Laura Wright - Charming The Prince

“Good morning, Charlie,” came the baritone beside her, his tone now laden with formality.

Fran’s heart dropped like a stone.

Charlie bowed low. “Good morning, Your Highness. His Royal Highness has returned from town and wishes to speak with you.”

“Thank you, Charlie. You may go.”

Fran didn’t wait for the real Charlie to leave. She whirled around, faced the man who she’d assumed was the stable hand, the man she’d sat here staring at, drooling over, chatting with and advising on the important things in life.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Your Highness?”

“I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce myself.” He inclined his head, but those devilish blue eyes remained locked on hers. “Prince Maxim Stephan Henry Thorne.”

Maxim watched the American beauty’s eyes turn a deep brown, and once again he cursed the bargain he’d made with his father almost a year ago. Why the hell would he ever get married to some humorless blue blood of the court when there were women such as this around to tempt him?

Never in his life had he met a woman as full of acuity and opinions as this one. Normally he didn’t find those characteristics appealing, but with her…

He let his gaze move over her. She sat there, clearly annoyed by what he’d just told her—or not told her—a band of sunlight illuminating her amazing features. Shimmering blond waves caressed those stubborn shoulders, while a heart-shaped face sported high cheekbones and satin skin. She was slim, but ripe in all the right places. And when she’d walked past him into the office a few minutes ago, an arrow of blood-pumping desire had struck him dead center—not to mention a few inches lower.

But there was one feature she possessed that made him want to howl at the moon: her mouth, that pink upside-down fantasy with its lush upper lip.

“Your Highness?”

Her irritated query jolted him from his reverie. “Yes, Doctor?”

“You tricked me.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I don’t like being tricked,” she said sternly. “I had enough of it growing up.” A quick blush crept to her cheeks, but she continued. “I’m not about to take any more of it now. From a prince or a stable boy.”

Maxim stared at her, thoroughly amused. He’d never been spoken to in such a way. Women didn’t scold him. They flirted and complimented and went to bed with him. “I apologize.”

She hesitated for a moment, and he wondered if she was going to toss his apology back in his face. But she didn’t. Instead, a look of confusion sprang to her eyes. “You were pitching hay.”

He shrugged. “I like the distraction.”

“From what? This perfect place you live in?”

“No place is perfect, Doctor.”

She expelled a weighty breath, a yielding breath. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“If you think I’m going to stand up and curtsy after what you just pulled—”

“I wouldn’t hear of it.” He grinned, standing himself. “Not now, anyway.”

“Try not ever!” She jerked to her feet without waiting for him to offer a hand. Though Maxim sincerely doubted if she would’ve actually taken his help had he had the time to offer it.

“Perhaps around the court or my father you could at least…nod?”

She paused, then said, “We’ll see.”

His grin widened. “Thank you.”

They stood facing each other, Glinda’s watchful gaze on them. Francesca was tall, maybe three inches shorter than him. A perfect height for a man to lean in and—

“I have to know,” she said, folding her arms across her splendid chest. “Why didn’t you tell me who you are? Was playing me like that just another distraction?”

She stood close, so close he could feel the heat of her body, breathe in that soft almost honeylike scent of her. “Truthfully, I wanted to know what it was like to be anonymous.”

“And how was it?”

“Invigorating.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help,” she said wryly.

“You’re sure you’re not going to treat me differently now that you know the truth?”

“My conscience and my pride would suffer a great indignity if I treated you as anything more than the prankster you’ve shown yourself to be.”

“And we wouldn’t want that.” Grinning, Maxim walked over to the desk in the far corner and seized the paperwork he’d been working on before he’d gotten frustrated and taken a break in the stalls. When he turned back to face Francesca, he said, “It was nice to meet you, Doctor. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

She fairly chuckled. “And who will you be next time?”

He raised a brow. “I’ve always had a longing to try my hand at masonry.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“On second thought,” he said, his mouth carving into a smile. “Sounds a little too far away from the stables for my liking.” He inclined his head, then turned to leave.

She called back, “Not at all, Your Highness.”

Maxim paused, glanced over his shoulder. “Such a lofty title doesn’t seem right after the informal tête-à-tête we’ve just shared.”

“Prince Maxim, then?” she offered, baiting him.

“How about just Maxim?”

She grinned. “How about just Max?”

“I don’t think so.” That smile of hers gripped him tightly and held, while her mouth stirred his blood. He knew he’d better leave while he still could. “Goodbye, Francesca.”

She dropped into a funny-looking curtsy. “Goodbye, Max.”

For the first time in a long time, Maxim laughed, deeply and genuinely. And he kept it up long after he’d left the room, walked down the hallway and stepped out into the kingdom he called home.

Fran stood in front of the full-length mirror in her opulent blue bedroom in the east wing of the castle and rolled her eyes at her reflection.

The chagrin she felt had nothing whatever to do with the eye-catching chocolate-brown dress and matching boots she wore or the sassy swept-up hair-style that one of her vet techs had repeatedly told her looked “hot.” Nope, the roll of the eyes was for the hope she felt. The hope of seeing a certain prince again.

Oh, Lord. A prince.

Was she crazy? Had the untainted Llandaron air turned her normally sensible and analytical brain to mush? Even if she could forget for a moment that Max was royalty and lived on Fantasy Island, why wasn’t she thinking about Dennis? Sure, there was no actual commitment between them yet. But before she’d left, he’d asked her to marry him—and she’d said she’d think about it. True, they weren’t exactly in love, but that was because neither one of them believed in the concept. Dennis had also been burned—by the female equivalent to Fran’s smooth talker.

Consequently, she and Dennis were no longer romantics.

They were scientists.

Shoot, their common viewpoints and careers were why they had become such good friends in the first place. This way they would be two great friends forming an everlasting bond, caring for and supporting one another.

And then she’d had to come here and run into a real live Prince Charming!

An image of Max splintered through her mind. Those eyes, that touch, those lips…

Was he married? The random thought was followed by a shiver, and she turned away from the mirror. The marital status of His Highness was none of her business; nothing about him was her business. Glinda and the pups were her business. And heck, she probably wouldn’t see him again, anyway. He had…royal stuff to do with other royals. He didn’t have time to hang around the stables every day with some commoner from California.

Speaking of time, Fran checked her watch. Five minutes to six.