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Royally Tempted (The Triple Crown Club #3)
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Filthy. Royal. Gorgeous. Triplets. Temptation’s never tasted so sweet.
And now they’ve got their eyes on me.
It’s called the Triple Crown Club – a place out of whispered secrets and rumor, where the powerful, royal elite come to indulge in the ultimate fantasy: a place where three princes share one lucky girl.
…If she dares.
Sneaking in here was a mistake. But meeting the King brothers might just be the best mistake I’ve ever made.
Three identically gorgeous men, with three wicked tongues, six demanding hands, and three very huge, uh, crown-jewels.
I’d ask how a girl’s supposed to choose, but maybe I won’t have to. After all, triplets are exactly the same…
*Please note that each of the Triple Crown Club books are completely standalone stories centered around one heroine, with no cliffhangers.
Royally Tempted is a modern fairytale involving three totally and completely obsessed alpha heroes, and enough insta-love, kindle-melting steam, and sugary-sweetness to make you swoon. This mfmm romance is all about her – no m/m. If you love over-the-top, slightly unrealistic, and wildly dirty stories, this one’s for you! HEA with NO CHEATING!
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“We need something filthy. Something big.”
Martin, the editorial chief, pumped his fist into his open palm, looking around the small conference room.
“What we need to deliver is a story that people will talk about for years — something that scandalizes. So, get out there, get hunting, get digging, and bring me all the dirt you can find. We have a job to do people, now let’s get to it.”
He slammed his fist on the table like he tended to do when he ended one of his little speeches, his slightly piggish face bright red and sweaty.
The room nodded as the meeting broke and people started to get up from the table, collecting their things.
“Something big, people! I’m hungry!”
I resisted the urge to snort as I rose from the table. Simone, to my right, did not.
“There’s a headline,” she muttered under her breath. “Fat, sweaty, walking-sexual-harassment editorial chief is hungry. Stop the fucking presses.”
I turned to grin at her, rolling my eyes.
“We could not bring him something when he’s hungry. That’d be the real scandal.” I sighed as I gathered my stuff. “I mean isn’t anyone else getting tired of this ‘scandal’ crap? Wasn’t the whole point of this team to find stories that mattered when it came to royalty?”
Simone shrugged. “Yeah, well, people don’t want ‘what matters’ apparently. They’re just interested in who’s fucking whom.”
I shook my head as I shouldered my bag, and we started to head out of the conference room when Martin cleared his throat behind us.
I made a face before turning and forcing a smile.
“Can you stay behind for a second?”
I glanced back at Simone, who gave me a half-smile, half-sympathetic look.
“I’ll, uh, meet you downstairs?”
She nodded, her eyes saying “good luck” before she headed out of the conference room.
“What’s up, Martin?”
“Just wanted to check in with my favorite team writer,” he smiled, his eyes firmly on my breasts, as usual.
“Anything juicy for me?”
I shrugged, pulling out my phone and bringing my notes up.
“We’re following up on some leads about the rumors of the Countess of Vandim having had a baby in secret somewhere. Apparently the dad might be her husband’s personal trainer.”
Martin grinned. “Nice.”
Crap like this was not why I’d become a journalist. It’s not what brought me to the Revania Post either. When word had gotten out that we were starting an internal special investigative team to look into hard-hitting stories around royalty and their families, I was so excited to be picked to be a part of it. I mean, that was why I’d gotten into this business — to write the stories that mattered and shed light on the things that people needed to hear about. Secret treaties, trade wars between kingdoms, allegations of corruption — these were the things I was excited to dig into and write about.
Instead, our “special investigative team” was basically a gossip column. We were not writing about the things that mattered. Instead, every story was about who was sleeping with whom (allegedly), who was wearing what, and who was spotted at some exotic location with someone other than their queen or king.
It was a joke. Instead of hard-hitting stores, I was following up on stories of scandalous affairs and royal celebrity sex tapes.
I paged through some more of my notes on leads. That was one thing about royals and the hints of scandal — it was always there if you just look a little deeper than the surface.
“There’s a source that claims she has evidence that Princess Amalla of Krysto is actually Prince Amalla.”
Martin beamed, still looking at my tits.
“Good, good. Nice work, Emma.”
“But I think we can go deeper. Get something that matters more.”
I raised a brow. Well, this was new for Martin.
“Yes!” I said excitedly. “I’ve been dying to do something hard-hitting that gets into the real stuff that matters!”
He grinned, nodding his head eagerly. “Good! I like your fire, and I think you’d be perfect for this.”
The smiled stretched across my whole face, excited to finally be moving past this scandal and rumor stuff and into something that really mattered.
“So, what are you thinking?” I eagerly flipped to my notes of actual political news. “There are reports of Lumloria amassing troops at their borders, and there’s a ton of stuff to get into with the separatists insurgency fighting in Berne. Or, I know there’s—”
Martin cut me off with a laugh and shake of his head. “Nah, not what our team is after.”
My spirits sank.
He rubbed his hands together, his eyes finally pulling back up to my eyes.
“Ever heard of the Triple Crown Club?”
The name gave me pause. I knew I’d heard the name before, but I couldn’t grasp it.
“Alleged members-only, royalty-only sex club? Ring any bells?”
That was it. Yeah, I’d heard of it, as the completely bullshit urban legend it was.