Chapter Thirty-Three
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Michel stared wordlessly out the window as Sophie drove them back to the hotel. She must have heard them arguing about her and Gabriel—he and Emma certainly hadn’t been discreet with their argument—but he didn’t have the capacity to worry about his friend’s feelings at the moment.
It had gutted him to watch Emma walk away from him, but he needed time to think. Who was he to tell Emma that love was worth the risk? He’d been avoiding confessing his love to her because he’d been afraid. All his excuses—that he had to first figure out how to convince her they were meant for each other and to show her that his love would never fade—were just that. Excuses. He’d been too afraid to tell her he loved her because he didn’t want to risk ruining the four remaining weeks he had with her. Perhaps… he had been wise in his cowardice.
All this time, Michel had thought his greatest obstacle in winning Emma would be convincing her that despite their differences they fit perfectly. That it didn’t matter they weren’t perfect for each other on paper, because they were as compatible as two people could be in real life. How could he have been so wrong?
Emma’s parting words rang in his ears. Compatibility isn’t going to bridge the ocean between them. She was right, and they had more than the physical ocean between them. She was a culinary instructor in Los Angeles, living with a single father who depended on her love and her company. He was the crown prince and future king of Rouleme, duty bound to his country and his people.
He had blithely believed that if he could get her to fall in love with him, then she would uproot her life and leave behind everything she knew—everyone she loved—just to be with him. She would have to give up her dream of opening up a culinary school. But beyond that, she would have to give up her privacy and be bound to a life of duty like him. A duty that sometimes weighed so heavily on him that he could hardly breathe.
By asking her to become his wife, he would also be asking her to bear part of the blame for breaking a long-standing engagement. While Isabelle would be thrilled to be freed from an arranged marriage, the fallout would cause unwanted tension between the families, and his father would not be thrilled. He would ultimately accept Emma as his daughter-in-law and learn to love her, but she would have to endure a rocky start.
And the people of Rouleme were progressive and open-minded, but a vocal minority might denounce Emma as an outsider—even take issue with her race. He would protect her in every way he could, but those insidious voices would hurt her. If he loved her, how could he push her into a perilous, uncertain future? How could he ask her to sacrifice so much?
Shame rolled through him at how utterly selfish he’d been. Emma didn’t harbor secret hopes of becoming Cinderella. She believed in creating her own happiness through every meal she prepared, through every friendship she nurtured, through all the beauty she found in the world around her.
What did he have to offer her but pain and loss? Title, wealth, and power could never replace the things she would have to leave behind… the things she would have to endure. All he had to offer was himself and his love. But was his love even real if he wanted to have her by his side knowing that she would be unhappy?
Sophie shot him a concerned glance as they silently rode the elevator to their floor. “My prince, are you…”
“Please.” Michel held up his hand. “Not now.”
She bowed curtly with her lips pressed into a firm line. As soon as the elevator doors opened, he strode toward his suite, eager to be alone. His hand stilled halfway to the door handle when his friend spoke from across the foyer.
“I am a grown woman, Michel. My decisions are my own. You cannot blame Emma for her well-intentioned counsel.”
“I know,” he said quietly and stepped into his suite.
He unknotted his tie and threw it on an armchair, followed by his suit jacket. He sloshed whiskey into a tumbler and gulped down the fiery liquid, then poured himself another. Not bothering to walk over to the sitting area just a few steps away, he slid down to the floor next to the drink cart.
He rested his wrist on a raised knee and swirled the drink in the cup. What had that fight really been about? Yes, he’d felt a flash of anger at Emma’s meddling, but that was not why he’d lost his temper. He’d been worried—even a little scared—by the solemn, distant look on Emma’s face when she pulled away from him on the dance floor. Something was bothering her, and it made him nervous that he didn’t know what it was.
Michel had let his fear and frustration get the best of him. He’d already been on edge since realizing he was in love with her—afraid of truly facing what that meant. So, like a fool and a coward, he’d picked a fight with the woman he loved. Christ . He didn’t know what was the right thing to do. Whether loving her meant he should keep his true feelings to himself and leave Los Angeles—and Emma—when the time came. Or whether he should confess his love to her and beg her to be with him—to be his—no matter how selfish that felt.
He pushed up to his feet and set his untouched whiskey on the drink cart. He didn’t know what to do for his future—for their future. But he knew exactly what he needed to do in this moment. No matter which route he chose to take, the next few weeks were theirs. And no one—least of all himself—would take that from them. He had to go to Emma.
He slipped out of his suite and down the stairs, not wanting to alert Sophie by calling the elevator. When he finally reached the lobby, he realized he didn’t have the keys to the car. He strode out into the night and flagged down a taxi that had just dropped someone off at the hotel.
Fortunately, he had his wallet on him—unlike his mobile—to pay the taxi driver as he got out in front of Emma’s house. He glanced at his watch. It was just past ten o’clock. She wouldn’t be asleep yet, but her father might be, so he couldn’t very well knock on her front door. He stood on the sidewalk feeling decidedly foolish, wondering what he should do next. He only knew he needed her in his arms. Everything else he would figure out later.
Michel skulked down a path at the side of the house, hoping that it led into their backyard. Emma had mentioned that her bedroom was on the second floor, facing the garden in the back. Holding his breath, he tried the latch to the gate at the end of the path and exhaled with relief when it opened. Even in the silvery moonlight, he could see that the garden was lovingly maintained with fragrant flowers along the outer edges and a vegetable garden—perhaps a small farm was a better description—that took up most of the yard.
On the second floor, there were two larger windows at the opposite ends of the house—one lit, one dark—with a couple of smaller windows in between. He had to guess that the larger windows belonged to the bedrooms and one of them was Emma’s. He picked up several thumbnail-size pebbles and threw one, aiming for the lit window. He didn’t pause to think that he might very well be summoning her father.
He used up all his pebbles, but no one came to the window. Maybe she couldn’t hear the clack of the small stones. Perhaps he should use slightly larger stones at the risk of breaking the glass. He would, of course, reimburse them for any damage. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips. He might be losing his mind.
“Michel?” Emma whisper shouted from the window. Ha! He’d chosen the right window to pellet. “What are you doing down there?”
“Trying to get your attention,” he said through cupped hands.
“Shh.” She glanced behind her as though her father might walk through her door. “Stay right there. I’m coming down.”
Heart pounding, he dusted his hands off and clasped them in front of him. Long minutes passed without any sign of Emma, and he began to pace, wondering if a phone call might’ve been wiser. When she finally stepped through the french doors with a thick cardigan over her long nightgown, he reached her in three hurried strides and pulled her into his arms. Home . His heart belonged to her, and no place on earth would ever feel like home again without her by his side.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Her voice was thick with tears.
“Please don’t cry, darling Emma.” He leaned back to wipe her damp cheeks with his thumbs. Her tears gutted him, especially since he’d caused them. He never wanted to make her cry again. “I can’t bear it.”
“Okay. I’ll stop.” She sniffed and offered him a wobbly smile. “See? No more crying.”
New tears seeped out of the corners of her eyes, and he caught them with his lips and tongue. Her breath caught, and he tried to step back with his heart in a vise, thinking she wasn’t ready to be touched like that. But she buried her fingers in his hair and rose on her tiptoes to press her soft, sweet lips against his. With a broken groan, he plundered her mouth with desperate, hungry kisses. He should slow down. This wasn’t why he came.
But he dragged her to the side of the house and pushed her up against the rough, cold wall, kissing and licking his way down the side of her neck. Her back arched off the wall, and his fingers gripped the soft flesh of her hips. He wanted to look at her face—to make sure she wanted this, too—but even the moon didn’t cast its light into the dark alcove. He held on to his control by a single, shredded string and dropped featherlight kisses along her jaw and on her cheeks. He hoped she needed him as much as he needed her but gave her time to pull away.
When her mouth captured his with hunger to match his own, the last of his control snapped. Something flickered at the back of his mind. He tasted desperation mingled with desire in her kiss… like she was trying to forget something. But she raked her fingernails down his scalp, and rational thought became impossible. He hiked her leg around his waist and ground his hard length against her core. Pushing aside her nightgown, he ran his hand up her thigh.
“Fuck. Are you not—” He swept his hand over her bare arse. “Fuck.”
“You already said that.” Her voice was husky and dark as she unbuckled his belt and reached for his aching erection. “Panties are a nuisance.”
“When—”
“I slipped them off before I ran down to meet you.” She took his hand and slipped it between their bodies. He groaned when his fingers slid into her hot, wet folds. She was ready for him. “Any more questions, or are you going to fuck me?”
His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as lust singed through him. He gritted through his clenched teeth, “Condom.”
“I’m on birth control.” She pulled him free from his boxer briefs.
“And I’m…” He couldn’t find the words to explain his regular blood test results as he prepared to bury himself inside her. “You’re safe. I would never hurt you.”
“Me…” She gasped and wrapped her other leg around his waist. “… too.”
Unable to hold back a moment longer, he plunged inside her with a low groan. He hiked her up higher and pressed her back into the wall—pulling himself in and out of her tight warmth with rough, jerky movements. When she cried out, he covered her mouth with his hand, unable to stop pounding into her even for a moment. She bit down into the side of his hand to muffle her next scream, and he didn’t even feel it. All he felt was her, riding him like a wild goddess, as pressure built at his spine.
“I need you to come for me, sweetheart,” he growled.
He ducked his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth through her thin nightgown. Their hips bucked and slammed into each other, desperately seeking the sweet crest of release. When her back arched and a strangled cry tore from her throat, he rammed into her once, then twice as his climax claimed him.
For a while, there was no sound except for the harsh rasp of their panting breaths. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he could make out her wide gaze holding his. The hint of sadness in her expression made his stomach clench. It was just a foolish argument. They had to be all right. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and lowered her to the ground. He barely finished zipping up his pants when her knees buckled, and he scooped her up into his arms and strode over to a sitting area beneath a small pergola.
He settled her on an Adirondack chair in front of an unlit firepit and sat down on its twin. She shivered, and he automatically went to remove his jacket but realized that he’d left it at the hotel. He didn’t want to leave her yet, but he forced himself to say, “You’re cold. I should head back.”
“Don’t.” She smiled shyly. “Not yet.”
At Michel’s frown, she leaned forward and fiddled with the firepit until blue flames licked the night air.
“There. I’m not cold anymore.” She arched a brow. “Satisfied?”
“Quite,” he said with a wolfish grin. He had to decide what the best way was for him to love her. But for now, he needed this—this warm, intimate moment with the love of his life. Another memory that would stay with him forever. “Yet, I seem to be insatiable when it comes to you.”
She rolled her eyes at him, but he could see a blush rise to her cheeks in the light of the fire. Pulling her cardigan close around her, she raised her bare feet toward the flames and wiggled her toes. Then she bolted up in her seat and looked frantically around her garden.
“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth with both her hands. “Sophie.”
“She’s back at the hotel.” He reached over and pulled her hands down. “No one witnessed our… indiscretion.”
“Thank goodness.” Emma sagged with relief, then straightened again. “Wait. Did you sneak out ?”
“I did not sneak out.” The tips of his ears grew hot. “I’m not a wayward adolescent. I merely left my suite without notifying her.”
“You totally snuck out.” She laughed with such glee that he couldn’t help but join her. “No, this isn’t funny. She’s going to freak out. You have to call her.”
“I left my mobile at the hotel.” He scratched the back of his head. “That’s why I had to resort to pebbles to get your attention.”
“Well, you could borrow mine.” She patted down her sides, then sighed. “Wait here. Let me go grab it.”
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh and looked up at the sky through the slats of the pergola. In the quiet peace of the moment, Michel knew that everything would be all right. He loved Emma with everything in him. All he had to do was follow his heart.
“Here,” she said, reclaiming her seat next to him. “Call.”
“Thank you.” He took her mobile and dialed Sophie’s number. She answered on the first ring.
“Sophie, it’s me. I—”
“Don’t bother,” his friend snapped. He could hear her take deep, calming breaths on the other end. “I’m parked in front of Emma’s house. I’ll escort you back when you’re ready, Your Highness. ”
“I—” he tried again, but she’d already hung up.
“Are you in trouble?” Emma looked so worried that he pressed a kiss to her lips.
“Don’t worry.” He picked up her hand and dropped kisses on her knuckles. “I won’t get grounded.”
She linked her fingers through his and leaned back in her chair. He rested his head on the back of his chair and returned her steady gaze, their contentment forming a warm cocoon around them. Sometimes, words were unnecessary… inadequate. How could he describe the perfection of their shared exhalation—their souls aligned, utterly at ease? If this was his last moment on earth, he would die entirely fulfilled.