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And what a show it is.
She’s a total spitfire—I may be a hundred yards away, but the “fuck off” body language is hard to miss. As are the obscene hand gestures. Not to mention the killer body and long, red corkscrew curls. I don’t have a great view of her face, but I’m pretty sure it will match the rest of her and that intrigues me more than I want to admit.
She intrigues me more than I want to admit.
And since nothing has in far too long, I swim over to the edge of the lake and wade out. Just in time to hear her tell Samuel to “fuck right off! You can’t own a public park.”
He keeps his cool as he reiterates that the lake is off-limits for the next few hours, but she’s having none of it. She hurls a few more choice insults at him as he stands there looking pained, then repeats her refrain about public parks being for the public and therefore incapable of being owned by anyone.
Technically, that’s not exactly true, since all parks in Wildemar belong to the state and my family is the state. But since I’m pretty sure that won’t win me any points with this hot little number with the American accent, I keep that small bit of info to myself even as I approach the two of them.
The rest of my detail gets nervous at the move—I can see Bryce shifting uncomfortably from his spot near the trees. I can’t see Bastian, but then, I don’t have to. In the six weeks he’s been with me, he’s rarely taken his hand off his gun. I’m pretty sure this interaction only has his finger creeping closer to the trigger…
“It’s okay, Samuel,” I say as I get closer, holding my hands up to signal the other two to stay back. Bryce glares at me, but he does as I order.
Samuel doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t so much as look my way, though he does shift a little to the right so that he can cover me. From what, I’m not exactly sure, since the redhead is wearing a purple bikini and flip-flops, neither of which leave her room to hide a weapon. Or anything else…thank God.
Because she is hot. Seriously hot, with a capital H.O.T. She might be small—standing maybe five foot three on a good day—but she’s got major curves in all the right places. So many curves, in fact, that as she huffs indignantly at Samuel, I can’t help wondering if she’s going to huff herself right out of her bikini top.
Just the idea is a bright spot in an otherwise fucked-up day, because I’m dying to find out if her nipples are the same delicate pink as her full, plump lips.
Behind me, I hear Bastian’s shoes crunch over the rocky ground as he moves closer, and a quick glance at Bryce tells me he’s doing the same thing. So much for following orders. I hold up a hand to once again tell them to stand down, but they ignore me. I may be a prince, but in matters of my personal safety, my security detail does whatever they deem necessary, even if it puts them at odds with my wishes.
Especially if it puts them at odds…the three of them are a contrary fucking bunch. Then again, I’m pretty sure that’s why they were assigned to me.
“It’s okay,” I say again, louder this time since it’s for the benefit of all three of my guards. For the first time, the fiery little redhead looks at me.
“No, it’s not!” she argues, tipping her sunglasses down so that I can see the heat in her bright blue eyes. “I want to swim.”
“You can swim,” I say, gesturing expansively toward the lake. “Let the lady through, Samuel.”
He hesitates, but finally gives in when she slaps a hand against his chest and pushes him back a little. “You heard the man. ‘Let the lady through.’?” She says the last in a snide little voice that gets my back up. Or maybe it’s the fact that she doesn’t even glance my way as she passes that pisses me off.
Either way, I can’t resist saying, “No ‘thank you’?”
She stops and turns back to stare at me, this time taking her glasses all the way off to signify she means business. “Excuse me?”
The attitude turns me on way more than it should—she turns me on way more than she should. “Aren’t you even going to say thank you?”
“For what?”
“For me calling off the dogs and letting you in.”
Behind me, Samuel chokes a little at being referred to as a dog, even metaphorically, and I promise myself I’ll make it up to him. Later. After I get this very sexy woman into the nearest bed—or, more likely, towel-covered rock, as my dick is telling me the nearest bed is waaaaaaay too far. Nice to know the anxiety meds haven’t completely killed my libido.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Not even a little.” I step in front of her, very deliberately blocking her path.
“You can’t own a public park!” she says again, voice raised in annoyance. “What part of that aren’t you understanding?”
“The part that forgets about a little-known Wildemarian statute, one that says a man’s entitled to do whatever he has to to protect his land. Within reason, of course.”
“But this isn’t your land,” she retorts. “It’s public parkland.”
“Not if I invoke squatter’s rights.”
“Squatter’s rights?” She looks incredulous. And annoyed. And—this could be wishful thinking, but I don’t think so—a very tiny bit intrigued. “You can’t do that!”
