The Prince Claims His Child

Janice downed the Scotch Whisky in one gulp, her eyes brimming with tears as the liquor burned her throat, causing her to hiss.

"Another one, please," she mumbled, sliding the now empty glass towards the bartender.

He eyed her warily, watching as she placed another dollar bill next to the glass. If he filled the glass, this would mark her third order this evening. He couldn't help but wonder why a young and pretty girl like her was drowning her sorrows in alcohol. He had sensed her depression the moment she had walked through the door and headed towards him. Her emotions were palpable even before she had dropped the first bill on the counter.

Simultaneously, he couldn't ignore the burning gaze from across the room. The bartender shifted his attention to a man not too far away; his aloof grey eyes fixated on the girl, who was now slightly drunk. He couldn't blame the man for staring – she was undeniably gorgeous, even in her inebriated state. He, too, had felt the pull of her charm; it had taken every ounce of willpower to resist.

"My drink!" Janice snapped, her impatience directed at the bartender, who seemed lost in thought.

Her vision dimmed momentarily, and she blinked, dispelling the haziness at the back of her eyes as she took in his features. She observed his scrawniness, his coffee-brown eyes meeting hers with uncertainty as if he couldn't decide what to do with the glass she had pushed toward him.

Her eyes rolled as he made a face of distaste.

His brown hands scratched the back of his head before he resumed filling the cups before him. There was a noticeable tremor in his hands, causing him to jerk and spill some liquid into a glass cup adjacent to the counter. He hastily gripped the Scotch bottle, pouring with a sudden hesitation before finally grasping the glass in his brown hands.

Janice lifted her winter blue eyes to meet his brown gaze, cocking a slender brow as she noticed his brows furrowing.

"I'm not drunk," she stated, though the moment the words slipped out, she knew it was far from the truth.

While she could sense the pub's ambiance, Janice was already somewhat intoxicated after just two glasses. She recognized her own lightweight drinking capacity and knew that taking such a potent drink wasn't wise.

"Just give me the damn alcohol!" Janice gritted her teeth.

"No. You might hurt yourself, and I wouldn't want to be the cause of that. It's better if you confront whatever is troubling you. Two drinks are plenty, and no more," the bartender retorted firmly.

He poured the contents he had prepared for her into a nearby waste bin and returned her money.

Janice hissed in frustration before grumbling and staggered away from the barstool. "People can't just mind their own business!"

In her unsteady state, she didn't notice an empty can on the floor. Her hands flailed in the air, and she squeezed her eyes shut to brace herself for impact as she tumbled to the ground.

A calloused finger brushed against her bare arm, sending shivers down her spine. Despite the roughness of the hand, its warmth felt comforting against her translucent skin.

"Hey," her savior's voice rasped into her ear.

Janice's heart warmed, and the scent of his masculine cologne filled her nostrils. Desire kindled within her, and she looked up at him through her lashes.

Beautiful grey eyes bore into hers, a visible scowl on his angular face. However, she paid no mind to his expression as her hands ventured into his hair, and she lifted herself up toward him.

He tensed as her lips met his, but the kiss continued. She trailed her tongue along his jawline, gently sucking on his earlobe before returning to his lips. Her lips urged his, and a moan escaped him, muffled by their kiss. Janice grinned against his lips as she elicited a response from him.

His hands moved to her posterior, squeezing firmly before slipping beneath her shirt to unclasp her bra. She released a wanton moan and pressed her body closer to his.

Ignoring the alarms ringing in her head, Janice allowed herself to be carried away as his soft, wet kisses descended from her collarbone.

Even though the person was a complete stranger, she craved that sense of connection to make herself feel desired.

When Jules spotted her in the pub he frequented, he couldn't tear his gaze away. He felt an immediate pull toward her, his face adopting a persistent scowl as other men ogled her.

Throughout the night, he waited for the perfect opportunity to approach her when she was alone. However, what he hadn't anticipated was her suddenly launching herself into his arms, seeking his lips.

Aware of her intoxicated state, he wrestled with his desire, not wanting to take advantage of her. Yet, he couldn't deny the effect of her soft lips on his senses. The texture of her skin, the shape of her sweet cupid's bow lips, and the warmth of her kiss left him in a daze.

In response, he allowed her to guide their interaction, refraining from initiating anything to ensure she wasn't overwhelmed.

"Please, take me, stranger," her eyes and body begged him.

He didn't need a second invitation, but he sought affirmation.

"Are you certain about this?"

"Yes," she whispered, clutching onto him. As she undid the buttons of his pristine shirt one by one, he stopped her at the last button.

Decisively, he unlocked his car and gently guided her inside. He paused for a few seconds, gauging if she might change her mind—a possibility he recognized was slim due to her current state.

When she didn't waver, he acknowledged her request and fulfilled it right there in the confines of his car.