by Tracy Wolff
Lucas snorts and Avery sounds like he’s strangling on his own tongue. I can’t help grinning as I make my way to Savvy’s front door. Maybe it won’t take as long to break in my new bodyguard as I was afraid of.
I can hear music through the open windows, Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie,” and I can’t help thinking about the way Savvy’s hips looked in her black work pants. Can’t help wondering about what she’s wearing now—and whether or not she’ll let me get another good look at her luscious, heart-shaped ass.
At least she’s home, I tell myself as I knock. While I knew she wasn’t scheduled to work, I was afraid she might be running errands or something.
She’s at the front door in seconds, her big brown eyes wide and inquiring…at least until her gaze meets mine. “What are you doing here?” she demands.
“Wow, way to make a guy feel welcome.” I hold the flowers out to her. “These are for you.”
“Thanks, but I’m allergic.” She starts to close the door in my face, but I get a foot wedged in before she can shut it completely.
“Are you seriously allergic?” I ask, still holding out the flowers. What I really want to ask is Are you seriously going to slam the door in my face?
“No.” She studies the blooms for a couple of seconds before snatching them out of my hand. Then she really does close the door and I’m so surprised I don’t do anything to stop her.
Behind me Lucas, Niall and even Avery are full-on laughing now. In fact, I’m pretty sure the only thing keeping them from absolutely annihilating me is the fact that I am still their prince. That somehow only makes it worse.
Gritting my teeth, I ignore them (and try not to remember the good old days when I could have had them banished to the dungeon) as I lift my hand to knock again. But before my knuckles can even meet the wood, the door flies open again and Savvy is standing there, smiling hugely at me.
“I’m just messing with you,” she says as she pulls me inside. “But I have to say, your expression was priceless. Is that the first time a woman’s ever shut the door in your face?”
I think about. “I’m pretty sure it is.”
“I figured. But hey, now you can cross it off your bucket list. Every guy needs to have the experience at least once, don’t you think?”
“I think I was good without it ever happening, actually. Definitely didn’t feel like I was missing anything.”
“Maybe not,” she concedes. But then she grins and it’s so wicked, so wild, that I can feel it all the way to my bones. “You’ve got to admit it was funny, though. God, if you could have seen your face.”
“I’d rather look at yours.” The cheesy line pops out of nowhere and I’m not sure which one of us is more shocked. Shit. What the hell is happening to me? Savvy throws me off balance just by breathing, and I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do to stop it.
Or even if I want to stop it. God knows, every time she opens her mouth—or closes a door in my face or spills a glass of champagne on me—it only makes me hotter. Only makes me want her more. There’s something about how she’s always doing the unexpected, always surprising me, always challenging me, that turns me on in a big fucking way.
The little white shorts and tiny red camisole don’t hurt, either.
And I know I’m not the only one, know the heat isn’t only on my side. I’ve been with enough women in my life to know when one’s attracted to me, and Savvy is, even if she doesn’t want to be.
Half of me wants to push on that a little bit, wants to see where it’ll take me if I get in her space right now. But the other half doesn’t want to risk it, not yet. Not with this woman who is a lot of things, but definitely not predictable.
Besides, I’m pretty sure my time allotment is reaching its upper limits, and I don’t doubt that Avery will come crashing through the front door in about thirty seconds if I don’t get where he can see me.
“Do you want some lemonade?” Savvy asks as she starts walking toward the kitchen.
“I’d love some. But do you mind if I hang out here while you get it?” I take a few steps to the left, making sure to line myself up directly in front of the window.
She turns to me, eyebrows raised, and I figure I might as well own up to the problem. “My babysitters like to keep an eye on me at all times,” I tell her as I point out the window.
She glances from me to where Niall, Lucas and Avery are standing on the sidewalk in their suits, eyes trained on me—and her.
I expect her to be a little annoyed—most women who aren’t crown chasers usually are—but Savvy just laughs and waves. “I’ll pour five glasses of lemonade,” she tosses over her shoulder as she makes her way to the kitchen. “Get comfortable and I’ll be right back.”
From another woman, the invitation to get comfortable would mean she’s down to fuck, but I’m pretty sure Savvy just wants me to take a seat. More’s the pity.
Still, I take her suggestion, settling down on the large, oversized chair positioned directly in front of one of the windows. As I do, I glance around the room, taking in the light yellow couches with their cheery pillows in turquoise and green and red. The rest of the furniture is eclectic—a red credenza against one wall holds a small TV and an old-fashioned sewing machine table acts as an end table—with a vase already filled to the brim with wildflowers.
I take a moment to pat myself on the back there, but then my attention is caught by one of the vibrant paintings on the walls. It’s obviously the Mediterranean, the water is too brilliantly turquoise blue to be anywhere else on earth. But it’s not the color of the water that catches my attention—it’s the fact that the view in the painting is strikingly similar to the view from our house in Cannes. Like arrestingly similar.
I know we’re not the only people with a house on that expanse of beach, but what are the odds that Savvy buys a painting with that same view? The coincidence is a little eerie.
I make a mental note to ask her about it, then get distracted when she comes in carrying a tray loaded with five large glasses of lemonade and a huge plate of cookies.
“Let me get that for you,” I say, jumping up to help.
But she shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be much of a bartender—or a waitress, for that matter—if I couldn’t carry a few drinks.”
“From what I remember, you aren’t much of a waitress.” I take the tray from her despite her protests, and set it down on the large turquoise trunk she’s using as a coffee table.
“Hey now, that was totally on purpose.” She slaps my hand away as I reach for a cookie. “Those are for your bodyguards. They deserve a treat if they’re stuck standing out there in those suits while you’re lolling around in here.”
“Lolling around?” I repeat, snatching a couple cookies while she’s setting our drinks on the trunk. “I think I’m offended.”
“Oh, please. You don’t really expect me to think His Royal Hotness does any actual work, do you?”
“His Royal Hotness earns his keep in other ways, thank you very much.”
“Oh, I just bet.” She picks up the tray, then heads for the front door. “If you really want to help, you can open this door for me.”
“What do I get if I do?” I tease.
She rolls her eyes. “How about the chance to stay dry?” She brandishes the tray like a weapon.
In the end, I hold the door open for her and then watch, amused, as she charms the hell out of my entire detail. So much for breaking down the door to save me. By the time she’s done wrapping them around her finger, I’m pretty sure they’re ready to start trying to protect her from me.
Not that she needs it. Savvy looks like an Amazon (in the best possible way—à la Lynda Carter’s Wonder Woman), has the quick wit of a late-night talk show host and the sarcasm of a teenager. All of which means she’s pretty well covered in the protection department.
She’s smiling when she comes back in the house. “I like your bodyguards,” she tells me.
“I’m pretty sure
they like you, too. Though I prefer to call them my security detail.”
Savvy rolls her eyes. “I just bet you do.”
As she crosses the room, I lean back in the oversized chair so she’s got plenty of room to sit down with me. Instead, she settles on the sofa across the room and I’m left feeling more than a little disgruntled. I’m really not used to having to work this hard to get a woman interested in me.
“Don’t pout,” she tells me after she takes a long sip of lemonade. “It’s so unbecoming.”
She’s right, it is. I wipe the scowl off my face then do what I should have done all along—I move to sit on the sofa next to her. It’s still in view of the window and surely the lemonade has relaxed the guys a little bit, anyway.
“You didn’t ask me how I found you,” I say once I’m settled.
“Considering you’ve got a three man ‘security detail’ out there because you’re currently first in line for the throne, I’m pretty sure I know how you found me. The question is why?”
“Don’t play games.” Her hair has fallen over one eye and I reach out, sweep it away. I want to see her face when she’s talking to me. “It’s so unbecoming.”
“You’re right, it is.” I’m struck again by how well we fit, even before she reaches for my hand and twines our fingers together. It’s uncanny how many times she’s already given voice to things I’ve only thought. “The truth, Kian, is that I’m not up for this right now. And I don’t think you are, either.”
“Up for what?”
She lifts a brow. “Now who’s playing games?”
“Oh. You mean the whole dating-a-prince thing.”
“I mean the whole dating-a-prince thing, especially one whose twin brother—who also happens to be heir to the crown—has gone missing under suspicion of foul play.”
No matter how many times I hear them—no matter how many times I think them—the words are still a blow. I try to cover it up, but Savvy’s watching me more closely than I thought.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flippant when I said that.”
“You didn’t.” But I push off the couch, walk over to the far window—the one my detail isn’t currently staring through—and study the huge pots of flowers that decorate her front yard. “Sometimes it’s just more real than others.”
“I bet.” She hesitates for a second. “Is there any word on Garrett? I mean, other than the official statement?”
“No.” I concentrate on opening my hands from where they just curled into fists of their own volition. “I mean, there’s a lot of information that hasn’t been released. But none of it is worth anything. None of it…”
“Tells you where he is.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.” It comes out a little muffled, a little choked, and I turn to see her wiping the back of her hand across her cheek. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was make you cry.” Sometimes I forget how much Garrett belongs to Wildemar—and to the world. I never forget that I’m royal, never forget what my duty to the people is. But sometimes it’s so hard to remember that they feel that same connection to us, even if it manifests differently.
“You didn’t.”
“It feels like I did.”
“Well, then, it feels wrong.” She moves to stand beside me, and though I’m not looking at her I can feel the heat of her through our clothes.
“Yeah, I get that a lot. Not very surprising, I guess, for a guy who brings his bodyguards with him wherever he goes.”
She smiles, just as I intended her to. “And here I thought they were your security detail.”
I laugh, and it occurs to me that, once again, Savvy’s the only one who’s been able to make me smile, let alone laugh, since Garrett disappeared. Oh, I can give a fake smile with the best of them—it’s in the royal genes, after all—but a genuine smile? A genuine laugh? Savvy’s the only one.
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you, you know that?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she answers haughtily, then ruins the effect by pursing her lips in a you-mean-this-mouth kind of way.
And fuck if that simple little gesture doesn’t have the blood draining from my head straight to my dick.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I reach out, rub my thumb back and forth across her bottom lip. And just that easily, the atmosphere in the room goes from light and flirty to dark and electric.
“Kian,” she whispers against my thumb, and the soft wetness of her breath sends heat sliding along my nerve endings. “This is—”
I know what she’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. Not here, not now, and definitely not with her. So I do the only thing I can do. I press my lips against hers and cut her off.
Chapter 5
Savvy doesn’t respond, for one second. Two. And then she sighs, a long, shuddering breath that seems to come from deep inside of her.
“Kian.” This time when she says my name, it sounds more like a plea than a protest. It’s the sound I’ve been waiting for, the one that got me hot last night and had me tossing and turning in sweat-soaked sheets until dawn.
I have the same reaction to it now, my cock turning rock-hard and my whole body going on red alert. And then I’m kissing her, softly, slowly, completely.
I take my time, savoring the softness of her lips and the fun little dips at the corners of her mouth. Then I trace my tongue along her full bottom lip, savoring the swell of it before sweeping around and lingering at the cupid’s bow in the center of her upper lip.
“Kian,” she gasps one more time, her head tipping back on her shoulders as her eyes flutter closed. “Kiss me, again. Please. Kiss me for real.”
It’s all the invitation I need. Taking advantage of her open mouth, I thrust my tongue inside and delve deep. She’s softer than I imagined, hotter than I dreamed. And she tastes sweet, so sweet, like strawberries drizzled with sun-warmed honey.
I try to be gentle, try to give her the tenderness she deserves and that I so desperately want to show her. But it’s hard when my whole body is on high alert and my brain is chanting take, take, take.
It’s like I’m drowning in her, completely lost in the touch and taste and scent of her. Lust—sharp and hot and all-consuming—rises up inside me. It rakes its talons through my belly, gets in my head and demands that I take her. That I fuck her. That I claim her, again and again and again, until she can’t remember her own name, let alone anyone or anything who came before me.
It’s a lot to ask for, a lot to demand, and there’s a part of me that expects her to push back, to tell me to get lost. But instead, she moans low in her throat, her fingers clutching at my chest even as she slides her arms up to wrap around my neck.
And so I delve deeper, my tongue stroking against hers as I do crazy, wicked, wild things to her mouth. As I revel in each moan and whimper that escapes her lips.
I bite her lips, lick the roof of her mouth, suck her tongue deep inside my own mouth and groan aloud at her response, at the way she searches me right back. Savvy is no shrinking violet, and she gives as good as she gets, exploring my mouth the same way I explored hers.
It feels so good—she feels so good—and that’s what finally gives me the strength to rip my mouth from hers. To ignore her protests and those deep inside of me as I seek to bring us back down. Because as much as I want to stand here kissing her forever, as much as I want to kiss her until our lips are slick and sore and swollen, there are three security guards standing outside watching us right now. And while I’ve never before minded them bearing witness to what I get up to, letting them see what passes between me and Savvy feels wrong.
And so I trail my lips down her cheeks, pressing soft, sweet kisses to her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat as I wait for her breathing to even out and her hands to unclench from around my neck.
It takes a little while—the space between one breath,
two, three—for her to come back to herself. For awareness to bloom in her eyes and heat to blaze in her cheeks. And when it does, I feel like I’ve lost something I never even realized I had.
“I’m sorry—”
I cut her off with a finger on her kiss-swollen lips. “If I had my way, we’d be in your bedroom right now, and I’d be buried balls deep inside you while you screamed my name. So please, don’t apologize.”
Something new moves in her eyes at my words, something dark and deep and needy. But there’s a wariness there, too, and that—above everything else—is why I stopped.
“But my security detail is right outside,” I remind her, “and I’m not okay with them seeing any more of this.”
Her cheeks burn even brighter at the reminder, and I want to kick myself as she buries her face against my chest. “Hey, hey,” I whisper against her sweet-smelling hair. “None of that. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I shudder to think what you get up to on a regular basis, then.” She glances up at me from beneath impossibly long lashes. “I almost climbed you like a tree in full view of your security and my neighbors. I’m pretty sure that counts as something to be embarrassed about.”
“Well, it’s not. I promise.”
“Oh, well, if His Royal Hotness says not to be embarrassed…”
“If His Royal Hotness says it, you should believe him.”
“Yeah, right.” She laughs a little. “I’ve seen the tabloid pictures.”
“Which is why you should believe me. I know what I’m talking about.”
“More like you have no shame,” she retorts with a roll of her eyes. But her cheeks have returned to their normal bronzy color and her eyes look clear, which for now is enough for me.
“I want to take you on a date.” The words come out before I even know I’m going to say them. But once they’re out there, hanging between us, I have no desire to take them back. They feel good, right.
At least for me. I’m not so sure about Savvy, who is looking at me like I’ve just suggested a day trip to Mars. Or maybe Saturn. “On a date?” she repeats.