Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,13
into a tiny ponytail that somehow made him seem all the more male. He wore a navy, thin ribbed sweater that outlined the hard muscles of his shoulders and chest.
Chey rarely thought of men as beautiful—but this one was.
He got up and pulled her with him, hardly out of breath for the chase and tumble to the ground.
“By who? Start talking before I arrest you and haul you to jail.” He didn't bother to brush clinging bits of debris from his navy dockers. Putting his hands on his narrow hips, he glared down at her from a height of at least six-three.
Shaking with anger, Chey acted before she thought. As if her hand had a mind of its own, she cracked her palm against his face. “I'm a guest of the Royal family, you ass. No one mentioned any escort when they said I was allowed to use the stables!”
His head barely twitched for the slap. Absorbing the impact, he narrowed his eyes and took a threatening step closer. “Visitors don't roam the lands without escort. I think I know the rules.”
Chey held her ground, chest rising and falling rapidly. How dare he. “Then I guess you need to check in with your superiors more often. Because I was given leeway to ride and explore as I please.”
“And just which member of the family are you a guest of?” he asked in a silky voice, like he didn't believe her. “Viia? Aurora? Can't be Natalia.”
“They flew me here from the United States to take pictures of the family and the grounds. I'm a guest here for the next four months,” she spat, wiping the side of her wrist against her mouth.
The rude man barked a laugh. “Is that so? A photographer, eh? What's the old man trying to do, capture the 'essence' of the Royal family and their holdings?”
Taken aback by his sarcasm, Chey narrowed her eyes. “Are you always this cynical about your employer?”
He pulled a cell phone from the front pocket of his trousers and took a few steps back. The man had the gall to smirk. “Sweetheart, if I find out you're the paparazzi, you're going to have a lot more to worry about than how cynical I am.”
“I'm telling you, I'm their guest--”
“So you've said. We'll find out soon enough, hm?” He pressed his thumb over the screen of his phone and put it to his ear. A rapid stream of his mother tongue hit the air, none of which Chey understood.
In between his conversation, he whistled toward the horses, both which stood nearby between two trees. The creatures wandered back, hooves clopping over leaves and other debris.
As full dark descended, Chey fretted about finding her way back to the stables. The last thing she wanted to do was ask this man for anything, directions included.
Lowering the phone, he slid it into his pocket. “Chey Sinclair, photographer for hire. Looks like your story pans out. Next time you go riding, do so before dark and stay out of the woods.”
“But I plan to come back here tomorrow morning and take pictures by the lake. After all, I'm here to catch the essence of Latvala, lakes and landscape included.” If it took her all night to find her way back to the castle, then it was well worth the satisfaction she felt at not allowing him to order her around. Turning away, she brushed at her clothing and approached the buckskin mare.
“You're going to get yourself hurt, that's what. Do you even know your way home, little lady?” He strode up to his steed and swung up into the saddle with effortless ease.
“If I don't know the way home, surely the mare does.” Chey, sore from the tumble, refused to acknowledge it. Setting her foot in the stirrup, she mounted up and settled into the saddle. One look around confirmed her worst fear; she had no idea which way to go. Everything looked the same with the tall trees blocking sight of the castle and the darkness obliterating any trail she might have left in her headlong rush to evade him.
“I won't have more serious injuries on my conscious because you're too stubborn to ask for help. Follow me back to the main trail.” He reined his horse around and let it pick its way through the underbrush.
“And why should I ask anything from a man who sees fit to tackle innocent women to the ground?” Reluctantly, Chey gave her mare lead to follow.
“If you don't, you'll