that she had dismissed her maid for the evening.
The prime minister had been eyeing him speculatively for the past hour, and William could not stand it anymore. Ordinarily, someone would have handled this task for him. A man-at-arms was looking like a good choice for the job. This evening, though, William took it on himself and got a good dose of just how big his castle was by how long it took him to reach Moira's apartment.
With the flat side of his fist he pounded on the door, wasting no time with social amenities.
"Who is it?" floated softly from inside.
"You know damn well—" He took a deep breath and needlessly tugged his suit coat into submission. "It is William, Your Highness."
"I've retired for the evening, Your Majesty."
He had hoped she would revert to his name, but it appeared it was not to be so tonight. "Open the blasted—" Again, he paused. He raked his fingers through his hair. He had never done that before. Now he understood the emotion behind it when he'd seen other men do it. "May I come in?"
He pressed his ear up to the wood to hear whether she was laughing. He liked her laugh. A lot. Too much perhaps, because he should have kicked the door open and dragged her kicking and screaming to dinner. Instead, he heard music, and not with a beat he imagined anyone would "retire" to.
"Yes, come in."
He pushed the door open to a scene he had never had the foresight to imagine. Moira, her blond hair in a high, bouncy ponytail, a fuzzy peach-colored sweat band around her forehead, a pretty pink flush to her face as she stretched first one arm up over her head then the other. Over and over, she kept time with the music. The cropped hem of her matching shirt rose with her arms, giving him a glimpse of bare midriff before the hem dropped and covered her again.
Glimpse. Cover. Glimpse. Cover.
With a sweep of his hand, he indicated her attire. "What the hell is that?"
She looked down at herself, but continued exercising as she counted, "Nineteen . . . and . . . twenty. Sweats," she replied, then placed her hands on her hips and bent sideways. "One and two and . . ."
"I know what sweats are." Was that growl coming from him? "What are you doing in them? Why are you— Stop that!" He strode across the room and punched the volume button off.
She came to an abrupt halt, which sent her ponytail jiggling down to a slower stop. He wanted to go over to her and bat it and get it bouncing again.
"I'm exercising."
"I can see that. The question is, why are you doing that when you were expected at dinner an hour ago?"
She bent down and stretched her fingers beyond her toes, laying her hands flat on the floor, giving him time to study the tiny bumps that made up her lower spine. "Didn't Leonard tell you I have a headache?"
"I will send you some aspirin."
"I don't take medicine."
He was so surprised, he got sidetracked. "Never?"
"Nope. My physiology professor had us do experiments that convinced me I don't want to mess with drugs." She stood upright, then bent over backward, arching her body until her hands touched down on the floor behind her feet.
William's mouth went dry. If she would stretch just a little bit farther, he would find out whether she was wearing a bra. And whether it was peach-colored, too. He was unable to think coherently until she righted herself. And while he waited with bated breath, his annoyance ebbed. He wondered whether she was deliberately teasing him, but, if this is how she chose to do it, he did not care.
"You must come to dinner at once."
"Are you all right? You sound a bit hoarse."
"I have a guest waiting. I am upset that you did not come to dinner."
She rose and, with her sleeve, blotted a drop of sweat amid the tendrils of hair sweeping her neck. "Okay. Lead the way."
"You are not dressed properly."
"Oh, well, if you want me to dress properly, I'd need Emma to pick out something appropriate for me."
"That is your maid's job."
"I dismissed her for the night"
"Ah, yes." So
The prime minister had been eyeing him speculatively for the past hour, and William could not stand it anymore. Ordinarily, someone would have handled this task for him. A man-at-arms was looking like a good choice for the job. This evening, though, William took it on himself and got a good dose of just how big his castle was by how long it took him to reach Moira's apartment.
With the flat side of his fist he pounded on the door, wasting no time with social amenities.
"Who is it?" floated softly from inside.
"You know damn well—" He took a deep breath and needlessly tugged his suit coat into submission. "It is William, Your Highness."
"I've retired for the evening, Your Majesty."
He had hoped she would revert to his name, but it appeared it was not to be so tonight. "Open the blasted—" Again, he paused. He raked his fingers through his hair. He had never done that before. Now he understood the emotion behind it when he'd seen other men do it. "May I come in?"
He pressed his ear up to the wood to hear whether she was laughing. He liked her laugh. A lot. Too much perhaps, because he should have kicked the door open and dragged her kicking and screaming to dinner. Instead, he heard music, and not with a beat he imagined anyone would "retire" to.
"Yes, come in."
He pushed the door open to a scene he had never had the foresight to imagine. Moira, her blond hair in a high, bouncy ponytail, a fuzzy peach-colored sweat band around her forehead, a pretty pink flush to her face as she stretched first one arm up over her head then the other. Over and over, she kept time with the music. The cropped hem of her matching shirt rose with her arms, giving him a glimpse of bare midriff before the hem dropped and covered her again.
Glimpse. Cover. Glimpse. Cover.
With a sweep of his hand, he indicated her attire. "What the hell is that?"
She looked down at herself, but continued exercising as she counted, "Nineteen . . . and . . . twenty. Sweats," she replied, then placed her hands on her hips and bent sideways. "One and two and . . ."
"I know what sweats are." Was that growl coming from him? "What are you doing in them? Why are you— Stop that!" He strode across the room and punched the volume button off.
She came to an abrupt halt, which sent her ponytail jiggling down to a slower stop. He wanted to go over to her and bat it and get it bouncing again.
"I'm exercising."
"I can see that. The question is, why are you doing that when you were expected at dinner an hour ago?"
She bent down and stretched her fingers beyond her toes, laying her hands flat on the floor, giving him time to study the tiny bumps that made up her lower spine. "Didn't Leonard tell you I have a headache?"
"I will send you some aspirin."
"I don't take medicine."
He was so surprised, he got sidetracked. "Never?"
"Nope. My physiology professor had us do experiments that convinced me I don't want to mess with drugs." She stood upright, then bent over backward, arching her body until her hands touched down on the floor behind her feet.
William's mouth went dry. If she would stretch just a little bit farther, he would find out whether she was wearing a bra. And whether it was peach-colored, too. He was unable to think coherently until she righted herself. And while he waited with bated breath, his annoyance ebbed. He wondered whether she was deliberately teasing him, but, if this is how she chose to do it, he did not care.
"You must come to dinner at once."
"Are you all right? You sound a bit hoarse."
"I have a guest waiting. I am upset that you did not come to dinner."
She rose and, with her sleeve, blotted a drop of sweat amid the tendrils of hair sweeping her neck. "Okay. Lead the way."
"You are not dressed properly."
"Oh, well, if you want me to dress properly, I'd need Emma to pick out something appropriate for me."
"That is your maid's job."
"I dismissed her for the night"
"Ah, yes." So
Similar Books
