders again and again but couldn’t seem to leave the sanctity of her seeking mouth.
Her lips were too lush, too ripe. She tasted like champagne and sex. Really great sex. It’d been a while since he’d had really great sex, so he allowed himself a moment to explore. To remember... Maybe discover was a better word because he didn’t find a single familiar memory to cling to in Taylor’s kiss. He only found newness. Excitement. A certain zest... If that was the right phrase.
Ah, screw it.
Who cared what it was called. Now that he’d tasted her, he was inclined to taste her a little longer. To indulge in what he’d been forbidden to claim. Though technically it was Taylor who’d claimed him. He was practically an innocent bystander.
Until he cupped the back of her neck. Until he swept his tongue into her mouth and sampled her deeply—giving in to the yearning that was only seconds old, but felt as if it’d been there a hell of a lot longer.
Royce valued control in all facets of his well-organized life. He’d always assumed it was the way he was wired—he’d inherited his father’s shrewd business intelligence, where Brannon mirrored his father’s excitement and spontaneity. The attributes had been divvied between the Knox sons equally and were doled out double to Gia—which was unfair, but nonetheless true.
Budgets and financial strategies made sense to him. Royce liked his role as CFO because it was predictable—math didn’t have “gray areas.”
Taylor was a gray area.
At ThomKnox, he’d carved out his dream career by age twenty-three. He was hailed a boy genius in this magazine or that blog post but he didn’t care for monikers or attention. He kept his focus on the numbers, which never lied. Gossip websites couldn’t claim the same.
Wouldn’t they have a heyday if they found out you were making out with your younger brother’s date?
That quiet reminder stopped him short of pushing Taylor against the nearest flat surface—the door in this case—and trailing his mouth down her neck and lower. Even though Bran had no claim on her. She’d said so herself. Royce’s younger brother was planning to propose and she was planning on dumping him. What more evidence did Royce need that those two were ill-fated?
He pulled away and caught his breath, not knowing she’d robbed him of it until he greedily sucked in a lungful of oxygen.
Her eyes were wide and wild, her mouth opened to say... God, he had no idea... Everything about the kiss made him want to claim her for himself. To take what she was generously offering.
For once, practicality failed him. Against his better judgment he leaned in to cover her mouth with his for one more taste. Monday morning would come and he’d deal with consequences. But they didn’t matter right now. What mattered was attraction. Set on simmer for years and now boiling over...
Just as he laid his lips on hers and pulled her flush against his body, the door at his back opened. They snapped apart like teenagers caught breaking the rules.
A breeze whooshed in from the force, sucking the air from the room, and judging from the look of panic on Taylor’s face, every ounce of air from her body. She backed away from Royce a step.
Brannon stood in the doorway, his expression filled with surprise that faded into rage so fast Royce nearly missed the transition. “I sent you to find Taylor not make out with her.”
“That’s not—”
“I saw the light under the door,” Bran said between clenched teeth. “And now I see the light in a different sense.”
Royce had looked out for his siblings for as long as he could remember. He was the responsible one. It wasn’t like he couldn’t have physically stopped the kiss when Taylor advanced, he just...hadn’t.
“It’s my fault,” he said, figuring she could blame him and save herself.
“Now I know why you discouraged me from proposing. So you could have her for yourself.”
“Excuse me?” Taylor interrupted, offense radiating off her like her sweet perfume.
“I was going to propose to you tonight,” Bran told her, his chin elevated.
“I know,” she said. Gently. She was kind. Maybe too kind if she’d been dating his brother for her late father’s sake more than her own. Why hadn’t she had that pertinent discussion with Bran before tonight? If she’d let him down easy, he never would’ve purchased a ring.
And if she’d never seen the ring, the kiss never would’ve happened.
Which shouldn’t have happened. But Royce was having trouble regretting it.
“You...knew?” Bran asked Taylor, his face turning an impressive shade of red.
“I saw you with the ring and I... I ran away. Royce found me. I didn’t mean to... I...I always wanted to kiss him.”