Page 40 of A Royal Disaster
He laughed and shook his head. “It was my pleasure. Spending the afternoon with the children was just what I needed. My days are so full of royal duties back home, I don’t have nearly enough time to devote to community outreach. It’s considered the responsibility of the spare, not the heir.”
“It’s a shame,” Elena said, her eyes softening as she studied him. “You were great with the kids.”
Liam sighed. “Too bad the same can’t be said for my artistic abilities.”
The left side of Elena’s mouth hitched up and she gave him a crooked smile. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Children are brutally honest.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” he teased, gesturing to the drying canvas where he’d evidently portrayed himself as a giant dickhead. His brother would have a field day if he ever got his hands on it. “I don’t suppose they’ll be hanging my work in the palace gallery any time soon.”
“Don’t quit your day job just yet,” Elena said, patting his chest playfully.
The gentle touch sent a rush of adrenaline pulsing through his veins and, before he could think it through, Liam brought his hand up, capturing Elena’s wrist in his grasp. Her palm lay flat against his chest as she looked up at him from under her lashes, dark eyes churning with…desire.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen his own passion mirrored in her eyes, but it was the first time he couldn’t come up with an excuse to walk away. To hell with all the reasons it was a bad idea. He enjoyed Elena’s company and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman so bloody badly. Why shouldn’t they act on it?
Half the world was already convinced they were fucking.
“Elena.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a gravelly plea, and he would’ve sworn her knees gave just a little.
Then, not meeting his gaze, she pulled her hand free of his grasp, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and patted the front of her apron, as if searching for something. “I should get these in the wash,” she said, hastily grabbing an armload of aprons from the nearest table. “You don’t have to stay. You’ve done more than enough to help me out today. I can take care of the rest.”
She was rambling, something she often did when she was nervous. It was only a matter of time until she started talking about his cock. He watched as she skirted the counter and headed for the back room, the curve of her perfect ass taunting him with each step.
Bloody hell. Maybe it was a blessing she usually wore those baggy overalls. Otherwise he’d be walking around all day with a hard-on.
Liam grabbed a pile of aprons and followed her, not giving a second thought to the men guarding the door.
In the back room, Elena was stuffing the aprons into the washer with gusto, her movements exaggerated and jerky, as if she were still flustered by his touch.
Liam approached slowly, dropping his stack of aprons on top of the dryer.
Elena froze but said nothing, so he took the opportunity to move behind her, bracing his arms on either side of the washer as water poured down on top of the colorful fabric inside. It was an old machine and it vibrated under his palms, quickening his pulse.
He’d been too long without release, and the damn washer might bloody well push him over the edge.
“Elena,” he said, leaning close so that only the slightest bit of space separated their bodies.
“Yes?” The lone syllable hitched in her throat and the heat of desire rolled off her in waves.
Encouraged, he brought his right hand up, his pointer finger skimming her neck as he traced the delicate flesh behind her ear. Even as his finger cut a path across her heated skin, she melted in to him, her soft curves melding to the hard planes of his chest. “You have a spot of paint here. May I?”
She nodded, and using the pad of his thumb, he rubbed all traces of blue paint from her skin, following with a gentle brush of his lips. Her skin was on fire, and the scent of lavender and lemon overwhelmed his senses as he drank her in, desperate to taste her as he’d done at the theater.
But that had been for show. This was…bollocks. There was no point lying to himself. Their first kiss had been born of passion and desire and the base urge to claim Elena for his own. To tell himself anything else would be a lie, so he gave in to the desperation clawing at his skin, demanding he take Elena in his arms as he’d fantasized of doing for weeks.
Elena must’ve felt it, too, because she twisted around, her full breasts heaving against his chest as she drew a shaky breath. Their eyes met and Liam closed the space between them, leaving no room for words or doubt or even air as he lowered his lips to hers.
Sweet Jesus.
It was as if her mere touch incinerated his carefully crafted self-control. Gone was the perfect royal and in his place was a man ravaged by desire. His lips moved over hers with the kind of desperation attributed to heartsick fools and hormonal teenagers, but he didn’t give a damn. She tasted even better than he remembered, her lips as full and sweet as honey. And when her tongue brushed against his in tentative exploration, Liam groaned and deepened the kiss, not caring that this woman—whose passion and fire called to his own—wasn’t on the list of crown-approved brides.
Chapter Twelve
Kissing Liam was…everything. Well, everything except air, so when Lena finally pulled away to catch her breath, breaking off the kiss felt like walking away from a canvas she’d poured her heart and soul into. She didn’t like the feeling. Not one bit.
Mierda.
No way was she catching feelings for her fake boyfriend.
