she hoped her perceptive little guard picked up on the order to let a woman breathe, already.
“Anytime you feel like reeling him in, Cowan,” Peter said.
Yeah, yeah.
Kris halted. Frankie instantly mirrored the movement, pressing herself into the recess of a residential door front and frowning when he unfolded a piece of paper and glanced from it to the nearest street sign. Oh, he had to be kidding. He was—he was going to walk down that unlit lane, knowing he was being followed. Probably in anticipation of a confrontation.
With a final glance behind him, Kris set off into the dark.
“For the love of God,” she muttered.
“Just give the word.” Peter spoke quietly.
“He’s an idiot,” she replied as she darted across the street. “A blue-blooded idiot.”
“We’re at the top of Hillcrest,” Hanna said. “Twenty seconds away at your order.”
Frankie tapped the mic again and slipped into the lane.
She could call out and have it over with, but a scare could help him learn the risk of wandering off alone. The lane was uphill, steep like so much of this city. Her soft boots made no sound on the cobblestones. Ahead of her, Kris strolled casually, back turned like a well-disguised trap. Or an easy target. Idiot. The lane cut behind two rows of honey-stoned houses, so nothing but latched back gates would witness their encounter.
Dread rising, she calculated a plan. He was expecting her. He was larger, stronger—and her prince. Under no circumstances could she accidentally harm him. Dismay clutched the length of her windpipe at her obvious move.
Then she ran.
No time to lose her nerve or call in his security team to take her place. She sprinted at him, her once-best friend, and he stiffened at the light scuff of her footfalls. She sprinted even as he whipped his head around, his body spinning to face her a second later.
Surprise flashed across his face—surprise, she assumed, at registering a woman’s silhouette in the filtered moonlight. She kept her chin tucked low and hands open to show she held no weapon.
He uncoiled slightly, frowning as she neared. “What exactly do you intend to—”
She tackled him.
The incline lessened the fall. He grunted as she landed on top of him, but his hands swiftly found her upper arms and he rolled with her, covering her torso with his chest, splaying a bent knee out to lock over her thighs. Not painful pressure, but not underestimating her either. He had her pinned. Her breath came hard.
There was no escaping this truth.
To her horror, she started trembling.
“That was cute.” His voice was rough, the words hot on her cheek.
She closed her eyes, aching at the end-of-day smell of him, and shifted beneath his weight. He was as intense and unyielding above her as she’d always imagined. If only time would stop—let her stay in this liminal moment between friendship and condemnation where she could imagine his body was a shield from the rest of the world.
“Now why are you following me?”
She didn’t answer.
With a huff, he pulled back to scowl down at her. It was everything she could do to hold still, not thrash in his arms and fight her own unmasking. Not breathing, she watched his expression slowly clear. Reset. Then his whole body jolted in shock.
“Frankie?” Her name sounded numb on his tongue.
Panic rose in her. She was powerless. Trapped.
Instinct got her out. Squirming, she used his moment of shock to her advantage and levered him onto his back until she straddled him, her palms firm on his bare shoulders. His hard, broad, otherwise untouchable shoulders. She shifted her grip, savoring the ten tiny slides of her fingertips against his skin. God. She did it again, quickly, her thumbs tracing a full crescent of marble-smooth skin, and locked her elbows to keep from yielding completely.
Bracing, she met his stare as his features opened in such delicate disbelief, such wonder, her heart pitched like a bird that had suddenly forgotten how to fly.
“Frankie,” he said in a voice so gentle, it turned her whole body to tissue paper. One caress away from tearing. “You found me.”
Guilt pierced deep. “Yes,” she managed to say.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” His eyes were wide. ‘I—I thought I’d never . . .” And with a breathy growl, he lifted a hand to cup her face. His palm was warm on her skin, his fingers pressing into her scalp behind her ear.
She leaned into his touch, willing herself not to cry.
“I’ve missed you.” His thumb brushed a path across her