Complete Me by Geneva Lee
The final book in the Royals Saga
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About the Book:
Be swept away in Complete Me, the seventh book in the Royals Saga with over 1 million copies sold worldwide.
I met Clara Bishop when I least expected. Loving her was nothing I could ever have imagined. We’ve weathered dangerous storms together, but our love has always been a tempest. I’m not a perfect man, but I will fight to protect her and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her. But first I have to prove that she completes me.
Return to the world of the Royals and their intersecting lives, loves, and secrets. When Alexander discovers a shocking mystery in his father’s past, it threatens to divide him and Clara forever. As Belle builds her company, she ignores the pain of last year’s events. Can Smith help her move forward once and for all? Edward shocked everyone when he embraced his love for David, but a wedding seems further away than ever before. Will the couple finally make the leap? It’s going to be a scandalous, steamy holiday season for each of them.
Excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
Washington,
D.C.
Alexander
THE QUEEN’S BEDROOM, considered
well-suited to visiting monarchy by the White House staff, felt as stodgy and
antiquated as the name suggested. It had certainly received the title when my
grandmother wore the crown, because my own wife was anything save boring. Despite
the overtly Victorian femininity of the wall-coverings and lacy bedspread,
Clara’s presence breathed a vitality into the space. She stirred in her sleep
and my breath caught even as I felt a familiar restlessness awakening in me.
Her
rich, brown hair fanned over the pillowcase as a serenity passed over her fair
features. Her lips began to move silently in her dreams. Propping myself up on
my elbow I studied her and wondered who she was talking to. While it might be
pointless to be jealous of the time she spent asleep, I couldn’t help it. I
couldn’t possess her in her dreams. For my irrational side—which too often
overrode my sense—it was unbearable.
Maybe
that’s why I felt the need to wake her so often for nocturnal activities.
The
anatomical center of my irrationality twitched in agreement at the thought, and
my hand went to it. I stroked myself absently. How early was too early to wake
her for morning sex? It was difficult to determine given how cocked up our
sleep schedule had been since arriving in Seattle
a little over a week ago. Since then we’d visited three more U.S. cities on
our goodwill tour. At least the capital was our last stop. Between traveling
and our daughter’s teething-induced crankiness, Clara was perpetually
knackered.
Still,
she never said no.
“Are
you warming up for something?” she murmured. Her lashes fluttered as she eyed
me drowsily.
“I
didn’t want to wake you.” I didn’t add that I would have woken her anyway.
Although I prided myself on my self-control, I was glaringly deficient in that
avenue where it came to my wife. When I had her alone I needed to be touching
her.
Clara’s
laughter lifted some of the never ceasing weight from my chest. Perhaps my
obsession stemmed from the miraculous balm of her presence. She’d always been
able to alleviate the burdens I carried with me, even though the pressures in
my life had increased exponentially since she came into it. She bound me as she
released me. It was the great paradox of our love that we saved each other by
chaining ourselves to lives of duty.
“You
would have woken me anyway,” she accused, stretching her slender arms over her
head.
The
movement caught my attention and I seized my chance. Rolling on top of her, I
snatched her hands and held them. “Is that a complaint, poppet?”
Her
body responded with a comforting awareness of my dominance. Clara’s legs fell
open, softening in welcome and her breathing shifted to shallow, eager panting
as she purred the only words I needed to hear. “Yes, please.”
I
accepted her invitation, releasing my grip on her only long enough to pluck
free the sash that held the bed curtains to the post. She didn’t protest as I
gently tied her wrist to the bed. Moving my knee against her bare cunt as a
gage, I decided she was more than content with the idea of a morning play
session.
“I’m
not certain Americans approve of bondage so early in the morning.” But she
stretched her free arm toward the other post even as she spoke.
I
couldn’t hold back my arrogance as I smirked down at her. “I don’t play by
their rules.”
I
cinched her wrists tighter to prove my point and was rewarded with a warm surge
of arousal.
“Should
the Queen be tied up in her own bedroom?” She loved to rile me up, knowing that
it would pay dividends in how rough I’d get. The more saucy she got, the more I
needed to dominate her. Like most couples our sex life ran the gamut of slow
and sensual to clawing and primal. Unlike most couples, it ran that gamut
daily.
“If
she’s in the King’s bed, she should be.” Sinking back on my heels, I
appreciated the sight of my wife tied up and helpless. Thankfully the house was
large and Elizabeth
was with the nanny down the hall, because I felt inspired to make her scream.
Clara’s breasts spilled from her silky nightgown and I snapped the fragile
straps to release them entirely. Moving down her body, I sucked the soft mound,
drawing her nipple into my mouth. While I might be impatient to get her beneath
me, I never minded taking my time once I had her there. Quiet moans escaped
from her and I increased my suction until I was practically biting the soft
flesh. Clara arched toward me, her hips beginning to wiggle as she searched for
relief. I loved watching my wife come but guiding her toward the edge was
arguably even better. Turning this beautiful, intelligent woman into a mass of
incoherent desire was only fair since she reduced me to that primal state every
time she walked into a room.
“Don’t
you have appointments today?” She pressed her body desperately to mine.
“Not
for hours,” I said with a mouthful of her creamy breast. I hadn’t bothered to
tell her how early I’d decided to start my day. I had no doubt the time would
pass too quickly for both of our likings.
“X!”
she demanded through gritted teeth.
I
withdrew and raised an eyebrow. Questioning my authority in the bedroom would
only earn her more time on her back. I suspected she knew that. “You’re being
impatient.”
“And
you’re being infuriating!” Her hands curled over her restraints as if she was
testing them.
“Don’t
think you’re getting out of those so easily,” I informed her even as I settled
between her thighs. Stroking the head of my cock down her swollen seam, I
grinned at the amusement she couldn’t quite hide from her answering glare.
Hoisting her legs around my hips, I held her there, stretching her long body
between the bed posts and my groin, and waited.
“Please.”
She licked her lips, her eyes going glassy as she asked again. “Please.
Please.”
I
groaned, unable to resist it when she began to beg, and thrust inside her. Her
muscles immediately contracted around my shaft as I drove her toward release.
She cried out, splitting apart. I’d taken her over the edge, but once again
she’d brought me to my knees.
THE OVAL OFFICE looked far more
ceremonial than official with the camera crew shooting in front of the
President’s desk. The room itself was decorated in shades of ivory and yellow,
but the color palette did little to warm the cool atmosphere. It wasn’t
unreasonable for the White House to film my visit, but it didn’t lend itself to
natural conversation. Having never met the new commander-in-chief of the United States,
I had to be on my best behavior. I only hoped he would be as well.
“Alexander,
welcome.” President Williamson tipped his head in a small greeting as he rose
from his chair. It was acknowledgment of our shared power, but not a bow. For
that I was grateful. If there was one thing I loved about America, it was
that no one routinely felt the need to prostrate themselves in my presence.
Williamson
was about the age of my father, but the two had never met. He’d taken office
shortly after the assassination that claimed my father’s life. But age is where
the similarities ended. Albert had been quintessentially British in his looks
and demeanor. At least, in public. Williamson was every bit the American head
of state right down to the red power tie. Despite his years, the lines on his
face only gave him an air of wisdom that matched his salt and pepper hair, and,
like most Americans foisted into the spotlight, he looked more like a movie
star than a bedraggled politician. He was the on camera commander, whose power
was limited by the large congress of lawmakers also elected by the people. That
was one position we were both in.
“Congratulations
on your wedding. I had hoped to share your joy, but circumstances…” He trailed
away, allowing my memory to recall the events of my wedding day.
“Of
course.” I allowed a tight smile. It was polite to offer his solicitations
naturally, but no matter how much time had passed I had never put that day
behind me. Williamson had been in attendance for the ceremony. Considering the
circumstances, he, along with several other powerful dignitaries, had sent
their regrets when invited to my coronation. I couldn’t blame them. If I could
have skipped the ritual I would have as well. “We’ve been negligent as well.
Clara and I planned to visit much earlier. Life and politics got in the way.”
“Don’t
they always.” He gestured to a chair next to his, and I took it. “What is your
lovely wife up to?”
“Motherhood,”
I said stiffly. Clara would not always be able to avoid the camera, but for the
time being I was content to enable her. I still hadn’t warmed to the idea of
sharing her with the world.
“I
was certain our special relationship would be even more special now that you’re
married to an American,” the president said light-heartedly as he adjusted his
suit coat before taking his seat.
Annoyance
surged through me, and I did my best to hide it. This man and this country had
no claim to my wife. I couldn’t exactly tell him that though, especially not
during a televised interview. “I think you’ll find that Clara is as American as
I am.”
We
laughed, but neither of us were amused. Williamson’s predecessor had been known
for his ease in awkward situations. It hadn’t been a strong enough quality to
get him reelected. Now the atmosphere in the Oval Office had the same wary
tension of an impending cock fight. This was what happened when you put two
alpha males into a room. There was no punchline, only a quiet struggle for
power.
“I
heard she prefers coffee,” the Secretary of State joined in, her tone effusive.
At least, Williamson had appointed someone adept at dismantling tension to his
cabinet. It was a particularly keen appointment since she handled most of the
administration’s foreign policy.
“I’m
working on that,” I admitted. The good-natured ribbing had the intended effect
and the conversation shifted into an easygoing conversation between the heads
of two sovereign nations. About an hour later, during a rousing debate between
the merits of American football versus European football, the camera crews
began to dismantle their equipment.
“This
way please,” an aide showed the crews out of the office, and the atmosphere
changed again.
Williamson
slumped in his seat, switching off his on-camera persona and becoming another
man. “Scotch?”
“Please.”
A
moment later, an aide dutifully delivered the drinks to us as a young, nervous
man joined us.
“Alexander,
allow me to introduce my press secretary Richard May. He’s here to keep us on
track for the press conference.”
I
rose and shook the man’s hand as he declined the offering of a Scotch. “I do
apologize for sticking you back in front of a camera so soon.”
“I
was born in front of a camera,” I said flatly. It wasn’t technically true but
it may as well have been. I’d never known what it was like to be in public
without someone filming me. My only real sanctuary from that fact had been
during my time on the war front.
“Of
course,” May said absently as he shuffled through some questions. “I imagine
that most of their questions will be fairly soft. They’ll ask about Clara and
your daughter.”
I
forced myself to nod. Despite my desire to keep my wife and child out of the
spotlight, it was futile. I did my best to keep a firm line when it came to the
press though, especially given how vicious the media had been during our
courtship. As much as possible, I wanted Elizabeth
to have a normal life. However unlikely the possibility was.
“Then
there’s the Edward issue.”
“I
hope you’re speaking about an upcoming magazine article.” This time I didn’t
bother to hide my annoyance. I’d been warned by my own people that this might
be brought up abroad.
“We’ve
briefed the corps on the topics that they’re allowed to broach,” the president
assured me, “but freedom of the press means we can’t tell them what they can
ask.”
I
didn’t miss the none-too-subtle dig. “Britain has it as well.”
“Then
you know the trouble it can cause.” Williamson spread his hands apologetically,
and I nodded.
There
had been some negative attention regarding my brother’s engagement in the
tabloids. But Edward’s decision to come out of the closet had been largely met
with enthusiasm. For most it signaled that the monarchy was no longer an
archaic relic, but there were always dissenters.
“I’m
prepared to take the fifth,” I joked, doing my best to sound as if the subject
didn’t irk me.
“I
think he’ll do just fine.” Williamson winked at May. “Are we ready then?”
May
trembled a little as he nodded his head. There wasn’t enough anti-anxiety
medicine in the world to counter the stress of his job. It was remarkable that
the man was allowed in front of the camera. As we headed toward the briefing
room, Williamson lagged behind. I took the signal and followed suit.
“I
am sorry that we weren’t at your coronation.” It was a surprisingly sincere
apology for a man who had fought to command the room when we first met. “Our
security teams felt the risk outweighed the duty, and, speaking man to man, my
first concern is always for my wife.”
“It’s
understandable.” I could appreciate a man putting his wife first. Where my own
safety was concerned, I rarely cared, but I’d surround Clara with an army if
she’d allow me. “If it were up to me, Clara wouldn’t have come either.”
Williamson
tugged at his necktie, and I realized he was holding something back. After a
few seconds, he continued. “Our reports suggest that there might have been a
larger plot in the works.”
“Ours
as well.” So it wasn’t just the British Secret Service concerned over the
assassination. We’d caught the attention of the CIA as well.
“I’m
happy to pass along the intelligence we have. I’m sorry to say that most of the
information hasn’t panned out.”
“Please,”
I said tersely. It wasn’t just their trails that had gone cold, but ours as
well. It was tempting to believe that the threat to my family had ended with
the murder of Jack Hammond. The problem with accepting that was that someone
had seen fit to murder the man, who by all accounts was responsible for my
father’s death. If Smith Price, my personal source of information within Hammond’s network, hadn’t been the one to take Hammond’s life, as he
claimed, then someone else had been.
“Unless
you already have him…” Williamson left the thought hanging in the air. It
seemed whatever information he had was unlikely to provide new insight.
“That’s
the thing about monsters,” I told him as we stopped outside the briefing
gallery. “You cut off one head, only to discover there’s another one.”
“That
I understand.”
Both
our countries had faced dark times of late. I could imagine the threats to his
family were as significant and omnipresent as my own. Without thinking, I
clapped a hand on his shoulder in a show of solidarity—and, perhaps, comfort.
Williamson’s face showed he understood.
“They’re
ready for you, sir,” an aide advised.
I
couldn’t quite prevent the grimace that flashed over my face but I replaced it
with a smile as I stepped in front of the rows of reporters. May stayed by my
side to direct the chaos as they began to call out to me.
“Miss
Bernstein,” May said and a woman shot up from her chair. She didn’t bother
adjusting her skirt or flipping her hair, instead her eyes zeroed in on me.
This
is going to sting.
“Your
Highness, will the crown sanction the marriage of your brother?”
It
was no surprise that they were going after Edward. I couldn’t expect one of the
most ruthless free presses in the world to ask what type of biscuit I
preferred. My father would have took the woman’s head off, but I’d already
decided to take a different approach. I’d kill them with charm. Ignoring the
rage coursing through me, I smiled. “I already have.”
This
incited a barrage of follow-ups from the crowd, but I held up a hand before May
could step in. “I’d like to limit topics to policy and my country.”
Not
my family.
They
were off-limits—all of them. I’d lost too many of the people close to me to
share the ones I had left. If I had to give every part of me away to protect my
family, I would. There was a moment of squirming silence while the journalists
regrouped.
“There’s
a vocal minority in Parliament that’s growing in strength, who would like to
see the monarchy abolished. How will you respond if support for the initiative
gains momentum?” an intrepid man called out.
“God
save the King,” I replied, earning a wave of laughter. The dry response shifted
the line of questioning to topics sure to produce amusing sound bites. I did my
best to stay clever, and steer things away from the people in my life. When I
finally took my leave, Williamson met me at the door.
“All
charm and no concrete answers—you were born for politics.”
I
supposed it was meant as a compliment. “I was born into politics.”
“I
guess you never have had much of a choice,” he mused as we made our way to the
residential rooms. “Your destiny was decided for you.”
I
thought of Clara and my life before I met her. Every moment of my life
propelled me to her, and yet I’d tried to push her away. In the end, we’d
decided to fight for one another. That had been a choice—as had my decision to
take the throne. It had been a personal decision. Becoming king allowed me to
search for those responsible for the attacks on my wife. In the end, there had
always been choices—hard ones. “I’ve chosen my destiny.”
“As
have I.” Williamson paused to say goodbye before returning to his office. He
still had a day of work ahead of him, and I had my whole world ahead of me. I
entered the small living suite our hosts had offered us quietly, afraid to wake
a sleeping toddler. Instead, a babbling ball of joy toppled toward me as Elizabeth misstepped. In
one swift move I scooped my daughter into my arms.
“I’m
sorry, Your Majesty!” Penny, the ever-fussing nursemaid we’d brought along
rushed over to save me, but I held my little girl. The poor woman couldn’t
fathom that a man would want to care for his child. If it killed me, I would
show her that I wasn’t simply any man.
Clara
looked up from her book and rolled her eyes at the scene developing before her,
but she didn’t step in. Later I’d be more than happy to spank her for being
mischievous. Her lips curled into a knowing smirk as if she could read my mind.
“Penny,
why don’t you take a few minutes for yourself,” I advised her.
“Sir?”
She stared at me as if this was a test.
“I’d
like to be alone with my family,” I clarified.
She
continued to look distraught, but she curtsied and took her leave.
“Is
it so hard to believe that I want to hold my daughter?” I grumbled when we were
alone.
“I
suppose most kings are interested in furthering their bloodline not building
blocks.” Clara’s eyes lingered on the two of us as I settled onto the carpet
with Elizabeth, who immediately pulled herself up and began practicing her
latest trick: walking.
“Clever
girl,” I praised her. “Already walking.”
“She’s
nearly fifteen months old,” Clara pointed out, even as she dropped onto the
floor beside me. Soon she was as captivated by Elizabeth’s antics as I was. My hand found
hers on the carpet. We stayed like that until a familiar form appeared in the
doorway. Norris looked as proud as any grandfather as he surveyed my family,
but when I lifted my gaze to his, I immediately knew something was wrong.
“I’ll
just be a few minutes,” I murmured to Clara, brushing a kiss over her forehead
even as it wrinkled in concern. Norris had given us a fair amount of space
during our limited family time. We both knew that his sudden appearance meant
news out of England.
Getting to my feet, I crossed the room to him, Elizabeth taking dozens of tiny steps to try
to catch up with me.
“There’s
been a development,” Norris said under his breath. We both glanced toward Clara
who was watching us with wary eyes. She didn’t like to be kept out of the loop,
a fact which had been a sore point since the day we married. Her contention
that we should keep no secrets from each other was valid, but I couldn’t bear
to burden her with the knowledge I carried.
I
stepped into the hallway and Norris followed.
“Is
it about Hammond?”
Nearly a year after his murder and we were no closer to the answers that might
lead me to our common enemy. Whoever had murdered him hadn’t done so as a favor
to me. That was becoming clearer with each stone we turned over.
“No.
I’m not even certain what it means.”
“You’re
going to have to give me more to go on,” I informed him. It wasn’t like Norris
to be mysterious, which meant that whatever news he had to deliver wasn’t good.
“The
team combing through your father’s personal effects uncovered something.”
“That
would seem to be good news.” When I’d asked for a discreet team to dig further
into my father’s personal life, I’d hoped to find links to the people
responsible for his death. Whatever secrets he’d kept could be the key to
discovering the truth about what happened that day.
“I’m
afraid it only raises more questions.” Norris looked torn and my pulse
ratcheted up as adrenaline surged through my blood.
“What
did they find?” I forced the question past gritted teeth.
“Not
what,” Norris corrected gently. “Who.”
“Who?”
I repeated. “They found a person?”
“They
found your brother.”
“Edward?”
I asked even as sensation of vertigo gripped me.
“No.”
Norris paused to allow what he was saying to sink in.
“I
have another brother?” My words were so strangled I barely recognized my own
voice.
Norris
drew a deep breath as if steeling both of us for what came out next. “It seems
you do indeed.”
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---------------------------
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Geneva Lee is the New York Times, USA Today, and Internationally bestselling author of the Royals Saga. She likes writing steamy scenes almost as much as imagining crazy ways to torture her characters. Geneva travels frequently, never says no to champagne, and spends more time with fictional people than living, breathing ones. She lives her husband and two children.
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