“But right now we have the opportunity to enjoy a fling for a few months and then go our separate ways. I don’t care about your family. I truly don’t. As long as seeing you won’t land me in the witness protection program, I don’t care.”
Heat and something else flared in his eyes, and he kissed her until everything left her brain but this—the feel of him, here and now.
“Emmeline,” he murmured into her mouth, and then his arms tightened around her while his lips trailed to her neck and showers of goose bumps trailed over her body. His hands in her hair, his fingers weaving through it, he held her face back for a moment before he kissed her again.
She gazed into his eyes and said, “I want this, Peter. I want you. Is it okay if we have dessert later?”
Without waiting a beat, he scooped her up and carried her inside. Emma had heard once that sometimes a man made a move that made a girl literally swoon, and this more than qualified. The intensity of her longing for him overwhelmed her.
He carried her up the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he walked down the long hallway, he kissed her again, and then she buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the deep, masculine scent of him. He smelled like a deep forest: intoxicating.
He strode toward a large set of doors and pushed them open with his knee. Emma looked around the room; it was huge, of course, with a four-poster bed bigger than any king-sized bed she’d ever slept in. Peter set her on her feet, touched a button, and a fire blazed to life in the fireplace. Light was fading outside, and the room was bathed in a warm orange and red glow.
Peter pulled her close again, kissing her deeply, and Emma could feel his erection press against her body.
“I want you so badly, Emma,” he whispered against her neck, and she shivered. She was officially incapable of forming a rational thought, now reduced to the primal, irresistible passion and need swirling in a hot vortex inside her.
She fumbled with his shirt buttons, opening them one at a time with shaking hands before smoothing the shirt open to reveal a strong, perfectly toned chest. Peter reached around for the zipper of her dress, and in one deft move, pushed it and the dress down until it pooled on the floor.
He shrugged out of his shirt while she stood before him, half naked, her nipples poking through the delicate fabric of her bra. She reached for his belt, loosening it, and then flipped the button of his trousers open. He reached down to unzip them, his mouthwatering erection on the verge of emerging from the waistband of his briefs.
Emma reached around, unfastening her bra and tossing it the floor. Her breasts tingled, awaiting his touch, her nipples round and hard. He reached up and touched one, sending a shot of longing through her that pooled warm between her thighs. He played with her nipple briefly, then he lowered his head and sucked on it gently, flicking it with his tongue.
For a moment Emma thought she would come right then and there, with his hot mouth on her, his tongue slick and wet. He moved on to her other breast and lavished it with the same careful, erotic attention. She moaned and let her head drop back while his mouth drifted to her abdomen, where it lingered for one heated moment before his tongue drifted farther down her body.
Emma tunneled her fingers through his hair while his mouth trailed across her super-sensitive skin to the top of her panties. He eased them down, and with the most extraordinary expression on his face, skimmed his fingers over her curls again and again. Then he looked up for a moment, catching her gaze with his own. She leaned down to stroke his face, and then he lowered his head, his mouth warm on her thighs.
She ached to have him inside her, and when he began licking her, slowly and thoroughly, she thought she might faint. He parted her legs and lapped his tongue between her soft folds until it was almost inside her, while her breath was reduced to frantic gasps.
Emma was coming to life and feeling things she’d never felt before. A passion so intense, every cell in her body heated up, ready to combust.
Peter lifted his mouth from her and, standing up, pushed what was left of his clothing down, revealing how hard he was. Emma took his erection in her hand, though she would have needed two hands to wrap around it. She stroked him firmly while Peter watched her with hot eyes. Finally, he groaned and pushed her back on the bed, kissing and nuzzling her again while he pressed into her.
“God, I want you so badly,” he moaned into her ear. “I haven’t wanted anyone this way in so long, Emma.”
She lost herself in his words and the warmth of his breath, the taste of his mouth. It was shocking and overwhelmingly sweet. He simply stole her breath away. He leaned back, admiring her body beneath him. He touched her breasts, caressing them, which sent another sizzle of pleasure through her.
But it was his intent gaze that magnified her pleasure, igniting more fires low in her belly and under her skin, from her head to her fingertips and toes. She touched him again and he drew in a sharp breath. Then, because her body begged for it—because his eyes pleaded for it—he pushed her thighs open and entered her, kissing her deeply as he did, and she could feel him, big and hard inside her, pushing deeper and deeper, gliding until he was fully seated, the sensations so exquisite she swore she could feel his throbbing penetration stroking every centimeter of her flesh. He pulled her knees up with his arms and she took a deep breath, willing herself not to climax too soon. She wanted so desperately to fully savor the feel of this man, skin-to-skin, and nestled within her, pulsing to the beat of his heart.
He kissed her again. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into her mouth as he thrust into her, pushing her closer to her own climax. Then she felt it fizzing throughout her body, tightening her skin, her entire body clenching in passionate readiness.
The heat they built up released explosively, an inferno engulfing her from head to toe. She lost sight of everything but the pleasure raging through her. Then, when the whirlwind subsided, he pulled her up and sat up with her, holding her in his lap, still hard inside her. He gripped her hips while he drove into her, hammering home the echoes of pleasure with his own. He let out a cry, and while she was still shuddering in the aftermath of her own orgasm, he came hard.
chapter 15
Peter was wrapped around her when she woke up. She could feel him breathing, steady and quiet, behind her. They made love twice more last night, and each time was an even bigger miracle. Emma wouldn’t have believed that being with a man could feel so…so safe, so overwhelming, so wonderful and disturbing.
But she needed to keep her wits about her, in spite of these seductively safe and cozy feelings and the nearly overwhelming passion they experienced together. This was going to end in a few months. He would go off and get married, and she’d be left with the memory of (fantastically) great sex and nothing more.
Emma looked at the tall window on the other side of the room in time to see the gradual onset of dawn. She couldn’t find the clock, however she could tell it was still early. But it was time to get up so she could open the bookstore on time. Though her grandfather refused to open the shop before ten a.m. on Sunday, they were typically busy days, with day-trippers from the city coming in for a visit.
Peter nuzzled her neck and kissed her shoulder.
“Good morning,” he said, his deep, resonant voice a wicked weapon in his arsenal.
“Morning,” Emma smiled over her shoulder, and Peter pulled her closer.
“Last night was,” he paused mid-sentence to kiss her shoulder again, “amazing.”
Emma nestled closer to him and they kissed again, a sweet, heady morning kiss.
“You are magnificent, Emmeline.”
Emma could feel her passion stir again when he pulled her in for a deep, longing kiss.
Peter pulled back and sighed, “I want you again, and again, but I think I should feed you first. Would you like me to bring breakfast up here for us?”
“No staff?”
He shook his head, threw back the covers, and swung his legs to the floor. “They have the morning off.” He shrugged into his robe, “I thought it might be a good idea, in case…”
“In case you shagged me?” She winked, “Mission accomplished.”
Peter leaned over the bed and kissed her forehead, “And quite a shag it was, my dear. Now, how do you take your coffee?”
“Cream, no sugar. Where in this maze of a house might I find the bathroom?”
He tilted his head toward the other side of his bedroom. “Around the corner and through the wardrobe. There’s a robe in there, too, if you want it. Though I’d prefer it if you run around naked.” He threw her a brilliant smile, and a tingle shimmied up her spine. This man can make my girl parts tremble with a single smile.
After Peter left, Emma got up and found the bathroom. When Peter said “wardrobe,” what he actually meant was an apartment-sized walk-in closet with shelves for everything from sweaters to shoes. The tie rack was even motorized. Of course it was. There was a long, delicate petit point-cushioned bench down the center and a chair off in one corner with a small stool with a matching cover, presumably for putting on shoes. Emma thought about her own apartment and made a mental note to keep Peter far away from it.
She found the robe…actually, several. I mean, really, who needs more than one robe? She spotted a cardigan with an odd family crest surmounted by a crown. It was in the corner on one of the shelves, clearly not worn very often. She ran her fingers across the raised stitching of the crest and wondered for a moment what it meant.
. . .
Peter walked downstairs thinking about the woman he’d thoroughly loved last night, and the fact that it was time, long overdue, to tell her who he was. He mustn’t lie to her or keep her in the dark any longer.
Emma.
His thoughts were full of her. Her body, her sweet scent, all of her. He couldn’t think straight when she was nearby, which was extremely inconvenient, given how this would eventually unfold. He needed to keep his head about him, to remember his obligations and the fact that his life was already mapped out, with no room for sweetly enticing side trips.
Speaking of sweet, they’d never gotten around to dessert. He spotted the cake, still sitting under the footed glass cake plate’s dome cover. He turned on the coffeemaker and started to cut up some fruit, along with fresh croissants left by the front door by the cook, who had express instructions to leave them there rather than coming inside.
When Peter ascended the stairs again a short time later, an odd feeling twisted in his gut. Something was wrong, and what he saw when he entered his bedroom was the last thing he would have expected.
chapter 16
“How could you?!” Emma was standing in a carelessly belted robe, only half drawn together, so he could still see the length of one gorgeous leg. She was holding out a piece of paper and waving it at him.
He couldn’t see what it was at first, but when he realized what it was, he went cold. His royal stationary, which clearly told the entire story: His Royal Highness Peter III. He took a deep breath, set the tray down on the bed, and walked over to her.
She held up her hand, palm out, “Don’t you come any closer. Peter, how could you not tell me you’re royalty…and…and a Prince, of all things??”
Peter gave her a straightforward look and said, “I planned to tell you today—this morning, actually—and, as you might recall, I did try to tell you last night.”
Emma narrowed her eyes, and sucked in a long, deep breath, “Yes…yes,” she began, with obvious reluctance, “You did. But I’m…so…mad…I…” She paused and huffed, shook her head. “So this is my fault for not letting you tell me last night?”
Peter reached for her hand, but she snatched it away…
…Taking with it a shredded piece of his heart. “No, darling, not at all. But I’m very sorry you found out this way.”
“I bet you’re sorry I found out at all,” she seethed. “My God, do you realize how awful this is? I mean, having a summer fling with a banker, or an actor, or even a rock star, is one thing. Having it with the Prince of Belgium is quite another. Besides which, you’re engaged, or nearly engaged, or whatever you call it. The press is vicious. Don’t you know that? When they find out about this…”
Damn it, she was bedeviled by a hundred “what ifs” that were hot buttons for her. She inhaled deeply and waved a hand. “And they always find out! We’ll both be targets. You with your Romanian-whatever, and me, and—oh, my God, my grandfather!” Her hand flew to her forehead while Peter inched closer.
“Emma, will you sit down with me, please? So we can talk this over quietly?”
Emma shook her head. “No, I can’t. There’s nothing to explain!” She swallowed hard and looked down to discover her borrowed robe was loose, so she hauled it shut, half crushing his official stationary when she did.
“Darling, please, give me a few minutes to explain. Please.”
“Does my grandfather know?” she asked and then gasped. “Of course he does. Of course. I mean, how could he not? Why the hell didn’t someone tell me?”
Peter approached her again, and Emma felt a solid wall behind her. “Peter I can’t do this,” she said as he moved closer, his eyes soft, his face worried. She fought the urge to reach out to him, because she knew she shouldn’t. “Please, just let me go. This was a bad idea to begin with.”
He was so close to her now she could feel his breath on her face. “You’re saying last night was a bad idea?”
Emma flashed back to their lovemaking, and the passionate memory sparked a melting between her thighs.
“No,” she began as firmly as she could. “Peter, this isn’t right.”
“It felt right, Em. Didn’t it?”
Indeed it had.
Peter clasped her hand with an affectionate squeeze and led her over to the bed. Emma followed hesitantly. He sat and, with an encouraging smile, tugged her down to sit next to him.
“Believe it or not, the fact that I’m a prince is not very important. I mean, when was the last time you heard of a member of Belgian royalty in the news?”
Emma looked at him and thought about it for a minute. He was right. Never.
When she didn’t answer, Peter continued, “In fact, most people couldn’t even find Belgium on a map, let alone know it’s a kingdom. Let’s face it, the British royals have the news all locked up. Between whatever Harry is doing and Kate having her second baby, no one much cares about anyone else, let alone an unknown Belgian Prince promised to marry a Romanian heiress.”
“But, Peter, won’t you become King eventually? I mean, that’s certainly a big deal.”
Peter shook his head. “I’m the spare, as they say. My brother Christophe is first in line. I have no chance of ever getting there unless, God forbid, something happens to him.”
He took her hand and kissed it, making her spine tingle. She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t, because her breath backed up in her throat. How the hell was she supposed to hold onto her anger if he was going to be so sweet? Not to mention the power of their attraction, which was darned near overwhelming.
But now it was all starting to make sense. His endearing, old-fashioned habits, the particular charm he possessed, the royal air she’d mistaken for arrogance.
But still, a girl had her limits. For Emma, if they were caught dating, it could be the end of her career—or at the very least would brand her a celebrity whore, which, as a publicist to celebrities, would be the kiss of death.
She thought back to Rob and the rumors circulating while they were dating. No one wanted to hire a publicist who was nothing more than a play toy, unless they weren’t serious about their work and only wanted someone new to play with, which was a cycle Emma had no intention of being sucked into.
“Emma, please, I want to keep seeing you.”<
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And there was the problem. She wanted to. She truly wanted to. After one night with Peter, she was imagining them on their front porch swing (or, in this case, royal veranda with high, wingback chairs and servants), planning their future, naming their babies, and someday playing with their grandchildren.
Being with Peter brought up all sorts of fantasies she’d never entertained before. While many of them involved being naked and pinned under his fit, flawless body, there was also another side to this. A side too dangerous to consider: Wanting a future with a man where none was possible, under any circumstances.
Emma was twisting the sash on her robe when she felt Peter’s hand on hers. “Last night was extraordinary,” he said, his voice deep and tender. “I don’t want this to end.”
Emma fluttered her eyes up to him. “I don’t either, but Peter. It’s too much. I mean, royalty, it’s, uh, sort of overwhelming.”
Peter nodded, “It is, I know. I come with a lot of baggage—more than any woman should have to cope with, ever. It’s a lot to ask of anyone.” He paused for a moment and then continued, “Look, I have to head into the city tomorrow and prepare for a trial. It’ll be three days of nonstop work, so I’ll stay in Manhattan. Why don’t you take that time, or whatever time you need, and then we can talk again?”
“Peter, truly, I don’t think I can—” He pressed his fingers to her lips.
“Shh, I know it’s a lot. Don’t try to decide now. Think about it. Please?” He kissed her then, a strong, passionate kiss that warmed her body and left her light-headed. It should be illegal for any man to be able to kiss that way. He pulled back and said, “Please promise me you’ll think about it.”
Her body still pulsing with desire, Emma could only nod.
“Will you stay for breakfast?” he asked hoarsely. “Please?”
A Royal Affair Book One: A paranormal, time travel, royal romance Page 5
