Courted: Gowns & Crowns, Book 1

by Jennifer Chance

  Emmaline didn’t once complain and finally straightened on her seat, daring to look out over the lush forests that lined the roadway. An hour into the journey, however, she tapped him on the shoulder. She leaned forward as he turned toward her.

  “Any chance we’re going to be stopping soon? I’m going to need a break, um, soon.”

  Kristos nodded and gunned the engine. He didn’t want to stop before they reached the chateau, but he also didn’t want Emmaline to spontaneously combust behind him. So the answer was simply more speed.

  Thirty minutes later, they turned off the main road. He wasn’t sure if Emmaline’s sigh was in reaction to the imminent shot at a bathroom or relief that they’d made it through the last twenty miles alive. She hadn’t even screamed after the second or third turn, and it had been all Kristos could do not to push the bike harder, just to get a reaction out of her.

  Fortunately, this far from the capital city, no one seemed tuned to the entertainment channels. They cruised past the gatehouse without incident, the guard familiar with his face. Another bonus of not wearing a helmet. When they finally glided up to the entrance of the chateau, however, Emmaline let out a small gasp of appreciation.

  Kristos stopped the bike. “Easy off, watch the sides. The pipes will be hot.”

  “What is this place?” Emmaline dismounted a little shakily, but a second later, he was there, his hand on her shoulder, to steady her. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, he realized, especially here, where there was no one around to see. And now, with an entire chateau at their disposal…

  “The home of a friend, who’s currently summering in New Zealand.” At her startled glance, he shrugged. “He wanted to go skiing.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Emmaline pulled the helmet from her head and held it out to Kristos, her gaze still on the house. It soared above them, traditional Greek architecture matched with timber-and-glass construction to make the most of the expansive views. His friend Theo had spared no expense in creating this idyll in the forest, and Kristos had spent many weekends here on leave, reveling in the beauty of Garronia that lay beyond its coasts.

  Now he reached for Emmaline’s hand, and she let him tug her along for several steps before seeming to remember herself. “Kristos, I don’t have any more clothes. How long are we going to be here?”

  “A few days, maybe—less if the story dies down quickly.” He amended his statement on the fly, seeing the alarm flash across her face. “And I called ahead and alerted them about our arrival. They had enough time to get to the local town for some changes of clothes for both of us.”

  “Of course they did.” But she said nothing further, allowing him to draw her up the stairs to the chateau. They were greeted at the door by Theo’s housekeeper and butler, to whom Kristos spoke in the rapid language of the countryside, his fingers entwined with Emmaline’s, who was looking more and more like she wanted to bolt. He squeezed her hand reassuringly when he was through. “First, you should call your…parents, yes? Siblings?”

  Boyfriend? He wondered silently, but Emmaline nodded, her confusion dissipating. “Yes, my parents. What time is it in the US?”

  “About nine a.m.” After she’d decamped to a small guest bathroom, he led her to a small room that served as Theo’s guest office. It was outfitted with an arsenal of phones, computers, and tablets, enough to satisfy his most workaholic of guests. It had been Ari who had demanded a suitable office for him in Theo’s home, if they’d wanted to lure him away from his princely duties. Ari, who hadn’t so much as breathed a hint of his responsibilities to Kristos in the few times they were able to meet here with Kristos on leave. He’d never really given much thought to what his brother did with all those long nights of his. And now he would never know.

  He gave Emmaline the codes to dial out of the house and withdrew to the windows, unable to stand so far away as to give her complete privacy. He wanted to know everything about this woman, and he didn’t want to turn on the TV to do it. He winced with the thought of her private life unearthed, all due to him, and yet—if he’d had the chance to do it over, he wouldn’t have changed anything. It was selfish, but it was true.

  Without Emmaline in his life, he’d likely be stuck in an hours-long meeting with his advisors right now, ass-deep in discussions about how he needed to play to the media, hiding his anger, ignoring their insufferable questions about his brother, his family. The men he’d lost in combat. The choices he’d made. Choices he’d suffered for. And if that wasn’t enough, the conversation would almost certainly be capped off with a gathering of all the likely suspects who might become a suitable wife. That wouldn’t work for anyone.

  No, better that he was here, with a mystery woman and a few days left of breathing room. Because unless he was misreading the way Emmaline looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching, it wouldn’t be an escape without its compensations.

  Chapter 7

  “I know—yes, of course, I’ll call soon. You might want to keep the television off for a few days. Or be ready for the neighbors to look at you funny, if any of them are into celebrity TV.” Emmaline wrapped up her phone conversation with her father, who didn’t really seem to be paying much attention. Then again, that wasn’t really a surprise. Her mother had had an off day, and whenever that happened, her father seemed to sink a little deeper into his own shame, blaming himself for the distraction that had caused him not to see the oncoming truck that had caused their accident, and blaming himself even more for not being the one who’d suffered a brain injury.

  How had she ever justified taking a vacation to Europe in the middle of their recovery? Yes, it had been over a year without so much as a day off, but still. She should have known better, no matter what Fran insisted. Her place was back with her parents, not lolling in some princely chateau in the middle of a country few people had even heard of.

  She’d said as much to her father, of course, but to his credit, he hadn’t piled on. He seemed distracted, yes, but not as angry as she’d expected. Still, Emmaline couldn’t help the guilt that draped her as she spoke at length with the nurse, going over her parents’ medications, their upcoming doctor visits, the small wins of the past few days. She’d learned to celebrate every victory, no matter how tiny. It was all she could think of to get through each day.

  She completed the call at last and turned again to Kristos. He stood looking out the window to the vast forest beyond. Apparently noticing her attention, he gestured to the vista. “Garronia’s border is another hour to the north, and twice that to the east and west. We are not much bigger than your state of Rhode Island, though our roads are a bit less direct. Still, we should be safe here.” He glanced at her. “You’ve texted your friends, I see, not called?”

  Em nodded. She didn’t feel up to all the questions she knew Fran, Nicki, and especially Lauren would have. Kristos, however, watched her with eyes that seemed too shrewd. “Is everything well with them?” he pressed. “Are they all right?”

  “Yes, they’re fine.” She shook her head. “This is going to sound stupid. I—well, you heard me with my parents.”

  His face instantly took on a more somber look. “They’re ill, I take it. Your mother has been injured?”

  “Both of them—it was an accident, and recovery has been slow and, well, hard, I guess you would say. I left school and have been caring for them for a year.”

  He lifted his brows. “You weren’t able to graduate?”

  “Oh no, I graduated. I—it doesn’t matter, really. I got a scholarship to study in grad school. But then the accident happened, and I deferred the scholarship and—whatever, that’s not the point.” She waved off whatever question he was about to ask. “The net result is that I haven’t been the one to do anything exciting in my group of friends. Fran has worked overseas and is three breaths from a Masters, Nicki goes off and climbs mountains whenever she gets bored, Lauren learns new languages in between pedicures, and I—don’t. So for me to be t
he one to get swept away on a motorcycle by a prince, well…” She spread her hands. “It’s a story I’d like to keep telling myself a little longer, if that makes sense, before I have to tell it to anyone else.”

  “It makes complete sense.” But something had shifted in Kristos’s demeanor, and when he walked toward her, Em felt herself grow wary. She knew she shouldn’t be so willing to follow this man without asking more questions, making a pros-and-cons list, checking it twice… Yet when he held out his hand, she found herself putting her fingers in his again, ready once again to let him lead.

  Kristos tugged her into the hall. “Have you always told yourself stories?” he asked, his words mild, though there seemed to be an undertow to them as dangerous as the one she’d found in the depths of the Aegean Sea.

  “Well, sure.” Em frowned, trying to regain control of the conversation. It wasn’t easy, given that she was walking down an opulent hallway, self-conscious in her sneakers and capris. He didn’t need to know about her mom or any of that. Just keep things light, easy. Explain it all in a very reasonable way. “I mean, it helps me pass the time, but it also takes me out of wherever I am and into wherever I want to be.” She tried to pitch her words more lightly. “Life doesn’t get too exciting in Missouri, you know.”

  He walked past open doorways that led to familiar-looking rooms. “You’ve lived there your entire life except college?” He didn’t wait for her to nod but pushed on. “And what is it you studied that you were so good at that you received a scholarship to graduate school?”

  “Oh.” Em’s cheeks flared, but there wasn’t any reason why she shouldn’t tell him. Her skill might seem a little weird, but he was a prince. That trumped anything she could come up with.

  “Violin—violin performance, technically, so that one day I could play in an orchestra.”

  He blinked at her, and she felt suddenly shy at his admiring gaze. He didn’t know that she hadn’t played in months. He didn’t know that she feared she’d never truly be able to play again. “Then I am sure you are wrong, Emmaline. Your life must be every bit as exciting as your friends’.”

  Before she could contradict him, they reached the edge of the house. Kristos pushed open the doors, treating Em to the view beyond. The villa stretched out over the forest, with a tiled veranda covered by a stucco overhang, and she found herself drawn to the far side. When she looked over the banister, it was her chance to gasp again. A gorgeously landscaped pool surrounded by formal gardens gleamed from the terrace below, before the manicured plots gave way to thick forests all the way around. She couldn’t see the Aegean from here, but the forest was almost as imposing, rising in an emerald swell that made it seem like civilization was very, very far away.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Kristos didn’t hesitate. “It’s very pretty, yes. But you are beautiful, koukla mou. There is a distinct difference.”

  Em blinked, her gaze swiveling to meet Kristos’s. “Koukla mou?”

  “I think you would translate it as ‘doll’, or ‘sweetheart.’” He grinned.

  Yes, he’d totally just flirted with her, she was not imagining it. But she had no game whatsoever to flirt back at him.

  Fortunately, he didn’t seem to mind. “We’re going to be here for a few days.” Kristos was suddenly right there, his breath warm against her cheek. “I should want to know everything about you in that time, if possible.”

  “Ah… I can’t imagine anything left that’s all that interesting. You pretty much know all there is to know about me already.”

  “Once more, you’re wrong.” He dropped his head forward to where the line of her tank top lay against her shoulder, and grazed the skin with his lips. “I have never kissed your shoulder, you see. Here already is something new that you might teach me.”

  Tell him no. Tell him no, Em suggested to herself. Strongly. She was a grown woman who had, up until a short while ago, been pursuing an advanced degree. An American. A guest in his country. There was no way the freaking crown prince of Garronia wouldn’t stop if she said no.

  Only, she found she didn’t want to say no.

  So that was a problem.

  “And your neck,” he murmured, moving up the curve of her skin to brush his lips against the pulse throbbing there. “I have never had the chance to get to know your neck. This seems a terrible waste, when time is so short.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, she really did, but only managed a halfhearted whimper. Impressive, Em.

  However, it was all the encouragement Kristos needed. He turned Em around, reaching out to tip her chin up with long fingers, his gaze searching hers. “I have never held you at midnight, or in the light of a new day.”

  “Kristos—”

  “Shhh… Don’t think for a moment more. Let me taste you instead.”

  He kissed her then, and it happened all over again—the sense of time stopping, as if all Em needed to do was step into his arms and everything around her would cease to be, and there would only be her, and him, and maybe a magic carpet to whisk them off to someplace exotic and strange.

  Except, the magic carpet had been replaced with a motorcycle, and her prince wasn’t some whimsical boy in pajama pants and a turban, but a real, live, hot-blooded man. She didn’t know if Kristos was only interested in her because she happened to be the only woman in this chateau under the age of fifty that she’d seen, or because he really wanted her. But surely he wouldn’t have brought her here if he didn’t at least feel some legitimate attraction to her, right?

  And what did she want to do about that?

  Em jumped as the prince’s hands dropped to her waistline, snaking up beneath the tank top to press against her skin. “You’re shaking,” he murmured. “Are you cold?”

  He didn’t let her answer but pulled her into his body, surrounding her with his warmth. He deepened the kiss then, and Em arched beneath him, her mind momentarily on hold as everything inside her heated up and demanded more. She felt something strange and liquid spiral within her, like a shivery tremor, but of heat, delicious heat, warming her in places she’d thought had long ago faded into dust. “I’m not cold,” she managed when he finally broke away.

  Kristos’s eyes were intent as he looked down at her. “Then why are you shivering, koukla mou?”

  “Well, it’s not because I’m cold.” Her hands firmed on his chest, and she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t actually dreaming, that this was happening and wasn’t one of her wild fantasies.

  No, no. Do not think of the word “fantasies.”

  But it was already too late. Kristos’s eyes narrowed on her, as if he knew the reason behind the blush that crawled up her cheeks. Thank God he couldn’t read minds, or she’d die of mortification on the spot.

  “I think I want to know more of these stories you are making up in your head, Emmaline. And as your host, I think it’s only polite that I help you create this latest one,” he murmured, and when her gaze flew to his, he smiled, slow and certain. “For example, if you’re the reluctant princess and I’m the marauding prince, I think it’s time we discuss the terms of your abduction.”

  “Hmmm.” She shook her head. “You’re going to have to work a lot harder than that if you want to convince me that you’re some evil villain bent on stealing my virtue.”

  He stared at her, his expression turning a shade darker. “I look forward to it.”

  Hours later, Kristos was still watching Emmaline, this time over the rim of his wineglass, trying to decide how best to play this. There was so much he wanted to experience with her. It was simply a matter of where he should begin.

  They’d no sooner emerged from the veranda, heading back to the house, when the housekeeper, Marte, had appeared again. Kristos had been grateful that Emmaline had been walking in front of him and had shielded his body from view—since anyone could see at a glance that he was rock hard.

  By the time they’d climbed to the second-floor sleeping quarters—separate suites, of cou
rse, to appease the staff’s sense of propriety—he’d at least had his body under control. Nevertheless, Emmaline’s room was directly across the hallway from his, so he suspected his control would not be lasting long.

  And Emmaline wasn’t helping matters. She’d begged for a shower the moment they’d reached their rooms, and he’d let her go, recognizing her need for escape even if she didn’t. But now he felt an odd anxiety at letting her out of his sight again. Part of that was the sense that she could fly away from him at any moment. And part of it was his own fault for letting the world encroach upon them once more.

  But what was he supposed to do? He’d used the time she was showering to return to Theo’s guest office, flipping on screens and settling into the virtual mission control that Theo had set up for his older brother. There still had been no arrests in the theft of the Americans’ passports, but the damage had been done. The media storm was bigger than he’d imagined, with the girls’ parade of photos emblazoned across the screen. Emmaline’s revealed a birth name unusually long for an American—Emmaline Aurora Grace Andrews—and showed a serious, hollow-eyed girl with her hair pulled back and her expression too grim, even by passport standards. Her friend Nicole Clark, the only young woman he hadn’t met yet, seemed to be staring down the camera of the passport agent as if she had a problem with it, while Francesca Simmons and Lauren Grant had apparently mastered the art of official document photos. Both their expressions were composed, if a little coy, their hair perfect, their makeup professional. Lovely women, all four of them, each in her own way.

  And three of them were safely in the castle. Which meant he could focus on the one who wasn’t.

  Speaking of the castle, he’d received more news than he’d wanted to from that quarter. An e-mail from Stefan with the background checks on each of the women attached. Another e-mail from his father demanding his and Emmaline’s return to the city. He’d filed the latter, but Stefan’s had proven more difficult to ignore.