A Prince on Paper (Reluctant Royals #3)(31)
“Well, if they’re going to spread lies, I guess that one is as good as any other.” Her gaze searched his, and he could easily see her confusion. A breeze blew, making the palm fronds behind her dip, dancing across her back and shoulders as if they, too, were swayed by the desire to touch her.
She shivered at their caress, and Johan found himself jealous of flora. He wanted to make her shiver, wanted to know how she liked to be kissed and touched and pleased.
“I don’t lie to make people feel better about themselves.” Johan pulled one sleeve through the other and tightened slowly. Slowly. Her breath caught as the knot came together at her waist. He should have let go then, should have stepped away, but she gasped at the cinch of the fabric as he tied the sleeves—it was a gasp of pleasure.
He tugged the knotted sleeves, bringing her a step closer to him. “And I don’t lie to you.”
“Phoko.” Her eyes were huge, but there was no fear in them. Curiosity. Puzzlement. Heat. That last one was the problem, because it seemed to require a response, one that Johan felt more than qualified to give her.
Although he knew that this was bad, bad, very bad, his head started to dip down toward hers.
His stepfather’s words echoed in his mind. Can’t you date this woman for a bit?
Linus misunderstood the problem. Johan could see much further than “a bit” when he looked into Nya’s eyes. He saw the bait that was laid down for the foolish protagonist in every fairy tale. Love. Shelter. Kindness. He saw it and he wanted it—wanted her—even though he knew the bait was inside a cage of eventual despair.
Despair seemed worth it, just then.
His mouth was so close to hers now, her stuttering breath a staccato whisper against his lips. A heady rush of possibility surged through him in anticipation of learning the feel of her, and the taste of her, making his head spin. When he inhaled, the scent of ylang-ylang tickled his nose.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned forward to meet his kiss . . . and then the palm fronds parted and the face of a disgruntled grandmother pushed through them.
“Eh, eh! What are you doing?” Annie Jerami snapped as Nya and Johan jumped apart.
The fronds rustled a bit more and Makalele stuck his head through. “Probably the same thing we were doing, love,” he said with a grin.
Panic swept over Nya’s face, then embarrassment.
“Nya said she needed some air, as the ballroom had become a bit stifling,” Johan said with a calm he didn’t feel. Nya’s grandparents had saved him from making a terrible mistake, but his body wasn’t quite as thankful as his brain was. “I was escorting her to make sure she would be safe.”
“Safe from what?” Annie asked, dropping a hand onto her hip as she looked him up and down.
“The peacocks have been very aggressive lately,” Nya added solemnly, surprising him.
“Right. You two can protect her from the dangerous peacocks—”
Makalele giggled, and Annie rolled her eyes at him.
“—and I’ll go see about transportation for you, Nya,” Johan said, then turned and jogged off.
He’d been millimeters away from kissing Nya, who had managed to drill through all of his defenses without even seemingly wanting to or trying.
Running away was the only logical action.
Chapter 7
ONE TRUE PRINCE, TEXT MESSAGE MODE
Hanjo: I’ve never met anyone like you before, Nya.
Nya: (B) There’s nothing special about me. Besides, you barely know me!
Hanjo: Let’s change that. I have an idea that might be a little wild . . . but then again, all of my ideas are a little wild.
The morning following the wedding, Nya lay in bed with a heating pad under her back and the blankets pulled over her head. She didn’t want to face this day, or the embarrassing memories that her duvet couldn’t block out.
After returning to her room from the gardens, she’d showered, left the voluminous linen dress to soak in cool water, and rummaged through the bathroom cabinet, coming up with a menstrual cup, which she’d had to look up instructions on how to use. Her period had always been irregular due to her health issues—the issues that had mostly disappeared once her father had gone to prison. This humiliation was another thing that could be blamed on him.
She’d put on a new dress, refreshed her makeup, and then climbed into bed, too embarrassed and confused to return to the reception. Johan’s intentions had been good. He’d been convincing, too, trying to make her feel better with his jokes and his smile and his looking at her like she was the juiciest lamb shank at the feast.
She wasn’t foolish enough to think it had meant anything to him, though, beyond a kind gesture. It shouldn’t have meant anything to her. But then the thought of going back into the ballroom and seeing him laugh and flirt with others, or worse, having him admit that he’d only done it to make her feel better, had flattened her out on her bed.
He’s nothing but a frivolous fuckboy, she reminded herself. But somewhere in the last few days, that frivolous fuckboy had become her friend. The part of her mind that had daydreamed about him for months, despite her distaste, wished it was possible for him to be more.
Foolish girl, her father’s voice had chided. Your dreams are too big.
She’d attributed the tears that sheened in her eyes to hormones, and had fallen asleep with the memory of Johan’s face moving toward hers playing on a loop.