I can’t believe she’s in my arms again after all this time. These past three months—three agonizing months—have been some of the longest of my life.

“I mean it, Elle,” I murmur into her ear. “No matter what I do, I can’t seem to forget you. You affect me as much now as you did before—perhaps more so.” God, how is that even possible? A moment in her presence and I’m already losing my mind again.

Her breath is ragged, uneven, and I know I still have an effect on her, too. She might say we are destined to crash and burn—and perhaps we are—but I’d prefer that to the empty ache I felt in my chest when we were apart.

“One night,” I say, turning my face slightly and letting my lips brush her temple. “We can talk. And I can take you on a proper date.”

“The last time we had a date, you nearly burned down my house.”

“I said a proper date. One where someone else does the cooking. One where I can spoil you with—”

“I don’t want to be spoiled,” she says, pushing against my chest and pulling out of my arms. “I’ve already told you that I’m done with all of this.” She backs away from me.

For a moment, I just stare at her. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her that I find myself as charmed by her beauty as I was the first day we met. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, but several of those little curls of hers have escaped to fall around her face. Her professional clothes do little to hide the generous, beautiful curves that lie beneath. Her cheeks and neck are slightly flushed, and her blue eyes regard me with a fierce intensity. She was always so lovely when she was mad at me.

I take a deep breath. My father and brother had much to say on my actions of three months ago, and I truly did try to move on. Between my extra princely responsibilities—another attempt at punishment by my father—and nights spent seeking out clubs and alcohol and beautiful women, I should have had plenty to distract me. I did plenty of things during that time I’d like to forget—things I wish I could take back—but no matter what I did, I couldn’t erase her from my mind. It always came back to Elle.

“You might be done with this,” I tell her evenly, “but I am not.”

I don’t know why such a statement should shock her—not after the things I’ve said to her, and not after my sudden reappearance in her life—but I believe I see surprise flash briefly in her eyes.

But then she shakes her head. “At some point, you need to learn that you don’t always get what you want.”

“And at some point, you need to learn to stop running from the things you want.”

“You were the one who ran from this, Leo. Quite literally.”

“And yet, I’m not the one flitting from job to job around the world. You were running from your past when I met you, Elle, and you’re still running from it now.”

She bends over her desk and starts gathering up her things. “You’re not my therapist, Leo. And I’d appreciate it if you stopped trying to act like you understand what’s going on in my head.”

“You’re welcome to tell me what’s going on in your head,” I say lightly. “I assure you I will listen with rapt attention.”

“Don’t you know when to give up?”

“No, actually, I don’t,” I say, grinning. “It’s one of my few flaws.”

The corner of her mouth twitches, and though I don’t quite get a smile, still I feel a glimmer of hope.

“One night, Elle,” I say. “One date. Then you can decide what you want to do.”

She straightens slowly. “Leo…”

She doesn’t get the chance to finish. Suddenly there’s a group of about a dozen people at the door.

“We’ve got a surprise for you!” says the fellow at the head of the group, an older gentleman with a huge smile on his face. “A little going away present. Everyone at the clinic pitched in to—” He stops when his eyes fall on me. “Oh, I didn’t realize you had a visitor, Elle.”

Everyone’s gaze turns to me, but before anyone can say anything, Elle steps toward me.

“He was actually just leaving,” she says, grabbing my arm and tugging me toward the door. Fortunately, her planned escape route for me is blocked by the cluster of her coworkers right at the door.

“Actually,” I say cheerfully, “I can stay for a few moments longer. I didn’t realize your colleagues had something special planned for you, Elle.”

“We got her an ice cream cake from the supermarket,” says the older gentleman. “You’re welcome to have a slice if you like.”

“I would like,” I say with a grin. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had ice cream cake before.”

Elle’s hand briefly tightens on my arm—a warning, I suspect—but then she seems to realize she’s lost this battle. She releases me and steps back. The older gentleman carries the cake over to Elle’s desk as her other colleagues come into the room. A couple of them are still looking at me closely.

“I’m Paul,” says the older fellow, turning toward me and extending a hand. “Dr. Paul Schaeffer.”

“I’m Leopold,” I say, grasping his hand firmly.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” says one of the women. “Prince Leopold. I knew I recognized you!”

I turn toward the woman and take her hand.

“At your service,” I say in my most princely tone. “And what might your name be?”

“M-Margaret,” she says, her cheeks turning red. “Margaret Richter. I work in the billing department here.”

I bring her hand to my lips and give her knuckles a quick peck. “A pleasure.”

“Well, I’ll be darned,” says Paul. “A real-life prince right here in our clinic. How did you come to know our Elle?”

“That’s a rather long story,” I say. “But the short version is that Elle worked at a clinic my family built in South America.” I glance over at her, but I can’t tell whether she’s annoyed or embarrassed—though either way, I have no intention of leaving now, especially when Paul shoves a piece of cake into my hand.

“Well, any friend of Elle’s is a friend of ours,” he says. “We’re real sorry to be losing her. I tried everything I could to get her to stay. We get a lot of physicians working in short-term contract positions here, but it’s rare we find one who’s such a good fit for us. Elle’s a real gem.”

“Leo doesn’t need to hear this,” Elle says.

“On the contrary,” I say. “I want to hear it. And I can’t say I’m surprised—I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Elle at work in the past. She has real skill, not to mention a true compassion for her patients.” It truly is no surprise her colleagues have warmed to her in such a short period of time. My respect for her grows deeper every day.

“Uh oh, Elle,” says Paul, a twinkle in his eye. “It sounds like we might have someone else vying to hire you again.”

“I’m not here to extend any offers of employment—though I can’t say I’d refuse the opportunity for her to work at one of my family’s clinics again,” I tell him. “I’m actually here on a social call.”

“I knew it!” says Margaret, nudging the woman beside her with her elbow. “Elle, you’re the woman from a few months ago, aren’t you? The one he stayed with in L.A.! I didn’t make the connection before, you being here and all.”

Elle shakes her head. “You guys, I’m not really sure I want to talk about this.”

And while I’m not ashamed to admit my feelings for Elle, forcing her into a corner like this was never my intention.

“How rude of me,” I say. “I haven’t officially introduced myself to everyone yet.”

I set my plate of cake on the desk and spend the next several minutes going around the room, firmly shaking the hands of all the men and bowing over the fingers of the women. Some merely introduce themselves, while others—like Margaret and a young resident named Steven—want to chat a little longer. Margaret tries to wheedle more information from me about my relationship with Elle, while Steven is more interested in having a discussion about European politics. I’m not particularly inclined to discuss either topic, but I’m nothing if not skilled in the art of conversation. Throw in a little charm, make a few vague, noncommittal comments on the matter, and I can bluff my way through almost any subject matter.

More than once as I talk to members of the clinic’s staff, I find my gaze wandering back to Elle. At first, she just picks at her cake and chats with Paul, but as the impromptu party creeps on, I find myself locking eyes with her as I look over each time. She doesn’t look particularly annoyed anymore. Or even anxious. She just looks…pensive. I’m not sure if that is a point in my favor or not.

It feels like a lifetime before I finally make my way to her side again. I grab my piece of cake from the desk, only to find it has almost entirely melted.

“You have to be faster than that with ice cream cake,” Elle says.

“Lesson learned,” I say, scooping up what I can with my plastic fork and sliding it into my mouth. “Still delicious, though. Truly, you Americans come up with the most amazing foods.”

She gives a little laugh and a half-roll of her eyes. “You and your American food.”

“This is a fine group of colleagues you have here,” I say carefully. “They seem to respect you very much.”

“They’re very nice people.”

“Did you enjoy the work you did here?” I ask.

She frowns. “What are you doing, Leo?”

“Simply attempting to learn how you spent your last three months,” I say. “I was worried…”

She straightens. “Worried about what?”

“Worried that what happened in Los Angeles might affect your career,” I say. She has no idea how much that concern plagued my blasted conscience. “Worried that the publicity might have hurt your prospects of finding a position. Worried that it might have led you to leave the field altogether.”

“It would take a lot more than that to make me want to stop being a doctor,” she says. “I’m stronger than I look, Leo.”

“And I know that better than anyone. I just…worried.”

Her eyes drop back down to her empty plate. “You don’t need to worry about me, Leo. I shouldn’t be your concern anymore.”

“But you are, Elle,” I say, stepping closer and dropping my voice. “You have been at the center of my thoughts every moment of every day since we parted.” I know I probably shouldn’t have said that here, with her coworkers around us—I intended to keep such emotional confessions until later tonight—but I can’t seem to help myself. Once again I’m losing my mind around her.

It’s been three months since I felt her body move against mine. It’s pure torture to stand in front of her now and not be able to experience that joy again.

She lifts her gaze back to mine. “I’ve been thinking about you, too, but that doesn’t mean—”

A hand claps me on the shoulder, and I look over to find Paul standing next to me.

“A few of us were talking about walking over to the pub across the street for a few beers. Are you two interested?” His gaze flicks between the two of us. “Or did you have other plans?”

I’ll join the trip to the pub if it means spending some more time with Elle—but right now, I want nothing more than to be alone with her, to lay all my cards on the table. To hold her and kiss her and try to chase away this hollow feeling that took root in my chest the day I ran away from her.

My eyes move to Elle. I won’t attempt to speak for her.

She looks up at me with those wide eyes, and I can see the indecision on her face. She’s already refused my offer once, but maybe now that she’s overcome her shock at my arrival, she’ll give me one more chance. I’m sure my desires are plain on my face, but I still refuse to say a word.

Finally, she turns to Paul.

“Thank you, but Leo and I already have plans.”

Her words make my heart soar. Who knew I’d ever feel such a rush from a woman simply accepting my offer of a date?

“You two have fun, then,” Paul says with a smile.

It takes some time for the others to finish their cake and filter back out—both Margaret and Steven approach me and attempt to continue our earlier conversations—but finally, Elle and I are alone again.

The moment the last person has left, I take her hand and bring it to my lips.

“You won’t regret this, Elle,” I say. “I have a very special night planned for us.”

She pulls her hand away from my mouth, but she keeps her fingers in mine. “I’ll go on a date with you, but only because we need to talk. Don’t get any ideas about anything else.”

She said something similar before our last “date,” and my lips curl up as I remember how that turned out. If I hadn’t accidentally started a fire, she would have let me take her right there in the middle of her kitchen.

“We’ll take it at whatever pace you desire,” I say. “Though I should warn you that your friend Margaret is already planning our wedding.”

She laughs and pulls her hand out of mine. “Like that would ever happen.” She turns around. “I should finish packing up my things, then we can go. Oh—and am I going to need to change? I’m not exactly dressed to go out or anything.”

“Don’t worry—I have everything you’ll need on my jet.”

She freezes, then turns slowly around to face me again. “What do you mean your jet?”

“Our transportation for the evening,” I say, a smile spreading across my lips. “As I said, Elle, I have a very special night planned.”

* * *