Em could feel herself backing away, shaking her head, which was ridiculous, since her cellphone went with her. “I can’t. Not yet.”
And then there it was again, an image…a past, something teasing the fringes of her consciousness, wanting to be let in.
Beautiful, sleeping children…
“What are you afraid of?” Peyton asked softly. Her words shattered the image, and it was gone.
Emma took a deep breath and said, “I’ve never had this happen with anyone I’ve dated before. But the shimmer behind him, it’s always there, trying to get my attention. Generally when I squash something like that down, it stays gone, but now it’s…”
“The ‘something’ is asking to be recognized, Em. Whether you decide to let the story reveal itself to you or not, you may not have a choice. Things that want to be revealed will do so, and if you don’t make time to listen, the story will find another way to show up, likely at the least opportune time.”
After she hung up, Emma mulled over what her cousin said. The story will reveal itself. Maybe so, but if she could help it, it wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
chapter 19
Peter curled around Emma, listening to her sleep, feeling her breathe. Doing basic, everyday things with her packed an emotional punch like nothing he’d ever experienced. Yet at the same time it was wildly, irresistibly familiar.
She stirred beside him. They’d returned to his mansion after dinner, and he made love to her, slowly, meticulously, exploring every inch of her glorious, curvy body in great detail. As soon as he thought about it, he was hard again.
He nuzzled her neck, and she stirred a bit more. Then he trailed his lips to her shoulder.
“Good morning,” she said softly.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “I want you again.” She tried to turn onto her back.
“No, don’t, my love. Stay there, with your back to me.” He ran his hands over her delectable bottom and opened her thighs, caressing her.
Emma groaned, tightening around his fingers, and she was instantly wet again. Peter held his rock-hard penis in his hand and slid it inside her from behind. Pulling her tightly to him, he thrust himself upward, deeper inside of her.
“Ohmigod, Peter, this feels amazing,” Emma said breathlessly as her tight channel quivered, and then she started to shake.
Peter kissed her neck and rasped, “It gets even better.” He skimmed his hand down to rub the magic spot between her legs. Ground zero.
“Ah-ah-ah, Peter! I’m cominnnngggg,” she shrieked as she erupted around him. Then he let go inside her as well, a breathtaking, hot orgasm that shook him to his core.
. . .
“How does this work, then?” she asked as they sat on the patio eating breakfast after making love one more time. Their table overlooked the perfectly landscaped garden, which was pristine, and private, and seemed to be an endless span of rolling green grass dotted with colorful flowerbeds.
Peter cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
Emma did a circle with her hand. “I mean this, us. How far off the radar screen do we need to stay?”
“Oh, you mean do we need to sneak around wearing sunglasses and hats?” His mouth curled up at one corner.
“Now you’re poking fun,” Emma said, “but I’m completely serious. Should we stop meeting in public?”
Peter reached over and took her hand. “I love that you’re so worried, but you needn’t be. No one knows me—well, not anyone who’d want to create an ‘international incident’—and no one cares. It’s not like I’m Prince Harry.”
“Do you know him?” Emma cocked her head.
Peter nodded. “Of course I do. All we royals know each other.”
“Now you’re making fun of me again.” She pouted, just for fun, then grinned to let him know she wasn’t really upset.
“I’m serious. I know Harry and Will. We used to play together. Though they are both a tad younger than I am,” he winked. “In fact, I knew their mother, too. Diana. Extraordinary woman.”
Emma had a hard time believing she was sitting here with a prince who was a friend of the British royal family. She was certainly no novice when it came to celebrities, but most were a creation of social media or a sex tape that surfaced “accidentally,” or whatever movie or show they were working on. There were few celebrities who were born into the trade, so to speak, not like royalty. Royalty was a whole different level of celebrity.
“So,” Peter continued, “to answer your question, no. We don’t need to worry about being recognized. Soon I’ll tell my parents, and that will be that.”
“This is moving awfully fast,” she said, but with a slight hesitation. She loved their idyllic times together, and she loved him, but the pace left her breathless.
Peter gripped her hand tighter, “You’re right, it’s moving fast. Because when you find the love of your life, you don’t wait. There are no guarantees. I know all too well it can disappear in the blink of an eye.”
Emma could feel the sting of tears behind her eyes. She couldn’t even imagine how devastated he must have been.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I am truly sorry for your loss and apologize for reminding you.”
He nodded, his gaze drifting off. “It was a hard time, to be sure, and I don’t think you ever get over the loss of someone you love. But eventually you find ways to cope so it doesn’t hurt so much.”
He shook off his mood. “Let’s do something today, something fun, just the two of us.”
Emma shook her head. “I have to watch the store. Grandfather isn’t up to it yet.”
“I didn’t forget. I’ve asked Jeffrey to help him out today.”
“Your butler?”
Peter said, “He knows your grandfather, and he’s a great help.”
“Peter, no, it’s okay, really. I am sure my grandfather will freak if he finds someone unexpected in his store.”
“I already asked Marcel, and he’s fine with it. He said to tell you to have fun.” His face creased into a broad grin.
Emma wanted to be mad at him for reorganizing her life willy-nilly, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t had a day off since she returned to the Hamptons, and she’d love to spend her day off with Peter.
“Is this ‘take charge and take over’ thing part of being royal?”
He nodded. “When the occasion warrants, yes. We royals are known for running amok, as you no doubt have heard—whether it’s capturing a country, or freeing up your afternoon.”
“I’m fine with spending the day with you, but no country-capturing today, okay?”
“We have a deal. Oh, and tonight there’s a gala in the city. For a charity, something I’ve been working on. I’d be honored if you would accompany me. Don’t worry, I’m sure TMZ won’t be there. It’s only a bunch of retired rich people donating to save animals. Nothing sordid enough for the paparazzi, I’m sure.”
“I have nothing to wear.” Emma sipped her coffee.
“I’ll take care of it,” he winked. “More royal ‘take charge,’ I admit it. Do you mind?”
She discovered she didn’t mind. Aside from her time with her grandparents, Emma had been on her own. Although she loved the freedom, it was fun to be with a man who automatically took care of things. Fun in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
“Oddly, I don’t mind at all.”
Peter leaned over and kissed her softly, “I love doing things for you, Emma, because I love you.”
She almost said it back, but couldn’t. She needed more time…to be sure—but of what?
Well for starters, the damned shimmer kept emerging behind him. The images were becoming more forceful. She saw children, and a palace and…She pinched her eyes shut as though she could magically block it all out. Yes, there was no doubt it was a past life screaming to be reckoned with. Whether or
not she was willing.
chapter 20
Their day was perfect. Peter took her out on his sailboat, although “boat” wasn’t quite the correct term. It was more like a mini yacht, and it was gorgeous. They sailed in the late morning and spent most of the afternoon at sea. Peter had ordered a lunch, and he dropped anchor at a spot in the harbor where they could see the outline of Manhattan off in the distance while they ate.
“This is so beautiful,” she said, while they stood eating lunch and looking at Manhattan.
“I love it here.” He finished the bite of his sandwich before continuing. “I come out here whenever I need to think.”
Peter sat down, and Emma sat beside him on a slightly curved deck couch looking out across the back of the yacht. He opened his arms, and she slid into them, warm and safe.
“Tell me about Belgium,” she said.
He arched an eyebrow, “Surely you remember from when you visited. We did meet, though I honestly don’t remember it as well as one should remember one of the most significant days of one’s life.”
Emma took his hand while they both stared out on the water. “At the palace,” Emma scraped through her mind, trying to remember the visit. “It was so long ago, and I was barely seven, so I have only a faint recollection of the trip. Plus, it was a difficult time. My parents had both gone haywire, and Marcel and Willa took me there to distract me, I think.”
Peter kissed the top of her head, “I’m so sorry about your parents, Em. It must have been very hard. But don’t let Marcel hear you say you remember it only vaguely, or he’ll have you on the next plane. Tell me what you remember, Em.”
Emma was silent for a moment, and then she said, “I remember it was beautiful, lots of green, pastures, and red brick farmhouses dotting the landscape. Playing at the palace, I remember running up and down the stairs and a lady yelling at us.”
“That would have been my mother,” he said matter-of-factly.
Emma continued. “The air was clear and fresh, and the food was incredible. I remember the food very well.”
“Good girl,” he chuckled, “I always wonder who will be savvy enough to notice how amazing the food is there. Paris gets a lot of buzz, but Belgium beats them all.”
“I also remember the beer.”
“At seven? That’s young, even in Belgium.”
Emma giggled. “Grandfather stocks Belgian beer at his apartment, so every once in a while, we have a bottle. Do you miss it? Living there, I mean.”
“Sometimes. Even with my duties to the crown, you know, daily stuff like store openings and random, unimportant things, life there was much simpler than it is here. But I love New York, too, for very different reasons.”
“Will you ever live there again?” she asked and then realized she’d stepped into a subject they’d both been trying to avoid.
Peter hesitated and then said, “Technically, if I marry the way my parents have planned, I am supposed to spend more time there. But since it’s not happening…”
“You don’t know yet, Peter. A lot can happen between now and…”
Peter turned her around, “Emmeline, listen. I know it’s hard for you to believe this can be real and move so quickly, but it can, and it has.”
She gave him a luxurious kiss. “I know. I’m sorry, but it’s taking me a while to get used to how fast this is happening.”
Peter dropped his forehead onto her shoulder. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I will be patient, or more patient. Those three days without you made me painfully aware of how much I care for you, and how difficult I find it when we’re apart.”
“I missed you, too,” she whispered.
He kissed her, and then made love to her, right there, on the deck of his boat.
. . .
The charity ball was held at the New York Public Library, and it was spectacular. The entire venue had been booked for the evening. Emma wore a shimmery, deep blue gown that fit her perfectly.
Peter ordered three gowns for her to choose from, and several pairs of Manolo Blahniks to go with them. He told her if she didn’t like anything he selected, they would go out and find a more suitable gown. But how could she not love what he picked out for her? He had impeccable taste.
He seemed to be without a single flawalthough perhaps he was a tad impetuous, but she couldn’t fault him for it. In fact, she was reveling in the attention he lavished on her. He was also a teensy bit too used to getting his way—not spoiled, per se, but, well, prince-like. No doubt because he’d spent his life with the world at his feet. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to spend your entire life in a gold-plated fishbowl.
They pulled up in the limo Peter hired for the event, and when Emma emerged, she saw all the cameras and nearly ducked back into the limo. She hadn’t expected photographers, but she should have. He was, after all, royalty. Though he liked to downplay the media interest in his family, she should have guessed an appearance by a real, live prince wouldn’t go unnoticed. Peter slid out behind her and, sensing her unease, took her hand and smiled down at her.
“Don’t worry, love, simply follow my lead.” The cameras flashed, almost blinding her, as soon as they spotted the Prince with a woman on his arm.
“Prince Peter!” one of them yelled. Emma recognized him from the Post. She did her best to look down so he wouldn’t recognize her.
Peter looked over, smiled, and waved. “Em, smile for the cameras. They’re all wondering about the mystery woman on my arm tonight.”
Em looked away. “I’d rather not. I think I know a few of these folks.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry. Let’s get you inside. I hadn’t thought past having my picture in the media being good publicity for the charity. I apologize, darling.”
And then Emma realized how silly she was being. This wasn’t about her. So what if she appeared in a few sidebar mentions of a charity event, on the arm of the Prince of Belgium? She could say they were good friends, that his date was sick and she filled in for her. Or she could tell them the truth: Yes, we met a week ago, and we’re already madly in love.
Maybe a lie would be better after all.
Emma looked at Peter and smiled and then looked at the blinding, madly flashing cameras. The photographer from the Post yelled, “Hey Em, is that you?”
“Hi, Tim,” she nodded and waved. That was that. She’d been seen, and he knew her name, so now everyone would know her name.
International incident, here I come, she thought.
Emma leaned into Peter and said, “Is there some trade agreement I might screw up if I’m seen deeply involved with the Prince of Belgium, who has been promised to a Romanian chick?”
Peter laughed, “No, no trade agreements, and no one knows about any engagement. Our photo will be surrounded by a dozen or more others, and no one will pay any attention.”
“Thanks, guys,” Peter waved to the throng of photographers. “I need to get my date inside.”
Date. He’d said it. Aaaand there went her story about filling in for his date or saying they were friends.
They stepped through the doors, and Emma was stunned to see how the library had been transformed. There were elegant tables, both high-top cocktail tables and larger, seated tables, a dance floor at one end of the room, and the entire place was bathed in candlelight.
“This is incredible,” Emma breathed.
“Yes,” he said, still holding her hand, “they do some amazing events here. Thank you again for joining me. Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Only a dozen times on the way out here, but a girl never tires of hearing it.”
They walked through the room, and several people greeted Peter and shook his hand. He’d then introduce them to Emma. He kept one hand on the small of her back, and she really, really liked having his hand there. She recognized a few of
the people she met, mostly from the society column she perused regularly as part of her celebrity PR job.
“You know,” Peter leaned into her and spoke softly into her ear, sending a tingle down her spine, “it occurs to me that we’ve never had an actual courtship. We sort of went about this relationship all wrong.”
Emma gave him a mischievous look. “Are you saying you don’t like how it started?”
A naughty grin brightened his face. “Not at all, but I feel inspired to make up for the missed courtship.”
“What do you have in mind?” she asked, distracted by a flicker of something at the corner of her eye. Then a vision elbowed its way into her mind, again from the past. A sumptuous bedroom and wild lovemaking.
“You make me want to undress you, right here, right now. Those eyes, Emma.” His voice brought her back.
“Which might be a little awkward right here in the middle of this terribly highbrow event, don’t you think? Now you were saying about a courtship...?” she winked.
Peter cleared his throat. “Ahem. Yes, of course, thank you for being sensible.” He winked. “I decided to begin our courtship by asking you to a dance. Our first.”
“Why, I’d be honored, Sir.”
As if on cue, the orchestra played the first chords of The Nearness of You, and Peter escorted Emma to the dance floor. Several other couples followed. While Peter gracefully and skillfully guided her skimming across the dance floor, she added ‘great dancer’ to the list of his princely attributes. Maybe he truly was good at everything.
“Your princely ways continue to astound, Sir.” She smiled seductively. “You are a fantastic dancer.”
Peter leaned into her and said, “It’s a royal duty to take dance lessons. We must always be able to dance.”
“Can you waltz?” she asked.
“Yes, and you should see me do the Charleston.”
“Do you think you’ll have any use for it tonight?”
A Royal Affair Series: Book 1, 2, and 3: A paranormal, time travel, royal romance Page 7