Red-Hot Affairs: The Crown Affair / Craving Her Enemy's Touch / A Lone Star Love Affair. Lucy KingЧитать онлайн книгу.
Hmm. ‘I need to get back to work.’
‘Later.’ He gave her a quick smile. ‘Indulge me.’
Her stomach swooped. ‘Do I have any option?’
‘Not a lot,’ he said, his eyes glinting with amusement and turning her head inside out. ‘According to the records, disobeying the king used to result being thrown in the dungeon.’
‘Charming.’
‘Not in the least,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It’s damp and crawling with vermin. You wouldn’t like it.’
Probably not. Although she was pretty sure it would be less uncomfortable than having lunch with Matt when her common sense had gone AWOL. ‘Wow,’ she said, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms. ‘Absolute power and blackmail. That’s quite a combination.’
‘I like to think so.’
Laura tilted her head. ‘I thought I was supposed to be staying out of your way.’
He glanced at her for a second and then grinned. ‘That was one of the things I wanted to chat about.’
Now he wanted to chat? She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t you have better things to do? Like a country to run?’
‘Even kings need to eat. And I thought we could get round to some of that small talk you mentioned.’
The small talk they’d been too busy getting horizontal and naked to bother with …
Laura’s insides tangled into a mass of longing and frustration. Why was she always on the back foot with this man? What was it about him that had her feeling totally at sea? And more importantly why hadn’t the two weeks she’d spent staying out of his way done anything to reduce the effect he had on her?
She nibbled on her lip. Maybe small talk was the way forward. If she could get him to reveal a bit about himself, maybe he’d turn out to be hideously arrogant, irritatingly patronising and possibly insanely boring. If she was really lucky, he’d also expose a couple of nasty habits. Like interrupting her. Or dismissing her opinions as if batting away a fly. As her ex had had a tendency to do. Hah. That would certainly put her off.
Laura sat down and gave him a cool smile. ‘What would you like to talk about?’
Matt leaned down and took a bottle and a couple of glasses out of the hamper. ‘It’s occurred to me that the apologies I owe you are beginning to stack up.’
Oh. Damn. Not that hideously arrogant, then. She lifted a shoulder. ‘Are they?’
He pulled the cork out, filled the glasses and slid one across the table to her. ‘First of all, I never apologised for jumping to the conclusion you were a journalist.’
He’d made up for it in other ways, Laura thought, drawing the glass towards her, and then wished she hadn’t as her cheeks went red.
‘And then when you turned up here, I overreacted.’
She took a sip of wine and felt the alcohol slide into her stomach. ‘Why?’
Matt frowned. ‘I’m not sure.’
Hah. As if. She’d never met anyone less unsure of themselves. ‘Let me guess,’ she said with a flash of perception. ‘You thought I was here to see you.’ He stiffened and she felt a jolt of triumph. ‘And I bet you thought the worst.’
‘Possibly.’
‘You really ought to do something about that suspicious nature of yours.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Have lots of people crawled out of the woodwork now that you’re king?’
His face tightened. ‘Some.’
‘Well, I don’t know what sort of people you usually hang out with but you should look at getting a new set of friends.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Matt sighed and then snapped back from wherever he’d been. ‘So how am I doing?’
‘Not bad.’
‘Not bad?’
‘Well, you haven’t actually apologised yet.’
‘Good point.’ He frowned and shifted in the seat. ‘I’m sorry.’
Laura couldn’t help grinning at his obvious discomfort. ‘Not a fan of apologising?’
Matt grimaced. ‘I haven’t had a huge amount of practice.’
Lucky him. She’d had years of practice. Often apologising for things that hadn’t been her fault. God, she’d been pathetic. ‘I dare say you’ll get better at it.’
He winced. ‘I don’t plan on having to.’
‘No, well, I doubt kings generally have much to apologise for.’
Didn’t they? Any more of those sexy little smiles, thought Matt, and he’d be apologising for a whole lot more than a misunderstanding and an overreaction.
Because despite the shapeless mass of beige cotton covering Laura from head to toe, the imprint of her lying there on the grass in just her bra burned in his head and she might as well be naked. Every time she tucked her hair behind her ears or reached for her glass and lifted it to her mouth the thick cotton rustled and reminded him of exactly what lay beneath.
His head swam for a second and his hands curled into fists. Oh, for God’s sake. He really had to get a grip.
Right. Conversation. That had been the plan. Food might not be a bad idea, either, he thought, taking out a couple of plates, cutlery and a number of small plastic boxes. He pushed a plate across the table to Laura but she shook her head. He opened the boxes and piled a selection of things on his plate.
‘So how’s the accommodation?’ he asked.
See. He could do conversation.
‘Very comfortable, thank you. Who could complain about a four-poster bed and marble en-suite?’
The image of Laura hot and naked and wet in the shower slammed into his head and his mouth went dry as the heavy beat of desire began to pound through him. Perhaps best to steer clear of accommodation as a conversational avenue in the future.
‘And the work?’
‘Really great,’ she said, giving him a dazzling smile that nearly blinded him.
‘You’re very dedicated.’ Neither his culture minister nor his secretary could stop singing her praises. It had been driving him insane.
‘I love my job.’
‘So why the sabbatical?’
Her glass froze halfway to her mouth and she carefully set it back down on the table. ‘What do you mean?’ she said warily.
‘Well, you’re clearly good at your job, and you said yourself you love it. So why the sabbatical?’
‘Oh, well, you know.’ She shrugged and nibbled on her lip in that way that he was discovering meant that she was nervous. Excellent. When he’d thought that something didn’t add up he’d been right.
‘I needed some time out. Stress. Boredom. That sort of thing.’
Matt didn’t believe that for a second. Her whole demeanour had changed and if pushed he’d have said she looked downright shifty. ‘You don’t seem the type to suffer from stress or boredom.’
‘Then I guess it’s working.’
Hmm. Never mind. He’d get to the bottom of her sabbatical soon enough. ‘How long have you lived in Little Somerford?’
She visibly relaxed. ‘A couple of months.’
‘And before that?’
‘London.