Courted: Gowns & Crowns, Book 1 (11 page)

Em nodded. She didn’t feel up to all the questions she knew Fran, Nicki, and especially Lauren would have. Kristos, however, watched her with eyes that seemed too shrewd. “Is everything well with them?” he pressed. “Are they all right?”

“Yes, they’re fine.” She shook her head. “This is going to sound stupid. I—well, you heard me with my parents.”

His face instantly took on a more somber look. “They’re ill, I take it. Your mother has been injured?”

“Both of them—it was an accident, and recovery has been slow and, well, hard, I guess you would say. I left school and have been caring for them for a year.”

He lifted his brows. “You weren’t able to graduate?”

“Oh no, I graduated. I—it doesn’t matter, really. I got a scholarship to study in grad school. But then the accident happened, and I deferred the scholarship and—whatever, that’s not the point.” She waved off whatever question he was about to ask. “The net result is that I haven’t been the one to do anything exciting in my group of friends. Fran has worked overseas and is three breaths from a Masters, Nicki goes off and climbs mountains whenever she gets bored, Lauren learns new languages in between pedicures, and I—don’t. So for me to be the one to get swept away on a motorcycle by a prince, well…” She spread her hands. “It’s a story I’d like to keep telling
myself
a little longer, if that makes sense, before I have to tell it to anyone else.”

“It makes complete sense.” But something had shifted in Kristos’s demeanor, and when he walked toward her, Em felt herself grow wary. She knew she shouldn’t be so willing to follow this man without asking more questions, making a pros-and-cons list, checking it twice… Yet when he held out his hand, she found herself putting her fingers in his again, ready once again to let him lead.

Kristos tugged her into the hall. “Have you always told yourself stories?” he asked, his words mild, though there seemed to be an undertow to them as dangerous as the one she’d found in the depths of the Aegean Sea.

“Well, sure.” Em frowned, trying to regain control of the conversation. It wasn’t easy, given that she was walking down an opulent hallway, self-conscious in her sneakers and capris. He didn’t need to know about her mom or any of that.
Just keep things light, easy. Explain it all in a very reasonable way.
“I mean, it helps me pass the time, but it also takes me out of wherever I am and into wherever I want to be.” She tried to pitch her words more lightly. “Life doesn’t get too exciting in Missouri, you know.”

He walked past open doorways that led to familiar-looking rooms. “You’ve lived there your entire life except college?” He didn’t wait for her to nod but pushed on. “And what is it you studied that you were so good at that you received a scholarship to graduate school?”

“Oh.” Em’s cheeks flared, but there wasn’t any reason why she shouldn’t tell him. Her skill might seem a little weird, but he was a
prince
. That trumped anything she could come up with.

“Violin—violin performance, technically, so that one day I could play in an orchestra.”

He blinked at her, and she felt suddenly shy at his admiring gaze. He didn’t know that she hadn’t played in months. He didn’t know that she feared she’d never truly be able to play again. “Then I am sure you are wrong, Emmaline. Your life must be every bit as exciting as your friends’.”

Before she could contradict him, they reached the edge of the house. Kristos pushed open the doors, treating Em to the view beyond. The villa stretched out over the forest, with a tiled veranda covered by a stucco overhang, and she found herself drawn to the far side. When she looked over the banister, it was her chance to gasp again. A gorgeously landscaped pool surrounded by formal gardens gleamed from the terrace below, before the manicured plots gave way to thick forests all the way around. She couldn’t see the Aegean from here, but the forest was almost as imposing, rising in an emerald swell that made it seem like civilization was very,
very
far away.

“It’s beautiful.”

Kristos didn’t hesitate. “It’s very pretty, yes. But
you
are beautiful,
koukla mou
. There is a distinct difference.”

Em blinked, her gaze swiveling to meet Kristos’s. “
Koukla mou
?”

“I think you would translate it as ‘doll’, or ‘sweetheart.’” He grinned.

Yes, he’d totally just flirted with her, she was not imagining it. But she had no game whatsoever to flirt back at him.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to mind. “We’re going to be here for a few days.” Kristos was suddenly right there, his breath warm against her cheek. “I should want to know everything about you in that time, if possible.”

“Ah… I can’t imagine anything left that’s all that interesting. You pretty much know all there is to know about me already.”

“Once more, you’re wrong.” He dropped his head forward to where the line of her tank top lay against her shoulder, and grazed the skin with his lips. “I have never kissed your shoulder, you see. Here already is something new that you might teach me.”

Tell him no.
Tell him no,
Em suggested to herself. Strongly. She was a grown woman who had, up until a short while ago, been pursuing an advanced degree. An American. A guest in his country. There was no way the freaking crown prince of Garronia wouldn’t stop if she said
no
.

Only, she found she didn’t want to say no.

So that was a problem.

“And your neck,” he murmured, moving up the curve of her skin to brush his lips against the pulse throbbing there. “I have never had the chance to get to know your neck. This seems a terrible waste, when time is so short.”

She opened her mouth to protest, she really did, but only managed a halfhearted whimper.
Impressive, Em.

However, it was all the encouragement Kristos needed. He turned Em around, reaching out to tip her chin up with long fingers, his gaze searching hers. “I have never held you at midnight, or in the light of a new day.”

“Kristos—”

“Shhh… Don’t think for a moment more. Let me taste you instead.”

He kissed her then, and it happened all over again—the sense of time stopping, as if all Em needed to do was step into his arms and everything around her would cease to be, and there would only be her, and him, and maybe a magic carpet to whisk them off to someplace exotic and strange.

Except, the magic carpet had been replaced with a motorcycle, and her prince wasn’t some whimsical boy in pajama pants and a turban, but a real, live, hot-blooded man. She didn’t know if Kristos was only interested in her because she happened to be the only woman in this chateau under the age of fifty that she’d seen, or because he really wanted her. But surely he wouldn’t have brought her here if he didn’t at least feel some legitimate attraction to her, right?

And what did she want to do about that?

Em jumped as the prince’s hands dropped to her waistline, snaking up beneath the tank top to press against her skin. “You’re shaking,” he murmured. “Are you cold?”

He didn’t let her answer but pulled her into his body, surrounding her with his warmth. He deepened the kiss then, and Em arched beneath him, her mind momentarily on hold as everything inside her heated up and demanded more. She felt something strange and liquid spiral within her, like a shivery tremor, but of heat, delicious heat, warming her in places she’d thought had long ago faded into dust. “I’m not cold,” she managed when he finally broke away.

Kristos’s eyes were intent as he looked down at her. “Then why are you shivering,
koukla mou
?”

“Well, it’s not because I’m cold.” Her hands firmed on his chest, and she tried to convince herself that she wasn’t actually dreaming, that this was happening and wasn’t one of her wild fantasies.

No, no. Do not think of the word “fantasies.”

But it was already too late. Kristos’s eyes narrowed on her, as if he knew the reason behind the blush that crawled up her cheeks. Thank God he couldn’t read minds, or she’d die of mortification on the spot.

“I think I want to know more of these stories you are making up in your head, Emmaline. And as your host, I think it’s only polite that I help you create this latest one,” he murmured, and when her gaze flew to his, he smiled, slow and certain. “For example, if you’re the reluctant princess and I’m the marauding prince, I think it’s time we discuss the terms of your abduction.”

“Hmmm.” She shook her head. “You’re going to have to work a lot harder than that if you want to convince me that you’re some evil villain bent on stealing my virtue.”

He stared at her, his expression turning a shade darker. “I look forward to it.”

Hours later, Kristos was still watching Emmaline, this time over the rim of his wineglass, trying to decide how best to play this. There was so much he wanted to experience with her. It was simply a matter of where he should begin.

They’d no sooner emerged from the veranda, heading back to the house, when the housekeeper, Marte, had appeared again. Kristos had been grateful that Emmaline had been walking in front of him and had shielded his body from view—since anyone could see at a glance that he was rock hard.

By the time they’d climbed to the second-floor sleeping quarters—separate suites, of course, to appease the staff’s sense of propriety—he’d at least had his body under control. Nevertheless, Emmaline’s room was directly across the hallway from his, so he suspected his control would not be lasting long.

And Emmaline wasn’t helping matters. She’d begged for a shower the moment they’d reached their rooms, and he’d let her go, recognizing her need for escape even if she didn’t. But now he felt an odd anxiety at letting her out of his sight again. Part of that was the sense that she could fly away from him at any moment. And part of it was his own fault for letting the world encroach upon them once more.

But what was he supposed to do? He’d used the time she was showering to return to Theo’s guest office, flipping on screens and settling into the virtual mission control that Theo had set up for his older brother. There still had been no arrests in the theft of the Americans’ passports, but the damage had been done. The media storm was bigger than he’d imagined, with the girls’ parade of photos emblazoned across the screen. Emmaline’s revealed a birth name unusually long for an American—Emmaline Aurora Grace Andrews—and showed a serious, hollow-eyed girl with her hair pulled back and her expression too grim, even by passport standards. Her friend Nicole Clark, the only young woman he hadn’t met yet, seemed to be staring down the camera of the passport agent as if she had a problem with it, while Francesca Simmons and Lauren Grant had apparently mastered the art of official document photos. Both their expressions were composed, if a little coy, their hair perfect, their makeup professional. Lovely women, all four of them, each in her own way.

And three of them were safely in the castle. Which meant he could focus on the one who wasn’t.

Speaking of the castle, he’d received more news than he’d wanted to from that quarter. An e-mail from Stefan with the background checks on each of the women attached. Another e-mail from his father demanding his and Emmaline’s return to the city. He’d filed the latter, but Stefan’s had proven more difficult to ignore.

He’d hovered over the attachments detailing the history of the four women now under the Crown’s care, spending the longest time on Emmaline’s before he finally closed out of his e-mail without clicking on any of the documents. If she’d been a true threat to his security, Stefan would already have tracked them down—and could have, easily enough, despite Theo’s assertions of the complete privacy of his computer setup. He had a feeling Stefan had overturned every rock in their tiny kingdom at one time or another, and Theo’s home was an easy guess. But, for the moment, his cousin seemed content to let Kristos remain hidden. His father had too, which could only mean one thing:

The castle must be besieged.

Kristos hadn’t had the stomach to watch the news beyond the quick clips of the girls’ information and one breathless reporter asserting that the disappearance of the young American and her friends inside the castle was the harbinger of wedding bells. Everyone was scrambling to find proof of a previous meeting, with the tabloids providing the wildest options, as usual. His parents had issued a warm statement about welcoming the friends of the crown prince into their royal embrace, but saying nothing further. Predictably polite, predictably vague.

And that, in a nutshell, was the life that was waiting for him back in the capital city.

Predictable.

But it wasn’t the life before him tonight.

“Did you see any of the media coverage?” His question seemed to recall Emmaline from wherever it was she was so used to going, her gaze jerking swiftly back to him as the sun set over the far western borders of the country.

“I turned it on long enough to see my passport photo. That was enough for me.” She grimaced. “But before I could get the remote to work, I caught sight of the limo taking Nicki and the others into the castle. I can’t imagine what that must be like for them, especially Nicki. She’s not used to being cooped up anywhere—she’s training for an adventure triathlon, and the only way she agreed to come on this trip with Lauren was if we stayed at places that allowed her full access to running and climbing routes.”