The Prince and the Player

“Leave it on the table.” I turn and pull (and pull and pull) the sides of the nightgown up so I can skippy-trot back to the love seat.

“You’re going to break your neck as well as your ankle in that thing.” He follows me inside the room and closes the door. “If you don’t drown in silk first.”

“My ankle isn’t broken. Anyway, your brother brought me ibuprofen and this gown to sleep in.”

He shakes his head. “What a shocking lack of imagination.”

“I think he must have a pretty great imagination if he thought this would fit me.” I look down at all the silk pooling in my lap. “Or I really was incredibly heavy, and he was only being nice.” Nice. Like that kiss.

“My brother’s an idiot. Here,” Cal drops a small stack of clothes in my lap. “You’ll sleep in this. Go change.”

“And where do you suggest I do that?”

“Around the side of the fireplace. I won’t look.” My eyes narrow, and he holds up both hands. “I promise.”

“I haven’t decided if you’re honest.”

“Smart girl.”

Standing, I gather (and gather and gather) the sides of the gown so I can limp to the somewhat hidden corner beside the fireplace.

“You haven’t eaten your macaroons!”

“Help yourself,” I call, placing the navy tee and boxers he brought me on the edge of the fireplace.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says quietly.

I quickly pull the silk circus tent over my head. Cool air swirls around my bare breasts, tightening my nipples, but I’m only exposed long enough to toss the gown on the bed and whip his tee over my head. My senses flood with the deliciously spicy man-scent of Cal’s shirt, and I’m stepping into the shorts when I glance up and catch his hazel eyes in the oval mirror.

I straighten fast, pulling up the boxers and then jamming my hands on my hips. “You watched me change.”

He looks down, but the sides of his mouth curl in a grin. “It’s true. I did. I couldn’t help it. You have great tits.”

“You are not a gentleman.”

“True again. Sorry.” He peeks up, humor lurking in those damn irresistible eyes. “But you already knew that part, didn’t you? As smart as you are?”

My lips twist as I try not to smile. I will not let him get to me this time. It sounds like the cry of the defeated in my brain.

“You’re a prince. You’re supposed to be noble and all that shit.”

“Lies, all lies. I blame Walt Disney for that propaganda.” He leans forward to pour two glasses of champagne, and I limp to the sofa again, still doing my best to be angry.

“Princes are only noble because of our parents,” he continues, handing me a glass. I take a sip of the sparkling wine. “Otherwise, we’re just like every other male.”

“How’s that?”

“Looking to get laid.”

I nearly choke. “Well… go look in some other room.”

“Really?” He makes a sad-puppy face and my insides squeal. “I like this room. It’s one of my new favorite rooms.”

Shifting my position, I find the remote under my butt. I pull it out and turn on the television. “Then you have to watch TV.”

A French-dubbed Saved by the Bell pops up, and I can’t help thinking perfect. It’s not romantic in any way.

Cal makes a little growly noise that makes me grin and shifts his position to watch. Our sides are touching now, from waist to hip to knee in a blazing line I fight to ignore. I take another sip of wine.