Her Unforgettable Royal Lover(23)

When they caught up with him at the landing outside the loft, Dom gestured to the large envelope in his hand. “Is that for me?”

“It is if you’re Dominic St. Sebastian.”

He signed for the delivery, noting the address of the sender. “It’s from Sarah.”

He pulled the tab on the outer envelope and handed Natalie the one inside. She fingered the bulging package before slipping it into her new straw tote. She didn’t know the currency or the denomination of the notes her employer had sent but it felt like a fat wad. More than enough, she was sure, to repay Dom for her new clothes and the consult with Dr. Kovacs.

The money provided an unexpected anchor in her drifting world. When Dom unlocked the door to the loft and stood aside for her to enter, the hound provided another. Delirious with joy at their return, he woofed and waggled and whirled in ecstatic circles.

“Okay, Dog, okay.” Laughing, Natalie dropped to her knees and fondled his ears. “I missed you, too.”

He got in a few quick licks on her cheeks and chin before she could dodge them. The silly grin on his face tugged at her heart.

“You can’t keep calling him ‘Dog,’” she scolded Dom. “He needs a proper name.”

“What do you suggest?”

She studied the animal’s madly whipping tail and white coat with its saddle-brown markings. “He looks a lot like a greyhound, but he’s not, is he?”

“There may be some greyhound in him but he’s mostly Magyar Agár.”

“Magyar Agár.” She rolled the words around in her head but drew a blank. “I’m not familiar with that breed.”

“They’re long-distance-racing and hunting hounds. In the old days, they would run alongside horsemen, often for twenty miles or more, to take down fast game like deer or hare. Anyone could own one, but big fellows like this one normally belonged to royalty.”

“Royalty, huh. That settles it.” She gave the cropped ears another tug. “You have to call him Duke.”

“No.”

“It’s perfect,” she insisted with a wicked glint in her eyes.

“No, Natalie.”

“Think of the fun you can have if some pesky reporter wants to interview the duke.”

Even better, think of the fun she could have whistling and ordering him to heel. “What do you say?” she asked the hound. “Think you could live with a royal title?”

Her answer was an ear-rattling woof.

“There, that settles the matter.” She rose and dusted her hands. “What happens to Duke here when you’re off doing your James Bond thing?”

“There’s a girl in the apartment downstairs who looks after him for me.”

Of course there was. Probably another Arabella-From-London type. Natalie could just imagine what kind of payment she demanded for her dog-sitting services.

The thought was small and nasty and not one she was proud of. She chalked it up to these bizarre circumstances and the fact that she could still feel the imprint of Dom’s mouth on her.

“I’d better take his highness out,” he said. “Do you want to walk with us?”

She did, but she couldn’t get the memory of their kiss out of her head. It didn’t help that Dom was leaning against the counter, looking at her with those bedroom eyes.

“You go ahead,” she said, needing some time and space. As an excuse she held up the straw tote with its cache of newly purchased toiletries. “Do you mind if I put some of these things in your bathroom?”

“Be my guest, drágám.”

“I asked you not to call me that.”

Nerves and a spark of temper made her sound waspish even to her own ears. He noted the tone but shrugged it off.

“So you did. I’ll call you Natushka, then. Little Natalie.”

That didn’t sound any more dignified but she decided not to argue.

When he left with the dog, she emptied the tote. The toothbrush came out of its protective plastic sleeve first. A good brushing made up for her earlier finger-work, but she grimaced when she tried to find a spot in the bathroom for the rest of her purchases.

The sink area was littered with shaving gear, a hairbrush with a few short hairs that might or might not belong to the dog, dental floss and a dusty bottle of aftershave with the cap crusted on. The rest of the bathroom wasn’t much better. Her wrinkled clothes occupied the towel rack. A shampoo bottle lay tipped on its side in the shower. The damp towels from their morning showers were draped over the shower door.

When she swept her skirt, blouse and jacket from the rack, her nose wrinkled at the faint but still-present river smell. They were too far gone to salvage. Not that Natalie wanted to. She couldn’t believe she’d traipsed around the capitals of Europe in such a shapeless, ugly suit. Wadding it into a ball, she took it to the kitchen and searched for a wastebasket.