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His first reaction was one of surprise, because she was blessed with boundless energy and enthusiasm and he’d never before seen her sleeping during the day.
His second reaction was concern.
Knowing that she was an extremely light sleeper, he waited for her to sense his presence and stir. Contemplating the feminine curve of her hip, he felt an immediate surge of arousal, and decided that the best course of action would be to join her on the bed and wake her personally.
Glancing at his watch, he calculated that if they limited the foreplay they would still make dinner with the president.
He dispensed with his shirt, his eyes fixed on the creamy skin visible at the neckline of her flowery dress. Stunning, he thought to himself, and settled himself on the edge of the bed, ready to dedicate the next half hour to making her extremely happy.
But she didn’t stir.
Disconcerted by her lack of response, Casper reached out a hand and touched her throat, feeling a rush of relief as he felt warm flesh and a steady pulse under his fingertips.
What had he expected?
Unsettled by the sudden absence of logic that had driven him to take the pulse of a sleeping woman, he withdrew his hand and rose to his feet, struggling against an irrational desire to pick up the phone and demand the immediate presence of a skilled medical team.
She was just tired, he assured himself, casting another long look in her direction. Acting on impulse, he reached down and gently removed her shoes. Then he stared at her dress and tried to work out whether it was likely to impede her rest in any way. For the first time in his life, a decision eluded him. Did he remove it and risk waking her, or leave it and risk her being uncomfortable?
A stranger to prevarication, Casper stood in a turmoil of indecision, his hand hovering over her for several long minutes. In the end he compromised by pulling the silk cover over her body.
Then he backed away from the bed, relieved that at least there had been no one present to witness such embarrassing vacillation on his part.
He made thousands of decisions on a daily basis, some of them involving millions of pounds, some of them involving millions of people.
It was incomprehensible that he couldn’t make one small decision that affected his wife’s comfort.
Holly awoke to darkness. With a rush of inexplicable panic, she sat up and only then did she notice Casper seated by the window.
‘What time is it?’ Disorientated and fuzzy headed, she reached across to flick on the lamp by the bed. ‘It must be really late. And I need to change for dinner.’
‘It’s one in the morning. You’ve missed dinner.’
The lamp sent a shaft of light across the room, and she saw that his white dress-shirt was unbuttoned at the throat and that his dinner jacket was slung carelessly over the back of the chair.
‘I missed it?’ Holly slid her hand through her hair, trying to clear her head. ‘How could I have missed it?’
‘You were asleep.’
‘Then you should have woken me.’ Mortified, she pushed down the luxurious silk bed cover and realised that she was still wearing the clothes she’d had on when she’d done her day of royal visits. ‘I only wanted a short nap.’
‘Holly, you slept as though you were dead.’ His dark eyes glittered in the subtle light. ‘I decided that it was better to make your excuses to the president than produce a wife in a coma.’
Holly pulled a face. ‘What must he have thought?’
‘He thought you were pregnant,’ Casper drawled, a faint smile touching his mouth. ‘He and his wife have four children, and he spent
the entire evening lecturing me on how a pregnant woman often feels most tired during the first few months and how rest is important.’
‘God, how awful for you,’ Holly mumbled, forcing herself to get out of bed even though every part of herself was dying to lie down and sleep for the rest of the night. ‘I feel really bad, because I know how important this dinner was to you. Your private secretary told me that you wanted to talk about all that trade stuff and about carbon emissions or something. Some forestry scheme?’
A strange expression flickered across his face. ‘You frequently talk to my private secretary?’
‘Of course.’ Holly tried unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn as she padded over to him in bare feet. ‘Carlos and I often talk. How else am I going to know what the point of the evening is? I mean, you don’t see these people because you like their company, do you?’ Feeling decidedly wobbly, she sank down on the window seat next to him. ‘I’m sorry I slept.’
‘Don’t be. Though I must admit you had me worried for a while. It wasn’t until I was greeted with silence that I realised how accustomed I am to hearing you singing into a hairbrush.’
Holly turned scarlet at the thought that he’d witnessed that. ‘You hear me singing?’
