The Queen's Impossible Boss (The Christmas Princess Swap, Book 2) Page 7

  In the end he sent the remaining office staff home early. It was Christmas after all.

  It was a little after five when he leaned against the car, eyeing her apartment building and pretending he was chilled. As if. He’d sent the text two minutes ago. Would she reply in person or by phone? Yes or no? The door opened. He folded his arms tightly across his chest because it was the only way to hold himself back as she walked towards him. She’d left her hair loose and now he saw just how stunningly long it was. It hung in a gleaming sweep of loose chestnut curls all the way to her waist. His jaw dropped yet every muscle tightened. Her green eyes were usually backlit by a banked fire, but the smoulder in them now sucked all moisture from his mouth. It was as if he’d swallowed sandpaper. Her smile was shy, but her lips were glossed and pillowy and he wanted a first kiss do-over. Her black dress wasn’t slinky, but demurely fitted—belted at the waist only to flare and finish mid-calf. It was sexier than any he’d seen. Those stupidly thin high-heeled shoes were on her feet again and she’d slung a black leather jacket over her arm and he could no longer breathe.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked.

  It took him a moment to realise she’d paused a couple of paces away and was watching him warily. Apparently, time had stopped for him but not for her, and he’d been staring in silence for too long. Yet even now he wasn’t able to speak. His tongue was sealed to the roof of his mouth and his throat was so tight it hurt to nod. He straightened and had to consciously tell his arms to unfold so he could open the damn car door.

  ‘Shall I get in?’ Colour washed across her fine features, but a small knowing smile curved her luscious lips.

  Vixen.

  He pulled away the second she’d fastened her seat belt. That soft vanilla had arrived with her and he struggled to steady his breathing.

  ‘Was your day okay?’ she asked softly.

  ‘They missed you,’ he croaked, trying to think of normal things. He belatedly realised he’d not given her the chance to say goodbye to them even though they had no idea she wasn’t Juno and wasn’t coming back after the Christmas break. But no doubt she met people all the time, mostly briefly, with no permanency or long-term relationship ever developing. He was just another person to pass through her life too.

  ‘What did you do today?’ he asked, distracting himself from the unwelcome sensation at that thought.

  ‘I went for a walk...’

  As she trailed off he glanced and registered how tense she was too. Instinctively he reached out and covered her tight fist with his hand. A sizzle zinged up his arm at the small contact, but she tensed beneath his hold and he immediately loosened his grip. But she didn’t pull away, instead she flipped her fingers and laced them through his. Alvaro had never held hands with anyone. Ever. But for the first time all day he felt as if he could breathe.

  ‘I’m really glad you came for me,’ she said softly.

  Alvaro’s gut clenched as that too-sweet sentiment plunged him into a vat of scalding oil—the images her words conjured up were too graphic, too inappropriate. He needed to rein in his own sexual impulse around her, because she’d not meant that double-entendre. She was too inexperienced and this night was such folly. But he couldn’t force himself to turn the car around. He simply couldn’t stop.

  ‘I wasn’t sure what to wear.’

  She could’ve worn a sack, she’d look stunning regardless. But he did love this outfit, he did love the fact that she’d thought about what to wear for him. But his customary facility with compliments had fled. Hell, his whole brain seemed to have blown.

  The relief when he pulled into the basement of his building was immense, but he could still barely speak as he led her into the elevator and keyed in the code to unlock access to the penthouse. He tossed his keys and wallet onto the nearest small table and breathed deeply.

  ‘You have amazing views up here.’ She walked through to the large lounge.

  The penthouse overlooked the Hudson River, but she’d turned her back on the vast windows and was studying the apartment itself. Her avid curiosity made him smile.

  ‘What does the décor tell you?’ He relaxed enough to tease her. ‘Any insights you can glean about me from the room?’

  That colour washed back into her cheeks and she touched her tongue to her lips in an unconsciously nervous, yet provocative gesture that made him harder than he’d been in his life. But it was imperative he go slow. That he give her every chance to change her mind. Hell, he still wasn’t anywhere near sure this was a good idea.

  ‘It does tell me a few things, actually.’ Her smile was suddenly impish.

  ‘Oh?’ He stilled. ‘Such as?’

  ‘You like comfort.’ Her smile widened as she ran her hand over the soft woollen throw on the arm of his massive plush sofa. ‘You’re a sensualist, for all your outward discipline.’

  Heat pooled in his already aching body. Because—at least as far as she was concerned—she was right.

  ‘What would the palace tell me about you?’ he asked huskily.

  ‘It would tell you everything about my family going back eight hundred years or so. Before then, there was a fire and we lost those very valuable records. But the art and antiques collection that has been amassed over the centuries is amazing.’

  ‘But what about your room?’ he pressed, keen to know something more of her. ‘Do you not get to choose your own pink fluffy cushions Princess Palace-Style?’

  ‘Never,’ she giggled. ‘That wouldn’t do. The décor has remained mostly the same for ever.’

  But wasn’t she the Queen? Didn’t she get to dictate—demand fulfilment of her every whim?

  ‘That’s a shame,’ he commiserated lightly. ‘You should get to choose your own cushions. I like cushions.’

  ‘I can tell.’ She laughed as she gazed at the plump pile of them on one low shelf.

  ‘Home should be welcoming,’ he said, unafraid to admit it.

  ‘Well, I don’t know that you could call Monrova palace welcoming. I mean, it is amazing and stunning and beautiful but—’

  ‘Not very comfortable?’ He frowned. ‘If everything is ancient, won’t the seats be too small? Doorways too low?’

  ‘Oh, the doorways were built for giants, but that has meant it’s been challenging to heat.’ She ventured deeper into his lounge, studying the spines of the books lining the shelves. She paused at one point. ‘Is this your mother?’ she asked.

  Of course, she’d spotted his one personal photo in the whole penthouse.

  ‘I don’t have a mother,’ he said.

  She turned to face him. ‘Everyone has a mother,’ she said gently. ‘It’s basic biology.’

  ‘Biology?’ he echoed. Then he could keep this straightforward and factual. ‘Okay, there was the woman who gave birth to me. Then there was the woman who supposedly adopted me. And then there was the woman who saved me. Which would you say is my mother?’ He couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone.

  And when he summoned the courage to look directly at her, he saw her jade eyes glimmering with an emotion he didn’t want to identify.

  ‘The one who saved you,’ she said.

  She was right, of course. The nearest he’d had to a mother. The woman he owed everything. Alvaro never discussed his personal life or background. But he understood Jade’s curiosity because he felt the same about her. So for once he offered just a little.

  ‘Her name is Ellen.’ His gaze rested on the photo briefly and he couldn’t help a small smile because Ellen hated that picture. ‘She’s still alive and I see her regularly.’ He looked back to Jade, but her eyes were still filled with soft compassion. ‘Come on,’ he growled and strode through to the open-plan kitchen.

  ‘You’re cooking?’ Jade studied the preparations he already had under way on the large wooden bench.

  ‘I’m fairly competent,’ he teased at h
er surprise. ‘Are you willing to risk it?’

  ‘Of course,’ she rushed to answer with that cut-glass courtesy, but that delicious flush swarmed her cheeks again. ‘Thank you for going to the trouble.’

  ‘I don’t think cooking is the trouble here,’ he muttered, barely holding himself together. She got to him in ways other than the one he expected. ‘Do you think we can be civilised for a few more minutes?’

  ‘Is that what we’re trying to do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Oh, she was going to be the absolute death of him. He braced both hands on the bench and let out a helpless laugh. ‘Given I know how rubbish you are at keeping regular meals when left to your own devices, I don’t want you running out of energy any time soon.’

  ‘So, it’s purely for biological reasons?’

  ‘No,’ he growled. ‘It’s because you need time to be sure.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,’ she replied with determined ease. ‘It’s only...’

  ‘Sex?’

  That colour stormed into her cheeks.

  He gazed at her, grappling with his conscience. That was how he’d always thought of it, but he wasn’t sure that this time it was. He didn’t feel guilty about taking what she was offering, but he wanted it to be better than ‘only sex’ for her.

  Suddenly he couldn’t resist touching her. He walked over and lifted her chin with just a finger. She tilted instantly, willing and welcome. Slowly he pressed his lips to hers in a tentative, gentle touch—truly first-kiss-worthy. Her response was instant. Her soft, sweet mouth surprisingly mobile, she teased him back and made him forget about first kiss anything. She knew what she wanted and he wanted it too. He’d always worked like a dog until he got it. So he’d do the same now. And there was nothing he wanted more in the world in this instant than Jade Monroyale’s total satisfaction.

  But as she moaned, he broke the kiss and made himself step back to the bench.

  She stared at him—her green eyes gleamed like jewels lit by an inner flame. And her expression was ever so slightly resentful.

  ‘Food first, remember?’ But his voice was hoarse and his resolve weak and he was a little too glad she felt this need as keenly as she did.

  ‘Can I help you at all?’ she asked after a moment.

  He pressed his hands back on the bench, desperate to regain focus and not drag her straight to bed. ‘Do you cook in the palace?’

  ‘No,’ she confessed with an adorably guilty smile. ‘It wasn’t considered a necessary part of my education, which I know is terrible. It’s a life skill.’

  ‘That it is.’ He picked up the knife and took his frustration out on the herbs.

  ‘Whereas you were obviously taught well.’

  Actually, he was self-taught. It had been that or go hungry. But he wasn’t giving her any more of his sob story. ‘Can you grab a couple of tomatoes from the pantry?’ He aimed for diversion.

  ‘Of course.’

  Her heard her opening a couple of doors behind him and glanced back. She’d paused in front of the pantry and was taking in the well-stocked, perfectly ordered shelves. ‘You live alone, right?’ she asked.

  And this was why he rarely had house guests—why he didn’t open the cupboards to anyone, so to speak. Because it only invited questions he had no desire to answer. ‘Always.’

  She nodded but her eyes were wide.

  ‘I imagine your palace pantry is far better stocked,’ he pointed out dryly. ‘But from the sounds of things, you wouldn’t know.’

  ‘I admit I wouldn’t.’ She reached for a couple of tomatoes and gave the pantry a final glance before closing the door.

  ‘Cooking is a stress release for me. Plus, you know I need a bit of feeding.’ He paused; he never explained himself to anyone but somehow a sliver of truth escaped. ‘But I can’t bear the thought of not having food in the house because endless hunger is a vivid memory that, unfortunately, I can’t forget.’

  She faced him. ‘I’m sorry you suffered that.’

  For a second the emotion that cascaded through him was almost too strong to contain. He was glad he had to concentrate on the searing-hot grill.

  ‘Do you think you can you manage to open a bottle of wine?’ he asked, unable to look up from the hot plate and into her eyes. He needed anything to divert them from this moment.

  ‘Of course.’

  She chose a bottle and poured two glasses from it, taking a seat at the table from which to watch him as he sizzled two steaks on the grill. With the herbs and tomatoes, the salad he’d begun earlier was now complete. Fresh and simple.

  ‘Shall we eat in here?’ He took the chair opposite the one she’d taken.

  She stared at the plates with admiration. ‘It looks amazing.’

  ‘And yet you’re not eating.’ He sent her a laughing glance. ‘You need fuel or you’re not going to survive the night.’

  ‘Not survive?’

  Her laughter bubbled but at the same time he saw anticipation light her face. She was curious, his petite queen. And hungry.

  ‘You don’t think I’m serious?’ he teased.

  ‘Perhaps I have more stamina than you give me credit for.’ She spoke with such regal preciseness, but it was pure challenge and they both knew it.

  ‘Oh, you do?’ He attacked his steak with the fierce passion he was trying to stop himself using on her.

  ‘Yes, I do. I might not feel the need to work out every morning and night like you, but I do exercise. And I do—generally—eat well, and rest.’ She glared at his smothered snort. ‘I think I’m fit enough to handle you.’

  Happily, it wouldn’t be long ’til he found out. He just had to hang onto his sanity long enough to make it good for her. ‘I think you should stop talking and start eating.’

  She loaded up her fork and tasted the salad, briefly closing her eyes as she did. ‘You want all the feedback, don’t you?’

  ‘Damn right I do.’

  ‘It’s good.’ She took in a breath. ‘It’s better than good.’

  ‘It’s fresh produce,’ he demurred. ‘Can’t really screw it up. So, come on, what exercise do you prefer?’

  She lifted her nose primly. ‘I endure a variety of activities. Treadmill. Circuit. Laps of the pool. Gymnastics.’

  ‘You endure them?’

  ‘I’ve never really got that endorphin high,’ she admitted. ‘I blame my trainer—she’s a dragon.’

  ‘You have a female drill sergeant?’

  ‘Well, it was never going to be a guy.’ Jade laughed but that blush battled its way back into her cheeks. ‘My father would never have allowed that.’

  ‘He was that strict? You had no men around you at all?’

  ‘In a way it was good—they were aspirational figures, right? My old governess was a former university professor. My trainer is just in cahoots with the palace physician. They conspire to make life hell.’

  ‘You’re the Queen, Jade, can’t you just tell them to leave you alone?’

  ‘There are expectations I must meet. It is part of my duty. Spent so long training for it—language lessons, politics, history, philosophy, ethics, manners, meditation and a boring exercise regime.’

  ‘Meditation?’

  ‘To master emotions.’

  Wow. What a regimented, prescribed life.

  ‘Don’t feel sorry for me.’ She smiled at him. ‘I was a privileged princess through and through. Thoroughly spoilt.’

  He wasn’t entirely sure he believed her.

  ‘Anyway, they’re right. I need to exercise more.’ She grimaced. ‘The crown is too heavy. It doesn’t sit right.’

  ‘You don’t believe you can hold its weight? Because you can,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I saw you single-handedly disarm thousands of angry emails. Trust me, you can handle
the crown.’

  Her mouth hung open for a second and then she smiled and blushed concurrently. ‘No, I mean it’s literally too heavy. It weighs a tonne. Gives me a headache five minutes after I put it on.’

  Oh. He laughed. But he’d meant what he’d said. ‘Have a new one made. I’m sure you can afford it.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that.’ She stared at him in amazement. ‘It’s a tradition.’

  ‘Make a new tradition.’ He shrugged.

  ‘You make it sound so easy.’

  ‘That’s because it is easy. Just choose what you want. Say it. Do it.’

  ‘Is that what you did? Was it all that easy for you?’

  He paused. ‘I came from a position of far less power and privilege than you, Jade. So no, some things were most definitely not easy. But in a way, I had more liberty to do what I wanted. Because no one knew and no one gave a damn and no one was ever going to try and help me or require me to do something “their” way.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be—’

  ‘Don’t apologise, I’m glad you didn’t face the struggles I did.’

  ‘So how did you overcome them?’ she asked. ‘How did you do it all alone?’

  She was so genuinely curious, he found himself telling her a snippet of history he’d not mentioned in years. ‘My first plan to gain financial freedom was to be a professional sportsman. It didn’t matter to me which sport—I’d got a full ride through sport into a good school. I was captain of both basketball and football teams and I’d decided to do whichever paid me more to get through college. I trained my ass off. But I tore the muscles in my knee and that ended that. No more captain. No more sports teams. No more school.’

  She looked shocked. ‘They took away your scholarship?’

  He nodded. ‘I was a nerd as much as I was a jock, but they wanted me for physique, not physics.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know why, but math just came easy and I had ideas and I sure as hell had nothing to lose. Only my own time. So, working around a bunch of hand-to-mouth jobs, I developed that fitness app. It grew very popular, very quickly. I leveraged it while hustling other work on the side, earning however I could, investing in small, then larger projects. There was a lot of luck and timing.’