The Pretend Prince
Page 17
“Elton John,” I throw out.
One sexy brow raises. “Interesting choice.”
I shrug. “I’m pretty sure I know almost every lyric to almost every song. I drove my father’s old Volvo until recently and the radio was broken. That left me the tape player, and the only cassettes he had in the car were Elton John. Try finding Post Malone on cassette. No, don’t, it’s impossible.”
The burst of laughter he expels tells me I’m so in for this ride. In the car. Not on him. Of course. “Okay, Elton John it is, then. Let me hear you.”
Drawing in a breath, I expel it. I’m thinking through the words to Bennie and the Jets but the electric boobs part might embarrass me so I decide to go with a cleaner song. Channeling my very best Elton, I start by bobbing my head and then after doing a first pump, I hum the intro and pretend to play the piano.
He laughs and I think he’s shocked that I’m actually going to do this but the thing is what do I have to lose—so I go for it and open my mouth now.
You’ll never know what it’s like,
Your blood is freezes just like ice,
There’s a light that shines from you.
His palm flies up. “Woah, wait a minute. Stop right there.”
Feeling myself flush, I want to fall into the cracks of the seat. “Am I really that bad?”
He’s shaking his head. “You sing like an angel but you’re massacring Sir Elton Hercules John’s lyrics.”
Hercules is Elton’s middle name?
And even if it is, who uses it?
Besides, he’s wrong. Dead wrong.
Now, I’m shaking my own head. “Excuse me? I am most certainly not massacring the lyrics. I assure you I know the words to “I’m Still Standing”.”
His mouth twists. “You might think you do, but you’re wrong.”
“Then what are they?”
His own mouth opens and although he doesn’t exactly sing, he isn’t bad.
You could never know what it’s like,
Your blood winter freezes just like ice,
And there’s a cold lonely light that shines from you.
I frown at him. “Blood winter? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Sure it does. Your blood is cold like winter. It freezes just like ice.”
Leaning closer, I insist, “Right, and that’s what I was signing.”
Tossing his briefcase onto the floor, he leans even closer to me and I feel his warm breath on my cheek. “No, you are using verbs, there aren’t any.”
I throw myself back against the bench seat and cross my arms. “I should have went with “Bennie and Jets”. Electric boobs and a mohawk would have been so much easier to quote.”
His head tips back and roaring laughter fills the cab. “It’s electric boots and a mohair suit.”
I frigging hate this guy.
Turning my head away from him, I see we’re passing the Whitney Museum of Arts and I have too far to go to get the boot here, so I force myself to pull my act together and turn back.
He’s wiping tears from his eyes, that’s how hard he was laughing. “Do you want to try again?”
“I’ll pass.” I’m shaking my head, suddenly thinking about how I thought I knew every line to every Elton John song and sang them with such confidence, and what a giant ball of suck I really was the entire time.
What a fool I must have looked like to everyone around me, especially during those Karaoke nights at college. I should have read the screen, I guess.
Stroking his jaw, his seems to be considering something. Like perhaps telling the cabdriver to pull over and ordering me out.
“Look,” I say, “I really need to get to work on time.”
“Yes, so you’ve said.”
“Then we’re cool?”
“Cool as in I pay for your ride?”
“Correct.”
His head is shaking and his hair moves when it does. “Then no, we’re not cool. You’re going to have to come up with another way to pay your half.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not a hooker from the red-light district and I am not blowing you, so don’t even think about asking.”
“Wow, you shouldn’t jump to such lewd conclusions. And I wasn’t aware New York had such a place, anyway. And for the record, I was thinking about something a little less vulgar, but of course, I’d never turn a blowie down.”
Making a face, I start to slide my coat back on. “Well, it does. It’s in Hunts Point in the Bronx. I’ll be getting out here, in case you want to reroute the cab.”
His hand reaches over to stop me and the electrical current that travels through my body causes me to quiver. “Don’t get out just yet.”
I glare down where his fingertips are pressing against the skin of my bare forearm. “I already told you, I’m not blowing you.”
“And I already told you, I’m looking for that…yet. But I know you feel it, too.”
Feigning ignorance seems best. “Feel what? The bumps in the road?”
The corners of his mouth turn up. “Kiss me and find out the that spark is from the condition of the street or chemistry, and I’ll take you to the door of wherever you need to go.”
Out the window I notice we’re on 10th Ave now in Hell’s Kitchen. So close, so close and yet so very far away.
I try not to audibly pant when his eyes travel downward. I swear I see a glimmer of lust in his starlight eyes, but his expression is blank, unreadable, as he awaits my response.
I stare at him in silence. He doesn’t look like a creep. He looks like a businessman. A business man with hundred dollar bills in his pocket. Who carries money like that in the city, anyway?
Creeps, my inner voice warns.
Creeps looking to pay for sex.
Yet, he doesn’t look like a creep. His appeal raw, wild, and besides, he’s been laughing, like I’m a game to him. Something to pass his time. A billionaire I suppose.
He wants a kiss.
What’s one kiss?
Just yesterday I kissed my spin instructor, on the cheek, but still I kissed him. Before that I kissed my TA at college. Before that even, the banker near my house. The postman. The milkman. And then more recently there was my brother’s best friend, which he was none too happy about. But hey, said best friend and I, at least, recently broke up.
Okay, so I’ve kissed a lot of men.
One more couldn’t possibly hurt.
“Fine, one kiss and that’s it. If your gorgeous hands so much as try to touch me here,” I point to my boobs, “or here,” I point to my sex, which is way too wet for my liking, “I will knee you in the balls.”
His mouth quirks up. “I’m rather fond of my balls, so I’ll be sure to mind the rules.”
With some kind of unbridled passion only seen the movies, I grab him by his silk tie and pull him toward me.
One kiss.
What’s one kiss?
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Paris:
I had him at hello.
Or maybe it was the down-on-one-knee comment that really got his full attention. Either way, he was standing there with his mouth open wide like a fish out of water.
It shouldn’t have delighted me, but it did.
His eyes went wide and I couldn’t stop the tingle that ran down my spine as I stared up at him. God, he was the same and different all at the same time.
Those eyes.
Those bedroom eyes.
Still bluer than any Bahamian sea. Still bottomless like the depths of the ocean. And still so expressive.
One look from him and I swore a girl wanted to pull down her panties all on her own.
He hadn’t changed a bit.
I hated it.
Hated that his nose was still so straight and his cheekbones so well defined. That
those too-full lips which donned him the moniker, Pretty Boy, despite his best efforts to ditch it were still so inviting. Don’t even get me started on that masterfully tousled dirty-brown hair; it did always make me go weak in the knees.
I detested that, too.
Tyler Holiday was always tall, dark, and cocky, but now he had become a man. All grown-up and deliciously so.
For one rapturous second, time rewound, and I got lost in a face I once thought I’d stare at forever. That mouth a little crooked grin and that masculine jaw now covered with at least a week of scruff.
Yes, he was definitely all man.
Standing before me with his hard-as-stone body and handsome-as-sin good looks, it was difficult to recall why I loathed him so much.
But then he shrugged as if what I’d said hadn’t just rocked his world, and when he did, the hardness in his eyes became glaringly apparent. “I should have known you were in cohorts with the Wicked Witch of the West. Deceit always was your thing.”
Trying to control my emotions, I stepped back, my cheeks burning under the heat of his intense gaze. From this vantage point I could see his face had become a perfectly blank mask. “Now that’s not nice, Tyler, and you know it.”
Rather than admit defeat, he darted his gaze to the ground but allowed his lips to turn up just a bit more, smug-like. “You know nice isn’t my thing.”
Right. That’s the exact moment I remembered exactly who he was. Oh, how I remembered.
The party boy.
The aloofness.
The arrogance.
Time had refined who he was, but his removed disposition hadn’t changed one bit. It was like a neon sign blinking with the message that he lived high in his own castle.
It was received.
Coming to my senses, I cocked a hip. “Wilhelmina called me after she dropped you off. I’m sure she knew you’d never see it through because come on, Tyler, commitment was never your thing.”
He gave me another shrug. Playing at indifference was also his thing. Yet he forgot something—if he thought he knew me, then I definitely knew him.
And the way his teeth started to clench and the way his forehead rose to his hairline were his tells. Tells of shock. Tells of surprise. Tells of anger. And maybe something a little darker, too.
Yes, I had most definitely caught him off-guard.
His disposition was almost endearing, and it would have been if I didn’t still hate him. Hate him with a passion that threatened to burn down the very walls of my being.
His grown-up swagger and carefree attitude might have made me want to stab him, but the way he looked at me with that devilish smirk provoked me to want to stab myself—in the heart.
Okay, not really.
I just despised the way my most vital organ did this wild thump, thump, thump because he was near. Because he almost kissed me.
It absolutely made no sense. He’d broken me ten years ago, and I knew he would break me once again if I let him.
Even considering an alliance was insane. I ruled it out about two minutes after I heard the idea. Besides, I’d found a way out of my predicament. It wasn’t ideal but it was doable. And much safer.
He stepped closer.
I didn’t step back.
Danger. Proceed with caution. Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. Those were the words that were stamped all over him.
His warm breath whispered across my cheek, stoking the old flames of desire. I knew better than to let him get too close, and yet I couldn’t back away.
The voice inside my head kept shouting, “Play with fire and you’ll get burned.”
I should have listened.
I didn’t.
Then again, I never did listen to anyone, not even myself.
“So, tell me?” he chuckled darkly, “Did the idea of being my wife make you wet?”
The snicker that bubbled up my throat let him know the concept in itself was preposterous. “Hardly, it made me want to sew my vagina closed.”
His returning smirk was a dangerous cocktail of amusement and desire. Warmth trickled down my spine from just the tilt of his full lips. Damn him. He hadn’t laid a finger on me, yet I felt his touch everywhere. “You’re a liar,” he said matter-of-factly, eyeing the way my pulse was throbbing in my neck.
“It’s so nice to see you, too, and after all this time.” Now, I pressed my back against the wall, looking for distance, seeking relief from the fire he’d lit in me the moment I saw him standing on my driveway.
He shook his head.
“What, can’t say it back?”
Some kind of emotion I couldn’t decipher flashed in those baby blues but it was gone in an instant. “Well, if I did, that would be a lie, and we both know I’m not the liar here. Besides, to be honest, it isn’t nice to see you. As a matter of fact, I hate the fact that you’ve allowed yourself to go from seductress to mere arm candy in only ten short years.”
Anger and regret spun around me. I closed my eyes and re-opened them. Jutting my chin out, I didn’t want to drink in the sight of him yet I couldn’t resist.
I might have hated the way things ended between us, but I despised what he had done even more. And I couldn’t forgive him for that. For not seeing what was real. So I had to turn my feelings off. Play the girl the world saw—the party girl. “And I see you’ve successfully graduated from jerk to asshole in less than a decade.”
His wry smile disappeared. And the frown that replaced it was accompanied by a glacial stare. “What are you doing with that guy?”
Telling him Henri and I were hopelessly in love was useless. He’d already seen the truth. “I already told you, it’s none of your business.”
His hard body pressed against mine. “You don’t think I figured it out the second I saw him bent over a dude? That you’re Henri LeBlanc’s veil to the world and he must be your savior.”
I shrugged. “Paint the picture however, you like,” I told him. “Either way, Henri and I are getting married.”
His brow furrowed and he stepped back, tucking a hand in his pocket and using the other to tousle his hair. “You can’t be serious?”
A waft of his fresh, clean, masculine scent filled my nose. I inhaled and couldn’t stop the way I shivered in response. The impact he had on me was as undeniable as it was useless. “I am, actually. We plan to make our announcement very soon. I’m sure you’ll read about it in the headlines.”
“This is about saving Highway 128.”
“I couldn’t deny it.”
His long, lean body angled forward and his big palm hit the wall beside my head. “There is another way to keep your father’s winery out of bankruptcy.”
It was more than a hint of a proposition.
Goose bumps prickled my side as a thrill of excitement crashed inside my chest, until I remembered this was Tyler Holiday, and he hadn’t changed a bit. That wall was still there, tall and wide and unapproachable, and I couldn’t attempt the climb again. “And what might that be?” I asked rather menacingly.
“Marry me, instead,” he whispered, his tone gruff, his voice shaky as if he couldn’t believe he was suggesting such a thing.
“Never,” I said, in a vengeful hiss.
Unabashed, he pinned me with a wolfish grin. “Never say never, Paris.” Then taking a step back, he went on. “How about I leave the offer on the table and you take a few days to think about all the good sex you won’t be having with Frenchy. I’ll call you first thing Tuesday morning.”
I didn’t like the way his stare ignited a yearning I hadn’t felt in years. “And I won’t be answering,” I told him and gave him my back the way he had done earlier. Then over my shoulder, I tossed, “And Tyler?”
The thick column of throat bobbed. “Yes?”
“Happy birthday. Feel free to stay and celebrate. Henri and I have other obligations,” I chirped before sashaying out of the breakroom, leaving the boy I’d once loved and lost behind.
Marrying Henri was really for the best.
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Kim Karr is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of eighteen novels. Best known for writing sexy contemporary love stories, she enjoys bringing flawed characters to life and creating romances that are page worthy.