A Princess Next Door (Rothman Royals Book 1) (5 page)

The words sent me spiraling faster toward climax.

The compulsion was becoming urgent now so I braced myself
more securely with my hands on his shoulders.

I came on a broken cry, my head falling back and my mouth
falling open. My body shook and shuddered from the pleasure.

He came too, just a few seconds after me. He swallowed over
a few incoherent words as his body froze with coiled tension before it all
released in clumsy jerks and hoarse groans.

I fell against him as the climax started to fade, and I
could feel every tiny move he made inside me. Resting my head on his shoulder,
I gasped against his shirt, comforted as his arms went around me all the way,
holding me against him.

Jack panted into my hair as he stroked my back and hips. His
body felt more relaxed now—his muscles softening in a way that gave me a secret
thrill. I loved that I was the one who’d caused the transformation of his body.

“That was…good,” I said at last.

“Yeah. That was definitely good.” There was a smile in his
voice.

It made me smile too, and I pulled back up to grin at him.

We shared the look for a moment, until Jack shifted beneath
me and said, “I’d better take care of the condom.”

I couldn’t hold back a sigh of disappointment. I knew we
needed to pull apart—I could feel him starting to soften—but I liked how I felt
at the moment and wasn’t in a hurry to move.

But I swung my leg over his lap, sliding off him as he held
the condom in place. With one last fond stroke of my hair, Jack got up and
walked to the bathroom to clean up.

I curled in a ball and hugged my knees to my chest. I felt
empty and overly sensitive, but also very good. I squeezed my thighs, feeling
kind of silly and giddy.

I didn’t even notice Jack had returned until he spoke. “You
regretting it?”’

I gasped and jerked my head toward him. “What? Why would I
regret it?”

“I don’t know.” He’d fastened his pants, and it looked like
he’d washed his face. His hairline was slightly damp. “You’re curled up in the
fetal position.”

Realizing that I probably looked silly—especially since I
still wasn’t wearing my pants or panties—I uncurled my legs and gave him a
sheepish look. “No. Not regretting it.”

Jack smiled, relaxed again, and lowered himself onto the
sofa with a groan. As I reached down for my clothes, he said companionably,
“Your face is all red.”

I frowned at him, sliding my panties up my legs. “It always
gets red when I exert myse—Oh. You mean from your whiskers.” With a chuckle, I
rubbed my hand over the warmest part of my cheek. “That was awfully mean of
you. Next time, you’re going to shave first.”

I said it mostly to tease him. I actually had no plans to
insist on such a thing. I liked the bristles despite the slight discomfort.

Jack arched an eyebrow at me.

“What’s that look for?” I demanded.

“Nothing.”

He was obviously hiding something. He looked smug and
extraordinarily pleased with himself.

I stuck out my chin as I pulled up my pants. “I thought we
were going to be honest and up-front. What are you looking so superior about?”

“Not superior,” he replied, reaching an arm out to pull me
against his side. “I was just surprised you’d mentioned there being a next
time.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t even realized I’d done so. “Oh.”

“It’s no big deal. You’re not committed to a random remark,”
he said gently. “It’s totally up to you.”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t expected this at all. And I only
have a few more weeks here, so it would be foolish for us to get into anything
serious.”

He gave an amused huff. “I have no delusions of your falling
into mad, soulful love with me. But I’d be more than happy to continue this if
you’d like.”

I licked my lips, relaxing against him and enjoying the feel
of his warm body against my own, almost as much as I had before. “I’m not
actually sure what I’d like.”

“No hurry. If you feel like it again, just jump me.”

I giggled. Then blushed a little bit as I realized that was
exactly what I’d done tonight.

I’d never jumped anyone before.

Until tonight.

The following evening, I was sitting
on the patio of a downtown café with Jack, drinking coffee and eating a
cupcake.

Jack had already finished his, but he was watching my
progress with interest. In truth, I wasn’t entirely sure whether he was lusting
after me or my cupcake, but he was definitely lusting after something as he
gazed at me.

He’d invited me out an hour ago, and I knew he’d done so to
prove that we could still be friends, even though we’d had sex the evening
before.

I appreciated it. I wanted to be friends with him.

I wanted even more—but I was scared it would hurt too much
when I had to leave.

“Was she mad about you leaving home?” Jack asked, after a
moment in which I licked cream cheese icing off my lips.

I’d been telling him about how Victoria seemed to be angry
with me for no reason I could understand.

“I don’t think so. She was upset, but she seemed to
understand why it was important for me to go to university. We talked nearly
every day when I first moved here. She can’t be holding a grudge about that.”

“When did things start to change between you?”

I gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe after this last
Christmas. I went to visit for the holiday, and everything seemed all right.
But after I came back here…”

“Did anything happen there with her?”

“Not that I know of. I just don’t understand.” I sighed and
slumped back in my chair. “I miss her. I hate that she’s avoiding me like
this.”

“So talk to her.”

“She won’t take my call.”

“Then write her an email, or corner her when you go home for
that ball thing in a couple of weeks. Make her talk to her.”

“No one has ever been able to make Victoria do anything.”

“Well, give her a chance to tell you, at least. Tell her
what you think, how you feel, and then let her make her own choice. That’s all
you can do.”

“As simple as that?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” The heated interest in his gaze had
sobered, and I knew he was taking this conversation seriously—which I
appreciated. “You know me. I believe in two things. Being honest. And letting
other people make up their own minds. There’s no sense in applying pressure or
brooding endlessly or manipulating other people to get them to do what you want
them to do. Just be honest, and let Victoria make up her own mind about how to
respond.”

I thought about his words for a long time. They sounded like
him. Exactly like him. It was one of the things I loved best about Jack. There
were no tangled threads of angst or deceit or dark complexity in his soul. He
said what he meant. He didn’t manipulate or pressure me in all the ways I was
used to from home.

He let me be who I wanted to be, just as he was always
himself.

It was freeing. It was comforting.

It was incredibly sexy.

“What?” he asked, cocking his head as he studied my face.

“Nothing. I was just…it’s nothing. I just like how you
handle things, is all. Is everyone like that in your hometown?”

“Nah. Not everyone. It’s a jumble of all kinds of people,
just like everywhere else in the world. But my parents were like that—my mom
still is.” He chuckled, a fondness on his face I especially liked. “Every time
I call her, she tells me she really thinks it’s time for me to settle down and
start a family, but I’m a grown-up and I can come to that decision for myself.
She’s just
reminding
me—not pressuring.”

I giggled. “I like the distinction.”

“But she means it. She’s…really great.”

“I’d like to meet her.” I couldn’t believe I’d actually said
that, and my breath caught in my throat when I heard the words.

“You can,” Jack murmured, his eyes soft on my face. “Any
time you want.”

I cleared my throat. Meeting his mother would definitely be
dangerous. Far too dangerous for me to consider. “Well, thanks for the
cupcakes.”

“I’ll buy you another one. Any time you want.”

We stayed and chatted for another half-hour and then walked
back to our building together. Jack had reached over to take my hand on the
walk home, and I just wasn’t firm enough to stop him.

I wanted him to hold my hand.

When we got to my door, he lingered, his gaze transforming
to that soft, hot, irresistible one again. “Are you going to invite me in?”

I was flushed with heat and could barely take a breath. “I…I
don’t know.”

“I would really like to come in.”

“I thought you believe in no pressure.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “No pressure at all. I’m
just telling you the truth. I really want to come in. And if you let me, I’ll
have you in bed and halfway to coming harder than you believe possible before
you can blink. But that’s just me saying what I mean, being honest. I’ll leave
it to you to decide what you want. You can close the door on me if you want.”

We stared at each other for a long moment.

Then he added, “It’s entirely your own decision, if you want
to miss out on the world’s best orgasm.”

I laughed.

And I didn’t close the door.

***

Ten days later, I was lying in bed,
watching Jack pull on his trousers.

He’d spent the night with me last night. After our second
time together, we’d had sex nearly every day. The way it felt natural now to
watch him roll out of my bed and pull his clothes on was almost shocking.

It was also dangerous. There had been a reason why I’d
hesitated about hooking up with Jack, and that reason was the definite end point
on my time here in the States. Nothing had changed concerning that, other than
the extra two weeks from staying for my seminar.

If it was already hard for me to get through a day without
seeing Jack, talking to Jack, feeling Jack’s body against mine, then I couldn’t
even imagine how it would feel when I had to leave him for good.

Mostly, I tried not to think about it.

We’d agreed to keep it casual, just for fun, no pressure or
expectations, and that was what I was going to do.

Jack looked rumpled and bristly and adorable when he turned
around to smile down at me. “What are you brooding about?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about how sexy you look.”

He glanced down at himself, as if surprised by the comment.
“Oh yeah?”

That was one of the sexiest things about Jack. He was so
completely unselfconscious about his own desirability.

“Yes.”

“You look pretty sexy yourself, lying in bed all tousled and
sleepy.”

“Don’t get any ideas. I have an early appointment with my
advisor this morning.”

“What about? Graduation is two days from now.”

“I think he wants to try to talk me into applying for
graduate school.”

Jack’s eyebrows arched. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“I know what you think about it, and I’ve already told you
dozens of times that I can’t.”

“You choose not to,” he corrected, meeting my eyes evenly.
“That’s not the same thing, you know.”

“My choices are limited.” I felt depressed at the
thought—and about how impossible it was to explain it to Jack. So I changed the
subject quickly. “What are you doing this evening?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I want to go to a new art exhibit on campus. You can come
with me if you want.”

Jack gave an exaggerated groan. “Does it have to be an art
exhibit?”

I tried not to giggle. “Yes. It does. Why is that so
difficult?”

“I don’t have to dress up, do I?”

“No.”

He made a face. He was half-teasing, but I knew at least
part of him was serious. This definitely wasn’t something he would choose on
his own. “Is everyone else going to be dressed up? You know I’m not big on
pretension.”

I knew that was true. It was one of the reasons why I still
hadn’t told him who I was. He would hate all the royal pomp and circumstance.
It would most likely drive him away. “Art isn’t about pretension,” I said,
sitting up so I could think more clearly. “At least, it’s not supposed to be.”

“Then what is it about?”

I thought about the answer for a minute before I replied,
“It’s about trying to reflect what is true about the world, and what is good
and beautiful—and maybe also what should be, but isn’t.”

Jack’s expression changed, and I could tell he was genuinely
thinking through what I’d said. Then he pulled me to my feet and kept holding
onto my hands. “I’ll go tonight. For you.”

I was probably smiling like a sap, but I couldn’t help it.
“Thank you.”

He turned me around and walked me back until I was pressed
up against the edge of my dresser. “I like that you believe in that.”

“Believe in what?”

“What you just said.” His eyes were very deep and tender.

“Oh. I know it’s old fashioned, but I do believe in things
like the good, the true, and the beautiful—that they’re ideals we should strive
for, even though we can never truly reach them. It’s why I studied art in the
first place.” I felt strangely vulnerable saying the words. I never would have
admitted something so earnest and open in an academic class, but it felt like I
could say the words now, standing in my bedroom with Jack at almost seven in
the morning.

“And I believe,” he murmured, cupping my face in his hands,
“I’m looking at all three of those things right now.”

My breath hitched as the words made their way into my mind,
and then my breath hitched again as he leaned down to kiss me.

He thought I was good and true and beautiful. The knowledge
made my heart soar. But at the same time it reminded me how
not true
I was
being with him.

I still hadn’t told him who I was, and the secret was
starting to feel like a lie. I could argue to myself that after dating him for
less than a month, in a relationship we both had agreed was only casual, I
didn’t really owe him my entire family history, but I’d just be lying to
myself.

It was wrong. So wrong I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Jack?”

He lifted his head, his eyes searching my face. “Yes?”

I opened my mouth to tell him. I wanted to tell him. I
needed to tell him. Nothing would be right about my world until I did.

On his face was an almost urgent question, as if he deeply wanted
to know what I was going to say.

But my throat closed up around the words. I couldn’t say
anything.

It was simply too terrifying, knowing the words would change
everything. He liked me for me. And only for me. And my being a princess would
change that, as surely as it always had my relationships before.

I’d always been a princess first, a Rothman second, and
Amalie last.

I gave him a little smile. “That was a good kiss.”

His shoulders relaxed into almost a slump. “I thought so
too. So maybe I should do it again.”

The second kiss grew deep very quickly, and soon he was
caressing me all over, taking off my pajamas, and propping me up on the edge of
the dresser. We made love just like that, fast and urgent and unexpectedly
deep. It didn’t last long, but both of us were breathless when we collapsed
into each other’s arms.

“I really need to get dressed,” Jack groaned. “I have an
eight o’clock meeting.”

“And I need to meet my advisor.” He was big and warm and
strong against me, and I had a shooting pain in my chest, thinking about
walking away from him in a few weeks.

“Then I guess we should get moving.” His arms were still
around me, holding me very close.

“Yes. We should.”

Neither of us got moving for several minutes.

For the last two weeks, I’d had more sex and better sex than
I’d ever had in my life, but I enjoyed what came before and after it almost as
much.

The truth was I would want to be with Jack, even if we could
never have sex again in our lives.

***

That evening, Jack was holding my
hand as we left the art gallery on campus, and I was laughing at his
exaggerated relief at being done with the exhibit.

The art being shown hadn’t been all that good. It was trendy
and dark and empty of real meaning—edginess masquerading as depth. I’d been
disappointed with everything except Jack’s company.

He’d made dry, clever comments the whole time, making me
laugh even when I was trying to be serious.

“There,” I said, smiling up at him. “You made it through
without falling asleep. You should be proud of yourself.”

The corners of his mouth were turned up deliciously. “You
shouldn’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you.”

“It looks like you are. I’m not an art kind of
guy—especially that kind of art.”

“I wasn’t very impressed with it either.”

“Good. Because I really hated that crap. I told you
before—I’m a simple and straight-forward kind of guy.”

“And that’s just fine—except when things aren’t simple and
straightforward.” I wasn’t sure why I’d even said that. It changed the mood
between us. But the knowledge of how true his words were—how he liked and
expected life to be one way, when my life was so much the opposite—pushed me
into saying it.

His eyes were scrutinizing my face, even though he was still
smiling. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” I wished I’d never brought the subject up. “Just
that life isn’t always as simple and straight-forward as you might want.”

His expression sobered. “It is most of the time.”

My chest ached from how much he meant it, how deeply he
believed it. “Maybe yours has been, but most people’s lives are messy and
complicated.”

He shook his head. “People tend to make it more complicated
than it really is.”

It hurt so much—the knowledge that Jack would never
understand all the ways my life was torn, even if I got up the courage to tell
him. He would think there was an easy answer, like he was always trying to tell
me. He would never understand.