Not Fit for a King?

She nodded and lifted the silver cover off her plate revealing a cold seafood salad with a small plate of fresh rolls and sweet butter. “Looks delicious,” she said, knowing she wouldn’t be able to swallow more than a mouthful.

“Yes,” he agreed, looking at her instead of his plate. “Absolutely delicious.”

She blushed, her body coming alive, lower back tingling, breasts aching. “How can I possibly eat now?”

“Maybe we just skip lunch and head back to my room—”

“No!” she cut him off with a breathless laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely not? Was last night that bad?”

She choked on a muffled laugh, even as bittersweet emotion filled her, flooding her, reminding her to again remember everything … his expression, his strong features, the sensual curve of his lip, the searing heat in his eyes.

Remember, she told herself, remember his warmth and the smell of his cologne and the way he smiles when he looks at you and likes what he sees.

Like now.

“You know it was great.”

“Thank God. I was beginning to worry there.”

She smothered another laugh, loving him like this … light-hearted, teasing, entertaining. “I just wanted to stay because it’s so beautiful here and you went to so much trouble arranging this lunch. But if you want to go, we can.”

“You’re letting me make the decision?”

She made a face. “You are the king.”

His warm gaze moved slowly across her face, lingering on her full lips. “We’ll stay,” he said at length. “We’ll eat. But as soon as we’re done, I’m taking you to my bed.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HANNAH struggled to chew her food but it was nearly impossible with all the butterflies flitting inside her belly. Zale didn’t help matters by giving her that I’m-so-hungry-I-could-eat-you look throughout the meal.

After a half dozen bites she gave up and sipped her wine, drinking one glass, and then another. By the time she’d finished the second glass, she knew she’d drunk too much.

Not because she was drunk. But because she was a little too hot, a little too turned on. Already.

“You’re not eating,” Zale said, noticing her plate was virtually untouched and his was nearly empty. “Didn’t care for the lobster? It’s one of my favorites.”

“I do. It was good.”

“How would you know? You ate nothing.” She took a quick breath, cheeks warm, limbs unusually heavy. Even her pulse felt slow. “I’m happy, though.” “Are you?”

“I’ll never forget it. The view. The flowers. The conversation with you.”

He smiled, amused. “That’s a lot to remember.”

“I know, but it’s worth it. How many women get to do something like this? Lunch with King Zale Patek in one of his parapet towers overlooking the sea? Not many.”

“No. Just you.”

Something in his eyes made her heart jump. He was looking at her as if she mattered.

“We’ll have to do it again one day,” he promised, that faint smile playing at his lips while his amber eyes held hers. “Maybe on our first anniversary.”

“I’d like that,” she whispered, knowing that she wouldn’t be the one here, that she’d never have any of this again but she wouldn’t think about leaving, not now, not when she had the rest of the day, the night and possibly tomorrow.

“There’s something else I’d like, Your Majesty,” she said, voice barely audible.

“And what is that, Your Highness?”

For a moment Hannah couldn’t speak, not when her throat squeezed closed and her heart felt as if it were being torn to pieces. And then she pressed the intense emotions back, refusing to let pain steal a single minute of what was left of the day. “I’d like you to kiss me.”

Heat burned in his eyes. His nostrils flared. Hannah could practically feel his desire.

He left his chair, pulled her from her seat and pressed her back against one of the remaining walls. He leaned close, crowding her, his chest against her breasts, his lean hips teasing hers. He was lean, hard, hot and dropping his head he brushed his lips across hers in a kiss so soft and light that she groaned deep in her throat.

“How’s that?” he murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to the hollow beneath her ear. “Was that good?”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

His breath was warm on the cool curve of her ear and made her tingle with pleasure. “Not enough,” she murmured, sliding her hands up the broad planes of his chest. His chest was hard, thickly muscled, and she ran her hands over the firm, dense muscle.