“No one falls that fast.” Especially women who knew better, who’d seen it all go to pieces in an instant.
Clark looked her dead in the eye. “Of course they do.”
No. Not now. Not this. Riley took one step backward, then another, kept going until her heels hit a bookcase at the far end of the room.
He shouldn’t be allowed to look at her like that, like he knew her. Saw how scared she was. Wanted her anyway.
In stories, when a prince fell in love with a commoner, happily ever after was assured because “the end” was only the beginning. It was a load of narrative hand-waving if you asked her. Things only seemed like they’d work out because the protagonists had never been truly tested.
Where was the proof they could survive the trials of everyday life? What happened the first time she embarrassed him in front of his society friends? How would his face look when the scullery maid took the prince home to her dingy kitchen and cheap IKEA mattress?
“You’re letting all this talk of fairy tales get to you.”
“Am I?” He wasn’t moving but Riley could feel the space between them like a current, calling, beckoning. Any moment she might fall under. “Tell me you don’t feel it.”
“I don’t feel it,” she said in an instant, loud, ruthless.
But Clark just leaned back against the desk, crossed his long legs at the ankles.
“I don’t believe you.”
Heat flared in her face. The audacity to not take her at her word. When she needed him to!
He truly was the most infuriating man. At least anger felt safe, hot and powerful. Riley clung to it, wrapped it around her shoulders like a blanket.
“How would you like me to prove it?” She’d go pick up someone at a campus bar, would call any one of the contacts in her phone labeled Absolutely Not. Bring her a pen and she’d sign the legal oath of his choosing.
The bastard didn’t want any of that.
“Kiss me,” he said, his deep voice a siren song.
Riley’s knees wobbled. “What? Why?”
“Because there’s nothing left to hide behind.”
Riley huffed. She didn’t back down from a challenge. Every day, she went toe-to-toe with ancient evil. She certainly wasn’t afraid of a man, even this one.
“We’re half a day from the castle. The curse,” he told her. “If you’re not falling in love with me, fine. Kiss me,” Clark repeated, “and then we’ll both know.”
Fine. She marched over, grabbed a handful of his sweater, and pulled him in.
He might be expecting a peck, but she kissed him fully, filthy, tongue and teeth. Riley kissed him like they’d never have sex again and he was gonna regret it for the rest of his miserable life. She brought her arms around his neck and pretended it wasn’t because her own knees were shaking.
Clark stood there and took it, opened his mouth for her, let her rub against him, and the whole time he met her lips with control, soothing her into some semblance of a rhythm, petting her hair back from her face, smiling against her frantic lips like he’d won.
They kissed until all she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears, the hectic rhythm of her own breath.
“There,” she said, panting, stepping away only when she couldn’t keep from melting against him a second longer. “Ha! See?” Her voice was somehow both hoarse and too high. “What did I tell you? I’m good. I’m totally good.”
Clark stood there, sweater rucked up, hair mussed from her hands, his mouth red, lips kissed swollen and—her brain almost exploded—shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Well?” she demanded. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Riley needed him to fight with her right now more than she needed oxygen.
A beat of silence passed. Then another.
“Clark,” she warned, the tug of the ocean at her waist, her chest, her throat, “if you don’t say something . . .” She pressed a hand to her tingling lips and then, realizing what she’d done, yanked it away. “I—I swear, I’m gonna leave.”
He wasn’t right. They weren’t—they couldn’t be.
She just had to hold it together until she got back to the village. There, she could get a second opinion. That’s right. She grabbed her coat off the back of the chair, gathered her bag. All she needed was some external perspective, a few alternate explanations.
Riley could count on Ceilidh. As a researcher specializing in the curse, she’d have some sensible explanation for why Clark’s conclusions were silly. They’d laugh it off. They had to.
Hating Clark was one thing. It didn’t feel good, but it also didn’t feel like diving off a cliff. This—this theory—demanded she disregarded all sense of self-preservation.
Clark, the son of a bitch, kept standing there, checked his watch as if he was expecting the bus.
“You think I’m joking?” She turned and walked backwards toward the exit, waiting for him to break. “I’m not.” She patted her pocket, heard a reassuring jangle. “I have the keys.”
Any second now, he’d see sense.
“I will totally leave you here.” She was almost at the door. “You’ll have to hitchhike home. And even though you’re handsome, no one is gonna pick you up because you have a terrible personality . . .”
Oh, who was she kidding?
Later, if anyone asked, she didn’t run to him after that. Didn’t throw herself into his waiting arms with such force that he said “Oof” into her neck as he bent, smiling, to nuzzle her jaw.
“You better keep that mouth occupied,” she warned him. “If I see one hint of a smirk, I’ll—”
Clark caught her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to his. “You’ll what?”
“Fall in love with you,” she finished, and this time when she kissed him it was soft. Hopeful. She kissed the corner of his mouth that marked his scowl. Then his often-furrowed brow.
Riley gathered his hands in hers, large, warm, rough, and kissed his knuckles. Then turned them over and kissed each palm.
“Promise me,” he said, barely a whisper. “You’re not just saying it because you think it’ll break the curse?”
“I promise.” Riley rubbed her thumb across his cheekbone. “Like you said, we’re half a day away from the castle.” She tucked herself under his chin, held on tight. “This is just us.”
Clark stared at her for a moment, like he was trying to make sure she was real.
“In that case,” he said, a little breathless, a little giddy, “I love you.”
Even after all the lead-up, the words still took her aback. Riley hadn’t known how much she wanted to hear them. How much she wanted them to come from Clark. How much she kept from herself, because wanting it scared her.
But now. She carried his love for her in her chest. As if she’d swallowed the sun. And all she could think was I hope it’s the same for him. That he doesn’t just hear the words, but that they stay somewhere safe behind his ribs—a light that doesn’t burn out.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I’m sorry,” Clark said when he grew hard from all the breathless necking. He brushed his lips across her temple, hiding his rapidly heating face. They were in public, for Christ’s sake. Besides, he was cheapening the moment.