Charming The Prince

He shot her a sideways glance. “Just a little?”

“Well, I was trying to be gracious. You know, you being the sovereign around here and all.”

“Technically, I’m not the sovereign. That would be my father. But I take your point.” He rose and walked over to her, amusement glittering in his eyes. “Afraid I might lock you up in a dungeon?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid of anything, Your Highness. Even being locked up all alone in—”

“Who said anything about alone?” He grinned broadly.

Awareness moved through her like warm molasses. Why, oh, why did she have to turn to mush when this man was near? It just wasn’t fair. She could control every aspect of her life, every emotion, every need. But here in Fantasyland with Prince Foxy, she was reduced to…well, a mess of female hormones.

“So,” he raised a brow, “how about some lunch?”

Her gaze flickered to the wolfhound. “I think I’m just going to share this yummy bowl of kibble with Glinda.”

He followed her gaze. “That looks like one of Charlie’s special blends.”

“It is. He brought it in just a few minutes ago.”

Max nodded. “Carrots, chicken—”

“Sounds divine.”

“—liver.”

“Then again, maybe not,” Fran amended on a chuckle.

Max stood within inches of her, the heat from his long, powerful body saturating her good sense, his gaze moving over her face, then finally settling on her eyes. “How does cheese, fresh-baked bread and some famous Llandaron smoked oysters sound?”

Frustratingly breathless, Fran managed to squeak out, “As opposed to the liver?”

Another smile tugged at his mouth. “You’ve been with Glinda all morning, Doctor. Don’t you think she’ll be all right on her own for a short while?”

“I suppose. And as a matter of fact, I have some reading I need to catch up on.” She tried not to breathe in his scent—that amazing masculine spicy scent he wore so well. But fighting the inevitable seemed useless. “It’s a very interesting book, actually—canine lick granuloma.”

He nodded and said with mock solemnity, “Well. I don’t know if I can compete with that.”

“Do you have any information to offer on the effectiveness of drug therapy over the use of restraint collars?”

“All I have to offer is a little tour of Llandaron, maybe a picnic by the ocean and afterward a visit to Gershin’s Taffy Shop.”

Her eyes went wide and her mouth watered. “Gershin’s Taffy Shop?” It was the shop she’d read about in her guidebook—seen pictures of. The quaint little shop with its redbrick front and white-icing windows looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

“Interested?”

Fran sighed. She was lost here, utterly trumped. God and the devil were conspiring against her. They wanted to bring down the rational, realistic Dr. Charming and force her to embrace these flights of fancy.

Of course she was interested in what Prince Perfect was offering. Everything he’d suggested sounded wonderful. But what accompanied this good time in Llandaron? More warm glances, clever banter, more longing for this attraction, this loss of control that seemed to overwhelm her whenever he was near to come to fruition?

How in the world was she supposed to control an attraction that seemed uncontrollable? Perhaps recall her last experience with an irresistible heartbreaker?

Fran glanced up into blue fire and firmly said, “No, I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Something tells me you think too much, Doctor.”

At such an acute observation, Fran dropped her gaze and returned to the comfort and safety of Glinda. Still, her curiosity got the better of her. “May I ask why you’re doing this, Highness? I’m not really a guest here or anything—just a paid employee.” Needing something to do, she scooped up the already full water bowl and marched over to the sink. “I mean, don’t you have work to do?”

“I always have work to do,” he answered dryly. “Like you, I could work all the time.”

Dumping the clean water out, she expelled a breath. “What if Glinda needs something? Needs me?”

“I’ll have Charlie call my cell phone if there’s a problem.” Like any self-respecting Type A, he had an answer for everything. “But there shouldn’t be,” he continued. “She’s not due for a week, right?”

“Right, but—”

“No buts. It’s only a couple of hours.”

She bit her lip as she refilled the bowl with fresh water. He wasn’t about to take no for an answer, but heck, if she really wanted to be honest with herself, she didn’t want to say no.

“Francesca, you’re in an enchanted land.” She looked over at him; challenge lit his eyes. “You’re keen on choices. Make the choice to enjoy your time here, to embrace it for once, not hide from it.”

She placed the bowl in front of the wolfhound. “Look, Max, I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I don’t hide—”

“Glad to hear it.” With a grin playing about his sensual lips, he offered her his arm like a character out of a historical-romance novel. “Car’s packed. Shall we go?”

Inside her, excitement roared like a lioness with a chance to be set free from her cage for a few hours. But Fran wouldn’t let Prince Max see that thrill of anticipation. For goodness’ sake, the man already had too much power as it was. Instead, she shot him a withering glance, then walked past him out of the office, muttering in mock irritation, “Royal types. Always used to getting their own way.”

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