TALL, DARK & ROYAL Page 2

  Daniel swore under his breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "He smelled the pizza and went nuts. He's spooked by all the visitors that have been in and out of here over the last week."

  She felt him lift her as if she were a flower. He carried her to the couch and she was acutely aware of his muscular chest pressed against her. She couldn't recall the last time she'd been carried, not even by her father. She felt an odd, but gentle stroke at a hidden tender spot inside her. It mystified her. She felt Daniel try to pry the box from her fingers.

  "You can let go of the pizza now," he said, furrowing his eyebrows.

  Still distracted, she felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Oh, I'm sorry, Your Majesty."

  He looked at her quizzically. "I'm surprised you didn't drop it when Jordan crashed into you."

  She blinked. "Training, I guess, sir. Don't lose your dignity, but if you do, don't spill your tray."

  His lips twitched. "Your teacher should be proud." He set the pizza box on top of an entertainment center and turned to the dog. "No pizza for you tonight. That's no way to treat a lady," he muttered.

  Erin took a long look at the contrite dog. The animal was huge, with dark soulful eyes and large paws. "I'm not sure I've ever seen that particular breed, sir," she said, unable to mask her curiosity. The beast looked like a combination of a brown bear and a bulldog.

  Daniel ruffled the dog's ears. "He's a mixed breed," he said, then shot Erin a look that mixed humor and undiluted masculine sex appeal. "Mixed breed. Kinda like me. Half Altarian royalty and half American rebel," he said and led the whining dog to another room.

  So true, she thought, except Daniel was much better-looking than his dog. Erin tried to collect her wits. Taking a deep breath, she wasn't sure which had rattled her more, the dog rushing her or Daniel carrying her to the couch. Her books, she suddenly remembered, reining in her strange feelings. Focus on the job, she told herself, not His Majesty's distracting body. Glancing toward the doorway, she saw the books on the floor. Daniel must have dropped them to catch her.

  She moved her legs to rise from the sofa and felt a twinge. She looked down at her stockings. They were shredded and one of her legs was scratched and slightly bleeding.

  Daniel returned to the room at that very moment. He swore again and rushed toward her, then bent down and gingerly touched her leg. "Damn. I'll get some antiseptic and a bandage."

  Flustered, Erin shook her head. "That's not necessary," she said to his back as he strode from the room. She jumped to her feet to follow him. "Sir, this is not at all proper protocol," she protested, but might as well have been talking to the dog for all the attention Daniel was paying her. As he entered the bathroom, she paused outside the door, uncertain what to do next.

  She watched him collect some items from the medicine cabinet and run some water over a washcloth. He turned to face her. "Go back to the sofa," he said, meeting her with a gaze that said he meant business.

  "But, sir—"

  "But nothing," he returned, striding past her. "My dog did this to you. I'm responsible."

  Distressed, she followed him into the living room again and resumed her seat on the sofa. "Sir, this truly is not appropriate."

  "What would be appropriate? For me to order a servant to take care of your scratch?"

  "Yes, sir, or I could do it myself."

  He shook his head and knelt in front of her. "Neither of those choices work for me. I'm king, I'm pulling rank." He glanced at her leg, then met her gaze. "You need to ditch your stockings."

  Erin's heart climbed into her throat. Seeing the unswerving determination in his eyes, she held her breath for a full moment. She opened her mouth and closed it, then cleared her throat. "Could you please turn around, sir?" she asked in a voice that sounded high-pitched to her own ears.

  Realization crossed his face. He shrugged. "Sure. Let me know when you're ready."

  Try never, sir, she thought, as she pushed her stockings down her legs with unsteady hands. The horrified face of her finishing-school teacher flashed before her eyes. Erin had known this assignment would be challenging, but she'd never imagined finding herself in such an awkward position. Stepping out of her pumps, she pulled the shredded hose off her feet and tried again to collect herself.

  "Ready?" he asked as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

  "Yes, sir," she said reluctantly.

  He turned around and lifted his hands just above her knee to the scraped place on her leg. Her leg automatically stiffened. His gaze shot up to meet hers. "Sore?"

  "A little, I suppose, sir," she managed, too aware of the fact that His Majesty was kneeling before her. She felt the threat of her dreaded secret nervous response and closed her eyes. She took slow, soothing breaths and pictured a peaceful Swiss snowfall.

  An odd intimacy seemed to swim between them when he touched her thigh. His hands were gentle as he cleaned the scrape and applied antibiotic ointment. He put on the bandage and Erin opened her eyes. She caught him looking at her painted toenails.

  She couldn't resist the urge to curl her toes into the carpet.

  He skimmed his hand down her leg to her feet, sending an odd ripple through her. "These are going to get cold. I can give you some socks," he offered, rising to his feet.

  He looked down at her and held her gaze for a long moment in which the world seemed to turn on its axis. Erin held her breath. She watched his gaze dip to her lips for several heart-stopping seconds before he glanced away. Briefly, he shook his head, almost as if he'd considered kissing her, then come to his senses.

  Erin wondered when she would come to her senses.

  "Socks," he muttered. "They may not make the kind of fashion statement you usually make, but you'll be more comfortable." He narrowed his eyes. "Come to think of it, you're not going to want to go back to your hotel with bare legs. I'll get you a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt."

  Erin felt a rush of panic. Wearing His Majesty's clothes? How had this situation gotten so totally beyond her control? "Thank you very much, sir, but it's truly not necessary."

  "Of course it is," he said. "It's January in Chicago. No one in their right mind faces the elements with bare skin," he said, then his eyes glinted with masculine intensity. "Although it's a damn shame to cover legs as nice as yours with sweatpants."

  Erin's heart skipped over itself, and a rush of emotions swam through her. How was she supposed to accomplish her job, maintain appropriate distance and, as her father had requested, subtly discourage Daniel from accepting the throne, when Daniel was clearly determined to treat her as a human being more than as a protocol instructor? How, in heaven's name, was she supposed to maintain her equilibrium when this man emanated enough electrical energy to burn her to a crisp?

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  As Erin sat on Daniel's couch, it occurred to her that it was tough to remain proper and starchy when she was wearing a sweat suit that swallowed her. She stiffened her back. "I brought several books for your reference, sir," she said. "This one is the most complete. I have another on royal etiquette, and I brought a book with pictures of the military uniforms you'll wear for a variety of occasions. Some people absorb information more easily if it's introduced in a visual manner."

  Daniel thumbed through one of the books and gave her a considering glance. "You thought I might need a picture book?"

  Oops. She hoped she hadn't insulted his intelligence. "With all the information you're being given, sir, I thought it might be easier if some of it weren't delivered to you in such a dry manner."

  One side of his lips lifted in a half grin. "I'm curious what you've been told about me."

  Erin sifted through half a dozen things her father had told her that couldn't be repeated. "I know you're thirty-four years old and you are Vice President of Marketing for the Connelly Corporation, sir. I've been told you attended college with a football scholarship and you're as American as—" She searched her brain for the correct term. "As popcorn,"
she said. "Or is it pie?"

  He flashed his teeth in a grin. "Both will do."

  "The most important thing, sir, is that you are the eldest son of Princess Emma, which makes you the natural heir to the Altarian throne. And you are consenting to relinquish your life as an American to serve as King of Altaria."

  He nodded. "Just to fill in a couple of blanks, I graduated from Northwestern with degrees in Business Administration and Philosophy. Do you have a laptop at your hotel?"

  She nodded, wondering where this was leading.

  He gave a careless shrug. "If you're interested, Northwestern has an informative Web site."

  Erin had the uncomfortable feeling that there were quite a few gaps in the profile of Daniel she'd received. "I'll do that, sir."

  Daniel glanced back at the book. "Let me get this straight. Part of my job is to appear at various events in these military uniforms."

  "Yes, sir," she said. "Traditional decorum provides a certain security for the people."

  "Okay. Will there be someone at the palace who will be knowledgeable about what uniform I wear when?"

  "Of course, sir. You will have at least two royal dressers at your service."

  "In that case, I could safely delegate the task of whether I wear red or blue to one of the royal dressers, right?"

  "I suppose, sir. I thought that since there will be a significant difference in your attire, you would prefer to be informed."

  Daniel shut the book with a smile. "As long as nobody puts me in a pink tutu, I really don't give a damn." He laced his fingers together and leaned toward her. "I'd really rather know more about the people of Altaria."

  Erin blinked. This definitely wasn't going as planned. Her father had instructed her that if she couldn't discourage Daniel from accepting the throne, then she needed to convince him that the position of king was more decoration than substance. "The people of Altaria, sir?"

  "Yes. You're Altarian. How would you describe your people?"

  "Warm and caring, sir," she said, thinking of the island people who provided services to tourists and fresh fruit and vegetables. "They are very family-oriented. Because of the isolation of the island, they're not especially sophisticated in terms of higher education."

  "Why not?" he prompted.

  "We have no schools of higher learning on the island, sir."

  "Why not?"

  "There never have been. Anyone who wants to send their children to school sends them to the continent."

  Daniel frowned. "So if someone was motivated and intelligent, but their family didn't have the means to send them to a university in Europe, then they wouldn't get to go at all?"

  She nodded. "Correct, sir. Such a person would likely continue to do whatever his or her father or mother did."

  "And what is the parliament's stand on this?"

  "The parliament is slow to change without considerable provocation."

  He frowned again as if he didn't like her answer. "What do you think the people of Altaria want in a king?"

  She felt a distressing tug in opposite directions. Part of her was drawn to Daniel's sincere interest in her people, while at the same time she couldn't forget her father's wishes. Erin found she could only answer him honestly. "Sir, I believe the citizens of Altaria want a king who will provide a bridge from the past to the future. Even Americans understand that tradition can be a source of comfort in times of grief. Altaria takes great pride in the unbroken line of succession the Rosemeres have provided. Altarians want a ruler who appreciates where they have been and where they need to go."

  Daniel nodded slowly. "I guess that means I need to bone up on Altarian history. You said you were familiar with the political climate. How does the parliament feel about an American taking the throne?"

  Her stomach tightened, and she glanced away. "The official stance is that the parliament is pleased there is a healthy heir ready and willing to take the throne, sir. Many were surprised that you would agree to give up your privacy and freedom to accept the job."

  Daniel sighed and stood. He moved toward the huge picture window and glanced out. "I don't believe in shirking family duty. My parents drilled into all of us that we have responsibilities to fulfill. I wouldn't be able to look myself in the mirror if I didn't fulfill mine, but—" He broke off and glanced at her. "But I've always felt I was biding my time at Connelly Corporation. God knows, I wouldn't have chosen to be king, but it appears the job has chosen me." He turned to meet her eyes, and she felt the intensity in his gaze clear down to her toes. "I'm a Connelly. I can't do less than my best."

  His words vibrated between them, and Erin began to sense that there was far more to Daniel Connelly than she or her father could have imagined.

  His green gaze shifted like the Chicago wind as he moved toward her. "You've told me the official position of the parliament. What's the unofficial stance?"

  Erin's mind locked in panic. She needed to obey her father and follow his wishes, but… She tried to find a way to protect her father without undermining her own sense of integrity. "Unofficially and officially, the parliament embraces tradition and is very slow to change, sir."

  "A nice way of saying I probably make them nervous," he said.

  "I didn't say that, sir," she protested.

  "You didn't have to." He cocked his head to one side. "I make you nervous, too."

  Confounded was a more accurate description, she thought. "No, sir. Of course not," she said, but felt she wasn't exactly telling the truth.

  "Not at all?" he asked, sitting down on the couch next to her.

  Her stomach fluttered nervously at his closeness. "Well, perhaps a little, sir. You're not exactly what I expected."

  "How am I different?" he asked, his gaze so intense she wondered if he could see straight through her.

  Erin barely resisted the urge to squirm. "It's truly not my place to say, sir," she said.

  Irritation crossed his face. "Well, I'm king, so what happens if I'd like to know?"

  She bit her lip as her stomach churned. "Is that an order, sir?"

  "Is that what it takes?"

  "Yes, sir," she said reluctantly.

  He nodded decisively. "Done. How am I different from what you expected?"

  Erin took a deep breath and wished she could fly away through that huge plate-glass window. She looked away from him. "You're more intelligent than I expected, sir," she admitted in a low voice, then added an explanation. "Football scholarship."

  "Northwestern is a highly competitive university. The academic requirements are high for everyone, including the football team."

  "Oh," she said.

  "What else?"

  "You have a sense of honor that surprises me, sir. Your interest in the Altarian people is … unexpected. You are kinder and less self-absorbed than I would have imagined," she continued and took a shallow breath. Her chest felt tight with anxiety. "You look at me when I talk to you. You pay attention to what I say."

  "That surprises you?" he asked.

  She met his gaze and nodded silently.

  "Why would I not pay attention to what you say?" he asked.

  She shrugged and thought of how many times she'd felt that her father looked past her instead of at her. "I don't know sir. I guess I'm just not accustomed to it."

  He frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then met her eyes again. "What else?"

  Erin had the frightful urge yet again to fidget. She clenched her hands together in her lap. "You are taller, sir," she said. And better looking, she thought, but she refused to utter those words.

  "What's the height of the average Altarian man?" he asked.

  "I don't know, sir. Shorter than you."

  He chuckled. "How have I not surprised you?"

  Erin's stomach tightened with dread. "Is that an order, sir?"

  He nodded and cracked a grin. "Yeah."

  "You are very American, very casual, and you couldn't be less interested in learning royal protocol. Sir," she added, and relaxed.
She was finished. No more honest and potentially embarrassing disclosures.

  "You're right about that," he said. "To keep it fair, I'll tell you how you're different from what I expected."

  Erin's stomach immediately twisted into a square knot.

  "Even though I knew you were the foreign minister's daughter, I imagined you would be a lot older."

  "Older, sir?" she managed.

  "Around fifty with orthopedic shoes, and annoyingly prissy and proper."

  His words stung. Annoyingly prissy and proper hit a bit close to home.

  "Instead, you're this blue-eyed blonde with killer legs who is annoyingly prissy and proper," he said, softening his assessment with a sexy grin. "But maybe it's your job to be prissy and proper. I can't help imagining what you're like when you're not on the clock or on guard," he said, putting his hand over hers and gently prying her fingers from their locked position. "In time, maybe I'll find out."

  Erin's heart stuttered. Not if she could help it.

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, after Erin had returned to her hotel room and scoured the Northwestern University Web site, she paced the floor of her small suite. Her phone rang and she knew immediately who it was. Her father.

  "Have you met with the American?" he asked without preamble.

  "Yes, I met with His Majesty tonight."

  "Are you making progress with him?"

  Not much, she thought, pushing her hair from her face. "I find I wasn't given adequate information about our new king," she said, unable to keep her irritation from her voice.

  "What information?" her father asked.

  "I was led to believe he wasn't particularly bright."

  "He isn't," her father insisted. "He's a football player."

  "Father, this man graduated with honors from a prestigious university." She still felt like a fool because of her wrong assumptions about Daniel.

  "That doesn't qualify him to rule Altaria," her father said.