Her Christmas Prince. Catherine Mann

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      Her expression softened at his inquiry. “I’m fine, thank you. I just decided to have my meal in my room so I could continue to work.”

      “You’ve been working since we returned from the children’s home,” he said, more of a statement than a question.

      “That is why you hired me,” she replied with a tiny smile.

      Her grip on the front of her robe loosened and he caught another quick glimpse of cleavage. His body immediately went tight and hot.

      Clearing his throat, he struggled to make his brain work past the thought of stripping her bare and having her writhing beneath him. When he couldn’t seem to manage that, he gave a curt nod and headed back the way he’d come.

      It took him the full length of both hallways and the staircase to regain his reason and decide on a course of action.

      First, he strode into the dining room, where the rest of the family had already been served, and told them he wouldn’t be sharing dinner with them. Then he went to the rear of the palace and entered the kitchens, asking that two trays be made up and taken to Alandra’s suite rather than only one.

      He waited while that was done, and then accompanied the servant as the young man delivered the cart. Alandra answered the door when he knocked, a frown marring her brow when she noticed Nicolas trailing behind. To her credit, she held her tongue as the cart was wheeled into the center of the sitting room.

      Glancing toward Nicolas, the servant waited to be told where they wished their meals to be served.

      “That’s fine, Franc. I’ll take it from here. Thank you.”

      The young man inclined his head and quickly made his way from the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Nicolas and Alandra alone.

      Her gaze skated from the cart, with its silver-domed platters and bottle of wine, to him. “You’re not planning on eating with me?” she asked, not bothering with even a modicum of civility as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and tapped the red-tipped toes of one bare foot impatiently.

      “We have a lot to do, as you’ve said, and I agree that taking dinner in your rooms is a good way to make rapid progress. We’ll eat on the balcony,” he added, pulling the cart out onto the terrace. “You’ll like it out there. Bring some of your files, if you like, and we can discuss them while we eat.”

      She didn’t say anything, but he wouldn’t have stopped if she had. Giving her the chance to respond was only inviting a refusal, and he had no intention of being put off.

      She followed him to the French doors, still without uttering a word, but stopped before actually stepping onto the balcony.

      It was still light outside, edging into dusk, and the bright shades of sunset could be seen on the far horizon. The temperature, normally quite comfortable at this time of year, was even warmer than usual, giving him no qualms about inviting her out in little more than a thin slip of satiny material.

      And if she got cold…well, he could think of several ways to heat things up quickly enough.

      He moved to the round, glass-topped table outside, and pretended not to be watching her as he transferred their dinner from the cart. In reality, however, he kept track of her in his peripheral view. He saw her fingers twisting nervously on the frame of the open double doors, and her bare toes curling on the threshold rather than taking the step that would bring her out onto the balcony.

      “Maybe I should change,” she said in a soft voice.

      Though he was careful not to let it show, he felt a flash of triumph. She had apparently accepted that arguing or asking him to leave was futile. He was here for dinner, and he meant to stay.

      Raising his head, he once again looked directly at her. He wanted her sitting across from him just like that, with her legs bare and the turquoise fabric bringing out the sparkle in her dark eyes.

      “What you’re wearing is fine,” he replied. “This is a casual meal, and we’ll be talking about the charities most of the time. In fact, I’ll join you in getting more comfortable.”

      Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he hung it neatly over the back of his chair, removed his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “How’s that?” he asked, giving her a moment to study his appearance. “I can remove more of my clothing if you like, but I have a feeling you would consider that a bit too casual. Am I right?”

      He cocked a brow, silently challenging her to deny it. If he had his way, they would both be naked before the night was over.

      For a second, she returned his look with a steady, rebellious one of her own, then spun around and disappeared into the bedroom.

      At first, he thought she’d gone to cover herself in battle armor. But she reappeared a moment later, still wearing the same nightgown and robe, and not a stitch more. She was also carrying a legal pad and small stack of folders.

      She took a seat and pulled her chair closer to the table, acting as though she was sitting down to a business lunch in a full business suit. But he certainly wasn’t going to complain now that he had her exactly where he wanted her.

      Following her lead, he lifted the silver covers from both plates and set them aside, then took his own seat across from her. He uncorked the bottle of wine, from one of Glendovia’s own vineyards, and poured a healthy portion for each of them.

      Nicolas made small talk while they ate. And though Alandra’s side of the conversation was stilted at first, eventually she relaxed and spoke to him as easily as she would anyone else.

      They’d just begun discussing the plans for the children’s home when a knock sounded at the sitting room door.

      “That will be dessert,” Nicolas announced. Rising to his feet, he slung his jacket over his arm. “Let’s move things into the other room, shall we?”

      He strolled in that direction, leaving her to follow with her stack of files.

      Before the waiting servant had a chance to knock a second time, Nicolas pulled the door open, gestured for him to enter and instructed him to serve the coffee and dessert at the low, square table in front of the fireplace.

      While that was being taken care of, Nicolas lowered the lights, then proceeded to build a small fire in the hearth.

      Alandra watched from the bedroom doorway, chagrined to find herself admiring the broad expanse of the prince’s back. The narrow span of his waist. The ripple of muscles beneath his crisp white shirt and dark trousers as he moved.

      She swallowed hard, feeling a flush of heat flow over her chest, up her neck and into her cheeks.

      Noticing Nicolas’s considerable physical attributes was the last thing she should be doing. Finding him attractive at all, in any way, would be the kiss of death. A risk she could not afford.

      And yet she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him.

      “Isn’t it a little warm for a fire?” she asked as the servant finished his task and slipped silently from the room.

      “I thought you might be chilly,” the prince replied, turning from the flickering flames and СКАЧАТЬ