Christmas with the Prince. Charlene Sands

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      He pulled out the chair beside his own. “Have a seat.”

      As she sat, she found herself enveloped in the subtle, spicy scent of his aftershave. She tried to recall if William, her possibly-soon-to-be fiancé, wore aftershave or cologne. If he had, she’d never noticed.

      The prince’s fingers brushed the backs of her shoulders as he eased her chair in and she nearly jolted against the sudden and intense zing of awareness.

      He was touching her.

      Get a grip, Liv. It wasn’t like he was coming on to her. He was being polite and she was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. Even when she was a schoolgirl she had never acted this way. She’d been above the temptation that had gotten so many other girls from high school in trouble. Or as her last foster mom, Marsha, used to put it, in the family way.

      Then the prince placed both hands on her shoulders and her breath caught in her lungs.

      His hands felt big and solid and warm. You are not going to blush, she told herself, but already she could feel a rush of color searing her cheeks, which only multiplied her embarrassment.

      It was nothing more than a friendly gesture, and here she was having a hot flash. Could this be any more humiliating?

      “Do you prefer coffee or tea?” he asked.

      “Coffee, please,” she said, but it came out high and squeaky.

      He leaned past her to reach for the carafe on the table, and as he did, the back of her head bumped the wall of his chest. She was sure it was just her imagination, but she swore she felt his body heat, heard the steady thump of his heart beating. Her own heart was hammering so hard that it felt as though it would beat its way out of her chest.

      Shouldn’t a servant be doing that? she wondered as he poured her a cup and slid it in front of her. Then he finally backed away and returned to his chair, resuming the same casual, relaxed stance—and she took her first full breath since she’d sat down.

      “Would you care for breakfast?” he asked.

      “Please,” she said, though her throat was so tight, she could barely get air to pass through, much less food. But if she didn’t eat something soon, she would go into hypoglycemic shock. She just hoped she didn’t humiliate herself further. She was so used to eating at her desk in the lab, or in a rush over the kitchen sink, she was a little rusty when it came to the rules of etiquette. What if she used the wrong fork, or chewed with her mouth open?

      He rang a bell, and within seconds a man dressed in characteristic butler apparel seemed to materialize from thin air.

      “Breakfast for our guest, Geoffrey,” he said.

      Geoffrey nodded and slipped away as stealthily as he’d emerged.

      Liv folded her hands in her lap and, because most of her time was spent huddled over her laptop or a microscope, reminded herself to sit up straight.

      “I trust you slept well,” the prince said.

      She nodded. “I woke at seven thinking it was last night, then I looked outside and noticed that the sun was on the wrong side of the horizon.”

      “I guess you were more tired than you thought.”

      “I guess so. But I’m anxious to get down to the lab. You said I’ll get a password for the door?”

      “Yes, in fact…” He pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. As she took it, she felt lingering traces of heat from his body and her cheeks flushed deeper red.

      She unfolded the paper and looked at the code—a simple seven-digit number—then handed it back to him.

      “Don’t you want to memorize it?” he asked.

      “I just did.”

      His eyes widened with surprise, and he folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. “Your ID badge will be ready this morning. You’ll want to wear it all the time, so you’re not stopped by security. It will grant you full access to the castle, with the exception of the royal family’s quarters of course, and any of our agricultural facilities or fields.”

      “You mentioned something about a map of the castle,” she said, too embarrassed to admit that she’d actually gotten lost on her way to breakfast.

      “Of course. I’ll have Derek print one up for you.”

      “Thank you.”

      “So,” Prince Aaron said, lounging back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. “Tell me about yourself. About your family.”

      “Oh, I don’t have any family.”

      Confusion wrinkled his brow. “Everyone has family.”

      “I’m an orphan. I was raised in the New York foster care system.”

      His expression sobered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

      She shrugged. “No reason to be sorry. It’s not your fault.”

      “Do you mind my asking what happened to your parents?”

      It’s not like her past was some big secret. She had always embraced who she was, and where she came from. “No, I don’t mind. My mom died a long time ago. She was a drug addict. Social services took me away from her when I was three.”

      “What about your father?”

      “I don’t have one.”

      At the subtle lift of his brow, she realized how odd that sounded, like she was the product of a virgin birth or something. When the more likely scenario was that her mother had been turning tricks for drug money, and whoever the man was, he probably had no idea he’d fathered a child. And probably wouldn’t care if he did know.

      She told the prince, “Of course someone was my father. He just wasn’t listed on my birth certificate.”

      “No grandparents? Aunts or uncles?”

      She shrugged again. “Maybe. Somewhere. No one ever came forward to claim me.”

      “Have you ever tried to find them?”

      “I figure if they didn’t want me back then, they wouldn’t want me now, either.”

      He frowned, as though he found the idea disturbing.

      “It’s really not a big deal,” she assured him. “I mean, it’s just the way it’s always been. I learned to fend for myself.”

      “But you did have a foster family.”

      “Families,” she corrected. “I had twelve of them.”

      His eyes widened. “Twelve? Why so many?”

      “I was…difficult.”

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