Almost Summer by Susan Mallery Page B

As quickly as the thought formed,
she dismissed it. Alistair was a good eight inches taller than she was and he
looked well-muscled.
    “So you’re British, right?”
    He slowly opened his eyes. “We’ve established that, yes.”
    “Know anyone in the royal family? I think I’d make a fabulous
princess. Harry’s still single, isn’t he?”
    “Prince Harry? Yes, I believe so.”
    “Do you know him?”
    “I’ve met him a few times, of course.”
    Paige stared at him. “Excuse me?”
    “I’ve met him. At my father’s house.”
    “What was Harry doing there?”
    “Playing polo.”
    “You play polo?”
    “Not well.”
    “I’ve been meaning to take my game to a higher level, so I know
what you mean.”
    He looked at her then. “You play?”
    “Of course. Weekly. Just me and the ponies. Come on, lean
forward.”
    He did as she asked. She grabbed his hands and pulled him
forward. His feet dropped to the driveway and gravity did its thing. The forward
momentum propelled him to his feet.
    “I think you’re joking,” he said as he staggered a couple of
steps.
    “I am. Put your arm around me. We’re going into the house and
then upstairs.”
    “As you wish.”
    “You keep saying that. If only that were true. Take a step.
Then another one. Walking is good.”
    She maneuvered him into her house and then paused at the bottom
of the staircase.
    “We’re going up,” she told him.
    He barely nodded.
    She put his hand on the railing, then stepped behind him and
pushed. “Let’s get this over with.”
    He started to move up the stairs.
    “That’s it. Tell me about your father. How does he know
Harry?”
    “He knows the whole royal family.”
    “Because?”
    “He’s an earl.”
    Paige nearly stopped pushing. Alistair started to lean back.
They were already halfway up—there was no retreating now.
    “Seriously?” she asked, shoving as hard as she could. “A real
earl?”
    “Are there unreal earls?”
    “I don’t know. So that makes you what?”
    “A viscount.”
    “Should I call you something? Mr. Viscount?”
    “My Lord is traditional, but unnecessary.”
    “Good because I’m not the type to curtsey.”
    They’d reached the top of the stairs. Alistair turned to her.
“One only curtseys to the queen.”
    “Does one?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good to know.” She guided him into Sophia’s old room and
pointed to the bed. “How does that look?”
    Alistair sighed. “Heavenly.” He reached for the buttons on his
shirt. “You’ll want me to take my clothes off.”
    “If I had a nickel,” she started, then stopped when he didn’t.
In a matter of seconds, the shirt was floating to the ground and he was reaching
for his belt.
    “Yikes,” she said, backing out of the room. “Leave on your
underwear, or we’ll both be embarrassed. Let me know when you’re done.”
    “It’s all right,” he told her. “I’m a doctor.”
    She shut the door and stood in the hall. “Maybe, but I’m not.”
She waited a couple of seconds. “Alistair?”
    There was silence, then a thunk. She flung open the door and
found Alistair Woodbury, the viscount of something, lying in briefs and nothing
else on her Aunt Sophia’s bed.
    And to think she’d assumed that today was going to be a very
ordinary day.

Chapter Two
    Alistair didn’t believe in angels, yet every time the
fever threatened to suck him down into a place he shouldn’t go, the angel was
there. Blond, with large hazel eyes and a soothing voice. She talked softly,
even laughed, and her hands were cool. Sometimes she insisted he eat, but mostly
she was simply a presence.
    Time passed, but he couldn’t say how long it had been since
he’d shown up at his friend Simon’s house. He was content to simply sleep and
awaken briefly to be with the angel. Until something sat on him and tried to
kill him.
    He opened his eyes to find himself staring at a very large cat
perched on his chest. The black-and-white feline glared at him, as if annoyed to
find a