Emily did do great. She did so bloody well I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
We’d started the evening with an enormous receiving line. We greeted—and thanked—each and every one of the three hundred attendees. It was a lot of small talk. Awkward handshakes. But Emily handled it like a pro. She had this way of focusing on whoever she was talking to, giving them her complete attention. Making them feel like the only person in the room.
She flirted with old women and made children laugh. She talked passionately about the importance of the arts with a wealthy—and now smitten—donor. Nothing about her interactions was stiff or rehearsed. I found myself joining in on her conversations, the two of us greeting guests together. Her enthusiasm and beauty lit the whole room.
Emily asked interesting questions. Gave witty answers. Offered ideas and insight when people grilled her about the school. She was an absolute natural.
She’d be so fucking good at this full-time. My head spun at the prospect of actually having her on board. I didn’t want the monarchy to just survive. We needed to thrive, too. And having people like Emily on our side would all but guarantee that happened.
As if I didn’t want Emily Kilpatrick enough already. But she was not mine to have. As great as she was at this, her interests lay elsewhere. She’d already said point blank she would never give up her career. I respected her for that.
I just wished things were different.
“They’re falling in love with her, you know.”
I glanced at Jane, who was standing in line beside me.
She nodded at Emily. “Don’t mess this one up, Kit. She’s a keeper. Mum and Dad would be so happy. She’s got their touch.”
I looked away. My throat thickened. Christ. I wasn’t going to make it out of this gala alive.
There was a cocktail hour, and after that, dinner. By then my composure was hanging by a thread. Emily had managed to coax a six-figure pledge from a new donor, all while cracking jokes with our tablemates and chatting up our marketing director about a new social media campaign.
Everyone was falling for Emily. But right then, I wanted her all to myself. How many more nights like this would I have with her? We were only scheduled for one more official engagement together. Our first month as fake fiancées was flying by. If I had to give her up—and I did—I’d be damned if I didn’t enjoy every remaining moment I had. One day soon, this would all be a memory.
The thought cut like a knife.
The band was just warming up. The dancing would begin soon.
I abruptly stood. Everyone around me looked up.
I cleared my throat. Met eyes with Em. “Emily, would you like to dance?”
A small, private smile played at her lips. “I thought you didn’t dance.”
“Perhaps I’ve changed my tune.”
Rob draped his arm over the back of the chair beside his. The young woman occupying said chair turned bright pink as she fought a grin. “Now this I’ve got to see.”
Emily slid her fingers into my outstretched hand. “Show me what you got, Prince Charming.”
We held hands I led her out onto the dance floor. Currents of longing swept through me. Her hand was small and warm in mine. Her smile faltered, if only for a minute. But she didn’t pull away.
No one joined us on the dance floor. It seemed the room wanted to watch rather than participate. I nodded at the band, and they began to play. It was a Frank Sinatra song—“The Way You Look Tonight”.
I pulled Emily close. Put a hand on the small of her back. There was no preamble this time. No warm up. We just went with the beat. Emily’s face was inches from my own. She was still smiling, but her eyes were changing. They still glittered. But there was a bit of hesitation there, too.
I leaned in. “If you don’t want to do this, we can stop,” I murmured in her ear. The scent of her perfume filled my head. Filled me to the brim with desire.
Everything, everything about this girl. She fucking crushed me.
Emily shook her head. “I like this.”
We were really moving now. I lifted my arm and spun her out. She laughed, her dress twirling around her legs in a silk cloud. To my surprise the room erupted in applause and even some whistles.
“Kit,” she breathed when I pulled her close. “God, everyone is watching!”
“That’s the point,” I said. “I’m showing you off while I still have you.”
There it was again—the hesitation in her eyes. Pain was there now, too.
Shit. I had hoped this would make Em smile. I knew how much she loved to dance.
“Kit,” she said again, looking away.
“What?”
Her eyes flicked to meet mine. “Stop being so wonderful, would you?”
“I could ask the same of you,” I said. “They adore you, you know. No surprise there.”
Emily swallowed. Other couples were starting to join us now. Rob and the girl in the chair, some older donors, a handful of kids.
“We’re having another fundraiser in a few weeks for the School for the Arts,” I said. “I’d love for you to make the keynote speech.”
She drew back, clearly surprised. “Me? Really?”
“Yes you. Really. You’ve got a knack for this sort of thing. And quite a way with words.”
Emily grinned. “Somehow I don’t think a room full of donors will appreciate my Monty Python references as much as you.”
I shrugged, teasing. “Only one way to find out.”
“I’d love to.” Despite her reply, her grin was fading. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“I’m always thinking of you, Em.”
She blinked. Focused her gaze on my shirt.
Em and I began to move again, more slowly this time. She looked down, our clasped hands moving to cover my heart. Our noses grazed, once, twice, and I had the wild idea that maybe she wanted to kiss me again as much as I wanted to kiss her. I was so close.
I was so close to confessing, with my lips at least, that I was falling for her.
But I couldn’t.
I felt something wet on the front of my shirt. Hooking a finger underneath Em’s chin, I nudged her head up. Panic burst to life inside my chest when I saw that she was crying. Panic, and a new rush of anger. Who had done this to her?
Worse, had I done something to make her cry? I swore I wouldn’t be that guy.
“What is it?” I asked, my body going still.
She shook her head, closing her eyes. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry, Kit. I’m just—I’m gonna go—”
Before I knew what she was about, she slipped out of my arms and disappeared into the crowd.
* * *
Emily
I nudged my way off the dance floor, my heart thundering inside my chest. Tears stung my eyes, blurring my vision.
I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe.
I wanted Kit so badly. I was falling so hard for him. But I couldn’t fucking have him. And I guess that finally broke me.
It was the dance that did it. Or maybe it was the appreciation he had for the ideas I’d thrown out tonight, or the way he’d punched Luke in the face for me, or the way he’d looked at me all night the way everyone dreams of being looked at. With heat and softness and desire.
Whatever it was, it had turned me on, and turned me inside out.
I was in too deep, and I couldn’t see a way out.
So like the coward that I was, I ran.
I picked up my pace as I moved across the ballroom. I felt Jane’s eyes on me as I moved, but I didn’t stop. I had to get out of here. Had to get a grip on all these things I was feeling.
All this time and energy I’d dedicated to protecting my heart. And now I knew it was going to end up broken anyway.
I slipped through a side door and found myself in a long hallway. I glanced to the left. People were loitering around the bathrooms there. I went right, a potent wave of relief moving through me when I found a staircase. I went down. And kept going when I fou
nd another set of stairs. I pushed through a heavy door that locked behind me. I recognized the carpet down here. I was on the ground floor.
I hurried down another hall, stopping when I found a set of doors that overlooked Buckingham Palace’s enormous back lawn, or, as Kit charmingly called it, “the garden”. I tested one of the doors. It was locked. With a grunt of frustration, I tried another, and another. All locked. I looked up to see the old fashioned bolts at the top of the doors. Standing on my tip toes, I yanked at one of the locks, and yanked again. It released with a muffled bang.
“Oh, thank God,” I breathed. I opened the door and escaped onto a wide terrace that overlooked the lawn.
It was chilly outside, but the cool air felt good on my skin. I was burning up.
A half dozen or so guards were smoking at the far end of the terrace. I quietly moved in the opposite direction, the sting of cigarette smoke heavy in the air as I made my way down a set of stairs onto the lawn. I had no idea where I was going. But thankfully the sky was clear and the moon was full. It lit up the night just enough so I could make out a gravel path, surrounded on either side by enormous trees.
I teetered awkwardly in my sandals on the uneven gravel. I moved to the grass, but that wasn’t much better. My heels kept sinking into the dirt.
“Emily!”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Kit standing on the terrace. I couldn’t see his face. But I could tell from the desperate edge in his voice that he was angry. Shit. I hadn’t meant to upset him.
“Emily, wait, God damn it,” he said, loping down the stairs two at a time.
My eyes flooded with tears all over again. I didn’t want to talk to him right now. What was I supposed to say? He wouldn’t want to hear my confession any more than I wanted to give it.
I reached down and took off my shoes. Then I started walking, walking as fast as I could, my dress gathering around my legs as I moved. Maybe I could hide behind a tree. Maybe there was a maze. Didn’t all rich English people with palaces have mazes in their gardens?
Kit’s footsteps crunched in the gravel as he came after me. His stride was quick, confident. Angry.
My pulse roared in my ears as I tried to keep moving. I couldn’t get enough air past the tightness in my throat. The muscles in my legs burned. So did my lungs. Kit was steadily catching up.
“Emily,” Kit said. “Stop.”
I tried to breathe. “Please leave me alone.”
“I’m not going to fucking leave you alone until you tell me what’s going on.”
He was right behind me now.
“It’s nothing,” I panted.
“You take off running from a gala because nothing is wrong?”
My head spun. I was getting dizzy. I reached out and put my hand on a tree, leaning into it.
I heard Kit break out into a run.
“Bloody hell,” he said, putting his hands on my waist to steady me. “Breathe, Em. That’s it. Keep breathing.”
I nodded, keeping my head down. I didn’t want to look at him. His hold on me was gentle and firm, all at once. The heat between my legs blared.
I couldn’t look at him. I was afraid I’d do something stupid.
Tears leaked out of my eyes onto the ground. I breathed in, let it out. Kit rubbed my back, murmuring it’s all right, you’re all right, that’s it.
“I’m sorry,” I said at last.
“For what?”
For falling for you and making a mess of things.
I stood up and straightened, turning around so my back was against the tree. I looked up. Without my heels on, Kit was a head taller than me. I met his eyes as he moved to stand in front of me. He was huge and intimidating and gorgeous.
Would he ever stop being so fucking overwhelming?
“Talk to me,” he said. “I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t bloody talk to me, Em.”
I met his eyes. I didn’t want to tell him the truth. But I didn’t want to lie to him, either. He deserved better than that.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t want—I didn’t mean—I know we aren’t meant to…I don’t want to cause a problem…” I swallowed. Words were clearly failing me at the moment.
“Problem?” He put his hand on the tree beside my head and leaned into me. His voice softened. “Em, what problem?”
I took another breath in. It was now or never.
I reached for his hand. It was a bold and reckless thing to do, but I was going to do it anyway. I had nothing—everything—to lose.
“This problem,” I said.
I guided his hand between my legs. Guided his middle two fingers around my thong. A bolt of lightning shot through me when his fingertips met with my wetness.
I gasped. His lips parted. His eyes lost focus for a moment. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
My heart raged inside my chest as I waited for him to say something. Waited for him to push me away. Reject me. Call me out for violating the terms of our contract.
“Jesus Christ, Em,” he said at last. He stepped toward me, rolling his shoulders so he surrounded me. Protected me from any curious eyes that might be lurking in the shadows. My entire being arched into him. Into his body and his touch and the clean, lemony scent of his aftershave.
“I’ve been this way all night,” I said, my voice wobbly and thin. “Kit, I want you so bad it’s killing me.”
Kit’s nostrils flared. He looked at me, the light of the moon catching on his eyes. It made them glow in the darkness. They searched mine, moving back and forth like he was struggling. Like he wanted to eat me and kiss me and hurt me, all at once.
His hand hadn’t moved from between my legs. I felt myself throbbing around his fingertips. My desire for him was so enormous there it hurt.
“I can’t promise you anything, Em,” he said hoarsely.
“I’m not asking for your promise.” My pulse marched in my ears. “I’m asking for tonight.”
I waited for him to reply. Waited for him to say something, anything, to break the deafening silence that pooled between us. I couldn’t catch my breath. I thought I might burst, or break.
I was breaking, my heart was breaking, I was standing here in the garden at freaking Buckingham Palace with a prince’s hand between my legs and his eyes on my face, and I was broken.
I was ruined.
I waited. With each passing heartbeat, whatever hope I had faded. It was replaced by a disappointment of crushing proportions.
What was going through Kit’s mind? I couldn’t read his eyes. I couldn’t—
“Fuck,” he grunted at last, pounding his fist on the tree. I jumped. He pulled his hand out from between my legs. Whatever was left of my heart fell. It crashed to the ground and shattered into a million pieces.
“I’ll go,” I said.
“No,” Kit growled. I almost jumped again when he grabbed my hand. He looked me squarely in the eye. “You’re coming home with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Emily
My chest had nearly exploded with panic that first time Kit grabbed my hand.
My chest was exploding again now. But this time it wasn’t panic that had my heart racing. I had no clue what Kit was going to do. All I knew was that his hand gripped mine with a fierceness and a desperation I knew all too well.
He didn’t say a word as he led me into the bowels of the palace, arriving at last in what appeared to be a private garage of sorts. We made our way to an enormous black Range Rover. It dwarfed the Jaguar station wagon parked next to it.
Kit opened the passenger side door. I climbed inside. He closed it behind me with an impatient bang.
I was shaking.
“What about the gala?” I asked.
Kit started the car. “We spoke with everyone. The donation cards were already passed out. For all intents and purposes, it’s over.” His voice was husky.
“Oh,” I said. “Oh, okay.”
He gunned it as soon as we were out
of the palace gates, one hand on the wheel, the other fisted on the console between us. The blur of nighttime London filled the windows. The rumble of the engine filled the car, my heart leaping every time Kit hit the gas.
I ventured a glance in his direction. A muscle in his jaw jumped. His features were hard. Strained. His breath came in short, angry spurts through his nose.
He hardly waited for the gates of Primrose Palace to open before he roared through them, the tires popping on the brick driveway. By the time he threw the car into park in front of the palace, I was shaking so hard with anticipation—the adrenaline making my blood rush so fast inside my skin—that my teeth chattered.
Kit kicked his door open. A second later he was on my side of the car. I took the hand he offered, a hand he moved to my nape. His fingers curled around my neck, possessive and firm. He led me up the front steps and through the door.
He still hadn’t said a word.
* * *
Kit
My pulse marched in my ears as I made my way up the stairs. I could feel Emily trembling beside me. Her skin was hot to the touch.
Her pussy had been hot, too. Hot and wet, pulsing with need. Blood rushed to my cock at the memory of it. I grit my teeth.
It had been stupid to leave Buckingham Palace. But I’d had to. There was no way I would go back to the gala, not after my fingers had been on Emily’s cunt. I felt wild. Out of control. Distracted as hell.
There was still time to make the right choice. At the top of the stairs, I could take a left, I could put Emily in her room and close the door behind her. I could take care of this roaring need inside me by myself.
There was still time.
We hit the last step. To the left, Emily’s room; to the right, mine.
I looked at her. She met my eyes. Hers were beautiful. Pleading. Scared. She was as scared as I was. Because if we did this—if I went right instead of left—we’d put everything we wanted on the line. If I willingly opened myself to her any further, I knew that whatever control I had left over my feelings, and over this relationship, would probably disappear. She was already taking over my thoughts, my world. She was already a distraction that threatened my focus.
Royal Ruin: A Flings With Kings Novel Page 15
