When the last ripple of sensation finally fades, I collapse against Garrett’s chest. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and concentrate on breathing, just breathing. Because what started out as a way to comfort him, to pleasure him, somehow turned into something so much more. And now I’m raw, the intensity of what just happened hollowing me out and making me feel strangely shy and tongue-tied as emotions surge through me at an alarming rate.
What will I do if I fall in love with him?
Or worse, what will I do if I already have?
Chapter 25
Garrett
“So, this is your Paris,” I say, looking around the small, out-of-the-way park that Lola picked for us to picnic in on our second-to-last day in Paris.
“I wouldn’t call it my Paris,” she answers as she slathers cheese on a piece of bread. “But it’s definitely Paris.” She brings the bread to my lips and I take a bite, just as she intends.
The fact that she’s doing an impressive job of ignoring the flashes going off from halfway across the park—where Bryce and Bastian are keeping the paparazzi at bay—shows how far she’s come in the last week.
It also makes me fall for her just a little more, something that’s been happening every second of every day that I’m with her. Which wouldn’t be a problem considering the way she looks at me most of the time too. But we still haven’t talked about whatever this is between us, still haven’t given voice to the fact that it’s rapidly become a lot more than either of us intended when we first entered into this deal.
I need to stop being such a wuss and get on that. And I will, I promise myself as Lola feeds me another piece of bread. Just as soon as she’s done with everything she came to Paris to do. The last thing I want is to distract her from work, to make her think that I don’t value what she does when that’s so obviously an issue for her.
“You’ve been to Paris a million times, right?” she asks when I’m done chewing. “So why the surprise?”
I pluck a couple of grapes from the bowl, hold one up to her lips, and wait for her to take it before popping the second in my own mouth. “I’m usually here representing Wildemar. Even when it’s a pleasure trip, I’ve never had time to walk through the Marché Bastille picking up lunch, let alone time to have that lunch spread out on a blanket in the park.”
“I’ve got to tell you,” she says, completely deadpan. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. I may actually cry for you, poor little prince boy.”
Despite the sober way she says it, there’s a wicked gleam in her eye that has me picking a couple more grapes out of the bag. This time I throw them
at her, though, crowing in triumph as one hits her right between the eyes.
She squawks indignantly and launches herself at me. I catch her—of course I do—pulling her on top of me as we both tumble to the ground. It’ll be a hell of a pic for the gossip blogs, but as Lola lowers her mouth to mine, I can’t bring myself to care.
Lola is who she is, and I am more than okay with that. And would be even if none of my people approved of her.
It’s a strange feeling for a guy who has spent his life making sure to follow the rules, to never cause a scandal, to never look anything but kingly when in public. But what the hell did that get me, anyway? Kidnapped, tortured, and demoted from heir to spare? And just taking the demotion because a gentleman doesn’t fight dirty?
Following the rules sure as hell isn’t all it’s cut out to be. Especially since the two best things in my life right now—Lola and the chance to get my position back—have come only after I started breaking them.
It’s a powerful thought, and an arousing one. So much so that I find myself fisting a hand in Lola’s hair and pulling her closer so I can slide my tongue along the seam of her lips before delving inside.
She gasps at the invasion, making a small, desperate sound deep in her throat. Tangles her fingers in the front of my shirt as she presses closer. She feels good, so good, and I want nothing more than to stay right here, kissing her, touching her, for hours.
But there’s bending the rules and then there’s shattering them all to hell. And as need builds inside me, I know I’ve got to break this up while I still can. Because if the last few days have taught me nothing else, it’s that after ten more seconds I won’t care about where we are or who’s watching. All that will matter is getting inside of Lola, and frankly, Lola on the brink of orgasm is not something I want anyone else to see. Ever. Let alone most of the free world when the pic is plastered on the cover of every gossip rag that can get its hands on it.
She moans a little as I gently lift her off my lap, her fingers tightening in my shirt even more. But her eyes flutter open when I call her name and I watch as the reality of our situation slowly comes back to her.
Lola lets out a long, gusty sigh, then flops down on the blanket beside me, hand over her eyes. “Sometimes I really hate your life.”
“Sometimes I really hate it too.” I reach out for her hand and twine our fingers together. As I do, I try not to notice how good it feels. How right.
I’m about to suggest that we go back to the hotel—where we’ll have a lot more privacy—when the alarm goes off on her phone. She groans a little as she slaps at it with her free hand until the obnoxious noise finally cuts off.
“You know, there are a million other tones you can choose from,” I tell her as we continue to lie there. “None of which sound quite so much like the end of the fucking world.”
“Yeah, but sometimes the sound of the end of the world is the only thing that gets me up in the morning. Speaking of which…” She sits up and starts gathering the remnants of our picnic. “I need to get going.”
It’s my turn to groan. “Where to now? You’ve been on the go for five days straight!”
And yes, I am aware of how very whiny and un-prince-like I sound, but at the moment, I don’t actually give a shit. I’ve known Lola less than two weeks, but I really like spending time with her. Hell, if I’m being honest, I’ll admit that I like every single thing I’ve found out about her so far.