Laura Wright - Charming The Prince

“Do you take care of Glinda?” she asked, switching into doctor mode.

“I keep a close eye on her.”

“Then I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

He inclined his head. “Of course.”

“Is she eating and drinking?”

“Eating less, drinking more.”

Fran nodded. “Has she had any bleeding, vomiting or diarrhea?”

“No.”

“All right.” She scooted closer to the hound. “Why don’t you pet her, keep her calm, while I take a listen and a look.”

He raised an amused brow. “Are you asking me to assist you, Doctor?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?”

“I certainly don’t want to take you away from your work,” she explained.

“My work?”

She gestured toward the stables. “Cleaning the stalls and feeding the animals…”

“Ah, yes, of course. My work.” His eyes glinted blue fire. “I think I can spare a few minutes.”

Awareness stirred in her belly, deep and low—in a place so foreign she was caught off guard for a moment. But she fought her way back. “All right, but I don’t want to get you into any trouble with your boss, so let me know if I’m taking up too much of your time.”

“That’s very considerate,” he said on a dry chuckle. “But there’s nothing to worry about. My employer and I are on very good terms.”

After taking the wolfhound’s temperature, Fran listened to her heart and lungs and the sound of the sweet little pups in her belly. She took her time with the incredibly healthy wolfhound, thankful to have a break from the sexy stable hand for a moment. Never in her life had she been so affected or so attracted. Surely not with any of the good-looking men in L.A. Not even with Dennis.

“Wolfhounds can have fairly high-risk pregnancies,” the man said when Fran took off her stethoscope and began checking the wolfhound’s eyes and ears. “I understand that you’re a specialist in such cases.”

“That rumor is true.”

“There are others?” He leaned closer to Glinda as Fran opened the dog’s mouth to check her teeth.

“Sure.” She played along, keeping the mood light, while she tried desperately not to take in the man’s delectable scent. Suede and virile male. “But they’re all lies or at the very least, half-truths.”

“I still wouldn’t mind hearing them.”

She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “I don’t think they’d be appropriate subject matter for the sweet and innocent subjects of Llandaron.”

The heavy-lidded look he shot her way clearly stated that he was neither sweet nor innocent.

As if she didn’t know that.

“What do you think of Llandaron, Dr. Charming?” he asked, his face a mere whisper from hers.

“Well, I’ve only been here for a few hours, but what I have seen is…” Suddenly her breath caught as his gaze dropped brazenly to her mouth.

“Impressive?” he asked, his gruff baritone wrapping around her like silk on steel.

“Yes,” she answered in some kind of hazy whisper that she’d heard women use in the movies, but had never heard come out of her own mouth.

What was happening here? she thought wildly as a sudden flash of salty air rushed through the open window. What the devil was happening to her? Maybe she should’ve stayed in Los Angeles with Dennis, let someone else take the job.

Fran thrust that irrational thought away. So she was attracted to this man. It happened. It didn’t mean she was going to do anything about it or, more importantly, let it interfere with her job.

“Llandaron is rather impressive,” the man said, nudging her out of her self-analysis. “The people are proud of their country. Its unmarred beauty and peaceful existence.”

“They should be proud. It’s an amazing place.” She returned to Glinda, stroking the wolfhound’s wiry gray fur, eager for the dog to get comfortable with her. “Have you lived here all your life?”

“In Llandaron or here in the palace?”

“Either one.”

“Yes to both.”

“So you grew up in style, huh?” she said on a soft chuckle. “Your parents worked here and now you do?”

“Some would call it the family business.”

She couldn’t help herself. She glanced over at him, her brow furrowed. “That sounded almost regretful.”

“One’s choices in life are not always his own, Doctor.”

“That is such bunk,” she shot back.

He chuckled. “You think so?”

“Yes, I do.” Glinda put her head on Fran’s knee and closed her eyes. “We have one chance at this life. Giving others control over it—control over something as precious as our choices—is a waste.”

“Of time?”

“Of life.” Once she started on a subject like this, she couldn’t be stopped. “My father always said, ‘Life’s a gift.’” Fran’s heart squeezed painfully at the thought of her father. He’d been gone almost sixteen years, died and left her alone with a non-family who barely remembered her name. But even so, her love for him remained resolute.

The man beside her watched her intently, his expression shuttered. “What about the king’s children, Doctor? To them, duty and honor must come first. They don’t have the luxury of choice.”

“Of course they do. They just chose the duty and honor over their wants and needs.” Just as she had chosen sweet and steady Dennis over the smooth talkers who only wanted one thing, then moved on to their next conquest after they got it. No fairy tales or fairy-tale princes for her. Just lots of wolves in Armani clothing. Thank God, she’d only fallen for their silver-tongued appeal once.

She returned her attention to Glinda, feeling her belly, and the little puppies that grew there. “It’s funny, most people romanticize the royals—the life-style—the parties and balls, the perfect kisses and the handsome prince and all that.”

“But not you?”

“No.” She stayed in safe territory with her response. “When I was young, I didn’t sit in front of a Disney cartoon enraptured like other little girls did.”

“What did you do, instead?”

Fran couldn’t help but smile. “Made splints for the injured animals that found their way into our yard.”

“And I’ll bet you cured every one.” Gentle humor laced his tone.

“Most. But some things were beyond my control.” Like her stepbrothers’ cruel games and tricks, hiding her precious animals until she cried and begged for their return.

Fran forced the past back where it belonged and adopted a relaxed smile. “Let’s just say that I’ve never been one to see things through a rosy glow.”

“How do you see things, Francesca?”

“It’s just Fran,” she told him again. “And I see life through a pair of infrared sunglasses. I want to see the details, the truth. I don’t want to be blinded by fantasy.”

“You know, fantasies can be very fulfilling.”

Heat coiled low in her belly at his words. Without thinking, she looked up into his dark-blue eyes, eyes that held passion and intelligence. “In the short term, perhaps.”

A grin touched his lips. “And you don’t look for short-term pleasures?”

Her gaze flickered to the window, then down at Glinda, anywhere but on him. “Are we still talking about my views on life?”

“How old are you, Francesca?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“You know, you’re very wise for such a young woman.”

She shrugged, slightly embarrassed by his compliment. “I just know my own mind, that’s all.”

“Very progressive.”

“Is it?”

His smile went wide. “Yes, I think so.”

“Pardon me, Your Highness.”

Fran’s gaze shot to the doorway, where an older man dressed in work clothes stood, a green tam atop his graying hair, his eyes large and curious.