Page 53 of That Prince is Mine
“Ready for your dessert?” His warm breath made her shiver. She turned around in his arms to claim his lips, but he stepped back from her and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. When she blinked up at him, he said with a boyish grin, “This way.”
Emma gasped as they walked into the dining room. The table was lined from end to end with gorgeous desserts of all kinds—from perfectly ripe strawberries to Sachertorte—and a bottle of champagne sat chilling on ice.
“How did you manage this?” she whispered.
“Sophie’s a good friend.” Michel cleared his throat. “I asked her to make a quick call before we headed back to the hotel.”
“She’s an amazing friend.” Emma smiled up at him, placing her hand on his chest. “It’s a shame this isn’t the kind of dessert I’m craving right now.”
“Wait. I want you… more than you can know… but I need to tell you something first. The something isn’t bad, but it might change things between us.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “God, I don’t want things to change.”
Emma didn’t want things to change either, especially not now. She slid her palms up his torso and wound her arms around his neck. His eyes darkened, and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. The practical side of her brain told her to hear him out, but her body only wanted him. She felt intoxicated with lust, and she liked it. But he tucked his hands into his pockets and held himself stiffly away from her.
“Emma, please. If I kiss you now, I won’t be able to stop. I—”
“Perfect.” She rose to her tiptoes and drew his head down until they shared each other’s breath. Whatever he had to tell her could wait until she satisfied this roiling need inside her. He said it wasn’t bad, right?
Michel gave in with a helpless groan. His mouth claimed her as he spun them around and pushed her back against the wall. When she parted her lips to invite him in, he didn’t hesitate, and plunged his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, digging her fingers into the thick softness of his hair. His hands finally escaped the confines of his pockets and roamed her body like he wanted to touch her everywhere all at once.
No hint of his polished demeanor remained as he wrapped her leg around his waist and ground his hips against her, pinning her to the wall. He growled his pleasure against her lips, and she grew a little wild, her hands fisting in his hair. An affronted gasp escaped her when he broke the kiss, but he moved his mouth down the length of her neck, and her skin heated from his hot breath. His fingers dug into her waist when his lips arrived at the soft curve of her shoulders.
“God, what is this… jumper?” he rasped, sounding tortured. “These shoulders have been driving me out of my mind all night.”
He none too gently scraped his teeth along one shoulder, making her hiss and writhe against him. He licked away the sting with leisurely strokes of his tongue. Then with one rough tug, he pulled her top down to her waist, trapping her arms by her sides and exposing the lacy strapless bra cupping her breasts. Slowly, too slowly, he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her chest until he reached the mound of her breast.
“Michel,” she breathed. “Please.”
“What do you need?” He dipped his tongue under the top of her bra and swept it across her breast. So close but not close enough to the aching tip. “This?”
“More.”
Emma arched her back and thrust her chest into his face. She whimpered with relief and anticipation as he hooked his finger into the cup of her bra and tugged it down. Just as his lips brushed the hard tip of her breast, someone pounded on the door loudly enough to rattle its frame.
The pounding was soon accompanied by a booming voice. “Michel. Open the fucking door. I need to speak to you.”
Michel straightened and ran a hand down his face, muttering a string of curses. When his fingers grazed her sensitive skin as he straightened her clothes, she sucked in a sharp breath. His lips curved into a crooked smile even though he was clearly frustrated with the interruption.
“I’m sorry.” He placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked out of the dining room at a clipped pace, and she heard him throw open the door. “This had better be—”
“Mother’s coming,” the other man said, cutting him off.
“Aunt Celine? Coming? To Los Angeles?” Michel’s voice rose with each question.
“Yes, yes, yes.” The door clicked shut, and footsteps clacked across the hardwood floor.
“But why?” Michel said. “She hates Los Angeles.”
“I don’t know. She suddenly decided I don’t visit Rouleme often enough, so she is coming to me.”
“Christ, Gabriel.” Michel’s voice had returned to its normal decibel, but the panic remained. “She could… complicate things.”
“For both of us.”
“You still should’ve come back another time like I asked you,” Sophie said stiffly. Emma didn’t realize she’d come, too. Great. Was anyone else coming? Right, Aunt Celine. She leaned her head against the wall, blowing out a frustrated breath. “This conversation could’ve waited.”
“Waited?” the man called Gabriel roared. “She is going to board the plane in less than three hours.”
