"Nothing's better than physically seeing and knowing what the person you're with likes. So again, I ask you. If you had to pick your favorite guilty pleasure item to eat from here, what would it be?"
Putting his arm around me, he turns us back toward the pantry. "The box of brownies," he answers immediately, reaching in to grab them. They're the Ghirardelli brand, double chocolate.
"That's a lot of sugar." I purse my lips as I gaze over at him. "Looking at you, you wouldn't think you eat any sugar."
"Don't eat much." He thumps the box against his thigh. "But when I do, I love chocolate."
"Duly noted." I tilt my head to the side. "See these are things the woman sharing your bed should know."
"Give me a chance Lia, and I'll teach you."
My eyes meet his and there's that shock of electricity that continues to pass between us. I'm wondering how long we'll be able to ignore it. When will it spark too bright, that it'll turn into a fire? This slow-burn will leave a trail of coals that at some point will ignite. The question is, how long will they simmer before they combust?
He clears his throat. When he speaks his voice is all gravel, deeper than normal, and full of an arousal I'm feeling all too well. "And you, Lia? What's your guilty pleasure?"
No one has ever called me by a nickname. For my entire life I've been known as Amelia. Not one person has ever shortened it, and to hear him shorten it after spending the last few days together? I'm not sure why, but it makes the pit of my stomach do funny things. Maybe I never meant enough to anyone else to give me a nickname, but the fact that he has? It makes me want to write our names on a notebook and draw a heart around it. I don't bring attention to it, because I would hate it if he stopped.
"Pancakes with maple syrup," I answer after looking through everything once.
"You're talking to me about sugar?" He tilts his head to the side this time. "Those who live in glass houses..." he lets his words trail off.
I laugh loudly, smiling what I know is a bright smile up at him. "I had no idea you had a sense of humor, much less a dry sense of humor. You should share that more."
"I've not been allowed to for a long time." He rubs his hand over his cheek. "Before my mom died, there was a lot of laughter, there was a lot of humor, even if it was tongue-in-cheek or at my father's expense. After she died," he closes his eyes, "there wasn't laughing, no jokes, nothing to smile about for a long time."
What he's just shared with me, breaks my heart. It's obvious he was just a young kid trying to figure out how to live in a world where he'd lost the most important person in his world. I try to think about how it would go from one day having everything, being a carefree kid, knowing someone loved you, and then not knowing how to act. In the end, I'm not sure how to approach the subject, all I know is I want to put that smile back on his face.
"Wanna make pancakes?"
A slow smile spreads across his face. "Yeah, yeah, I think I do."
"This is a mix, so we're just supposed to add water," I tell him after we've gotten everything situated on the counter next to the stove.
Well if you could call it a stove. I'm sure an executive chef could cook in here. Granite counter tops, industrial range, with what looks to be two ovens. My mom would kill for this setup.
"Adding water I can do." He flips over the package and reads the amount he's supposed to get.
"If you like doing this though, we can get a recipe and make them from scratch?"
"Yeah, I'd like that."
He's almost shy in admitting it's something he would like to do, and immediately that becomes my goal. For him not to be shy about the things he wants to do. For him to speak up and enjoy his life. Without his mom by his side, I think he's forgotten how to do that. I can show him how, if he'll let me, and I feel like by him sharing some of what he's gone through with me, he's allowed me in, just a tiny bit.
I turn on the burner, making sure the flame isn't up too high as I warm the pan up. He brings the water over, putting it into the bowl, where the mixture sits. "Can I stir?" He's almost bashful.
If anyone had told me a week ago this is where I'd be and this is what I'd be doing, I would have called them crazy, told them they had someone else's life and it sure as the devil wasn't mine. Yet, here I am, making pancakes with my new fiancé, the world's ex-most-eligible bachelor.
"Go for it." I hand him the spoon. "Just stir until it's incorporated."
He takes his job seriously and I have to wonder how long it's been since he's been given a task like this. He seems to enjoy it, and I wonder if this is something we'll do together from now on. Cook in the kitchen and spend time getting to know one another.
I hope so, more than anything, I hope this is our new normal.
"This good?" he asks, his voice quiet, almost as if he's completely unsure.
I look over into the bowl and see that he's done a good job getting all the wet ingredients mixed in with the dry. "Perfect! Now just take a scoop and ladle some onto the pan."
He does as I've asked him to do, watching intently as I hold the handle of the pan. "Have you ever watched anyone make pancakes before?"
"No." He shakes his head. "They've never been a favorite of mine, but if they're a favorite of yours I'll be giving them a shot. I can already tell."
Watching the batter, I notice the edges are starting to bubble as is the center. "We're ready to flip."
"Wait, I'll get you a spatula."
"Don't need one." I give him a wink as I flip it with a twist of my wrist, and watch it land perfectly on the other side.
"Holy shit! How did you do that?"
"Lots of practice, pancakes have been a favorite of mine for a long time," I explain as I finish this one off, flipping it onto a plate. "Put some more in the pan."
He does as asked, and I watch him, watching the batter. When I see that it's the perfect consistency to flip, I step aside. "Do you want to give it a try, Tristan?"
"Yeah." He's almost like a child in his enthusiasm, and I love every minute of this.
I stand behind him, showing him the movement I use with my wrist to get it to flip, then back up so that he doesn't elbow me in the face. "This is your moment, make sure you shine!"
He does what I've showed him, but he's not quick enough and the gooey side of the unfinished pancake lands against his sweater. I try to hold in the giggle as my mouth opens wide, but I can't stop it. The giggle comes out in full force.
"You think this is funny?" He turns to me, wearing a chest full of pancake mix.
"If you could see yourself." I giggle even louder, throwing back my head and holding my stomach as I give into the laugh.
This is one of those laughs that takes over every emotion you've felt in the last week and just lets you release it all. Every bit of nervousness, arousal, stress, happiness. It's all taken care of in this laugh, and when he starts to laugh with me? I realize this moment is as perfect as it can be.
"Try it again," I tell him, wiping at the corners of my eyes, and giving him a new scoop to try it on, after we got rid of the ruined one.
And that's how it goes for the next ten minutes. In the end, we only have three pancakes that are edible, and he has to take off his sweater. One thing I will never complain about, though, is Tristan in a skin-tight white undershirt. This will be my new favorite look for a while. He carries the plate to the table, and as we get there, I notice there's only one fork.
"Share with me?" His voice is hopeful, offering a piece of him that perhaps he's kept held back in the past few days.
"I'd love to."
Having a seat beside him, I watch as he cuts off the first piece, dips it in the syrup, and then holds it up to my mouth. That bite of cold pancake is the best bite of anything I've ever taken, and I'll remember it for the rest of my life.
Chapter Eight
Tristan
Amelia and I have had a full week to ourselves without having to do anything business related. We were to get comfortable with one another, l
earn things about each other, and figure out if we were compatible.
Given the way my body reacts to her every time she’s around, we’re fucking compatible. We’re learning and we’re getting comfortable, so I’d say we’re starting off impeccably. But things are about to change. In a few days we’ll get our assignments from the palace and a good portion of our time won’t be our own anymore.
Today, I want to take her on an adventure. Something I love to do, but not many people know about. In fact, I’m not even sure I’ve been photographed doing this before. It’s one of my favorite things, and I want her to enjoy it too.
“Tristan?” I hear her coming down the stairs. “Are you okay?”
I’m sitting in a chair in the quiet living room, looking out at the ocean. It’s a crisp, cool day, and the water is calm. Waves don’t crash, they leisurely make their way to the shore, then they’re almost lazy in their ascent up to the beach, before traveling back out into the pool of water, only to make the trip again. I probably look brooding, because that’s what everyone assumes about me, but I’m not. Not really. I’m thinking, trying to figure out how she’s going to respond to what I’m about to say.
I like dangerous things, living on the edge, being a rebel. It’s just now, I have to do it under the radar. I’ve been like this since my mom died; a therapist told me it had to do with the guilt of being the only survivor of the car crash we were in, and I suppose that’s right, but it hasn’t changed the way I am. That’s what I tell myself, but even I realize I like living on the edge and pushing boundaries more than the average soon-to-be-king.
“I’m good.” I clear my throat, turning around to face her. “The day is as beautiful as you are.” I slowly walk over, placing the palm of my hand on her hip, before I lean down, kissing her on the cheek.
She always blushes when I compliment her. It’s become a bit of a game for me. To see how red I can make her cheeks. I’m dying for the day when I can put that flush in them for something we’ve done physically. We haven’t moved that far yet, but it’s going to be soon, I can tell.
“Thank you.” She ducks her head in a slightly bashful manner.
“What are your plans for the day?” I circle my arms around her waist, crowding in so that she has to tilt her head back to look up at me.
“My plans?” She grins sheepishly and shakes her head. “I don’t really have any.” Her teeth are impossibly white against the dark color she has on her lips. Truth be told, it’s so perfectly applied it makes me want to mess it up slightly, and before I can temper my reaction, that’s what I do.
“I have plans.” My voice is deep, a guttural declaration as I capture her lips with mine.
When they touch, Amelia releases a soft mmm, and that sound? Goes straight south, with a detour to my heart. I feel her small hands go up under my shirt, testing the feel of my skin. I’ve never had a woman’s touch almost unman me the way hers does. The simplest of caresses makes me as hard as a teenager looking at his first porno mag. It would be embarrassing if it were with anyone but her.
Our mouths are twisting this way and that as our feet are trying to take the weight we’re throwing around. I’m not even sure where we’re going, all I know is I’m walking backward, and I know there’s a couch or a chair somewhere in the vicinity. The back of my legs finally encounter something. Not wanting to accidentally sit on the coffee table, I reach back, feeling material. With a grunt, I have a seat, pulling her on top of me, spreading her legs around my waist, and moving my hands down to cup the cheeks of her ass to pull her tighter into me.
With other women, it’s not been like this. I haven’t enjoyed the playing. Anyone I’ve ever been with before would call me the fucking most selfish lover they’ve ever had. It’s always been about me getting off. Yeah, I got them off too, but it wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t seducing them with soft kisses and palms cupping their asses. It was going after them hard, almost begging them to have an orgasm right after I was done. Amelia? She’s changed something in me, flipped a switch I didn’t know was there. It’s interesting finding out new things about myself, when I thought I knew everything there was to know.
I can feel her heat around me, can feel her slightly bumping her hips against the length underneath the jeans I wear. Her tongue is tangling with mine, her hand in my hair, holding me to her, the other hand, moving down my body to where my belt buckle rests. One of my hands has come off her ass and is moving underneath her shirt, up to where her breasts are held by what I can feel is some sort of lace. Fuck what I wouldn’t give to rip the shirt off her body and have a go at her right here. But I can’t, there are people around, and with her, I’m not into exhibition. When I get her naked, either over top of me, or beneath me, it’ll be for my eyes only.
Ripping our lips apart, I gasp deep breaths in, trying to get oxygen into deprived lungs, while she does the same. Her forehead rests against mine as we pant against each other, both licking the taste of one another off our lips.
“Believe it,” I pant, letting out a breath, “or not, that wasn’t what,” I reach down adjusting myself against her, “I meant when I said I have plans.”
She giggles, the sound deep in her throat. “What exactly are your plans then, Tris?”
She’s taken to calling me Tris, and fuck if I don’t love it. Tilting my head back, I give a cocky grin as I see her lipstick is slightly smudged. Mission accomplished. With the pad of my thumb, I wipe it off, fixing the imperfection, while giving myself a pat on the back. Sitting her slightly away from me, I take a second to compose myself, before speaking.
“We have a few days left before we’ll be working in an official capacity, and I thought today, if you didn’t have plans, I could take you out and show you something I really enjoy.”
Her eyes are shining bright as she looks down at me. “I don’t have any plans, I’d love to see whatever you want to show me.”
Something in my heart twinges at the honest tone of her voice. No one’s been interested, truly interested in things I enjoy, in a very long time. Sure there have been people who’ve pretended. I entertained them because that’s what I was supposed to do. With her? I want to be the person she seems to see when she looks at me. Tapping her hip, I motion for her to get off of me. “Go upstairs and put some warm clothes on, preferably tight. I’ll have a jacket for you when you come down, and if you have a pair of boots, you’ll want those too. Not high-heeled or anything like that.”
“Hiking?” She appears confused as hell, and that’s kinda how I like it. Keeping her on her toes, and hopefully surprising her. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Okay, Tris. I trust you. Be back in a few minutes.”
Those simple words – I trust you – mean more to me than anything else ever has.
“This isn’t exactly what I thought you had in mind,” she mumbles as we stand in the garage, me helping her put on a helmet, her wide eyes on the Ducati in front of her. The fear is apparent, but if I know her, there’s also a tinge of excitement. I always get it. Doing something I’m not supposed to be doing. There’s a big of arousal in it. It’s a feeling I’ve craved for too long in my life.
“You’ll love it, and I promise not to go too fast.” Which I kind of know is a lie. This thing is basically a Ferrari on two-wheels. It’s tricked out, like everything else I have, all matte-black and bad ass looking. No one knows this is my bike, I can ride it in complete anonymity, and that’s the thing I love most about it.
Handing her a jacket, I instruct her on how to fasten it, and then give her gloves. “Why does this feel so structured?” she asks as she tries to move in the jacket.
“It’s got Kevlar in it, just in case.”
Her eyes widen again, and I can see her start to panic. “Lia, you’re safe me, I promise.”
I watch her swallow roughly, so hard I hear it. “Okay, I trust you.”
There are those words again, and as we get on, start the engine, and prepare to fly down the coastal highway, I know those ar
e words I’ll do my best to keep hearing for the rest of our lives together.
Chapter Nine
Amelia
My stomach is in my throat as Tristan takes a curve at a high rate of speed. The way I’m situated on the back of his bike, I can’t see much, and if I just glance, it looks like we’re about to plunge right into the sea. It’s enough to make me squeal and giggle, all at the same time. He looks back at me, but he’s wearing a full-face helmet like I am, so there’s hardly anything I can see. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I hold on tightly, probably too tightly.
Who am I kidding? I’m allowed to touch his body, hang on to it, press myself up against him as we ride down the coastal highway. No one knows who we are, there’s not a huge motorcade following us or preceding us. Parker is a few car-lengths back in a Range Rover, and for all intents and purposes this feels very much like a date.
There’s a crossing that we have to stop at. I use the moment to catch my breath.
“You doing okay?” he asks as he straightens up, putting his feet on the ground. One hand goes to his thigh, the other goes to where my fingers are clasped around his waist. He covers mine with his warmth and gives a slight squeeze.
“I love this!”
“Do you really?” He turns so that he can look at me.
“Yeah,” I nod. “This is a lot more fun than I thought it would be. Thank you so much for bringing me.”
“It’s truly my pleasure.” He lifts his hand up, giving me a squeeze just above my elbow. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah.” I smile brightly, even though he can’t see it. This is the best time I’ve had, maybe ever.
He hits the gas a little harder, causing me to squeal again and grasp him tighter around the waist. After riding for a little while longer, we come to a stop again.
“Are you getting hungry?”
Royal Rebel: A Royal Romance (The Haldonia Monarchy Book 1) Page 5