“There was a small woven basket waiting on his deskthe next day, still smelling like warmed-from-the-ovensin. A note was attached written with the words“Have a good day!” A drawing of a tiny dog chasinga butterfly completed the absurdity.He stood in front of his desk, just staring at it andthe basket for a full minute. Asps didn’t smell likebaked items, but the latter were no less dangerous.He tented the edge of the cloth cover with hissmallest finger. Three fruit tarts lay inside.Poisoned most likely.”

“No one knocked on his door the next day. Nor theday after. Nor the one after that. But that didn’t meanhe was unaware of what was happening. Someonehad carried a plate of those fucking biscuits past hisroom, and even the oak door had provided nobarrier for the smell. Not for anything of hers.”

“Oh!” This was said brightly, as if she was happy he had noticed. “I decided I needed my own workspace, instead of constantly infringing upon yours. So I had a few of the boys move a desk in here.”He stared at the petite, feminine, desk that was pushed against his. And wondered how the bloody hell she had managed to convince men who were terrified of him to move the desk inside his domain.“Absolutely not.” ***Two hours later, he was still scowling as she happily worked on . . . whatever the hell it was she was working on. Across from him. At her desk. How the hell . . .He remembered saying no. He remembered cursing. Threatening her unborn children. Then there was a sort of hazy period of smiles and calm words. Then she had touched the back of his hand with her naked fingers.And now, here he was with . . . her desk . . . pressed to his—surreptitiously watching her scratch her paper, the tip of her tongue poking from the side of her mouth as she worked.”

“How do you define difficult?”“By your presence.”She grinned fully, delighted to feel the tensiondissipate. “Now you are just flattering me for noreason.”He grunted.“On the contrary,” she said, as if his grunt hadbeen a worded response. “It was most flattering.”He stared at her.“What? Did you think I wouldn’t figure out how tointerpret your grunts?”

“Shetouched his hand, and he went stock-still. Sheleaned over to examine it, the top of her headbrushing beneath his nose. Only his suddenimmobility stopped him from violently pulling away.“From the candles?” Had she bathed in bloodyhoney?”

“Her jaw dropped. "You - you -"He chuckled and winked at her. Her ire evaporated like the steam from the pot--coiling and disappearing into the air. When he used his wiles on her, he was tantalizing. With that purely happy look on his face he was devastating."You do realize that I will have my revenge?" she said calmly, though her heart was racing. "I could hope for no less." He flashed her a grin, and she gripped the side of the table to keep from moving closer."I dislike you.""Always a comfort to know." He looked at the kitchen clock, a small mantel piece positioned precariously on a shelf. "Right on time for the night."She blinked. She supposed it was something of a nightly ritual. "Wouldn't want to disappoint you, your highness.""Your majesty, if you will.”

“That if he were killed in the next few weeks, it would assuredly be near her. At her feet, in her bed. Inside of her.Unfortunately, that last thought just made him think that if he had to choose his final moments, beinginside Charlotte would really be the way to go.”