My head spun as desire, hot and huge and overwhelming, slammed through me. In the space of a single heartbeat, I felt my restraint give way. It hung by a thread, begging to be cut.

Emily’s mouth was as slick and soft as I remembered it. She’d been such a passionate kisser in my office. Out of everything we’d done together, it was her kiss I remembered most clearly.

It all came crashing back. I knew her. Knew this mouth. Knew what she liked. Knew how she’d move and taste.

I had to fucking remember myself. Emily was trusting me. I told her I wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want me to.

That look, though. The way she’d focused on my mouth. It made me wonder if this kiss was more than practice. If she was feeling this kiss as much as I was.

For a lot of reasons, this kiss had to be just practice. Part of our deal.

I just wish it didn’t feel so good. Honest.

I was so tempted to let loose and let go, the way I’d done on the dance floor last night. That sense of freedom had been incredible. I could see myself getting addicted to it.

Emily’s lips moved against mine, tentatively at first. She tasted minty, like toothpaste. She tasted like her, that indescribable taste that turned my belly inside out.

I held my body away from hers. If we touched, my control might snap.

She was not mine to touch. Not for real, anyway.

Not the way I wanted to touch her right now.

I tried to think about the cameras—what sort of kiss would make for the best picture? I moved my lips in time to hers, angling my head just a bit. Tongue was inappropriate. Right?

Definitely right.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I felt the hot tip of Emily’s tongue press against my bottom lip.

My entire body leapt. A wild rush tore through me. I didn’t know where I was or what had brought me here. All I knew was that Emily’s tongue was in my mouth, and I didn’t want her to stop.

I couldn’t stop. I did not give in to impulses like this. Ever. But my desire to taste that sense of freedom again was so bloody strong I couldn’t resist it. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to kiss away Emily’s fears. The sadness in her eyes.

I wanted to give her better.

I dropped her hand, and I brought my hands up to her face. I expected her to pull away.

She didn’t. She let out this little moan that had me hard in half a second.

Christ. I thought I’d taken care of that issue last night. Apparently I hadn’t.

Apparently I was thirstier for her than I’d thought.

Emily was really kissing me. She wanted to really kiss me, the way I really wanted to kiss her. This wasn’t pretend. This wasn’t business.

We were so fucked it wasn’t even funny. Two bloody days in, and already we were breaking every rule.

I realized my hands were shaking. I held her tighter, my right thumb toying with the softness of her earlobe.

The kiss was too good, too arousing. I guided her head up to meet my mouth, deepening the kiss, tangling my tongue with hers. She was stepping forward, pressing her body against mine, the contact electrifying. I was taking her bottom lip between my teeth, giving it a bite. She was sliding her hands up my chest, wrapping her fingers around my tie.

Fire ripped through me. It burned me. Shattered me.

Broke me.

She was breaking me.

I did not get broken. I wouldn’t allow it. If I could just stop—

Emily’s tongue played with mine slowly, deliberately, like she was savoring an especially delicious ice cream cone.

I groaned, tilting my hips so our groins met. What would I tell her if I could? Let’s not forget, I was the guy who did not feel. But here I was, feeling. Feeling bloody everything. I had no better idea of how I’d put those feelings into words than I did of doing a decent lawnmower on the dance floor.

I’d been right. I was hopeless.

Emily’s hands were on my neck now, her fingertips digging into the sensitive skin there. My blood pulsed hot and heady inside my skin. I made a sound, something I didn’t recognize.

Had I just growled?

The kiss got messy. It got hot. My body felt impatient, strung tight.

There was a rap at the door. I froze, my stomach dropping ten stories.

“Madam!” It was my secretary, Haines. “I am sorry to interrupt, but they are ready for you downstairs.”

Emily fell back, and I opened my eyes, keeping my hands on her face. She was flushed. She blinked rapidly, struggling to catch her breath.

The look in her eyes—the aroused disbelief, the soft interest—made my heart skip a beat.

I’d quite clearly kissed her senseless.

And judging by how tight my trousers had gotten all of the sudden, I quite clearly wanted to do it again. Bloody hell.

“I’ll be right there,” Emily called back. Her eyes never left mine. She swallowed, the sinews of her throat working against my fingertips.

This had been a mistake. I didn’t want to hurt her. But weren’t we both setting ourselves up for hurt by kissing like this? Like it meant something? We could never be together. Not for real. Emily knew that, and so did I. I needed a dedicated consort, someone without a past, someone who’d sacrifice her life as she knew it to be with me. But Emily loved her job. She’d fought like hell to keep her business afloat. She’d never give it up.

But more than that, I had to be with somebody who didn’t make me lose my fucking head like this. When I was emotional, I made mistakes.

The King of England could not afford to make mistakes.

I straightened. “This never happened. Okay?”

Her eyes widened at the same moment her brows snapped together. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Playing the perfect prince. Kit, you can be full of shit with other people. But don’t be full of shit with me. That hurts.”

There it was again, that fucking ache in my chest. I burned with self-loathing, even as I leapt to defend myself.

“I’m trying not to hurt you by being the prince. Don’t you see? It’s better that way. I can put some distance between us.”

Emily shook her head. “Being someone you’re not is never better. I’m not saying what just happened wasn’t wrong. It was. Is. But c’mon, Kit. We’re adults. I can handle the truth, and so can you. So be honest with me. Please.”

Her voice rose on that last word. Something cracked inside me. The mortar that held the walls around my heart together.

“All right.” I stepped back into her, the breath coming hot and fast through my nose. “I’ll be honest with you. That kiss wrecked me. Fucking wrecked me, Em. I need to stay in control, but I can’t seem to do that when I’m with you. Look at us! It’s been two bloody days, and already we’re—already this is happening.” I motioned between our bodies. “Maybe I don’t want to be honest with you, because then I’d have to be honest with myself.”

Emily’s eyes searched mine, open and scared and aroused. “About what?”

About how much I miss my parents. About how lonely I am.

About how much I want you.

Another knock on the door. “Madam! Again, my apologies, but we really must get this show on the road.”

Emily stepped back. “Let’s continue this conversation later, all right?”

It wasn’t all right. I didn’t want to talk about this. Emily wasn’t about to let me freeze her out, though. Maybe I didn’t want to freeze her out.

In my rational mind, I knew I needed to keep my guard up. But I was so fucking exhausted of it all. The bullshit auto-replies. The pretending. The perfect prince rubbish.

“All right,” I said.

“Good.” She moved toward the door.

“Hey, Em?”

She turned to look at me. “Yeah?”

“That kiss wasn’t fake. It was real. For me, anyway. I want you to know that.”

She drew a breath. Then she looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head as she blinked back tears. “Kit, please.”

Please don’t go there. I knew what she was asking. It was the right thing. The smart thing.

But hadn’t she just asked me to be honest?

“I’m sorry. Just thought you should know,” I said.

Her eyes met mine one last time. After a beat, she opened the door and stepped into the hall.

I let out a long, low breath and glanced in the mirror. I was flushed. Shell shocked. My eyes flicked to my trousers. Jesus, this had to be the most inconvenient hard-on of all time.

I had to get a grip. Now.

For a lot of reasons, I had to get a fucking grip already.

But my heart would not stop pounding.

Fuck.

* * *

Three changes of clothes, a dozen awkward poses, and a dozen more cups of coffee later, and the photo session finally ended.

Through the whole bloody thing, I kept waiting for my body to come down from the high of kissing Emily. The feeling eventually went away. But it left in its wake this weird jitteriness, like I’d had one too many cups of coffee.

This thing between Emily and I—hadn’t we both just admitted it was real? It seemed like a step in the right—or maybe totally wrong—direction.

Either way, where the fuck did it leave us? Emily could trust me, but I still didn’t trust myself around her. I wanted to. I wanted to be honest with her. But was that a step toward recklessness? Was making that decision in and of itself reckless?

My grandmother was ninety-one years old. While she was healthy, she’d grown increasingly fragile. God forbid she passed soon, and I was in too deep with Em to fulfill my duty as a man and a grandson and an heir. A far fetched scenario, yes. But it could still happen. And I needed to have my head screwed on straight if it did.

I turned to look at Emily. We were settled on a sofa in my living room, prepping for the interview portion of the day. Emily had been a trooper, chatting up the photographer, complying with his every request without complaint. Her smile for the camera had been brilliant. But I could see in her eyes that she was confused. Riled up.

Just like me.

She yawned.

“We’re almost done,” I murmured.

“I know.” She looked at her hands in her lap. “We didn’t have any lawnmower moments today. I’d say that was a success.”

“You absolutely killed it.” I gently elbowed her. “What was your favorite pose? I think I liked the one where we had to hug and twirl simultaneously in the garden. You think anyone will pick up on how horrifically awkward it was?”

Emily grinned. She still didn’t look at me. Why did I want her to look at me so badly? “They’ll say that look of terror on your face when you almost fell was just some pre-wedding jitters. Totally normal.”

“Almost as normal as that photo of us standing arm in arm next to the portrait of my dead great-aunt. I imagine that’s the most romantic shot of the bunch.”

“A framer for sure,” she said. Her eyes flicked to meet mine. My heart thumped. I saw something there—something vulnerable. She looked torn, like she was waging some internal war. “Listen, Kit—”

Of course our interviewer picked that moment to enter the room, and we both stood to greet her. Her name was Hazel Radcliffe. She popped up on BBC news every so often, usually with fluff pieces like this one.

She immediately dove into the interview with a series of softball questions that were mind boggling in their vapidity. This stuff didn’t usually bother me all that much. But it did today.

“I imagine I’m not the only one who will be surprised by how quickly your relationship progressed,” Hazel said, her unblinking eyes wide with excitement. “What was it that brought you two together? What do you like to do for fun?”

I pasted on a smile, ready to spout some rubbish about sunsets and shared athletic pursuits. But Emily caught my gaze, her eyes flashing with mischief.

“We like to do the usual things,” she said, turning back to Hazel. “Long walks on the beach, movies—we only watch romantic comedies, though. They’re Christopher’s favorite.”

“Oh, I love romantic comedies!” Hazel said. “Christopher, do you have a particular romcom you like to watch?”

I glanced at Emily. She was biting back a laugh. “Um…”

“He really loves The Princess Bride,” Emily answered for me. “And The Beautician and the Beast gets him choked up, every time.”

Now I was fighting a laugh, too. It probably wasn’t the best idea to laugh during an interview; I’d never done it, at least not for real. But then again, why wouldn’t Em and I laugh? It made sense we’d be giddy with excitement.

“Every time,” I added.

Emily glanced at me. “But I think we have the most fun when we’re dancing.”

“Dancing?” Hazel asked.

“Oh, yes, dancing,” Emily said. “Christopher can really cut a rug, let me tell you.”

Hazel turned her unblinking gaze on me. “Is that true?”

“No!” I laughed. “I’m absolute rubbish at it. It’s a miracle they even let me do it. I’m a hazard to anyone within a fifty foot vicinity. But Emily is a good dancer, truly.” Her eyes met mine. “Her whole face lights up when she’s on the dance floor. And she’s always smiling this massive smile—I adore seeing her so happy, even if she does make me look even worse out there.”

Emily blinked, a look of uncertainty flashing across her face. Had I gone too far? Pressed another button?

Or had she seen that I’d meant every word I said? That I’d been honest, just like she’d asked?

She looked away, smoothing the uncertainty from her features.

Hazel, however, was lapping it up. “How sweet! Emily, is Christopher always so romantic?”

Emily grinned, although it didn’t touch her eyes. “Only when he’s in trouble.”

Hazel threw her head back and cackled. Literally cackled, a gasping, forced sound that was as hilarious as it was disturbing. Emily’s eyes darted to mine, widening. Her shoulders shook. She was trying not to laugh again, which of course made me want to laugh, too.

I was sort of enjoying myself, actually. I almost felt relaxed.

Almost.

Christ, why was I so tightly wound all the time?

“So,” Hazel said when she’d dabbed her eyes and finished cackling. “Tell us about your work, Emily. I understand you own a business?”

“I do,” Emily said, her whole being—face, body, mood—perking up at the mention of her work. “I own an interior design firm that I built from the ground up. I started it in my parents’ garage when I was twenty-two years old.”

“Impressive that you took the initiative when you were so young,” Hazel said.

“Everything about Emily’s work is impressive,” I said.

Emily’s eyes lit up as they met mine. “Thank you.”

“I mean it,” I said.

She looked at me for a long moment. “I know.” Then she turned back to Hazel. “It hasn’t always been easy. I’ve made a lot of mistakes I wish I could take back. And the hours can be pretty long when you’re your own boss. But it’s worth it, and I have so much fun with my team. How lucky are we that we get to geek out over design all day? It’s been a dream come true.”

Hazel nodded. “I imagine it’s going to be difficult to give that up when you marry Prince Christopher.”

My heart contracted. Emily managed to keep a smile pasted on her face, but she blinked, hard, her smile tightening.

“It will be, yes,” she replied smoothly. “But I’m sure I’ll have just as much fun in my new role. Christopher and his family do important work, and I look forward to helping them with that.”

Hazel pivoted to wedding preparations next, thank God. I leaned back and watched as Emily charmed Hazel with her self-deprecating sense of humor, her intelligence, her passion. She managed to be silly and serious and earnest, all at once. Her easy confidence was so sexy.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

It was nice, letting someone else take the spotlight for once. Having someone beside me to make this interview go by a little faster, and feel a little less painful.

I wish I could have her with me for every interview.

Watching Emily, I weirdly enough found myself thinking about all the women I’d dated in the past—the women who were perfect princess material. I’m sure they’d be just lovely in an interview like this. But that was just it. They’d be lovely and nothing else. They wouldn’t be confident like Emily, or funny, or fun. Emily had so much personality. So much to say. Experience to talk about.

The realization hit me like a fucking freight train.

That’s why those perfect princesses never stuck. Maybe what I’d secretly feared all along was really true—that the kind of girl who would stick wouldn’t want to, because she had better things to do than be a princess. Because, like Emily, she lived her own life, had her own passions. Had her own dreams to chase down.

My heart sank. Was I ever going to find someone? My someone? Growing up, I’d always been grossed out by my parents’ kissing. Their casual, constant touching. Now that I was older, I appreciated it. That stuff had been a sign of a happy marriage.

The kind of marriage I wanted for myself. But if the kind of girl I could marry wasn’t the kind of girl I’d want to marry…then what?

I turned and saw Emily looking at me. She smiled. An it’s going to be all right smile. Like she knew exactly what was going through my head.

Maybe she was being honest. Maybe she really did think it would all work out. But I didn’t.

I still couldn’t shake the memory of her kiss.