Royal

by Tina Martin

  Maybe that’s part of what drove him to Gemma. There was something about watching her recover – watching her fight to live, if for nothing else, for her sister. He’d had a similar fight and now, a bump into a light pole was enough to remind him of how precious life really was.

  He walked inside still not giving two cents about his car. He found Gemma lying in the center of his bed. He crawled over the bed until he was lying in front of her. Her eyes opened.

  “Hey. You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah…just tired now.”

  He knew that meant she was still upset, but nonetheless, she needed her rest. “Okay. You know I’m cool about the car, right?”

  She cracked a smile.

  “I am, Gem. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

  She touched the side of his face and watched his eyes close. “I’m okay. I just need to rest for a while. That’s all.”

  “Okay.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and said, “Rest and don’t be in a hurry to wake up. I’ll have dinner ready for you later.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Royal.”

  Chapter 23

  While Gemma slept, Royal ordered takeout – a creamy cheddar broccoli soup with a side of shrimp scampi. He figured it would be just enough for her and since he frequented the restaurant, he knew the food quality was up to his standards. Therefore, she would like it.

  He was on the living room floor doing pushups when he heard her say, “Working off your frustrations, huh?”

  He stopped, looked up at her and said, “The only frustration I have to work off is having to leave for Paris.” He stood up, embraced her warmly.

  “I see you shaved your beard down some,” she said, staring at his face, touching his hair.

  “Yeah, just a little. If I went one more day without shaving it, you wouldn’t be able to see my eyes.”

  She laughed. “It wasn’t that thick.”

  “Oh, yes it was,” he said. “Did you sleep good?”

  “I did.”

  “Hope you’re hungry,” he said, leaning forward to press his lips to hers. “I ran out and got us some dinner.”

  “Good. I’m starving.”

  “Then come on. Let’s eat.”

  Royal warmed up the food and prepared a bowl for them, then served the shrimp on plates. Before he touched his food, he looked at her to watch her taste the food first, making sure it was to her liking.

  “This soup is good. Shrimp is, too,” Gemma said.

  “I knew you’d like it. Isn’t that amazing? I know you, Gemma Jacobsen.”

  “It is.” Gemma drank some water, thinking about how nice it would be to have a small glass of orange juice, but Royal would probably have a conniption-fit had she asked for some. “Hey, Royal, can I ask you something?”

  “Yes,” he said, making sure he gave her his undivided attention.

  “Does it bother you that I’m only twenty?”

  Royal tossed a shrimp into his mouth. “Why would your age bother me? You’re twenty. I’m twenty-five.”

  “Yeah, but you can drink. I’m underage.”

  “So what?” He shrugged. “You don’t drink, anyway.”

  “You’re missing the point. If I could drink, I wouldn’t be able to because I’m twenty.”

  “You don’t have to keep saying how old you are, Gem. I’m fine with your age, or is this about you not being comfortable with an older, mature, experienced man?” His eyebrows rose.

  “No, it’s not that. I just wanted to know what your thoughts were,” she said, but it was much deeper than that. Since waking up early and having time to filter through her thoughts after sleeping on it, Gemma compared their current place in life. She’d done it before, tried to dismiss it, but here it was again, staring her in the face. Apparently, their differences really did bother her if it was constantly resurfacing.

  “Royal.”

  “Yes, Gemma?”

  “You’re so far ahead in life and I’m just starting out. I don’t even know how to drive a freakin’ car.”

  A quick frown disturbed his features. “I told you it wasn’t a big deal to me.”

  Gemma closed her eyes and rubbed them. “But it’s a big deal to me,” she confessed. “Royal, I’m having a hard time trying to see how I fit into your world as a girlfriend. As a friend, I didn’t have this problem. As your girlfriend, I feel inadequate and I don’t like that feeling. I don’t want to feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman—like I’m not good enough for the wealthy, handsome businessman.”

  Amusement lightened his features. “Didn’t she play a hoe in that movie?”

  “A prostitute, yes.”

  “So, you’re comparing yourself to a prostitute?”

  “No, Royal. You’re missing the point I’m trying to make. I never thought I would get to this stage in life of actually having feelings for someone, but I have them for you. The only thing is, now I’m having feelings of inadequacy—”

  “All because of the accident?”

  “Not only that. It’s also because—I’m—”

  “Don’t say sick,” he told her. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Because you’re not sick anymore, Gemma.”

  “Then what am I? I’m still taking pills. Still going to the doctor once a month. Do you know why I’m going once a month, Royal? So the doctor can monitor me and make sure the cancer doesn’t return.”

  “Yes, preventative care. We all get checkups—”

  “But you’ve never had tumors growing inside of your body. You don’t know what it feels like to live from one day to the next not knowing if the tumors will come back and you’ll have to undergo surgery all over again. You don’t know how that feels, Royal.”

  Royal didn’t say a word, but that was his way of absorbing his frustration – internalizing it so he didn’t unleash it all on her at once. He just finished eating the few shrimp he had left and finished a bottle of water. Then he sat there and stared at her. She’d since stopped eating and had ceased eyeing him down for a reply. She was just sitting there, looking uncomfortable and out of place. Like she didn’t belong.

  “You’re right, Gemma. I don’t know how it feels to have cancer. I do know that you have to live your life and stop being afraid of what’s going to happen. You have no control over that. None, whatsoever. How can you live, baby, if you’re constantly worried about dying?”

  Gemma blew out her cheeks. He wasn’t getting it. “So, I’m just supposed to pretend I don’t have any concerns.”

  “No. You’re supposed to live your life, and you can start by taking off that scarf.”

  She frowned. “I’m not taking off my scarf.”

  “You need to,” he said, his gaze sharpening. “You have a scarf in every color to match every outfit you wear, and it’s not like you need it. You’re just stuck, Gemma. Mentally, you’ve caged yourself inside of this box, waiting for the cancer to come back.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Then prove me wrong.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

  The muscle along his jawline was so tight, it’s a wonder he was able to flash the haughty grin that came to his cheek. “That’s where you’re wrong. Take off the scarf, Gemma.”

  “No. And for your information, I wear the scarf because I don’t like my hair. My hair used to be long and pretty. Now, it’s short and ugly.”

  “It’s not ugly. Take off the scarf.”

  “No.”

  He steepled his fingers while seconds of silence passed between them, giving her time to think it through. To conform to his request. “Gemma, if you don’t take it off, I will.”

  “You’re threatening me now?”

  “No. I’m not threatening you. I would never threaten you. I’m challenging you. I know you’re not used to that, but here we are. You need to remove the scarf. Otherwise, you’re proving my point.”

  “What point?”

  “That you’re not living…you’re still hiding behind your
illness. Now, you’re telling me you feel inadequate like you have to downgrade and get a man who’s down to your level since you feel like you’re not where I am in life which is ridiculous in itself.”

  “Ridiculous to you. It makes perfect sense to me.” Gemma stood up and picked up her plate.

  “I’ll get your plate,” Royal told her. “Your hands need to remain free so you can remove that scarf.”

  Just let it go. Jeez. She rolled her eyes, agitated, lowering the plate to the table and turned to walk away. That’s when she felt his arm fold around her. All it took was one of them to stop her in her tracks. “What are you doing, Royal?”

  “You mad at me?”

  “No, I’m not mad,” she said resting her hands on his arm. “I’m a little frustrated that you don’t understand me.”

  “I do understand you,” he said, manually turning her around so she was looking at him now. “I understand you in ways you don’t even understand yourself.” He backed her up toward the counter. “Let me tell you what I know about you, Gemma. You’re beautiful, and it’s not just the outside I’m attracted to. It’s everything you are. Everything. But you’re still hiding…still afraid to live…afraid to love because of what you think might happen. You can’t live your life like that, Gem, and I won’t let you.” He reached for her scarf and she cringed.

  “Royal, please don’t.”

  “Trust me. Let go of your fears and trust me.” Royal reached for the knot where the scar was secured.

  She quivered and grasped his arm with her hand. “No,” she said, faintly.

  He stopped, looked at her and asked, “Do you trust me?”

  “You know I trust you, Royal.”

  “Then let me.” Reaching for the scarf again, he gently pulled it so it came apart. And then he unraveled it and placed it on the counter.

  Gemma swallowed hard. The last time he’d seen her hair was when she was hospitalized. Then, he wasn’t her man. He was just a friend. What would he think of her hair now? She closed her eyes. If only she had the power to make herself invisible. He wasn’t saying a word. She could only feel his fingers strum back and forth across her head like he was giving her a scalp massage. And he took his time, threading his hands through her honey brown strands, enjoying the feeling of its curly texture against his fingertips, acquainting himself with this part of her that she’d intentionally kept from him. He smiled. He loved the texture of her hair. The thickness of it.

  “Open your eyes, Gemma.”

  “No,” she said, defiant.

  “Come on, baby. Open your eyes for me.”

  When she finally did, his heart slammed right up against his chest. Her hair and eye color were virtually the same, but seeing the two at the same time did something to illuminate her eyes and brighten her face. He was truly seeing her for the first time.

  “And yes, I still think you’re beautiful,” he said. “And I’m still very much in love with you. I’ll always love you, Gemma, come what may, so there’s no need for you to be alarmed. No need for you to be scared to love me.” He touched his mouth to hers and said, “I’m not going anywhere,” and then he then slipped his tongue between her parted lips and indulged in a wet, deep kiss that left her moaning – had her sucking and stroking his tongue with as much need as he was stroking hers.

  With her breasts squished to his chest, she felt a new sensation coursing through them – through her entire body. And while he kissed her, his hands squeezed and toyed with certain parts of her body.

  Gemma wrapped her arms around his neck and continued her efforts to keep up with him – to match him. To give him the same passion he was dealing out to her, but goodness she was no match for his precision. Didn’t matter how many romance movies she’d watched. Royal leaked passion out of his pores, and when a man loved a woman, what could stop him from showing this much passion and desire?

  “I think we should take this to the bedroom,” he told her as he stared at her lips.

  “But I thought you said—”

  “I know what I said, and you said you trusted me, correct?”

  “I do trust you, Royal,” she said, staring helplessly into his eyes. Her cheeks turned an even darker shade of red when he took her hand and led her down the hallway to his bedroom. The moment they stepped inside, he released her hand. Standing behind her, he raised her shirt up. Without protest, she extended her arms up in the air and allowed him to finish the job of removing it. After he did so, she lowered her arms, feeling exposed even though she still had on a bra. Like he hadn’t seen her in a bra before…

  He had in the early days of their getting to know each other. He’d helped her get dressed and as far as she was concerned, he was fulfilling the role of Harriet, her former caretaker. Now, she felt tingly all over, trying to pretend she was comfortable but was anything but. When he lowered his mouth to the bridge of her shoulder, her whole body jerked as if he’d ran an ice cube down her back. But just like one adjusts to cold and heat, she adjusted to him by loosening up and letting herself go – allowing herself to feel what he was offering to her. Love.

  Royal pulled in a deep breath when he rested his chin on top of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo that made it smell so good. Then he worked his way to the other shoulder, moving her bra strap so it dangled around her arm. And now, he had clearance to massage the area with his tongue while listening to her gasp with each flick. Just when she was getting into it and relaxed, his fingertips danced down her flat stomach.

  Her whole body jerked. “Will I ever get used to your touch?”

  “No,” he said while brushing his lips at the nape of her neck. “Do you like my touch?”

  “Yes, Royal.”

  “Good,” he said, looping his thumbs at the waistband of her pants and tugging them down easily, revealing her in a pair of silk panties, blue ones, same color as her bra. And while he was pulling her pants down, he went down with them, kissing the back of her thighs on a pair of already weakened legs. He kissed his way to her calves, then when her pants settled around her ankles, he lifted her feet from the floor, one at a time and finished taking them off. Running his fingers along the length of her legs, he stood up again, stepping in front of her this time. He pulled his shirt up over his head. His muscles flexed automatically as he connected his gaze to hers.

  She swallowed hard, felt the blood pumping fiercely through her veins as she studied her man’s body. His tattoo. Be true.

  She nibbled on her lip. He was the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth. Her eyes took in the shape of his broad shoulders and the definition of his chest, sprinkled with hair that begged to be touched. Then she studied the outline of his lower V-lined abs. He was more man than she could handle.

  “Touch me, Gemma.”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard what I said. Touch me.”

  “Touch you where?”

  “Anywhere you want.”

  “Um…hmm…” Gemma said thinking of where she thought a man like to be touched. She reached for his zipper and he moved away from her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m touching you.”

  “There?” he asked amused. “Of all the places you could touch me, you go for my zipper.”

  “You said anywhere.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t want to wake up the boss, baby.”

  “The boss?” Gemma chuckled. “That’s what you call it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “From the looks of it, the boss is already woke.”

  “If you think that’s woke, then you’re in for the shock of a lifetime, bae.”

  Gemma chuckled some more. Then, laying her hands flat against his pectorals, she asked, “So, can I touch you here?”

  “Yes. That’s more on your level.”

  “So squeezing that tight butt of yours is out of the question?’

  He gnawed on his lip but didn’t answer her. So Gemma took it upon herself to undo the clasp of his jeans, pulling th
em down.

  “Can you step out of those?” she requested.

  He did what she asked, stepped out of them, then stared down at his woman with all the love his eyes could gleam. He lifted her from the floor then lowered her to the bed, hovering over her. He dipped his head, kissing her neck, suckling and nipping at it. And then he connected their mouths again, indulging in the succulence that was her lips while his hands explored her body. He touched her breast-filled bra, and she nearly hyperventilated. And then he explored her below, feeling the warm dampness of her treasure and listening while she moaned. And she did something that surprised him. She grabbed a handful of his muscular rear end. The sensation made him deepen his kisses but also made him pause shortly after doing so to take a breath and get a handle on his desires.

  “Ah, Gemma,” he said before burying his face in her neck.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I need to get up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I don’t, I’m going to—”

  “You’re going to what?” She grinned. “Surely lil’ ol’ me don’t have mighty Royal at a loss for words.”

  “I’m going to ravish you.” He breathed harder. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

  “You have me.”

  He looked at her. “I mean want you as in how much I need to be inside of you. Making love to you. Making us one. Making you mine.” Royal sat up and got up from the bed, too hot to be cooled off by anything but making love to her, but not yet. He had to take a step back.

  “Royal, don’t leave.”

  “I have to,” he said, uncompromisingly, “And you better be glad it’s not raining.”

  She grinned. “Are you serious?”

  He put his shirt back on and said, “Yeah, I’m serious. I’ll be back when you’re sleeping, and yes, I will stare at you and steal so many kisses, you’ll end up dreaming about me.”