Page 63 of The Prince Who Loved Me

She sighed in contentment and stretched, raising and lowering their hands. “I should probably get home.”

“I’m spending the night in a hotel,” Sebastien said. He noticed her slight frown, so he quickly explained. “I thought it might be better if we didn’t arrive at Fountenoy Hall at the same time.”

“Good thinking.” She stroked his hand. “The Old Brandi would stay awake all night wondering if you just fed her a line and figuring out how to get around it.”

“The New Brandi knows better.” Sebastien kissed the back of her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And hope like hell I can keep from grinning like an idiot the next time I see you.”

She followed him out of the limo and he walked her to her car. Their kiss was brief but hungry, leaving him panting and wondering how his dreams finally came true.

He waited until her headlights disappeared down the drive before getting back into the limo and onward to the hotel. Falling asleep had never been so easy.

Grinning like an idiot was Sebastien’s new favorite pastime.

It started when he arrived at Fountenoy Hall during breakfast service. He had planned on eating at the hotel, but why be amongst strangers when he could be with Brandi? He gave her space while she helped with the meal service. Every flash of blonde hair made him smile.

“Are you okay?” Wendy stood by his table, a stack of dishes in her hand. “You’ve had all this food in front of you for ten minutes and you haven’t eaten a thing. And you have this weird look on your face.”

“Fine. I’m fine.” He stuffed a forkful of waffle in his mouth and grinned. Like an idiot.

It continued when he timed his exit to Brandi leaving for Belle’s. In the parking lot out of sight of the kitchen windows, he gave her the good morning kiss he’d been dreaming about since leaving her last night. She returned it with equal fervor, then waved as she sped off to her job.

It dimmed some after that, but appeared at random times throughout the day. When she texted during her lunch. When he thought about dinner last night. When Wendy asked him about his date.

He tried to stifle it for that question, but his obvious exuberance made her frown. “Just be careful,” she said.

“Of course,mon caneton.” Did that mean he shouldn’t hire a skywriter?

“Does she know who you are?”

“She does.”

“Hmmm.” She gave him a critical look. “Okay.”

Better change the subject before she thought of something else to ask. “Is the ballroom in use today?”

She opened her tablet and checked the calendar. “There’s a breakfast tomorrow, so as long as you don’t make a mess, you should be fine. Is this for your show?”

He nodded. “I don’t have much time.”

He sat on the hardwood floor in the little-used ballroom, his sketches spread out around him. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed every misstep, every eraser mark he made, but also highlighted his successes. He reached for the next cardboard box stacked next to him. The steward had shipped almost every sketch Sebastien had left at home, saying the King and Queen didn’t need every reminder of their son’s hobby.

Ouch. Being born through no fault of his own could really stifle creativity.

Seeing his progression from an eight-year-old with crayons to a twenty-something developing an eye for details to being in his thirties and mostly settling into a style had been an education in itself.

He hadn’t mentioned his sketch journal to Thomasina, the one where he drew his thoughts instead of writing them out. That was something personal, something that no one got to see. It would be like reading his diary. Anyone interpreting his recent entries would liken it to him scribbling Mr. Brandilynn Clayton across his notebooks in school, complete with a heart dotting the I.

“Wow, it looks like a paper factory exploded in here.” Brandi’s voice came from the doorway. “Hey, look! That’s me.” She picked a picture off the floor and studied it. It was a good one, with her reaching up to pick a peach off the tree, showing her humor and character.

“I would draw you naked.” Sebastien slowly traced over her the dips and valleys of her curves with one finger, from her collarbone to between her breasts and around her hips. She closed her eyes, already panting from his touch. She was so wonderfully responsive. “These contours and curves were made for my pencil.”

“Now?” Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze hot and carnal.

He cupped her face and leaned in to taste her lips, alreadyacclimated to their familiar territory and pressure when she kissed him back. Regretfully he let her go. “I’d love to, but I must deal with these first. And I want to take my time when I’m with you.”

“I won’t argue with that.” She sat back on her heels, looking at the piles of sketches, and picked up a portrait of his first niece when she was a tiny child. The girl was having her eighteenth birthday in a month or so. “You should send this one to your family. I bet they’d love to have it.”

“I sent them a better one.”