His Royal Prize by Katherine Garbera

styles. She had sleek Japanese tables and plush Italian leather sofas in her living area. The floor-to-ceiling wall of glass that overlooked London allowed the viewer to see all the way to Buckingham Palace.
    On the wall was a large Monet from the artist’s time in Argenteuil. On another wall was a painting of Amelia done in the Andy Warhol “Marilyn Monroe” style, with four of the same images in different colors.
    Her small dog bounded out of the bedroom as soon as she’d walked in the door.
    “How’s my Lady Godiva?” Amelia asked, bend ing over to pet her dog.
    The miniature Dachshund stood on her back legs with her tail wagging. Amelia scooped the little dog up and brought her over toward him.
    “This is Lady Godiva. Godiva, this is Geoff,” Amelia said.
    He scratched the dog under her chin. Amelia set the dog down. “Go to bed,” she commanded.
    The little dog trotted off to a large pillow in the corner and circled around several times before lying down.
    “Impressive,” Geoff said.
    Amelia smiled. “Would you like a drink?” she asked.
    “Yes,” he said.
    She went to a wet bar in the corner and reached under the counter. “Cognac?”
    “I’d enjoy one.”
    She gestured toward the sofa. “You can have a seat over there, or if you’d like, the stairs in the corner lead to my rooftop garden.”
    “I’ll wait for you,” he said.
    She took out two large snifters and warmed them in her hands before pouring in a generous portion of thedark-colored liquor. She carried the drinks over to where he waited. He was watching her closely and she felt the butterflies fluttering again.
    She handed him a drink and they toasted.
    “To this evening.”
    “To us,” she said. “I think the garden will be nice tonight, since it’s not raining and not too cloudy. Want to give it a try?”
    “I’d love to.”
    She led the way to her sanctuary, knowing full well that it was only a matter of time before her need would get the better of her.
     
    He followed her up the wrought-iron staircase that was in the corner of the living room. She climbed up steadily in her high heels. He tried to do the gentlemanly thing and not stare up her skirt as she climbed but it was hard to resist looking. After all, he’d been thinking about what was under her skirt all night.
    The cognac was good but it didn’t taste as addictive as her mouth. He wanted to taste her again. But since they’d entered her apartment she’d been keeping her distance, and he was going to let her have all the space she needed. It was enough that he was here with her.
    She opened the door to the rooftop garden and stepped out into the night. He followed her, breathing in the heavy air. It was crisp and cool, and smelled like spring. There was a hint of rain but also the scent of blooming flowers.
    She hit a button on the wall and small lights lit up the area. A fountain started filling the night with the gentle sound of flowing water. He looked around the gardenoasis that he was standing in—from here it was hard to tell he was in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world.
    “I like this.”
    “I’m glad. I needed a place to escape to when I couldn’t get away so I created this area.”
    “You created it?”
    “I did all the work except the heavy lifting. I figured if it was going to be my retreat I didn’t want anyone else up here. If I had workers helping, they’d sell the story to some paper and then I wouldn’t have any peace.”
    He stepped closer to her and rubbed the back of her neck. Her life did take a toll on her, clearly. And he didn’t want to add to the stress.
    “I’m honored that you are sharing it with me.”
    “Count yourself lucky. I don’t let just anyone up here.”
    “Why me?”
    “You’re different,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment as his fingers stroked her neck and shoulders. Then she pulled away and walked toward the bench nestled in the trees near the fountain.
    He followed her slowly.