Ivy’s fingers splay over my bare chest. Her breath hitches. I can see the pulse thumping in her neck as her eyes widen.
Angling my head, I lean toward her. In a moment, I’ll taste those perfect lips between mine. I’ll curl my fingers into her dark hair and taste her silken, white skin.
I’ll kiss the only woman that I’ve actually wanted to kiss in almost a year…
…but at the last moment, she turns her head and pushes me back harder than I would have expected her to be able to.
Too hard.
I drank and smoked too much tonight—or maybe I ate too quickly. I took one too many painkillers. Maybe I’m still learning how to walk on these unsteady baby Bambi legs of mine, and I’m destined to fall over all the time from now on.
Whatever the reason is, I can’t hold my balance and I stumble backward. Arms flailing, legs unsteady, I take another step back, but it’s not enough. I twist, hoping to grab onto something, but the edge of the marble countertop is closer than I anticipated.
So close, in fact, that I don’t even have time to react until I hit the edge of my head against it, and crumple to the floor.
5
Ivy
Prince, down.
Blood, everywhere.
Ivy, panicking.
“Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.” I scramble forward, reaching for a semi-clean tea towel as the Prince groans at my feet.
He’s making noise, so at least that means he’s not dead.
Farcliff Almighty, I almost killed the visiting Prince of Argyle because he tried to kiss me. I can’t even imagine how I’d explain that one. Who in their right mind would believe me? Not even Georgie and Giselle would think I was telling the truth.
“Can you sit up?” I step over the Prince, bending over to help him lean against the cabinets. He slumps a bit, so I kneel down and straddle him to offer more support.
I don’t even have time to think about the fact that I’m straddling royalty right now, or that his very hard erection was pressed up against my stomach just moments ago. Or, indeed, the fact that I’m pretty sure we were a few milliseconds away from kissing.
Kissing.
Me, the virgin, with him, the Prince of Argyle who happens to be in some weird arranged relationship with my sister.
Right now, all I can think about is the blood pouring out of the gash on his head. I press the tea towel against it to try to stem the flow of blood.
The Prince’s hands drift up my thighs and come to rest on my ass. I try to ignore the electric spark in my stomach responding to his touch, or the fact that my panties are soaked—and did I mention I’m straddling him?
Did I mention I’ve never straddled a man, ever?
“This isn’t so bad, you know,” he says, his voice slightly muffled. “I’d gladly suffer an injury if it meant I could bury my face in your tits.” I look down to see his nose shoved between my breasts as I try to keep pressure on his wound.
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m only human.”
I round my back to put a bit of distance between his face and my boobs, even though deep down, I don’t really mind his face being shoved up against my chest.
At the very least, if his face is occupied, he can’t look up and see how red my cheeks have gone. I can feel the burn of embarrassment all the way up to my hairline.
Swinging my leg over to put some distance between our crotches, I take his hand and place it on the tea towel on his head.
“Keep the pressure on.”
“Yes, ma’am. I like a woman who orders me around.” His lips quirk up in a grin.
I roll my eyes. “Give it a rest. I’m trying to avoid you bleeding out on my kitchen floor.”
Pulling a drawer open, I find a clean tea towel and swap it out for the blood-soaked one. Then, I take another clean tea towel and wet it. I start mopping up the blood on the Prince’s face.
I can feel his eyes on me, but I focus on the task at hand. I mop up the blood on his cheeks, noting how strong his jawline is. He has a bit of stubble—more than I’d expect from royalty, to be honest. It gives him a rugged, kind of roguish look.
I wipe the blood from his smooth, wide brow, and try to get it out of his hair. It’s dark, thick, and