This perfect place you live in?”
“No place is perfect, Doctor.”
She expelled a weighty breath, a yielding breath. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“If you think I’m going to stand up and curtsy after what you just pulled—”
“I wouldn’t hear of it.” He grinned, standing himself. “Not now, anyway.”
“Try not ever!” She jerked to her feet without waiting for him to offer a hand. Though Maxim sincerely doubted if she would’ve actually taken his help had he had the time to offer it.
“Perhaps around the court or my father you could at least…nod?”
She paused, then said, “We’ll see.”
His grin widened. “Thank you.”
They stood facing each other, Glinda’s watchful gaze on them. Francesca was tall, maybe three inches shorter than him. A perfect height for a man to lean in and—
“I have to know,” she said, folding her arms across her splendid chest. “Why didn’t you tell me who you are? Was playing me like that just another distraction?”
She stood close, so close he could feel the heat of her body, breathe in that soft almost honeylike scent of her. “Truthfully, I wanted to know what it was like to be anonymous.”
“And how was it?”
“Invigorating.”
“Well, I’m glad I could help,” she said wryly.
“You’re sure you’re not going to treat me differently now that you know the truth?”
“My conscience and my pride would suffer a great indignity if I treated you as anything more than the prankster you’ve shown yourself to be.”
“And we wouldn’t want that.” Grinning, Maxim walked over to the desk in the far corner and seized the paperwork he’d been working on before he’d gotten frustrated and taken a break in the stalls. When he turned back to face Francesca, he said, “It was nice to meet you, Doctor. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”
She fairly chuckled. “And who will you be next time?”
He raised a brow. “I’ve always had a longing to try my hand at masonry.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“On second thought,” he said, his mouth carving into a smile. “Sounds a little too far away from the stables for my liking.” He inclined his head, then turned to leave.
She called back, “Not at all, Your Highness.”
Maxim paused, glanced over his shoulder. “Such a lofty title doesn’t seem right after the informal tête-à-tête we’ve just shared.”
“Prince Maxim, then?” she offered, baiting him.
“How about just Maxim?”
She grinned. “How about just Max?”
“I don’t think so.” That smile of hers gripped him tightly and held, while her mouth stirred his blood. He knew he’d better leave while he still could. “Goodbye, Francesca.”
She dropped into a funny-looking curtsy. “Goodbye, Max.”
For the first time in a long time, Maxim laughed, deeply and genuinely. And he kept it up long after he’d left the room, walked down the hallway and stepped out into the kingdom he called home.
Fran stood in front of the full-length mirror in her opulent blue bedroom in the east wing of the castle and rolled her eyes at her reflection.
The chagrin she felt had nothing whatever to do with the eye-catching chocolate-brown dress and matching boots she wore or the sassy swept-up hair-style that one of her vet techs had repeatedly told her looked “hot.” Nope, the roll of the eyes was for the hope she felt. The hope of seeing a certain prince again.
Oh, Lord. A prince.
Was she crazy? Had the untainted Llandaron air turned her normally sensible and analytical brain to mush? Even if she could forget for a moment that Max was royalty and lived on Fantasy Island, why wasn’t she thinking about Dennis? Sure, there was no actual commitment between them yet. But before she’d left, he’d asked her to marry him—and she’d said she’d think about it. True, they weren’t exactly in love, but that was because neither one of them believed in the concept. Dennis had also been burned—by the female equivalent to Fran’s smooth talker.
Consequently, she and Dennis were no longer romantics.
They were scientists.
Shoot, their common viewpoints and careers were why they had become such good friends in the first place. This way they would be two great friends forming an everlasting bond, caring for and supporting one another.
And then she’d had to come here and run into a real live Prince Charming!
An image of Max splintered through her mind. Those eyes, that touch, those lips…
Was he married? The random thought was followed by a shiver, and she turned away from the mirror. The marital status of His Highness was none of her business; nothing about him was her business. Glinda and the pups were her business. And heck, she probably wouldn’t see him again, anyway. He had…royal stuff to do with other royals. He didn’t have time to hang around the stables every day with some commoner from California.
Speaking of time, Fran checked her watch. Five minutes to six.
She’d met with the king more than an hour ago. A feisty old bear with intelligent blue eyes just like his son’s. After receiving a full report on Glinda’s stellar health, he’d told Fran that she was to have dinner with him at six o’clock and not to be late.
Good Lord, she thought as she left her room and darted down the long staircase, she’d had no idea that she would be eating with the king of Llandaron. She’d figured it would be dinner on a tray in her room every night. Or in the kitchen with the rest of the employees.
Below her, a shadow came into the grand hallway, large and imposing. Her pulse bumped and skittered as the heel of her boot touched down on the last stair step.
“Good evening, Francesca.”
Ignoring the warmth pinging urgently in her stomach, she started with, “Good evening, M…” But the greeting died on her lips as her gaze took in the proverbial handsome prince who stood regally in the center of the marble hall.
She gripped the edge of the banister for a little extra support. Handsome didn’t even begin to cover it. Her fingers itched to run wild through his thick black hair, her gaze longed to search the depths of deep-set blue eyes. Gone were the jeans and T-shirt he’d worn today. In their place breathed a crisp white dress shirt, black jacket and pants with a break so fine it would make a London tailor sigh.
But
