"I have to confess, you won't be interrupting anything tonight. Even the empty park hasn't been able to clear my mind completely. I haven't been able to focus at all. You would be a welcome distraction. Trust me."
She looks away, her eyes scanning the area around us. Again she sees that there is no one here except us.
I take the moment to appreciate the clean profile of her face. That delicate jaw, the long neck…
I want to kiss a trail along that soft, smooth skin, right to the hollow under her ear where I know her scent will pool. I can almost feel those delicious curves that even that slightly baggy sweatshirt cannot fully hide. She's gorgeous and oh so touchable.
Best of all, she has no idea who I am.
There is no reason to be on guard against a female who might simply want my assets. Well, the monetary ones. I would very much enjoy it if this woman wanted my physical assets.
She turns back to me and smiles, a wider one this time, revealing dimples.
A bolt of lust shoots right through me as I take in her open and friendly face. Who knew dimples would get to me so strongly? Or that a wholesome expression would draw me so irresistibly?
"All right. It's not like I have anything better to do right now. Lead the way."
I chuckle at that tiny put-down. She’s relaxed enough to joke with me. "Now that I've been properly put in my place..." I say as I step closer.
She turns around to fall into step beside me. "That isn't what I meant," she says, her tone amused. "I hope I didn't hurt your ego."
"Not to worry. My ego isn't so easily bruised."
"That's good," she muses. We walk for a bit in the quiet before she continues. I want her to lead the conversation, at least in the beginning. It will make her feel more in control, hopefully allow her to relax. "What's your name?” she says. “I feel like now that we're walking together we should probably know each other's names.”
I debate giving her a fake name. It feels freeing to be speaking to this pretty girl without worrying about what her motives might be. But outright lying doesn't sit well with me. Not when she's looking at me so expectantly with those eyes.
"Of course," I say smoothly. "It's Herne," I add, watching her face for any sign of recognition.
There isn't any. I feel relief flow through me. I don't want to worry about my reputation or social standing ruining this moment.
I just want to be a man with a woman. Simple.
"Herne," she repeats, my name murmured in her low voice sending another bolt of lust through me. She might be more dangerous than I thought if just my name on her lips affects me so strongly. "I'm Elle," she offers with a quick smile. "Do you live near here?"
Elle. A pretty name. It suits her.
"Not that far," I say vaguely. "I also have some business interests near here. It might sound stupid, but seeing the physical manifestation of my hard work sometimes helps me put things in perspective when I'm on the verge of worrying too much about something."
"It doesn't sound stupid at all," she says, glancing up at me for a moment. "I can understand wanting to see the product of your hard work."
"Oh?" I prod. Knowing more about her will help me understand how best to get her out of those tight pants and into bed with me. Which is a goal I want to achieve more and more as I spend more time with her. However, I also find myself genuinely interested in her responses. I'm so used to people always playing the game and knowing the score that her simplicity is refreshing. I want to know what she's thinking, who she really is. "What do you do? What is the product of your hard work? If you don't mind my asking, that is."
She sighs. "It's actually what brought me out here tonight," she confesses.
Good. She's opening up. It won't be long before she falls at my feet like females always do. It might sound arrogant, but the truth is that I am well practiced at the art of seduction. I'm confident that in the end, I'll get exactly what I want. This time, with Elle, I find myself enjoying the chase more than I can remember enjoying it before.
I genuinely like her. Interesting.
"How do you mean?" I ask.
"Don't laugh," she warns, her eyes meeting mine as we turn to follow the path.
"I would never," I say solemnly, pressing my open palm over my heart. "I am a sensitive man. Someone whose shoulder has seen more than a few tears," I add, deliberately over the top.
She laughs, rolling her eyes. "Right," she scoffs. "I'm sure there have been plenty of women happy to use your shoulder."
"It's a gift," I agree, nodding.
She grins, but it quickly fades. "It doesn't matter if you know, I guess." She watches me carefully. "I want to be a fashion designer."
I nod thoughtfully at that revelation. I need to be careful in my response. It's obviously difficult for her to say the words out loud.
"There's nothing funny about that," I say honestly. "I like clothes. And the fashion industry is quite lucrative if you know how to crack into it. Though, just like anything, it requires hard work and perseverance to be successful."
Her shoulders relax a little at my pragmatic response. She nods. "Yes. That's exactly why I've been putting so much time and energy into doing well in school. It's work, but it's work that I love. I would happily spend all of my time doing it." She looks over at me. "Do you know what I mean?"
I do. Sometimes, when I close a particularly difficult deal that required a lot of negotiation, I feel a high like nothing else could give me. So, yes, I understand. I am fortunate that most of the work I do is work that I love.
To her I say, "Yes. I know exactly what you mean. If you like what you do, it doesn't feel quite like work, though it might be difficult and taxing."
"Exactly," she says. "So I've worked hard, harder than anybody in my class. Nights, weekends, any time I can carve out for myself. Hard enough that I have a conditional acceptance to Parsons. It's my dream school. I'm so close to what I want I can almost taste it."
I can hear the hunger in her voice, the desire to achieve what she wants. Ambition. I understand ambition.
It's a quality I greatly admire.
"Congratulations," I offer. I've only just met her, but I find myself rooting for her. Anyone with this much passion for something should get what they want in the world. Of course, I also know the world doesn't always work like that.
"Thank you," she murmurs. But then she shakes her head and bites her lip. "But it's not a done deal yet. I still need a sponsor to confirm the acceptance. I want to go to Parsons, I want to show the whole world my work, show them my vision. But all of that hinges on getting into Parsons first."
"I'm sure you can find a sponsor if you have a portfolio impressive enough to receive even a conditional acceptance from Parsons," I offer. That is a very difficult school to get into. I'm impressed.
She shakes her head again.
"It's not that easy," she says, her voice low with frustration. "It isn't like people like me have that much access to the people I need to sponsor me. I thought…I thought maybe I would get the chance to reach the right people at the cotillion coming up. It would be the perfect opportunity to showcase my talent to the rich, the elite, anyone who might sponsor me."
I frown. She must be speaking of the one I'm throwing. There is no other cotillion I can think of.
"What happened? Are you not going anymore?" I ask. I find myself wanting her to be there even though I just met her.
She presses her mouth into a thin line. "It's complicated," she finally says after a long pause. "Suffice it to say, the cotillion isn't an option for me anymore."
"Hmm." I take in her dejected air as she watches the ground while we walk.
I want to take her in my arms, tell her everything will be okay. Offer comfort. I understand having plans and then having those plans fail. I can certainly sympathize. But it is a little odd to feel this combination of lust and the desire to comfort her.
Have I gotten so jaded that a real emotion directed towards a woman has caught me by su
rprise?
If that's the case, perhaps I should spend a little bit more time around those who don't run in my circles.
Especially if they are anything like Elle.
Chapter 5
Elle
The words just spill out of me, like I'm speaking to my best friend. I can hear how much I'm revealing to Herne, who's basically a total stranger, and I wonder at it. I'm not usually this trusting or open with anyone I don't know extremely well.
Maybe it's just because he's a sympathetic ear and I really need one right now.
It also doesn't hurt that the ears listening so attentively are attached to someone so ridiculously good-looking. Tall, with broad shoulders and a face that could easily grace a billboard, hawking some high-end label's design. A lock of dark blond hair falls over a high forehead as he looks over at me, his emerald-green eyes intent on what I'm saying. They're framed by thick, dark brown lashes and brows, the beginnings of stubble just now touching his lean cheeks. Defined jaw, high cheekbones, perfectly straight nose. Full lips.
There's no denying it. Herne is undoubtedly the most handsome guy I've ever met.
Admittedly, if I'd seen him walking down the street in a crowd, I would have immediately assumed that he wasn't the greatest person. And that any conversation with him would be boring and stilted.
It wouldn't be a fair assumption, but I know I would have likely made it.
Guys as pretty as he is usually have problems because everyone has always treated them like they're special. But that isn't the case here, from what l can tell.
Herne is charming in a way that could be dangerous. He has the kind of presence that invites one to confide.
As I spill my fears, my dreams, my emotions, I'm aware of the power he has to make me want to tell him. I’m kind of embarrassed that I’m unable to keep everything inside.
"I'm sorry," I finally say. "I didn't mean to dump all that on you." And I don’t say, or to make myself so vulnerable in the process.
"Don't be ridiculous," he says, his voice sincere. "I asked. And it sounds like you needed to get it out. I'm more than happy to lend a friendly ear."
I take a peek at his face to find him smiling at me. God, even his smile is perfect, his teeth even and white. I mentally smack myself across the face. He's just a man. A beautiful one, but still just a man.
I need to get a hold of myself.
"That's really nice of you." I clear my throat. "Thank you."
"You're quite welcome."
We walk in silence for a small stretch, the trees and grass around us gilded silver by the moonlight. There's no escaping the fact that the setting around us is very romantic.
There's also no avoiding the fact that Herne is completely out of my league. Not only because of how he looks—though that would be enough, considering how many women probably throw themselves at him daily—but because of his social and economic standing. Even if he hadn't casually mentioned business ventures, his slacks and the button down he has rolled up at the sleeves are worth a pretty penny. I recognize the cut and workmanship from the catalogs I'm always poring over. Even his shoes are worth thousands. I'm sure his watch is too, though I don't know much about watches.
He can't be interested in me. He's just being nice.
"Do you have anywhere you need to be right now? Or soon?" Herne asks.
"No," I sigh. The truth is, nobody will miss me. It's too late for any of my step family to need anything from me. The thought sends another wave of sadness through me. I force it away. It doesn't matter. I have myself.
"Well, in that case, I'm going to take the opportunity to invite you to see the VR show nearby. It's only a few minutes’ walk away, down by the riverside. Are you interested?"
It's probably not a good idea to go to an even-more-secluded area of the park with someone I just met. On the other hand, if he had wanted to do anything to me, he would have done it already. Even apart from that, I don't think he's the type to hurt me.
I know it's stupid to make a judgment like that on such short acquaintance. Still, I can't shake the feeling that I'm safe with him.
Those VR shows…they draw the elite of society, the rich and the Singarti. For a regular person like me, getting in is difficult, if not impossible. Not that I've ever tried.
"I'm interested. But how would you even get us into one of those?" I ask.
"Don't worry about it," he says with a casual shrug. "I can get us in. Assuming you do actually want to go? I won't be offended if you decline, though I will be disappointed," he says with a smile.
I smile back in response. I really don't want to refuse. I shrug too, trying to look as cool and unaffected as he does, though I can feel my excitement rising. "Okay. I'd love to."
He grins at me. "Great. It's this way." He offers me his arm. "Now that we know each other better and you know that I'm not here to murder you, maybe you would care to take my arm?"
His eyes twinkle as he watches me.
"Well, I'm mostly sure that you're not here to murder me," I correct as I lay my hand on his arm. Oh! Even through his sleeve, the cords of his muscles are unmistakable. "But you still could. There's time yet."
"You wound me. You really do," he says mock-seriously. "Here I've been making an effort, lending a sympathetic ear to your woes, and you refuse to trust me." He shakes his head mournfully. "A guy just can't catch a break."
"Somehow, I think you’ll be able to recover," I say lightly, holding in my laughter.
He chuckles. "I'm sure your company will help smooth things over," he agrees.
We keep up the banter as we walk towards the river, the back-and-forth helping me relax and get my mind off of why I was out here in the first place.
I realize that I feel a lot better than I did when I came out. The queasy feeling in my stomach is gone. Herne was exactly the distraction I needed.
"Thank you," I murmur as the noise of the crowd starts to trickle through the trees.
"For what?" Herne asks, frowning.
"For making me feel better. I really needed it tonight."
"It was my pleasure." He raises my hand from his arm and lays a light kiss on my knuckles. It's quick, and he puts it back down on his arm as we continue. Still, just that light brush of his lips sends a tingle down my spine. No one has kissed my hand since my father died. It would be so nice, if.… I need to be careful. I can't read so much into his every move.
Then I don't have time to think at all as we break at out of the line of trees that concealed the outdoor theater. The seating is already filling up with the higher echelons of society. The Singarti are here, the aliens who came in and gave us most of the tech and resources we take for granted in exchange for the power they have over us, over the earth. Such a little thing to give up, control over ourselves and our planet. Also out in force are the rich, the well-connected who rub elbows with the Singarti.
There is security all around the partially-sunken round space. The clothing of the people sitting in the stands varies from designer jeans and very expensive button-downs to dresses that cost more than most people’s rent. Designers that I've seen in ads and that I've studied.
I'm not dressed nearly as nicely as everyone here. But there's no help for that. I tug at my sweatshirt to at least straighten it.
As we reach the line of security, Herne breaks away from me.
"Just a second," he says, tossing a smile at me over his shoulder as he walks up to the security guards.
With nothing else to do, I stand there with my hands clasped in front of me, trying to ignore the looks of those around me. They’re probably wondering what I'm doing here. Technically, my family has money, but that doesn't mean that any of it comes to me. My jeans and beat-up sneakers aren't exactly haute couture.
I see Herne speaking quietly to one of the guards, his head ducked down as he listens. What is he telling him? The guard nods. He seems to be accepting whatever Herne has to say, which I guess is a good sign. Thankfully, the conversation doesn't g
o on too much longer. Herne is back in only a couple of minutes.
"Good news, there are a couple of spots still available down near the front," he says, offering his arm to me again.
"There are?" I ask, not hiding my surprise. I really thought we were about to be turned away.
"Yes," he says with a chuckle. "Do you have so little faith in me?"
"Well..." I hedge.
"Once again, I am deeply hurt," he says with that twinkle in his eye.
"Uh huh. My heart bleeds for you," I say dryly.
He's laughing as he leads me down the illuminated steps to a couple of seats that are almost exactly front and center. I realize they're actually the best seats in the house. What exactly did he tell that guard?
"These were available?" I ask incredulously as I settle into one of the cushy, theater-style seats. They're even heated.
"Some people canceled at the last, last minute," he explains.
I'm not sure I buy that. But maybe I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.
A musical note fills the night air and the crowd quiets around us. The show is about to start. This might be the only time I'm ever able to see one of these. I lean forward in my seat to watch.
A 3D projection shimmers to life on the large stage, the setting a desolate desert landscape. A camel with a lone rider slowly appears, the hunched over figure mirroring the camel's own lumbering walk. Both are obviously exhausted.
All my questions, my worries, my thoughts, vanish as the VR show sucks me into the story. The careful sound design, the scent sprays, and the light projections combine to tell an immersive story of adventure and perseverance. It's amazing. A projection of a gorgeous night sky, complete with what looks to be a million stars, appears above us, along with the scent of jasmine in bloom.
Herne covers my hand with his. The contact sends another shiver through me. I can't be mistaken this time. I look over at him.
He eyes are still on the stage. "I never get tired of these," he murmurs. "There's something magical about it, don't you think?"
"Yes," I whisper as I turn back to the stage, his hand large and warm on mine.
Prince: A Filthy Sweet Fairy Tale Romance Page 3
