Page 68 of Royally Wed
Something inside Asher seemed to break along with it.
Damn it.
He should have left well enough alone. He should havekept the promise he’d made to himself to keep his distance. He should have obeyed her order and never spoken to her again. Asher doubted he would’ve been able to exercise such restraint, even if he hadn’t seen what he had at Westminster Abbey.
Amelia cleared her throat. “Look, either let me in, or I’lljust call James and have him unlock your door for me.”
Of course she would. From what Asherhad seen, she pretty much found a way to indulge her every whim.
Asher was finished being a whim. He marched to the door and flung it open.
Amelia jumped back in surprise. They stared at one another for a beat without saying a word. Asher was suddenly acutely aware of the pounding of his heart and the roar of his pulse in his ears. He was slipping under again. Drowning.
She was as beautifulas ever, even with her brows drawn together with worry and her smeared mascara forming smoky shadows beneath her eyes. Her hair was gathered to one side, tumbling over her shoulder in a mass of tousled waves. She was barefoot, standing beside some sort of silver beverage cart. All in all, she looked more like a semigoth flight attendant than the princess of England.
Asher liked it.
This washis Amelia, the woman. Real. Raw.
His grip tightened around the doorknob until his knuckles went numb.
“I want to explain,” she said, glancing past him, toward the quiet blue room. The untouched bed.
He couldn’t invite her in. Obviously. He’d made enough mistakes in the past twenty-four hours to last a lifetime.
He shrugged. “No need. It was nothing.”
Nothing.
No one.
“Bollocks.” She plantedher hand on the door and pushed hard.
The doorknob slipped from Asher’s grasp. Amelia took immediate advantage of his surprise and maneuvered the cart through the doorway.
He stumbled backward out of her way, then righted himself and jammed his hands on his hips. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You’re just going to force your way in here?”
“Yes, I am.” Her chin lifted in defiance. Sheplucked a bottle off the silver cart and waved it in the air. “But I have alcohol. Consider this hundred-year-old Scotch whisky a peace offering.”
Asher didn’t want peace. He wanted to stay furious with her for as long as possible—until he left the country, if he could manage it. Anger was good. Anger just might keep him from kissing her again.
If he was lucky.
He grabbed the bottle. He neededall the luck he could get, even if it was only the liquid variety.
“Mission accomplished.” He uncorked the Scotch and took a swig right from the bottle. “All is forgiven. You can go now.”
She ignored him. Because of course she did. Why would he expect otherwise?
He watched as she sauntered across the room.Not the bed. Anywhere but the bed.She plopped down, cross-legged, with her back leaningagainst his pillow.
Asher released a tense breath. He was going to need lot more Scotch. Better yet, he ought to ditch it altogether. He took another gulp.Too late.
Hell if he was going to drink alone, though. He poured two fingers’ worth into a couple of highball glasses from the cart, kept one for himself, and handed the other to Amelia. When she reached for the cut crystal, her fingertipsbrushed against his. Their eyes met, and held.
Asher cleared his throat and deliberately took a seat in a blue velvet chair situated a chaste five feet away from the bed.
Amelia’s gaze dropped to her lap. “When I came home today, James told me I had a visitor waiting in my room. I thought it was you.”
