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Bursting with conviction, Nic started to turn back around. “Brooke, we should...” He didn’t finish because she gave him a sharp shove toward the door.
“No we shouldn’t.”
“One kiss.” The irony of his demand wasn’t lost on Nic. How many times had she teased, tormented and begged for any little bit of attention from him over the years? Time after time he’d refused her. “I missed waking up with you this morning.”
“Whose fault was that?”
“Mine.” It was all his fault. The five years when they could have been together if he hadn’t been so obsessively focused on work. The way he’d hurt her because he’d chosen duty to his country over her. The emotional intimacy he couldn’t give her because he was afraid his heart would break if he opened up.
“One kiss.” He was pleading now.
“Fine. But you need to be in the hall with your hands behind your back.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. If she wanted to be in control, he would do his best to let that happen. “Agreed,” he said and stepped out of her room.
Given the way he’d yielded to her conditions, Nic expected more demands from her.
“Close your eyes. I can’t do this with you glaring at me.”
In perfect stillness she waited him out. At last Nic let his lashes drift down. Years of working toward a single possibly unattainable goal would have been impossible without a great deal of fortitude, but Nic had recently discovered a shortage of patience where Brooke was concerned.
“Dear Nic.” Her fingertips swept into his hair and tugged his head downward until their lips met.
Sweetness.
The tenderness of her kiss sent his heartbeat into overdrive. The desire previously driving through his body eased beneath her gentle touch. For the first time he acknowledged what existed between them wasn’t born out of passion alone, but had its origins in something far deeper and lasting. A sigh fluttered in his chest as she lifted her lips from his and grazed them across his cheek.
“Good night, sweet prince.”
Before he’d recovered enough to open his eyes, she was gone.
Ten
Thanks to Ariana’s help with her wardrobe, Brooke had gone to bed feeling confident about her breakfast meeting with the queen. However, when she woke at dawn plagued by the increasingly familiar nausea, she plodded through her morning routine, burdened by anxiety.
By the time she’d swept her straightened hair into a smooth French roll, Brooke had consumed half a package of crackers in an effort to calm her roiling stomach. It seemed to be working because by the time she finished applying mascara and lipstick, she was feeling like her old self.
A maid appeared promptly at ten minutes to eight and Brooke dredged up her polite interview face as she followed her downstairs and into the garden. The girl pointed to a grassy path that curved past flower beds overflowing with shades of pink and purple. Brooke’s destination—a white gazebo overlooking a small pond—appeared to be about fifty feet away. As she neared the structure, she noted that the queen had already arrived and was seated at the table placed in the center of the space. Rose-patterned china and crystal goblets were carefully arranged on a white tablecloth. The whole display reminded Brooke of a storybook tea party.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Brooke said cheerfully as she neared.
The queen turned her attention from the electronic tablet in her hand and her keen gaze swept over Brooke, lingering for a long moment on the low boots. Brooke withstood the queen’s assessment in silence, wondering if custom required her to curtsy.
“Hello, Dr. Davis. Don’t you look lovely. Please sit down.”
Noticing the change from last night in the way the queen addressed her, Brooke perched on the edge of a mint-green damask chair and dropped her napkin on her lap. Two maids stood by to wait on them. Brooke accepted a glass of orange juice and a cup of very dark coffee lightened with cream which she sipped until her stomach gurgled quietly. To cover the noise, Brooke began to speak.
“Your garden is beautiful.” Ariana had offered Brooke several safe subjects on which to converse. “I understand you have several rare varieties of roses.”
“Are you interested in gardening?” the queen asked, offering a polite smile. A diplomat’s smile.
Brooke’s whole digestive track picked that moment to complain. She pinched her lips tight in response. After a second she took a deep breath. “I love flowers, but I don’t have much of a green thumb.”
“I suppose you’ve been busy earning your two doctorates. That’s quite impressive for someone your age.” Most people thought it was impressive, period, but it made sense that the queen of a country would be hard to impress. “And now you teach at a university.”
