Royal Package - Lili Valente Page 0,19

being friends with their in-laws.

Friends.

Yes. Maybe Andrew and I will be friends. That would be nice. Surely, once a certain amount of time has passed, I’ll forget that the feel of his fingers pressed into the hollow of my spine made me feel like a swarm of bees were making honey between my hip bones.

Sweet, sticky honey…

Holy mold spores, I need an intervention. ASAP.

I’m silently brainstorming ways to curb my suddenly spunky libido when Andrew and I pass under a rose-covered arbor and I’m struck dumb, all rational thought banished by the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.

Chapter Nine

Andrew

“This is incredible. Completely incredible.” Elizabeth drifts deeper into the rose garden, cupping a fat yellow blossom and leaning down for a reverent sniff that summons a moan from low in her throat.

A sexy moan…

A very fucking sexy moan that instantly has me thinking thoughts that are not appropriate for breakfast with a sweet girl I intend to send back to her own country as soon as possible.

“Exquisite,” she murmurs, spinning in a slow circle, her eyes shining with appreciation. “I’ve never seen so many varietals in one place before. Oh, and a Quatre Saisons!” She circles around the main bed to a patch of pink-flowered bushes in the corner of the sheltered garden. “They’re the oldest continuously blooming European roses! Some people say they’ve been around since the Crusades.”

She shakes her head in wonder as she cups two frilly blossoms, one in each hand, making my thoughts drift to things that I would like to cup, one in each hand.

Stop it. Now! Before you ruin your chance to get the plan back on track.

Silently cursing myself for not making time to get laid before Elizabeth arrived and cut my apparently sex-starved state off at the pass, I say, “I didn’t realize you were a rose enthusiast.”

“All plants, really.” She crosses to another bed, this one filled with peach roses the same shade as her lips.

Her unexpectedly lovely lips that I have thought about kissing at least three times, which is four too many…

“It started when I was little, wandering the forest on our mountain,” she says. “If I went home, I’d have to sit at my desk for hours doing lessons and whatever chores Minnesota Nanny had decided would build my character.”

“Minnesota Nanny?” I ask, lips curving.

She lifts a shoulder. “Her name was Lorelei, but my sister couldn’t say her L’s until she was almost ten, so we all called her Minnesota.” She laughs. “It drove her crazy at first. She would give us time-outs with our noses on the wall every time we said Minnesota instead of Miss Lorelei.”

“She sounds beastly.”

“Not really, just old-fashioned,” Elizabeth says. “I probably should have stayed home and let her build my character, but I was too high energy for that when I was little. So I learned which plants in our forest were edible so I could stay out all day and not head home until sunset.” She laughs softly to herself. “I thought that was so fun, living off the land like a prehistoric cave girl. It made me excited to study all sorts of plants. Flowers and herbs and all the rest.”

“Fascinating,” I murmur.

Elizabeth shrugs again, more self-consciously. “Well, my sister is the one with the botany degree, but I enjoy plants. Especially flowers. And I know a few plant nerds who would donate a finger to science to have this garden in their backyard.” She leans down, her nose hovering above the peach blossom as her eyes slide closed.

She inhales with an effortless sensuality that has me wishing I had petals, and then when she moans again, I lose my damn mind. “You should invite them,” I say, the words popping out before I can cut them off at the pass.

Elizabeth stands with a swift shake of her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

“Of course you can,” I insist, even as the voice of logic shouts for me to shut the hell up. Before the month is out, Elizabeth is going to be gone and any invitations she’s made will only have to be canceled.

But the voice of logic is no match for sexy, moany Elizabeth with her flushed cheeks and her eyes dancing with pleasure. Something primal inside me demands we do whatever it takes to keep her happy on the off chance that we can convince her to be as excited about men as she is about flowers.

“No, I really couldn’t,” she insists more firmly, stepping away from the rose