effortless accent made her suspect he probably spoke French.
“Were you born here? In the States?”
“I’ve lived in Kenilworth my whole life, but I’ve spent a lot of time in France with my dad’s family. My dad was born in Antibes and started his company there; my mom’s family was from New York. I have a dual citizenship with the US and France.”
“Are they both gone?” she asked softly.
His eyes flashed. For a few seconds, the aloof prince sitting at the end of that table last night had returned. Then his irritation seemed to fade to slight puzzlement as he stared at her. “Yes,” he replied after a moment.
“Mine, too.”
He blinked. “Really?”
“Well, not in the way you meant,” she admitted. “My mom passed three years ago from breast cancer. When I say my father’s gone, I mean he’s nowhere I know of. He may be dead, for all we know. He left when I was five.”
“He abandoned you?” Montand asked, his forehead crinkling into a scowl.
She nodded. “Gone for good. I don’t recall much about him. You don’t miss much what you never had,” she said, following him.
“Lucky you,” she thought she heard him mutter under his breath. What had he meant by that? Had he, too, been abandoned by someone in his life? “What about the rest of your family?” he asked.
“It’s always been my mom, my sister, and me.”
“Is your sister still around?” he asked, turning his head as he walked.
“Yes, we live together.”
He stopped and turned abruptly. Emma started and pulled to a halt to prevent from running into him.
“So you’re not married?”
She inhaled sharply. “No.”
“What were you planning on doing out there?”
“Do?
When
?” Emma asked. It didn’t help her bewilderment that she was looking him full in the face again, especially since this time she was closer to him. He was good-looking—
extremely
, the most effortlessly handsome man she’d seen in her life—but it wasn’t his handsomeness that was setting her off balance. Or at least she didn’t think so. She’d never been that shallow or giddy in the past around a good-looking guy. It was his eyes. She couldn’t stop herself from looking straight into them even though doing it made her feel light-headed, like the air pressure had just changed drastically. The light, iridescent color of them contrasted appealingly with arched, thick eyebrows, eyelashes, and short sideburns.
“Before I showed up,” he explained. “Were you going to call someone for help with the car?”
She whipped her brain into focusing. “Oh . . . yeah,” she said, realizing he must have seen her phone in her hand as she sat in the car earlier. “I was.”
“Who?”
She stared, tongue-tied.
“Roadside assistance?” he prompted, leaning his head down slightly. On her anxious inhale, she thought she caught a scent of him—a subtle waft of spicy aftershave and the residue of peppermint chewing gum and . . . motor oil?
“Your sister? Your boyfriend?” he prodded pointedly.
“My boyfriend,” Emma admitted in a croaking voice, stepping away from him. The word had never felt so hollow for her. She cleared her throat, struggling for her composure. Of course the word
boyfriend
wasn’t meaningless. It meant Colin, a living, breathing, wonderful guy. “I was feeling guilty about it, actually, because Colin—that’s his name—has been especially tired lately. New job and all. Hasn’t gotten used to the schedule yet.”
He didn’t reply to her rambling. His angular, whiskered jaw worked in a subtle circular motion in the uncomfortable silence that followed. His thin goatee looked very sleek, the way it encircled his mouth distracting her. How could his lips look so hard and firm, and yet so soft and shapely at the same time?
He turned and walked away.
“Get in,” he said gruffly, nodding toward a shiny little dark blue roadster that probably cost ten times as much as Emma made in a year. It was a convertible. A
“Were you born here? In the States?”
“I’ve lived in Kenilworth my whole life, but I’ve spent a lot of time in France with my dad’s family. My dad was born in Antibes and started his company there; my mom’s family was from New York. I have a dual citizenship with the US and France.”
“Are they both gone?” she asked softly.
His eyes flashed. For a few seconds, the aloof prince sitting at the end of that table last night had returned. Then his irritation seemed to fade to slight puzzlement as he stared at her. “Yes,” he replied after a moment.
“Mine, too.”
He blinked. “Really?”
“Well, not in the way you meant,” she admitted. “My mom passed three years ago from breast cancer. When I say my father’s gone, I mean he’s nowhere I know of. He may be dead, for all we know. He left when I was five.”
“He abandoned you?” Montand asked, his forehead crinkling into a scowl.
She nodded. “Gone for good. I don’t recall much about him. You don’t miss much what you never had,” she said, following him.
“Lucky you,” she thought she heard him mutter under his breath. What had he meant by that? Had he, too, been abandoned by someone in his life? “What about the rest of your family?” he asked.
“It’s always been my mom, my sister, and me.”
“Is your sister still around?” he asked, turning his head as he walked.
“Yes, we live together.”
He stopped and turned abruptly. Emma started and pulled to a halt to prevent from running into him.
“So you’re not married?”
She inhaled sharply. “No.”
“What were you planning on doing out there?”
“Do?
When
?” Emma asked. It didn’t help her bewilderment that she was looking him full in the face again, especially since this time she was closer to him. He was good-looking—
extremely
, the most effortlessly handsome man she’d seen in her life—but it wasn’t his handsomeness that was setting her off balance. Or at least she didn’t think so. She’d never been that shallow or giddy in the past around a good-looking guy. It was his eyes. She couldn’t stop herself from looking straight into them even though doing it made her feel light-headed, like the air pressure had just changed drastically. The light, iridescent color of them contrasted appealingly with arched, thick eyebrows, eyelashes, and short sideburns.
“Before I showed up,” he explained. “Were you going to call someone for help with the car?”
She whipped her brain into focusing. “Oh . . . yeah,” she said, realizing he must have seen her phone in her hand as she sat in the car earlier. “I was.”
“Who?”
She stared, tongue-tied.
“Roadside assistance?” he prompted, leaning his head down slightly. On her anxious inhale, she thought she caught a scent of him—a subtle waft of spicy aftershave and the residue of peppermint chewing gum and . . . motor oil?
“Your sister? Your boyfriend?” he prodded pointedly.
“My boyfriend,” Emma admitted in a croaking voice, stepping away from him. The word had never felt so hollow for her. She cleared her throat, struggling for her composure. Of course the word
boyfriend
wasn’t meaningless. It meant Colin, a living, breathing, wonderful guy. “I was feeling guilty about it, actually, because Colin—that’s his name—has been especially tired lately. New job and all. Hasn’t gotten used to the schedule yet.”
He didn’t reply to her rambling. His angular, whiskered jaw worked in a subtle circular motion in the uncomfortable silence that followed. His thin goatee looked very sleek, the way it encircled his mouth distracting her. How could his lips look so hard and firm, and yet so soft and shapely at the same time?
He turned and walked away.
“Get in,” he said gruffly, nodding toward a shiny little dark blue roadster that probably cost ten times as much as Emma made in a year. It was a convertible. A
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