Chapter Twelve
Bliss. That's what it was. Two months of absolute bliss. Harry was the most incredible person she'd ever known, and Ruth was in grave danger of falling madly in love with him.
From the first moment she saw him, she'd liked him. He was charming and funny and kind. He didn't put much stock in formality or pretentious scraping and bowing—something she was immensely grateful for. He was well-respected and he worked hard and he cared about the work they did. He made her laugh and his smile gave her butterflies and he made love to her in a way that made her whole body quiver with pleasure. And if she were honest with herself, she'd admit she was already in love with him. How could she not be?
They'd gotten into a bit of a routine, something that Ruth appreciated. She liked predictability and knowing where she stood whenever possible. It was something she liked about intelligence work and royalty both. There were rules of conduct to follow. Procedures and processes for efficiency and decorum. As an analyst, it was her job to work within those confines and see beyond them to find answers. As a princess, it was her job to maintain grace and poise under any and all circumstances. Ruth knew she was a much better analyst than a princess.
But with Harry, the routine was a comfort. They worked all day every day together. He would take her out to dinner or to the cinema or to a play at least once a week and then take her home and take her to bed. Sometimes he would come over for dinner and Marta would cook for them before taking her leave. Only Tom was ever around, and he stayed in his security office and his own quarters. She and Harry had privacy and freedom. And Harry was over so often that even Fidget had gotten used to him. No more claws while they were in bed, particularly since Ruth had gotten into the habit of making sure Fidget was left outside the bedroom when she and Harry went up. And Harry even started saying hello to the cat and not being bothered when he wound around Harry's ankles under the dining table.
Work was just as easy and fulfilling as before. Well, the work wasn't always easy, but the relationship she and Harry had at work certainly was. Ruth had taken to finishing his sentences in briefings. The first few times she'd done it, she'd nearly clapped her hands over her mouth and cursed her wretched tongue, but Harry hadn't seemed to mind. Once or twice he'd given her a little nod, which let her know she wasn't in trouble, at least. Now, he seemed to appreciate it.
The phone on her desk rang, interrupting her pointless but happy musings. She picked it up immediately. "Foreign Intelligence, this is Ruth," she answered by rote.
"Hello Ruth of Foreign Intelligence, could you come into my office for a moment, please?"
She smiled upon hearing that low, seductive voice she adored. She looked up to the window into Harry's office. He was gazing out at her with a smile of his own. Ruth felt the urge to tease him just a little bit. "And what is it you need me for, Harry?"
"Oh I can think of a whole host of things."
"Such as?" she asked with a smirk.
Harry's brow arched slightly. He paused, obviously trying to decide where he wanted to take this conversation. "Well, on a work-related basis, I need that report on San Salazar."
"Right, of course," she replied, switching back into work mode.
She was about to hang up and grab the report for him off the haphazard pile on her desk when he cut in, "But there are other things as well."
"Other things?" She looked back from her files to Harry still watching her through the window.
"Mmm," he hummed in her ear. "I've been having a rather particular fantasy this morning while sitting here bored at my desk that I certainly need you for. I keep thinking about that burgundy dress you wore to the ballet last week."
Ruth felt herself blush. She'd gotten that dress from the royal designer—every few months she was taken to a showroom to choose new clothes for herself, usually for official events and duties but certainly not limited to them—with Harry in mind. He'd commented more than once about the paleness of her skin and the way he liked to see it and touch it. Ruth was not one to show off her body but seeing the look on Harry's face when she did was absolutely priceless. That burgundy dress was floor-length and long-sleeved, but it had a daring v-neck and a high slit up the front of the full skirt. When she walked, her entire right leg up to her midthigh was exposed. And the cut was so low that she could not wear a proper bra with the dress. She'd felt wildly self-conscious until Harry gaped at her with the most immediate look of arousal that Ruth had ever seen. Never in her life had she inspired such a thing in any man. But she'd wanted to try with him, and it looked like she succeeded. Tom had driven them to and from the ballet and both in the car and in Harry's private box in the theater, his hand had been practically glued to her bare leg. And as soon as they had gone inside her house at the end of the evening, his lips had attached to the exposed skin of her chest.
"Next time you wear that dress, I think I want you to keep it on while I'm inside of you," he growled.
A rush of heat and wetness pooled between her legs and Ruth emitted a small whimper before clearing her throat. "I think the dress would get too wrinkled if I was in it while you're on top of me," she pointed out quietly.
Harry chuckled. "Oh no, it won't get as wrinkled if you're on top of me. I've been picturing us on your sofa with you straddling me."
Ruth whimpered again.
"Alright, enough of this. Bring me that report," he ordered. Without any further word, he hung up.
Poor Ruth was left there feeling a bit dazed. Somehow, some way, she wanted to make that fantasy of Harry's come true.
But she was at work and there were things to do for now. She shook herself and rummaged through her stacks of files to find that report he'd asked for. Upon finding it, she stood up, slightly wobbly, and went straight to Harry's office. It barely registered in her mind that the blinds on his window were suddenly closed.
Ruth walked into his office without knocking, something that had become her usual habit even before they started dating. "Harry, here's that…"
Her words were cut off by his lips on hers. The file fell out of her hand onto the floor as he shut the door and backed her up against it, kissing her hungrily.
They indulged for a minute or so before Ruth pulled away. "You're not supposed to do that at work," she chided.
"Yes, I know," he replied. "But I was watching you work and you just look so pretty and I couldn't resist." He kissed her again for good measure.
Ruth practically melted into a puddle right then and there. How any of this could be happening to her, the reluctant princess, she would never understand. But as that moniker flitted through her mind, her mood sobered quickly. She extricated herself from Harry's arms and bent down to pick up the fallen file.
Harry got the message and went back to a more professional distance. "I have to be home for dinner tonight, but maybe we can see a film tomorrow?" he offered.
She stood up with her file and gave him an apologetic smile. "Tomorrow's the reception, remember?"
"Ah yes, the new batch of Sirs and Dames," Harry recalled.
"I do hate going to that. I just stand there trying to look regal while Grandfather goes through that stupid ceremony with the sword and pinning medals on people," she complained.
"Yes, I remember," he said.
"Oh of course you do. But I didn't go to your ceremony. I was in school at the time."
He nodded. "Just the King and the two Princes. Which I guess to you is Grandfather and Dad and Uncle…"
"Edmund. You should get used to that, he's your next king," Ruth reminded.
"Well, when he's king, I'll learn his name."
She pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. Harry had spent most of his life on foreign bases and paying absolutely no attention to the royal family. She liked that about him. But she did feel silly sometimes reminding him who her relatives were. Almost everyone else already knew. Strangely refreshing, actually. "King Edmund, what a strange thing that will be," she thought aloud. "And that cow of a wife of his is going to be Queen. God willing, they can have children and she'll be kept busy with them and leave the rest of us alone."
"Not a fan of your aunt?" Harry laughed.
Ruth glowered slightly. "She's only five years older than me, so no, I'm not much of a fan at all."
Harry looked properly taken aback at that. He must have known that Uncle Edmund was older than Ruth's own father, which put the age difference between the Prince and his wife at more than twenty years. Ruth was well aware of that already and had been since the wedding about two months before she'd gotten to transfer to Foreign Intelligence. But there had to be heirs and marrying a young woman of good background was the best way to have them. Or so people believe. Already almost two years married and not even a hint of royal pregnancy. Ah well. None of that was really any of Ruth's concern.
She turned her attention back to Harry. He was looking at her a bit strangely, likely because she'd been lost in thought for a minute. Impulsively, she leaned in to kiss him gently.
He smiled against her lips. "So if I can't see you tonight or tomorrow, how about Friday?"
"Perfect. Is there a film you want to go see?"
"Actually, I had something else in mind."
"Oh?"
"I was wondering if you'd like to come over to mine for dinner. So you can meet everyone."
Harry had never invited her to his before. She'd not thought much of it, particularly because of the security issues involved with Ruth going to new places. "I would love to, Harry, thank you," she replied happily. "You'll have to give me your address so I can pass it along to Tom. He may have to do some kind of inspection or something before I can go over, if that's alright."
"Of course," he replied understandingly. He kissed her one last time. "Now kindly leave so I can review this report and get some work done. And I'll try to keep my hands off you till I get to see you outside the office."
Ruth smiled and left before they could distract each other again.