Christmas with a Prince

by Noelle Adams

  Henry was quiet as he paid the bill and we left the restaurant. It was a three-block walk over to the community center, and we didn’t talk as we walked.

  It was one of those rare, perfect winter days—brisk air, bright sun, crisp blue sky, big white clouds occasionally blowing through. But I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it.

  Before we reached the door, I said, “I need to get my bag out of my car.”

  Henry nodded without a word and walked with me around the building to the parking lot.

  We’d just reached my car when he burst out, “You’re mad at me.” His eyes were very sober as they rested on my face.

  I shook my head. “I’m not mad.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’m... disappointed.”

  “That I won’t tell you about my job?”

  “That you won’t tell me a lot of things. That there’s always this... this block when it comes to who you are when you’re at home, and I can’t seem to get past it.”

  He sighed and leaned forward, bracing himself on the car behind me. “I’m sorry, April. I really am.”

  “But?”

  “But... I don’t know. I guess I just want to try... I want to be with you without all the baggage I always bring to relationships. I want it to be just you and me.” His eyes were serious and tender and worried and intimate, and his face was only a few inches from mine. “Nothing else. Just me and you.”

  I could feel my pulse in my chest, my wrists, my ears. My heart was pounding out an excited staccato at the intimacy in his words, in his expression.

  But there was still that pull of anxiety. “But our baggage is part of who we are, Henry. You know all my baggage. Why can’t I know yours?”

  “You can know,” he murmured. “I promise. Just...”

  I waited.

  “Just not yet.”

  I almost sagged in disappointment, and I couldn’t help but wonder how big his baggage was—if he thought it would be worse to share than all mine was.

  What had he done?

  Who was his family?

  What did he still feel he couldn’t tell me?

  He was leaning forward to kiss me. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted me, and he also wanted to end this conversation.

  I put a hand up to stop him. “It’s not good enough, Henry. I’m not okay with it.”

  He pulled back and straightened up, drawing his eyebrows together. “Can’t you give me a little more time?”

  I shook my head, my throat suddenly closing up.

  I wasn’t even sure how it had happened, but this was starting to feel like the end.

  Opening my trunk, I got my bag out and hooked it to my shoulder. Then I started to walk inside.

  Even as I did, I was hoping he’d come after me, give in on whatever was holding him back, tell me everything.

  He didn’t though.

  He did come back into the center, but he went straight to work.

  A LOT OF THE KIDS WERE out sick today, so we combined some of the reading circles, and I didn’t have to lead one. I stayed in Marcus’s office for the next two hours—doing paperwork and talking to Marcus about plans for next year.

  I tried to distract myself from the howl of despair in the back of my mind, the one telling me that I couldn’t lose Henry, that it was too soon, that this wasn’t a good enough reason to let him go like this.

  At five o’clock I had nothing else to do in Marcus’s office, so I had no choice but to go out to the main room and help with the wrap-up.

  Henry had finished with the book storage room earlier this week, so he’d been working in the kitchen and doing odd jobs around the center since then.

  They first thing I saw when I stepped out of the office was Henry, squatting down so he was on the level of a little boy named Kyle.

  Kyle was seven and very shy. He almost never talked to anyone.

  But he was smiling now—in a hesitant way—as Henry had an earnest conversation with him, evidently about the book in his hand.

  I stood frozen in place, watching them.

  Henry wasn’t talking to the boy in a way I was familiar with—that way adults often had with kids, like they were going through the motions while keeping an eye out for something more interesting. Henry’s attention was completely focused on Kyle, and he was leaning forward slightly so he could hear whatever the boy was saying.

  My heart melted as I watched.

  It just melted.

  I’d been so completely wrong about Henry when I first met him. He was obviously from a family that had money and privilege, but he wasn’t spoiled or selfish.

  He was good. His heart was so kind and warm and sweet.

  He’d obviously seen Kyle sitting alone as he often did, and he’d gone over on purpose to talk to him, to make him feel like he was a part of things.

  And he’d done it for no other reason but that he was good.

  Whatever he was keeping from me couldn’t be that bad. It just couldn’t be. Because Henry was a good man—no matter what else he was.

  I wasn’t sure how long I stood there staring, but Henry finally stood up as Kyle was called back over to be dismissed.

  Henry turned his head, as if he’d felt me standing there.

  Our eyes met across the room and held for longer than they should have.

  Then Henry walked over to me. “What is it?” he murmured when he reached me.

  “It’s enough,” I managed to say, strangely emotional.

  He frowned in confusion. “What’s enough?”

  “This.” I gestured between the two of us. “This is enough. Just you and me and no baggage. Not forever. But for now, it’s enough.”

  I saw the recognition dawn on his face. I saw the concern transform into deep relief. Then he pulled me into a tight hug, muttering, “Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.”

  I hugged him back, feeling like I’d done the right thing.

  WE HUNG OUT EVERY DAY for the next week, and every day I liked him more and more, every day I felt happier and happier, every day our kisses got hotter and hotter. I was still holding back though. For the past three years, my priority had been to be safe, and that wasn’t something I could just toss away because I was falling for a great guy.

  The following Friday, after the final reading session before the program broke for the holidays, Henry said I needed more Christmas spirit, so he took me to dinner and then ice-skating.

  We went to an outdoor rink downtown that was popular during the holidays, we rented skates, and we had a great time.

  Henry was very good, but I’d only skated occasionally. So it took me a little while to get the knack of it again. Eventually, however, we could skate hand in hand, and for the first time in ages I felt a stirring of Christmas spirit.

  It was a bright, beautiful day—chilly but almost radiant. The rink was playing Christmas music, and everyone around us seemed festive and happy.

  I was happy too. And it was clear to me from the look on his face that Henry was just as happy as I was.

  It felt like we were really together—even more closely than we’d been the day before.

  Maybe it had only been three weeks, but what he and I had was special.

  I could feel it was special.

  And I didn’t want to let it go just because of my difficult history and because there was something he couldn’t yet tell me.

  We skated for more than an hour, and when we finally turned our skates in, I couldn’t seem to stop giggling.

  Trying to get my legs stable again after skating, I kind of threw myself against Henry’s chest, burying my face in his soft blue sweater.

  He wrapped his arms around me, laughing too. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  I pulled my head back to look up at his face, melting even more at the warm, fond look in his eyes. “No.”

  He brushed back a loose strand of hair from my face. “Are you tired?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “What do you want t
o do?”

  I knew exactly what I wanted to do. And then I heard myself saying it. “I want to go back to my place.”

  Something grew still for a moment on his face, as if he wanted to take a sudden leap forward but was holding himself back. “Back to your place?”

  “Yes.”

  “For...” He was searching my expression with a cautious kind of excitement. With hope.

  “For everything,” I told him.

  He gave a little groan as he tightened his arms around me. But he was still just as sweet as ever. He asked, “You’re sure, schatzi?”

  I knew the answer without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure. Take me home, Henry.”

  He brushed his mouth against mine. “I will.”

  Five

  WE WENT BACK TO MY apartment.

  It was strange to have Henry walk into my place—as if he didn’t quite belong there. I wasn’t sure why but probably because I’d only known him in the context of the community center and the few blocks surrounding it.

  But now he was standing there in my living room, wearing jeans and a sweater, needing to shave, looking at me with a warmth and fondness and knowledge that I’d never seen in any other man’s eyes.

  A wave of bone-deep fear washed over me, and I tried to cover it by sounding casual. “Do you want something to drink?”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine.” He took a step closer to me, looking like he was about to reach for me, pull me toward him.

  I wanted him to. Desperately. But I was also washed in another wave of chilly nerves. I cleared my throat and turned away, pretending I was fiddling with something in my bag. Seeing my phone, I slid it out and checked the screen to see that I had no new notifications.

  “Is something wrong, April?” Henry asked, moving up behind me.

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Did you change your mind?”

  “No.”

  “Then—” He touched my shoulder gently.

  I sucked in a quick breath and turned to smile at him, suddenly thinking of something I could do. “I think I might take a shower. It’s been a long day, and I feel like I don’t smell very good.”

  He frowned, but it was thoughtful, searching, rather than disappointed. “You smell good to me.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t smell good to myself, and I’ll feel better if I take a quick shower. Is that okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay. We can do anything you want.”

  He was so incredibly sweet, and he still looked a bit concerned, like he knew something was bothering me but couldn’t quite figure out what it was. I stretched up to give him a little kiss. “I won’t be long.”

  When I shut the bathroom door behind me, I let out a long, relieved breath.

  I was being ridiculous. There was nothing to be scared about.

  This was Henry, and I was more than attracted to him. He was a really good guy. A kind, funny, and sensitive guy. He cared about me, and I could see it was real.

  And he was also the sexiest guy I’d ever known.

  I wanted to do this.

  I really wanted to do this.

  And I wasn’t going to let my fears and hang-ups get in the way.

  I hadn’t had sex in three years—not since I’d turned my life around.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever had sex without having at least a couple of drinks first.

  I tried to think back and couldn’t remember ever doing so.

  I’d never had sex sober before.

  And the truth was just this: I was terrified.

  I shook off the fear again and got into the shower. I soaped up, did a quick shave, and rinsed myself off, keeping my hair out of the spray so I wouldn’t have to dry it. It was just a few minutes when I was turning off the water and drying myself off. I put on my fuzzy purple bathrobe and came out, still feeling a bit nervous but not quite as much as before.

  Henry was sitting on a stool at my kitchen counter, checking his phone.

  He looked up when I came out and smiled when he saw me. “I like the robe.”

  “I don’t have anything sexy.”

  “You don’t need anything sexy.” He stood up. “I’m already crazy about you, April.”

  I took a shaky breath and smiled. “Same here.”

  He reached out to pull me toward him but surprised me by giving me a hug rather than a kiss. “Are you scared about something?” he murmured against my shoulder, his arms tight around me.

  I hugged him back, taking strength in his strength. “Yes. I am.”

  He pulled back enough to look at my face. “Why are you scared?”

  “I haven’t done this in a long time,” I admitted, feeling young and uncertain and kind of foolish as I said the words. “And I’ve never done this sober.”

  I saw what I’d said process on his face. “I see. If it’s too soon—”

  “It’s not too soon. I want to do this. With you. I was just explaining why I’m... scared.”

  He reached up to cup my face. “Then tell me what I can do to make you feel better.”

  “Just... just go slow, if you don’t mind.” My cheeks were blazing, and I hoped he wasn’t going to be too disappointed in me.

  “I don’t mind at all.” He leaned down to kiss me very gently. Then he said against my lips, “I’ll take a quick shower too if you don’t mind. You smell really good, and I don’t think I do. And I want to make sure I can go slow.”

  I blinked as I registered what he meant, and I gave him a trembling smile. “Don’t be too long.”

  “I won’t.”

  “There are clean towels on the shelf in there.”

  He went into the bathroom, and I went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. I swallowed down about half of it, and then I went into my bedroom, not knowing what else to do. I turned down the comforter and sat down on my sheet, fiddling with my phone, hoping Henry wouldn’t be too long so I wouldn’t have too much time to brood about this and maybe even talk myself out of it.

  It was only a few minutes when I heard the shower turn off. Then a minute later the door opened and Henry came out wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He must have looked in the living room first because it was a few seconds before he appeared in the bedroom.

  I put down my phone.

  His body was absolutely gorgeous—all long limbs, rippling muscles, and hard lines. He had a sprinkling of hair on his chest and more in a thin line that ran down underneath his wrapped towel.

  He walked over without a word and sat down on the bed beside me.

  We looked at each other in silence.

  Then he reached up and brushed a few loose strands of hair back from my face. “Will you let your hair down?” he asked in a hoarse murmur, his expression growing hotter, deeper somehow.

  I nodded mutely and reached around to pull the elastic off the bottom of my braid. Then, very slowly, I started to unbraid my long hair.

  He sat and watched until I slowly pulled each link from the braid. I’d never seen anything like the look on his face as he gazed at my hair come loose—like awe was dawning slowly in his eyes.

  I was breathless when I finally ran my fingers down the length of my messy, wavy hair. I was nervous and excited and self-conscious and so full of emotion I could barely contain it. My hands were trembling as I lowered my eyes and then raised them again, looking at him again through my lashes since I couldn’t seem to turn away.

  He was breathing fast too. Very slowly he raised a hand to stroke down the length of my hair. “Thank you, schatzi,” he murmured thickly.

  It wasn’t at all what I’d expected him to say. I thought he’d give me a compliment—say I was pretty, that he liked my hair down this way.

  But he’d thanked me, proving he’d understood how big a step this was for me.

  Not my hair. Everything.

  I stretched up to put my hands on his shoulders, leaning toward him, my heart so full I couldn’t possibly stand the distance between us.

  I f
ound his lips and brushed mine against them softly. Then something seemed to crack inside Henry and he took control of the kiss, taking my face in his hands, pressing back into me. Despite the urgency I could feel in his touch, in his body, he didn’t rush. He kissed me slowly, thoroughly, until my body had softened and flushed with heat.

  Then, very gently, he adjusted our bodies so I was lying on my back on the bed, gazing up at him.

  “You’re sure about this, April?” he asked, his voice deliciously husky.

  “Yes. I am. I want this.” I tangled my fingers into his thick hair. “I want you, Henry.”

  He made a wordless sound in his throat and kissed me again.

  The kiss went on for a long time, his tongue sliding against mine, his hands stroking my face and my hair. Eventually I was so turned on—from nothing other than the kiss—that I was shifting beneath him restlessly, my body needing more than it was getting.

  “Henry,” I gasped, pulling my mouth away at last. “Not quite this slow.”

  He chuckled and raised himself up enough to look down on me, and I could see his eyes as his hands moved to the tie of my robe. Carefully he undid the knot and pulled the robe open to bare my body to his gaze.

  The hot appreciation in his eyes—mingled with something desperately hungry—caused my breath to hitch in my throat.

  Swallowing hard, I pulled my arms out of the sleeves and reached up to pull him back down onto me. He kissed me again, a little less carefully this time as if his self-control were being tested.

  I loved the feel of the tension in his body. I ran my hands up and down the length of his bare back. The muscles were tight, and his chest moved with each breath. He was almost panting now—just like I was.

  He finally pulled away from my mouth and started to kiss his way down my neck. “You are so beautiful, schatzi,” he murmured against my skin. “So beautiful. There’s never been anyone like you.”

  I whimpered in pleasure at his words and at the feel of his mouth against my throat. I couldn’t lie still. My hands moved restlessly over his body until my fingers closed over the towel he still had wrapped around his waist. My hips were rocking helplessly as arousal kept tightening inside me.

  Then his mouth trailed even lower until he’d reached my breasts. He nuzzled between them for a moment before he moved to focus on the right one. He flicked the nipple with his tongue a couple of times, the jolts of pleasure making me gasp and arch my neck. Then he cupped the left breast with his hand so both of them were getting attention.