The Crown Prince's Bride (Royal Duology 2)

She blushed, and looked down before taking a sip of her coffee.

“It’s okay.” He folded his hands. “I’m as guilty as you are of hiding. I needed some time to process everything that happened on Saturday.”

“Me too,” she admitted. She put her cup on his desk. “Raoul, what I said . . . I know it was awkward. I loved Ceci like a sister. She got me this job. It’s bothered me all this time. This isn’t how you repay family, you know?”

Oh, he understood the idea of duty and loyalty very well. He had his own to deal with. He’d also had the thought that having feelings for Stephani was somehow dishonoring Ceci’s memory.

“Family doesn’t require payment,” he replied, “and Ceci would have been mortified if she thought you felt you needed to pay her back. Family looks after each other.”

“I know that, deep down.” She smiled sheepishly. “I think this falls under the umbrella of ‘this is a me problem’ and a product of my own guilt complex.”

“Well.” Raoul steepled his fingers and thought about how to say what had been plaguing him for the better part of three days. “I guess what this comes down to is deciding where to go from here. Do we go back to normal, and maintain a professional relationship? Or do we consider exploring what this is?”

She stared at him so long he started to get worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. That you’d even . . .” She broke

off, swore in Spanish under her breath. “Sorry. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. And raw.”

He let out a breath. It was much better when she dropped her guard and was honest. “Me too,” he admitted. “This wasn’t what I planned. There are so many mixed feelings and complications. But the one thing I came up with for sure is that I don’t think this is going to go away. We need to deal with it head-on.” He took a breath and met her gaze evenly. “I’m also aware of the imbalance of the situation. You work for me, and so I need you to know right now that there is no pressure on you in any way.”

Her face softened. “Oh Raoul, I know that. You’ve never been one to throw your weight around.”

“Well, it needed to be said. We’ve never had a typical employee-boss relationship, you and I.”

“No,” she said softly, “we haven’t.”

He got up and went around the desk, pulled over a chair and sat at a right angle to her. “What do you want, Steph? Do you want to forget about it and move on? Or do you want to see where this leads? I can’t make any promises. I just can’t.” He reached out and took one of her hands in his. It was shaking. “But I don’t think I can just walk away, either.”

They were both staring at their joined hands. Steph slowly moved her thumb back and forth, over his knuckles, a small but important caress.

“I don’t want to walk away.” Her voice was a little hoarse, and she cleared her throat. “Not yet. Not when . . .” She looked up at him. “Not yet.”

He nodded, his throat suddenly tight. This was more than the desire that had swept over them at Diego’s wedding. More than a drunken impulse in a shadowed corner. This was a real acknowledgment of feelings, and it felt important.

The phone rang out at her desk and she stood. “We’ll talk more about it later,” she said, letting go of his hand. “We need to keep this away from the office, you know?”

She hurried away; he heard her answer the phone and the creak of her chair as she rolled it closer to her desk.

He took her still-warm coffee and put it at her elbow, then grabbed a pen and wrote on her message pad. Then, despite her last instruction, he kissed the top of her head and went back into his office.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Stephani smoothed her hair with her hands, then rubbed her lips together and rolled her shoulders. She wished she could have gone home and changed clothes and then returned, but that would have taken over an hour. She had on the same navy pencil skirt and silk blouse she’d worn to work this morning, only now she was having dinner with Raoul in his suite.

He’d put her coffee at her elbow and then scribbled Dinner in my suite at 7 on the little notepad she kept on her desk. Would this be construed as a date? Their actual first date?

It wouldn’t be her first time in his private rooms. She’d had to come up here now and again when she’d needed him to attend to an urgent matter. This was different. This was a dinner for two.

Her. And Raoul.

She pressed a hand to her nervous stomach and counted to three, then lifted that same hand and knocked on the door.

Raoul opened it, and her mouth went dry.

He’d changed out of his suit and into a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt, open at the collar and untucked at the waist. His feet were bare. This was the most casual she’d ever seen him, and it was utterly sexy. And here she was in her wrinkled skirt and blouse with a tiny dot of coffee on the cuff of her sleeve.

“Come in,” he said, and stepped back, a smile lighting his face. “I did something crazy and ordered in for us.”