The Crown Prince's Bride (Royal Duology 2)

“Granted, sometimes things don’t go as planned. But I think that looking after the present is the best preparation for the future, and a whole lot less stressful.”

She finished the wine in her glass, felt the liquid slide down her throat, the little woozy rush in her head that told her she’d had enough, but not too much. Raoul was still sipping on his brandy, but the date had gone well, and she was getting impatient. They’d kissed on their date at the palace, and he’d made her weak in the knees in the library after the chess game, then put her in her car to go home. It had been five days since then, with no kisses, no touches, no nothing. She was tired of waiting, and the little kiss in the kitchen had only whet her appetite.

She put her glass down on a little table and stood, then moved over to his chair and leaned over just a little, so that her hair fell over one shoulder and she could see the black ring around his chocolate brown irises.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, clutching his glass.

“Being in the moment. Do you mind?”

He shook his head, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Not at all.”

“Good.” She took his glass from him and put it beside her empty one, then returned and slid onto his lap. She was taking the lead and it felt amazing. “Raoul?”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

CHAPTER NINE

Maybe she had taken the lead, but it didn’t mean she was in total control. Steph gasped when Raoul cupped his hand along the back of her neck and drew her head down, meeting her lips with his. The kiss was strong, sure, and devastating; a clash of mouths and tongues as they let desire sweep in. After only a few moments Stephani shifted, so that she was no longer sitting on his lap but straddling it, her knees pressed against the back of the chair and her bottom resting on his thighs. His hands cupped her there and she threaded her fingers through his hair. It was so thick, so soft. She’d always wondered, and now she knew.

His lips slid from her mouth to the hollow of her neck, and she gave a little cry as he nipped the tendon running from her neck to her shoulder. The chair was rather limiting for movement, but Raoul tilted his hips anyway and she strove to meet him.

Confused, cautious, whatever he wanted to call it—there was no mistaking what they were feeling right now. Desire. Turned on. She knew in her heart that Raoul hadn’t made love to anyone since Ceci’s death, and it had been even longer for her. She wanted him so badly she nearly wept with it.

But weeping would definitely be a mood killer, so instead she kissed him full on the mouth again before whispering, “We need to go inside.”

She gave a little squeak when Raoul didn’t answer but grabbed her bottom and stood, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist. “Open the damned door,” he growled, and she blindly reached behind him and hit the handle on the French door.

He backed them into the living room and then kicked the door shut with a definitive rattling of the glass. When he put her down on the sofa, she looked up and saw his nearly black eyes glittering at her. A dark thrill shot through her body, full of anticipation and want. Raoul dropped down on a knee on the cushion beside her, bracing himself up on his hands as he kissed her. It only took a few seconds for him to lower his body, the delicious length of him pressing her into the sofa.

She welcomed his weight, reveled in it. Hips to pelvis they rocked, mimicking the act she wished for so much but knew could not happen tonight. But she wasn’t going to stop yet. It felt too good. She’d waited too long.

Raoul sat up and made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, peeling it off his shoulders and discarding it on the floor. Stephani’s heart raced at the sight of him, and she scrambled to undo her own buttons until her blouse gaped open, revealing her barely there bra. Over and over her mind repeated that he was there for her. She was the one turning him on. She was the one he wanted to be with. It didn’t stop being surreal, no matter how often she thought it. She was overwhelmed with it not because of what he was but because of who he was.

No title. Just Raoul. Strong, sexy, capable. Her dream man that she’d thought she’d never have. And right now he was so totally hers.

When he lay on top of her again, it was to the sensation of skin to skin, warm and smooth. He flicked open the front clasp to her bra, baring her breasts to his gaze and then his mouth, drowning her in delight. He shifted on the sofa, slid his hand beneath her skirt and touched her. She lost all rational thought and simply went with the sensations created by his talented mouth and fingers.

Until they built to a peak and she crested, releasing a sharp, glorious cry.

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with a soul-searing intensity. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist, and he reached for the button on his trousers. Stephani ached with wanting him, but she’d told herself over and over that this wouldn’t happen tonight.

“No, Raoul. We’re not ready for that.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw; she understood that he was extremely aroused and she was asking him to stand down. She couldn’t blame him; the lovely boneless feeling in her body right now was glorious. But for them to truly make love . . . he wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she was, either.

He let out a slow breath, adjusted himself, and sat down on the end of the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, sitting up and pulling her blouse over her naked breasts. “I let myself get carried away, and I got to . . . you know. And you didn’t. And that’s not really fair.”

He looked over at her. “I’ll be all right in a few minutes. Fairness doesn’t enter into it, Steph. You say stop, we

stop.” He smiled a little and raised an eyebrow. “Though maybe you might want to fix your clothes. Seeing you like that isn’t exactly conducive to . . . deflation.”

The little wry grin was half amused, half chagrined, and Stephani laughed a little in return. She sat up, smoothed down her skirt, and turned a little bit away from his gaze to re-hook her bra and button her blouse.

When she turned back around, he’d reached for his shirt and was putting it on. He didn’t button it, though. Instead he leaned back into the cushions and spread one arm over the back of the sofa. “Come here,” he said quietly. “Let’s just sit for a bit.”