Page 8 of That Prince is Mine
He didn’t know which he liked better—the feel of her name on his lips or the sound of his name on hers, the soft el clinging to the tip of her tongue. He only knew he wanted there to be many more instances of both, in many different ways. He’d been watching her from afar for much too long. It was imperative he secure a date with her as soon as possible. Only two months left.
“Emma, I would like to see you again.” His voice came out in a low rumble.
“I would like that as well, but…” She looked conflicted for a second before her shoulders drooped. “I have another date here in a couple of nights.”
“With the same man?” It took some effort to stop the grooves from forming between his brows.
“No, with another man,” she said morosely.
Disappointment and that odd spike of jealousy flashed through him. Should he protest? Should he insist she go out with him instead? How about tomorrow? Her date was in two nights, so she should be free tomorrow. But his damn manners compelled him not to push her—not to make her uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured. She had no idea how sorry. “But I’m here most afternoons, so I hope we will meet again.”
She nodded and sighed softly. It sounded wistful like she was as disappointed as he was that she had another date. But if she wanted to see him again, then why couldn’t she cancel her other date? She did say it was complicated. Perhaps she had a reason why she couldn’t cancel even if she wanted to. Or it might be wishful thinking on his part. He raised his hand to catch Anne’s attention. He might as well return to his suite to brood and research which dating sites suited him best.
“Yes?” The server glanced between Michel and Emma with a smile. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like the check, please.” He managed not to sound downtrodden.
“Um…” Anne’s eyes flitted to Emma.
“I took care of your check.” Emma’s expression could only be described as smug.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he protested automatically.
“I wanted to.” She echoed his words from before with an impish smile. “Besides, I’m Korean. We’re masters at paying the check before anyone else.”
He chuckled under his breath, watching her from beneath his lashes. Was he really going to let this alluring woman walk out of his life without a fight? Hell no. It didn’t matter that she would be on a date with another man. When she chased the man away as she’d done with the others, he would be there to convince her that her next date should be with him.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Michel murmured, leaving until next time unsaid.
Emma gathered her purse and stood from her seat. After a brief hesitation, she gave him a small wave. “It was nice meeting you.”
Michel responded with a slight bow of his head instead of saying goodbye. Her first steps away from him seemed heavy, as though there was something holding her back, but she soon straightened her shoulders and marched out of the café without a backward glance. His gaze followed her until she disappeared from view.
Until next time, Emma.
CHAPTER FIVE
What kind of man do I strike you as?
As soon as Michel had uttered those words in his rich, buttery voice, her mind had gleefully reminded her that she’d imagined him racing across a sandy beach on a dark stallion, his sculpted chest glistening with sweat from the exertion… Wait. He was wearing a billowing white shirt in her original daydream. Apparently, not anymore. The wind must have blown it off along the way.
Emma continued to stir the sauce to dissolve the brown sugar and fanned her face with her other hand. Her kitchen was unusually warm today. She sighed as man and beast galloped down the beach in her mind, his muscles shifting and bunching impressively. She had no idea if Michel actually had muscles that shifted and bunched. But from the way he’d filled out his shirt, she was fairly certain they existed.
“Emma?”
“Hmm?” she said distractedly before remembering she was in the middle of a lesson. Oh, for God’s sake. It was as though her mind had developed a personality of its own—a remarkably lustful personality. “Yes, Sarah?”
“How can ddeokbokki be a part of royal court cuisine?” her client asked, stirring her own sauce. “It’s the street food staple in Korea.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder at the counter. Emma couldn’t help but notice how cramped it felt during these lessons. This was definitely a one-person kitchen. Once she leased a commercial kitchen, she’d have plenty of room to move around and demonstrate techniques. She couldn’t wait to teach group classes, filling the kitchen with all their excited energy. Soon.
“Well, what sets gungjung ddeokbokki apart from the spicy rice cakes sold on the streets is this sauce we’re making.” Emma lifted the small bowl of sauce and inhaled the sweet, salty, and nutty aroma. Her mouth watered on cue. “Korean royal court cuisine is defined by its subtle, nuanced flavors. The seasoning complements and enhances the natural flavors of the ingredients. It’s all about harmony and balance.”
“Ah.” Sarah nodded. “So we’re using soy sauce and toasted sesame oil instead of gochujang because the red chili paste can overpower the delicate flavor of the rice cakes.”
“Exactly.” Emma beamed at her favorite pupil.
