Heir Untamed - By Danielle Bourdon Page 0,60

them wonder. I doubt anyone will say anything to you, because it might seem leading and suggestive. If you act like it's not a big deal, then it won't be.” He glanced at the windows with sharp, assessing looks then took two mugs down from the cupboard.

She supposed he was right. If she acted suspicious and guilty, then that's what people would think. Following his glance, she stared at the windows. Past the bullet-proof panes, the night was dark. “You don't think anyone would make an attempt out here, do you?”

“Not if they've got half a brain, and it seems likely given all the other precautions they're taking.”

“Let's hope so. Does this mean we can't go tomorrow night?” She glanced back to Sander just as he took the half filled pot out to pour.

“No, we're going. We'll just have to make sure we're not followed. Shouldn't be too hard.” He pushed her mug across the counter and leaned his hip against the edge.

“I really hope you catch them soon, Sander. I'm going to feel like a sitting duck every time I have to be out in the open for too long.” She sipped the coffee.

“We're doing everything we can. If we get aggressive, we might scare them into hiding. Then it could be weeks before they make another move and catch us off guard.” He met and held her eyes while he took a drink.

“I overheard some Prince or another at the soiree talk about rumors of an assassination attempt.” Chey purposefully left out any more details in the hopes Sander would fill her in on what she was missing, and what Mattias refused to tell her.

He paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. A brow arched and his gaze sharpened on her face. “Well, wasn't that a careless mistake on the Prince's part.”

“I don't think he figured anyone would over hear him.”

“In a room full of people? Someone will always overhear.” He grunted in displeasure.

“So you're not going to tell me, either, are you?”

“No,” he replied bluntly.

“Because it's better for my own safety if I don't know details.”

“That's right. And also because it's not our policy to talk about it outside certain circles.”

Annoyed, she had another sip of coffee.

“What, you don't agree with that?” he asked.

“No, I understand. It's just frustrating to have only half the picture.”

“As soon as we figure it out and make some arrests, you can read about it in the paper.”

“Along with everyone else.” Chey quirked her lips. If that wasn't a reminder that she was one of the common folk, she didn't know what was.

“That's right,” he retorted in a no nonsense tone, apparently unrepentant about putting her in her place.

Rather than get twitchy about the hierarchy and titles and whatnot, Chey set down her cup and folded her arms across the table. Her gaze started around his hips and rose inch by inch up his body until she found his eyes. If nothing else, just staring at his broad chest and strong shoulders for the next ten hours would be a delight. Maybe, if she was lucky, there would be a little more hands on contact than that.

She just had one question left for Sander.

“So. How do you suggest we while away the hours between now and dawn?”

. . .

Waking up with her cheek pressed to the sculpted plane of a masculine chest was something, Chey decided, she could get used to. Heat from Sander's skin warmed her own, the faint thump of his heart a soothing metronome that she'd fallen asleep to. Already there was an ache low in her belly and tenderness between her thighs. Other places paid tribute to Sander's particular brand of possession: the sting of small bites on the back of her shoulder, fingerprint bruises on her hips and the strain of muscles unused to being manipulated into those kinds of positions.

No less than four times had he taken her during the night. Once, after he'd come prowling back from a cursory check of the cabin, he'd been especially demanding. She knew she would wear these badges of passion for days—and couldn't find the will to care.

Lifting her head, she turned her chin to prop it on his sternum to see his face. He was staring at her, one arm cocked up behind his head. Some time during the night, the small ponytail he wore half his hair in had come down, leaving the golden mane loose and wild. She remembered dragging her fingers through the strands