The Princess Problem

by Teri Wilson

  If she was a virgin, though, he needed to slow down. Be gentle. And he certainly shouldn’t be on the verge of undressing her in an elevator. She deserved better than this.

  “Aurélie,” he groaned, pulling back to rest his forehead against hers and twirl a lock of her spun-gold hair around his fingertip.

  He could see her pulse hammering in her throat, and he wanted to kiss it. To press his mouth, wet and wanting, against the life teeming beneath her porcelain skin.

  “Please,” she pleaded, just as she’d done in the car on the afternoon she’d kissed him, and Dalton knew he was done for.

  Mistake or not, he couldn’t let her down again. Perhaps a better man could, a more honorable man. But Dalton had never felt less honorable in his life.

  For each and every one of his thirty-three years, he’d done exactly what was expected of him. Where had it gotten him? The empty place he currently occupied—nowhere. Nothing was as it should be.

  He’d had enough. Enough of duty. Enough of restraint. Enough of denying himself what he wanted. It had been a long, long time since he’d wanted anything. Anyone. So many lost years.

  And now he wanted Aurélie.

  At last he remembered what it was like to want and need and ache. But the way he felt when he looked at her, when he touched her, wasn’t anything like a memory. It was better. It was intoxicating.

  The elevator came to a stop. Finally. Dalton took Aurélie’s hand and led her inside the apartment. Somehow, he kept his wits about him long enough to get the dog settled in his spacious laundry room with a rawhide chew and a stuffed toy that would no doubt be disemboweled by morning. Which was perfectly fine with Dalton, so long as the little troublemaker was content.

  He found Aurélie waiting for him in the darkened living room. The sight of her standing there with her ruby-red lips slightly parted and swollen from his kisses, eyes bright, made him want to tell her all kinds of truths. He had to clench his jaw to keep them from spilling out.

  Her back was to the window, where snow beat against the glass in a dizzying fury. The night was steeped in winter white, but Dalton had gone summer warm.

  “Let me look at you,” he said as he approached. “I want to see you.”

  Without a trace of shyness, she reached for the hem of her dress and slipped it over her head. If she was nervous, she didn’t let it show. On the contrary, her knowing smile gave him the impression that she was well aware of the effect she had on him.

  She knew, and she quite enjoyed it.

  Her dress landed on the floor in a polka-dot whisper. With her generous waves of hair tumbling over one moonstone shoulder, she lifted her bowed head and raised her gaze to his.

  Dalton had to pause for a moment and collect himself. It hurt to swallow. It hurt to breathe. Every cell in his body screamed in agony, waiting and wanting to touch her.

  He stared at her too hard and too long—at the willowy length of her legs, the captivating dip between her collarbones, the generous swell of her breasts covered in pale pink lace, a prelude to her softness.

  The space between them shimmered with promise.

  Everything about her was heavenly. Dalton would have loved to drape her bare body in ropes of pearls, to adorn her glorious curves with the precious treasures of the South Sea. Aurélie deserved such adoration. She deserved everything.

  What was it about this woman, this near stranger who filled him with such decadent thoughts and so thoroughly shattered his reserve?

  She’s not just a woman. She’s a princess.

  She was royalty. And for tonight, she was his.

  * * *

  Aurélie had been waiting for this moment for what felt like an eternity.

  Days ago, if she’d known she would be standing in Dalton Drake’s living room in nothing but her bra and panties while he, fully clothed, looked his fill, she wouldn’t have believed it. The very idea would have made her blush.

  She wasn’t blushing now. It felt natural, right, predestined somehow, that she should be here at this exact place and time. A rare and precious moment that had somehow been lost. Forgotten. Waiting for Aurélie to step into it when time had reached its fulfillment.

  Dalton’s gaze was serious. Grave even, as his gray eyes glittered with intent. He wasn’t just looking at her. He was studying her, and she felt every hard stare as surely as if he’d reached out and touched her.

  Why hadn’t he touched her yet? How long was he going to stand there and watch her burn? The slow simmer that had begun the morning he’d first set his gaze on her from across the chaste expanse of his desk had become intolerable. Liquid heat pooled at her center, and fire skittered over skin in the wake of his gaze.

  She needed his hands on her. His mouth. On her. Inside her. She thought she might die if he made her wait much longer, and she couldn’t hide her desperation. Her pride had fallen away with the whisper of her dress dropping to the floor. She was too inflamed to feel any sense of embarrassment.

  Eyes locked with his, she walked toward him. One purposeful step—that’s all she remembered taking, because he moved toward her at the exact same time. And suddenly his hands were everywhere—in her hair, cupping her bottom, sliding beneath the wispy lace cups of her bra and skimming over her sensitive nipples with the softest of touches. Her body all but wept with relief.

  He kissed her again, and this time his lips were deliberate. Knowing. She realized every other kiss had been nothing but a prelude. This time, he took her mouth, possessed it as if he were already buried deep inside her. She kissed him back, arching toward him without even realizing she’d moved.

  Her arousal astounded her. Shocked her to her core. Aurélie Marchand, the dutiful princess, had vanished and been replaced by a stranger. A stranger whose body was crying out for relief. A stranger who did things like slip out of her bra, reach for Dalton’s hands and place them on her bare breasts.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  She loved the way he touched her. The way his big, capable hands cradled her as if he were holding a bone china teacup. Graceful with purpose.

  He lowered his mouth to her nipple and at the first touch of his warm, wet tongue, Aurélie’s knees went weak. She fell against him, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her in place as he devoured her.

  His hands slipped inside her panties, pushing them down until she was completely naked. She wanted him to undress, too, so she could see him, touch him, feel the hard ripple of his muscles beneath her fingertips. But as her hands sought the lapels of his suit jacket, one of Dalton’s hands slid between her thighs.

  She opened for him, and he stared down at her without breaking his gaze as he slipped a finger inside.

  Oh my God.

  “Aurélie, princess, have you ever been with a man before?”

  She bit her lip to keep the truth from spilling out. She could never lie to him, not when those devastating eyes of his saw straight through her the way that they did. But she was afraid to tell him the truth, to admit there’d never been another.

  She wanted him to be her first. She needed this more than Dalton ever could, or ever would, know. Right now a plane was bound for Delamotte, and her seat was empty. But the palace was waiting, and it wouldn’t wait forever. She would never have a chance like this again.

  Still, she was terrified to actually go through with it. Because somewhere beneath her quivering need, the truth shined bright. A fire opal of awareness.

  This was more than just physical. She cared for Dalton. She might even be in love with him.

  No. No, I’m not. I do not love him. I can’t.

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight, but it was too late. The truth had settled itself in her bones, in the liquid embers flowing through her veins. She wasn’t just giving her body to Dalton. She was giving him her soul, her heart,
her everything. And God help her, she had no idea how she was going to walk away and take it all back.

  Dalton’s hand grew still, and his fingers stopped the delicious thing they were doing between her legs. She could feel him waiting, willing her to answer him. “Tell me, princess. I need to know.”

  There’s never been anyone else. Only you. Always you.

  “No.” She reached between them and slid her hand over his, holding it in place as she ground against him, crushing her breasts against his chest until he released an agonizing moan. What had come over her? Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please. “I haven’t, but...”

  “Shh. It’s okay.” His voice was a tortured whisper, his breath hot against the curve of her neck. “We’ll go slow.”

  She nodded, unable to form words. Unable to do anything but feel. Feel and sigh her surrender.

  She was a virgin, but she wasn’t completely naïve. She knew what went on between a man and a woman.

  She’d thought she did, anyway.

  She realized now that she knew nothing. How could she have possibly anticipated how overwhelming this would be? How utterly sublime?

  Because this is special. This is love.

  “No.”

  Dalton tilted his head. “No?”

  Had she actually said that out loud? She swallowed and with trembling fingertips, unfastened the Windsor knot in his Drake-blue tie. “I don’t want it slow. I want you inside me. Now.”

  In a single, unhesitating movement, he tossed the tie aside and shed his jacket. The desire in his eyes hardened, grew sharp, until it was a blazing, furious thing. Aurélie’s breath caught in her throat, and the first traces of nerves fluttered low in her belly.

  This was the end, the dying embers of the moment in between. They were going someplace else now. Someplace new. A place with no means of return. He swept an arm beneath her legs, scooped her against his chest and carried her there.

  Behind a lacy veil of snow, moonlight streamed in through the bedroom windows. Dalton deposited her in the center of his massive bed, and before her eyes were fully adjusted to the cool blue shadows of the semidarkness, he’d pulled his shirt over his head and unfastened his belt.

  She rose to her knees, reaching for him. She was afraid—not of what was about to happen, but about how it would end.

  He was so beautiful. Beautiful and male and daunting in his intensity. She craved this intimacy far more than she feared its consequences, what it would do to her when the time had come to leave. She lifted her mouth to his, hungry and desperate, and he groaned into it as her hand slid inside his trousers, finding his steely length.

  He was far bigger than she’d imagined. Big and diamond hard. She didn’t know how in the world she could accommodate his size, couldn’t even fathom how it would work, but she didn’t care.

  His breath had gone ragged, his eyelids heavy, and it thrilled her to know she could make him feel this way. That just by touching him the right way, she could make him let go of even a little bit of his steadfast control.

  “Darling,” he whispered, pushing her back on the bed, covering her body with his.

  At last they were skin to skin, limbs intertwined, hands exploring. The weight of him on top of her was exquisite, and his erection pressed hot and wanting between her legs. Then he was pushing inside, past the bittersweet whisper of pain, and she was rising up to meet him. Wanting, wanting, wanting, until at long last, she was full.

  He paused, giving her time to adjust, and finally he began to move. Thrusting, gently at first, with slow, measured strokes.

  “More,” she heard herself say, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. And closer still. She wanted it all. Everything he could give. Even the parts of him he wouldn’t.

  He groaned, pumped faster, and something hot and wild gathered at Aurélie’s center. Stars glittered behind her eyes, and she rested a palm on Dalton’s chest, searching for something solid. Steady. A pulse to keep her grounded.

  But she was too far gone, lost to sensation. She could only breathe and give herself up to the wondrous free fall of the climax bearing down on her. Beneath her fingertips, Dalton’s heart pounded a constant beat.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  A rebellious tear slid down Aurélie’s cheek. The snow spun its gentle dance and Dalton gazed down at her with a look so tender that she was certain she felt her heart rip in two even as she found her shuddering, shimmering release.

  Chapter Ten

  It couldn’t happen again. Of that, Aurélie was absolutely certain.

  She was certain of it in the middle of the night when she found herself tangled in the bed sheets with Dalton’s head between her thighs. She was certain of it when she cried his name again and again to the diamond-studded sky. And she was especially certain of it when she woke in the morning reaching for him, tears welling in her eyes.

  He wasn’t there. The bed was still warm where he’d been. His heady, masculine scent still clung to his pillow. Aurélie closed her eyes, inhaled and lifted her arms over her head, stretching languidly. A cat who’d gotten the cream.

  But the cat had no business tasting the cream. The cream was off-limits. And now that the cat had indulged, she wouldn’t be satisfied with just a bland drop of milk. Ever.

  Aurélie’s eyes flew open, and she sat up, panicked. She began to tremble deep inside, as if her bones were trying to shake off the mistake she’d just made.

  What had she done?

  This was bad. She’d given herself to Dalton in every possible way. She’d meant to offer him her body, but somewhere along the way, she’d accidently given him her heart. And now she was rolling around in his bed like she belonged there when she clearly did not.

  From the spacious master bath, she could hear the shower running. The rich scent of espresso hung in the air. She leaped out of the bed, determined not to let Dalton find her here when he returned. If he returned.

  Would he come looking for her before he left for work? Would he cradle her face and claim her mouth as he’d done the night before? Over and over again, until her lips felt bruised. Taken.

  A ribbon of liquid longing wound its way through her at the mere thought of his wicked mouth, his capable hands. Of his lean, hard muscles and the way her head fit perfectly in the space between his neck and shoulder.

  Her body was deliciously sore from their lovemaking. It was almost as if she could still feel him inside her. And that phantom sensation made her want him all over again. Just thinking about it made her go all tingly inside.

  Her heart gave a little lurch.

  What was she going to do?

  She couldn’t bear to leave. Not now. But the longer she waited, the harder it would become. She should have never slow-danced with Dalton. She should have never made love with him. Because that was what it had been. Not sex—making love. At least that was what it had been for her. She wholeheartedly doubted Dalton felt the same way.

  Even if he did, what difference would it make?

  She glanced down at her bare ring finger and tried to imagine what it would look like adorned with a diamond engagement ring. Her vision grew blurry behind a veil of tears and she clenched her fist until nails dug into her palm.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  Her lungs burned, and her throat felt scratchy. She climbed out of bed, looked around and found her lingerie in a lacy, decadent trail leading to the living room. The pretty new polka dot dress was pooled on the floor by the window. Scattered shoes, coats and Dalton’s discarded tie painted such a vivid picture of what had gone on the night before that a lump formed in her throat as she gathered them all up.

  She could straighten as much as she wanted. She could put the room back together again, even toss the clothes in the garbage, but it wo
uldn’t change anything. There was no way to undo what she’d done. She couldn’t take it back.

  Even if she could, she wouldn’t. Not in a million years.

  Which was precisely why it wouldn’t, couldn’t, happen again.

  * * *

  Fresh from a cold shower, yet still inexplicably aroused beyond all reason, Dalton strolled naked toward the bedroom.

  His appetite for Aurélie was insatiable. He couldn’t quite understand it. Didn’t want to. He’d think about it later. Much later, after he’d taken her to bed once more.

  Just one more time.

  Then he’d end things before they got too complicated.

  Right. They’d passed complicated ages ago. He thought of the pink enameled egg. Their bargain. Artem’s warning.

  In all seriousness, have you thought about what you’re going to do when they realize she’s missing? Surely someone will notice.

  How had he allowed things to get so far out of hand?

  He needed to end it. Now. For Aurélie’s sake as much as for the sake of Drake Diamonds. Because she didn’t know what Dalton knew all too well—leaving New York and returning to Delamotte was the best possible thing she could do. A blessing, really. If she stayed, he’d hurt her. He didn’t want to, but he would.

  He’d done it before, and he couldn’t risk doing it again. Not to Aurélie.

  The mere thought of it caused a familiar darkness to gather inside him. Like a terrible smoke. A black, suffocating fog that threatened to swallow him up.

  With each step Dalton took to the bedroom, though, it lifted. Because when he was with Aurélie, when he was buried deep inside her, he could almost forget the things he’d done. The mistakes he’d made.

  He could breathe again.

  Almost.

  The darkness descended again when he found his bed empty. Not just empty, but completely made.

  Dalton glowered at the crisp white duvet, pulled so neatly over the king-size mattress that there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight. His gaze drifted toward the headboard. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Where had Aurélie learned the art of hospital corners? He would have bet money she’d never even made a bed before. He probably would have found such a surprise amusing if it hadn’t rubbed him so entirely the wrong way.