The Crown Prince's Bride (Royal Duology 2)

Before they ever got to their hallway, Raoul was fishing in his pocket for his key card. She stood back while he inserted it in the slot, then waited as he swung open the door and pulled her inside.

The door shut with a definitive click, Raoul tossed the key card on a nearby chair, and then pressed her against the closed door as he kissed her thoroughly.

Never in her life had she been kissed this way. Not even the other night when they’d made out on her sofa. This was desperation and desire and naked need, and she gave herself over to it. Her shawl slipped to the floor in a puddle of ivory silk. Raoul plunged his hands into her hair, scattering pins and tearing the petals on the fragile hibiscus blossom. When his mouth glided up her neck, her eyes slammed shut and she half gasped, half moaned with delight.

He put his hands in hers, then pinned them against the door as he deliberately devoured her mouth.

She wilted, succumbing completely to the pleasure rushing through her body. She pulled her hands away from his, then pushed his jacket off his shoulders. “Need to touch you, too,” she rasped, ripping his shirttails out of his trousers. He reached behind her, between her and the door, and found the little hasp of her zipper. It slid down, down, down to the hollow of her spine, until his hand slipped just inside and touched the indentation just above her tailbone.

The time had passed for modesty or even restraint. Now there was only room for honesty, and Stephani took a step away from the door, slipped the dress from her shoulders, and let it drop to the floor.

Raoul’s breath came out in a rush. “Dios mío,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful.”

She’d kept her underwear simple but pretty for the evening—a bra and panty set in ivory satin. It wasn’t just that he said she was beautiful, she felt beautiful. She still wore the sandals on her feet, and she took a few steps toward Raoul until she could reach the buttons on his shirt. One by one she slipped them through the holes.

“You’re sure?” she asked quietly. She didn’t want to keep going if he had reservations of any sort. “I know it’s the first time since . . .”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. Truth was, she couldn’t know for certain if it was his first time since Ceci’s death or not. She only assumed because of the man he was. He wasn’t the type to have casual sex. Particularly not when he was nursing a broken heart.

He smiled tenderly at her. “Are you asking for consent, Stephani?”

“I guess I am.”

“Then I’ll answer. I’m sure. I’m sure that I want to do this, and I’m sure because it’s with you, and I know I’m safe. I trust you, more than anyone in the world. I want you so much I ache with it. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The urgency was now mixed with an emotion she found hard to define. There was a gravity now, a depth that terrified her and made her incredibly happy all at once.

“More than you know,” she whispered, as she moved into his arms.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Raoul twisted in the sheets and realized he was alone.

A little slip of paper was folded on the pillow where Steph had laid her head. He picked it up, unfolded it, and read the words.

Raoul, I woke up early and thought it would be best if I went back to my room so I wasn’t seen leaving yours. Want to come over for breakfast?

He flopped onto his back, still holding the note. She was right, but he hated that they had to sneak around. It was better than trying to keep things secret at the palace, but not much. The paparazzi popped up at any moment, as he knew all too well.

But waking up alone . . . he wasn’t sure if he was let down or relieved. At least now he had some time to sort through his thoughts.

In the moment, it had been incredible. Steph was beautiful, responsive, sexy as hell. There’d been a connection between them, too, that went beyond satisfying physical needs. But was it love? He wasn’t sure. He’d only ever really been in love once in his life, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever find that grand kind of passion again.

Did he want to? He thought he did. Then why was there this hesitation every time he considered being in a public relationship?

The bedside clock said it was nearly eight, so he got up and showered and dressed in tan trousers and a blue shirt and tie. No jacket today; yesterday had been far too hot, and he and Stephani were going to be sitting in a conference room for most of the day, working through numbers. He wanted to go back to Marazur armed not only with impressions but also hard data. But first, breakfast. He needed to see Steph, get an idea of where her head was at. Last night had showed him that he wanted to pursue something with her. But perhaps he wasn’t ready to make a relationship public. There was nothing wrong with taking it slowly, was there?

She answered the door, already dressed in dove-gray trousers, a navy silk sleeveless top, and gray shoes. Perfect attire for his assistant, right down to the tidy bun keeping her hair scraped back from her face. She looked businesslike and capable, but a smile curved her lips, so he ignored his awkward nerves and stepped inside.

“I’m sorry, Raoul. I’ve already eaten. Our meetings start at nine thirty, and I didn’t want to be running late or risk getting food on my outfit.” She gestured to the room service cart. “But there’s plenty. Do you want me to fix you a plate?”

“I can fix my own,” he replied, keeping his voice easy but feeling inexplicably grumpy.

“I’ll pour you a coffee, then,” she offered, and moved to the silver pot on the cart.

He took a small plate and added a pastry, smoked salmon, yogurt, and fruit. When he sat at the table, she placed his coffee in front of him, then returned with a glass of orange juice. As she moved away, her hand grazed his shoulder in an intimate gesture. It should have made him feel better, but it annoyed him further.

He looked over his shoulder. “It was strange waking up and finding you gone this morning.”