Royal Marriage Market (36 page)

“And yet . . .?”

“My hands are tied.” So much anger and regret fill his eyes once they fly back open. “You think I like the idea of doing this to a friend?”

“Which friend are you referring to?” I ask lightly. “Me or him?”

“You have to understand—”

I lean forward, incensed. Forget pretending tonight. I don’t care one whit if my mother rages back home once she discovers I did not play doting soon-to-be-fiancée during dinner. “I don’t understand, because you refuse to inform me as to why you are going along with this farce. Are we currently being watched?”

The waiter reappears, a basket of bread in his hand. Mat quickly orders us both roasted sea bass, sending the man on his way again. “I refuse to discuss this in the middle of a busy restaurant. Not when there are . . . eyes and ears.”

“Fine. Where shall we discuss it?”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Talking isn’t going to change the outcome.”

“I disagree.”

He stares at me, hardness lining the corners of his mouth, frustration surely tickling the tip of his tongue, but just when I think he will continue to argue, he merely sighs.

“I like you,” I tell him. “Believe it or not, I
do
. And I think, under different circumstances, we might eventually become fantastic friends. I hope someday we will. But none of that will occur as long as we both keep hiding things from the other.”

His lips press together as he kneads his forehead.

“Here, I’ll start. I recently found out why I’ve been ordered to marry you. It is a hopelessly old-fashioned reason, I’m afraid. I’m to marry you for money. Loads of it, from what I can tell.” I fold my hands. “Now. Your turn.”

For long seconds, I fear he will refuse to answer. I officially called him out—quietly, of course—but I also let him know that I won’t back down. No matter what happens between Christian and myself, I cannot go through with marrying a man I do not love.

I’m finishing off my glass of wine when he murmurs, “My reason is less savory. I’m doing it because, if I don’t, somebody who means a great deal to me will suffer. And I can’t allow that.”

He’s talking about Kim. He must be. “Mat—”

“If you want to discuss this further, then fine. We will do so.” He slides off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “But not tonight. You’re not the only one whose behavior is being reported back, you know. We’re supposed to go sightseeing tomorrow, but . . . perhaps you could get food poisoning? Or wake up not feeling your best? I’ll come round to check in on you, and we can talk then. Say, during tea?” His lips twist up sadly. “Like old times, if one can consider a week’s worth of teas enough history.”

I mentally calculate the flight times Charlotte made for Parker and possibly Kim. Afternoon tea is cutting it close—if all goes as planned, the plane from New York will be just touching down in Paris during that time.

A plate filled with artful food is set down before me. I tell Mat, “It’s a date.”

chapter 55

Christian

“May I speak frankly?”

Charlotte has, if anything, only spoken frankly with me since our very first phone call. “Of course. I’m not one to break with tradition,” I tell her.

“And yet, you are.” Her eyes narrow. “Or at the very least, considering it.”

I say nothing. As much as I respect and even like Elsa’s personal secretary, reassuring Charlotte of my sincerity of feelings toward her employer is not at the top of my priorities for the evening.

“I believe, even had Elsa never met you, she would balk at marrying somebody she hardly knows, let alone does not love. She and her father went several rounds about this for months leading up to the Decennial Summit. I’m sure you’re well aware that she’s stubborn—”

“That’s putting it mildly,” I murmur.

“And wants what is best for her country. Vattenguldia adores her.”

“As they should.”

Charlotte places the papers she’s been reading on the table and turns to fully face me. “It would be a great shame for our country if we were to lose her.”

I grab my baseball hat and head toward the door. “It would, wouldn’t it?”

Elsa emerges from the restaurant amongst flashes of light and curious faces eager to see not one, but two beautiful, young royals together. She’s smiling her regal smile, the one that’s patient yet friendly. Mat’s right there next to her, his hand on the small of her back.

He leads her to the limousine I’m waiting in, leaning in to whisper something in her ear. Her lips tug up as she places a hand against his cheek, and then they offer each other air kisses. I scoot further down the seat, toward the window separating front and back, ensuring I’m sitting on the passenger side.

The driver opens the car door so Elsa can slide in. Her eyes briefly flick toward me and then back at Mat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he’s saying.

The door shuts, leaving us surrounded by darkened windows. “You are too far away.” She pats the seat next to her. “I see no black eyes, so I take it your evening with Charlotte did not end in a pillow fight?”

The car pulls away from the curb as I make my way toward her. “Alas, no. She spent the better part on the phone with her husband.”

“And what did you do?”

“I spoke with my brother. My mother is . . . displeased that I am not in the country at the moment.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I hope you will never forget that the Grand Duchess is nothing like her public persona.”

Worry flashes in the cobalt of her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter, though. She can rage about it all she wants, but . . . I’m done with her manipulations. I’m right where I want to be.”

As I say this, Elsa’s regarding me as if I am the only man in the entire world, and it’s got me drunk on too many emotions to pinpoint precisely.
I love you
, I want to tell her as I lean in toward her gorgeous face.
I love you. I adore you. I don’t want to live without you
.

But I don’t say any of these things. Right now, the sentiments are too strong to form coherent sentences, so I kiss her instead. Softly at first, like our first kiss in California, and I’m immediately under her spell, because her mouth is hot and inviting and a black hole I can’t navigate away from.

Her hands grip my shoulders, urging me closer. The car slows, no doubt at a light, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m reminded how there are only so many lights between here and the hotel. I wish I could say it matters to me, that I’m concerned about propriety or decency or even the risk of us being caught. But the windows surrounding us are dark, as is the one raised in between us and the driver, and the need I feel for Elsa is too powerful to resist.

I pull her onto my lap, easing her legs around my waist on the seat. Our kiss deepens, my tongue tracing hers until she groans into my mouth. Bloody hell, it’s a gorgeous sound, and one that makes me hard and hot.

I want her. Here. In this car.

As if she can hear me, Elsa leans back and unbuttons her coatdress. My mouth goes dry, my dick turns to stone.

There’s only a lacey bra and barely there panties on underneath.

“You went to dinner in just a coat?” I slide the soft wool off her shoulders before tracing the length of her arms on my path to cup her breasts. “What happened to the dress I helped you into?”

Dazzling, wonderful laughter spills out of her, leaving me even more drunk on happiness. “As you agreed to pick me up, I decided the dress was unnecessary. I changed out of it shortly before I left. Didn’t you see it hanging in the bedroom?”

I press a kiss against the base of her throat and suck gently; her head tips back so long hair can spill across the fingers deftly unlatching the clasp of her bra. I gently tug it off, dropping it onto the seat next to me.

Damn, I love her breasts.

I bend down and swirl the tip of my tongue around a nipple; she moans quietly, fingers tightening on my shoulders. I rock her against me, reveling in the feel of my dick against the tiny scrap of silk she’s still wearing. My teeth graze the hardened bud before I reclaim her mouth again for a scorching kiss that has me desperate to be inside her.

She tugs my t-shirt up and over my head, tossing it behind her.

I hook my fingers under the sides of her panties. She leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Tear them.”

I live to serve this woman.

Her gasp enflames me. I trace the line along the inner leg, from hip to where she’s already wet for me. Another gasp falls out of Elsa when my fingers circle the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs, yet another when I slide a finger deep inside her.

The car slows down again. I don’t care the reason why, because she’s rocking against my hand, her head thrown back, and I think I’d be okay with the world exploding around us as long as I could see her like this.

She fumbles with the button and zipper to my jeans, words hoarse, a siren’s call I can’t refuse. “I need you. Now.”

I slide my fingers from her as she pulls my rock hard dick out. I fold back the sides of my jeans, shoving them down as far as I can before she drops right on top of me.

And then she rides me, just like she’d wanted to last night. I’m lost to anything but her as the car speeds on, living and dying for every thrust and groan.

chapter 56

Elsa

“That,” I tell Christian as I lean down to kiss him, “was another first for me. Car sex, I mean.”

A car horn blares outside. I jump and then giggle.
I’m
giggling—
and it is utterly delightful to do so.

Hands cup the side of my face. “Me, too,” he murmurs.

I look down at his sweaty, gorgeous face. “You’ve never had sex in a car before? I find that . . . surprising.”

He shifts, reminding me he’s still snug and warm inside me. “Not a moving car. So yes, this was a first for me, too.”

Another horn blares as we slow to a stop. We cannot be far from the hotel now.

I reach over and reclaim my bra. “Is moving car sex far better than parked car sex?”

He brushes my hands away when I attempt to fasten my bra in order to do the job himself. “Oh, most assuredly.” One hand curves around my back so he can lean us forward and grab my coat and shirt.

I slowly tug his t-shirt back over his head, smoothing the soft cotton beneath my fingers. “I’m glad.”

He doesn’t say anything as he gently slides my arms into those of the coat before buttoning it. The car lurches forward; I reluctantly climb off of his lap to allow him to tug up his jeans. I am the one to button and zip him up, though.

He tells me, “I like sharing firsts with you, Els.”

I lean forward to kiss him. “Me, too.”

“Actually,” he whispers against my mouth, “if it were possible, all my firsts from here on out would be with you.”

I’m desperate to tell him this is my fervent wish, too, how I have never experienced anything like what I feel for him before, but the moment his tongue touches mine, I am lost once more.

chapter 57