by Brynn Paulin
At the door, I flattened my hand on the newly installed palm reader and waited for the lock to click open. A moment later, we were inside. I set Marigold on her feet on the foyer’s marbled tile then close the door behind us.
“Welcome home, Marigold.”
Chapter Two
~ Marigold ~
I should have been panicked right then, but I wasn’t. Maybe, I was numb from the cold and from being in a state of anxiety for the past five hours. Had it only been that long? Freezing and drenched, it had seemed like an eternity.
I was so fucked. And here I was in a stranger’s house. What would he expect? Was this any better than the distasteful option Rod had offered?
It both horrified and humiliated me that I’d been desperate enough to consider accepting Rod’s proposition. Even with sheer lack of choices, I just couldn’t. He’d been super pissed and made some reference to coming back before I was too rough for anyone to want. And in retrospect, it makes me think Rod was some low-level pimp and wanted far more from me than a roll in his bed. I could be wrong, but that vibe emanated from him.
But Booker seemed completely different. And I knew who he was. Who didn’t? He graced Page Six often enough. Not that I had much time to peruse it. Prince Booker definitely lived in Manhattan and rubbed elbows with the filthy rich and ultra-famous.
I mean, he could be lying about his identity, but the doorman had greeted him as Dr. Grammer, and now that I was more lucid and saw him in good light, I recognized him from pictures I’d seen. If he wasn’t truly the prince, he was a doppelganger, and that was unlikely.
Was I supposed to bow or curtsy or something?
I bit my lip, observing him through my lashes. Dazed by this turn of events, I watched him set my things on the floor beside a console table positioned against one wall. A little puddle immediately formed around them. Yeah…there was only so much water resistance in the “waterproof” backpack. I was pretty sure everything in it, as well as my faux-leather purse, was ruined, and I felt really bad it was leaking onto his shiny, flecked-marble floor. I stared at the pathetic little pile, the sum total of all my belongings, aside from the sodden clothes on my back.
“Hey…” Booker’s fingers stroked along my jaw then lifted my gaze to his. “Whatever led to that,” he tilted his head toward the bags, “it’s over. You have someplace to stay, and we’re going to get you dry and warmed up. You’re safe here and taken care of.”
My brow furrowed. “But why?”
It didn’t make any sense. This foreign prince had scooped me up off the street and brought me to his lush palace. Well, his palace so to speak, anyway. He didn’t know me. I could be just anyone—I was just anyone. A no one. And he was…
Don’t swoon, Marigold.
He was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. I couldn’t fathom how I hadn’t noticed his masculine beauty down in the park. I’d been overwhelmed when he’d taken my things and swung me up into his arms. All I’d known was his warmth and his strength. He’d carried me as if I were feather-light, and that wasn’t even close to true. I knew I was a curvy girl. But I hadn’t even considered protesting. Then in the lobby, his voice had wrapped around me. In the elevator, the fragrance of his expensive cologne had tickled my senses. Not just that. His underlying scent had made me tingle. Everywhere. Him.
That was completely unfamiliar to me. Until now, I hadn’t been interested in any guys—or any women for that matter. Sure, I could appreciate beauty in both genders, but nothing had lit me up. Not until Booker. He’d brought my arousal alive before I’d even known who he was.
In truth, his identity didn’t matter to me. It was just him. It was his essence, the personality and charisma rolling off him, not his title, not his wealth which I hadn’t even known about until we’d gotten here.
And here, we were.
Looking around this place, I knew he had cash in spades. I mean…hello. He was a prince, so obviously a healthy bank account came with the position. From the marble beneath our feet to the polished-steel fixtures and table, everything gleamed. The piece of modern art above the table in a shiny chrome frame probably wasn’t a knock-off print. Overall, the entry space should be cold and uninviting, yet the gray-beige walls and low lighting warmed everything up. His home felt inviting rather than off-putting.
An underlying scent of lavender and herbs pulled the warmth together, reminding me of a spring day in the country—a place I’d only been twice when I was in elementary school and my father had taken the family out west for vacation. Still, those trips had been some of the most special times in my life. The fresh outdoors aroma here, infused me with a feeling of warm, comfortable nostalgia.
Criminy… I hadn’t seen more than the large foyer, and I already wanted to stay. Forever. I needed to get a grip. There was no such thing as forever. And no one just handed you happily ever after. You had to work your ass off for it—I had to work for it. And I needed to get a grasp on what was happening here.
“Both hallways lead to the same place,” he told me before I could start questioning him. He pointed. “But going down the one to the left leads to the stairs to upstairs.”
Taking my hand, he guided me that way, and I winced as my sneakers squelched with each step, the squishing sound grating in the penthouse’s overall silence. Booker paused and looked down—not at my feet but at my pained expression. “You can leave them here if you want. Or I could carry you again.”
“Wouldn’t want to track water through the house,” I muttered.
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” he growled. “I just want you to feel comfortable.”
Immediately, shame heated my face. I shouldn’t be so crabby, and I shouldn’t assume the worst from him because he was rich and royalty. He hadn’t done a thing to deserve that. He’d gotten me out of the freezing-cold rain, told me I could stay here, treated me with respect. Stomping all over his kindness wouldn’t get me anywhere but back out in the storm. And I’d deserve it.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“It’s okay. We don’t know each other well. Yet. But we will. In time, you’ll know I’m not a pretentious ass.”
“I…” Well, yeah, I had assumed that because of him being a wealthy prince and all. I pressed my lips together to keep from saying anything else stupid. Looking away, I pulled my hand from his. I toed off my shoes then picked them up and dropped them beside my backpack. My socks were just as soaked, if not worse, so I took them off, too, and laid them across the shoes.
When I returned to his side, barefooted, he took my fingers once more. The marble was cold beneath my soles, and I almost wanted him to carry me again—not that I’d ever ask that. He paused at the base of the steps and indicated through the large archway just ahead of us to the right of the staircase. “The great room is through there and at the far end is the dining room and kitchen.”
Without elaborating, he guided me upstairs. We entered a second area that could easily be called a great room, as well. It could have effortlessly housed three apartments the size of the one I’d lived in until this morning. Perhaps four.
Three overstuffed couches formed a semicircle before a wall of glass overlooking a terrace. They were a good five feet apart from each other, emphasizing the immense space. A panorama of blurry city lights shown through the water-spattered windows. I could picture myself dimming the lights and curling up on one of them to take in the scene.
On the far side of the area, I spied a kitchen with tall, black-cushioned chairs lining the bar, which confused me since he’d told me the kitchen was downstairs. Maybe, this was more of a rich people’s refreshment station—I had no idea. It just seemed weird.
We passed a big, round table with a large floral arrangement on it. The table seemed more decoration than useful and divided the room, even though it was only in the center of the enormous open floorplan. Overall, however, this great room seemed sparsely furnished. Unbidden, I had the vision of a locked gate at the top of the stairs, this table r
emoved and several children running around in the area, playing to their hearts’ content.
Holy crap, stop that now, Marigold.
I swallowed hard, shaking my head as I kept following him.
“Hang on,” I practically yelled as he took me through a set of double doors. We were standing in a three-room bedroom suite. A sitting room was to one side, the bathroom straight on and his bedroom to the left—the huge king-sized, four-poster bed and some of his personal items were a dead giveaway. “I am not sleeping with you. You can’t just bring me here and expect I’ll jump in bed with you.”
I tried to pull my hand from his iron-grip, not succeeding as he turned his amused gaze on me. Despite my outrage, heat flamed into my face. And even though I had every right to be angry, I really wasn’t. Maybe I was a tinge irritated and disappointed at him, but anger wasn’t amongst my emotions.
Maybe, because I did want him or that I was attracted to him. It didn’t matter what I felt. I wouldn’t just jump into bed with him. I couldn’t. I wasn’t that kind of girl. I was cautious and overly responsible. I thought through everything. And a tiny part of me regretted that.
I yanked my hand again, and this time, he let go.
His hands lifted and cupped my face. They were warm against my still-icy skin, and he stroked his thumbs along my face. “Yes, this is my room.”
He pressed his lips lightly to mine when I started to protest. Stunned, I went mute and gasped.
“But…” he went on. “It’s also the only room with the amenities you’ll need for a bath. I haven’t bothered to stock any of the other ones since I don’t have people over.”
“Oh…” I whispered, heat burning my cheeks.
“But in the spirit of honesty,” he continued, his dark brown eyes mesmerizing me. “Yes, I want you. I wanted you the second I saw you, but I won’t rush you or try to force anything. I’ll wait as long as necessary.” He made a face. “Okay…I might try to rush you some, but I’ll never do something you don’t want. I want you to be happy living here where I can watch over you.”
“Okay…” I echoed, barely able to speak. Every bit of me was sodden—from the rain and from my arousal. Everywhere but my throat that seemed dry as the Sahara. I swallowed hard again.
He led me into the bathroom and opened a door, revealing a linen closet. “Soaps and towels and washcloths are in here. Oh, and extra toothbrushes. Toothpaste is in the drawer in the vanity.”
My hand quickly lifted over my mouth.
His laugh echoed in the tiled space. “Your breath is fine, baby. But I figured you’d want that eventually.”
I nodded and looked past him into the cupboard. “That’s some pretty basic soap,” I blurted before I could stifle it. My eyes widened. “I mean…I, uh, kind of…well, I thought you’d have all prince-like stuff.”
He laughed again. “Prince-like?”
“Well, you know… Not, like, supermarket bodywash.” I bit my lip, feeling pretty stupid.
Prince-like? What the hell, Marigold?
Here I was making assumptions again.
“I like the smell of it.” He shrugged. “My mother would probably have a coronary. She’s very…royal. She’s all about appearances, even though she didn’t grow up that way. She’s a New York girl, born and bred. Her father was a subway operator and her mom was an elementary teacher. Lived on Long Island.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” I looked around the opulent bathroom. The room I’d shared with Linzey could fit in here. “I know who you are, but nothing about you.”
“That could be a bonus. I’d rather you learn about me from me, rather than from the gossip blogs, magazines and click-bait headlines.”
I nodded. I understood a lot of that stuff was slanted for shock-effect, so I could see his point. “Are your grandparents still living on Long Island?”
He shook his head. “My grandfather passed when I was little, but my grandmother is still there. She retired from teaching a few years ago.”
“That’s what I want to do—teach.”
His intense gaze captured me again. “From now on, you can be anything you want. Anything except separate from me. Marigold… Stay with me.”
Chapter Three
~ Marigold ~
My mouth dropped open for a moment before I pressed my lips together again. Did he really just say that? And was I really okay with it? Shouldn’t I be running scared?
But I wasn’t. Something had clicked for me too, the second he’d lifted me into his arms down in the park.
I gave a single nod, and Booker grinned, making me think we weren’t quite on the same page. Somehow, it seemed he was lightyears ahead of me here.
All I’d agreed to was staying. I mean…what was I supposed to say? No, I won’t hang out in this luxury penthouse with you? I’d rather be in the rain.
That would be damn stupid. Besides…I wanted desperately to see where this went.
Seriously, I knew there was no hope for a future here. He was a prince and I was a poor, newly homeless girl with way too many curves to fit with his perfect lifestyle.
That was a problem with billionaires. They made you believe in fantasies that just couldn’t happen, because they had no idea what real life was like. They believed in living happily, with decadent-excess, ever after.
Things like that didn’t happen for girls like me, even if I was kind of the Cinderella in this story, complete with the evil stepmother and deceased father. The idea of Booker and I together? Talk about a delusional fairytale. So wasn’t happening, even if he could be Prince Charming. No fairy godmother would appear to bring me glass slippers.
He lifted a hand and stroked my cheek again, almost as if he couldn’t help but touch me. My brain tried to skip down the posy-strewn lane again, picturing long-term with him.
Welcome to fantasyland, Marigold.
Apparently, a few hours on the street had brought on a break with reality.
I watched Booker move to the tub to turn on the faucet. Even with the well-cut suit covering his frame, I could see the play of his powerful muscles. My mouth watered as I wondered what he’d look like naked. Would he have six-pack abs? Did he have those hip cuts that made me drool?
My tongue swept quickly over my bottom lip before I sank my teeth into it while I stared at his firm ass. My heart slammed into my breastbone, and my breathing went awry, and that reflexive action became a task. In. Out. Don’t pass out, girl.
“I turned on the jets.” He turned and caught me staring. I couldn’t even play it cool and pretend I hadn’t been. I burned all over, my chill forgotten. My cheeks were hottest of all.
“I…um…thanks.”
His hands flexed as we stared at each other, his thumb running over his fingers as if he wanted to reach out and touch me. Was that it? He wanted to touch me?
“I’ll layout some clothes for you on the bed,” he said. “Then I’ll go downstairs and give you some privacy. Meet me in the kitchen.”
“Okay.”
He trusted me alone in his bedroom? Maybe not, but what was he going to do? Stand here and watch me? That wasn’t really an option. Damn. I mentally kicked myself for my unruly thoughts.
Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d just leave crowned jewels lying about. What was the worst I could do? Roll around his bed in my drenched clothes? And what would that be? A minor inconvenience. I hadn’t seen any servants, but I had to believe they were around and they’d just swoop in to change his cushy bedding.
“Um…I’ll see you downstairs in a bit then?” I said.
With a nod, he left then closed the bathroom door behind him. I turned the lock. Despite my wayward thoughts and numerous stories out there about him, Prince Booker was very much a stranger to me. I wasn’t stripping without the bit of security afforded by the lock.
Going to the closet, I pulled out the linens I’d need, as well as the soap and shampoo. After setting them near the tub, I stripped off my wet clothes. I shivered as the cool air hit my skin and
goosebumps covered me, but it felt good to be free of the clinging, clammy fabric.
I moaned with pleasure as I stepped into the churning, warm water. Heaven! Sinking down, I let the relief fill me and clear my mind of everything. Everything but Booker. He didn’t leave my muzzy thoughts but lingered there like a guardian, keeping me safe from life. Right then, I didn’t question it or fight it. There would be time for that later. Now, I just needed to be in the blissful moment.
* * * *
Wrapped in a towel, with another around my head, I peeked out the bathroom door. I’d stayed in the tub long enough that I feared Booker might send in a search party if I didn’t extricate myself soon. The area outside the bathroom was deserted. I stepped out, looking left and right. The suite appeared empty. A sitting area to my left looked inviting, but I turned the other way toward the bed I’d seen before.
True to his word, Booker had left a T-shirt and athletic shorts on the thick comforter. Thankfully, the pants had a drawstring. Just looking at them, I could tell the legs would fall to my upper calves.
I took a deep breath, enjoying his scent that lingered here. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine him standing right beside me…or maybe, behind me, pressed to my back. Oh, yeah. I liked that image.
I let the towel drop as I imagined us together. My thighs clenched as my pussy tingled in anticipation of unknown pleasure. I’d never slept with or been touched by a guy, so I didn’t know what it would be like. But I could imagine.
I started as the door open.
“Marigold,” Booker called, coming into the suite. “I brought…”
He trailed off as I turned. I gaped at him, immobile while I stood there. He seemed equally frozen as he stared back.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His eyes widened, his words apparently yanking him from his trance. He turned his head away, giving me a modicum of privacy. “Shit. I’m sorry. I thought you were still in the tub. I was just bringing you a cup of hot chocolate for when you were finished with your bath. I’ll just…”
