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I really need to resist him. I can’t be in the public eye. I would be a terrible princess.
But still, stupidly, I say, “I still owe you two dances.”
“You do,” he says, something in his voice making goosebumps break out over my arms.
“Does this mean I’m going to see you again?” I ask. “So we can…dance.”
I shouldn’t. It’s not like I can keep seeing him. But when he was in Autre, it didn’t feel like he was famous or anything. There was no one around taking his picture or making a big deal about him. It felt normal. Safe. I could probably do that again for a weekend.
“Yes, Abigail.” His voice gruff, but firm. “You are going to see me again.”
I shiver. And take a deep breath. And let the meaning of that sink in. He knows why him being a prince is a problem for me, but he wants to see me again anyway.
Okay, we could have a weekend together.
Before he finds a wife.
My stomach tries to drop at that, but I ignore it.
I smile. “Good.”
“It will be very good,” he promises.
I mean, I have no idea what exactly I’ll do with him once we’re together again…
But I have a feeling that the leader of a country, even a small one, will be happy to take charge and I think I’m okay with that. For one weekend.
Chapter 12
Torin
Ido not have a foot fetish.
I have an Abigail Landry fetish.
But I can understand how someone picking up either of our phones might think we are both a little too into feet. Most of my texts to and from Abigail have consisted of a lot of photos of our shoes. And feet.
And hell, I won’t deny that I can’t wait to prop her pretty heels up on my shoulders.
I drag in a deep breath and study the photo she just sent.
Her feet are bare, resting on the edge of a bathtub. Her ankles are crossed and bubbles cling to her feet and calves.
And I swear I can smell the lavender. That has to be what her bathwater is scented with, right?
Fuck that’s hot. The photo, and the fact that she sent it. The photo is hardly dirty. Certainly not as dirty as I would like. But damn, this subtly flirtatious, sweet-but-tempting photo will haunt me.
Honestly, though, I love the one of her toes in the dirt just as much.
I’ve sent my own feet and shoe photos. And none of the captions have read, I want you. Marry me. I’ll do anything.
So far.
This is actually my second photo from her today. And that makes my heart beat a little harder.
The photo from this morning was her in work boots again, her foot on the pedal of a four-wheeler, a sprawling cornfield all around her.
I’d teased her with my photo today without her even realizing it. It’s been two weeks since the wedding and Monday through Friday both weeks I’ve been in meetings. I needed to get outside. I found a horse ranch an hour outside of Shreveport and gave them a sizeable donation to go riding. The photo I sent Abigail was of my foot in the stirrup.
