Page 35 of That Prince is Mine
“We made it work, though—my dad and I,” Emma said with a soft smile. “I wanted us to have a happy home even though my mom was gone. I started doing a lot of the cooking and discovered how much I loved it.”
“Is that why you decided to become a culinary instructor?” His thumb brushed across her knuckles, drawing a shiver from her.
“Uh-huh.” Her voice sounded a little breathless. “Life doesn’t have to be perfect for it to be good. Food is one way to make that happen.”
He stared at her for a long while without saying anything. “I think that’s extraordinary. You are extraordinary.”
She ducked her head, blushing at the reverence in his voice.
“But I was actually,” he continued, “asking what your favorite song was?”
She burst out laughing and slapped his shoulder. He caught her hand and kissed it lightly.
“I don’t really have a favorite song.” She crinkled her nose. “Is that weird?”
“A little weird,” he said with a straight face.
“Really?” She frowned, fighting a blush. He looked dead serious… but then he smiled. “Oh, you…”
She shoved his chest and found that there was absolutely no give. Was he wearing a metal plate under his shirt? She moved her fingers an inch or two to the side and pressed down tentatively. Again, no give. When she flattened her palm on his chest, he trapped her there with his hand and tugged her close.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” he asked in a low voice, his face only a few inches away from hers.
A confused frown drew her eyebrows together. “You’re…”
“I’m… what?”
“I was checking to see… making sure that…” She pressed her finger into his chest, and he wrapped his hand tighter around hers.
“That?” he prodded.
She scoffed, impatient with herself. So what? The man was built like a brick wall. Maybe that should count as a difference. He was all hard muscle. And she was soft—so soft that she would give where he wouldn’t, and they would fit in such delicious ways…
“Never mind.” She tugged on her hand, flushing to her roots. God, she was so turned on.
But Michel dragged her hand across his chest, all the way to the opposite wall. “I don’t mind, you know.”
“You don’t mind what?”
“You… checking.” His voice was deep and growly and… Shit.
She squeezed her thighs together. She needed to kiss the damn man right this second. It was a matter of survival. Besides, kissing him wouldn’t change anything. She knew not to trust this attraction—it would fade away soon—but she could still indulge in it while she had the chance. It wouldn’t affect her objectivity in proving their incompatibility.
“Like this?” She brought her other hand to rest on his chest.
“Yes,” he rasped.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” She pressed up against him and dipped her head until their lips were mere inches apart. She pivoted at the last second to brush her lips against his ear. “I think I’m all warmed up now.”
Emma stood and strode out of the café, knowing Michel would be hot on her heels. Rather than turning toward the main street, she walked deeper into the narrow alleyway and leaned against the brick wall, her top half-hidden in shadows. As she expected, it didn’t take Michel long to join her and move toward her until the tip of his shoes nearly touched hers.
“What are we doing out here, Emma?” The teasing arrogance in his voice told her he knew exactly what they were doing out here and that he liked it.
She loved how he said her name, like he was savoring it. “Does it taste good?”
“Does what taste good?” He ran the backs of his fingers down the side of her face.
“My name… on your lips,” she said boldly.
