Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,21

she hired someone on the property to get rid of her?

Surely not. Such an extreme measure wasn't necessary, not when the Princess could have stomped her foot and barked orders for Chey to simply be fired. There were less hectic ways to get her off the property than murder.

“It wasn't me, then. Couldn't have been. I'm thinking it was something other, like you mentioned. Someone shooting when they shouldn't have been. An accident, or just an oversight.” That suited her mind much better than the alternative.

“Mm.” The sound Sander made was nothing more than a low murmur of either agreement or consideration.

“How long will I have to stay here? I'm supposed to have a photo shoot with the family this afternoon.” Chey finished her water and walked the bottle to the trash. It was full, almost needing to be emptied. If this was a vacant cabin, why was there so much trash?

“Until they sound the all clear.”

“Does someone live here?” she asked, changing the subject. On her way past the counter, she straightened a fishing magazine that had been sitting cockeyed. Old habits died hard.

“I do. The King had this place built fifteen years ago, then lost his taste for 'adventuring' on his own property not long after, and it sat empty for almost a decade. Since I'm here so much, they had no problem with me moving in.”

“I see.” That seemed reasonable. He'd been raised on the property, and probably lived in quarters up near the castle previously. Having his 'own' private space was probably preferable to a standard room. “Until they sound the all clear? When might that be?”

Sander finished off his water and pushed off his lean from the sofa. “When they're done with the sweep, they'll call.”

“I'm just looking for a time frame, here. Two hours, four? More?” Chey paced through the living room, pausing here or there to straighten a thing, even if it didn't technically need it.

“Chey. They'll be done when they're done.”

She glanced up and caught his gaze over the back of a couch. He didn't sound angry, only decisive. His tone said that she might as well make herself comfortable for the duration. She wasn't going anywhere for a while.

. . .

“Flore is not a word.” Chey stared at the game of Scrabble, at the word Sander had spelled out, with a wary eye.

“Yes it is.” He sat across from her, coat stripped from his shoulders, the gray flannel shed in its wake. It left him in an unassuming white tee shirt that fit his muscular torso well.

Chey hated that it was such a distraction. “What does it mean then?”

“It's what you do when you're not exactly engaging in foreplay, but sort of. Flor-ay. The in between. That stage when you think you like someone enough to flirt, and they're flirting back, but it's still first-base with a bunch of crap batters up next who might or might not advance you to the next level.” His expression was utterly deadpan.

Chey laughed outright. “You're so full of it. I call crap on your word. You get no points.”

“See? The next batter just struck out, leaving Joe on first base.” He lamented the faux first-baser's loss with a melodramatic sigh.

Their game had been ongoing for more than a half hour. Much to Chey's surprise, Sander proved to be more than willing to pass the time badgering her about her knowledge of English, and attempting to use non-words to gain an advantage. He was comical when he wasn't being an ass, and shockingly good natured overall. Every few minutes he glanced at the windows or his phone, still on high alert despite his banter.

“That's all right. Joe needs to learn strategy. Which happens to be my next word, meaning I just won the game.” Chey snapped down her final tile with a pleased grin.

Sander frowned and bumped the board with his thigh when he stood up out of his chair. The tiles scattered across the table, and his, “Oops” was so contrived that Chey gasped, pointing a finger at his subterfuge.

“You did that on purpose. Cheater.”

He smiled a wolfish smile, tipping the board up so the rest of the tiles would fall to the table top. He closed the board after that and set it back inside the box.

“So what if I did? What're you going to do about it? Take my picture?”

“Cheaters and losers are required to make the winner lunch,” she retorted. His smart comments amused her now, rather than annoyed her. A