“If you say I have an accent—-”
“I’ll fire you.”
“You don’t have an accent, like seriously.”
“I thought so.”
She watched him put her performance report aside before turning to face her, his gaze thoughtful. When he still didn’t say anything, she said, “Please, prince.” Faced with the sudden prospect of having to lose her highest-paying job, pride and inhibition lost meaning for Fawn, and she added sincerely, “I genuinely want to continue working here, prince. Any position you want me in, I’d be happy to do it.”
The prince started coughing.
She asked in concern, “Prince?”
Any position, she said, and she’d be happy to do it, too. It had him coughing again, but even so, the words had a noticeable impact on his body, and he sucked his breath in hard. Staring at her, hearing her innocently tempting words replay in his mind, he could easily imagine the position he wanted to have her in right now.
On his lap—-
Sensing the prince’s suddenly intense gaze on her, Fawn looked up—-
And that was it.
It had been a trap, but it was too late.
His emerald green gaze had captured hers, and now there was no escaping its effect.
Blood rushed to her head, making her feel faint and dizzy. Dimly, she heard the prince ask, “Do you mean that, parthena mou? Will you be happy in whatever position I want you in?” His voice was raspy with something she couldn’t quite name, but even so, it had her body melting into liquid fire.
The prince’s burning gaze demanded an answer, and she whispered, “Yes.”
His eyes glittered, and she gulped. Holy sweet Jesus, but the longer she gazed into his eyes, the more she wanted. Oh, how she wanted—-
But what did she want?
“I’m glad to hear that, and I will hold you to your promise.” The prince slid to his feet, and somehow she managed to stand as well. He came to her, so close that she could breathe the scent of his aftershave.
Oh, oh, oh.
This was so…bad.
Her body was in agony, the prince’s proximity making her crave—-
The prince bent his head, and before she could guess what he was about to do, he whispered into her ear, “The job is yours, parthena mou.”
How can mere words make her world suddenly spin faster?
The prince watched her step back from him, her light brown eyes clouded with confusion and alarm. Her gaze pleaded with him. What’s happening to me?
Ah, parthena mou, that’s a question I won’t answer.
The brain tended to focus on what it could not understand, and with Fawn Cornwall, he wanted her so damn messed up over him that she would not think about anything else – not even Grant Bennett – nothing except him.
WITH JUST A FEW DAYS before the Christmas holidays started, Fawn did all she could do to earn extra cash, and that included working overtime for the Prince of Darkness. Since she had morning classes to attend, she normally stayed only until dinner was served in the prince’s parties. Nowadays, however, Fawn had signed up to work until midnight, knowing that she would be paid double the amount per hour with overtime.
But today, any chance of earning overtime was nil.
“I don’t understand why I can’t help out with tonight’s party,” Fawn muttered ungraciously. “It’s like being grounded when the prince isn’t even my dad.” At six o’clock, her shift had officially ended, and she had been about to start with the next one when Igor told her that the prince had not approved her request for an extra shift.
“It is not for a servant to understand the hows and whys,” Igor reminded her gently.
“But only to be concerned with the whats, whens, and wheres,” she finished. “I know that, Igor, and I get it, but I really need tonight’s overtime.” She had found the perfect gift for Grant, and based on her calculations, any day where she skipped overtime would make her unable to afford the gift before they left for their hometown.
In response, Igor gave her another gentle reminder. “What the master wants—-”
“The servant should obtain to the best of his or her capabilities,” she finished heavily. Igor had his own set of rules that he wanted her to master, and that was #1 for the prince’s right-hand man. She asked very seriously, “But won’t that make him a spoiled brat?”
Igor only looked at her.
“I know you’ve known him since his diaper days, but Igor, you have to realize that’s going to make the prince—-”
“Going to make me what?” The prince suddenly appeared by the kitchen’s doorway, dressed to kill in a black tux, and causing minor chaos as a result.
The kitchen staff, unused to seeing the prince in their workplace, tried to look busy for a few minutes, realized they couldn’t move a finger with the prince’s green gaze trained on them, and simply gave up.