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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.”
