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‘Scotch might work better.’
‘Would you like me to organise some for you?’
He tilted his head to hers again. ‘It’s after three.’
His words made little sense.
‘It’s after three and you’re working.’
‘Oh, right. Yes. That’s my job.’
He lifted a brow. ‘To work through the night?’
‘To work when you need me,’ she said with a lift of her shoulders. Then, with a swift correction, ‘Or when any guest of the Presidential suite requires me. I’m assigned to this suite exclusively.’
‘And you have to do whatever I ask?’ he prompted.
A small smile lifted her lips. ‘Well, not quite.’ She couldn’t suppress the teasing quality from her voice. ‘I can’t cook and I don’t know any jokes, but when it comes to facilitating your requests, then yes, I do whatever is humanly possible to make them happen.’
‘And that’s your employment.’
‘Yes.’
He sipped the tea without taking his dark eyes off her. Ordinarily, she would have taken that opportunity to leave, but there was a contradiction within this man that had her saying, ‘I would have thought you’d be used to that degree of service.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you travel with an entourage of forty men, all of whom it would appear exist to serve your every whim?’
Another sip of his tea. ‘Yes, this is their job. I am King, and in my country serving the royal family is a great honour.’
Something tweaked in the back of her brain. A memory from a news article she’d read a couple of weeks ago. His father had died. Recently.
Compassion moved through her, and empathy, because she could vividly remember the pain of that loss. Five years ago, when her mother had died, she had felt as if she’d never be whole again. In time, day by day, she’d begun to feel more like herself, but it was still a work in progress. She felt her mother’s absence every day.
It was that understanding that had her saying something she would normally not have dared. ‘I’m sorry, about your father. Losing a parent is...we know it’s something we should expect, but I don’t think anything really prepares us for what life without them will be like.’
His eyes jolted to hers, widening in his face, so she immediately regretted her familiarity. He was a king, for goodness’ sake, and her job was to bring the tea!
Dipping her head forward, she found she couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘If that’s all, sir, goodnight.’ She didn’t wait for his answer; turning away from him, she strode to the concealed door. Her hand was on it when he spoke.
‘Wait.’
She paused, her heart slamming against her ribcage.
She didn’t turn around, though.
‘Come back here.’
Her pulse was like a torrent in her veins.
She turned to face him. He was watching her. Her heart rate accelerated to the point of, surely, danger.
‘Yes, sir?’
A frown etched itself across his face. ‘Sit.’ He gestured to the sofas. ‘Drink tea with me.’
A million reasons to say ‘no’ came to her. Not once in all the time she’d held this job had she come close to socialising with a guest. For one thing, it was completely forbidden in her contract.
