Tall, Dark & Royal. Leanne Banks

to push His Majesty’s buzzer with her elbow. Since the pizza had arrived at the same time she had, she’d suggested delivering it herself.

      Daniel opened the door, and she was struck again by his height. His eyes widened.

      “Let me help you—”

      Just as he reached for the heavy books, a blur of something large and brown raced across the room and careened into her. Erin toppled toward the floor.

      “Jordan, heel!” Daniel yelled, and the dog abruptly backed off.

      Her knees hit the hard stone floor, and pain shot through her, but she automatically squeezed her fingers around the pizza box. Her face was going to hit the floor or the pizza box, she thought in despair, just as strong hands caught her shoulders.

      Daniel swore under his breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “He smelled the pizza and went nuts. He’s spooked by all the visitors that have been in and out of here over the last week.”

      She felt him lift her as if she were a flower. He carried her to the couch and she was acutely aware of his muscular chest pressed against her. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been carried, not even by her father. She felt an odd, but gentle stroke at a hidden tender spot inside her. It mystified her. She felt Daniel try to pry the box from her fingers.

      “You can let go of the pizza now,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows.

      Still distracted, she felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

      He looked at her quizzically. “I’m surprised you didn’t drop it when Jordan crashed into you.”

      She blinked. “Training, I guess, sir. Don’t lose your dignity, but if you do, don’t spill your tray.”

      His lips twitched. “Your teacher should be proud.” He set the pizza box on top of an entertainment center and turned to the dog. “No pizza for you tonight. That’s no way to treat a lady,” he muttered.

      Erin took a long look at the contrite dog. The animal was huge, with dark soulful eyes and large paws. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen that particular breed, sir,” she said, unable to mask her curiosity. The beast looked like a combination of a brown bear and a bulldog.

      Daniel ruffled the dog’s ears. “He’s a mixed breed,” he said, then shot Erin a look that mixed humor and undiluted masculine sex appeal. “Mixed breed. Kinda like me. Half Altarian royalty and half American rebel,” he said and led the whining dog to another room.

      So true, she thought, except Daniel was much better-looking than his dog. Erin tried to collect her wits. Taking a deep breath, she wasn’t sure which had rattled her more, the dog rushing her or Daniel carrying her to the couch. Her books, she suddenly remembered, reining in her strange feelings. Focus on the job, she told herself, not His Majesty’s distracting body. Glancing toward the doorway, she saw the books on the floor. Daniel must have dropped them to catch her.

      She moved her legs to rise from the sofa and felt a twinge. She looked down at her stockings. They were shredded and one of her legs was scratched and slightly bleeding.

      Daniel returned to the room at that very moment. He swore again and rushed toward her, then bent down and gingerly touched her leg. “Damn. I’ll get some antiseptic and a bandage.”

      Flustered, Erin shook her head. “That’s not necessary,” she said to his back as he strode from the room. She jumped to her feet to follow him. “Sir, this is not at all proper protocol,” she protested, but might as well have been talking to the dog for all the attention Daniel was paying her. As he entered the bathroom, she paused outside the door, uncertain what to do next.

      She watched him collect some items from the medicine cabinet and run some water over a washcloth. He turned to face her. “Go back to the sofa,” he said, meeting her with a gaze that said he meant business.

      “But, sir—”

      “But nothing,” he returned, striding past her.

      “My dog did this to you. I’m responsible.”

      Distressed, she followed him into the living room again and resumed her seat on the sofa. “Sir, this truly is not appropriate.”

      “What would be appropriate? For me to order a servant to take care of your scratch?”

      “Yes, sir, or I could do it myself.”

      He shook his head and knelt in front of her. “Neither of those choices work for me. I’m king, I’m pulling rank.” He glanced at her leg, then met her gaze. “You need to ditch your stockings.”

      Erin’s heart climbed into her throat. Seeing the unswerving determination in his eyes, she held her breath for a full moment. She opened her mouth and closed it, then cleared her throat. “Could you please turn around, sir?” she asked in a voice that sounded high-pitched to her own ears.

      Realization crossed his face. He shrugged. “Sure. Let me know when you’re ready.”

      Try never, sir, she thought, as she pushed her stockings down her legs with unsteady hands. The horrified face of her finishing-school teacher flashed before her eyes. Erin had known this assignment would be challenging, but she’d never imagined finding herself in such an awkward position. Stepping out of her pumps, she pulled the shredded hose off her feet and tried again to collect herself.

      “Ready?” he asked as if he had eyes in the back of his head.

      “Yes, sir,” she said reluctantly.

      He turned around and lifted his hands just above her knee to the scraped place on her leg. Her leg automatically stiffened. His gaze shot up to meet hers. “Sore?”

      “A little, I suppose, sir,” she managed, too aware of the fact that His Majesty was kneeling before her. She felt the threat of her dreaded secret nervous response and closed her eyes. She took slow, soothing breaths and pictured a peaceful Swiss snowfall.

      An odd intimacy seemed to swim between them when he touched her thigh. His hands were gentle as he cleaned the scrape and applied antibiotic ointment. He put on the bandage and Erin opened her eyes. She caught him looking at her painted toenails.

      She couldn’t resist the urge to curl her toes into the carpet.

      He skimmed his hand down her leg to her feet, sending an odd ripple through her. “These are going to get cold. I can give you some socks,” he offered, rising to his feet.

      He looked down at her and held her gaze for a long moment in which the world seemed to turn on its axis. Erin held her breath. She watched his gaze dip to her lips for several heart-stopping seconds before he glanced away. Briefly, he shook his head, almost as if he’d considered kissing her, then come to his senses.

      Erin wondered when she would come to her senses.

      “Socks,” he muttered. “They may not make the kind of fashion statement you usually make, but you’ll be more comfortable.” He narrowed his eyes.

      “Come to think of it, you’re not going to want to go back to your hotel with bare legs. I’ll get you a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.”

      Erin felt a rush of panic. Wearing His Majesty’s clothes? How had this situation gotten so totally beyond her control? “Thank you very much, sir, but it’s truly not necessary.”

      “Of course it is,” he said. “It’s January in Chicago. No one in their right mind faces the elements with bare skin,” he said, then his eyes glinted with masculine intensity. “Although it’s a damn shame to cover legs as nice as yours with sweatpants.”

      Erin’s heart skipped over itself, and a rush of emotions swam through her. How was she supposed to accomplish her job, maintain appropriate distance and, as her father had requested, subtly discourage Daniel from accepting the throne, when Daniel was clearly determined to treat her as a human being more than as a protocol instructor? How, in heaven’s name, was she supposed to maintain