Royally Claimed by Marie Donovan Page B

one of those novels her mother had devoured when Julia was a kid. Except Julia had never grown up to be as buxom as those heroines.
    On the other hand, Frank apparently still thought she was fine in the buxom department. And she was pretty sure he had absolutely no interest in running around his island in a thunderstorm in the dark, given how he’d cursed before going outside to fix whatever was thumping.
    He was obviously interested in staying indoors with a nice fire, a bottle of wine and a heaping helping of soft bedding.
    Her eyes strayed to the pile of blankets. It did make sense to stay downstairs since their only heat source was the fireplace.
    She snorted. Oh, yes, that wouldn’t be their only heat source.
    The lights went off and a dark figure stood in the door, silhouetted by lightning. Julia let out a piercing shriek that surprised even herself.
    â€œ Ay, caramba! Julia?”
    â€œFrank?”
    â€œWho else would it be?” He came into the kitchen and she shrunk back until she could see his face lit up by the next lightning bolt.
    â€œOh. Hi, Frank.”
    â€œHi, Frank?” he echoed. “You scared the life out of me. Meu Deus, oh, my God. My heart is pounding.”
    â€œGood thing we have the defibrillator.”
    â€œVery funny.” He shucked his jacket and hung it up on a hook near the door. “As I was planning to tell you before we started our little horror movie reenactment—”
    Julia couldn’t help giggling.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” He came closer, flipping the wet hair out of his eyes.
    â€œWhile you were out, I was thinking that we were reenacting a gothic novel.”
    â€œEh?”
    â€œDark, stormy nights, vulnerable maidens being chased by the lord of the manor.”
    â€œThat does sound more fun than my idea,” he admitted. “What does the lord of the manor do to the vulnerable maiden when he catches her?”
    â€œFrank!” She was happy he couldn’t see her blushing.
    He sighed. “Well, if you’ve ruled out the chase scene, let’s light some candles.” He pulled out some matches from next to the fireplace and lit several candles as well as a lantern. With the additional light, she saw it wasn’t just his hair that was wet.
    â€œThat raincoat didn’t do you much good—you’re wet down to the skin.”
    He shrugged. “The door on the outbuilding blew open and broke a pane of glass when it hit. I was standing right under the gutter overflow trying to fix the latch and the water ran down my back. I’ll dry out soon, especially once I get this fire going.” He knelt at thehearth and patiently coaxed the kindling and smaller logs to full flame.
    â€œThat looks great. Now will you go change?”
    â€œFine, fine,” he grumbled, snagging a lantern to take upstairs. “Don’t go anywhere. I don’t feel like chasing you across the yard, however literary it would be.”
    He went upstairs and she frantically patted her hair down, but the humidity was wreaking its vengeance on her for daring to try to straighten it. She gave up and finger-curled a few strands around her face.
    And anyway, they were using candles and firelight, and didn’t every woman look better in that light? She looked down at her ruffled blouse, which was as droopy as her hair was puffy.
    Was she keeping it on or taking it off? She realized Frank hadn’t brought her to his island specifically for making love, but it seemed as if the opportunity was presenting itself.
    He reappeared in the doorway from the hall. She nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight. He wore old gray sweatpants riding low on his hips, a white towel slung around his neck—and nothing else. The firelight turned his skin to molten gold, the dark hair on his chest narrowing into a delicious line pointing south. All that separated her from him was a tug of the elastic. She had the sneaking suspicion he was