The Prince's Stolen Virgin

No. A side effect of that overprotectiveness. But then, she had no desire to kiss Tommy Beer Pong or his league of idiot friends.

Tall, sophisticated-looking men on bustling streets were another matter. Apparently.

She blinked then turned back around, heading back in the direction she had originally been going. Not that she was in a hurry. She was on break from school, and spending the days wandering her parents’ town house wasn’t terribly appealing. So she had decided she was going to go to the Met today, because she never got tired of wandering those halls.

But suddenly, the Met, and all the art inside, seemed lackluster. At least, in view of the man she had just seen.

Ridiculous.

She shook her head and pressed on.

“Are you running away from me?”

She stopped, her heart slamming against her breastbone. Then she whirled around and nearly ran into the object of her thwarted feelings. “No,” she said, the word coming out on a breath.

“You seemed to be walking quickly, and with great purpose.”

Oh, his voice. He had an accent. Spanish, or something. Sexy and like the sort of thing her brain would weave out of thin air late at night when she was trying to sleep, concocting herself the perfect mystery dream date that she would likely never find.

He was even better-looking up close. Stunning, even. He smiled, revealing perfect teeth. And then, he relaxed his mouth. There was something even more compelling about that. About being able to examine the shape of his lips.

“I wasn’t,” she said. “I just...” Somebody bumped into her as they walked by quickly. “Well, I didn’t want to be in the way,” she said, gesturing after the person, as if to prove her point.

“Because you had stopped,” he pressed. “To look at me?”

“You were looking at me.”

“Surely you must be used to that.”

Hardly. At least, not in the way that he meant. Nobody likes to be different, and she was different in a great many ways. She was tall, first of all. Which was one refreshing thing about him. He was at least five inches taller than her height of five eleven, which was a rare and difficult thing to come across.

But yes, that was her. Tall. Skinny. All limbs. Plus, her hair was never going to fall in the effortless, silken waves most of her friends possessed. It took serious salon treatments to get it straight and she often questioned if it was worth it. Though, her mother insisted it was.

She was the opposite of the typical blonde beauty queen in her sorority or at any of the private schools she had attended growing up.

She stood out. And when you were a teenager, it was the last thing you wanted.

Though, now that she was in her early twenties, she was beginning to come to terms with herself. Her first instinct still wasn’t to assume someone was staring because they liked what they saw. No, she always assumed they were staring because she was out of place.

“Not especially,” she said, because it was honest.

“I don’t believe that,” he said. “You’re far too beautiful to walk around not having men snap their necks trying to get a look.”

Her face grew warm, her heart beginning to beat faster, harder. “I’m not really... I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

That earned her a chuckle. “Then perhaps we should make sure to become something other than strangers.”

She hesitated. “Briar. My name is Briar.”

A strange expression crosssed his face, though it was fleeting. “A nice name. Different.”

“I suppose it is.” She knew it was. Yet another thing that made her feel like she stood out.

“José,” he said, extending his hand.

She simply stared at it for a moment, as if she wasn’t quite sure what he intended her to do. But of course she did know. He wanted to shake her hand. That wasn’t weird. It was what people did when they met. She sucked in a sharp breath and allowed her fingers to meet his.

It was like she’d been hit by lightning. The electricity was so acute, so startling, that she immediately dropped his hand, taking a step back. She had never felt anything like that before in her life. And she didn’t know if she wanted to feel it again.

“I have to go.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, insistent.

“Yes. I do. I was on my way to... I was just going to...to a hair appointment.” A lie easily thought of because she’d just been pondering her hair. But she could hardly tell him she was going to the museum. He might offer to walk with her. Though she supposed he could offer to take her to a salon, too.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I have to go.” She turned away, walking away from him quickly.

“Wait! I don’t even know how to get in touch with you. At least give me your phone number.”

“I can’t.” For a whole variety of reasons, but mostly because of the tingling sensation that still lingered on her hand.

She turned again, taking too-long strides away from him.

“Wait!”

She didn’t. She kept on walking. And the last thing she saw was a bright yellow taxi barreling down on her.

* * *

Warmth flooded her. The strangest sensation assaulted her. Like she was being filled with oxygen, her extremities beginning to tingle. She felt disembodied, like she was floating in a dark space.

Except then it wasn’t so dark. There was light. Marble walls. White. With ornate golden details. It was so clear. A place she’d never seen before, and yet...she must have.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she felt like she was being brought back to herself.

First, she could wiggle her fingertips. And then, she became aware of other things. Of the source of the warmth.

Lips against hers. She was being kissed.

Her eyes fluttered open, and in that instant she recognized the dark head bent over hers.

The man from the street.

The street. She had been crossing the street.

Was she in the street still? She couldn’t remember leaving it. But she felt... Tied down.