press is sniffing around big-time. They all want an interview, but I should be able to hold them off a little longer.”
Born with a silver tongue, Brett had been the perfect choice for Vice President of Public Relations for Connelly Corporation. He not only reveled in the ability to work the press to the advantage of Connelly Corporation, he also enjoyed his single playboy status to the max—something Daniel had grown weary of during the past couple of years.
“You think Justin is ready for the world of marketing?” Brett asked.
Their straitlaced brother Justin was steady and responsible and more than willing to climb the Connelly Corporation corporate ladder. “Justin will do a great job replacing me or he’ll die trying,” he said.
“All of us will miss you, but—”
“—but don’t let the door hit me on my way out,” Daniel said with a wry chuckle. Whether the game was sports or business, there’d always been a friendly combination of camaraderie and competition among the Connelly males.
“You’ve done a terrific job,” Brett said. “Don’t get me wrong. But I always got the impression you wanted something different. You think this is it?”
Surprised at his brother’s insight, Daniel nodded. “It’s got to be. I have to believe fate is at work here. I always wanted to make a difference, not necessarily in the textile world.”
“Those Altarians are damn lucky to get you,” Brett said.
“I don’t know about that. I get the feeling the foreign minister isn’t dying for me to move in. He’s been slow to send information I’ve requested, but he did send his daughter,” Daniel said, unable to mask a slight grimace.
“Daughter? What for?”
“Royal protocol.”
Brett blinked, then barked with laughter. “She’s going to try to teach you everything you tried not to learn from Mom.”
“And more, I’m sure,” Daniel said, and waved his hand. “I really don’t have time for this right now, but I don’t want to be rude.”
“What’s she like?”
“Prim and proper,” Daniel said, then added, “with killer curves.”
Brett’s mouth lifted in a wolfish grin. “Then maybe there will be some fringe benefits with the lessons, after all.”
Although the prospect of intimately exploring Erin’s curves tempted the hell out of him, Daniel shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen a woman so determined to make me perfect.”
Erin juggled a large pizza box with two volumes on royal etiquette along with a photo book on royal uniforms as she twisted around to push His Majesty’s buzzer with her elbow. Since the pizza had arrived at the same time she had, she’d suggested delivering it herself.
Daniel opened the door, and she was struck again by his height. His eyes widened.
“Let me help you—”
Just as he reached for the heavy books, a blur of something large and brown raced across the room and careened into her. Erin toppled toward the floor.
“Jordan, heel!” Daniel yelled, and the dog abruptly backed off.
Her knees hit the hard stone floor, and pain shot through her, but she automatically squeezed her fingers around the pizza box. Her face was going to hit the floor or the pizza box, she thought in despair, just as strong hands caught her shoulders.
Daniel swore under his breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “He smelled the pizza and went nuts. He’s spooked by all the visitors that have been in and out of here over the last week.”
She felt him lift her as if she were a flower. He carried her to the couch and she was acutely aware of his muscular chest pressed against her. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been carried, not even by her father. She felt an odd, but gentle stroke at a hidden tender spot inside her. It mystified her. She felt Daniel try to pry the box from her fingers.
“You can let go of the pizza now,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows.
Still distracted, she felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
He looked at her quizzically. “I’m surprised you didn’t drop it when Jordan crashed into you.”
She blinked. “Training, I guess, sir. Don’t lose your dignity, but if you do, don’t spill your tray.”
His lips twitched. “Your teacher should be proud.” He set the pizza box on top of an entertainment center and turned to the dog. “No pizza for you tonight. That’s no way to treat a lady,” he muttered.
Erin took a long look at the contrite dog. The animal was huge, with dark soulful eyes and large paws. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen that particular breed, sir,” she said, unable to mask her curiosity. The beast looked like a combination of a brown bear and a bulldog.
Daniel ruffled the dog’s ears. “He’s a mixed breed,” he said, then shot Erin a look that mixed humor and undiluted masculine sex appeal. “Mixed breed. Kinda like me. Half Altarian royalty and half American rebel,” he said and led the whining dog to another room.
So true, she thought, except Daniel was much better-looking than his dog. Erin tried to collect her wits. Taking a deep breath, she wasn’t sure which had rattled her more, the dog rushing her or Daniel carrying her to the couch. Her books, she suddenly remembered, reining in her strange feelings. Focus on the job, she told herself, not His Majesty’s distracting body. Glancing toward the doorway, she saw the books on the floor. Daniel must have dropped them to catch her.
She moved her legs to rise from the sofa and felt a twinge. She looked down at her stockings. They were shredded and one of her legs was scratched and slightly bleeding.
Daniel returned to the room at that very moment. He swore again and rushed toward her, then bent down and gingerly touched her leg. “Damn. I’ll get some antiseptic and a bandage.”
Flustered, Erin shook her head. “That’s not necessary,” she said to his back as he strode from the room. She jumped to her feet to follow him. “Sir, this is not at all proper protocol,” she protested, but might as well have been talking to the dog for all the attention Daniel was paying her. As he entered the bathroom, she paused outside the door, uncertain what to do next.
She watched him collect some items from the medicine cabinet and run some water over a washcloth. He turned to face her. “Go back to the sofa,” he said, meeting her with a gaze that said he meant business.
“But, sir—”
“But nothing,” he returned, striding past her.
“My dog did this to you. I’m responsible.”
Distressed, she followed him into the living room again and resumed her seat on the sofa. “Sir, this truly is not appropriate.”
“What would be appropriate? For me to order a servant to take care of your scratch?”
