No Prince Charming Read online

  Plus, there was the queen.

  “You need to wake her up.”

  Michael gave me a questioning glance.

  Shifting from one foot to the other, I said, “She can’t remember we were here. If anybody comes looking for her, I don’t want her remembering this. Not until we find the queen and take her out.”

  “You want me to take the memory of us away.”

  “Yes.” I sighed and started to pace. The knee-high leather boots I wore were pinching my toes. I wanted nothing more than to take them off, get out of the dress and soak in a hot tub of water. But we had to finish here and I doubted I’d stay awake long enough once we were done.

  “If one of the others come looking for her, she’s going to say no. I scared the hell out of her.” I had—and I didn’t feel the least bit guilty for it either. It had worked and that was all that mattered just then.

  She wouldn’t go back to that club. Hopefully, the fear would strengthen her. “She might lie, but I don’t want her lying to a demon. They will figure it out. But if her memory of tonight is gone she won’t have to lie. She’ll be safer.”

  A muscle jerked in Michael’s jaw. He stared over my shoulder at the wall. Long seconds of silence ticked away. Then his green eyes met mine and he gave a single, short nod. “I can do that. What do you want her to remember?”

  “Whatever you think will work best. You link with her mind, right?”

  “I have to. It’s the only way it will work.”

  I nodded. “Good. When you link with her mind, as you put down a false memory, you should be able to feel it if something seems too off. Right?”

  I was grasping at straws here. I didn’t understand much about mind control. But I did understand connections—psychic and emotional connections were useful tools.

  “If I let her go slowly, I should be able to sense it if something feels wrong. I’ll trigger the memory and we’ll see what happens.”

  “Works for me.” Pursing my lips, I studied Vanessa’s still body. “You think she would know who the queen is?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Off to the east, the sky was beginning to lighten by the time we were done with Vanessa. Michael looked as exhausted as I felt. He had dark shadows under his eyes, and there was unhappiness in that enigmatic green gaze.

  I let Michael drive. He looked like he needed to do something with his hands.

  Besides, I was exhausted. I know it didn’t hit other Grimms as hard, but any time I had to use my so-called “gift”, it wore me out. Hopefully I could stay awake long enough to get to my bed.

  We were both quiet as we pulled away from the apartment. Both listening. Both on alert. Nobody had come looking for Vanessa while we had been at her apartment.

  “You think she’s going to be okay?” I asked, worried. “I know we fixed the memory, but still…”

  Michael glanced my way. He shook his head and a faint smile twitched at his lips. “She won’t be there. I left her with the suggestion that she leave for a few days—maybe for good. I think she’s going to go back home. I told her to find someplace safe, someplace where she felt loved. All she could think of was home. She’ll sleep for a few hours and then she’ll be gone. I doubt they will think to look for her today, and if they did start looking, it wouldn’t be until tonight. By then, she’ll be gone.”

  I heaved out a sigh of relief. “Good.”

  I relaxed against the seat.

  A little too much. My lids felt heavy. So did my body. Somehow, I knew I wasn’t going to make it to my own bed before I crashed. I rubbed my eyes and glanced at Michael. “Hey, I guess I better warn you. Sometimes when I use the gift, it throws me for a loop. If I fall asleep, I’ll be unconscious for a good four to six hours straight.” I tried to smile. “You can just dump me at my place. It’s not too far from where you’re staying. I can…” I never even noticed I had fallen asleep.

  Throws me for a loop. A bit of an understatement, Michael thought. She had fallen asleep in midsentence and he had no idea where she was staying. Had she brought her purse? He scowled, trying to remember. Yes, he thought she’d had one in the club.

  Keeping his eyes away from his unconscious passenger, he pulled to the side of the road to check for a purse, or anything that might tell him where she was staying.

  A few minutes and one fruitless search later, he pulled back onto the road. Her purse had held cash, the false ID for her current persona and a tube of lipstick—that seductive, wine-red shade that seemed to scream “fuck me”.

  He was fucked.

  Elle sat next to him, sleeping peacefully. Five minutes earlier, she had shifted in the seat and when she did, that microscopic skirt had climbed so high on her thighs, he could see the wine-red lace of her panties. The panties were the same shade as her dress and her ivory skin glowed against the vivid color.

  He found himself staring at her thighs, at the shadowed triangle where her thighs met. He jerked his attention back to the road and gripped the steering wheel so hard it was a miracle the plastic didn’t crack.

  I’m no bleeding saint, Michael thought grimly.

  His control was being stretched thin, and considering how tired he was, it was a miracle he hadn’t cracked.

  The drive to his condo seemed to take twice as long as normal, and yet it also seemed as though it was over in the blink of an eye. She didn’t wake up when he stopped the car. She didn’t wake up when he opened her door and crouched down beside her. He rested a hand on her knee, certain she would wake up when he touched her.

  “Elle.”

  She didn’t stir.

  Shit.

  Setting his jaw, he worked his arms under her and eased her out of the car. As he straightened, she cuddled against his chest, rubbing her cheek against his shirt. She sighed in her sleep, “Michael.”

  His heart stopped. Elle…

  “Get a grip,” he muttered. Keeping his eyes focused straight ahead, he managed to make it across the paved drive and into the condo without looking at her. Of course, not looking at her didn’t really help. He was acutely aware of her warm weight, her soft curves and silken skin left bare by her skimpy dress. Her scent flooded his head and his mouth watered for another taste of her.

  A real taste—when all he had to think about was her. A real taste—when he didn’t have to share her, didn’t have to worry about who was watching.

  He tucked her into his bed, trying not to think about how much he wanted to join her. It was a big bed, wide as a lake and soft. Her golden hair spilled across the ebony bed linens. One fat curl lay across her cheek. Unable to resist, he reached out and brushed it away. Then he stroked his thumb across her lower lip.

  Her mouth puckered. Her brows drew low over her eyes. “Michael…” She reached out.

  “Shhh.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. Then he eased it back, tucking it under the blankets and smoothing them down. “Rest, Elle. You’re safe.”

  Rising, he forced himself to walk away. Just as he went to close the door behind him, he heard her whisper, “Je t’aime.”

  I love you.

  1704

  His head ached.

  The taste of stale wine lay on his tongue. The light filtering in through the curtains was painfully bright. It would be best if he just remained in bed, but he couldn’t.

  He needed to find Elle. Needed to talk to her.

  Needed her. He needed Elle.

  Elle. As in Giselle…the young stepsister of his fiancée. He had fallen in love with her. He had convinced himself that his interludes with the girl meant nothing, that she was just a distraction. But in his heart of hearts, he’d known the truth and ignored it. If she had just been the daughter of one of the visiting nobles it would have been so much easier. In a few short weeks, she would leave his family’s summer estate and it would be unlikely he would see her again.

  But she was Giselle, Marguerite’s beloved little sister. His betrothed had often written of the younger woman, and he knew there was li
ttle Marguerite wouldn’t do for the girl.

  It was a sentiment he understood well.

  Swearing, he cradled his aching head in his hands. Part of him was filled with dread—he had seen the shock, the pain in Elle’s face last night when the formal announcements were made. Seeing her pain had been like taking a dagger to his heart.

  He needed to see her. He needed to bid her farewell.

  Farewell.

  Michael closed his eyes. Even though he’d known it was inevitable, he still couldn’t conceive it. Couldn’t imagine walking away from her, never seeing her again.

  Letting her go.

  But he must. He had no choice.

  Do you not?

  The sly, insidious whisper crept up on him. He tried to shove it away, but then the pain returned and he knew he’d do anything to keep her with him.

  For always.

  He was a man. She was a lovely woman who had already given herself to him. There was no need to let her go. He could take care of her. Set her up somewhere close to him, and they could be together as often as possible. It was a common enough arrangement. Most of the men he knew had mistresses.

  Of course, he couldn’t think of a single one setting up his sister-in-law as his mistress.

  She has feelings for me, he told himself.

  It would actually be a kindness to her—any future husband she might have wouldn’t indulge her the way her father had, the way her stepmother and stepsister had. That fiery spirit of hers would be crushed.

  I cannot do this, he told himself, but he heard the lack of conviction.

  It wasn’t fair to her.

  But then again…how fair was it that they lose each other when they had just found each other? They were happy together. They belonged together.

  Before long, he had himself convinced it was the best thing to do.

  The only thing.

  Yes…this is what I must do.

  He found Elle at the northern edge of the lake, sitting on the grass and staring out over the water. Her golden hair was loose and blowing in the wind. She wore men’s clothing.

  To him, she looked lovelier than any lady of the court.

  “Elle.”

  When she looked at him, he realized she had been crying. Her summery blue eyes were red and swollen. A jagged pain tore through him. She came to her feet and he braced himself. His Elle had a temper.

  “Your highness,” she said, her voice soft and low. She curtsied, and despite the men’s clothing, she looked lovely and elegant. “I beg your pardon. I shall leave—”

  “Stop.” He barely managed to keep from bellowing. Striding up to her, he caught her arm. “Do not do that.”

  “Do what, your highness?” She kept her head lowered.

  “That. I have a name, the same name you’ve used for this past week. I would thank you to use it.” Look at me. Darling girl, please look at me.

  “I beg your pardon, your highness, but I cannot. It was only in my ignorance that I addressed you so inappropriately.” She eased back a step. “If you would excuse me—”

  “I will not. I came to speak with you.”

  Finally, her gaze met his for only the briefest second. Then she looked away, staring past him into the trees. “I do not think it is proper that we speak, your highness,” she said softly.

  “This past week, you have cared nothing for being proper. Why do you suddenly care now?”

  “Because now I know who you are.” She swallowed and cleared her throat. When she spoke again, her voice cracked. “You are my sister’s betrothed. You are Prince Louis Michael III. And I…” Shaking her head, she backed away. “I must go. Farewell, your highness.”

  “No,” he growled. Grabbing her arms, he hauled her against him and fisted a hand in her bright, golden curls. Her hair was like sun-warmed silk under his hand. “I am not ready for you to go.”

  He kissed her, desperate to find the warmth he had known this past week. But she was still and cool, unmoving under his hands. She did not fight, but she did not welcome his touch either. Frustrated, so very hungry for her, he slid a hand under her shirt and found warm, bare skin. Her breast was soft and full and when he circled his thumb over her nipple, it peaked against his touch.

  “You want me,” he whispered against her mouth. “You cannot deny that.”

  “No.”

  He lifted his head and stared at her. “And I want you. I cannot deny that.”

  “You are my sister’s betrothed. This is not right.” Tears gleamed in her eyes, but she blinked them away. A ragged breath escaped her, her slender body tensing in his arms. “Release me, your highness.”

  “I cannot do that. You are mine, Elle. You gave yourself to me and I intend to keep you.” He nipped her lower lip and straightened. Staring into her eyes, he swiftly stripped her shirt away, tossing it to the grass.

  She looked down at her bare breasts and then up at him, a bemused look on her face. Then she shook her head and turned away. “I cannot give myself to a man who is promised to another,” she said quietly. She bent over and grabbed her shirt.

  The fabric of her breeches drew tight across her rump and Michael caught her hips, holding her steady as he pressed against her. She whimpered, a soft, hungry female sound that went straight to his head. His blood pumped hot and fast. “You are mine,” he whispered.

  She straightened and he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her tense body against his own as he dipped his hand inside her breeches. She was wet, silky wet and so hot. Mine.

  Her knees buckled and she sagged against him. Instead of supporting her weight, he eased her to the ground, following her down. Shoving her breeches down to her knees, he stared at the soft, plump curves of her rump, the golden curls that framed her sex, and the glistening pink folds.

  “Michael, please…”

  “Yes,” he whispered, pressing his fingers to her wet slit. “Say my name. My name, not some fucking title.” He shoved his own breeches down, baring nothing but his cock and then he pressed against her.

  Elle tensed and he reached around, toying with the swollen bud just above her entrance. “Say my name, Elle. Tell me you want me. Tell me you want this,” he demanded.

  Tell me that you are mine…I just found you, I cannot lose you.

  “Michael, we cannot do this,” she whispered.

  He set his jaw. In the back of his mind he knew he should stop. He reached for what little remained of his control. She shivered in his arms, whimpering low in her throat.

  “Shhh…” he murmured, brushing his lips over her bare shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he sent the order to his hands to release her. But then she rolled her hips back.

  Swearing, he reached up and turned her face, covering her mouth with his as he sank his aching cock into her slick pussy. Tight—as tight as she had been just the other day when he took what she had given to no other man. She whimpered and shifted, trying to spread her thighs to better accommodate him, but the breeches still tangled around her knees prevented it.

  “Mine,” he rasped against her lips as she cried out.

  Bracing one elbow on the grass, he used the other to grip her hip, bracing her as he rode her—deep and hard, lost in the feel of her, the taste of her. The sound of her crying out his name as he brought her to pleasure was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

  It was hard, brutal and fast…devastating, over all too soon. She came around him with a sob and he erupted inside her, emptying himself. Collapsing atop her body, he rolled to his side, drawing her with him.

  The sun shone down on their bodies, warm and bright. A gentle breeze danced across their flesh as he stroked a hand down her hip.

  Kissing her shoulder, he whispered, “My Elle…”

  “Je t’aime.”

  The whispered declaration washed over him and he closed his eyes. Gripping her hip, he started to move inside her again. “Yes. That is what I want from you, Elle…what I need. Say it again.”

  She remained silent.
>
  Pulling away, he stripped her clothes away and then his own. Then he laid her on the discarded clothing and came into her again. Cupping her face in his hands, he demanded, “Look at me, Elle. Say it again.”

  Elle’s eyes remained stubbornly closed.

  Swearing, Michael raked his teeth down her neck, along her jaw. Against her ear, he whispered, “I love you so much it hurts. My darling girl, do you not know?”

  “Michael, please…”

  He reached between them, stroking her clitoris with the tip of his finger. The little nub of flesh was hard and erect and she cried out when he touched her, her voice ragged and breathless.

  He toyed with her, stroking and teasing until she was panting, straining for the release he held just out of her reach. Her nails raked down his back and she bit his shoulder so hard she left a mark on him. “Tell me again, Elle. Please tell me…”

  “I love you, Michael.” She whispered it quietly, her golden lashes shielding her eyes.

  But she’d said it. She’d admitted it. She was his. He would keep her.

  “Darling girl.”

  As he brought her to one final climax, he crushed his mouth to hers.

  Mine…

  Quiet moments passed and Michael found himself drifting closer and closer to sleep. But then Elle stirred in his arms and he sat up as she did. When she would have stood, he caught her arm and pulled her into his lap. She sat there stiffly, staring out over the lake.

  “We should talk arrangements,” he said quietly. Already, he had an idea where she would live. It was close enough that he could see her several times a week, or more.

  “Arrangements.”

  “Yes.” He brushed her hair back from her face, staring down at her, aching for the sadness in her eyes. It would pass though. He wouldn’t lose her, and she wouldn’t lose him. “I was thinking I could bring you to the city in a few months.”

  He hadn’t thought it possible, but her body grew more rigid in his arms. “Bring me to the city, your highness? For what purpose?”