Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 192810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 964(@200wpm)___ 771(@250wpm)___ 643(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 964(@200wpm)___ 771(@250wpm)___ 643(@300wpm)
No, it was better to do the conference comm after work when we had plenty of time to suss it all out.
Though, it was killing me to wait.
I sipped coffee (my fourth cup, I’d decided hyper-caffeination was the best way to go after my sleepless night and inexplicable morning) and tipped my head down to the new tablet sitting nestled on the crossed legs of my lap.
“Screen engage,” I murmured.
The screen came up to where I left it (obviously, I’d set up voice acknowledgement, but for some reason, I hadn’t changed the password).
It was the contact list.
At the top, it said HRH Prince Aleksei, and then there were two sequences, one labeled Office, one labeled Palm, with a subcategory of Muriel, Personal Assistant to HRH Prince Aleksei and again with Office and Palm. Under that was Allain, Royal Aide to HRH Prince Aleksei (so that was what he was). And he had three sequences: Office, Palm and Urgent.
I couldn’t imagine what would ever be urgent, but I was sensing that Allain was a thorough kind of human.
“Holo conference,” I mumbled my decision about what to do with the girls that evening, moving to reach to my Palm so I could sync it with the tablet, which, among other things, would enter my friends’ sequences. Then, I could send them a text comm to set it up.
While doing this, my ringer from the vestibule went again.
Ugh!
Well, that twenty-four to forty-eight hours didn’t last long.
It didn’t surprise me that Prince Aleksei might be impatient (or even insulted), and he’d send his aide to speed things up (or tell me off).
But it did annoy me.
I set the tablet aside, snatched up my Palm and snapped, “Engage vestibule,” then immediately continued, “Forty-eight hours isn’t what it used…”
I trailed off.
Because on the screen I saw HRH Prince Aleksei himself standing in the vestibule, staring right at the camera.
And if that wasn’t enough to strike me mute, the silken cords of his voice drifted around me as he stated, “I was hoping to convince you only to take five.”
By the gods.
The True Heir was in my vestibule.
The prince was here.
“I—”
The one syllable came out strangled, so it was fortunate he interrupted me by commanding, “Laura, let me in.”
“Allow entry,” I pushed out.
He disappeared off camera and I sat frozen.
Then I leaped off the couch, sending three cats flying, and raced to the bathroom.
I looked in the mirror.
My blonde hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, the haphazard part being tendrils falling around my face and neck.
I tried to tell myself it looked sexy-messy-cute, but I wasn’t quite able to convince myself of that.
I also didn’t have that first swipe of cosmetics on.
I was one of those gals who swung both ways.
I could go cosmetics-free (say, if I was nipping out to get a croissant and coffee from Mr. Tanugu), or I could go hog wild (I’d splurged on one of the best cosme-masks on the market, but I also had the brushes, sponges, pots, bottles and palettes, because sometimes, I liked to paint my own face).
Thus, a clean face didn’t bother me (much).
I still would prefer to be made up for a visit from the prince.
And I was wearing an ivory lounge outfit with a cropped, heavy-knit top that wasn’t much to look at from the front but had peekaboo overlapping panels at the back that made it kind of sexy. On my bottom half were drawstring joggers in matching material that were just not much (though I liked to think they did nice things for my behind).
The outfit had been a gift from Ernesta Transcendica after I’d used several pieces of hers in Rain and Pavements (and put her on the map, if I did say so myself, but whoever said it, it would be true, Princess Aleece herself (oh, and Princess Anna too) had attended Ernesta’s last three runway shows, so there was that). In other words, it was a great set.
But it wasn’t what you’d want to entertain a prince in.
I didn’t have time to slap on my cosme-mask, even on a setting of “natural, casual, at home,” which only took five minutes. I definitely didn’t have time to don my mane-mate to do something with my hair.
The door ringer sounded.
Shit, I forgot to open the door.
Okay, okay, okay.
I would have to do this as just me.
I raced out of the bathroom, calling, “Open door.”
It did its thing, and Prince Aleksei sauntered in.
I rocked to a halt, having no choice but to allow my brain and body to respond to his presence in my space. It did this by bolting through me, sparking a myriad of pleasant, terrifying and stunned embers that burned, shook and soothed every inch of me.
His suit was black, his shirt blue-black, both attractive, both clearly tailored for him, both in material I might weep if I ever had the opportunity to work with it.