by Aven Ellis
“Quiet,” I say, and Bear immediately ceases barking.
The pounding on the door begins again.
I go to the peephole and press my eye against it, curious as to who is knocking so relentlessly.
As soon as I see who is standing on the other side, I step back in shock.
No. No. It can’t be. I’m going crazy. I’m losing all my shit. It … can’t be.
It can’t.
I take a second look as he knocks again, shaking as I do.
Oh, my God.
I throw open the door and gasp, my hands flying to my mouth. My knees actually give out, and I’m about to drop to the floor when strong hands reach out and grab me, catching me from falling.
I stare up at the man who is holding me, my heart pounding. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything except stare at him in disbelief.
Because the man holding me up is Prince Christian of Wales, third in line to the throne of the United Kingdom. Two men are with him, ones I assume to be his security detail, but they step back as CP holds me.
“I’ve got you,” he says, in that deep British voice I know by heart. “I won’t let you fall."
It’s CP’s voice.
“You … y-you’re … ” I can’t get the words out. I’m shaking so hard CP has to put both hands on my arms to try and steady me, and I tremble violently in his grasp.
Bear begins to circle in excitement, barking as he does, but I ignore him.
“Yes, I’m a prince,” he says softly, his piercing blue eyes full of sadness. He stares down at me, as he’s incredibly tall, at least six foot three, and I stare up at him in shock. The beautiful golden curls, the full lips, the long eyelashes. His gaze is moving over my face as if he’s trying to imprint every feature of mine in his memory.
“I haven’t slept since our phone call,” he says, his voice thick.
I don’t say anything. I can’t speak. I can’t believe he’s here, that CP has come all the way to Palo Alto to stand before me.
He was telling the truth, I think, reeling. CP is a prince.
“I have flown eleven hours to come here, to tell you I am CP,” he continues. “I never meant to hurt you. God, that is the last thing I would ever do. But for the first time in my life, I felt normal. I wasn’t a prince. I was CP to you, and that was all I needed to be.”
“You’re a prince,” I finally manage to get out. “My God, this changes everything.”
He winces as I say the word “prince.”
“I know it does,” CP says, his voice full of regret. “But I want you to know you were the one real thing in my life, the one person who liked me for me. I never lied to you. I used my initials, my house name, but I never lied. I didn’t reveal everything, but every word from my lips to you was the truth.”
To my surprise, he releases my arms. “Actually, there is one thing I lied about. I’m not falling for you. I already love you,” he says quietly, his eyes filling with tears.
CP turns and goes to the door, putting his hand on the knob to leave.
“You’re a prince; do you realize what this means?” I cry out, stopping him.
He turns around and gazes at me, his eyes rimmed with red. “Yes. It changes everything.”
“No, it means you’re real. You’re CP, and you’re real,” I say, my voice cracking. “You exist. What we had—our world, us, it’s real.”
His eyes take on a questioning look. “You mean … you … ”
“I love you,” I blurt out. “Yes, you dropping this prince thing is kind of a bombshell, I’ll give you that, but compared to you not being real? I don’t care. I feel as though I have you back.” Tears begin falling freely. “Don’t you see? I don’t see a prince standing before me. I see CP. The man I fell for, without ever seeing your face. You’re the man I love. You. As CP.”
A gasp escapes his lips. My chest is rising and falling rapidly, and my heart is about to explode.
CP pulls me into his arms, his mouth moving against mine in a desperate kiss. The second his warm mouth parts mine, every part of me comes alive, acutely, wonderfully, richly alive. His tongue is rapidly taking everything I can give. God, he can kiss. I’ve never been kissed with such passion in my life. CP’s kiss is hot and seeking, and I respond by rapidly matching his kisses, causing a groan to escape from his full lips. The second I hear that desire, heat flashes through me.
I feel his stubble burn against my face and his large hands spanning my back, then into my hair. I slide my hands up to his face, his beautiful, perfect face, and I rake my fingers through his gorgeous curls. I inhale the scent of his skin, which smells crisp and clean, like he just took a shower. I lose myself in his arms, his scent, his kiss, knowing what is happening in this moment is different than anything I’ve ever known before.
CP tears his mouth away from mine, putting his hands on my face and sensually caressing it as he gazes down at me.
“Why did you stop, CP?” I ask breathlessly.
“Christian. You may call me Christian now. My life, with being a royal, is complicated, Clementine,” he says, breathing hard. “Nothing with me is normal. I want to take you to bed and make love to you for the rest of the night, but you have to know this means something to me, if we do this. You aren’t a fling to me. You’re everything. But no matter how badly I want you, and God, I do, I can’t let passion take you to a place you might regret being.”
Tears of love for CP—err, Christian—fall from my eyes. I reach up and touch his face, lightly sweeping my fingertips across his cheek, committing the feel of his skin to my memory.
“I’ve dealt with a brain tumor,” I say, my eyes never leaving his. “Handling your life might be hard, a challenge, but I know what I’m getting into, and I’m not scared.”
“You don’t know though,” he whispers painfully, pressing his head to mine. “You say you do, but you don’t.”
“Then you’ll teach me,” I say simply. “We’ll face it together.”
I lift his head and take a step back so I can look into his eyes. “I love you. You are Christian to me, not Your Royal Highness, not a prince. You’re my Christian, and right now, I want to make love to you. Love me, Christian. Love me as Clementine.”
The mood in his eyes shifts from concern to desire. With one swift move, he lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around him. He kisses me hard on the mouth, and I kiss him back furiously.
“Where’s the bedroom?” Christian murmurs against my mouth.
“Second door on the left. Bed is on the right side of the wall.”
Christian resumes kissing me, his tongue dancing against mine. I can’t explain how natural this feels, as if I was meant to kiss this man, as if his body was made to fit with mine.
We reach my room, and Christian pauses to shut the door with one hand behind him. He lays me down on the bed, and we begin to discard our clothing. I pull off the navy quarter-zip he has on and reach for his T-shirt. He kneels for a moment, ripping it off and throwing it aside.
I bite my lip as I study him, his skin ivory and muscular, his abdominals and pecs sculpted magnificently, with that sexy V that tapers down to his waist. Christian lowers himself toward me, his tongue tracing my lips as his fingertips reach for the waistband of my yoga pants.
I gasp as he drops his fingertips down lower, reaching the edge of my panties, his touch teasing me with what is to come.
I run my hands up his forearms, over the sexy veins running through his pale skin, and pure need to entwine my body with his runs through me.
Christian kisses me, his hands continuing to play with the lace on my underwear, and I shudder from his touch.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against my lips.
I kiss him back, gently and sweetly, as our bodies wrap around each other. I hook one leg across his lower back, and Christian moves his fingertips lower, down the inside of my thigh, teasing me, blissfully torturing me, and letting me know tonight isn’t going to be rushed.
&
nbsp; I reach for the bottom of my T-shirt, tugging it up. Christian stops to help me and I push myself up so I can take it off. I toss it on the floor next to the bed, and I see Christian draw a sharp intake of breath as I’m now baring my breasts to him.
He flashes me a wicked grin. “No bra.”
“No,” I say, grinning mischievously at him.
Christian draws me to his body, and as we sit up, I wrap myself around him again. God, this feels instinctively right. I know I am meant to love this man. My breasts are pressed against his chest, his huge hands spanning my back, making me feel warm and protected.
His eyes lock on mine. “I love you,” he whispers.
To my surprise, he brushes his lips ever-so-sweetly over my right eye.
Where I have paralysis.
“I love every single magnificent part of you,” he murmurs against my skin.
I fight back tears. That kiss, that pausing to take that moment to address my flaw, tells me everything I’ll ever need to know about Christian and what we have.
This is love.
As he begins to kiss my neck, my collarbones, and my breasts, I arch back into his hands, closing my eyes and letting the happy tears fall.
I dip my head into his hair, his wonderful, golden locks, and take a deep breath, breathing in the intimate scent of his hair, his cologne, and feeling the heat from his body.
“I love you,” I whisper, “I love you, Christian Chadwick.”
I feel his whole body harden against mine when I say his name. He lays me back on the bed, closing his mouth over mine, and as our bodies move together, I give everything I am to the man I love.
Chapter 8
Red Wine and Fire Pits
“I feel like I was made to be here,” I murmur, gently pressing my lips to Christian’s warm chest. He has me cradled in the crook of his arm, holding me tight, after we made love for a second time.
The first time was hot and desperate, the actions of two people who thought they’d never see each other again. It was full of raw need to explore this passion, to discover each other, to express our emotions and physical desires.
That was the first time.
The second time was all about love. Christian was gentle. It was slow and beautiful and filled with the sweetest kisses I have experienced. I felt adored by this man, cherished, as if I were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen or touched.
Now I’m in his arms, listening to his heart beat, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. I have never felt more content than I do at this moment.
“You’re a perfect fit,” Christian comments as he plays with my hair. “I might have to keep you here forever.”
I laugh softly, and he does, too.
I roll over so I’m propped up on his chest. I take a moment to stare at him, this beautiful man that I love.
Christian cocks an eyebrow at me. “What?”
“Your eyes,” I say, studying them carefully. “You’re happy.”
A slow smile tugs at the corner of his full lips. “I am.”
“I can tell. Your eyes shine when you are happy.”
“You make me happy,” he says. “I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now. I’m not a prince. I’m Christian. Your Christian.”
As if to punctuate the point, he brushes his lips to mine.
“You didn’t even have to play the prince card to get me,” I say, grinning at him.
He laughs, that beautiful, deep, throaty laugh that I love to hear.
“I knew that wouldn’t mean anything to you. Though I was fully prepared to play the art card to win your heart. I would have tempted you with seeing a van Dyck painting in Windsor Castle.”
I burst out laughing.
“I’m in love with a man who actually has the keys to the castle.”
“One of the perks of the title.”
“I can’t imagine what your life is like,” I say softly. “Born into such history and tradition; your place in the world was pre-defined before you arrived in it.”
I see the lightness fade from his eyes.
“I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” Christian says as if he’s trying to carefully choose his words, “as I was born to great privilege. Nothing, however, comes without a price. I’m lucky to never have to worry about finances or how to pay for an education at a prestigious university. I’m lucky to have these amazing historical palaces to call home and to have the ability to travel the world. I can serve the people, both in the military and through the work of the monarchy, which is an honor. But my role in life was decided for me before I could speak. I can’t go off and be a surgeon or a private investigator or follow a career dream outside of the few choices I have, because I’m a prince. The ability to pursue a career of my choosing is not in my hands. It’s never been mine.”
I stay silent as I have a feeling some long-repressed emotions are about to come tumbling out. I link my fingers through his, holding his hand just as he did long-distance for me when I was awaiting my test results. I let Christian know, without a word, that I’m walking with him right now in whatever he is about to say.
“As a public figure, I understand that people will be interested in what I do, the things I say, and where I go. But it’s extreme. Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve had photographers snapping away at me. I remember the first day of nursery school, holding my father’s hand, with nothing but cameras going off. I was more scared of that than leaving Father for class.”
I notice he says nothing about Queen Antonia and make a note to come back to that topic later.
“Everything I do is discussed, speculated on, written about,” Christian says. “The press has been decent about leaving me alone while at Cambridge, but then there’s everyone else. I’m stared at when I walk to class, stared at in class. When I go to a pub, people want to be near me not because I’m funny or smart or interesting, but because of the title. They want to know a prince. Girls want to date a prince. Very few can see me. If they do, they must go along with all the crap that comes with me, like my protection officers. When I lived in the hall, my protection officers lived in the next room. Now that I’m in a house, they have a room. They are downstairs in your car park now.”
I sit straight up. “You mean your protection officers have been waiting for us to finish having sex?” I blurt out, more than slightly embarrassed by that thought.
Christian’s face lights up. “They’ll give me a high-five for getting a beautiful red-headed American to take me on.”
I groan, and he laughs.
“So … when you decided to fly over here, they came with you?”
He exhales. “Yes. I’m never without them, essentially.”
I can’t imagine. There are men sitting in the parking lot of my building, waiting for Christian to leave, and that is what they do for a living.
Stay alert to protect the prince.
“If I met a girl I wanted to go out with, they would drive her to one place, like a restaurant, have her walk through it, get in another car, and only then be taken to see me. All so she wouldn’t be in the spotlight. Not many will put up with that.”
I squeeze his hand again, and he squeezes it back.
“The press is going to come after me once I graduate in June,” Christian continues. “They’ve already started, as you know, with the curry and hoarder bit.”
“That was the dumbest thing ever,” I say, rolling my eyes. “That and the Xander the Philanderer title.”
“Well, my part was fabricated, but Xander is a philanderer,” he says, his eyes sparkling.
I burst out laughing, which I punctuate with a hiccup, making a ridiculous loud sound, which makes him really laugh, a true, deep-from-within-his-soul laugh.
“Do you hiccup laugh?”
“I do,” I say. Then I arch an eyebrow at him. “Are you willing to take that on?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think hiccup laughing is allowed in the House of Chadwick.”
I think on th
is for a moment.
They probably have strict protocol.
Like no hiccup laughs or eating Chips Ahoys in the royal bed.
“Kidding,” he says. “As long as you don’t do it in a walkabout.”
“Oh, that’s when you shake hands and chat with people waiting to see you at an appearance.”
Christian grins. “Ah, very good.”
“I’ve watched my fair share of prince movies on TV, thank you very much.”
“Oh God, those are the worst. If you based my life off those, I’d be running around all the time with a sash on and I would have met you after you came to work in the palace as a tutor for my deceased brother’s children or something.”
Now I’m dying laughing. “You’ve totally watched some.”
“Indeed,” he admits, then he continues. “The press has been curious about me because, unlike Xander, I don’t do anything. When Xander is on his leave from the army, he loves the posh nightclubs in London. He likes beautiful girls. Xander has a tight-knit group about him, like I do, so you don’t see stories leaked to the press, but they always know where to go to get a picture of him leaving a club with a beautiful society girl. But me? I prefer an American girl,” he adds, shooting me a sly look.
I blush.
“I also prefer a pub, where you can talk. I don’t like the nightclub scene at all.”
“Duh, that’s because you can’t dance. Who wants that reported to the media?” I tease.
He flashes me a huge smile. “Do you know what I love about you, Ace?”
My heart becomes a puddle when I see the look of love on his face.
“You give me shit.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a girlfriend if I didn’t.” I stop. “Wait, am I your girlfriend?”
Christian squeezes my hand. “Yes. I don’t waste time. Meet girl for first time in person, make love to her twice, declare relationship.”
We both laugh, but then I turn serious.
“Yet with us it feels right,” I say.
“It does,” he says softly. “But you do need to understand what you are getting into. Once we go public—which I don’t want to do right away—the media will be relentless. Wherever you are living, they’ll lie in wait for you. Photographers will chase you, and it can be dangerous. You will be adored one minute and kicked about the next, with horrible, nasty things said about you. And that’s just the public and the media. My family is a whole other level of insanity you will have to cope with. That is why I spend so much time in private or in places where nobody can find me. The media thinks I’m a recluse, but I don’t want to share everything with the world, especially you. I want this time to be ours, and I’ll fiercely protect it for us. You have my word.”
