Princes Waitress Wife

Driven by the desperate urgency of her body, Holly swallowed her pride. ‘I’m not that tired…’

‘You have time to shower while I make some calls.’ Freshly shaved, his hair still damp, Casper straightened his silk tie and reached for his jacket. ‘I’ll join you for breakfast.’

Elated that he’d spent the entire night with her for the first time, and reluctant to risk disturbing the fragile shoots of their relationship, Holly decided not to confess that mornings weren’t her best time and that she couldn’t touch breakfast.

Waiting until he’d left the room, she slid cautiously out of bed, felt her stomach heave alarmingly and just made it to the bathroom in time.

‘Dio, what is the matter?’ Casper’s voice came from right behind her. ‘Are you ill? Is it something you ate?’

‘Don’t you knock? I thought I locked the door.’ Mortified that he should witness her at her lowest, Holly leaned her head against the cool tiles, willing her stomach to settle. ‘Please, Casper, show a little sensitivity and go away.’

‘First you accuse me of not spending time with you, then you want me to go away.’ Casper lifted his hands in a gesture of frustrated incredulity. ‘Make up your mind!’

‘Well, obviously I don’t want you around while I’m being sick!’

‘You’re incredibly pale.’ Looking enviably fit and impossibly handsome, he frowned down at her. ‘I’m calling a doctor.’

‘Casper.’ She gritted her teeth, terrified that she’d be ill in front of him. ‘It’s fine. It happens all the time. It will fade in a minute.’

‘What happens all the time?’ His dark gaze was fixed on her face, the tension visible in his powerful shoulders. ‘I’ve never seen you like this before.’

‘That’s because you’re never here in the morning,’ she muttered, wondering what cruel twist of fate had made him decide to pick this particular morning to linger in her company. ‘You go to bed with me, but you choose to wake up somewhere else.’ With someone else. The words were left unsaid, but a gleam of sardonic humour flickered in his very sexy dark eyes.

‘You think I spend half the night making love with you and then move on to the next woman? A sort of sexual conveyor-belt, perhaps?’

‘I honestly don’t want to know where you go at three in the morning.’ She gave a moan as another wave of nausea washed over her. ‘Oh, go away, please. I don’t even care at the moment—I can’t believe you’re seeing me like this. You’re never going to find me sexy again.’

‘There is not the slightest chance of that happening.’ After a moment’s hesitation he dropped to his haunches and stroked her hair away from her face with a surprisingly gentle hand. ‘I am sorry you feel ill. Wash your face. It will make you feel better.’ He stood up, dampened a towel and wiped it gently over her face.

‘I already feel better. It passes.’ She sat back on her heels and gave him a wobbly smile. ‘I bet you’re regretting all those times you could have stayed the whole night and had breakfast with me. I’m thrilling company in the morning, don’t you think?’

With a wry smile, he lifted her easily to her feet. ‘Does food help? If I suggested something to eat would you hit me?’

‘I’ve never been an advocate of violence.’ It felt weird, having a conversation with him that wasn’t based on conflict. And frustrating that they were having it when she was still in her nightdress.

But at least she was wearing diamonds, she thought wryly.

Conscious of his sleek good looks and her own undressed state, Holly glanced towards the shower. ‘I think I’d like a shower. Do I still have time?’

‘Yes. But don’t lock the door.’ His tone was gruff. ‘I don’t want you collapsing.’

‘I’m fine.’ This new level of attentiveness was unsettling. There was a shift in their relationship that she didn’t understand.

But she knew better than to read anything into it.

She showered quickly, selected a cream skirt from her wardrobe and added a tailored jacket that allowed a peep of her pretty camisole. She scooped her hair up and then had a moment of agonising indecision as she remembered that he seemed to prefer her hair down. Up or down? Removing the clips, her hair tumbled around her shoulders in a mass of soft curls.

Deciding that she should have left it up, she started to twist it again and then caught herself.

What was she doing? For crying out loud, she was going to eat breakfast with the man, that was all. It wasn’t a formal dinner or a state occasion. Just breakfast.

Pathetic, she told her reflection. Absolutely pathetic.

It was just for the baby. For the baby’s sake she wanted them to have a happy, successful marriage.

Afraid to examine that theory too closely in case it fell apart, she walked onto the terrace to join him for breakfast. Casper was talking on the phone, looking lean and sleek, his hips resting casually against the balustrade that circled the pretty balcony. Behind him stretched the ocean, the early-morning sunlight catching the surface in a thousand dazzling lights.

The billionaire prince, she thought weakly, envious of his confidence and the ease with which he handled his high profile existence. She’d watched him in action at state occasions and been impossibly awed by the deft way in which he handled every situation and solved every problem. She realised now that she’d had no idea of the weight of responsibility that rested on him, and yet he apparently coped easily, with no outward evidence of stress or self-doubt.