Charming The Prince. Laura Wright
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prefer to live alone,” he said, releasing her hand.
Being free of his grasp was a strange sensation. In one respect she was relieved to have the heat, the strength, gone. But in another respect, she felt displaced, as if a part of her remained with him when he’d dropped her hand.
Fran followed him up the lovely spiral staircase to what she guessed to be the second floor of a three-story dwelling. Persian rugs covered polished hard-wood floors, and comfortable couches in deep shades of plum sat facing each other, a rich mahogany chest between them. A marble fireplace took up most of one wall, and a cluster of windows the size of computer screens another. While still another wall boasted French doors, which hung open, allowing the cool ocean breeze to filter into the room, only mildly upsetting the gold cloth napkins which rested atop what appeared to be solid gold plates on a small mahogany dining table. A table set elegantly for two.
“This is magnificent,” Fran said. “You’ve done a wonderful job with this space.”
“Thank you. It was a labor of love. I always coveted the lighthouse when I was a child, escaped here when I had the chance. And when Llandaron no longer had use for it, I converted it into my home.” He walked over to the table and held out a chair for her. “May I?” He grinned devilishly. “I promise I won’t pull it out the minute you sit down.”
She couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips. “I appreciate that.” This whole scenario was surreal—the beautifully set table in front of the prime ocean view—and Fran had to warn herself as she sat down on the plush cushion of plum silk, that she’d better remember who she was and where she’d come from—and more importantly, that a real live prince sat across from her.
In seconds, a woman with a mop of graying hair and a pleasant smile appeared and placed several wonderful-smelling items in front of them.
After thanking the woman, Fran turned to Max and whispered, “Cheeseburgers, French fries and beer?”
He picked up a fry and winked. “An American meal for your first night away from home.”
She laughed as she placed her napkin in her lap. Burgers and fries on a solid gold plate—too funny.
“I have soda if you would rather not drink alcohol,” Max said.
“No, this is great.”
Though Max dug right in, Fran didn’t start eating right away. For just a moment, she watched the prince of Llandaron as he picked up his gourmet cheeseburger and went for it like any red-blooded American male. But in this case looks were incredibly deceiving. The guy with ketchup on his lip wasn’t red-blooded at all, he was blue-blooded. And her attraction to him had to be controlled. She didn’t trust this royal playboy as far as she could throw him, and she sure didn’t trust her feelings and actions when she was around him.
“Anything wrong, Francesca?”
Her gaze snapped up. “Pardon me?”
“You’re not eating, and you look as though you have something to say.”
Something to say, something to say… She opted for small talk. “Have you ever been to America, Your Highness?”
“Many times. I own several companies there.”
“You do?” she asked, surprised.
“I do work, Francesca.” He chuckled. “Not at being a royal, but being a citizen of the world. My companies manufacture air- and water-purifying systems for office buildings and hotels. I’ve wanted to develop a way to keep the world and the people in it healthy ever since I could remember. Strange goal for a child, perhaps, but nothing deterred me.” He tilted his head. “I imagine your need to care for animals started when you were very young, as well.”
Fran took a sip of her beer and nodded. “When I first saw a baby squirrel with its leg caught in a trap, I was hooked. I had cages set up in my backyard.” She nibbled on a French fry. “It’s crazy, but after I helped that squirrel, more and more animals found their way into my yard.”
“The word spread throughout the animal kingdom.”
She nodded. “I truly believe they sought me out, that they knew I was committed to helping them.”
“Of course they did.” Max said the words with such conviction, Fran paused. Usually when she said something “out there,” people laughed and thought she was kidding or, worse, a bit nuts. Dennis always made jokes about her claims that she could actually sense what an animal was feeling at times.
Max took a pull on his beer. “So you went to veterinary school, and then…”
“Then Dennis and I opened our own practice.”
“Dennis?”
“My…well, he’s a very good friend, a good man, really.” She sounded like an imbecile. And why wasn’t she telling him that Dennis was practically her fiancé? “Dennis is…well, he’s practical and efficient, and he’s great with animals.”
“He sounds boring.”
She shook her head. “He’s not boring. He’s…”
“I know,” he said, grinning. “Practical and efficient.”
She shot him a sidelong glance. “Men don’t have to be rich and handsome and royal to be attractive to a woman, Your Highness.”
Those killer blue eyes fairly lapped her up. “You think I’m handsome?”
More than anything in the world she wanted to look away, but his gaze held hers. She wanted to grab her burger and stuff it into her reckless mouth, but her appetite was gone—her appetite for food, anyway. She needed to get away from him, away from this carnal, marvelous magic that surrounded him.
“What I think…is that I’m full.” She stood up and dropped her napkin on the table. “I’m really tired. It was a long flight, a long day, and I’m not looking to make this a long night, so…” She stopped talking, realizing how she sounded.
Max grinned. “I’ll walk you back.”
“I think I can find the way.” She looked out the window. Had to be after seven. “The fog’s cleared up.”
But the man was a prince, a gentleman, and he walked her back, anyway. Not to her bedroom door, thank goodness, because for the first time since the “smooth talker,” Fran felt what could be categorized as a surge of wildness. And she wasn’t altogether sure if she could stop herself from grabbing Max by the shirtfront and pulling him inside.
“Are you going to marry her?”
Maxim had just said good-night to Francesca in the very same hall where their evening had begun. He was keyed-up, craving something he shouldn’t even be contemplating, and in no mood for a go-round with his father. But he couldn’t very well pass the man’s door without speaking, so he stood in the library doorway. “Am I going to marry whom?”
“The duchess of Claymore.”
“No.” One night with the woman had been more than enough.
The king sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Do I have to remind you of our agreement?”
A muscle flicked in Maxim’s jaw. “No.”
“Eleven months ago we sat here in this very library and talked about the importance of having both my sons married. I gave you a year to find yourself a bride, and I distinctly recall you nodding your head.” The king took off his reading glasses and regarded his son seriously. “You have one month left, Maxim. If you don’t find a suitable woman to marry in that time, I swear I will choose for you.”
“I have not met anyone I would even consider marrying, Father,” he said with deadly calm. “I suggest we drop this before we both lose our tempers.”
“I will not drop this. Your brother has been married for five years now and has yet to