Red-Hot Affairs. Lucy King
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responded to him, thank goodness.
Now all she had to do was sidle off, bury herself in work and find somewhere else to have lunch because, judging by the hamper hanging from his hand and banging against his knees, Matt had decided to appropriate this spot and frankly, with thousands of other heavenly spots in the grounds of the palace it wasn’t really worth arguing over.
‘Right. Well. I’ll—er—leave you to it.’
‘Don’t go.’ Matt flashed her a smile and her stomach flipped. Awareness whizzed through the entire length of her as, unable to help herself, she ran her gaze over every gorgeous inch of him, from the top of his thick dark hair right the way down, past the T-shirt and jeans down to the flip-flops.
She paused and blinked, not sure she’d heard him correctly. ‘What?’
‘My being here isn’t exactly a coincidence.’
Laura frowned. ‘Did you want something?’
‘I came to see if you’d like some lunch.’ He strode towards her and set the hamper beside the table.
‘I’ve already had it.’
‘Have some more.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Fine, you can keep me company while I have lunch,’ he said, folding himself into the chair on the other side of the table and waving that she do the same.
Hmm. ‘I need to get back to work.’
‘Later.’ He gave her a quick smile. ‘Indulge me.’
Her stomach swooped. ‘Do I have any option?’
‘Not a lot,’ he said, his eyes glinting with amusement and turning her head inside out. ‘According to the records, disobeying the king used to result being thrown in the dungeon.’
‘Charming.’
‘Not in the least,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It’s damp and crawling with vermin. You wouldn’t like it.’
Probably not. Although she was pretty sure it would be less uncomfortable than having lunch with Matt when her common sense had gone AWOL. ‘Wow,’ she said, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms. ‘Absolute power and blackmail. That’s quite a combination.’
‘I like to think so.’
Laura tilted her head. ‘I thought I was supposed to be staying out of your way.’
He glanced at her for a second and then grinned. ‘That was one of the things I wanted to chat about.’
Now he wanted to chat? She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t you have better things to do? Like a country to run?’
‘Even kings need to eat. And I thought we could get round to some of that small talk you mentioned.’
The small talk they’d been too busy getting horizontal and naked to bother with …
Laura’s insides tangled into a mass of longing and frustration. Why was she always on the back foot with this man? What was it about him that had her feeling totally at sea? And more importantly why hadn’t the two weeks she’d spent staying out of his way done anything to reduce the effect he had on her?
She nibbled on her lip. Maybe small talk was the way forward. If she could get him to reveal a bit about himself, maybe he’d turn out to be hideously arrogant, irritatingly patronising and possibly insanely boring. If she was really lucky, he’d also expose a couple of nasty habits. Like interrupting her. Or dismissing her opinions as if batting away a fly. As her ex had had a tendency to do. Hah. That would certainly put her off.
Laura sat down and gave him a cool smile. ‘What would you like to talk about?’
Matt leaned down and took a bottle and a couple of glasses out of the hamper. ‘It’s occurred to me that the apologies I owe you are beginning to stack up.’
Oh. Damn. Not that hideously arrogant, then. She lifted a shoulder. ‘Are they?’
He pulled the cork out, filled the glasses and slid one across the table to her. ‘First of all, I never apologised for jumping to the conclusion you were a journalist.’
He’d made up for it in other ways, Laura thought, drawing the glass towards her, and then wished she hadn’t as her cheeks went red.
‘And then when you turned up here, I overreacted.’
She took a sip of wine and felt the alcohol slide into her stomach. ‘Why?’
Matt frowned. ‘I’m not sure.’
Hah. As if. She’d never met anyone less unsure of themselves. ‘Let me guess,’ she said with a flash of perception. ‘You thought I was here to see you.’ He stiffened and she felt a jolt of triumph. ‘And I bet you thought the worst.’
‘Possibly.’
‘You really ought to do something about that suspicious nature of yours.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Have lots of people crawled out of the woodwork now that you’re king?’
His face tightened. ‘Some.’
‘Well, I don’t know what sort of people you usually hang out with but you should look at getting a new set of friends.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Matt sighed and then snapped back from wherever he’d been. ‘So how am I doing?’
‘Not bad.’
‘Not bad?’
‘Well, you haven’t actually apologised yet.’
‘Good point.’ He frowned and shifted in the seat. ‘I’m sorry.’
Laura couldn’t help grinning at his obvious discomfort. ‘Not a fan of apologising?’
Matt grimaced. ‘I haven’t had a huge amount of practice.’
Lucky him. She’d had years of practice. Often apologising for things that hadn’t been her fault. God, she’d been pathetic. ‘I dare say you’ll get better at it.’
He winced. ‘I don’t plan on having to.’
‘No, well, I doubt kings generally have much to apologise for.’
Didn’t they? Any more of those sexy little smiles, thought Matt, and he’d be apologising for a whole lot more than a misunderstanding and an overreaction.
Because despite the shapeless mass of beige cotton covering Laura from head to toe, the imprint of her lying there on the grass in just her bra burned in his head and she might as well be naked. Every time she tucked her hair behind her ears or reached for her glass and lifted it to her mouth the thick cotton rustled and reminded him of exactly what lay beneath.
His head swam for a second and his hands curled into fists. Oh, for God’s sake. He really had to get a grip.
Right. Conversation. That had been the plan. Food might not be a bad idea, either, he thought, taking out a couple of plates, cutlery and a number of small plastic boxes. He pushed a plate across the table to Laura but she shook her head. He opened the boxes and piled a selection of things on his plate.
‘So how’s the accommodation?’ he asked.
See. He could do conversation.
‘Very comfortable, thank you. Who could complain about a four-poster bed and marble en-suite?’
The image of Laura hot and naked and wet in the shower slammed into his head and his mouth went dry as the heavy beat of desire began to pound through him. Perhaps best to steer clear of accommodation as a conversational avenue in the future.
‘And the work?’
‘Really great,’ she said, giving him a dazzling