“I could always hire someone else,” he mused, voice light but laced with provocation.“Maybe a designer who would add even more black-and-white paintings to—”
She stomped up the last two steps and glared.“You’re cheating!”
His grin widened, wicked and unrepentant.“Yes.And you’re finally catching on.”
He stepped back to let her in, his gaze lingering as though committing every detail of her entrance to memory.
Inside, her irritation was temporarily eclipsed by the clean, sunlit space.Despite its starkness, the open layout and generous windows kept the rooms from feeling oppressive.
“Do you really want to change this?”she asked, moving toward one of the windows.The earthy suede sofa and minimalistic design were impersonal but stylistically cohesive.“Most decorators work with a client’s preferences.This seems like…your style.”
“I told the decorator to keep it simple,” he said, following her in that unhurried, predatory way that made her skin prickle.
“Well, that’s what you got,” she replied, sweeping a hand toward the room.
“It was fine,” he admitted, closing the distance.The untucked linen shirt and faded jeans clung in all the right places, a far cry from the tailored suits she’d first seen him in.And then there was the detail that caught her completely off guard—he was barefoot.Shouldn’t there be some royal edict about that?
“But now?”she prompted, trying not to notice the warmth radiating from him.
“Now I want something that feels…different.”His voice softened, deliberate.“Something I can sit down on and relax.Something I can…enjoy.”
The way he lingered on the word sent a shiver racing down her spine.
“Pillows,” she blurted, her voice dry as dust.
One eyebrow lifted, amusement deepening.“Just pillows?”
She nodded—or thought she nodded—though her body refused to move away.His nearness was magnetic, holding her in place.
Another step closed the gap between them.His voice dropped, low and intimate.“What’s really going on here, Natalie?”
Her throat tightened.“Nothing.My goal is to discuss the design.Not to be…seduced.”
His slow smile told her he didn’t believe her for a second.“Is that what’s happening?”he murmured, his eyes dark with intent.
“Isn’t it?”she countered, her voice a touch sharper as she finally forced herself to take a step back.
He let her retreat, but his gaze stayed locked on her like he was tracking a target.“If it were, would you stop it?”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.“Perhaps a different designer would be better suited to your needs,Your Highness,” she said coolly, lifting her chin in deliberate defiance.
The change in his expression was instant—his easy charm sharpening into something harder, more possessive.“No.I want you.Your vision.No one else.”
Her chin dipped despite herself, and she gave a reluctant nod.“Fine.Let’s sit at the table.I’ll walk you through some options, you can tell me your preferences, and then I’ll create a design board with—”
“You’re rambling,” he cut in, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Heat crept into her cheeks, and she stiffened.“I’m explaining the process,Your Highness.It’s called being professional.”
He gestured toward the dining table with an infuriating grin.“By all means.Let’s be professional.”
They sat.Natalie kept her focus on her notebook, determined to ignore how close he sat, how the subtle scent of his cologne seemed to wrap around her.But as they talked, his questions surprised her—less about how things looked, more about how theyfelt.He wanted warmth.Comfort.Rooms meant to be lived in, not just admired.
Bit by bit, her shoulders eased, her pen moving steadily across the page.But every time their eyes met, her pulse betrayed her, beating a fraction too fast.
An hour later, she rose, her notebook full.“I think I have enough to get started,Your Highness,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
He stood too, closing the distance until the air between them seemed to hum.He didn’t touch her, but his presence pressed against her all the same.
