I miss you.
Fuck, she missed him, too. And in the end, that was what decided her. Because despite everything, she still wanted him back. The ache of losing him hadn’t subsided, and she needed closure in some way or another, or she needed to give him another chance.
So she passed out cakes and tried not to be impatient when someone chewed a little slower or was a little more thoughtful about their decision. She tried not to shoo people along when they lingered, even though she just wanted to fling the cake at them so they would leave. Eventually, though, she ran out of samples, and so she cleaned off her table, put away her trash, folded up her things, and turned to look at the big, scrumptious, patient man waiting for her. “Still here?” She tried to play it casual but her voice wobbled at the end. Damn it.
“Always,” Loch replied with a smile. He strolled toward her and took the folding table out from under her arm. “Let me get that.”
“I have a car parked a few streets over,” she told him. “Gretchen’s letting me borrow it while I work in the city.”
“That’s nice of her. I had no idea she was writing a cookbook until I saw your banner.” He hefted the table and began to weave through the pedestrians on the sidewalk. “Can I carry anything else?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Even as she said it, the empty container she’d kept the cake in threatened to fall to the ground. Damn it. She always seemed to lose motor control around him. Came from watching his ass too much, she supposed.
But it was such a nice ass, even if it was attached to a jerk.
They went back to her car and put away her stuff. For a moment, Taylor considered jumping into the driver’s seat, pulling away, and forgetting she ever saw Loch. That would be easier, right? But she looked over at him as he fit the table in the back of the car and their eyes met. An excited, hopeful tingle moved through her and she squeezed her thighs together.
Bad girl parts, she chided her body. Bad, bad girl parts. We don’t want him back unless he grovels.
That was the thing about girl parts that had been without really great sex for more than six weeks, though. They got super excited at the thought of having really great sex again.
No! She was going to stand firm against his extreme hotness.
Once the car was packed, he turned to her again. “Where would you like to go?”
Your place, her mind immediately blurted, but she forced herself to point mutely at a nearby pizzeria. He nodded and put a hand to the small of her back, guiding her in just like they were on a date.
This was not helping with her need to tackle him. It was not. Contain yourself, Taylor. He hurt you. He was a dick. He gave no thought to how you felt.
She ordered a slice of deliciously greasy cheese pizza, and paid for it and a can of soda. She picked up her food while Loch paid for his and sat down at a small table in the back. The place wasn’t fancy—little more than a few cheap tables scooted at the back—but the idea was to eat, not to hang out. This wasn’t the type of place that you lingered over your food. That would either work for her or against her.
Taylor nibbled on her slice while he sat, and then wiped her fingers on a napkin. “So. You wanted to talk?”
He nodded. “I . . . You have grease on your mouth.”
Damn it. She reached up and swiped at one corner of her mouth.
“Let me,” he murmured. Loch’s fingers brushed over the opposite corner of her mouth, and then his thumb glided over her lower lip in a very sensual, not-anything-to-do-with-grease sort of motion that made her entire body tingle with need. Then he lifted his thumb to his mouth and licked it.
And lord help her, that shouldn’t have been sexy, but it was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“Be happy to lick you anywhere else you want,” he told her softly.
She pressed her thighs tighter together. “Not until you tell me why you’re here.”
He nodded. “I should probably start from the beginning, eh?”
“That’s probably wise.”
“About a year ago, my cousin, the crown princess of Bellissime, married an actor named Luke Houston.”
Taylor remembered that. She remembered it popping up in the tabloids, and she’d seen it mentioned on several of the articles when she’d done Google research on him. “Right. And people got upset.”
“Some people loved it and felt like they were the next coming of Grace Kelly and Prince Ranier.” He shrugged. “There was a small, vocal portion of the population that felt like she should have stepped down from her position as crown princess if she couldn’t devote her entire life to Bellissime. They wanted to put someone else as first in line—namely, me. I was advised to come to the States under the pretense of visiting friends and family members here, and I would participate in Gretchen’s wedding, and I would be firmly out of sight. This would give things time to settle down back home and then I could return. Of course, when I got here, I wasn’t a big fan of New York. I wanted to go home. I resented being forced out of my home and my lifestyle and dropped here.” His gaze settled on her. “And then I met you.”
She held a breath. “And then you decided that I was a mess and you should marry me to make everyone realize you would be a bad king?”
“No,” he said slowly. “I met you and suddenly New York got interesting.”
A happy tingle started in her belly.
“When I was around you, I wasn’t bored. I wasn’t miserable. You were busy, but you were funny, and welcoming, and interesting. You were never predictable. You always found the good in things, and every time you smiled, it was like the room had filled with sunshine.”