Page 39 of Raul
“But you have to make sure your ankle is fully healed.” Maybe that would make him more compliant as a patient.
He waved that away and peppered her with questions about climbing as a team without preset anchors. Here was something she could be grateful to her father for. He had drilled her over and over again on how to climb safely.
“Are you ready for dessert?” Raul asked after their plates were empty.
“I swear I can’t eat another bite.” She laid a hand over her stomach.
“Marta made her special silk brownies. They’re a brownie on the bottom, something like a smooth chocolate mousse with a touch of espresso in the middle, and whipped cream on the top.”
Erica groaned. “How can I resist one of Marta’s creations? She’s a genius. Could we maybe take a breather and then have dessert?”
“A brilliant idea! It will make you stay longer.” His flashing smile was pure pleasure.
He wanted her to stay! Happiness fizzed in her veins. “Twist my arm.” She picked up her plate and stood.
“Leave the plates. We’ll have dessert in the living room when you’re ready.” He leaned down to pick up the crutches and shoved his chair back. “Would you bring the wine and the glasses?”
He was up on his crutches before she could offer to help him, so she scooped up their empty glasses and the second bottle of wine they’d started on. She had been careful not to drink too much, so the prince had imbibed most of the first bottle.
“You balance well on crutches for a man who’s had a fair amount of wine,” she observed as she walked beside him to the seating area.
“Practice,” he said. “State dinners include a new wine with every course. It helps to get through them without strangling the old fart sitting beside you.”
He didn’t usually joke about his work, so she threw him a surprised glance.
“I don’t likeeverythingabout my job,” he said. “That’s why it’s called a job. There must be some part of piloting Gabriel’s jet that you don’t especially enjoy.”
“Hmm.” She set the glasses and bottle on the coffee table. “The paperwork can get tedious.”
Raul maneuvered between the coffee table and the sofa before lowering himself onto the cushions. Lifting his injured foot, he rested it on a pile of magazines on the tabletop.
“Let me get you a pillow to cradle your foot,” Erica said, starting around the table’s corner. As she did, Raul’s crutches slid sideways off the cushion beside him, hitting her right at the ankle. She stumbled and pitched forward between the table and the sofa.
“Mierda!”She tried to twist in midair to avoid falling across his outstretched leg and damaging it further.
Raul grabbed her waist and pulled her toward him so she fell with her torso across his lap, her forearms braced on the sofa beside his thigh to try to keep her weight off his vulnerable leg.
“Oof!” The air got knocked out of her lungs while a flush of embarrassment heated her neck and cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered into the cushion. She tried to figure out how toextricate herself gracefully from the awkward position of lying face down across his lap with her foot still tangled in the crutches.
“It was entirely my fault,” Raul said. “I know those damned crutches are a tripping hazard. Let me get them out of the way before you try to move again.”
She forced herself to hold still when every instinct screamed at her to get up out of this humiliating position. Even worse, she felt the press of his thighs against her stomach as he shifted to work on the crutches.
“I need to take your shoe off,” he said.
“Go ahead,” she said, turning her head so she wasn’t speaking into the couch. Now she could see the length of his propped-up leg encased in the fine wool and was grateful she hadn’t fallen hard on it.
Then his fingers circled her ankle as he eased off her pump.Carajo!His touch was warm and firm and sent a wash of tingling sensation up her leg. When her shoe came off and the air hit her skin, she felt weirdly naked. Then she felt the cold metal of the crutch as he moved it, and she shivered.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his grip still solid on her ankle as he stopped moving.
“No, not at all.” God, she wanted to get up. No, she wanted to stay here. Maybe he would run his palm up her leg and…
He fitted the shoe back onto her foot. She stifled a hysterical giggle as she thought of Cinderella.
“There,” he said, releasing her. “You’re safe to get up now.”
She pushed up onto her hands and knees and then rocked back to get one foot on the floor, bringing her face close to his.
