A Royal Affair Series: Book 1, 2, and 3: A paranormal, time travel, royal romance

by Christina George

  Her body still pulsing with desire, Emma could only nod.

  “Will you stay for breakfast?” he asked hoarsely. “Please?”

  “May I shower first?” she asked, instead of answering him directly.

  “Right through there,” he pointed to another door. “There are fresh towels for you. Come downstairs whenever you’re ready.” Then Emma was alone with her thoughts and the stark reality of whom she’d spent the night with.

  As she removed the lovely robe she’d borrowed from his wardrobe, she realized she had gone a little overboard with her reaction. Truth be told, he had tried to tell her, but she didn’t want to listen. As warm shower water rushed over her, she could feel her resolve weakening, even though the sane part of her kept nudging her to leave since nothing good could come of this.

  While she toweled off, she could tell the sane part of her had taken a back seat to her curiosity about this sweetly charming, incredibly attractive man. Besides, how was a woman supposed to refuse a man like Peter? She forgot how to breathe at the mere sight of him. As she’d proven more than once, she scored low on emotional intelligence.

  . . .

  Peter returned with breakfast and set it up in the little breakfast nook in his bedroom.

  Emma surveyed the room, seeing it and the rest of the house and property with new eyes. Of course he was royalty. How could she not have seen it before? In fact, she now recalled seeing the family crest hanging on a wall in the entryway, exactly like the one on the sweater she found. She’d seen what she wanted to see, an amazing man who wanted her, and she had remained blind to signs that now seemed obvious.

  She’d often been near royalty and saw Kate and William from a distance once at a gala opening in New York, but she honestly had no idea what their lives were like beyond what she read in magazines.

  A spike of curiosity got the better of her, and she said, “Tell me what it’s like to be royalty.”

  Peter shrugged. “It’s not like everyone believes. I mean, I know the world is obsessed with Kate and William, but there’s far more to it than photo ops. It’s very political. Most people don’t even understand why we matter anymore. In fact, most royal families feel their days are numbered.” He tore off a small bite of his croissant, added butter and jam, and popped it into his mouth, continuing a few moments later. “So we all do whatever we can to survive.”

  “Like marrying the right people,” Emma said quietly.

  Peter held her gaze. “Yes, but a better way to say it is that we marry people who look good on paper.”

  Emma looked down, saying nothing, and Peter rested a hand on hers. “It’s never for the right reasons…at least not our reasons. We do it because it’s what’s expected of us.”

  “But if you’re the ‘spare,’ as you said, why does it matter who you marry?”

  Peter looked away, and Emma could have sworn she saw pain cloud his face. After a long pause, he said, “We’re duty-bound to do it. I’ve been given a lot of freedom to come here, and do what I do and live a life far removed from my royal roots. But in the end, it’s who I am, and at some point we must all fall in line.”

  Emma had a hard time understanding a life where you had limited choices, where everything was (or most things were) pre-planned and you knew from childhood what was expected of you…for the rest of your life.

  “Even Harry, the better known ‘spare,’ is afforded a lot of freedom, but only up to a point.”

  Emma took a bite out of her croissant and set it down. She couldn’t imagine living that way and found herself feeling grateful for her fairly obscure existence. She’d been around enough celebrities to know being in the limelight was an exhausting, full-time job. That was when what was left of her sane mind took over, and she realized what she had to do.

  “Peter, I’m sorry.” She stood up, hiding her shaking hands behind her back. “I can’t do this. I mean, I’d love to. I truly would. The past forty-eight hours have been amazing and fun and exciting…and being with you, making love with you, is extraordinary.”

  “Em, no…” Peter stood up and reached for her hand. She tentatively gave hers to him, even though she knew he’d notice it was cold and shaking.

  “Please, let me finish. I can’t do this, even for a few months. I just can’t. I feel like I’m too close already…to you.” Em heard herself stumble through her explanation, but the part of her who wanted to continue their affair kept choking her up.

  There was another reason, a reason she could not explain to him without sounding completely insane. The intuitive side of her screamed for her to recognize that she already knew him, and there was a connection between them, an invisible tether that had always been there, even long before they met.

  “I need a life that’s less”—she waved her hand—“I don’t know, less complicated, less public…”

  For a moment Peter stood there silently, watching her, “I wish you would give it time, time for us to—”

  Emma spun back to him, no longer in control of her emotions. “To what? For me to fall in love with you? Because that’s gonna happen, I can assure you. Then where will I be? Alone.

  “You’ll be married to a woman you don’t even know and probably won’t like, and I’ll be branded a charlatan who sleeps with royals, and I’ll never be able to get another serious client as long as I live. As much as I love working in the bookshop, at some point I’ll have to go back to my work. But there won’t be any. And you’ll be married. And maybe not King but, you know, royalty. And I’ll be a castoff, some girl you had a fling with back in the day. I can’t do it.”

  “What do you mean by fall in love?” A slight smile tugged at corners of his mouth.

  Emma flung her arms out. “Look at this place, and look at you. It’s like a fairy tale, and, yes, I’d fall in love. I mean, who wouldn’t? A girl would have to be crazy not to.”

  “I’m so sorry, Emma. I’m sorry my life is so complicated.” He dropped into his seat in the nook, elbows on the table, his forehead resting on one hand. “It’s why I don’t date, because it isn’t fair to do this to you. This life, for all of its romantic trappings, is not easy.” He looked up and searched her eyes.

  Emma stood next to him. She should go. She knew it, but the pull to stay was darn near irresistible. The dangerous, seductive pull toward this man, who was the sexiest, kindest, most loving male she’d ever been attracted to. And the damned psychic tether, or whatever it was.

  She steeled herself against her own desires and the unbelievable magnetism she felt toward him.

  “Goodbye, Peter,” she said and walked quickly to the entryway, where her overnight bag waited by the front door. He did not follow her out.

  chapter 17

  Three days without seeing Peter, yet Emma felt his presence like a rogue wave, unexpected and devastating, sweeping her out to sea, where she lost her bearings. She hadn’t heard a single word from him, though she hadn’t expected to. She told him to stay away; she told him this wasn’t her thing. But the truth was, he was her thing, and he had already found a way to climb into her mind and, possibly, into her heart.

  Although it was better that he wasn’t trying to get in touch, of course. Continuing their relationship could only get messy in the end, and who needed that?

  And then there was the dream, the reoccurring one she’d been having since before Cannes. It was coming to her nightly now, and in the same way. The children playing and laughing, and then in a flash they were gone. Every time she woke up with a start, the name Fitz on her lips. It was disturbing to say the least.

  Emma was stacking books on the front table when she heard her grandfather on the stairs. He was getting restless and wanted to come back to work, but his doctor insisted he rest least one more week, though two would be better.

  In the meantime, Emma had begun the search for an assistant. Regardless of what she decided to do
, stay here or go back to her life as a publicist, the shop needed additional help, even if it was only one person. Already several great résumés had popped into her inbox, and Emma was certain she’d be able to narrow down a final candidate within the next week. Her grandfather was opposed to help, of course, but Emma would make sure whoever it was would be well trained and familiar with everything, and her grandfather happy with her or him—or at least resigned to their presence—before she went back to her life.

  If she went back to her life.

  Already it seemed ages since she’d been in Cannes with #BadBoyRob.

  “Emma, darling,” her grandfather said from the bottom of the stairs, “I need fresh air. I’m going out for a walk.”

  She turned and smiled, “Will you let me go with you? I’ll close up for lunch in a moment, and then we can both go.”

  He shook his head. “No, Gretchen is going with me. You stay here. Any word from Peter?” He tossed out the last comment casually, though she knew darn well it was anything but.

  Emma didn’t say anything, only shook her head. Her grandfather approached her and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “You will, Em, I promise you.”

  She narrowed her eyes, “Opa, you haven’t contacted him, have you?”

  He shook his head convincingly, “No, but I know Peter quite well, and I know his feelings for you already run deep.”

  Emma shrugged. Her grandfather was ever the romantic, which was why she hadn’t scolded him for not telling her Peter was not truly available.

  Besides, how could what he said about Peter’s feelings be true, when it had only been a few days? They’d already been apart longer than they’d known each other.

  This kind of thing simply didn’t happen to her. Falling in love with a prince and having him love her back never happened in real life. It was, in fact, a ridiculous notion, and whatever intuitive crap she was feeling was nothing more than that—crap.

  Marcel kissed her on the cheek and headed out, and Emma busied herself with the store, stocking new books, checking inventory. She was so busy she almost missed that it was noon and she was hungry. Em decided to put up the Be Right Back! sign so she could make a sandwich. But as she flipped the sign, she saw him. Standing on the street by his car, not smiling, not waving, simply standing there, his sexy eyes on her.

  Peter.

  She felt her heart kick up, and her body heat skyrocketed while he held her with his gaze. Then he walked over, slowly, deliberately.

  Emma wanted to lock the door and run upstairs, but her feet wouldn’t move. Giving into a force bigger and stronger than she was, she opened the door as he approached.

  She noticed he looked tired, even a little frayed at the edges. His work in the city must have been draining.

  “Hello, Emmeline,” he said, his voice deep with emotion and sexy as hell.

  Em finally remembered to breathe. “Peter, hello.”

  Now that he was standing in front of her, she flashed back to the incredible night they spent together. She felt the hard knot of resistance inside her melt.

  “May I come in?” he asked softly.

  “I’m about to make lunch. Would you like a sandwich, too?”

  He walked past her. “I’m not hungry for anything but your company.”

  His words, of course, were perfect. Much like he was. Em wondered if princes were trained to be charming. Or was the charming prince too stereotypical?

  “Emmeline, I need to talk with you. Only for a moment, but there is something I need to tell you.”

  She noticed his eyes looked tired and, as if reading her mind, he said, “I don’t think I have slept since you left. Let’s go upstairs. Please,” he added quickly.

  Em knew going upstairs with him was a bad idea. Actually, no, scratch that. It was the worst idea ever. The likelihood of her keeping her clothes on was dwindling by the second. If they went upstairs, she would surely be naked faster than she could say, kingdom. If she even remembered to say it. Which was unlikely.

  “Um, Peter, do you mind if we talk here instead?” Emma nodded to the sign on the door, Be Back Later. If she went upstairs with him, it would be much, much later.

  “I thought you were hungry.”

  She was. Until this to-die-for-handsome god of sex walked in, and now all she wanted was to feel him pressed against her.

  She shrugged. “It’s fine. What brings you here?”

  Peter walked over to her and took her hand, “This is private. Let’s at least go to the back of the store.” He pulled her with him to the back room.

  Equally bad.

  The back room was small, nothing more than a tiny break room that barely had space for two people, thanks to all the unfiled paperwork in boxes lying around everywhere.

  When they were settled in the back of the shop, Peter let go of her hand. A tiny twist of disappointment tugged at her heart.

  He jammed his fingers through his hair, looked at her, and said, “Seven years ago, I was engaged. She was the love of my life.”

  Was?

  A pained expression contorted his face, “We were planning a weekend getaway in France, skiing. Isabel loved to ski. It was bad weather in Belgium, slick roads…” His voice trailed off. “The ambulance said she died instantly, hit by a drunk driver so hard her car flipped off the road and into a nearby field. She was on her way to meet me at the ski lodge when she died.”

  Emma’s heart broke for him. “Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry.” She reached out and took his hand.

  “I wanted to die with her. We were six months from getting married. June twenty-sixth. It was going to be our day, then it wasn’t. The date came and went, but it was only another day, because my Isabel was gone. Forever.”

  Peter pulled her into him and kissed the top of her head. “I buried myself in my work and came to the US to work in a law firm here. Most of the cases were Isabel’s, unfinished because of her passing. She was an attorney too. I felt it was important to complete her work, to finish what she started. It was the least I could do for her legacy. Then I found my niche here. I made friends, and it became easier to live here than in Belgium where Isabel and I fell in love.” He paused, and his voice cracked slightly when he added, “Too many memories.”

  “Peter,” Emma said softly, “How awful. I had no idea.”

  He continued to hold her while he went on with his story. “After Isabel, I didn’t date—I couldn’t. I had fought my parents’ marriage arrangement, insisting I wanted to be with Isabel. But when she died, there was no point in arguing, so I agreed. I didn’t even fight it. It didn’t matter, because I never believed I could find this kind of love again.” He paused again, and then said, “Then I met you, and I realized almost immediately how wrong I was.”

  Em had trouble catching her breath. “Peter, I—” He didn’t let her finish, silenced her by pressing his lips to hers, and she did the only thing she could, returned his kiss.

  Peter pulled back from her slowly, gazing down at her, stroking her hair. “I know this sounds crazy, but I feel like I’ve known you my entire life.”

  The shimmer erupted behind him, and Emma squashed it ruthlessly. It had to be about Peter’s past life and possibly their connection, but it needed to stay under wraps. Nothing good could come from knowing about past lives, especially if they ended badly.

  “Em,” he whispered, “I am falling in love with you.”

  He kissed her again, and—poof!—her resistance was gone, and she knew she was falling in love with him, too.

  He kissed her long and deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth, his hands cherishing her curves, her hair, and her face.

  Pulling back, he fixed her with an intent look. “I promise you, I will figure out a way to tell my parents I can’t get married, not this way, not to a woman I don’t love, have never even met.”

  �
�But Peter, it’s already being planned.”

  He shook his head, “Nothing is being done until we announce. That’s tradition. Once we announce, it’s too late to back out.”

  “Peter, I…I feel like this is about to become an international incident. I mean, we don’t even know if we’ll suit each other, what kind of relationship we’d have.”

  He took her hands and kissed them, one at a time. “Then give us the summer to find out. I can hold off telling my parents, if it makes you more comfortable.”

  Emma could feel her heart thud. He loved her, and she felt the same.

  Em also recognized his feeling that they already knew each other. Because it was exactly how she felt. Like she’d loved him in another life…and had never stopped loving him.

  chapter 18

  “Why don’t you read him, Em? It will tell you what the deal is and maybe even what you’re walking into.”

  After Peter left, promising to come back and take her to dinner, she called her cousin.

  “Peyton, I can’t. I mean I don’t see how it would be helpful. Okay, so we have a past life connection. But what if it’s horrible? What if we hated each other or something?”

  Emma could hear her cousin sigh through the phone, “If you feel the way you do, so quickly, there’s a big connection here, maybe several lifetimes. Also, finding out what happened might help you figure out why you’re always the first one to run from relationships.”

  Emma growled. Honestly, Peyton was like a dog with a bone when she got her teeth into something. “I’m not, but I can certainly tell when it’s time to call it a day.”

  Peyton chuckled, “Emmeline, listen. Tying a bow on it to make it more palatable doesn’t change the reality of it. The bottom line is, you run, and maybe the answer lies in the past.”