Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,10

when she would have pulled her hand free, he turned it over and brought it to his lips. There he brushed a kiss across her knuckles before releasing.

Chey, dumbfounded, stared like a green schoolgirl. Why was he kissing her hand? Was that another Royal custom? Why, oh why, was he even paying any attention to her? She was the lowly photographer, not worth his time. Right?

“The pleasure, Miss Sinclair, is mine.” He retained strict eye contact while gesturing to the hall. “Walk with me?”

Unnerved by the weight of his attention, Chey inclined her head and turned to walk with him along the hall.

“I thought to take some pictures of the interior. There are so many unique ways to capture the essence of your home, it's hard to know where to start,” she said, sticking to the safe subject of work.

“I suppose there are. It's a lot of ground to cover. But then, you will be here a while, which gives you plenty of time to be thorough.” He clasped his hands behind him, pacing languid as a tiger beside her. His accent rolled smooth from his tongue, raspy and cultured.

“Almost four months. It's the longest I've ever been on assignment anywhere. I'm looking forward to finding the shots no one else has yet.” She risked a glance aside. He was watching her instead of the hallway, pinning her with dark eyes that gleamed with intelligence and interest.

“Four months. A lot can happen in four months,” he said in a musing tone. “What does your family think of you being gone that long?”

Chey felt a pang at the thought of her parents. “My parents perished in a car accident almost nine months ago. I have no siblings.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. No husband, either?”

“No husband. Not even a boyfriend.”

“I find that difficult to believe. Surely there is someone you hold even a small amount of affection for?”

“Not any longer. I broke that off when I caught him on a date with not one, but two other women.” Chey snorted, forgetting herself. Covering the snort with a delicate cough, she brought a hand up to check the weight of the camera hanging around her neck. A distraction for herself if nothing else.

Mattias laughed. He had a deep, rich laugh that shook his chest and shoulders. “Well. Then I suppose he deserves what he gets.”

“What he got was a heck of a one night stand. Good riddance.” Her candor showed through speaking of her past. Chey thought she should temper her sometimes bold tongue—and then decided not to. After all, what did it matter? She was here to work, not to impress a Prince. Especially one who was so obviously involved with someone.

Another laugh greeted her candid reply. “A kitten with claws. I would have never guessed.”

“And yet your tone suggests that was exactly what you expected,” she countered. Why was she calling him out? He was a Prince for crying out loud, and here she was, baiting him. Testing his penchant for truth.

Mattias stopped walking so quickly that Chey found herself five steps ahead before she realized he wasn't at her side any longer. Just that fast, she regretted her wayward tongue. She'd offended him by talking back, or challenging him. On his own turf, no less. Stifling a cringe, she turned back to see him regarding her in that intense way he had, eyes narrowed to slits.

Don't get yourself kicked off the assignment before it even gets started, idiot, she chided herself. She'd already spent a good portion of the initial payment on rent. Chey didn't have the luxury of being fired and having to pay the money back. Before an apology could tumble from her lips, he smiled. A subtle curve of his mouth that accentuated the cleft in his chin.

“I hadn't realized just how astute you are, Miss Sinclair. Well done. That, indeed, is precisely what I was thinking. Can you guess what else is on my mind?” he asked, resuming a slow walk. He didn't take his eyes from her, even when he drew abreast.

Chey broke eye contact, exhaling in relief. She hadn't offended him. Continuing their walk, she stared ahead at the upcoming juncture in the hallway. His loaded question gave her pause. It was the kind of question men who had been trading electric looks with a woman asks when he expects her to play coy and mention something about sex or bed.

“You're hoping I'll take a few extra pictures just for you.” Because if not