Prince of my Panties (Royal Package 2)

I take the raspberry between my teeth, watching him watch me as I slowly chew and swallow. “I didn’t have any trouble keeping up with you last night.”

“I was taking it easy on you last night,” he says, meeting my gaze with an intensity that makes me shiver.

I shake my head. “I never asked you to take it easy on me. I want all of it, Jeffrey. All of you.”

“Every piece,” he promises, nodding toward my plate. “So eat. Quickly.”

“Quickly?” I tease, cutting the corner off my croissant sandwich. “I thought you were a fan of delayed gratification?”

“I am, but I’m a bigger fan of being inside you,” he whispers, sending an electric zing across my skin. “So deep inside you…”

I’m about to kiss him—and possibly feel him up under the tablecloth because I am a wild, wanton woman making up for lost time—when his phone buzzes beside his coffee cup.

He glances down, his expression sobering. “I should take this. It’s an official call. Be right back.” He presses a quick kiss to my forehead and stands, crossing the garden and stepping through the back gate into the alley behind the hotel as he lifts the phone to his ear.

I turn back to my food, knowing I should eat my eggs before they get cold.

Instead, I grab my cell to text Zan.

I want to ask her questions I shouldn’t, questions about good sex and sweet love and how you know when it’s one or the other or maybe both. But that would lead to questions from her that I’m not ready to answer.

I’m not even ready to ask them of myself, just yet. I refuse to let my thoughts race ahead into the future and ruin the incredible now.

So instead of the real things weighing on my mind, I text—Are you okay? I’m fine, so no need to worry. Just thought I’d check in since I haven’t heard from you in a few days.

I pop my first bite into my mouth and chew, anticipating a relatively prompt reply. Yes, Zan is a busy woman, but our last conversation was fraught. I expect her to be relieved that I’m okay and eager to reprimand me for dropping the communication ball. My tendency to get distracted and forget to stay in touch drives both Sabrina and Alexandra crazy. It bothers me, too, honestly. I don’t enjoy being the flighty one. I’ve tried to do better, but brains aren’t easy things to change.

Neither are habits.

As I’ve gotten closer to that much-dreaded birthday, I’ve gotten in the habit of shutting down both pleasure and pain and reaching for numbness instead. I numb myself with work and call it dedication to supporting my family and nurturing my art. I numb myself with reading and pretend I haven’t taken book-worming to a place where it isn’t cute anymore. I numb my anxiety with exhaustion, making sure I’m never well-rested enough to think too much about my rapidly dwindling days on earth.

I haven’t felt as alive as I do this morning in…years.

Maybe longer.

I’m not sure what to do with all the feelings and questions and sensations flooding me, but for once, I don’t want to run away or numb out. I want to wallow in being vibrantly, electrically alive, to see how much bliss I can stand before it kills me.

“Sorry about that.” Jeffrey settles back into his chair and reaches for his fork. “One of my people needed my Dropbox information. Looks like I have some files to go through this morning while you sew.”

My lips turn down. “I don’t want to sew.”

Jeffrey smiles around a bite of eggs, waiting until he swallows to say, “But you have to sew. The post office closes at four. Though, I suppose we could swing by tomorrow morning on our way out of town if you’d rather.”

I saw at my sausage link with a sigh. “No, I want to get it off my plate today. You’re right—I want my head to be clear for the trip upcountry tomorrow.” I nibble at the tender meat, some of the fizz going out of my blood.

I don’t want to think about the curse, not even in a hopeful way. I’ll save my hope for tomorrow when we’ve found Kaula and she’s willing to share any helpful information she may have.

Until then, I just want to be in love.

In lust, I correct myself. But as Jeffrey and I finish our meal and go our separate ways—him to conduct his royal business at the café down the street, me back to the room to tie up all the loose threads, steam, and tissue-wrap my designs—my heart is every bit as sad as my lady parts to see him go.

I stand at the window, watching him walk down the street with an ache in my chest.