Royals of Danovar: The Complete Series

by Leslie North

  She scanned the crowd, searching for the right specimen. There was a scientist on the dance floor doing something that looked like the hokey-pokey, if she squinted just right. He was good looking, she supposed, but maybe a little too goofy for Daphne’s tastes. There—a young senator in a black power suit. He’d do. Anna lifted her chin and marched toward him across the crowded dance floor, “accidentally” stepping on toes and apologizing perfunctorily. She collected a lot of dirty looks, but it was much faster than taking the long way around, and she’d already spent way more time in this stuffy ballroom than she wanted to.

  A slow waltz started up and Anna groaned, having to move faster to dodge the influx of moon-eyed couples—until someone grabbed her elbow, swept her to the side, and kissed her hand.

  “Dr. Fernstone,” said Eric, still bowed over her hand, grinning up at her playfully. “It would seem you have a talent for stepping on toes. I’d be happy to lend you mine, if you would join me for this dance?”

  She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on his words instead of the way his fingers felt curled around hers. And, dear God in heaven, the way his lips had felt on her hand. “Are you implying I can’t waltz?” she managed.

  “Are you implying you can?”

  She huffed, but after a single longing look at her sister’s clutch across the room, allowed herself to be swept into the dance. If there was one thing she couldn’t resist, it was a challenge. Lingering at this god-awful party for the length of a single dance would only delay her purse-snatching plans by a few minutes, anyway.

  And also, Prince Eric looked pretty damn hot in a tux.

  She counted the steps in her head while they danced, one-two-three, and imagined a square on the floor so she would remember where to put her feet. She forced herself to ignore the warmth of his hand at her waist so she could concentrate.

  “I concede,” Eric said cheerfully after a minute. “You’re the very embodiment of grace, and I am an insufferable fool for ever believing otherwise. My toes are still available for stepping on, should you wish revenge for my insult.”

  She pressed her lips together against a smile. How did charm come so easily to him? A moment ago she’d wanted nothing more than to escape, but in the span of a handful of sentences, he’d somehow made this stifling party feel almost fun. “My mother made me attend finishing school,” she admitted. “I also know far too much about salad forks, should that come in handy.”

  Eric shuddered. “Me too. My brother and cousin and I all had the same tutors growing up, and I have no idea how those two ever managed to stay awake in our sessions. Lucky for me, I was just the spare, so my attention wasn’t quite as vital.” A strange, brooding expression flickered across his face for a moment, there and then gone so quickly she wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t been watching closely.

  She frowned at him as the waltz ended, then glanced over at her sister, who had moved a few feet to the left to make eyes at the bartender. “Are you okay?” she asked Eric reluctantly, willing to delay her escape by perhaps just one more minute.

  “Of course I’m okay,” he answered, twirling her into the next dance. “I’m at a party. This is my scene.” His tone sounded subdued, very unlike him.

  Something was off. He was distracted, or upset. But why would he be upset at his own gala? She formed a hypothesis: this was about the funding. He must think her escape attempt earlier meant she intended to turn him down, thereby ruining his publicity plans.

  She tested her hypothesis. “I haven’t decided on the funding yet, you know,” she told him, having to raise her voice to be heard above the upbeat song.

  “What?” He looked confused for a moment, then his expression cleared. “Oh, that’s okay. I wasn’t expecting a final answer tonight.”

  Hypothesis disproven, then. What else could the prince possibly have to be upset about? She hadn’t gathered enough data yet to form any secondary hypotheses, and she didn’t know enough about him to be able to dig much deeper without risking offense. Not that she normally cared all that much about offending people, but somehow the idea of offending Eric felt different—and anyway, she had no idea how to dig deeper. She’d always been socially awkward to say the least, and she wasn’t sure what most people would do at this point in the conversation. Should she ask more questions? Compliment his tux?

  Comment on the party, she was pretty sure people did that. “This is a nice gala,” she said, then reconsidered. “Although actually, the speeches earlier really did take forever. If they wanted a bunch of scientists to enjoy themselves they should’ve just put on some TED talks and stuffed us full of lobster and expensive booze.”

  Startled, he gave her a strange look and then laughed out loud, and she smiled at the sound of it. After a moment, though, he went broody and quiet again, and she glanced over at Daphne, frustrated. Maybe she should just guide Eric in that direction, use him to distract her sister while she reclaimed her phone and her night. And then she pictured Daphne flirting with him, dancing with him, laughing at his jokes—and Anna jerked Eric in the opposite direction during their next spin so hard that he stumbled a bit.

  “Sorry,” she said, a little surprised at her own vehemence. Why would the image of him and Daphne flirting raise her hackles so much? It wasn’t like she was attracted to him herself.

  Okay, yes, she was. But who wouldn’t be? He was a prince, drop-dead gorgeous with gentle hands and crystal blue eyes and a contagious laugh. Any girl could be excused for feeling a little starry-eyed. Not that she was feeling starry-eyed.

  She huffed. Dancing with him had been a terrible idea.

  A reel started, something that—according to Anderson’s excited pre-party ranting—had become all the rage in Danovar lately. Against her will, she was drawn into a group with some senators while Eric went to get them drinks. She played along long enough to plot out her escape route, watching Daphne carefully as she set her clutch down on the bar. When her sister turned her back, Anna made her move.

  Behind her, two of the younger senators in her group were talking. “Burr told me Prince Eric couldn’t even remember half the galas he’s been to,” said one. “I’m shocked that he hasn’t done anything crazy at this one yet.”

  The other one laughed. “Remember when he tried to propose to the Duchess with a ring made from a soda can tab? The look on that old hag’s face! I laughed for days.”

  “Have you read that healthcare bill of his yet?”

  “I’m not sure I need to. We’ll see how things go, I suppose.”

  Anna paused at the doubtful tone in the senator’s voice. Was Eric having trouble convincing members of Parliament to back his legislation? Maybe that was what he’d been upset about earlier.

  She frowned. She’d assumed this was all fun and games to him, or maybe something he was doing out of duty before he dove back into his playboy lifestyle. But that look on his face earlier—he’d genuinely been worried. He actually cared about his bill. And those senators refused to see it, refused to believe in him. Without the publicity from his funding of her research, he might lose his only chance to convince them otherwise.

  Eric was striding back toward her, a drink in each hand. She made a snap decision. Taking both drinks from him, she set them on a nearby table—ignoring his protests—and pulled him into the reel.

  “Let’s finish this dance up, gentlemen!” she called to the senators. “Prince Eric and I have some cancer to cure.”

  5

  Eric was supposed to be deciding what he wanted for lunch, but he couldn’t stop staring at Anna’s hair.

  It was the first time he’d ever seen it down. It was astonishingly long, tumbling in glossy brown waves down her back, thick and just right for winding his fingers through. He tried to pull his attention back to his menu, but he could hardly read the words through the haze of his fantasies. That dark hair splayed out across his pillow, wet and silky in the shower, fisted in his hands as she threw her head back and gasped his name—

&nbs
p; “Eric?”

  He jumped and coughed a little, lifting his gaze from the menu he hadn’t read. Anna was watching him, one eyebrow raised. The waiter stood next to their table, Anna’s order already written down, waiting for Eric’s.

  He flipped the menu closed. “Fish and chips,” he said with a smile. It was a safe bet—he didn’t need to look at the menu to know every Danovian place carried that. Sure enough, the waiter scribbled it down and strode off.

  “Everything okay?” Anna asked.

  “Sure,” he said, but she didn’t look like she believed him. He scrambled for an excuse for his distraction that was suitable for this business lunch – one that involved their mutual needs for the publicity project, rather than him fantasizing about her. “I ran into some reporters on the way here,” he said instead. His mouth twisted as he remembered the ambush. “All they wanted to talk about was Phillip’s wedding and whether I thought we’d see any more political fallout from it. I’m used to getting attention from the paparazzi, but most of the time it’s more fun.”

  “I suppose being quizzed about your family’s scandal and declining social power might throw a wrench in your day,” Anna agreed.

  “Thanks for putting that so nicely,” he grouched, slipping the menu back in its holder.

  “Back to topic,” Anna said, all business as she pulled a hefty binder out of her bag. The thing made the table shake when she plopped it down. “I’ve looked over the contract you sent me and outlined several extensive options for your campaign that would benefit us both.” She tugged at her hair, trying to shove it back over her shoulder when it fell forward.

  “Your hair looks nice down,” Eric said before he could stop himself.

  Anna blinked. “Oh,” she said after a moment, then, awkwardly, “I usually keep it up, but I just got it cut.”

  Did she know how adorable she was when she was flustered? She blinked an awful lot, which made her look like some sort of helpless baby deer, but she also dropped that full bottom lip and opened her mouth into a little “o,” which was sexy as fuck. He wanted to tuck her underneath his arm and comfort her, but that would definitely only fluster her more, so he flipped the binder open and got back to a subject she was comfortable with: research. “It looks like phase three takes the longest in all these plans,” he noted after a moment.

  “Yes, there’s a lot of red tape at that point,” she agreed. “We have to wait for approval from a few different sources, fill out more paperwork, that sort of thing.”

  He closed the binder with a flourish. “Well, we can fix that right up. I’ll get you royal approval to bypass that phase, fast-track the project.”

  She snapped upright. “No! Do not do that.”

  But he already had his own pen out and was marking down ideas in his notepad. “It’ll save us time—this way you might be able to move up your deadline so you can announce your results right before the bill goes to Parliament. That would give us both a huge publicity boost.”

  “I said no! This was the whole reason I didn’t want to take your money in the first place—I have to keep the research clean! I will not have my peers think I cut corners.”

  The waiter arrived and she clammed up. Eric leaned back in his seat and thanked the man while Anna’s murderous gaze drilled through him, and he had to work hard to keep his fascination off his face. If he’d thought she’d looked sexy when flustered, damn, angry was a whole other level. The girl could work a glower. She looked like she might break out a whip or something, which he would be one hundred percent on board with.

  As soon as the waiter put her food down, she got up, spine rigid, shoulders back. “I’m going to freshen up, and we will talk when I get back,” she said, throwing the words at him like daggers.

  The waiter stepped aside to let her through, giving her a lingering once-over as he did. Apparently he agreed with Eric about how sexy Angry Anna was. “I hope your date is going well?” the man said, obviously trying to feel out whether they were a couple.

  Anna’s glower faded into uncertainty. “Oh, no, no, we’re not—it’s a work thing.”

  The man smiled. “Then if I might be so bold, maybe I could bring you a martini when your meeting is done, on the house? My shift ends in twenty minutes.”

  Anna blushed bright red, her confident, angry veneer crumbling to dust. “I don’t drink martinis,” she blurted.

  “Maybe a pina colada then?”

  “I, uh, I don’t drink those either.” Rattled, she sat back down, apparently forgetting she’d claimed a need to freshen up.

  Confused but persevering, the waiter forged on. “Maybe you could tell me what drink you would like, and that’s what I could bring you?”

  “I already have a soda. I mean—no, thank you. But…thank you.”

  Eric turned to look back at the waiter. The conversation was the verbal equivalent of a slow-motion car crash, both fascinating and horrifying. He almost wished he had popcorn.

  The waiter’s smile was starting to look forced. Taking pity on the man, Eric waved a little to get his attention. “You know what, I think I’ll have a martini,” he said. “As many olives as you can stick in the thing. And get one for yourself on me too, would you? You look like a man who could use a martini. How long has your shift been?”

  Recovering a bit, the waiter sighed. “Ten hours.”

  “Ten hours! That’s madness, my friend. You know what, get yourself two on me when you wrap things up. And between you and me, maybe ask for a raise.”

  The waiter laughed. “I’ll do that,” he said, and left their bill on the table with a smile.

  When he was gone, Anna dropped her head into her hands. “That was awful,” she moaned, her voice muffled.

  “Horrific,” Eric agreed, digging into his chips.

  Anna lifted her head. “How did you do that? Just smooth things over that way.” She looked envious. “You’re so charming, so easy to get along with. It’s not fair, how that comes to some people so easily.”

  He paused, a bite of fish halfway to his mouth. “I guess there’s an art to it,” he said after a moment. He’d never really thought about it before.

  She shoved her hair back. “I don’t understand it,” she said plaintively. “I know Daphne and, well, probably everyone else thinks I just want to stay closeted with my research all day, but I really do want more of a social life. I just have zero idea of how to get one. I don’t know how to flirt. I barely know how to make small talk. Even if I had been into that guy, I probably would’ve fallen all over myself and scared him off. I mean, if he was even really all that into me at all. He probably hits on every girl who comes in here.” She looked away. “Sorry. I’m ranting. I haven’t gotten much sleep lately, it makes me cranky. Let’s just get back to the binder.”

  But Eric was frowning at her. Did she really think so little of herself? “That guy was definitely into you,” he argued. “Who wouldn’t be? Look at you, you’re gorgeous. I’m shocked you don’t have more practice with guys falling all over themselves trying to bring you martinis.”

  She looked at him like he was crazy. “I’m not gorgeous. And even if I was, I don’t have any practice. With anything. At all.”

  He sat back, shocked as her revelation sank in. Surely she couldn’t mean she was a virgin? But from the look on her face, she was dead serious about everything she’d said. She had no clue how to flirt. She wanted a social life but didn’t know how to get one. And she had zero experience with men.

  An idea, which was either absolutely horrible or the best idea ever, slowly blossomed in his mind. “I’ll teach you,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I’ll teach you. How to flirt, how to date, how to seduce a man. Not that it takes an awful lot. Come on,” he said when he saw the skeptical look on her face, “if anyone has the experience to teach you this stuff it’s me. I’ve literally charmed the pants off foreign dignitaries in my sleep. The least I can do is teach you how to make small talk.”

  She he
sitated, obviously intrigued but uncertain.

  He flipped open his notepad. “I know you like paperwork,” he said, sweetening the pot. “I’ll outline it all right here, give you homework, hell, I’ll even make you a spreadsheet. Let me help you with this, Dr. Fernstone. It’ll be fun.” He jotted down a few notes before she could say no, making a rough schedule for her.

  “I don’t know,” she hedged. “What do you get out of this?”

  He shrugged. “The pleasure of your company.” When she looked suspicious, he added, “Okay, if you insist, we can trade: you agree to skip phase three and all its red tape with royal approval—which is not cutting corners, we both know all your ducks are in a row and everyone else will too—and I’ll teach you how to date.”

  She hesitated a moment longer, then nodded decisively. “It’s a deal,” she said. “If I don’t want to be stuck in a rut my whole life, I need to learn this stuff. And I guess you do have the experience to teach me.”

  “Excellent!” He scribbled a few more pages of notes as they finished eating, thrilled with the brilliance of his plan. They’d both gotten something they wanted, and if he was honest with himself, he’d come up the winner on both ends of this deal. Teaching Anna how to date and seduce meant getting to spend more time with a woman who fascinated him, and hey—he wouldn’t mind at all if she was comfortable taking it further than small talk. He’d had a lot of encounters with the opposite sex over his lifetime, but no woman had ever held his attention quite like this one. She was such a paradox: beautiful and bold, awkward and inexperienced. She fascinated him, and, he wasn’t going to lie, turned him on. He wanted to show her how sexy she really was. She was so confident already in the professional part of her life—all he had to do was show her how to apply that to the personal areas, too.

  “One more thing,” Anna said as he finished writing his notes. He tucked his pen away and got up, leaving cash with a generous tip for the waiter.