she felt in the company of the stimulating stable hand began to evaporate. She was with her patient—she was where she belonged.
“Her name is Grand Dame Glindaron.” In seconds the man was at her side, bending down, his faded jeans pulling taut against his muscular thighs, his previously naked chest now covered with a worn black T-shirt. “But we call her Glinda.”
“Glinda, huh?” Fran reached out and let the dog sniff her hand. “As in the good witch?”
“The good witch?” the man repeated.
“You know, The Wizard of Oz.” She glanced over at him. “Glinda the good witch?” None of this seemed to be registering. “It’s a movie.”
He sat back on his heels. “Ah, we don’t get those here.”
Her eyes went wide. “What?”
He gave her a sinful grin.
“Very funny, Charlie,” she said dryly.
He looked down at the floor for a moment, and Fran felt relieved—like finding a patch of shade from the blistering sun—yet she couldn’t drag her gaze away from him. That highly kissable mouth, killer body. Such a package was lethal for a woman who had sworn off sex appeal in favor of sweet-natured.
With all her might, Fran tried to conjure up an image of Dennis. But it was no use. The stable hand’s mesmerizing eyes were powerful and persistent. If the guy ever wanted to quit working at the stables and go into hypnosis, he could probably make a fortune.
“Actually, Llandaroners love a good movie,” the man was saying as he gave Glinda a good scratch behind her ear. “The royal family, as well. And in fact, The Wizard of Oz is purported to be the king’s favorite.”
“I’m glad to know that His Majesty has good taste. In movies and in animals.” Opening her medical bag, Fran took out a thermometer and a stethoscope. She’d given Glinda a few moments to relax, get accustomed to her voice and movement. It was time to get to work, and if the disturbing stable hand was going to hang around, she’d just have to grin and bear it.
After today, she and Glinda would be at ease with each other, and Fran wouldn’t have to see or talk to the guy again.
“Do you take care of Glinda?” she asked, switching into doctor mode.
“I keep a close eye on her.”
“Then I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
“Is she eating and drinking?”
“Eating less, drinking more.”
Fran nodded. “Has she had any bleeding, vomiting or diarrhea?”
“No.”
“All right.” She scooted closer to the hound. “Why don’t you pet her, keep her calm, while I take a listen and a look.”
He raised an amused brow. “Are you asking me to assist you, Doctor?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?”
“I certainly don’t want to take you away from your work,” she explained.
“My work?”
She gestured toward the stables. “Cleaning the stalls and feeding the animals…”
“Ah, yes, of course. My work.” His eyes glinted blue fire. “I think I can spare a few minutes.”
Awareness stirred in her belly, deep and low—in a place so foreign she was caught off guard for a moment. But she fought her way back. “All right, but I don’t want to get you into any trouble with your boss, so let me know if I’m taking up too much of your time.”
“That’s very considerate,” he said on a dry chuckle. “But there’s nothing to worry about. My employer and I are on very good terms.”
After taking the wolfhound’s temperature, Fran listened to her heart and lungs and the sound of the sweet little pups in her belly. She took her time with the incredibly healthy wolfhound, thankful to have a break from the sexy stable hand for a moment. Never in her life had she been so affected or so attracted. Surely not with any of the good-looking men in L.A. Not even with Dennis.
“Wolfhounds can have fairly high-risk pregnancies,” the man said when Fran took off her stethoscope and began checking the wolfhound’s eyes and ears. “I understand that you’re a specialist in such cases.”
“That rumor is true.”
“There are others?” He leaned closer to Glinda as Fran opened the dog’s mouth to check her teeth.
“Sure.” She played along, keeping the mood light, while she tried desperately not to take in the man’s delectable scent. Suede and virile male. “But they’re all lies or at the very least, half-truths.”
“I still wouldn’t mind hearing them.”
She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “I don’t think they’d be appropriate subject matter for the sweet and innocent subjects of Llandaron.”
The heavy-lidded look he shot her way clearly stated that he was neither sweet nor innocent.
As if she didn’t know that.
“What do you think of Llandaron, Dr. Charming?” he asked, his face a mere whisper from hers.
“Well, I’ve only been here for a few hours, but what I have seen is…” Suddenly her breath caught as his gaze dropped brazenly to her mouth.
“Impressive?” he asked, his gruff baritone wrapping around her like silk on steel.
“Yes,” she answered in some kind of hazy whisper that she’d heard women use in the movies, but had never heard come out of her own mouth.
What was happening here? she thought wildly as a sudden flash of salty air rushed through the open window. What the devil was happening to her? Maybe she should’ve stayed in Los Angeles with Dennis, let someone else take the job.
Fran thrust that irrational thought away. So she was attracted to this man. It happened. It didn’t mean she was going to do anything about it or, more importantly, let it interfere with her job.
“Llandaron is rather impressive,” the man said, nudging her out of her self-analysis. “The people are proud of their country. Its unmarred beauty and peaceful existence.”
“They should be proud. It’s an amazing place.” She returned to Glinda, stroking the wolfhound’s wiry gray fur, eager for the dog to get comfortable with her. “Have you lived here all your life?”
“In Llandaron or here in the palace?”
“Either one.”
“Yes to both.”
“So
