I looked away.
“So you can’t hold hands because it’s personal, and getting personal reminds you of him and how shitty he treated you? How you can’t trust yourself?” Kit asked.
I drew a sharp breath. That wasn’t it. Not exactly. But how did I explain to Kit that Luke taught me one very important—and very painful—lesson: that I couldn’t have it all, and I was an idiot to ever believe I could?
I’d tried to juggle Emily Pace Designs and my relationship with Luke. I’d tried having a healthy work-life balance. But I’d failed.
I’d failed miserably. In my rational mind, I knew our divorce wasn’t entirely my fault. But deep down, part of me believed it was.
And if I couldn’t have it all, it was stupid to let good guys get close enough to start liking them. Because when push came to shove, I’d choose my career over them. They’d choose a girl who wasn’t quite so ambitious over me. In the end, I’d just be setting myself up for more heartbreak.
I couldn’t—wouldn’t—go through that again.
I wiped my eyes with the tissue. It was stained black from my mascara and eyeliner. Great. My eyes probably looked like two burn holes in a sheet.
“Something like that,” I said. “I can’t do relationship-type stuff because of everything that went down with Luke. But I also just don’t do relationships, period. I don’t ever let guys touch me like that. It makes me uncomfortable.”
Kit’s eyes were painfully earnest and kind when they met mine. “So how can I make it more comfortable for you?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I scoffed, my shoulders sagging. “Maybe I need touching lessons or something.”
He cocked a brow. “Touching lessons?”
“Yeah.” I scoffed again. “You know. We could condition me to not to freak out by having you touch me. Or something.”
Kit lifted his eyebrows. Oh, God, he thought I was being serious.
I wasn’t. But maybe…
I mean. We couldn’t go on like this. I had to learn how to hold Kit’s hand without wanting to die.
It wasn’t a great plan. But it was all I could come up with. We didn’t have time for anything else.
I looked at him. “Would you be up for that? Doing a…touching lesson with me?”
Kit looked at me. His eyes were serious, but they weren’t icy, either.
“Well. We’ve got to do something, haven’t we?” he replied.
My stomach flipped. Wow. I had no idea how it would work. If it would work. The thought of Kit holding me, of him kissing me, even if it was fake holding and fake kissing, made my heart race. And not in a good way.
But I had to try if I wanted to get EP Designs back.
I grabbed the bourbon and took one last pull. We were announcing our engagement in the morning. Probably a good idea to get this touching lesson in before that.
“All right,” I said. “Tomorrow, before the announcement—want to have some coffee and try it?”
Kit took the bourbon out of my hand. “Eight too early?”
I shook my head. “The hairdresser is coming at six-thirty. I’ll be ready.”
“Good,” he said, and tipped back the bottle.
I swallowed. “Please—please don’t say anything about…well. Everything I just told you.”
“Of course not.” Kit said it like he was offended I’d ever think otherwise. “I get why you don’t trust men. You’ve got every reason not to. But you can trust me, all right?”
I didn’t answer him.
“I’ll prove it to you, Emily. Any way that I can.”
He held my gaze for a beat too long. I felt the tug between our bodies then. The same magnetic tug I’d felt when were dancing. The shape of him—the way he smelled, the way he smiled—everything about him spoke to me.
Get up. I had to get up. Go to bed. Do something before I gave in.
I couldn’t give in. If I was going to hold Kit’s hand, I couldn’t fuck him, too. I knew all to well where that led. It led to falling in love. Love made me stupid. Love made me lose.
Kit was hot. Handsome. Smart. There’d be no halfway with him. One toe in the water, and I’d be in over my head. I’d been in over my head once before, with Luke. He’d taken my life away from me. Kit was giving me a chance to get it back. I would not fuck that up.
But my desire to touch Kit right then was so big it nearly knocked the wind out of me. He had some balls on him, being kind like this. Being adorable. Giving me exactly the kind of bourbon I liked at exactly the moment I needed it.
He was so wonderful it hurt.
“We’ll see,” I said. I stood, brushed off my jeans. “Thanks for listening. Sorry again about everything. Good night, Kit.”
I turned and made my way up the stairs. If I had to choose between being rude and being smart, I’d pick smart all day long.
But when he called “Good night, Emily,” after me, my heart still skipped a beat.
Chapter Fifteen
Kit
I was so bloody tired I couldn’t sleep.
I lay awake in my bed, staring at the ceiling. My room was quiet. Cold, just how I liked it for sleeping.
But I was burning up.
Kicking off the covers, I turned my pillow over to the cool side. I should not have had that bourbon. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time. Now? Not so much. I hardly drank anymore. I never had time to go out, so liquor hit me like a fucking semi truck these days.
Usually it was my work—my family—that kept me up at night. But tonight it was Emily who made my thoughts churn. I couldn’t shake the dissonance between her confident, enormous smile on the dance floor and the raw defeat in her eyes on the front step. I hated to see someone so lovely brought so low.
It bothered me.
She deserved better. I wanted better for her. Why she’d stayed with that fuckwad after he’d cheated on her the first time—
I let out the breath I’d been holding. That wasn’t my call to make. Who knew what went on behind closed doors? Love messed with your head. It made mincemeat of your rational mind. I understood that better than anybody.
Still, that didn’t stop me from wondering what I could’ve done to keep Em away from Luke. What if I’d tried harder to make her stay that afternoon in my office? What if I’d been honest about how I’d really felt? Maybe she would’ve sent Luke’s call to voicemail. Then—
But it didn’t matter what would’ve happened then, did it? Because it didn’t happen. It wasn’t real.
The trouble my family was in, though? That was.
Fixing that trouble had to come first. Always. My behavior had far-reaching consequences. I had to stay in control so I could do my duty.
Em had at least trusted me with the truth. That was something. I had to go gently with her. Go slowly. She was scared of getting close. Rightfully so.
I’d be damned if she was scared with me.
I’d called in several favors with the press and promised many more. It appeared we’d get lucky and only the good photos of Emily and I together would be published in the morning. The photos of us dancing would certainly aid our cause, and that was all because of her. Because she convinced me to get my head out of my ass and enjoy myself for once.
Had she genuinely enjoyed herself, too? I replayed the moment our faces touched on the dance floor. Had she been acting then? Or had the heat in her eyes been real?
The “touching lesson” she suggested was probably a stupid idea.
Scratch that. It was definitely a stupid idea. Tonight I’d learned the physical attraction we’d had all those years ago was still there. I could not slip up and act on it. I could not lose control.
Although my dick twitched at the idea of putting my hands on Emily again. She had a gorgeous body. The way she’d moved it against me, rolling her hips, those perfect tits—
Fuck. I was hard.
I reached down and wrapped my hand around my erection. I sucked in a breath. There’d be no sleep for me. The damn thi
ng had to be taken care of right bloody now so I could get at least a few hours’ rest.
Just this once. I’d allow myself to fantasize about Emily just this once, and then I’d never think of her this way again.
I swiped my thumb over the crown of my dick. Just this once I’d let myself imagine her naked in my bed. She’d spread her legs, and I’d lick her cunt, her hot, wet, perfectly tight cunt. I’d make her say my name. I’d make her come, again and again and again, and then I’d slide into her, she’d be so bloody hot, I’d feel the beat of her heart inside her pussy…
If Emily Kilpatrick was mine, I wouldn’t make her cry.
I’d make her fucking come.
I came in a burst of sensation and light, my hips bucking off the bed with the force of my orgasm. It left me sputtering for air, my heart pounding, the muscles in my legs cramping. Bright neon dots blurred my vision.
It left me feeling as empty and blank as the ceiling above me.
Loneliness sat so heavy on my chest I couldn’t breathe. The silence around me screamed. I needed—what did I need? To be with someone. Talk.
Emily. I wanted to talk to her. About everything. Nothing.
I just didn’t want to be alone.
I moved like a man possessed. Out of bed, bathroom, quick clean up. I threw on sweats and the first shirt I found—a tee broken in beyond recognition.
My footfalls were quiet on the rug in the hall. The muscles in my calves ached from bunching up just now. Emily’s room was three doors down from mine. When I got to her door, I put my hand on the knob. She was just on the other side. I imagined I could hear her breathing, even and deep, her mind as tranquil as mine was unsettled.
I raised my hand to knock. I hesitated. I had no right to do this. It was in direct violation of the contract (contact outside of our official engagements wasn’t really supposed to happen). Would she even want to see me? What if I scared her? To be honest, I was scaring myself.
Ten years ago, I’d decided to bury my grief. My siblings had been so young when it’d happened. I’d had to be the strong one. The parent. So I’d slapped on a stiff upper lip and got on with it. Joy was gone, but so was hurt.
That decision had worked out so far. It was lonely. But it worked. Then Emily Kilpatrick comes crashing back into my life, and all of the sudden I couldn’t stand the loneliness. Maybe she reminded me of what I’d been missing all this time. What it’d been like, having someone there to help shoulder the burden of my position the way mum and dad had done for each other.
But Emily wasn’t that someone. She couldn’t be.
I leaned my forehead against the door and let out a breath. What the hell was I thinking? No matter what Emily said, or how much better she’d make me feel, she wasn’t sticking around.
She wasn’t going to fill the gaping hole inside me that opened up the day my parents died.
I rolled my head against the door. And then I stood up and went back to my room.
Chapter Sixteen
Emily
The Next Day
I woke up to a handful of texts from Luke. The photos last night must have hit the wires, because he mentioned them several times.
New boyfriend? Didn’t take you as one to fall for the whole fuddy-duddy royal thing.
Please call me. I’m concerned. You’re getting in over your head.
I know you don’t want to talk to me, but this is urgent. I’m worried, Em.
I ignored all of them, of course. Although I’d be lying if I said his warnings didn’t give my morning a jittery start.
I held onto the bedpost as I slipped into a pair of tall patent leather pumps. Turning to face the full-length, three-way mirror—my bedroom was outfitted with every ridiculous luxury imaginable—my heart pounded.
Sloan had done her job. I really did look like a princess. I was wearing a green Victoria Beckham midi dress—Sloan’s top pick for the announcement—with the matching pumps and simple gold jewelry. Considering I’d hardly slept a wink last night, the hair and makeup people had really worked some miracles earlier this morning. I looked way better than I felt.
I smoothed the beautiful fabric down my sides. My hands were shaking. It had to be close to eight. Kit would be here any minute for our touching lesson. Whatever that turned out to be.
I was going to be sick. I mean, yeah, Kit had been so wonderful last night. So wonderful. The Ice Prince was a distant memory. The guy Kit had been on the stairs was someone else entirely. But that didn’t mean I should trust him.
That didn’t mean I should ask him to touch me.
And then there was the issue of me being photographed while pulling away from Kit. I’d been avoiding the internet like the plague all morning. I didn’t want to know if those pictures had been published or not. Maybe Kit and his team had somehow worked their PR magic, or called some favors in to prevent that particular news from hitting the wires.
Or maybe they hadn’t. Which meant this touching lesson wouldn’t even have to happen. Our fake engagement was already over. I’d killed it, and I’d killed EP Designs along with it.
Resisting the urge to tear a hand through my perfectly coiffed hair, I took a steadying breath.
There was a knock on the door.
“Emily? It’s me.” Kit’s muffled voice filled the silence of the room.
I swallowed, hard.
“Come in.”
Kit slipped through the door, closing it softly behind him. Our eyes met in the mirror. His were piercingly blue in the thin winter light streaming through the windows.
My stomach did a somersault. There were tiny purple thumbprints under his eyes. But even so, he looked capital-H Handsome.
Kit was dressed in a crisp white button down, the sleeves rolled up, and navy slacks. His neatly combed hair was still a little wet from the shower. I could smell his aftershave from here. He always smelled good enough to eat. And his forearms—thick with sinew and muscle and veins that popped against his smooth, tan skin—I could’ve eaten those, too.
For half a heartbeat, Kit’s eyes widened as they caught on my body. They moved over me, taking in every inch. Every curve. I could’ve sworn his nostrils flared, too, just once, when his eyes strayed to my ass.
But then he straightened, clearing his throat, and focused his gaze on my face in the mirror.
I was suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” I looked down at my dress. Lowered my voice. “Any news?”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle. We’ve managed to keep the less flattering pictures from last night under wraps. They published the ones from our entrance instead. You look perfect in the photos. Everyone is absolutely buying it so far.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s really good news, Kit. Thank you. I’m so sorry.”
He took a step forward, coming to stand behind me. He held up a velvet box. It looked tiny in his enormous fingers.
“Your engagement ring,” he said.
I blinked. My engagement ring. Right. Because Kit and I were engaged now. Fake engaged. But engaged nonetheless.
I turned away from the mirror to face him as he opened the box with a small, muffled crack.
The breath left my lungs. Nestled in a puddle of more velvet was an enormous antique emerald ring. The emerald itself was a large square—cushion cut, maybe?—surrounded by a delicate halo of diamonds. There was some lovely gold filigree work around the emerald. Two small, pear-shaped emeralds dripped down the sides of the ring.
It was a total stunner, and totally my style.
I glanced up to see Kit watching me. He had this funny look on his face. This softness.
“I thought the history buff in you might like this one,” he said. “It was my mother’s—the emerald is one of the oldest gems in the royal collection. Apparently Queen Elizabeth I wore it in a brooch, although we can’t say for sure. It’s why there are emeralds in our family crest.”
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I nodded. “I’ve been meaning to ask about the crest. What it all means.”
“You’re in luck. It’s engraved on the ring.” With blunt-edged fingers, Kit dug the ring out of the box and turned it upside down. He held it so I could see. The crest was stamped into the gold on the underside of the ring. He pointed to it with his pinkie. “The roses there—that’s where we get our family name, Thorne. Legend has it we were a thorn in some evil king or another’s side. And the swords represent our battle to do good. Also our general badassness on the battlefield.”
I grinned. “Obviously. Kit, this is so, so cool.”
“Thanks. I happen to think so, too. That crown was added back in the fourteenth century, when the Thorne family married into the royal family. That’s when our line began.”
“What about the moon?”
Kit’s eyes flicked to meet mine. They were tired but also playful. Warm. “That’s my favorite part. No one is entirely sure where the moon came from. If you look it up on Wikipedia, it will tell you some nonsense about the heavens and how they’re aligned in our favor. But the crescent moon is actually a symbol of the Goddess Diana. Goddess of the hunt. We’re hunters, see.”
If I’d looked down, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see that Kit had reached inside my chest and wrapped his hand around my heart, giving it a big old squeeze. He was proud of his family. He believed in their story. I understood why he was so dedicated to them and the work they did. Luke had been so cynical toward the end of our relationship. But Kit was hopeful. He not only lived inside a fairy tale, he believed in it. There was something unbelievably sweet about that.
“Hunters of what?”
“Truth,” he said. “Knowledge. The good things in life.”
Smiling, I said, “Women and wine?”
He laughed. “Not if it gives me a hangover. Here, try it on. Size six, right?”
I nodded mutely as I slid it onto the fourth finger of my left hand; I’d forgotten I’d given Kit my ring size the day I signed the contract. I held my hand out, and the light from a nearby lamp caught on the diamonds, making them sparkle and wink. My heart skipped a beat.
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