A Prince of a Guy (Red Hot Royals #1)(23)

She felt it all the way to her toes and back up again. She felt it in every erogenous zone in her body.

And she felt it to the bottom of her heart, which brought her back to her problem.

At the restaurant, Sean had sunk his fingers into her hair, but it hadn’t been her hair, it had been the wig. One more second and he would have dislodged it, ruining her disguise and destroying any feelings he had toward her.

It could happen again, right now. He’d learn the truth and it would be all over.

Ironic, since in the beginning, she’d wanted only to immerse herself in the Carly persona and see how the other half lived. Unflattering as she found the term, she’d purposely gone slumming.

Now it seemed wrong.

She liked Carly. She liked Carly’s life. She liked the people in Carly’s life.

And she didn’t know how to leave it.

Sean deepened the kiss, and with a helpless little moan, she gave in. Just this one last time, she thought greedily. Then she’d stop him, though it would be the hardest thing she’d ever done. She felt his hand on her hip, gripping her close. Heard his deep moan.

Dragging his open mouth along her jaw, he worked his way to her ear. “What is it about you?” he wondered roughly, his breath on her sensitive skin giving her a delicious shiver. “I can’t keep my hands or my mouth off you.” One hand stroked up her side. His mouth continued to explore her neck, her throat, nuzzling at the base of it, and Carly, melting, still shivering, tilted her head back to give him better access.

She wasn’t a woman driven by lust. She’d kissed men before. She’d even slept with a few. All of it had been on her terms, at her convenience. She’d held the power and known it. She was decent looking, wealthy, and men liked that. They groveled for it.

Here, with Sean, she felt that power shift. He held it. He drove her. Here, she wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t wealthy. She wasn’t an instant icon. She was merely Carly Fortune.

And he still wanted her.

It was both freeing and terrifying. “Sean…”

His tongue stroked her skin, right where her neck and shoulder met, and her eyes crossed with lust. “Sean.”

“Mmm. You taste good.” He tasted her again, and she heard her own moan. It was low and deep and throaty, and the pure need and hunger in the sound shocked her.

“This is not rational,” he said. “It’s definitely not smart. You’re leaving, going back to your home, wherever that may be, and…” His fingers, his clever fingers stroked her belly, her ribs, dallied just below the curve of her breasts, which were already hard, already aching.

“Sean…”

“Where is that, Carly? Your home?”

“I—”

His mouth played with the corner of hers, nibbled and teased. His fingers danced across her ribs, even higher, and Carlyne nearly grabbed them and moved them up where she wanted them.

He looked at her, eyes hot, breath coming fast, his thumbs stroking the bottom curves of her breasts.

More, she almost cried. “I came here from my family’s summer home in Spain.”

His tongue caressed hers in a deep, long, rewarding kiss. And he finally, finally cupped her breasts. Pleasure flooded her.

“They must miss you.”

She sank her fingers into his hair so he couldn’t pull back more because she wanted his mouth on her, not talking. “No.”

“No?” Another kiss, a slow, long, wet, deep one that robbed her of thought. “I would miss you,” he said.

“You’re nothing like them.” His thumbs were slowly gliding over her nipples, back and forth, making her gasp, making her writhe until her hips were undulating on the lounge.

“I’m not?” He stretched out over her, giving her his warmth, his weight. She could thrust against him, and he could thrust back. Heaven.

“Did they hurt you, Carly?” His hands slid beneath her sweater, his big, warm, work-roughened hands. “Is that why you don’t like to talk about them?”

“What?” Was she supposed to be able to think with his hands on her?

“Your family. Did they hurt you?”

“No.” She was nearing the cusp of oblivion, thrilling to his body on hers, his hands on her skin.

Then he tried to pull off her glasses.

“No!”

“It’s just a pair of glasses.”

“Yes.” She wanted that oblivion! The promise in his body! “But—”

“You use them like a shield.” He pushed up, bringing reality back with a cold dash, and looked at her with those dark, dark eyes. “You use the glasses and your clothes and your makeup. I feel like I don’t even know what you look like, Carly.”

“I’m just as I appear.” God, it was almost true in a way. She’d nearly become Carly.

And if she took off the disguise, she wouldn’t even know how to act.

She’d forgotten how to be Carlyne.

“Why don’t I believe you?” he asked softly.

“I…don’t know.” Yes. Yes, she did know.

“I want you,” he said with heart-wrenching sincerity. “I think you want me back. But this isn’t going to happen without honesty.”

Regret washed through her because she couldn’t give him that honesty. She couldn’t give it to him, and in return, he wouldn’t give her what she wanted. Him.