Royal Ruin

by Jessica Peterson

  It was gorgeous, yes. But it was the fact that it had such history—that it belonged to Kit’s mother—that really made it special.

  “Oh my God,” I said. “It’s…Kit, it’s beautiful.”

  His eyes lingered on my hand before he closed the box with his first two fingers and set it on the bureau. “I’m glad you like it.”

  I turned back to the mirror and held my hand against my dress. The ring matched it perfectly.

  “I may have told Sloan about the emerald,” Kit explained. He scratched the back of his neck. Was he blushing? “It was a shot in the dark, but just in case you wanted to match…Well. Sloan thought it was cute, anyway.”

  “It’s perfect.” I smiled at him in the mirror. “Thank you.”

  His eyes were on my hand again. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Was he thinking about his mother, I wondered?

  A beat of awkward silence passed between us. Kit put his hands in his pockets. My heart took off at a gallop.

  I let out a breath. “How do you think we should do this? The touching lesson, I mean.”

  Kit’s hand was now clasped around the back of his neck, making his bicep and the rounded ball of his shoulder bulge against his shirt. A rush of longing filled my core, spreading to the tips of my fingers, my lips, the backs of my knees.

  His eyes met mine in the mirror. “Perhaps we should start with a safe word? Something more succinct than ‘back the fuck off’?”

  “Okay.” I laughed. A nervous, ridiculous sound. “Sure. A safe word. Any suggestions?”

  Kit shrugged. “How about ‘lawnmower’? You were really good at that move. I, however, was complete and utter rubbish at it. At every move, as a matter of fact.”

  “You were fine.” My laugh moved into a smile. “Lawnmower. All right. I like it.”

  “Brilliant. Now what?”

  I took a deep breath. Let it out.

  “We don’t have to do this, you know,” I said.

  “Yes we do,” he replied softly.

  “For the monarchy. For queen and country.” I looked down at my feet. The pumps were starting to pinch my toes. “Right. How could I forget?”

  Kit moved a bit closer, so that he was half a step behind me. My body pulsed with an awareness of just how close. A wall of strength and starched white shirt. He could hurt me in so many ways right now.

  He could touch me, too.

  “And for you,” he said. “We have to do this for you.”

  I started, my eyes flicking to meet his. “For me?”

  “Yeah.” He said it casually, like the answer to my question was obvious. “I imagine you’ll want to be comfortable enough one day to hold hands with a bloke. Not me, of course. But someone you’re actually with. I’d like to help you get there.”

  My throat closed in.

  I was so not prepared for this. For his sweetness.

  “Let’s start with the hand on the back thing,” I said, swallowing. “If you don’t mind going slow…”

  Kit looked at me for a long moment before responding. “Of course. Remember, just say ‘lawnmower’ if you need me to stop. Or just ‘stop’, I guess—obviously that will work, too.”

  He moved even closer to stand beside me. He was still half a head taller than me, even though I was in some pretty wicked heels. Taller and broader and bigger, masculine in every possible way.

  He smelled so, so good.

  My heart clenched at the pretty picture we made in the mirror. The Prince and his Princess. The future King and his consort.

  “Ready?” Kit asked.

  I took another deep breath. My stomach roiled with nerves.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emily

  “Okay. I’m going to put my right hand on your back. See?” Kit held up the hand.

  I nodded again. I was dizzy.

  “Go for it,” I replied, squeezing my eyes shut.

  My entire body went stiff when he put his hand on me. Arrows of panic ricocheted inside my chest.

  I hated this.

  Hated the gentleness and patience of his touch. The way my insides wiggled and softened in response.

  But I loved, it too. I loved being touched like it mattered. I missed it. It had been so long since anyone had been careful with me.

  I wished the image in the mirror were real. In that moment I wished that Kit was mine and I was his it so badly I ached.

  “Emily,” Kit was saying. “Emily, open your eyes, please, and look at me.”

  “I can’t,” I said.

  He pressed his hand a bit more firmly into my back. “Yes, you can. Try it.”

  “I don’t feel so great, Kit.”

  “Try it, Em. Please. Just once. You’re safe with me, all right?”

  I let out a breath. And then I did as he told me, blinking at the sudden onslaught of light.

  His eyes were on my face, full of genuine concern.

  Why…God, why did he have to care so damn much? Why did he have to be so honest? I didn’t like this. He was making me feel safe. Wanted. Sexy.

  I do not like this.

  I like this too much. And Lord knew I couldn’t trust myself. How I felt.

  “Lawnmower!” I blurted. “Lawnmower lawnmower lawnmower.”

  Immediately Kit pulled back, holding up both his hands.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  I was breathing hard. I was about as far as you could probably get from being all right. But I couldn’t exactly put that into words at the moment. My thoughts were swimming in a fast moving stream. I couldn’t grab onto them. Couldn’t make sense of what I thought or how I felt.

  “Whew, that was intense,” I tried.

  I had to try to keep it together. Christ.

  “How about this?” he said after a beat. “You were fine with me touching you when we were dancing. Let’s try something like that. Then we can move into the hand holding stuff. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I met his eyes in the mirror. The light from the window was steadily growing stronger, warmer. Now his eyes were slate blue, darker.

  They were wide open. Steady. Earnest.

  “How do you know that?” I asked. “That you’re not going to hurt me?”

  “Keep your eyes open this time and I’ll show you,” he replied. “I’m a man of my word. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to, I swear it.”

  I looked at him for a long moment. Trusting him was a risk. But if I wanted to see EP Designs succeed, it was a risk I’d have to take.

  I nodded. “All right.”

  “Remember to think happy thoughts. Justin Bieber thoughts.”

  I smiled, despite the panic that raged inside my chest. “What would Justin do?”

  “Justin would probably hump you,” Kit replied, grinning. “But we’ll save that for another lesson. Where should I we go next?”

  I rolled my lips between my teeth. “I liked your suggestion about trying out the dance stuff. How about my hips?”

  “Your hips. Done.” He held up his hands again. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready.”

  And then he put his hands on my hips. My panic flared, but I forced myself to keep my eyes open, forced myself to remember how harmless Kit’s touch felt last night as we danced to Bieber.

  I forced myself to remember that Kit was not Luke, and that this engagement was not real. This was an act. And it could be either excruciating or fun—the choice was mine.

  “You good?” Kit murmured.

  No.

  “Yes.” I bit my lip. I breathed in. Breathed out. Slowly, the panic began to recede. A riot of sensation took its place. The warmth of his hands seeping through my dress; the caffeinated rush of blood just inside my skin; the whisper of awareness between my legs.

  As my mind quieted, my body came alive. And it was such a relief that I gave into it, even though in the back of my mind warning bells were going off. Allowing myself to be attracted to my fake
fiancée was probably a bad idea. But it wasn’t like I’d ever act on that attraction. I could control myself, especially when business was in the mix.

  “You can move your hands,” I said. “Try going up my sides.”

  Kit raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  The scrape of his palms against the fabric of my dress filled the silence between us as he moved his hands from my hips to my waist. He moved slowly. Deliberately. Confidently. My body rose to meet his caress—because that’s what this was, not a touch or a grope, but a caress—making heat coil low in my abdomen

  Kit’s nostrils flared again as his eyes bore into mine.

  “Keep going,” I said, afraid I’d lose my nerve if he didn’t.

  Kit’s voice was rough when he spoke. “Where do you want me to go?”

  “Um. My shoulders, I guess?”

  This time, he didn’t ask if I was sure. He just moved, his hands gliding up my ribcage, his thumbs unzipping a line of fire along my spine. My entire being throbbed; my mouth fell open, and the breath caught in my throat. This felt…good.

  Really, really good.

  Kit hesitated, waiting for me to blurt lawnmower again.

  I wanted to. Or maybe I didn’t, I couldn’t tell anymore. I was spellbound, a rush of goose bumps moving over my skin, my pulse roaring, not with fear but with anticipation.

  When I remained silent, Kit’s hands found my shoulders. He stopped there, just like he said he would.

  “Neck,” I breathed.

  His hand moved where I told it to. His eyes darkened as he gently wrapped his fingers around my nape, and he held me there for several beats, his grip steady, possessive almost. It was the way a guy would grip his girl while they walked down the street, or stood chatting at a pub.

  Pulse after pulse after pulse of desire crashed through me from this place where skin met skin. I would’ve wobbled beneath the force of…of whatever I was feeling, but Kit kept me steady.

  He kept his word, just like he said he would.

  Kit was standing very close now. If I so much as leaned back, our bodies would be touching. White-hot desire cracked right through me, right through my middle, at the idea of turning around and pressing against him and taking his bottom lip between my teeth. He’d been such a good kisser when we were younger.

  I wondered if he was still a good kisser now.

  “I think I’m ready for my hands,” I said. “We probably don’t have much time left.”

  Keeping his hand on my neck, Kit took half a step forward. He slid his hand down the length of my arm. I sucked in a breath—oh, God, I was not at all ready for this—and he carefully curled his wrist and grasped my hand in his.

  For several seconds I just stared at our joined hands. His was warm, huge enough to swallow my own. Luke had been the last guy I’d held hands with like this. Which meant it had been more than two years since I’d done it last.

  It felt…scary. And nice.

  And scary. Although Kit held my hand a bit differently. He didn’t twine his fingers around mine or squeeze them. He just held my hand, his grip solid and warm and sure.

  Kit’s thumb moved to the inside of my wrist.

  “Your heart is pounding,” he murmured.

  I turned my head to look at him. Our faces—our mouths—were inches apart. His eyes were dark. A little hazy.

  Only a few days ago, those eyes had been hard. Icy. But right now, they were liquid with heat.

  My lips were heavy. Full. Like they’d very much enjoy being kissed.

  As if he knew exactly what I was thinking, Kit’s gaze flicked to my mouth.

  For one crazed, desperate heartbeat, I considered asking him to do it. To kiss me. We’d have to kiss for the cameras eventually, right?

  Dumb dumb dumb. This was so dumb. But it wasn’t sex. It wasn’t Luke-style holding hands. I wasn’t crossing a line.

  Was I?

  “Kit,” I said.

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah?”

  “I think we should practice kissing, too,” I said.

  This time his nostrils really did flare. His eyes were on my mouth again.

  “You’re sure?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Okay.” He blinked. “Okay, Em.”

  My heart exploded in my chest. What did it mean, that he’d agreed?

  It meant nothing. It had to.

  Keeping his hand clasped firmly around mine, Kit moved to stand in front of me, blocking my view of the mirror. The light from the window caught on his hair, his pale eyelashes, turning them to gold.

  The scent of his skin filled my head. Heat pulsed and pinched between my thighs. Had I ever wanted anyone as badly as I wanted Kit?

  The breath stalled in my throat when he bent his neck and pressed a kiss onto my cheek. It was a quick kiss. But it wasn’t a chaste one. His nose brushed against mine. His lips lingered for a beat too long on my skin. I closed my eyes against the rush of longing that rose up inside me.

  His hand was so warm around mine. He surrounded me—the way he smelled, the way he stood. The way he made me want him.

  “All right?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  I nodded, not daring to open my eyes. “Yeah.”

  I took a breath, my lips parting. At the same moment, Kit’s mouth moved to mine, and he captured that breath in a kiss.

  He kissed me.

  We were kissing.

  Ten years later, Prince Kit and I were kissing. Again.

  His lips were soft against mine, soft and warm. He tasted as sweet and as clean as he had the first time.

  I loved how he tasted.

  I couldn’t pretend anymore.

  I was a goner.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kit

  My head spun as desire, hot and huge and overwhelming, slammed through me. In the space of a single heartbeat, I felt my restraint give way. It hung by a thread, begging to be cut.

  Emily’s mouth was as slick and soft as I remembered it. She’d been such a passionate kisser in my office. Out of everything we’d done together, it was her kiss I remembered most clearly.

  It all came crashing back. I knew her. Knew this mouth. Knew what she liked. Knew how she’d move and taste.

  I had to fucking remember myself. Emily was trusting me. I told her I wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want me to.

  That look, though. The way she’d focused on my mouth. It made me wonder if this kiss was more than practice. If she was feeling this kiss as much as I was.

  For a lot of reasons, this kiss had to be just practice. Part of our deal.

  I just wish it didn’t feel so good. Honest.

  I was so tempted to let loose and let go, the way I’d done on the dance floor last night. That sense of freedom had been incredible. I could see myself getting addicted to it.

  Emily’s lips moved against mine, tentatively at first. She tasted minty, like toothpaste. She tasted like her, that indescribable taste that turned my belly inside out.

  I held my body away from hers. If we touched, my control might snap.

  She was not mine to touch. Not for real, anyway.

  Not the way I wanted to touch her right now.

  I tried to think about the cameras—what sort of kiss would make for the best picture? I moved my lips in time to hers, angling my head just a bit. Tongue was inappropriate. Right?

  Definitely right.

  Imagine my surprise, then, when I felt the hot tip of Emily’s tongue press against my bottom lip.

  My entire body leapt. A wild rush tore through me. I didn’t know where I was or what had brought me here. All I knew was that Emily’s tongue was in my mouth, and I didn’t want her to stop.

  I couldn’t stop. I did not give in to impulses like this. Ever. But my desire to taste that sense of freedom again was so bloody strong I couldn’t resist it. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to kiss away Emily’s fears. The sadness in her eyes.
/>
  I wanted to give her better.

  I dropped her hand, and I brought my hands up to her face. I expected her to pull away.

  She didn’t. She let out this little moan that had me hard in half a second.

  Christ. I thought I’d taken care of that issue last night. Apparently I hadn’t.

  Apparently I was thirstier for her than I’d thought.

  Emily was really kissing me. She wanted to really kiss me, the way I really wanted to kiss her. This wasn’t pretend. This wasn’t business.

  We were so fucked it wasn’t even funny. Two bloody days in, and already we were breaking every rule.

  I realized my hands were shaking. I held her tighter, my right thumb toying with the softness of her earlobe.

  The kiss was too good, too arousing. I guided her head up to meet my mouth, deepening the kiss, tangling my tongue with hers. She was stepping forward, pressing her body against mine, the contact electrifying. I was taking her bottom lip between my teeth, giving it a bite. She was sliding her hands up my chest, wrapping her fingers around my tie.

  Fire ripped through me. It burned me. Shattered me.

  Broke me.

  She was breaking me.

  I did not get broken. I wouldn’t allow it. If I could just stop—

  Emily’s tongue played with mine slowly, deliberately, like she was savoring an especially delicious ice cream cone.

  I groaned, tilting my hips so our groins met. What would I tell her if I could? Let’s not forget, I was the guy who did not feel. But here I was, feeling. Feeling bloody everything. I had no better idea of how I’d put those feelings into words than I did of doing a decent lawnmower on the dance floor.

  I’d been right. I was hopeless.

  Emily’s hands were on my neck now, her fingertips digging into the sensitive skin there. My blood pulsed hot and heady inside my skin. I made a sound, something I didn’t recognize.

  Had I just growled?

  The kiss got messy. It got hot. My body felt impatient, strung tight.