Page 53 of Royal Darling
Her hazel eyes are huge. “I can’t believe you gave me this. I’m overwhelmed. You really see me as a songwriter?”
I sit next to her. “Absolutely. You hear the music in your head. You know the basics and can employ someone to help with composing the more advanced stuff.”
She stares at her guitar, caressing the fret and the wood body. “It’s the most beautiful present I’ve ever received.” Her voice is breathy, reverent, and my chest fills with pride. I did the right thing with this gift. She lifts her head. “Thank you, Jackson, so much. You’ve given me more than I can ever repay.”
My throat chokes with emotion because I should be the one saying those words. I can barely speak over the lump in my throat. “You’ve given me far more. I was empty, lost, in total despair that I’d lost the music. And you brought it back with your sweet voice, your talent, your eager willingness to learn. It made me remember what it was like to first open up to the music. You’ve given me more than I ever thought possible.”
Tears leak out of her eyes, and I brush them away, kissing her soft cheeks, her nose, her lips. I close my eyes and speak against her lips the words I never thought I’d say to anyone. “I love you.”
“I love you too!”
We stare at each other.
I don’t know where to go from here. She puts the guitar back in its case.
Then she climbs onto my lap, straddling me, wraps her arms around my neck, and kisses me passionately. She’s back. I’m so relieved all of me relaxes. Lust, music, love all mixed up together in one royal package. I don’t know what I’m doing with her, why she loves me, but I’m tired of questioning it.
I hold her soft curves tight against me, my hands roaming, needing to feel her all over again. Two days of no Emma love was torture.
She breaks the kiss and eases off me, shifting to stand in front of me. “Let’s go upstairs. Privacy.”
I realize with a start the guards must be nearby. I’d forgotten about them. They’re such a quiet presence.
I join her upstairs, and the moment I close the door and lock it, she throws herself at me in total abandon. God, I missed this. Her eager enthusiasm, her openness. I’m a starving man, and she is a feast.
She runs for a condom and hands it to me. Like it’s her responsibility now.
I take it from her, and she immediately strips naked. Need surges through me. Still, I want her to know the pregnancy scare wasn’t her fault. “Emma, it was on me before. I should’ve remembered the condom.”
Her fingers nimbly undo my jeans. “As long as one of us remembers. Hurry. I’ve missed you.”
I strip down and roll it on in record time, the urgency in her voice driving me. I’m not gentle. I can’t be. I pin her against the wall, lift her, and take her in one hard thrust. Her nails dig into my shoulders; her legs wrap around me, her eyes hot on mine.
Deep and hard. I take and take and take.
I’m in deep.
So deep. I can’t stop.
I angle her back, slipping a hand between us, stroking her rapidly. Her body clenches around me, and I lose control, my release roaring through me, dimly aware of her soft cries as she pulses around me. We collide and explode. Every fucking time. I collapse against her.
She grabs my head and kisses me, her eyes bright, her smile huge. “My family wants me home for Christmas. Come with me.”
My first reaction is to say Christmas is past the thirty days we agreed to. I’m supposed to be leaving with her ring in a little over a week. Then I feel like a total arsehole because I said the big I love you, which implies a relationship. My gut rolls, my heart thumping hard, belatedly agitated over being tied to another person. Somehow I fell head over arse into a relationship without knowing it. The time has just been flying by in a haze of music and sex. And then I thought I’d lost her and it was bloody torture, and then I got her back. I’d be a fool to turn her down. “Yeah, okay.”
Her eyes widen. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
She laughs and kisses me all over my face. I hold her tight, spent and well loved. Only I can’t escape the feeling that the palace is the last place someone like me belongs.
15
Emma
Jackson and I are on the royal yacht heading for the port of Villroy on Christmas Eve. We’ve lived together for almost six weeks, an unusual way to begin a relationship, skipping all the dating and courtship part. I’m sure other people would say we’re an unusual pairing, but it works. We have music in common, and I suppose I always had a thing for an edgy man. After all, my first love was a guard as skilled as an assassin. Jackson brawled when he was younger, but the Jackson I know has mellowed. He’s a deep soul.
The pregnancy scare is behind us, especially once I got right back on track with my cycle the day after he gave me my very own guitar. I suppose my happiness with him broke through all that stress and got my body on track.
