her water bottle and setting it next to her plate. “And you can drink your water. Unless you prefer coffee... I don’t have soda, but I can certainly order some.”
He picked up his sandwich and took a bite.
“That’s it? Just eat my sandwich?” The dangerous tone was back in her voice. The same one she used when she replied nothing earlier.
“For now. You need to eat. You’ve had a lot of shocks to your system—” Mustard splattered him. He blinked and looked down at the remains of the half sandwich that struck his face and dripped down onto his shirt.
She smiled at him and took a bite out of the half she hadn’t thrown at him.
Plucking the bread and cheese and turkey took a moment, he set them down calmly on the edge of his plate and hit the base of the chip bag. The compressed air burst the end and showered her in potato chips.
Her eyes went wide and he smiled.
They both lunged for the water bottle, but between them, it fired the water up and showered it down on both of them. Anna had chips in her hair. Mustard clung to his chin. They both dripped. Their gazes collided and she laughed—a deep, belly-rolling laugh that smashed the tension against the rocks—and he grinned...before hitting her with another douse of water from the unused bottle.
* * *
A hysterical fit of the giggles assaulted her when the water splashed against her face. Chilled from the fridge, it soaked right through her silk shirt and sent a wave of goose bumps racing over her skin—but she wasn’t cold. Not like she felt when she’d arrived back at his penthouse. Heat warmed her face and her cheeks ached from holding back her smile—Charlie chased her around the island until he’d dumped the entire contents of the bottle over her head.
She scampered, grabbing a bottle of ketchup from the fridge on her slide by. Whirling, she flipped the cap off and pointed it at him.
“You wouldn’t dare.” But his eyes challenged her and his grin was as feral as it was excited. She squeezed the bottle and he dodged—the ketchup shot across the kitchen in a stream and splatted against the chest of a very nicely dressed, younger version of Armand.
“Oh crap.” She winced.
The man stared at her drolly as ketchup dripped down the expensive fabric to splat against the floor. Armand glanced from her to the newcomer and straightened. He stepped right in front of her, cutting off her view. “George.” He pronounced it Shorge and his accent sharpened. “You weren’t expected.”
His brother.
Fantastic .
The last time she’d seen the younger prince, he’d been barely sixteen, scrawny and long limbed. Heart sinking, she closed the lid on the ketchup.
“Clearly, and I wasn’t aware you were entertaining.” Disdain rolled through the too-cool tone. “But Peterson informed me that all family needed to check in.”
Armand glanced over his shoulder at her and his gaze flicked from her face to her chest and back up again. She lifted her eyebrows and looked down. Embarrassment surged and she pulled his damp jacket closed. The water soaked right through the silk shirt, clearly outlining her breasts, and her nipples stood out in stark relief.
George walked over to tug a paper towel from the dispenser and blotted at the ketchup.
“I’m sorry about that,” she began, looking for the right words to dress the apology up in...
I’m sorry you walked in and I sprayed you with ketchup? I’ll pay for your suit cleaning? Don’t mind the wet T-shirt contest.
Armand’s dress shirt clung to him, hugging the smooth, cut lines of his musculature.
He still worked out. They’d run in college—he a lot more than she—but he’d also enjoyed going to the gym. A habit he’d dragged her into—mostly because watching him lift weights was sexy as hell. She cleared her throat. “I should...let you two talk.”
“That would be pleasant.” Dismissal hung right off the end of George’s statement. Armand’s back stiffened.
“That was rude.”
He picked up his sandwich and took a bite.
“That’s it? Just eat my sandwich?” The dangerous tone was back in her voice. The same one she used when she replied nothing earlier.
“For now. You need to eat. You’ve had a lot of shocks to your system—” Mustard splattered him. He blinked and looked down at the remains of the half sandwich that struck his face and dripped down onto his shirt.
She smiled at him and took a bite out of the half she hadn’t thrown at him.
Plucking the bread and cheese and turkey took a moment, he set them down calmly on the edge of his plate and hit the base of the chip bag. The compressed air burst the end and showered her in potato chips.
Her eyes went wide and he smiled.
They both lunged for the water bottle, but between them, it fired the water up and showered it down on both of them. Anna had chips in her hair. Mustard clung to his chin. They both dripped. Their gazes collided and she laughed—a deep, belly-rolling laugh that smashed the tension against the rocks—and he grinned...before hitting her with another douse of water from the unused bottle.
* * *
A hysterical fit of the giggles assaulted her when the water splashed against her face. Chilled from the fridge, it soaked right through her silk shirt and sent a wave of goose bumps racing over her skin—but she wasn’t cold. Not like she felt when she’d arrived back at his penthouse. Heat warmed her face and her cheeks ached from holding back her smile—Charlie chased her around the island until he’d dumped the entire contents of the bottle over her head.
She scampered, grabbing a bottle of ketchup from the fridge on her slide by. Whirling, she flipped the cap off and pointed it at him.
“You wouldn’t dare.” But his eyes challenged her and his grin was as feral as it was excited. She squeezed the bottle and he dodged—the ketchup shot across the kitchen in a stream and splatted against the chest of a very nicely dressed, younger version of Armand.
“Oh crap.” She winced.
The man stared at her drolly as ketchup dripped down the expensive fabric to splat against the floor. Armand glanced from her to the newcomer and straightened. He stepped right in front of her, cutting off her view. “George.” He pronounced it Shorge and his accent sharpened. “You weren’t expected.”
His brother.
Fantastic .
The last time she’d seen the younger prince, he’d been barely sixteen, scrawny and long limbed. Heart sinking, she closed the lid on the ketchup.
“Clearly, and I wasn’t aware you were entertaining.” Disdain rolled through the too-cool tone. “But Peterson informed me that all family needed to check in.”
Armand glanced over his shoulder at her and his gaze flicked from her face to her chest and back up again. She lifted her eyebrows and looked down. Embarrassment surged and she pulled his damp jacket closed. The water soaked right through the silk shirt, clearly outlining her breasts, and her nipples stood out in stark relief.
George walked over to tug a paper towel from the dispenser and blotted at the ketchup.
“I’m sorry about that,” she began, looking for the right words to dress the apology up in...
I’m sorry you walked in and I sprayed you with ketchup? I’ll pay for your suit cleaning? Don’t mind the wet T-shirt contest.
Armand’s dress shirt clung to him, hugging the smooth, cut lines of his musculature.
He still worked out. They’d run in college—he a lot more than she—but he’d also enjoyed going to the gym. A habit he’d dragged her into—mostly because watching him lift weights was sexy as hell. She cleared her throat. “I should...let you two talk.”
“That would be pleasant.” Dismissal hung right off the end of George’s statement. Armand’s back stiffened.
“That was rude.”
Similar Books
