Page 64 of That Prince is Mine
“Oh my gosh.” Her hand flew up to her mouth, and she scrambled to get up from his lap. “Your poor legs.”
“Shh.” He tugged her back down and rearranged his legs, all the while holding her tight against him by her waist. “This is worth it.”
“Michel.” She huffed a resigned sigh, then she licked the pad of her index finger and dabbed it on the tip of her nose. “Do this.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m serious. Do it several times and it’ll help with the pins and needles in your legs.” When he continued staring dumbfounded at her, she rolled her eyes and tapped his nose with her own dampened finger. He refused to put his own saliva on his nose, but he didn’t mind it at all when Emma did it. “It’s a trick my grandmother taught me when I was little.”
The tip of his nose felt disconcertingly cold. It might’ve been due to the distraction of having a damp nose, but the pinpricks of blood rushing into his legs seemed to ease a bit. When proper circulation resumed in his legs and his nose was once again dry, Michel got preoccupied with the feel of having Emma in his arms.
He traced the lines of her fingers and the faint blue veins on the back of her hand. She pressed herself to him, burrowing her face into the side of his neck. The warmth of her breath sent a shiver down his spine. He shifted in his seat and tucked her closer until every curve of her fit against him. Her shoulders rose and fell on a sigh as he breathed in the scent of her hair.
“Come with me.” Emma got to her feet and held out her hand before his legs could fall asleep again. A part of him wanted to stay in that armchair forever. But he took her outstretched hand and rose to his feet—simply because she wanted him to.
Emma tugged him down another labyrinth of bookshelves until they arrived at the most improbable and wonderful place—a cavernous tunnel made of books. And they had it all to themselves. He chuckled with awe and joy as his gaze wandered over the books surrounding him. This made getting up from the armchair worth it. Maybe.
She maneuvered him so gently, so slowly that he didn’t realize what she’d done until he was backed up against the wall of books. Then she rose to her toes and pressed her lips against his in a sweet, lingering kiss that he felt down to his soul. Her touch was chaste, with barely parted lips, but he felt as though she was offering a part of herself that she kept closely guarded. His heart clenched in his chest, overwhelmed by a rush of emotions he couldn’t parse out.
When she broke the kiss, a tremulous breath left him, and he could only stare at her for a moment. She held his gaze, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He pushed her hair away from her face with unsteady fingers and tucked it behind her ear.
“Why the tears, darling Emma?” The husky voice that emerged from him didn’t sound like his own.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t know.”
Michel wiped the moisture away with the pad of his thumb and brushed his lips across her temple. The back of his throat burned with his own tears, and the ache in his chest spread, making it difficult to breathe. He gathered her into his arms and pressed his cheek against hers. He held on to her for much too long and not nearly long enough as he prayed fervently in his head. Please.
“We should finish the tour,” Emma whispered, tears still clinging to her lashes like morning dew on soft petals.
He nodded and took her hand as more people wandered into the tunnel. With their fingers laced together, they walked silently through the book tunnel and explored the rest of the bookstore. There were no words adequate to express what had happened, so they didn’t try to talk about it. But they were different now. Everything was different. He had to tell her who he was. He had to ask her to come to Rouleme with him.
Back at the car, he brushed his thumb across her silken bottom lip and asked, “Hungry?”
“No.” She shook her head and offered him a soft smile, the corners of her lips trembling.
Unable to look away from Emma, he managed to rasp, “We’ll head back to the hotel, Sophie.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It was terrible and beautiful… heartbreaking and glorious. They were falling for each other. Emma didn’t see the changing scenery outside the car as emotions overwhelmed and engulfed her. She felt… Michel was… God, she was going to combust into flames. She wanted to be consumed by it.
But she retained enough of her senses to remember not to trust her heart. He was leaving in a month and a half. She swallowed a sob before it could escape her. Even so, Michel’s hand tightened around hers as though instinct moved him to comfort her. She turned away from the window and met his gaze. The gold specks in his warm brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight. Before she could fall into them, he brushed his lips across her knuckles, and her eyelashes fluttered shut.
They arrived at the hotel, and Sophie led them through the lobby. No one spoke as the elevator carried them up the floors. The tempest inside Emma calmed as though the worst had passed—then again, she might be in the eye of the storm—and she found some clarity. When Michel left, everything would return to the way it used to be. The way it should be. She would resume her orderly, meaningful life.
With that being the case, she could give in now. This terrible, beautiful thing between them would end before it could change—before it could become an ugly, disappointing lie. She could let herself fall. She would still be safe. It wouldn’t be all of her. Never all of her.
Michel held open the door, and Emma stepped inside his suite. Other than a quiet goodbye to Sophie, neither one of them had spoken since they left the bookstore. She listlessly walked over to the piano and tinkled a few notes on it.
“Do you play?” Michel said at her side.
“No, I never had a chance to learn.” Her smile was wistful. “But I’ve always loved the sound of the piano.”
He reached around her and played a string of notes that came together in a poignant and haunting melody. Her eyes snapped to his face as a shy smile curved his lips. “Do you want me to play something for you?”
God, this man. “Yes… please.”
Pulling out the piano bench, he sat down and gestured for her to sit next to him. Once she settled beside him, he gave her another small smile and raised his hands over the piano. Then like magic, music filled the air. His fingers moved in a gentle rhythm, gliding gracefully across the keys, but his playing was strong and masterful.
