Most importantly, I want her to do those things with me. By my side. Always.
I watch her take selfies with fans, sign autographs, and just be the celebrity that she’s always been. She acts with grace and professionalism, but I can see in the curve of her shoulders that she’s tired.
Meanwhile, I stare through the window in the door as my heart races, afraid to step back out in case a camera flashes in my face.
Like a coward.
How can she be so comfortable with so many people clamoring for her attention? How can she smile as dozens of cameras are pointed at her? How does she not feel like a caged animal?
Turning away from the window, I lean against the bakery wall. For the first time since I spoke to Luca last night, I’m seriously regretting my decision to go out in public with him. I don’t know if I can handle that kind of attention. Doing what Margot is doing right now is my personal idea of hell.
The door swings open and Margot appears, letting out a deep breath as she puts a hand to her forehead.
“That was intense,” she sighs.
“How do you do it?”
Margot glances at me, arching an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Deal with that many people screaming for you. It wasn’t even that many—maybe a couple of dozen? The thought of being out there, in front of that many people and that many cameras…it makes me want to throw up.”
Margot flashes a smile at me. A real one. “You want to know the truth?”
I nod.
“Makes me want to throw up, too.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Somehow I don’t really believe that.”
She shrugs, turning away from me. “You don’t have to believe me for it to be the truth. Lots of people think lots of things about me that have nothing to do with the truth.”
Once again, I realize I don’t know Margot LeBlanc at all. I have an image of her in my head, a vision of who she is and what she wants—but I don’t know what she really thinks.
The only thing I know for sure is that there’s a lot more to her than meets the eye.
“Can you give me a hand with the trays? Ivy needs more salted caramel cupcakes already.” Margot nods to the walk-in fridge.
I follow her in, trying not to stare at the sway of her ass. She points to one of the trays, reaching for the edge.
“Lots of people think I love public appearances just because I’m good at them. I’ve been doing this since I was twelve years old, Your Highness,” Margot says, glancing at me. “Doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”
“So, why do you do it?”
Margot shrugs. “It’s my job.”
“You could always walk away from it if you don’t like it. I did.”
Her shoulders drop, and I take a step closer to her. Gently, with my hand on her hip, I turn her to face me. She drags her eyes up to mine and I watch her blink mist out of her eyes, shaking her head as she takes a deep breath.
“I’m fine,” she says, wiping her eyes. “There’s just a lot going on right now.”
I can’t resist any longer. I slide my hand over her jaw and cup her cheek, bringing my lips to hers. I don’t want to kiss her like I did last night—all wild and rough. I want to cherish her. Adore her. Worship her.
Margot is strong, yet fragile. She’s complicated and intelligent, and she doesn’t get enough credit. She faces all the things that I’ve shied away from with her shoulders thrown back and a smile on her face.
She makes me realize how lucky I truly am to have had the privacy I’ve enjoyed.
I part my lips, needing to taste her mouth. Swiping my tongue over her lower lip, I groan. How is it possible for one woman to taste so good?
Margot’s hands sink into my shoulders, pulling me closer. She moans, tangling her fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck as her body melts into mine. Her chest presses against mine, and I feel her hardened nipples through her shirt.
My hand drifts to her breast. I need to have it in my hand. I need to brush my thumb over her pebbled nipple, and I need to feel her body against mine. I run my hands down her sides, cupping her ass and pulling her closer.
Margot grinds her hips into me, moaning as our kiss gets messier. My lips miss hers and I kiss her jaw, her lower lip. I nip at her, tasting her again as she kisses me harder. Our hot breath sends small clouds dissipating into the cold fridge, but I don’t feel anything except the heat of Margot’s body.
Fire ignites in my veins, and my shaft hardens to steel.
I want to be inside her.
I need to be inside her.
There’s never been a woman so surprising, so beautiful, so fucking perfect in her imperfections, and she’s the woman for me.
12
MARGOT
AS SOON AS the Prince’s lips touch mine, all my hesitations dissolve into nothing.
He’s Beckett’s brother? Doesn’t matter.
He doesn’t know I’m pregnant? Irrelevant.
I have an incurable illness that will ravage my body over the next couple of decades? Inconsequential.
I only met him two days ago, and I know we’ll never really be together? Beside the point.
Dante’s lips are soft, and his touch is possessive. He drops his hand between my legs, and my panties are immediately drenched. As he touches me through the fabric of my pants, a moan slips through my lips.
“Anyone could walk in,” I breathe, clawing him closer. I kiss his lips, his jaw, his neck.
“Let them.”
Prince Dante slips his hand under my shirt. The heat of his palm against my skin sends sparks shooting through my veins. Heat blooms in the pit of my stomach, teasing the edges of my womb.
My heart thumps.
This is exactly the out-of-control feeling that I’ve been trying to avoid. Being with Dante is a high. It’s a clear and bright high that makes me feel incredible—but it’s a high nonetheless. He’s a drug.
When he runs his hands up my sides and cups my breast, the protests in my head melt away.
Just because I’ve been having issues doesn’t mean I need to deny myself every pleasure that exists. I won’t go into a tailspin just because I kiss a man.
Is this just a kiss, though? It feels like so much more than that.
Dante drops his head to my neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to my collarbone. His breath makes goosebumps blossom on my skin, sending more heat diving toward my center.
I don’t protest when he unbuttons my jeans. I don’t stop him when he slips his hand between my legs.
I want him. Badly.
Angling my hips toward him, I let out a sigh as his fingers slide against my wetness. He grunts, staring into my eyes. There are no words anymore. We don’t need them. A look, a sound, a touch—that’s more than enough to say what we feel.
With my eyes, I tell him I want more. With the rocking of my hips, I tell him his hand feels like magic. With a soft moan, I tell him that I never want him to stop.
Dante emits electricity from the tips of his fingers. Everywhere he touches comes alive, and I come apart.
My hands claw at the shelves behind me, knocking a few pastries to the ground. We ignore them. They don’t matter. Nothing matters except the Prince’s hand between my legs. He kisses my neck, my ear, my jaw, my lips. He slips his fingers inside my opening, earning a gasp from me.
I wrap my arms around him, closing my eyes.
When was the last time a man touched me like this? I can’t remember.
The way the Prince touches me is almost reverent. He’s not asking for me to touch him in return. He’s not wanting anything from me.
He’s giving.
I can see it in the way his eyes soften, and how his lips curl into a smile when I moan. My fingers sink into his arms, and he moves those magic fingers to dance over my clit.
The last of my anxieties evaporates as pleasure crests inside me. In that moment, the Prince smashes through the walls I’ve built inside myself. He blasts through them as if they’ve
never even existed, pushing away every thought in my mind.
There are no worries, no insecurities, no fears.
I’m free.
Every touch of Dante’s makes my mind clearer. Every kiss brings me higher.
My thoughts, once cloudy and uncertain, are completely crystalline. It’s like the shackles that I’ve built inside my head are all unlatched at once. The Prince had the key, and he frees me from myself.
I give myself over to the desire coursing through my veins. I let my body do what I haven’t been able to do in years.
I come.
It’s a symphony of pleasure in my body. A chorus of ecstasy exploding in my veins, catapulting me out of the depths of my own mind into blissful serenity. The Prince moans, crushing his lips to mine as my orgasm rocks through my body.
I tremble against him, clinging onto his shoulders and grasping at his muscles. My legs quake, unable to hold my own weight. My chest heaves as I gulp down breath, after breath, after breath.
The Prince kisses me gently, staring into my eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
My heart skips a beat. I don’t remember the last time a man did something like that to me without wanting anything in return.
I search his eyes, looking for some hint of expectation in them. Does he expect me to get on my knees now?
But the only thing I see in Dante’s face is affection. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and jerks his chin toward the door.
“We should probably bring those cupcakes out now.”
A blush stains my cheeks and a giggle slips through my lips.
“Probably, yeah.”
Glancing around the walk-in fridge, I survey the damage around us. Half a dozen pastries have fallen off the racks onto the floor. I lick icing off my finger where I accidentally stuck my hand in a cupcake.
The Prince grins, arching an eyebrow. “Stop doing that now, or else I might not let you leave this fridge for another little while.”
I grin, biting my lip. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
Dante leans over and presses another kiss to my lips. Little puffs of electricity sizzle through my body, reminding me of the pleasure he just delivered. The Prince slides his fingers along my jaw and another tingle of energy courses down to my stomach. I lean into him, relishing the intimacy of his touch.
He doesn’t know me, yet he understands every part of me.
When the Prince pulls away, I lift my eyes up to his. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“I’d be honored.”
“I haven’t had an orgasm in three years, give or take a few months.”
Prince Dante stares at me. He blinks two or three times, his eyebrows tugging toward each other. “You what?”
I blush. “That’s the first time I’ve come in three years.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
“Completely.”
He sweeps the back of his fingers over my cheek. “Why not?”
My heart tugs, leaning into his gentle touch. I shrug. “I think it was a mental block. Maybe I just felt like I didn’t deserve it.”
The Prince shakes his head. “You deserve so much more. If I’d known you hadn’t come in three years, I wouldn’t have fingered you in a walk-in fridge. I’d have done something a bit more romantic.”
I smile, blushing as I shake my head. “It was perfect.”
The Prince presses his lips to mine. He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me close to him. I moan, giving myself over to his embrace.
If it feels so right to be in his arms, how could it possibly be wrong?
Dante pulls away and nods to the tray of cupcakes. I smile, helping him unload one from the tall, stainless steel racks holding the trays. When we walk out into the warmth of the bakery, I let out a sigh.
If this is going to continue between us—and I definitely want it to—I have to tell him I’m pregnant. Not only that, I have to tell him that Beckett is the father.
Anything else would be insincere.
Dante glances over his shoulder and flashes a brilliant smile at me. I smile back, but in my heart, I know that my pregnancy will change everything.
Maybe that orgasm in the walk-in fridge is as good as it gets for me. Maybe I’ve been right all along, and I don’t deserve anything more romantic than that.
I shake the thought away, focusing on the tiny jolts of pleasure that still tickle my veins.
Even if the pregnancy changes what’s going on between Dante and me, I’ve still been able to experience something that I thought was completely out of reach. He’s still shown me a side of myself that I thought was long gone.
The calm, anxiety-free side. The carefree, orgasmic side. The brave side.
Maybe, now that I know I still have it in me, I’ll be able to bring myself to orgasm—even if Prince Dante doesn’t want me and my baby.
But even as the thought crosses my mind, I know that it’ll never be the same as it is with him.
13
DANTE
THE NEXT WEEK is spent organizing security and making sure all our systems are in order. Luca stays true to his word and has reporters following him everywhere. His face is on every tabloid in Farcliff.
I don’t quite succeed in being by his side. I still shy away from the cameras, but my name still shows up in a few headlines.
I hate it.
Every second of it. Every mention of my name. Every sliver of a photograph where I appear.
It makes my gut churn to see my name in big, bold letters.
It’s hard to change after so many years of living my life in complete privacy. When cameras flash in my face, I feel like I should be in a zoo. The paparazzi yell at us, asking all kinds of questions designed to get a reaction. Luca handles it with grace, and I just end up seething beside him.
I’m just not cut out for it.
I don’t know how Margot does it. How any of them do it.
But I try. I do my best to go with Luca when he’s in public, and be another set of eyes and ears as we work on drawing Beckett out of whatever hole he’s hiding in. We both know it’ll take time, and all we can do is try to taunt Beckett enough to reveal himself.
As the days pass, I can sense cracks in Luca’s facade. Lines appear near his eyes, and his shoulders stoop more than before.
He wants this all to be over. I see him with Ivy, in the evenings, snuggling on the couch. They talk about the bakery, about getting their own place, about giving back to charity.
They talk about the baby and their plans for the future.
They’re planning a life together, and I can sense that this whole Beckett threat is holding them back. So, I suck up my discomfort and I go with Luca where he needs to go. We head to bars, restaurants, cafes—anywhere public where we might be photographed.
By the end of the week, I’m exhausted.
Margot seems to pull away from me slightly, putting up walls that she’d let down when I first arrived. She has public appearances of her own, and I don’t see much of her. Every chance I get, though, I kiss her. Anytime we’re alone together, she seems to melt into my embrace and drop the walls that go up when other people are around.
Two weeks to the day after I arrive in Farcliff, a royal invitation arrives at our doorstep.
Luca waves it toward me, grinning. “Looks like our little media campaign has worked. The Farcliff royal family has caught wind of you being in Farcliff, and we’re all invited up to the castle. Me, you, Ivy, and Margot.”
I suck a breath in, nodding. “I’m assuming you want to make a big deal out of this? Cameras, reporters, paparazzi?”
Luca tilts his head from side to side. “Ivy and Margot will be there. I’d rather keep it simple.”
I try not to look as relieved as I feel. I keep my face still, but Luca still laughs.
“You can pull back from the spotlight, if you want. You’ve been doing well this week. I appreciate it. I don’t nee
d you in the spotlight. Why don’t you run things from home?”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to let you do this on your own. Who knows what Beckett might try?”
“Who knows if he’ll try anything at all?” Luca asks, shaking his head. “The more time goes on, the more this seems futile. He was a coward to try to poison me. Why would he make some brash attack against me again? He’s probably just wallowing somewhere, hating me from afar.”
“Maybe, but it’s like you said—the best way to get him out in the open is to taunt him.”
Luca sighs. “I don’t know if it’s enough. What set him off last time was my fake relationship with Margot, and then meeting Ivy. I think it made him remember Cara, and how he felt about her. Seeing me alone with you in public might not tempt him to try something stupid.”
“Let’s just go to the castle, and then reassess. You still want to stay in Farcliff?”
“This is Ivy’s home—and mine, too. I’ve been away from Argyle so long, I’m not sure it’s where I want to end up. There’s nothing for me there.”
I give him a sad smile.
I’m homesick. I’d like nothing more than to pick up and bring him, Ivy, and Margot back to Argyle. Farcliff is sandwiched between the United States and Canada, and it’s far too cold up here. I miss the Caribbean warmth of Argyle. The white, sandy beaches and the swaying palm trees. The azure waters, and the laid-back attitude.
I can’t even imagine what the real winter will be like here. I’ve only seen snow twice in my life.
Luca clears his throat, drawing me out of my own head. “You don’t have to stay,” he says, staring into my eyes.
I shake my head. “You’re wrong. I do.”
MARGOT LOOKS ABSOLUTELY stunning when we go to Farcliff Castle. Her long, blonde hair is curled in soft waves. Her makeup is flawless. Her body looks unreal. She’s wearing a demure, high-neck dress that makes me want to rip it off her gorgeous curves.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—that woman could wear absolutely anything, and she’d look like sex on legs.
Wicked Prince: A Secret Baby Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 5) Page 7