Page 26 of That Prince is Mine
“Where are you from, Michel?” she asked with a soft smile. “I promise not to play six degrees of separation to one of your countrymen.”
“How did you know I’m not from around here?” he said after a moment to regain his composure. Hearing his name on her lips made his whole body clench with need. “Did my accent give me away?”
“No, the fact that you’re living in a hotel did.” She didn’t have to roll her eyes. It was already implied by her tone. “And that you’re a visiting professor at USC.”
“That’s right.” He leaned forward, remembering his burning question about how she’d found him at USC. “Are you a student at USC? In addition to being a culinary instructor?”
“God, no.” She pretended to shiver with distaste. “I went to UCLA.”
“Sorry. No offense intended.” Playing along, he held up his hands in swift surrender. He knew of the bitter rivalry between the two LA schools. “Then how did you end up in my class?”
“My friend is a graduate student at SC and needed my advice on… something.” She shrugged her shoulder—the one left bare by her asymmetrical dress—drawing his eyes to its smooth curve and the delicate ridge of her collarbones. Her creamy skin caught the light and glimmered like satin. He gripped the stem of his glass tightly to prevent himself from finding out if she felt as soft as she looked.
“Fraternizing with the enemy?” he said a bit hoarsely.
“Does that make you my enemy, too?” Her dimple winked beside the mischievous curve of her lips.
“I’m anything but.” He couldn’t hold back the low invitation in his voice.
Her chest rose with a quick inhalation as a lovely blush blossomed on her cheeks. The air turned dense with awareness, and the space between them crackled with electricity. He grew lightheaded as all his blood rushed south. One word of encouragement from her—one glance—and he would hurl himself across the table for her. Then his lifelong discipline snapped him out of the trance, pulling him back from a place of raw need and breathless want.
“Besides, visiting professors don’t count as enemies,” he said to break the tension.
“Yes… well. Never mind, then.” She flapped her hand as though to clear the air. “So where are you from, Michel?”
“Rouleme,” he said, purring the R in the back of his throat in its proper pronunciation.
Her lips parted, and her eyelashes fluttered. His head tilted to the side. Did he surprise her? After a pause, she whispered, “I’m sorry. What was that?”
“Rouleme,” he repeated. She might not have heard of it. “It’s a small country that borders France and Switzerland.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve never been, but I heard it’s beautiful there.” Emma ran her hand down the side of her neck. “I just never heard it pronounced that way before.”
“What? The correct way?” he teased.
“I guess so.” She laughed, the sound traveling across his skin like a silken caress. “So you really are from another country. I thought maybe you had a permanent position at another college in the US.”
“No, Rouleme is my home.” And it would always be his home. He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else even if he wasn’t meant to rule the country in a few short months. Would Emma be able to call Rouleme her home one day, too? He realized with a jolt he desperately wanted the answer to be yes.
“Like you said, it is beautiful there.” He braced his forearms on the table and leaned toward her with his heart pounding. “In the capital, buildings straight out of storybook fairy tales stand amongst modern architectural masterpieces in perfect harmony. And the people… they are open-minded and hardworking, united in their love for Rouleme. It truly is an incredible country. I think you would like it there.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she said quietly, then offered him a soft smile. “Maybe I could visit someday.”
“Yes.” His hands were fisted on the table, and he forced them to unclench, not wanting to alarm Emma with his urgency. “Rouleme would love to have you.”
“So…” Her eyes scattered away from his. “How long will you be here?”
“For two more months.” He swallowed past his suddenly dry throat. Only two months to find my true love.
“Will the semester be over by then?” She took a long sip of her wine.
“Not quite. My colleagues—with the help of my TA extraordinaire—will wrap up the term for me.”
“Hmm.” Emma traced the rim of her glass with the tip of her index finger. “Two months, huh?”
“Yes,” he croaked.
Michel didn’t want his time with Emma to end—this fun, intelligent, and beautiful woman who turned a simple meal into an event. This incredible woman who made him laugh and catch fire with desire. Perhaps if they spent more time together, he might discover that she wasn’t the woman of his dreams. This might turn out to be nothing more than a passing fancy…
