Courting His Royal Highness Read Free

her little hobby, besides yoga and snorkeling.
    His blue eyes met hers. “You are full of interesting trivia.”
    “Do you know anything about your character?” She gestured to his attire before filling her mouth with a spoon overflowing with Dracula pasta. She could eat a boatload, but she didn’t want to scare him away. She noticed he wasn’t eating a thing.
    “I do own the James Bond DVD collection; however, I admit I am not a film fanatic.”
    She swallowed the pasta and piled another spoonful full. “Are you calling me crazy?”
    “Most certainly not. I don’t have a whole lot of time to watch movies.”
    She gaped at him. “Everyone loves movies.”
    He shrugged. His hand rested along the side of her thigh. She could feel the burn of his skin through the thin fabric of her gown. She hoped he liked black lace underwear. Jeez, what was she thinking? She had known this guy a total of twenty minutes, and already she couldn’t wait to jump into bed with him. But who wouldn’t want to go to bed with James Bond? Every man wanted to be him. Every woman wanted to be with him—and not in the purely platonic way.
    “In my line of work, I don’t have too much free time.”
    She chewed the last of her pasta and took a generous gulp of water. “What do you do?”
    He shook his head and placed two fingers against her lips. “Not now. Not yet.”
    Boy, he was secretive. Exactly like James Bond. She began to wonder if this man really thought he was the guy with a license to kill.
    Her lips tingled from his touch. She tried to concentrate on the food. It was delicious. Only the best for EVE’s famous Halloween Ball.
    “Okay, so what’s your real name?”
    “Just call me Max.”
    “Okay, Max, nice to meet you.”
    “And your name, my queen?”
    She gazed into his blue eyes and melted. No way was she leaving the party without some lovin’ from this man. Her friends would kill her if she let him slip through her fingers. She could fulfill every woman’s fantasy—a daunting task. But someone had to do it.
    “Chloe.”
    His cheeks dimpled for her in the moonlight. “A classic name.”
    She wrinkled her nose. “It was my grandmother’s. I never liked it.”
    “I think it suits you. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
    Her cheeks flamed. Heck, she felt as though her entire face blazed fire-engine red. He was a flatterer. Big time. And she rather liked it—it was nice to be complimented.
    “Nice to meet you, Chloe.”
    “And you, Max.”
    They shook hands again. Her skin sizzled. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had affected her so. It was thrilling and just a tad bit scary.
    Music drifted out through the open windows and doors, enveloping them in a dreamy melody. It was big band music. Just the type Chloe loved.
    “Care to dance with me?”
    Her eyes widened. “I’d love to, but I have to warn you I’m not a very good dancer.”
    Max pulled her onto her feet. “Well, I happen to be a pro.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Aren’t we cocky.”
    “I only speak the truth.”
    He lowered his face. She could feel his breath against her cheek, scented with alcohol and spices. Scrumptious. Her legs turned to spaghetti. She leaned against him heavily, very afraid her knees would give out. He cupped her hand in his, and she rested the other on his shoulder. His fingers lightly touched the small of her back as he guided her around the rectangular pool in a spine-tingling waltz, which made her dizzier than the three glasses of wine she had gulped down.
    He definitely spoke the truth: he was a spectacular dancer. He belonged in a ballroom. He belonged in a tux. He possessed an arrogance and demeanor that suggested he lived an affluent lifestyle, James Bond or not. Maybe he was a super spy; right now, she didn’t care. She only wished to enjoy the moment. Being held in his arms, so close to his body, made her breathless. The fragrance of his cologne wrapped her in a romantic cocoon. For a moment, she