The tightening below my belly button grows stronger. “No, it’s… exciting.”
Men had commented on my body before. I don’t have the typical runner’s build with my curvy thighs and better-than-average chest, but that doesn’t seem to deter anyone from looking. But it always felt dirty, like I existed solely for their benefit.
I don’t feel that with Prince Friedrich. His attentions make me feel beautiful, confident. It’s in the way he talks to me, how he checks in during conversation, how he uses gentle touch to reassure me. It is easy to believe that the man who holds my hands and looks me in the eye when talk turns serious would be just as respectful of my body. The decision is easy.
“What are you hoping to gain in this venture?” he asks.
Well, that makes it sound transactional, and perhaps it is.
“You said it yourself, I could use a little fun in my life.” I toss back the last sip of my whiskey and set the glass on a side table. “And I’m intrigued. Plus, I don’t have time for an actual relationship, and you are looking for a wife soon. I gather you aren’t terribly excited about the prospect.”
He scoffs. “You can say thatagain.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck and glances away, the first sign of uncertainty I’ve ever seen in him. “I guess I’ve just never found anyone who makes me want those things. A wife, a family. In all my adult life, no woman has ever just screamed future queen to me. At least, not the queen I want by my side.”
I step back into his bubble, pressing my advantage, hoping he’ll continue to open up. “And what kind of woman would that be?”
His eyes lock on mine.Is there a flash of pain in those depthless blues?“One who doesn’t want to be queen.”
“I don’t understand.”
We are so close now, I can feel his breath against my lips. I tilt my face to him to keep his eyes on mine. The fire crackles in the hearth, my belly is warm with the bourbon, and the prince’s body pressed against mine is like being caught in an inferno.
“Because you are nothing like those women, Aurelia.” His low voice sends shivers through me. “Your goal in life is to serve and nurture and love others. They seek adoration, fame, self-service. They could never love me, just my crown.”
“I’ve never seen you wear a crown.”
His gentle chuckle reverberates in my chest. “My metaphorical crown, sweets.”
“Rather silly, no? Getting caught up in a metaphor.”
He pushes a hand through the hair on the top ofmy head, his fingers firm on my scalp and forcing my neck to arch even more. “Much of my life seems to be lived in the abstract.” He runs his tongue along his lower lip. “Except you, mi’ lady.” He grips my hip and pulls me tight against him as if trying to pull me into himself. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
I can’t nod for how close we are, so I shut my eyes and offer myself, holding on to the safety of his arms.
His lips are soft and warm, gentle against mine, like caressing something delicate and precious. The tenderness sends heat flooding through me, and my body aches for more.
But he doesn’t press, doesn’t move, and all too soon steps out of our embrace. My pulse thrums in my ears and somewhere much lower. I can’t remember the last time I felt that. My arms are empty and cold, and all I want is to taste him once more. Perhaps twice.
“Do that again,” I breathe.
He grits his teeth and straightens his back. “Not just yet, minx. There is so much I want to do with you, so much to explore, but I have my own terms.”
“And what might those be?” I try to keep the disappointment from my voice, but judging by the grin that ticks the corner of his mouth, I’m not successful.
He goes back to the bar, grabs the entire bottle of bourbon and pours more for each of us before leaving it on the coffee table within reach. He gestures back to the couch. I sit, one leg bent under me and the other dangling.
“First, you will get the full boyfriend treatment.You are too good for a fuck and run.” I sputter, and he holds up a hand. “Not actual fuck and run, as that is the mutually agreed upon line. But I want to take you out. Football matches, dinner, dancing.”
“I do not dance.”
“You don’t? What a shame to waste an ass like that.” He drops onto the couch next to me.
I slap his arm playfully. “You’ve been checking out my rear?”
He shrugs. “In those leggings you wore this morning? Kinda hard not to. It’s a great ass.”
