The Firstborn Prince

By: Virginia Nelson

“Can you read each other’s minds?” Natalie asked.

He sighed. People always thought being a twin was magical.

“No,” he said. For her, he would share the tidbit he didn’t usually admit to, just because he wanted her to understand them. He didn’t hate Connor, but he wanted to beat him. It was complicated. “Once, Connor broke his arm, and I wasn’t there, but I couldn’t use my arm that day. Thought I was having a stroke or something. Weirdest thing that ever happened to me, to be honest. It is pretty much the only thing that has ever happened that was even slightly a ‘weird twin’ kind of thing. Best I could say was that we shared his pain.”

“That is weird. So, your plan is that I’ll call you by your first name, not wear a jacket, and magically Connor will try to steal your image consultant away?”

When she said it like that, it lacked the brilliance it had in his head. “Do you think it’s a bad plan?”

“Do I think…? Pfft,” she said. Standing, she slid out of her jacket. The dress was gathered at her neck and fell in neat folds around her. The fabric was so flimsy, he imagined dragging his hands up her sides and having her nearly naked in all of a second. “Look at me, dude. This is not the package to distract your brother.”

But the thing was…she was. Ever since he’d met her, Foster had fought off random waves of desire at the most banal of things. He’d like nothing more than to stride across the few steps separating them and drag her close for a kiss hot enough to make her realize the power she held over him.

And she would have that same mystical something over Connor, too, when the moment was right. He was gambling the entire company on his belief in that fact.

Clearing his throat, Foster only said, “You’ll do nicely. But, yes, no more jackets. They look too businesslike. And just talk like you normally do, because intelligence is sexy.”

She blinked at him, leaning her hip on the table. “I think that was a compliment. Maybe.”

He shrugged. She knew she was an intelligent woman, or she wouldn’t be confident in the work she’d done nearly single-handedly for years. “So, yes, just do what you normally do—image consultant–wise—and be overly informal with me. Maybe even flirt a little.”

Why did he say that? He didn’t mean it. If she was a temptation just being frustrated with him, how much more appealing could she be if she intentionally set out to seduce?

She’d kill him. But, damn if he wouldn’t die happy.

Biting her lip slowly, she swung the jacket across her shoulder and crossed the short distance separating them. Once she got close, he remembered his manners and stood.

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, and he held his breath. What was she up to?

Walking her fingertips up his tie, she licked her lips slowly while meeting his hungry gaze.

“Whatever you want…Foster.” She ended her words with her fingertips just touching his lips. He bit her fingertip and that pulse at the base of her neck picked up speed. Her eyes narrowed, and she took her finger back. “See you in an hour at the office, boss,” she said, leaving the room without another word.

Chapter Four

From Natalie’s rules for Foster Boyd, v2

Rule #8: The media has long made bank off the fact that you’re a ladies’ man. Your love of the fairer sex is more well documented than the Cold War. Avoid kissing people. Just, all people. I do not even want to put a gender on it, because I’m sure you’d see that as a loophole. Stick to cute puppies and babies. Maybe not even babies. Stick to animals, okay? I know what you’re thinking—it isn’t like that! Whatever, new rule. Kiss no one, not even cute puppies, unless you run it past me first. Your lips are dangerous.

Natalie stared out the floor-to-ceiling window, rocking back and forth on the leather swivel office chair. Her mind kept returning to the restaurant and how he’d bitten her fingertip. Was it wrong that the tiny pressure on something as ridiculous as her fingertip still had her zinging in awareness? Yes. Was she still electrified, wanting nothing more than to cross the room and crawl in his lap? Yes.

But she wasn’t going to let him know that. “He has five minutes to show up or I’m leaving,” she told Foster.

Top Books