AllFreeNovel
Share Us
What he wants is to kiss me over and over again. To kiss me and kiss me and kiss me, until my lips are tender and swollen and my whole body is on fire. There’s a tiny part of me aware of the fact that there are a dozen people sitting in front of us on this plane, a dozen people who could turn around and catch sight of me all but climbing into their prince’s lap.
I should be mortified. Instead, I’m too caught up in Garrett to care about anyone or anything else.
He pulls away first and I whimper, as I try to keep our mouths locked together for just a little longer.
He groans low in his throat, mutters, “Fuck!” against my lips, then dives back in for a kiss that lights me up from the inside and shakes me to my very core.
This time, I’m the one who pulls away first.
It’s just a publicity stunt, I remind myself as Garrett presses his forehead to mine and we both take deep, gulping breaths. Just a chance for Garrett to get the throne back.
But it doesn’t feel like a publicity stunt. And it sure as hell doesn’t feel fake. Not anymore. Instead, it feels like I’m about to jump out of this airplane with only a 50–50 sh
ot that my parachute will work.
Any rational person would walk away from those odds. But it’s too late for that—I’m all in, whether I want to be or not. Now all I can do is hope the landing is gentler than the fall.
Chapter 22
I’m exhausted by the time we make it through the second most grueling pap walk of my life—otherwise known as the international terminal at Charles de Gaulle Airport. This time around, I didn’t pay much attention to the crowds or security or anything but keeping a smile on my face and putting one foot in front of the other.
I know Garrett notices, because in Wildemar his arm around my waist was purely for photo ops. This time he’s supporting me, using his never-ending strength to keep me upright and moving forward even as he murmurs how sorry he is over and over again.
I know it’s not his fault, know this is something I agreed to. But right now, that knowledge doesn’t make this any easier. Neither does the fact that these pics are going to be seen all over the world—including at my office, the place where I’ve worked so hard to be seen as a professional instead of as the secret love child of a Vegas showgirl and the scion of one of America’s most respected business dynasties.
By the time Garrett and his security detail get me in the back of a large, black SUV, I’m little more than a limp rag. Which seems ridiculous considering all I did was walk through two airports and take a short ride on the most tricked-out airplane I’ve ever seen in person. All I can say is that it’s a lot harder than it looks.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I tell Garrett as he leans across me to fasten my seatbelt.
“Lots of practice,” he answers, settling down next to me.
“I don’t think there’s enough practice in the world to make me look as natural as you do.”
“They’re my people. Not here in France, obviously, but in Wildemar. I answer to every single one of them.”
“Like that woman you stopped to talk to.”
A shadow passes over his face before he wipes it deliberately blank. “Yes, like her.”
I want to push, want to ask what she wanted and why he chose her. But he’s got No Trespassing signs all over this one and I don’t want to upset him. Especially not when I’m too emotionally drained to take care of him if I do.
Instead, I settle for telling him, “You’re really good at this king thing.” I rest my head on his shoulder and my hand on his thigh, relishing the way I can feel him relax—just a little—under my touch. I don’t have much experience with the whole giving-comfort thing, but Garrett’s taught me a few things since I met him.
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Kings don’t get themselves abducted. Future kings, either, for that matter.”
Indignation slams through me, but I shove it down. That’s not what Garrett needs right now. “That’s what your father thinks? That you ‘got yourself’ abducted?”
“I don’t think he cares how it happened. Just that it did.” He’s looking out the window now and, under my hand, his thigh has once again gone rock hard.
“Is that true? Or is that just what you think?”
“People are dead because of me.”
“People are dead because of some insane fringe militia group with a grudge against the monarchy. Not because of you.”
He shoots me an annoyed look. “I know that.”
“Do you?” I want to see his face so badly, but he’s turned completely away from me at this point, staring out the window as if the Parisian streets are his only chance of salvation.
