Royal Seductions: Diamonds: The King's Convenient Bride. Michelle Celmer
Читать онлайн книгу.
to tie up. But she couldn’t seem to work up the enthusiasm for any of it.
She felt too…edgy.
Hannah decided a long, hot bath with her lavender bath gel might relax her. Afterward she towel-dried her hair and changed into her most comfortable cotton pajamas. She curled up in bed to watch television, browsing past the gazillion channels available, but there wasn’t a thing on that held her interest.
She snapped the television off and tossed the remote on the coverlet. She was bored silly, yet she didn’t feel like doing anything.
Hannah glanced over at the closet door, where Phillip’s jacket hung. She had planned to give it back to him tomorrow. But what if he’d forgotten he’d lent it to her, and was wondering where he’d left it.
Yeah right. She just wanted an excuse to see him. Which in itself was silly because he was her fiancé. She shouldn’t need an excuse to see him. Right? If she wanted to see him, she should just…see him. Shouldn’t she?
Yes, she decided. She should.
Before she lost her nerve, she rolled out of bed and grabbed her robe, shoving her arms in the sleeves and belting it securely at her waist. She stuck her feet in her slippers, grabbed Phillip’s jacket, and headed out into the hall.
His suite was all the way down the main hall at the opposite end of the east wing. She had never actually been there, but it had been part of the tour Elizabeth took her on earlier in the week.
When she reached his door, she lifted her hand to knock, then hesitated, drawing it back.
What was she doing? Begging for his attention? Was she really so pathetic? Had she so little pride? Wasn’t she stronger than that?
She turned to walk back the way she came from, but hesitated again.
On second thought, why shouldn’t she stop by to give him his jacket? He was her fiancé, wasn’t he? And damn it, she had worked hard to prepare herself for her role as his wife. Didn’t she deserve a little something in return? Was a little bit of his time really all that much to ask for?
No, she decided, it definitely was not.
She turned back, and before she could talk herself out of it again, rapped hard on the door.
Seven
Get a grip, Hannah, she told herself, since her heart was about to pound clear through her chest. It’s not like he’s naked.
But darn close.
A pair of Egyptian cotton pajama bottoms rode low on Phillip’s hips as he opened the door. Other than that, all she was able to comprehend, to process, was the ridiculous amount of muscle she was seeing.
Wide, ripped shoulders and bulging biceps. Lean hips and toned, defined abs. And she could only imagine what was under the pajamas. In fact, she was imagining it.
She was so stunned silly by his perfect physique, it took a moment to register that he was speaking to her.
She peeled her eyes from his flawless pecks, located his face, and uttered a very eloquent, “Huh?”
Amusement danced in the depth of his eyes. “I said, is there something wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“Why are you here?”
Think, Hannah. Why did you come all the way down here? Then she remembered the jacket still hanging from her left hand. “No. Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to give this back to you.”
She held the jacket out to him, and he took it.
“Is that it?” he asked.
“Yes.” She shook her head. “No.”
He leaned in the door frame, arms folded across his chest, waiting patiently for her to elaborate. And, boy, were his biceps huge. So thick and strong looking, like he could probably bench-press a compact car and not break a sweat.
Did it suddenly get a lot hotter in here? Her cheeks were on fire and she was feeling just a little light-headed.
What was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if she had never seen a half-naked man before.
The biggest problem here wasn’t that she was wary of what she was seeing. Instead, she felt a very real and intense desire—no, not desire, need—to put her hands all over him.
She locked them together behind her back. Just to be safe.
“Are you all right?” he asked, though he looked more amused than concerned.
“Yes. I just…” She shook her head again. “No. I’m not.”
“Maybe you should come in.” He opened the door wider and stepped aside.
You know you shouldn’t be doing this, she told herself. Their wedding was still more than a week away. It was one thing to flirt and steal a kiss here and there, but going into his suite, at this late hour. In her pajamas. And Phillip almost naked.
She was really pushing it.
So you just won’t let anything happen, she decided. It’s not as though she was a slave to her libido.
She had waited this long. She could wait a little while longer.
But the question was, could Phillip? And if he took matters into his own hands, would she find the strength to stop him?
Bad idea or not, she followed him inside. His sitting room was much larger than her own, and closer to the size of the one they would be moving into after the wedding. And it was undeniably masculine. Dark polished wood and dark patterned fabric in rich hues. But not so dark that it was dreary or threatening. In contrast, the effect was warm and welcoming.
“This is nice,” she said, ideas popping into her head of how she might incorporate both his and her individual styles to create a decor they could both be comfortable in.
See, she told herself, coming here was a good thing.
“So, what’s up?” he asked.
She turned to him, with every intention of meeting his eyes, but her gaze kept snagging slightly lower.
“Hannah?”
She pried her eyes from his torso and met his gaze. He was grinning again.
“If it would help get the conversation rolling, I could put on a shirt.”
Though she knew he was only teasing, her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “Sorry.”
“No apology necessary. I’m flattered. But maybe you should tell me what’s wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“I asked if you were okay, and you said no.”
Had she? My goodness, he must have thought she was a total ditz. Now that she was here, she had no idea what to say to him. So she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “My mother called.”
He didn’t seem to get the significance. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, she just…” Her voice cracked, and she realized, with horror, that tears burned the corners of her eyes. What was wrong with her? She was not a crier. She was tougher than that. Besides, she wasn’t that upset. More angry than sad.
“She just what?” he asked.
“She’s—” A half hiccup, half sob, worked its way up her throat and she battled to swallow it back down. “She’s getting married.”
Despite her resolve, the instant the words left her lips, the tears welled up over the edges of her lids and rolled down her cheeks. Mortified, she covered her face with her hands.
What was wrong with her? She should be spitting mad, not blubbering like a baby.
Then