Can't Buy Me Love

by Abigail Drake

  She trailed her fingers inside the neck of his shirt, teasing his collarbone, sending heat shooting through him, beginning at the points where her lithe fingers seared his skin and never ending. He tore his mouth from hers, grazing her neck with his lips, running them over the smooth surface of her neck to her ear. He drew her earlobe into his mouth, giving it a soft suck, a gentle tug.

  Bailey in his arms was his nirvana, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted her closer, to feel her skin on his, to deepen their kiss until they drove one another insane. He tugged her onto his lap, not caring that she’d feel him, and know just how much he wanted her. He’d been hard from the instant she’d arrived, maybe even before.

  She sighed, opening her mouth against his, letting him slide his tongue inside, allowing him access. He traced his hand up her spine, pulling her ever closer so her breasts pressed against his chest.

  Ash wanted her straddling him. Naked. But this was just a kiss, could only ever be a kiss.

  He cupped her right breast, running the pad of his thumb over her already firm nipple, teasing her through the fabric. Bailey gasped, pressing closer, pushing down on his obvious erection. God, it was more than he could bear. He had to end it immediately, before he relieved them both of their clothes.

  Asher broke the kiss. He stared hard at Bailey, taking in her reddening chin (a by-product of the scrape of his five o’clock shadow on her delicate skin) and her mussed hair. Her chest rose and fell as she regarded him, breathless.

  His memories of long text sessions with Bailey, making her laugh, holding her as she cried, all came back. Bailey listened to him, understood him when no one else had. Most important, when he was with her, his loneliness seeped away. Somehow, in a place where he’d thought he’d never bring any woman, and in a life where he’d thought he’d never find anyone, he’d done both of those things.

  Ash had fallen in love with Bailey Parker. It was the very worst thing he could have done.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bailey

  Bailey stood on the stone balcony outside her room, night sounds settling on her shoulders. She still couldn’t believe she’d come to the Winter Palace. Even after a week, it still seemed surreal. That day had been the most exhilarating, and all because of Ash’s kiss. Kisses.

  Oh, man.

  From the moment his lips had touched hers, she’d come alive. Not just her body, but also her mind and heart. He’d awoken sensations within her that she’d resigned herself to never experiencing. Because she’d never lived through anything as amazing as Ash’s lips on hers.

  Just when she’d thought she’d been handed everything, he’d backed away. He’d apologized and claimed not to have meant it. Part of her heart got crushed then, and it was only the beginning.

  Their press interview was the next day. After she gave her statement about how Ash was simply helping someone he cared for, she could go. Back to her life and her empty apartment with her devoted dog. But Bailey knew she wouldn’t be going back as the same version of herself. Being with Ash had changed her.

  You can’t sleep, either?” His voice slid into her mind, quietly, making her think she’d dreamed it.

  But when she turned, she spotted Ash, shirtless, on the balcony across from hers. She tried to keep her gaze from sliding over his torso—over the toned skin that seemed to form an arrow, pointing toward the waistband of his trousers.

  “It’s jet lag, I think.”

  It was a weak excuse, but he had the good grace to accept it, or at least pretend to. He nodded even though she should have been well on her way to overcoming the time difference.

  “Mmm.” His eyes perused her body the way hers had his. She shivered as though he’d touched her, not simply looked at her. “I can’t claim the same. I’m afraid you, and you alone, are to blame for my restlessness.”

  Bailey’s breath hitched in her chest. Why did he have to say things like that? Little strings of words designed to squeeze her heart and give her hope?

  “What do you mean?” She gripped the collar of her shirt as if to cover herself. Even though she was fully clothed. Ash somehow made her feel naked.

  “I mean,” Ash said, vaulting the narrow distance between their two balconies in one, fluid movement, “that I can’t stop thinking about you, Bailey Parker. I’ve been thinking about you ever since you sent me your photograph.”

  “But today . . . you said it was a mistake.” She cringed inwardly as she remembered the moment. The very instant the best kiss of her life ended with a verbal slap in the face.

  “Kissing you was a mistake.”

  Bailey pressed her fingers to her temples. “I don’t understand. You say you want me and you kiss me, but then you tell me it’s wrong. Why?”

  Ash turned from her. He did so stiffly, as though it involved some sort of physical strength or internal resolution. “It’s just . . . I’m getting married.”

  Bailey froze. Every muscle in her body had stopped working. She could no longer hear the distant crash of waves or taste the salt hanging in the air. Her life had been placed in a stale purgatory.

  “Excuse me?” She choked out the question, forcing her vocal cords into submission. “You kissed me and you’re engaged?”

  “I’m not engaged.” He shoved his fingers into his hair. “Not yet. We’re down to four candidates. All heiresses.” Their roles shifted, so that it was Ash who seemed pained. Ash who couldn’t speak properly.

  And she got it. “You’re only doing this to save the palace. To protect your grandmother.”

  He let his hands drop. “Yes.”

  “And there’s no one else?” she asked.

  “There couldn’t be anyone else. I will try and I will do the right thing, but it won’t be real. She won’t be you.” His hands clenched and unclenched where they met the stone railing.

  He couldn’t marry another woman. Not when she’d only just figured out her feelings. “I don’t want you to marry anyone else.” She didn’t bother to hide the desperation in her voice. For that’s what she was—a hot, desperate mess.

  “Bailey, please.” He gritted his teeth. “This will only make it harder on us.”

  “But I understand.”

  He froze. “You do?”

  Nodding, she took a calming breath to drum up her courage and closed the space between them. “I do. Family is important. If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

  He didn’t say anything, only bracketed her face with his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead.

  “Before you marry your heiress, though, I want you to know what it’s like to make love to someone who loves you.”

  His lips parted in surprise and he backed up. “You love me?”

  She gave him one, slow nod, not trusting herself to speak. If he’d asked her anything else, she might’ve crumbled to pieces on the stone at his feet.

  “If I start kissing you, I’ll never be able to stop,” he said.

  Drawing a shaky breath, she held out her hand. “Then don’t.” He didn’t take it. Instead, he rushed forward. In a heartbeat, he was close, too close, and not close enough.

  “No more talking.” He moved to cup her face in his hands, but slowed just before he touched her, as though she were made of glass. When his hands finally made contact with her skin, the sensation was too intense. As though she were a flower finding the warmth of the sun after a dark winter.

  He’d given Bailey every opportunity to break contact and change her mind, but it was the one thing she never would have done. She wanted his kiss, this memory. She wanted him. To know what it was like to be with him, at least once.

  Bailey leaned forward, forcing Ash’s hands to fall away, and met his lips with her own. The shock of the contact coursed through her, along with utter, instant relief. His lips were soft and warm and everything wonderful.

  But as the kiss deepened, the reprieve fell away. Their urgency built as, again and again, their mouths met beneath the starry sky. Ash nipped her lips with
his teeth, tugging the bottom one, letting his tongue caress the surface, and leaving a path of fire in its wake.

  She’d never kissed a man the same height as her. Their lips met easily. There was no need to strain or stretch. When Ash’s arms encircled her, and tugged her against him, she felt all of him. Their bodies came in contact right where it mattered most.

  Ash groaned as Bailey deepened their kiss, exploring him, tasting him as he had her.

  His firm hold meant her breasts were pressed tight against his chest. Her nipples had hardened as though they remembered his touch and begged for more.

  God, she wanted him—even if it was only for one night. A night with a man who’d become her best friend and who also happened to be a prince.

  His eyes darkened with want. “Bailey . . .” Ash frowned as though he didn’t have the necessary words to continue.

  She swallowed, drumming up all of her courage. “Make love to me.”

  That seemed to be all Ash needed. Sliding his arms behind and beneath her, he swept her off her feet and carried Bailey into her bedroom. He’d barely made it inside when he released her enough so her feet could touch the carpeting. His arms went around her, encircling her, pulling her against him. He crushed his mouth to hers, his lips brutal torturers, seeking, pushing.

  Their mouths met, lips touching, bodies pressing together as again and again they sought one another’s lips. If they were only to have one night together, then they would make every moment count.

  She reached her trembling hands to the first button on her shirt. Slowly, she worked the buttons free. Until she stood before him, full breasts wrapped in black silk and see-through lace. Ash only stared, drinking her in.

  Bailey knew she wasn’t a thin woman; no one would ever call her that. She liked food a little too much and wine even more. So there was one moment, a single beat, where she worried. Had she made a mistake? What if he took one look at her and wanted to run? But no, she would not back down. This was who she was, for better or worse.

  But Ash reached up and slid her shirt from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. “So beautiful.” He reached back, unhooking her bra one-handed. There was something about a man who knew his way around a bra that Bailey found seriously attractive. She sighed as he tugged her bra off to reunite with her shirt. “My Bailey.”

  He cupped her exposed breasts, massaging the tender flesh and sending shivers to her toes. Bending his head, he sought one breast, tugging her already erect nipple into his mouth, sucking it into an even stiffer peak. He squeezed her generous hip with his free hand, kneading her ass, pulling her toward him.

  His actions sent a whirlwind of sensation pulsing through her. There was only his mouth and the wicked things he was doing with his tongue. She didn’t even notice when Ash guided her backward, until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. Together, they fell onto the coverlet.

  He shifted his attentions to her other breast and lowered his lips to it, suckling the sensitive skin around her nipple. Bailey moaned, pushing up against him, urging him on. He tended to the delicate spot, first rough, and then gentle, working at her skin, as though she were a dessert to be enjoyed, slowly.

  “Ash.” Bailey moaned his name as he licked her flesh. As much as she wanted to treasure the night, she also needed to be as close to him as possible. And she most definitely didn’t want to be the only one with her clothes off.

  She slid her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt, lifting it up, tugging it over his head.

  “Bailey.” Ash ground out her name, rolling her so they lay side-by-side, breathless, facing one another. With care, he dipped his finger just beneath the waistband of her jeans, so the tip grazed the top of her black lace underwear. Thank God she’d worn her good panties that day.

  He flicked the button on her jeans and tugged them, down past her knees and off of her legs. Until Bailey wore only black lace—and a smile.

  Ash grinned—a wicked, knowing smirk. Sliding to his stomach, Ash lowered his head between her parted thighs and proceeded to show Bailey exactly why he had a reputation with the ladies.

  God. She was in trouble.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Asher

  The letter came at just after three thirty that morning. It had been written in Jenson’s hand before someone, presumably Jenson himself, slid it beneath Bailey’s door. The outside contained Ash’s name. The inside, a single line.

  Lady Kovačič has accepted.

  Ash’s attention flashed to Bailey. He knew he could no longer stay with her. He belonged to Lady Kovačič. Even though he did not love her, couldn’t conceive of loving her, he would be faithful. All to save his ancestral home.

  Though he desired nothing more than to stay with Bailey. He couldn’t. It would only make things worse when everything ended.

  And it had to end.

  Back in his rooms, his mind spun in so many directions he couldn’t fall asleep. Not when the memory of Bailey naked above him filled his mind and stirred his loins.

  By the time he descended the steps leading to the interview room hours later, he could barely keep his eyes open. Ash moved straight for the coffee station, knocked back a single, black cup of espresso, and then poured another.

  Bailey moved to his side. “Where have you been?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” He patted Bailey’s hand, but didn’t meet her eyes and kept his distance. “Are you ready to get started?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with—”

  But Ash moved across the room to be fitted with a mic before she finished. He was being unforgivably rude, he knew, but she was too tempting. He should have waited for Bailey—made sure she wasn’t nervous. Held her hand. He did none of those things. To touch her again would mean the end of what little resolve he had.

  Bailey, however, had plenty of experience interacting with strangers, what with so many clients. She smoothly pulled herself onto a tall stool beside him. After several minutes, Bailey too had been outfitted with a mic. She switched it off and faced him. “What’s wrong?”

  He turned off his own mic. “Nothing. We have an interview.”

  “Is that the reason you left my bed without a word?” she whispered. “I thought last night meant more to you than that?”

  He gritted his teeth. “It did, but we both knew it could never be more. It could only ever be a one-night stand.”

  “So you were handed every man’s dream on a platter. Why are you being such a dick now?” She hissed the question.

  Guilt sunk to the soles of his feet. “Because I have to let you go, that’s why.” Ash didn’t bother to hide the emotion on his face. Not when he felt such acute pain at the thought of breaking things off with Bailey.

  Bailey’s tortured expression had to match his own, but whatever she was going to say got cut off by the moderator. “If you’re both ready, we’ll begin.”

  “Of course.” Bailey switched on her mic without a word.

  Ash followed her lead.

  The moderator faced the audience. “Thank you for joining us for this morning’s press conference. His Highness and Ms. Bailey Parker will now begin taking questions.”

  A reporter in blue plaid raised a hand. “Yes, Prince Asher. Are the rumors true? The royal family is destitute? That you’ve taken a job to keep your family in the palace?”

  Ash knew he was supposed to lie, he was supposed to pretend for the cameras. Right in that moment, however, he was tired of lying. To himself. To the press. To his people.

  He thought he should be honest. Should tell them the truth.

  But it was Bailey who rested her hand across his. “He took the job for me. The prince and I were involved. Having fallen into type design as a hobby, he offered to assist me on a few projects. That’s all.”

  “And no money exchanged hands?” This came from a ginger reporter with a round belly.

  “Yes, but it was for a new fund the palace has begun to support Florico’s historical buildings,” Bailey
said. “I’m afraid there’s no mystery. Prince Asher was merely helping a friend.”

  “And what is the nature of your relationship now? Will there be a ring on Bailey’s finger someday soon, Your Highness?” a reporter in a beige pantsuit asked.

  Ash shook himself out of his daze. “No. Ms. Parker and I have always been and will continue to be . . . just friends.”

  There were several more questions. Queries about Bailey’s business and clients, which she fielded. Ones about Prince Asher’s education in graphic design, which he responded to. But the excitement had fizzled from the room in much the same way air escaped from a helium balloon.

  Soon, too soon, the interview ended and only Ash and Bailey were left in the parlor.

  “I thought we’d have more time.” Bailey’s voice sounded rough, scratchy. “I know we said we’d just have last night, but . . .”

  “You would have taken a lifetime?” Ash asked.

  Ever so slowly, Bailey nodded. “You helped me when no one else would. I can move on now. I don’t want to, but I can. You’re my best friend. It may sound funny to you, but you are.”

  “It doesn’t. You’re mine. You’re the only person who I’ve truly been close to.” Ash slid from his stool so he could take her hands, and stare into those warm and wonderful eyes of hers for however many moments they had left. “I love you.”

  “And I love you. But now, I’ll have to stand by as you marry someone else.” Tears formed in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not making this any easier.”

  Ash pulled her into his arms, doing his best to memorize the way her body fit against his, and the smell of her shampoo—something floral. His memory would never do it justice.

  When the doors burst open at the far end of the room, the last thing Ash expected was for the queen to stride in, unannounced. A tall, reed-thin man in flannel and suspenders followed in her wake, as did Jenson.

  “Ma’am! Ma’am, I have to introduce you,” Jenson cried.