Page 69 of Scarred Crown

“Ignore it,” she murmurs against my lips, and then she tilts her head to draw me in deeper.

Sold. Not answering the door.

I tug her forward on the desk and lean into the kiss. There’s still a surreal aspect to being with Jules, and I’ve got a lingering fear mingling with my happiness that I can’t seem to quell. She’s with me, but there’s a ticking clock. One I set, sure. Doesn’t change that it’s there. There’s also the wild card of Alex. Why would he send her that message about the gossip article? She didn’t seem bothered about it, but I can’t dismiss the exchange between them. Did she respond?

The doorbell to the suite rings, and I groan. “They’re not going away.”

Jules draws back and kisses my cheek. “I’ll wait right here.”

I back toward the door, and I don’t take my gaze off Jules. She looks thoroughly kissed because of me. I did that.

Given that we’re in America, I check the peephole. Even with guards, people keen to sell a story about me and my brothers have done some devious things. Outside is a hotel employee with a bottle, glasses, and a deck of cards.

When I open the door, the employee hands me the bottle of tequila, shot glasses, and cards. “Compliments of Prince Brice of Bellerive. He insisted it be hand-delivered.”

I chuckle, turning the bottle of expensive tequila over in my hands. “Of course he did.” While I might not be besties with Alex, Brice and I grew closer once Jules and I were no longer attached at the hip. If there’s an upside to losing your best friend, it’s developing a newfound appreciation for a brother. Only one of them though.

I pass the employee a tip and shut the door, still chuckling to myself.

“Tequila?” Jules takes the bottle from me when I reach the desk. “Who sent this?”

“Brice.” I set the glasses beside her hip and take the bottle from her to unscrew the cap. Both shot glasses get filled almost to the brim.

“I haven’t been drunk in years.” Jules eyes them.

“Why not?” I pass her a shot.

“I sometimes get kinda sad, I guess? I’m not usually a happy drunk.” She tips back the glass.

I frown and take my shot. “I don’t remember you being like that when we were younger.” In fact, she was often the life of the party. Wasn’t she?

“If I become too depressing, just put me to bed.” She shrugs and holds out her glass for another shot.

I suppress a smile. “I guarantee having me put you to bed would not be depressing.”

“Nicholas Edward Summerset.” She slaps my chest. “Why does everything have to become a sexual innuendo?”

“Julia Louise Jensen.” I put a hand over my heart. “There’s nothing sexual about me putting you to bed.” I smirk. “Unless you want there to be.”

She flushes and takes the card from my hand. “What are the cards for?”

“Probably for High Card. He knows I’m here with you, I’m assuming.” I fill our shot glasses again.

“High Card?”

“A game he and I played when we grew bored of the Vegas scene and wanted to hole up in our hotel and get drunk. Whoever draws the high card gets to ask the other person a question. They can either answer or take a shot.”

“Honest answers or silly answers?” She draws the cards out of their package.

“Honest. Brice sometimes calls it truth and tequila. That’s what makes the game fun. You have to be willing to bare your soul or get drunk enough you bare it anyway.”

“Bare my soul?” She quirks an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you rather I bared something else?”

“We can play strip poker if you want.” I grin. “I was letting you win downstairs. The pot is more to my liking up here. I’ll be happy to have you go all in.” I trace the neckline of her shirt with my finger.

She blushes, and I brush my lips across hers. When I try to draw back, she bunches a hand in my T-shirt and keeps me close. “High Card.”

“You’re taking honesty over getting naked?” I ask. “Suppose either version of naked is fine with me.” I grab the bottle of tequila, the two glasses, and her hand. At the couch, I line up the shot glasses on the coffee table, pouring a generous amount in each.