by Jessica Hart
They reached Ally’s room first. Hope paused to talk to Ally, and asked a footman standing stolidly in the corridor to show Max and Flora where they would be staying. “I’ll come and find you later,” she promised them. So they followed the footman down the corridor and around a corner until he opened a door into an ornately decorated room with a spectacular view out over the city to the sea in the distance.
“For me?” Flora asked, and he smiled and gestured her into the room.
And then he gestured Max into the room too.
Murmuring something about their luggage being brought up, he withdrew.
“It looks as if we’re going to be sharing,” said Max dryly.
“Oh.” Flora looked at the bed. It was an impressive piece of furniture with a high wooden frame draped in muslin, and it had a wide, inviting mattress. A mattress with nothing to stop you rolling over in the night and coming up against a lean, hard body, say.
Nothing to stop you slipping an arm over him and pressing against his back. Or kissing his neck until you made him smile and roll over and pin you into the mattress.
“Oh,” she said again. “What are we going to do?”
Before Max could answer, there was a tap on the door, and Hope let herself in. “You got here – good. I hear Ben’s getting on like a house on fire with Mads and Cas,” she said. “And Katja is only four and very ready to adore Holly, so I think the kids will be fine. Don’t worry about them at all.”
“I’m not worrying about the kids,” said Max. “I’m more worried about how Flora and I are going to manage this week.”
“Oh, the bed,” said Hope, following his gaze. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know how to say you weren’t sleeping together. It seemed too complicated to give you separate rooms. Is it going to be a problem?” she asked anxiously.
Flora had been watching her friend. Hope’s smile seemed a little brittle, she thought. Perhaps that was only to be expected with a royal engagement coming up, and family descending. Anyone’s smile would be strained.
She saw Max glance around the room. Of course there was nothing useful like a comfortable sofa, just a couple of upright chairs with ornate gilding that looked as if they would be painful to sit in, let alone try to sleep on.
But there was no point in adding to Hope’s pressure by making a fuss.
“Well, not for me,” she said. “I’m not sure Max is up to discovering what a sex kitten I am, though,” she said and was relieved to see Hope laugh.
Max shook his head. Like Flora, he had noticed a frenetic edge to Hope’s smile. “We’ll work something out,” he told her. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a problem.”
“Oh, thank you! I knew I could rely on you not to give me any more hassle. Now, drinks at six-thirty sharp in what translates as the Green Drawing Room, but you’ve got a couple of hours to relax before you have to be presented to the royal family.”
“Sex kitten?” Max looked at Flora when Hope had flitted away.
“I was just trying to lighten the atmosphere,” said Flora. “Hope seems a bit on edge.”
“Yes, I noticed that too.”
Flora bit her lip. “You don’t think she’s having second thoughts about marrying Jonas?”
“God, I hope not after all this. Do you think that?”
“No-o,” she said, but she didn’t sound sure. “They seemed good together. Not that we’ve had much of a chance to chat. It’s probably just nerves with the engagement coming up and all the fuss. Hope’s never been big on fuss, has she?”
“I hope you’re right.” Max sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “As for our situation, we’ll just have to get on with it. We should have expected this, in fact, but we’re both grown-ups. Sharing a bed isn’t the end of the world, is it?”
“No, of course not,” Flora lied. “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”
Relax, Hope had said. How was she supposed to do that when she had to climb into bed next to Max in a few hours’ time? It might look like a big bed, but what if it had a dip in the middle? She would never be able to sleep clinging to the side of the bed. And he would be there, with his lean, solid body, temptingly close ...
Max pulled a dry-looking journal out of his case, kicked off his shoes, pulled some pillows behind his head and made himself comfortable on the bed, clearly taking Hope at her word. Flora couldn’t help eyeing him with resentment as he put on a pair of glasses and began to read. How come he could look so relaxed? It wasn’t fair.
We’re grown-ups. So why not behave like a grown-up and get over the whole sharing a bed issue by suggesting that they take the opportunity to sleep together? They were both single, both unattached. What would be the harm? They had kissed, and it was no use pretending that it hadn’t been nice. Surely he wouldn’t have kissed her if he hadn’t found her a little bit attractive?
But then he had said that it would be a very bad idea to take things further.
Which it would be.
A discreet knock at the door announced the arrival of their luggage. Flora’s battered suitcase was placed on the floor next to Max’s neat cabin bag. Would they like any help unpacking? Everyone in San Michele seemed to speak effortless English.
“I’m sure we can manage, thank you,” said Flora, trying not to giggle at the idea of anyone going through her bag. But she could at least hang up her dresses. Very aware of Max absorbed in his journal – what was so interesting about landscape design, anyway? – she pottered around, setting out her toiletries in the bathroom and putting away her T-shirts and underwear. She set her shoes neatly in the wardrobe and tucked the empty case out of sight.
It all felt horribly intimate. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Max turn a page. The horn-rimmed glasses should have been a turn-off, but somehow they weren’t. Quite the opposite, in fact.
A disturbing warmth pooled in Flora’s belly and spread out to parts of her that didn’t seem to have got the message about what a bad idea it would be to go over and whip that pesky journal from his hands and toss it aside. Those bits thought it would be a great idea, in fact. Because then she could wriggle closer to him and kiss that cool, firm mouth until he smiled. She could take off the glasses and let him roll her beneath him and ... what was bad about this idea again?
Oh, yes. Max was emotionally unavailable. They had nothing in common.
Apart from the fact that they would be sharing that bed tonight.
Oh, this was ridiculous. Flora wandered over to the long window, where the shutters had been half pulled to keep out the evening sun. Pushing them right back, she gazed down at the city spread out below her, and the sea, a glittery glare in the distance. Here she was, staying in a palace, in this beautiful country, and she was wasting it fretting about the night to come.
“I’ve got an idea.” She turned from the window.
“Mmn?” Max didn’t even look up from his journal.
“I think I should cuddle up to you.”
At least that got his attention. His head jerked up and he stared at her over the rim of his glasses. “What?”
“I know it’s silly but the truth is, I’m a bit nervous about sleeping with you tonight. I mean, not sleeping with you,” she corrected herself hurriedly, “but, you know, sleeping with you.”
“I know what you mean,” said Max in a dry voice.
Relieved, Flora pressed on. “So, I thought that it might help if we got used to being physically close but not, er, that close ... and then we might be able to relax.”
“I am relaxed,” he pointed out.
“All right, I might be able to relax.”
“And you think cuddling me will help you relax?” Max didn’t even try to disguise his scepticism.
“I don’t mean literally cuddle you. I’ll just sit on the bed with you, and if we, I don’t know, bump arms or something, it’ll be no big deal.”
“Bumping arms has never been a big turn-on for me,” said Max, “but if it’ll stop you fidgeting, I’m all fo
r it.” He watched as Flora grabbed her iPad, toed off her sandals and climbed onto the bed next to him before she could lose her nerve. “Aren’t you going to read?”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on a book.” The bed was high, but sumptuously comfortable, and she bounced experimentally. “This is like the bed in the princess and the pea. Can I have one of your pillows? I suppose I could google some menu ideas,” she said as Max pulled a pillow from behind him and passed it over to her.
“Don’t you ever think of anything except food?”
I think about you, she thought, but didn’t say. “Of course I do. I often spend hours on the internet reading high-powered articles on political issues of the day. Also known as watching kitten videos.”
“Kitten videos?” Max looked as if she had confessed to watching porn.
“Look at this one.” Flora clicked on one of her favourites. It showed a tabby kitten with tiny pink paws having its tummy tickled. “Is that the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen?”
The look Max gave her was withering.
“Okay, this one. I defy you to watch this and not have your heart melted. Sweetie must have looked like this once.” A long-haired kitten that looked like nothing so much as a ball of fluff appeared on her screen, apparently on the verge of falling asleep in spite of the fact that it was on all four paws. “Tell me you’re not in love with it,” she said.
“I’m not in love with it,” he said, deadpan, and picked up his journal once more.
“In that case there’s definitely something wrong with you.”
Max found his place again. “You’re a nutcase, you know that?”
“What about a puppy video?” She clicked around for something suitably schmaltzy, knowing that it would annoy him. Actually, this was fun. It felt better to be irritating him instead of feeling awkward.
She scrolled around looking for the most endearing pictures she could find – and some of them were pretty cute, she had to say – contenting herself with the occasional “Awwww ...” or a chuckle while a little tick developed in Max’s jaw.
And the odd thing was that after a while it did feel companionable to be amusing herself with Max shaking his head at her occasionally.
“You have to see this one,” she told him with a nudge and Max sighed and resigned himself to a nauseatingly sentimental video of a golden retriever puppy playing with a kitten. “Oh ... oh, look! Isn’t it adorable?”
“Dear God,” he said because he knew that was what she wanted him to say, but the truth was that he had been enjoying watching her try to provoke him. She had relaxed against the pillows, and looked rumpled and disturbingly appealing as she lounged next to him, her long legs in jeans pulled up so that she could balance the iPad against her knees. The T-shirt outlined her tempting curves and the mischievous looks she sent him under her lashes were pure provocation.
He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when Flora pulled herself upright. “Look at the time! We should start getting ready. We’d better not be late. Is it okay if I have first shower?”
“Go ahead,” said Max, glad of some time to clear his head, although once he could hear the shower running all sensible thoughts evaporated and all he could think about was what Flora would look like under the shower. He imagined that lush body naked and wet and then he thought about her climbing into bed and spending the night next to all that warmth and he pushed up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, hard.
It’s not a problem. Wasn’t that what he had said to Hope? Famous last words.
“I’m going to see if I can find the kids and check they’re okay,” he shouted through the bathroom door. He needed to get out before he broke it down.
When he finally tracked Holly and Ben down, they were a having wonderful time, and had made themselves right at home in the royal children’s apartments. The boys were racketing around together and Holly was playing Queen Bee. Trailed by little Princess Katja, a wide-eyed four-year-old, Holly proudly showed him her room and the dress she planned to wear the next day.
“We’re going to eat with Mads, Cas and Katja,” she told him importantly. “They’ve got their own dining room.”
“Is anyone keeping an eye on you all?”
“Oh, yes, Marta’s around. She’s really cool, though. She doesn’t treat us like babies.” She held her hand out to Katja. “Come on, let’s go and play with your doll’s house.”
Clearly unneeded, Max made his way back to the room along the endless corridors. Opening the door, he saw Flora balancing on one leg as she slipped her foot into a shoe, but she straightened as he went in, and all the blood drained from his head. For a long moment he stared at her, as she stood there in a simple sleeveless dress. It was a cheery cherry red, with a deep V-neck that drew attention to her cleavage and all that warm, creamy skin. Slightly fitted at the waist, it skimmed over her hips to end in a flirty hem above her knee and showed off her legs.
Not just legs, Max corrected himself, as blood rushed back to his brain. Stupendous legs that went on forever, and ended in high heels that made her even taller.
Max opened his mouth and shut it again. “You’ve got legs,” he said hoarsely.
“It’s my new look. What do you think?”
How was he supposed to think when she was standing there on those legs? She had done something to her face, too. Max wasn’t sure what, but she looked more sophisticated than usual. Sexier.
“You look ... you look ...” God, listen to him stuttering like an idiot! “... nice,” he managed.
He could tell by her face that nice was an inadequate response, but he was rattled.
“Very nice,” he tried again.
Flora rolled her eyes. “Are you going to have a shower?”
“Yes, I think I will,” said Max. He had better make it a cold one, he added to himself.
Chapter Eleven
“I wish I hadn’t worn heels,” Flora muttered to Max as they stood looking up a magnificently curved marble staircase. “My feet are killing me. We must have trekked miles already.”
“Come along, my little Moonflower, I think we’ve just got to get up these stairs.”
“Don’t call me Moonflower.” But when he offered her his hand, Flora took it, glad of his warm grip as she teetered up the stairs. What had she been thinking, trying to be sophisticated? The kind of woman who wore heels? She should have known she would never be able to carry it off. So much for trying to dazzle Max, too. Very nice had been the best he could manage.
But his fingers did feel good wrapped around hers.
At the top of the stairs, they found themselves facing an array of footmen in ornate uniforms, two of whom stepped forward smartly to fling open the two halves of a double door. Max and Flora walked obediently through, and stopped dead, jaws dropping in unison.
They found themselves in a sumptuously decorated room. The windows were lavishly draped in swagged green silk, the walls hung with green and gold. There was an elaborately gilded plasterwork ceiling, a riot of painted gold swags and garlands decorated the cornices, and even the carpet was patterned in gold. Massive chandeliers glittered; priceless works of art decorated the walls. The effect was dazzling if overwhelming.
Max recovered first. “Just your ordinary family get-together,” he murmured to Flora who was still gaping at the splendour.
At first sight, she had thought the room was crowded with strangers, and for one ghastly moment thought that they were going to be announced by a stentorian butler as if they were attending a Regency ball, but thankfully Hope was looking out for them and hurried over.
“Flora, look at you in heels! You look fabulous!”
“Now, that’s how it’s done,” Flora said to Max, gratefully accepting a glass of champagne from a tray.
“How what’s done?” Hope asked.
“When I asked your brother if I looked okay, he just said I looked ‘nice’.”
“Oh, Max, you can do better than that!” said
Hope.
“I said ‘very nice’,” Max corrected, “but I meant ‘gorgeous’.”
There was a fizzing silence. Hope’s eyes flickered between the two of them with interest. Flora felt her cheeks grow pink. She took a slug of champagne. “Well, that’s a bit better,” she said.
“You really do,” he said.
“You’re being nice,” she said, more unsettled than she wanted to admit, and, trying to make a joke out of it. “Who are you, and what have you done with Max?”
“Looks like you can’t win, Max,” said Hope. “Come and be presented to the Crown Prince and Princess,” she went on, tucking her hand into his arm. “They’re hosting all the events this week as Jonas’s father is still convalescing.”
“Is this Anna, the Crown Princess with the obsession about protocol?” Max lowered his voice as Hope led them across the room.
“That’s the one.” Hope’s smile was suspiciously brittle. “Actually, she’s all right when you get to know her. Carlo can be a bit stiff but he’s decent.”
“Do we have to curtsey or anything?” Flora asked nervously.
“It’s just an informal affair tonight, but Anna would probably like it if you could manage a quick bob, anyway.”
Flora glanced around the room with its gilt and gold and glittering chandeliers. Informal. Right.
Hope led them over to a haughty-looking couple. Anna, the Crown Princess, was cool and blonde and immaculately groomed, her hair smoothed and twisted into a sophisticated chignon. She was very slim. Between her and Hope and what looked like every other woman in the room, Flora felt like a water buffalo who had strayed into a crowd of gazelles.
Why, oh, why had she worn heels? Keeping hold of her champagne, she managed a sketchy curtsey, which the Crown Princess acknowledged with a dip of her head, but getting up proved to be harder than getting down, especially on her heels. Flora wobbled perilously as she tried to straighten and for an endless horrified moment thought she was going to topple over completely. Just in time, a firm hand gripped her elbow and pulled her upright. Max. Torn between gratitude and giggles at how nearly she had fallen splat in front of the Crown Princess, she smiled at him. Thank you, she mouthed.
