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“But—”
When Darius shook his head like he was trying to keep her from volunteering for a quicksand bathtub, all she could do was sit back as the butler placed the tray on the desk and made quick work transferring things onto the nearest bedside table.
And for some reason, the man was apologizing as fast as he moved: “I’m afraid that there are portions of the full meal not ready yet. I am so sorry, dinner was to be at eight—”
“It’s all right.” Darius sat up, his nostrils flaring. “Do I smell hors d’oeuvres?”
“Yes, sire.” Lids were lifted. “Roasted brie with almonds. Fresh crackers. Pâté that I made this afternoon. And, at your request, beef franks in puff pastries. Now, with your permission, I shall go attend unto the roast beef and the potatoes?”
“Yes, please do.”
As the butler bowed and bolted for the stairwell, she asked, “Why doesn’t he accept a little help?”
“He would view it as a failure on a mortal scale. He’s just like that. Very old fashioned and formal about his duties—and if you push the point, you’ll get the look.”
“Oh, so he’ll get angry?”
“No, worse. He’ll tear up.” Darius put a hand on his heart and closed his eyes like someone had died. “You don’t want that. I’d sit on a nuclear bomb before I have to pass that doggen another tissue.”
“Doggen?”
“Butler, I mean.” Darius shook his head. “I’m telling you. The last time I tried to do a load of my own laundry was in the seventies and I’m still not over it. Because neither is he.”
She laughed a little. “How intense. And I see he also speaks that language. What exactly is it?”
“Just a European dialect.”
When there was an awkward pause, she glanced toward the bits and bites, and her stomach growled. “Are those really pigs in a blanket?”
He smiled. “I believe that’s the vernacular term, yes.”
“You know what?” She scooted forward toward the side table and its display of goodies. “Forget the entrée. This is what heaven looks like to me.”
As she popped one into her mouth, she heard Darius say softly, “I couldn’t agree more.”
When she glanced over at him to make another joke…
… he was staring at her, not the food.
CHAPTER TEN
I feel like our roles need to be reversed.”
As Darius tossed the statement over the conversational threshold, he was nonetheless powerless to change the dynamic that had been so firmly established. Anne had installed him up against the pillows, which she herself had stacked, and now she was putting a plate together at the bedside table for him. Next up, she was going to feed him from her hand—which was something that tantalized him.
And also frustrated the crap out of him. He needed to wait on her—
Under her breath, she started humming something, and he closed his eyes so he could put all his senses into listening to her.
“What’s that song?” he asked roughly.
“You’ll laugh.”
“Tell me.”
“Grover Washington Jr.”
She turned to him with the plate. “Just the twoooo of us… we can make it if we try… just the twoooo of ussss… you and I…”
“I love it,” he murmured as she settled on the edge of the bed next to him, tucking her legs under herself. “I’m claiming it as my new theme song.”
As she blushed, she seemed to try and cover up her reaction. “What do you fancy first?”
“Whatever you choose to give me.”
“Pig in a blanket it is. I highly recommend them.”
As she picked up one of the bundles with her delicate fingers, he took her wrist. “No, first you.” When she went to argue that she’d already had one, he shook his head. “It’s a thing for me. You have to come first from the plate. I am second, after you.”
He gently redirected the hors d’oeuvre to her lips, and when he nodded, she opened her mouth and took a bite. Watching her chew, he felt his blood stirring, and tried to keep a lid on all that stuff.
For now.
“You finish it,” she said as she took what remained and presented it to his lips.
The morsel was the best thing he had ever tasted, outside of her tomato soup and her toast. And that was the way they played the plate: One bite for her first, then one for him second. In the silence, in the quiet stillness of the bedchamber the King slept in only from time to time, Darius and his woman formed an accord, proof that words were not needed when energy flowed between two people.
When everything had been consumed, she turned back to Fritz’s display on the bedside table. “I’m going to save some room for dinner. So this next plate is all for you, and that is that. I don’t want any arguments.”
Her dominance made him tingle in places that were usually dormant—and even though he was inclined to push back, submitting to her had its own rewards, didn’t it.
