Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,44
on the seat to take several pictures of Sander. He smirked instead of smiled.
“Oh, come on. It won't hurt you to smile just once.”
He flashed a devastating smile while her camera was hanging around her neck instead of up at her eye.
“That's not fair! Do it again.” She raised the camera.
“You're supposed to be taking pictures of the landscape, not me.”
Chey wanted to say that he made the landscape much more interesting but didn't dare. “One more smile.”
Sander angled the oar across his lap, the paddle hanging over the water. Beads of gold dripped from the blade into the river. He looked as rugged as the terrain drenched in colors of the sunrise, and Chey didn't waste the opportunity to get a few more pictures.
He indulged her and smiled, all teeth and charismatic charm.
“Thank you. Was that so hard?” She teased him while she turned to face straight, one hand shooting out to the bench she sat on when the canoe rocked side to side.
“Yes,” he retorted with a dry tone. “You didn't rock the boat that much, don't worry. This baby can take a lot more than a gentle sway before it tips over.”
“It does feel pretty balanced,” she admitted. Chey was a novice to canoeing. Any kind of tilt prompted her to hold on whether she needed to or not. “Do you do this often?”
“When work permits. I do get days off like other normal people.” The slice of the paddle through the water was quiet yet effective.
“And you control all of the security for the Royals?”
“Yes. I have managers that oversee the castle itself, the front gates, and the back property here. A whole different crew represents the guards who protect the family on a more personal basis.”
“Do you ever protect the Royal family on a more personal basis?” She glanced over her shoulder. He snorted.
“I prefer to worry about security as a whole.”
“That was a diplomatic answer if I've ever heard one.”
“I can be diplomatic when the situation calls for it.”
She laughed. “Like when you tackled me off the horse?”
“You should learn to mind. Then I wouldn't have had to tackle you at all.”
“I only mind when the situation calls for it.” Chey should have checked her sass at the door, but couldn't care enough to do so.
He barked a short laugh. The sound carried across the water. “Really now. Isn't that interesting. I wonder what situation that could possibly be,” he said in a way that suggested he knew exactly which situation it was.
“Quit wallowing in the gutter. I can all but hear your dastardly thoughts from here.” It amused her that he thought it had something to do with bed or sex. Most men would though. They were hardwired that way.
“What I'm wondering, is if you're ever going to pick up the oar and row.”
“You're doing a splendid job.”
“You can't fully experience canoeing unless you actually do some of the work. Come on.”
Laying the camera against her chest, checking the strap around her neck twice to make sure it was secure, she grabbed hold of the oar tucked inside the canoe and got a good grip on it. Then she glanced back once to time her stroke to his. The pull on the oar was stronger than she thought it might be.
“Don't dig it all the way in to the grip you have on the handle. Let the paddle do more of the work.”
In her attempt to fix her stroke, she accidentally sliced the paddle into the water too soon, creating a splash that washed over the front of the canoe.
“That's why I sat in the back.” He sounded amused.
Feeling mischievous, Chey reversed the slap of the paddle, sending an arc behind her.
He grunted, then spewed a few sentences in his mother tongue.
Laughing, she dipped the oar again, this time without any splash. “That's what you get for being smug.”
“Do it again, and I'll show you what you get for being petulant.” A playful growl laced his threat.
“I wasn't being petulant.”
“Yes you were. Semantics, though. Just understand that my paybacks are serious business.”
“You wouldn't dump me into the water.” She glanced behind her, a brow arched.
He arched one back. Wouldn't he? That's what his expression said.
“My camera!”
“Can be replaced. Though the pictures you've taken cannot. Pity.”
He won that round. With a silent laugh, Chey faced forward and got down to the business of rowing.
. . .
The breadth of the river narrowed and widened, pinching between cliffs and then shallowing out as the craggy rock