The Unlikely Spare (Unlikely Dilemmas, #3)

by Jax Calder

I’m embarrassed to admit that before agreeing to come on this tour, I hadn’t spent much time thinking deeply about the United Kingdom’s relationship with the Commonwealth, which is what remains of the once vast British Empire. The countries we collected like Monopoly properties throughout history. Although nobody ever agreed to play and we definitely made up the rules as we went.

O’Connell kisses like he wants to consume me, like I’m water after a desert crossing, like nothing exists beyond this room. His hand moves to tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to send electricity racing down my spine, making me gasp against his mouth.

But tonight, in this room, with Auckland’s lights glittering beyond the windows, we’re just Eoin and Nicholas.

“For what it’s worth”—Eoin’s voice drops lower—“your ex was an idiot to accept fifty thousand pounds in exchange for giving you up.” Despite everything, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch upward. “Oh? What would your price be, Officer O’Connell?” His eyes meet mine. “There isn’t one,” he says simply. And God help me, I believe him.

I wish Eoin had apologized for his judgy attitude tbh

thought, when I finally fell in love, it would be a gentle descent of growing to know the other person, of building trust brick by careful brick until something solid stood between us. Not this maddening freefall, this blazing inferno that stripped away every defense before I realized they were gone. This constant craving that makes me forget years of training faster than a pint disappears on payday.

I’m falling in love with him so fast that it makes my head spin. Every moment we spend together makes me wish I could stop time, keep us in this stolen car forever, suspended between who we were and whatever comes next.

Handholding is such a simple, sweet gesture. The heat between us has been the kind that leaves scorch marks on walls. But this quiet tenderness? It demolishes me completely.

Is this what love is? The idea that someone can see every bit of you, even your pettiness and sharp edges and spectacular failures, then shrug and say, “Yes, still you.”

Then again, my entire bloodline was built on the audacious belief that God himself ordained our rule, so perhaps delusion is simply genetic.

LOL

Christ. Even bound and gagged in the back of a terrorist’s van, he’s still the most maddeningly beautiful person I’ve ever met. I’m so fucking in love with this man.

Because this love I have for Eoin isn’t a polite, appropriate affection. It’s not the carefully managed emotions that fit neatly into my royal schedule. It’s messy and desperate and all-consuming. It’s me finally understanding why people write poetry and start wars and do impossibly stupid things. Because when you find someone who has seen your worst and still looks at you like you’re worth dying for, you don’t let them go. Not for protocol. Not for propriety. Not for anything.

My chest almost aches with my love for this man as I think about how he can make me laugh in any situation, how he’s simultaneously the most frustrating and fascinating person I’ve ever met.