Later That Night

Smiling like a tit.

Punching blokes in pubs.

If those weren’t signs of reckless behavior, I didn’t know what was. I shouldn’t have gone after Luke like that in public. But the things he was saying to Emily—the way he talked to her—

Even now my heart worked double. Good thing Rob and Jack had been there to pull me off the bloke. I don’t know how far I would’ve gone. Nothing mattered more in that moment than Emily. Defending her. Seeing that she got justice. I’d wanted to kick Luke’s ass for ten years now. That’s a lot of pent up anger.

The second we got back to Primrose Palace, I was whisked into a meeting with press secretaries and fixers and consultants. Our security detail had notified them of the need for some serious damage control. The future King of England could not be seen using his fists to solve disputes.

I knew I was in trouble. But if I was being honest, I was sort of proud of how I’d handled the situation. That first punch had been so bloody satisfying. The look of defeat on Luke’s face. The look of bewildered arousal on Emily’s.

I’m not saying it’d been my finest moment. But would I take it back? Not for all the tea in China.

Was that just another sign that I was getting reckless? Or was that me being a stand up bloke for the girl I thought about night and day?

It was three A.M. by the time our meeting wrapped up. I was hoping Emily might still be up. She’d not been included in the meeting—“at the request of the Queen” my press secretary had explained. So she’d gone to her room to clean up and do some work.

My pulse leapt when I saw the door to her room was open. I peeked inside. And smiled again.

Emily was propped up against the headboard of her bed, sound asleep. Her head was bent at what had to be an uncomfortable angle. Her computer was open on her lap. All the lights were on.

I moved as quietly as I could. I closed the laptop and set it on the bedside table. Cradling her in my arms, I gently lifted her while somehow managing to pull back the covers. She moaned, her head lolling against my shoulder. I paused, holding her in my arms for a moment. It felt good to hold her like this. To have her close.

I set her down on the bed. Tucked the covers around her. Her pale lashes cast shadows across her cheek. Her hair fell over her shoulder.

She was so fucking beautiful.

Her eye cracked open. “Hey,” she mumbled.

I shushed her. “Go back to sleep.”

“Thank you,” she said. “For today. I’m really sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” I reached down and smoothed back the hair from her face. Her eye closed.

“That feels nice,” she said. A half moan.

My cock twitched in my trousers. I was mostly dead from exhaustion, and Emily could still turn me on.

I had to get out of here. Now. Before I climbed into bed with her.

Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Good night, love.”

“Night Kit,” she murmured in reply.

I turned the lights off.

And spent another night by myself. Too hot. Too hungry for her to sleep.

* * *

The next day was my first official engagement with Kit. It was a gala The Prince’s Foundation was throwing to raise money for the School for the Arts project. Several big donors would be attending, along with students who were currently enrolled in the school (the foundation had set up a makeshift facility for the school in North London).

My forehead still burned with the memory of Kit’s lips as I arrived at Buckingham Palace that evening. Kit had been at the palace all day getting ready with his siblings, so I was by myself. Which was a good thing. I’d needed a breather after everything that had gone down yesterday. Some time to think.

Kit had risked his reputation, his position, even, to protect me from my son of a bitch ex-husband. Then he’d tucked me in and kissed my forehead. My memory was a little hazy, but I think he actually cradled me in his arms.

He didn’t have to take such good care of me. I would’ve settled for less. Hell, I’d settled for Luke. But Kit was upping my standards. After this was all over, how the hell was I going to meet a guy who’d ever live up to them? I was screwed in the best, the best way.

As I was ushered from my chauffeured Bentley into the palace, I noticed how the air had warmed a bit. The first hint of spring. The sky arched above me, clear and colorful, the sunset painted in broad strokes of pink and orange and blue.

A footman left me on the second floor just outside a ballroom, the tall, empty hallway stretching out in front of me. The dying sun streamed through the far windows in thick amber beams, making the enormous chandeliers that hung from the ceiling glimmer. I felt like I’d stepped back in time; it could be Queen Elizabeth behind those doors up there on the left, or Henry VIII, or a ball hosted by one of King Charles II’s mistresses. The glamor of this place, the sense of anticipation and romance that hung in the air—it made my heart race.

So did the idea that Kit was here somewhere in the palace. I checked my phone; he was probably putting on his tux right about now. I imagined him buttoning his shirt, shrugging into his custom-made jacket. Knotting his bowtie with expert fingers, because Kit was a prince, and princes knew how to do things like that.

Longing gripped my heart and squeezed. Not only was this my first official royal engagement; this would be the first time I saw Kit in a tux. I had a very bad feeling he was going to look very good tonight. I loved a man in a suit. But a prince in a tux? Gimme.

My pulse skipped when I remembered the way he’d looked at me at the pub. One minute, Kit was socking my insane ex-husband in the face. The next, Kit was looking at me like…like that.

Like Darcy looked at Lizzie.

Like Edward looked at Bella (after he got over his initial impulse to eat her, of course).

Like every girl dreams of being looked at.

I’d wanted to look away. I did, really. But I couldn’t. For a minute, I couldn’t resist getting lost in Kit’s eyes. I never could resist them, not when the ice in them had melted and the fire inside him showed through.

Gathering the skirt of my gown in my hand, I began to make my way down one side of the hall. Sloan had picked a satin wrap gown, trimmed in velvet, for the event. It was silver, silky, and without a doubt the sexiest, most gorgeous thing I’d ever put on. We’d paired it with towering emerald heels and a matching clutch. The skirt caught and smoothed over my legs as I moved, shimmering in the light of the chandeliers. The fabric felt sensuous against my skin, my leg escaping through the thigh-high slit with every step. Sloan had had the slit partially sewn up. But I’d still have to be careful not to show too much leg.

My stomach flipped at the sound of a door closing. Footsteps approached. I glanced down the hall to see Kit striding towards me.

The breath left my lungs. He was messing with one of his cufflinks, totally absorbed in getting whatever was wrong with it right. His hair was combed back, and he’d trimmed his pale scruff. He looked like an especially handsome Jay Gatsby in his tuxedo. It was perfectly tailored, perfectly tasteful without being boring or boxy.

For several heartbeats, I just watched him move. The rolling confidence of his stride, the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed.

He was so handsome, and in this moment at least, he was mine.

I want him for more than a moment.

I want him.

The longing crushed me, made me breathless beneath its weight.

He looked up, and our eyes met.

“Emily,” he said, and immediately slowed his approach. His eyes flicked over my body. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You look…”

I waited for him to finish his thought.

When he didn’t, I said, “Like a fish? This dress is very, very metallic.”

He shook his head, blinking hard. “No. Not like a fish. You look beautiful.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” I nodded at his tux.

He shot his cuffs and grinned. “Thought I’d brush this old thing off for you. You’ve been setting the bar quite high lately.”

“Are you talking about the yoga pants and sweatshirt I normally wear around Primrose?” I said, arching a brow.

“Darling, you look beautiful in everything.” I think—I think—he meant it as a joke. But there was this sincerity in his blue eyes that just…it slayed me. He offered me his arm. “Ready?”

I slipped my fingers around the crook of his elbow. The fabric of his jacket was smooth. Silky. I could feel the warmth of his skin through it. Something in my chest caught.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.”

He looked at me. His eyes sparkled. He was excited for the gala. I know he and his siblings had put a lot of time and effort into it. They were passionate about the work they did. They threw themselves headfirst into it. Gave themselves over to it.

Something I could never do. Not if I wanted to see EP Designs thrive. But that didn’t stop me from fantasizing about genuinely being a part of all this. The gala. The excitement. The history of a thousand-year-old monarchy.

It overwhelmed me right then, just how much I wanted to be a part of Kit’s life.

“You’re going to do great,” Kit said.

The doors to the ballroom opened, and the night began.