the most I will see is what is behind him when he opens the door. Xander will greet me, hand me my clothes, I’ll give him the cookies and explain what they are, we’ll share chitchat for a moment and then say goodbye. I’ll catch the tube and go home to my tiny flat, and that will be the end of the most unusual day of my life.
Full stop.
I clear my throat and proceed up the path to his door. The fragrant scent of the pale pink roses drifts towards me with the gentle spring breeze, and the moment is beautiful. It reminds me why spring is my favourite season, as it’s one of birth—everything awakening and coming alive after a cold winter.
I reach the door and come to a stop. I notice my heart picks up in speed a bit, which confuses me. Why am I reacting like this? We are exchanging goods. It means nothing, except I get clean clothes to hang in my wardrobe. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less.
So why is my heart jumping?
I decide that ignoring my physical reaction to the idea of seeing Xander is the best course of action, so pretending my heart isn’t acting like a ping-pong ball inside my chest, I press my finger against the doorbell.
I take another steadying breath as I wait for the door to be opened. I wonder if his housekeeper is still on duty, as it’s nearly five-thirty in the evening. But he is the Prince of Wales. Perhaps he has a staff that works around the clock.
“Coming,” a familiar voice calls out to me.
And the voice belongs to Xander.
Goosebumps sweep over my skin in response to it. I feel my throat go dry. Nerves attack me from every which angle. Irritation begins to fight with these bizarre feelings, as I shouldn’t have these. At. All. I only get nervous when I have to drive in London traffic or when we are all loading a massive wedding cake into The Biscuit Cutter van.
So this reaction, to the idea of Xander, is unnerving.
There’s a click on the other side of the door. I freeze.
It opens. My breath hitches.
Because Xander is even more handsome than I remember him being this morning.
He’s smiling at me, a blinding white smile that does nothing to start my breathing in a regular pattern. Xander’s jet-black hair is swept back into place with a bit of product. His gaze is on mine, causing my stomach to flip upside down. Now that he’s not wearing a coat, I can take in his midnight-blue brushed cotton shirt, one with a slim fit that shows off a body built by military training and polo playing. The shirt is untucked, worn over a pair of dark-wash jeans, and he’s effortlessly stylish and casual at the same time.
I lift my gaze back to his piercing eyes. My God, he’s beautiful, I think.
“Hello, Poppy. Thank you for coming over,” he says, his voice interrupting my thoughts. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”
My heartbeat quickens. His voice. I didn’t notice it in the chaos of this morning, but it’s smooth and rich.
Seductive.
Like a luscious ganache, silky and decadent—one you can’t resist.
I clear my throat, for fear if I don’t, I might squeak. Or blurt out that his voice is as sexy as a melted chocolate.
Either one would be very, very bad.
“I have cookies,” I blurt out.
Xander’s mouth turns up in amusement. “Is that a new form of greeting, ‘I have cookies?’”
Die. I need to die now.
Or shove the box of cookies into his arms, forget the clothing, and flee the scene immediately.
“Erm, I mean, hello, um, Your Royal Highness,” I say. I wince when I see Xander flinch as I call him that. “I mean, Xander. I’m sorry.”
The look of discomfort leaves his face. “I liked your cookie opening better. Please, call me Xander, I beg you.”
“Sorry, Xander,” I say, emphasising his name.
“See? That rolls off the tongue much easier than Your Royal Highness, doesn’t it?”
His tongue. My eyes instinctively dart to his mouth the second that word escapes his lips.
Oh, my Christ, I’m thinking of his tongue?
“Erm, back to the cookies,” I say, vowing to never think of his tongue again, “they are for our exchange. Cookies for laundry. I know you said banoffee pie, but you also said to let my imagination run wild, and you first mentioned chocolate, so I began thinking of ways to put the two together, like in a cake or brownie or