Page 26 of Royal Charmer
“I really need to get to my laptop.” I pull away and slip off my heels, preparing to run. “I see the stairs up ahead, and then it’s just two left turns, right?”
“Are you ditching your new fiancé so soon?” he asks in a teasing voice.
“I need to write. Thank you for your help. I’m going to make a run for it.”
“No.”
“No?”
He gives me his crooked sexy smile. “Surely you know women don’t runfromme. They runtome. I’m irresistibly charming.”
I hesitate. There’s something about his charming snark that works for me.
He goes on. “So back to our previous topic, the engagement ends when you need to return to the US for work reasons. Maybe your next book is set partially in America, and you need to immerse yourself in research.”
“Book,” I echo, adrenaline racing through me. I need to get to work. “Perfect. Gotta run!”
I take a step and come up short, face to chest with him. He’s blocking me! “Lucas!”
His eyes dance with good humor. “Alice!”
I run around him, and we race through the palace. I can barely catch my breath, exhilarated.
“Here you are,” he says, slightly out of breath when we finally reach my room. “Technically, we ran together, so my stellar rep with women still stands—no woman has ever run from me.”
I put a hand to my heaving bosom, majorly out of breath. “You’ll do a lot for that rep of yours.” I pause, catching my breath. “Woo! That got the blood flowing, and my brain cranking once more.”
He takes my hand and lifts it toward his lips, his aquamarine eyes smoldering into mine. My heart thunders in my chest. This is so going in my book! But then he doesn’t kiss it, instead he holds our hands up, palm to palm, studying our fingers, and then strokes down the length of my ring finger in a gesture that’s strangely erotic.
“What was that?” I breathe.
“I’m estimating your ring size to find you a suitable engagement ring.” His voice is silky smooth. “Must keep up appearances.”
I pat over my heart. “Well, pitter-pat, those were some princely moves you just did for me. Thanks for that inspiration. Let me make it easy for you. I’m a size six ring, and I know this because I recently had my ring sized down after I lost weight for my wedding gown and…” I trail off. It was Mason’s idea that I lose weight so I’d look good in the wedding pictures. He broached the subject the day after he proposed. The implication that I didn’t currently look good had me in a shame cycle of crash dieting and chocolate eating that I’m just now breaking away from. This sobers me. I changed myself so much to please Mason I almost didn’t know who I was anymore. No wonder I couldn’t write. It wasn’t just being busy with wedding preparations. I lost myself.
“Alice?”
I exhale sharply. “You don’t have to buy me a ring.”
“Of course I do. Every fiancée needs a ring.”
I shake my head, and he nods his. He’s a man used to getting his way, a charming, gorgeous prince with women falling at his feet. Even knowing this, I cave. “Well, don’t spend a lot. I mean, what if your real fiancée doesn’t wear a size six ring?”
“Let me worry about that. Would you like a Regency-era ring?”
My heart squeezes. “That’s so thoughtful of you. Actually, it wasn’t common to wear an engagement ring back then, though sometimes the man would wear a promise ring woven of his beloved’s hair.”
He grimaces. “I’ll pass on the hair ring.”
I lift a lock of my hair and wave it at him. “Are you sure? It’s nice and soft.”
“Is it?”
A tense beat passes, his eyes locked on mine.
My breathing accelerates. “Yes.” Does he want to play with my hair? I love that.
He looks away, muttering, “I’ll have to take your word for it.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a step back. “Good luck with your writing.”
