as badly as you do.” With a slight hesitation, she offered her hand. “Oil me up, Your Highness.”
Disrespectful, but kind of cute. Perhaps another time, another place. Absurd. Unknowingly or not, she had been drawn into the legend. After he removed the ring, Richard never wanted to see Christina Armstrong again.
Tilting the bottle, he poured oil on her finger, set the bottle on the counter and reached for the ring. His large hand engulfed her small, delicate one. As he rubbed the oil around the gold band, she jerked away.
Her cheeks rosy, she stared at him. “I can do it myself, Your Highness.”
“No. I will.”
Defiance flickered in her eyes, but she held out her hand anyway. At least she knew how to obey. Slowly, he rubbed on the oil, making sure he didn’t miss a spot. He had not noticed before, but her fingernails were painted a pale pink with white tips. Just like his mother used to wear before his father died.
But a French manicure did not make a princess.
“What is this?” Christina asked.
Once again, she forgot to address him as “Your Highness.” “Oil.”
With her right hand, she picked up the bottle. Her eyes widened. “It’s…massage oil?”
She needed a lesson in royal protocol. “Yes.”
“Figures.” She set the bottle on the counter. “Do you usually keep a large supply of massage oil on hand, Your Highness? Or did we just luck out tonight?”
She was the most aggravating woman he had ever met. He continued rubbing. “It was a gift.”
“I’m sure it was.”
Ignoring her suggestive tone, Richard reminded himself she was an American and did not know better. He tried moving the ring, but it still would not budge. Unwilling to give up, he added more oil. His fingers glided over hers, the friction of their skin warmed the oil oozing between their hands.
Soft. Even the coldness of her iced hand could not hide how satiny her skin felt beneath his fingertips. The smell of vanilla drifted up. No wonder Didier had wanted to stay and help. This was quite enjoyable. Richard stared at her reflection in the mirror until she blinked and looked away.
So did he.
He should not be enjoying this. This was not a game or foreplay. Christina’s skin was not soft. Any woman’s hand would feel soft with a bottle of massage oil rubbed on it.
He tried the ring again.
Nothing.
He needed to think of something—a new tactic. Maybe he needed to work on her swollen knuckle. Yes, he would try that.
Letting the oil act as a lubricant, Richard massaged her knuckle. This would certainly do the trick. Christina did have long, elegant fingers. Moving to another knuckle, he wondered if she ever painted her nails red.
His gaze locked with hers.
“Uh, Your Highness,” she said, her cheeks flushed, “that’s the wrong finger.”
Richard let go of her hand as if it were a stick of dynamite ready to blow. He couldn’t explain his lapse nor why he felt as if he were ten years old and his mother had caught him playing with his great-great-grandfather’s jewel-encrusted sword.
“I’ll try it.” Christina pulled on the ring. “It’s still stuck, Your Highness.”
And so was he.
As long as the ring was on Christina’s finger, he was stuck with her.
She washed her hands. “My finger’s really swollen. I don’t think it’s coming off tonight, Your Highness.”
They had been at it so long. Too long. Richard noticed the dark circles under Christina’s eyes. “We will wait until morning to try again. You must be tired.”
The edges of her mouth turned up slightly. “I am, Your Highness, but if you wish to continue, I understand. I know you want your ring back.”
The genuine tone of her voice surprised him, as did her willingness to continue even though she was exhausted. He was used to people wanting things from him. Few ever offered to give anything in return.
“No, we shall wait.” He noticed her gown, now wrinkled and showing signs of the long evening. She could not sleep in it. “I will find you something to wear.”
She wiped her hands on a towel. “My dress is fine, Your Highness.”
The tight-fitting bodice pushed her breasts up and tapered to a V that accentuated her hourglass curves. “Actually, it is lovely, but I am sure the designer did not intend it to be worn to bed. Come with me.” Richard opened the mahogany armoire in his bedroom. He searched through the clothes and pulled a button-down hunter-green pajama top from the hanger. “Wear this.”
She ran her fingertips over the fabric. “It’s silk, Your Highness.”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
“No, it’s beautiful,” she said. “I just don’t want to ruin it. Couldn’t I borrow a T-shirt?”
“You will not ruin it.”
“That’s what they all say,” she mumbled before walking into the bathroom and closing the door.
Realizing he could not sleep as he normally did, he quickly changed into the matching pajama bottoms. Richard had not worn pajamas in years, just as he had never allowed a woman to spend the entire night with him in this suite. Well, he had never turned thirty before or had his engagement ring stuck on an American’s finger, either.
A night of firsts.
He wished it were over.
The bathroom door opened. Christina stepped out, carrying her gown and matching pumps. The only thing he could see were her bare feet with her toenails painted a shocking pink. She laid the gown on a nearby chair, bent down and set her shoes on the floor.
As she stood by his bed, Richard sucked in a breath, unable to stop himself from staring at her. Christina’s auburn hair fell past her shoulders, gently framing her face. Her beautiful face. The silky fabric brushed against the curves underneath. Her womanly curves. The pajama top fell midthigh on a pair of perfectly shaped legs. Her long legs. “You…you can have it now, Your Highness.”
He wanted it all right. He wanted…
Her.
He could not explain the rush of desire, the overwhelming sense of needing her, but he did not care. She was here; he was here. Why not make the best of a bad situation? After all, it was his birthday. He smiled at Christina.
Princess material, no. Lover material, yes.
Chapter Three
Prince Richard hadn’t
