The Rebel Prince. Raye Morgan

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      “Try the stables. You can call down there from the hall phone.”

      “Okay.” Pacio paused, looking down at Emma, then grinned and made a kissing motion, but Sebastian shot back a murderous look that had him hurrying away again.

      He turned back to the limp figure on the shiny tile. Her breathing seemed a bit shallow to him.

      “Are you falling asleep?” he asked her, incredulous.

      “Just a little,” she murmured softly. “I’m so sleepy. Just let me sleep.”

      Staring down at her, he wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or amused.

      “I don’t think you should do that. You should probably keep talking.”

      “I don’t want to talk. You talk.” She pulled the towel up around her shoulders, then opened one eye just a bit to look at him. “Tell me a story,” she suggested sleepily. “I’ll bet you’re good at that. You’re the type.”

      He looked at her sharply, wondering if she was more aware than he’d thought. Maybe he was being thin-skinned, but her comment sounded like derision to him.

      “I think I resent that.”

      She shrugged. “It’s a free country.”

      “Meridia?” he muttered cynically. “What gives you that idea?”

      She didn’t answer but he hadn’t meant her to. He had mixed feelings about his native country. A love-hate relationship of sorts. Meridia was his home and now his legacy. But it was also a place that had deeply damaged too many in his family—a place where his father had died under suspicious circumstances. A place that now wanted him as king.

      “When are you going to start?” she asked.

      He turned, looking down at her. “Start what?”

      “Telling stories.”

      He stared at her, wondering if she was always this strange or if he’d caused it. “Do you seriously expect me to sit here and tell you stories?”

      “Sure. Why not? We’re in a castle, aren’t we? Fairy tales would seem to be in order.”

      “Have you been drinking?” he asked suddenly as the possibility occurred to him.

      “Just the cooking sherry,” she shot back, then giggled. “Only kidding. No, I have not been drinking. But I’m feeling kind of…I don’t know…kind of punchy.” She gazed at him through squinted eyelids. “Can getting hit on the head make you punchy?”

      He shrugged. “We’ll ask Will when he gets here. If he ever gets here.”

      She frowned, shading her eyes as she looked up at him. “Who is Will?”

      “The castle medical man.”

      She winced, then yawned. “I don’t need a doctor. I just need a better place to sleep.”

      “And I’m pretty sure I’m going to need a good stiff drink myself before this is over,” he muttered. “I might even settle for the cooking sherry. I’ve settled for worse.”

      He sank back against a post and tried to get comfortable on the hard floor. Every sound in the high-ceilinged pool area echoed against the walls, every lap of water against tile, every drip, giving the place an eerie, spooky feel. He supposed he could dispel that with the sound of his own voice, but he didn’t want to do that. There was no way in hell he was going to tell her a story. He might go so far as to give her a nudge with his foot if she seemed to be drifting off. Other than that, they would wait for Will.

      Emma was racing through a thick forest, dodging trees. That shimmering white vision she’d just barely glimpsed had to be a unicorn. She had to find it. There! Wasn’t that it? She ran faster. You had to be clever to catch a unicorn and now she was tiring, her breath searing her throat. Just a little further. It had to be there. Just beyond that huge ragged trunk…her feet were like stones and the unicorn’s hot breath was on her neck and…

      Only it wasn’t that at all, it was a strong male hand on her shoulder and it felt divine. She looked up. It was that tall, handsome man again, the one with the incredible tan and the golden chest hair and the muscles that curled and swelled like waves on a Mediterranean sea. Was she still dreaming? He was really too good to be true.

      His face was strong, his features even, and he had the most beautiful golden eyes she’d ever seen. His hair was naturally dark but the ends had been bleached out by the sun, giving him a sort of golden halo effect. That, along with the dark tan, gave mute testimony to a life spent outdoors—either doing manual labor or lazing about at seaside resorts. She had a feeling she knew which it might be.

      He was the sort of man women called “hot” and for the first time in her life she thought she really understood what that meant. His touch left tingles behind. She wanted to have that feeling again.

      Men like this never paid much attention to girls like her, but she supposed he was only trying to be nice since he’d been the one to knock her down. What would it be like to slip into his arms and hold that beautiful body close to hers? Just thinking of it made her pulse begin to beat a rhythm at the base of her throat. He was looking at her strangely. She had a moment of quick panic—could he read her mind?

      No, probably not.

      But why did he keep waking her up? She was so tired and it was so hot and humid in this place and she only wanted to close her eyes and let the world go away.

      But there was someone else here now. He was testing her out, checking for injuries. His touch didn’t have the same electric charge as the other one, but it had a certain confident comfort to it and she didn’t protest as he examined just about everything there was to examine on her.

      “Good lord, Monty,” the new man was saying, teasing. “I’d heard you were losing it. But I didn’t know you’d gotten to the point of having to knock a woman down and drag her off just to get a date.”

      Emma had to struggle to open her eyes and see who the newcomer was. But he was worth the effort—a dark-haired, handsome man in riding clothes, bearing a small black bag and looking down at her kindly.

      “I didn’t knock her down,” the even more handsome man who’d been staying with her all this time and whose name seemed to be Monty was saying defensively. “Well, not exactly…”

      “I heard she got hit by a water-polo ball,” the new man said, slipping a blood-pressure cuff up her arm and starting to pump. “A water-polo ball that you threw. I’d call that a knock-down.”

      “We’ve already established the guilt in this situation,” Monty responded acerbically. “But the motives were pure.”

      He leaned toward her. “Emma, this irritating man is Dr Will Harris. He’ll get to the bottom of this ‘resting’ business.” He nodded toward the doctor. “Will, this is Emma Valentine. She can’t seem to stop sleeping. Maybe you can find out why.”

      “Emma Valentine, ay? Pretty name.” Will smiled at her. “Pretty name for a pretty lady.” He released the pressure and СКАЧАТЬ