Chapter Nine
Chey understood exactly why Sander wanted to hit the water before the mist lifted completely. With the sun on the rise, it created a surreal veil over the river and through the trees that was stunning and beautiful. Balanced on a seat in the rather crude canoe, Chey snapped picture after picture.
After they'd arrived at the cabana at the edge of the river, Sander had tied the horses to posts near a water trough and pushed one of three canoes halfway into the water. He'd pre-loaded it at some point with food, water and a few other necessities. After she'd boarded, he pushed off and hopped in.
Now the river snaked ahead through terrain she could only describe as rugged. A high cliff flanked the left side after the forest broke away to rock. The right was a mix of shore, boulders and trees. Twice, with caution, she turned 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 fell away to forest or the flat of the river's edge. Sander knew his way well, Chey discovered, steering them through the deeper part of the shallows, through swifter currents and around boulders thrusting up from the depths that might have otherwise caused problems. He guided her in rowing and in the sights at the same time, explaining how untouched some of the terrain in these distant acres really was. Few hikers or Royals ever ventured this far back in the property attached to the castle, leaving it pristine and wild.
Chey got several amazing photos of birds, fish that swam close to the canoe near the surface of the shallows, and gnarled trees with branches twisting toward a blue sky.
Finally, Sander steered the canoe toward a flat part of the shore just in front of a sloping rise of rock. She could see it climbed into another craggy cliff overlooking the river.
Encouraging her to disembark, Sander pulled the canoe up onto the sandy loam and used a tether to secure it to a fallen tree. He tugged out a small cooler and a backpack from between the bench seats, then led her up a rather steep incline made of boulders in various sizes and shape. Sure footed as a mountain goat, he didn't need to hold onto the rock like she did. Up to the challenge, Chey ascended until they crested the top of the cliff—and what a sight greeted her from that lofty height.
Spread out before them was a panoramic vista of forest and wildlands that stretched as far as the eye could see. The river cut across the landscape like a glistening snake, sidewinding its way through foliage and rock on its way inland toward another lake. In the far distance, she saw the low outline of what looked like mountains.
“This is breathtaking. Some of these pictures will be perfect, I think, to give a clearer picture of what Latvala is really like. The untamed parts, anyway.” She lowered her camera and glanced at Sander.
He stared out at the landscape with a look of pride and serenity. “Exactly. Our homeland is more than the shopping district or the busy ports in the city. That has its charm—but I think this is a necessary and overlooked part of the country.”
“How far does the Royal land extend from here?” Chey knew there had to be smaller cities between the castle and those distant mountains.
“Quite a ways. There is actually another, smaller castle that sits right on the big lake. You can't see it from here.” He pointed in an easterly direction, beyond a thick forest that obliterated most everything for a half mile or more. “Twenty miles past that castle is a small city called Herfshire, and then another three or four towns leading up to the mountains. The Royals only allowed so many cities to crop up within a certain area near the castles. Most other cities, with more citizens, sit further up the coast and inland to the east of the mountains there. People of Latvala like to spread out, rather than cluster together.”
“Who lives in that smaller castle? And just how small is small?” Chey couldn't imagine a 'small' castle.
Sander hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and stared out at the impressive landscape. “No one lives in it now. It was built before the other one—in fact there are a few castles in Latvala that predate the current family seat—to house the King and Queen during their reign at that time. It was in the thirteen hundreds, so although the structure has withstood the test of time fairly well, it's pretty much unlivable in its current state. The Royal family has kept it preserved and will continue to do so.”
“Is it open to the public? Like for tours and everything?” Chey lowered her camera after snapping another few shots. She glanced at Sander, studying the handsome shape of his profile.
“No, no. None of the Royal family ever opened it up and even if they did, the locals wouldn't go. Only tourists who don't know the old stories.”
“What old stories? Why wouldn't the locals go?”
“Because there are those who say it's haunted.” He met her gaze.
Chey scoffed. “Ghosts aren't real.”
“Aren't they? How do you know?”
“Well how do you know they are?” she countered.
“I've spent a night up in the south tower, that's why.” He cut a sharp, knowing grin.
Chey waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Please. You can't seriously think I'll believe you had some paranormal experience.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“I'm saying that you probably thought you saw or heard something. People's minds go into overdrive in those situations.” Chey absolutely did not believe in ghosts. She couldn't decide if that look in Sander's eyes was a spark of mischief or challenge.
“I think that even if a ghost walked up and smiled right in your face, you would deny that you'd seen it,” he said, bending down to the cooler he'd set on the ground. Opening the lid, he took out two bottles of cold water and handed one to her.
She accepted it with a disbelieving snort. “That's not true. But it won't happen because they don't exist, like I said.”
He twisted the lid off the bottle and tipped it back, draining it to half. “All right. How about we put the theory to the test?”
“What do you mean?” She sipped from her own bottle.
“You, alone, in the abandoned castle. I'll wait outside nearby so when you start screaming, it won't take me long to get there.” He looked as smug as he sounded.
Chey's eyes widened. Recapping the water, she glanced out at the vista of woods and rocky terrain. She couldn't see the castle from there, more was the pity. Catching a quick denial on her tongue, Chey rethought her initial reaction. Why say no? She was almost sure the old castle wasn't on her list of places to visit while she was here, which meant an extra photo opportunity.
Not only that, but how many people would love to wander an ancient ruin steeped in so much history?
“Tell me first why you think it's haunted.” She wanted all the details.
Sander set down his water on a nearby rock and started unpacking their lunch. He'd gone to some trouble to bring everything they needed, right down to napkins and toothpicks. He unloaded deli style sandwiches, pickle spears and small baggies of berries and almonds. While he passed hers over, he answered her question at length.
“The King and Queen had nine children. Six boys, and three girls. The youngest girl was known as a handful, very willful and hard headed. She taunted her older brothers, the house staff, even her parents. As she grew older, none of the most prominent, well suited men wanted anything to do with her. They'd heard the stories of her devilry and coupled with the fact that she was so difficult to please, they steered clear. There were plenty of other, less tiresome women to choose from, even though they weren't as titled. Anyway, she became unbearable to live with, blaming everyone else for her lack of a beau or husband. She threw tantrums daily and made life hell for everyone in the castle. One day, when she was twenty-three, the staff realized no one had heard or seen Andra since the evening before. Two maids went up to her room—in the south tower—and found her hanging from a high beam. Dead.” By the time he'd reached that point in the story, Sander was sitting atop a low, flat boulder, sandwich in hand.
Chey sat on the other end, caught up in the tale of Andra. The position brushed her side against Sanders now and again. “So she killed herself out of sheer misery?”
“Mm, no. No, she was murdered.” He took a bite of his sandwich.
“Sounds like suicide to me.”
“It does, until you know that she was hanging from the middle of the room—and there wasn't anything close by for her to stand on. The only chair was sitting against a wall near a chest of drawers and the bed wasn't either high enough nor close enough to provide a launching off point. It was just Andra, hanging from a rope in the middle of the south tower. She couldn't have thrown the rope over the beam and hauled herself up, couldn't have jumped up and touched the beam itself for that matter because of how high the ceiling is.” He glanced at her eyes and took a bite of his sandwich.
Chey used a napkin to dab at the corner of her mouth. Every time the breeze gusted by, she could smell the scent of his cologne. Masculine, appealing, sensual. It was distracting.
“But who would have murdered her—well that's a silly question. Everyone in the castle probably wanted her dead.” Chey frowned and took a drink of water.
“Exactly.”
“Did they ever find out who did it?”
“No. It's remained a mystery all this time. Everyone was appropriately distraught and upset, so no one could even point fingers and blame. Two generations later, it happened again. In the same tower, from the same beam. Murder for sure, because all the furniture had been taken out after Andra's death and the tower was bare.”
“...what? Another murder? Who died this time?” Chey couldn't fathom living in those circumstances.
“The youngest daughter of the reigning King and Queen. This girl, though, according to legend, had been the exact opposite of Andra. Sweet, kind, compassionate. Everyone loved her. No one ever confessed and no one ever figured out who did it.” He finished off the sandwich and popped a few almonds in his mouth.
“I'm wondering about the why of it, myself. What could she have done to deserve it?” Chey, slower to finish her sandwich, watched Sander sidelong.
“Who knows. The perpetrator wasn't going to admit doing it, much less why. It was an obvious reference to Andra though, so there was a lot of speculation about reincarnation and all that.”
Chey scoffed. “That's a likely excuse. Why not the more reasonable explanation, which would be something along the lines of a jealous companion who took their rival out in a most dramatic way.”
“Which is probably exactly what happened.” He looked like he was trying not to grin.
“Wait—is all this even true? Or are you just making it all up to give me the heebie jeebies when I visit the castle?” She narrowed her eyes.
Sander laughed. “No, I swear it's all true. You can read about it. There are books in the castle library somewhere that outline the history of the Royal family. It's all there.”
“So you don't really believe in reincarnation too, then. That was just what the superstitious people came up with.” Finishing her sandwich, finally, she stuffed the baggie away into the backpack and fished out a handful of raspberries.
“No, I don't believe in reincarnation.”
“But you believe in ghosts.”
“You'll see tomorrow evening.”
“You didn't answer my question,” she retorted.
“Yes, I did.” He winked and got up off the rock. “You ready to get back on the river?”
“Definitely. This was fantastic though. A view and ghost stories. You know how to entertain a girl.” Teasing him, she finished her berries and packed everything away.
“You haven't seen anything yet, sweetheart.” He swung the backpack strap over a shoulder and picked the cooler up. Sander led her back down the boulder trail to the shore. After stowing the cooler and the backpack, and making sure she was settled on her bench, he shoved the canoe off to start the next leg of their trip.
. . .
Liberated by her truths, Chey enjoyed herself more than she thought she would. Sander, fast with quips and wit, entertained her with his dry sarcasm as the miles fell away under their oars.
She knew something had changed with the river when the formerly smooth ride started to get bumpy and rough. A large boulder made an appearance in the middle of the water that they steered around. The landscape on either side of the bank had flattened out, stretching away into woods instead of high cliffs.
“All right. This is where you're going to need to pay closer attention. I can't see ahead as well with you in the front, so you're going to have to tell me when those big rocks stick up out of the water. I know where most of the large ones are. It's the smaller ones we have to watch,” Sander said.
“Are we heading into rapids?” she asked, using her oar to point out a rock coming up on their right.
“Yes. It's nothing major, though we do have to be vigilant when we're passing through. The easiest way to see the submerged ones are to watch the water. When it splits and passes around something you can't see, tell me. We'll go to the left or right, following the current. Can you do that?”
“I think so, yes. It doesn't look too bad from here.” Looking ahead, Chey only saw a few places where the calm surface rippled into white rapids.
“Like I said, this patch isn't bad. Just steer us around the boulders.”
“Are there places along the river where it's worse?” Chey guided them around another, smaller rock that just broke the surface.
“Yes. Several rapids along the river are serious business. No one but an experienced rafter or kayaker would undertake it.”
“You sound like you know firsthand.” She glanced over her shoulder. Sander looked away from the water to her eyes and smiled in a way that said she was right.
“Of course I do. I have mentioned, have I not, that I spend a lot of time outdoors?”
“Yes. But there has to be a cut off point, right? Where it's too dangerous or risky?” She looked forward when he gestured. The canoe followed a swift current that made Chey's stomach flip-flop. The sensation of speed tapered off almost as quick as it began.
“What's life without a little risk?” he countered.
“You know what I mean.” The current smoothed out, though the canoe traveled just as fast along the surface, speeding through a wide gap between boulders.
“And my answer remains the same. You can't hold back just because you think the risk is too high. Don't get me wrong—I won't jump off a cliff with no bungee attached or toss myself out of a plane with no parachute, but I've done both those things with the proper protection and have no regrets.”
“There is no way I would jump out of a plane. For any reason.” She shuddered at the thought. That risk, in her mind, was just too high.
“You don't know what you're missing. Or are you the type that thinks 'risk' is battling twenty other women at the sales rack at the local store? Bit of hair pulling, tug-of-war over a bra--”
Chey guffawed and slapped her paddle backwards in the water. Rewarded with his grunt of surprise, she concentrated on the river lest she miss a change in current and land them on the rocks.
In her distraction, she didn't think about the attack, or the threats, or what might happen from here. Chey enjoyed the moment, yelping in shock when the canoe dipped down and splashed back up, spraying her with water. She checked her camera, grateful to see only a faint sheen on the outside.
The rapids dwindled to a calm flow once more, leaving Chey with a racing heart and a grin on her mouth. Although tame by Sander's standards, it had been wild enough to be exciting for her.
From there, Sander guided them through another gorge and eventually onto a bank when the rock sloped down to flat shoreline once more. He climbed out and tugged the canoe further up onto the sand and offered her a hand to disembark. Accepting it, she grabbed the strap of the duffel and stepped down onto the ground. Sander plucked the cooler out after that, and hitched the canoe all the way up a rail where he secured the vessel by rope. The area showed signs of being used as a common 'input' for river travelers. A few benches sat near the long rail to tether canoes or rafts or other water equipment to and a small building sat further in. Restrooms, noted by the distinctive graphics on the doors.
“Are we hiking all the way back?” she asked, slinging the duffel strap over her shoulder.
“No. We're better than twelve miles from our starting point.” He picked up the cooler and gestured the other direction.
Chey spotted a medium sized parking lot with a shiny, new white truck waiting in a slot. “You've thought of everything, haven't you?”
He led her toward the truck. “It pays to think ahead. We wouldn't make it back to my cabin before dark, and out here, you don't want to wander around with the creatures of the night.”
At the truck, he lifted the cooler into the back with little effort. Taking the bag from her once she reached him, he set that in the back and unlocked the doors with a number code instead of keys.
“I've heard wolves before. Is that what you mean?” She climbed into the passenger seat and closed her door.
“Yes. Normally they won't attack humans, but why take the chance.” He started the engine and backed out of the space. “There are bears this deep in the woods, too. And you definitely don't want to run across a mother with her cub.”
Chey fastened her belt and watched Sander rather than the appealing terrain they drove through. He handled the truck with confidence and familiar ease. There were damp spots on his shirt and pants from her flap with the paddle, bringing a grin to her lips.
He glanced over just in time to see it. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're staring.”
“And you're not watching the road.”
He swerved back onto the dirt lane when the tire rumbled over a rough patch of small rocks to the side.
“Then quit distracting me.”
She laughed. “I didn't do anything!”
“You're staring.” He glared playfully sideways, then put his attention forward.
Chey wanted to tell him that he couldn't find it a surprise. Surely many women stared when they were in his presence. He was so casual, so self-contained. And he had chest and shoulders to die for. No, Chey was certain Sander Fisk was not immune to extra attention from women.
“Is that uncommon?” Chey could be counted upon to speak her mind, at least.
“No,” he retorted with wolfish charm.
“Then why are you surprised?”
“Because it's you. You don't seem like the staring type.”
“What type do you think I am?”
“The type to come over here and do something about it.” A rasp laced itself through his words, as appealing as the seductive glance he leveled across the cab at her.
Oh, he was a brazen bastard.
And he was absolutely right. She was the type to take action when the desire arose. Under the right circumstances, Chey could be forward and blunt.
Her belt came loose with a quiet click.
He cut his eyes to their corners, a quick check, before finding the road.
Scooting across the bench seat, she cupped her hand on the other side of his whiskered jaw and set her teeth to the nearest, scraping her way to a kiss. His stubble tickled her skin, not an unpleasant sensation.
“Can you kiss and drive at the same time?” she asked before slanting her mouth over his. Chey caved to the attraction between them and slipped her tongue past his lips. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. He wanted it, or he wouldn't have goaded her into action.
He applied the brakes steadily and wrapped one hand in her hair, switching from passive participant to sudden aggressor. Sliding his tongue over hers, he kissed her thoroughly, dipping into the hollows behind her teeth and along the roof of her mouth. He kissed her like a man skilled in the art of passion, who knew exactly what he wanted and meant to take it.
Chey would have sworn the temperature in the truck rose a hundred degrees in seconds. Breathless, she nipped his lip and eased back enough to see his eyes. He searched hers with a predatory gleam, fingers giving her hair a testing tug. Automatically, she moved her head to counter, just to see what he would do. He increased the grip and brought her mouth to his, changing the angle, his other hand gliding down her ribs to her hip.
Lost in the heat and friction, Chey didn't so much as twitch when he slid his hand under the hem of her shirt and found skin. Sander made it easy to want him, to throw caution to the wind and give in. He was all male, solid and strong, with a subtle scent of masculine cologne tickling her senses. The river left its mark on his clothes, as well as the trees and sand, adding something untamed and wild to his skin. When he groaned, she swallowed it and returned a more feminine version of her own.
Breaking the kiss, he teethed her lip and pressed a whisper there. “My cabin?”
“Yes.”
. . .
Carrying her with one arm around her hips, like she weighed nothing, Sander toted her from the truck to the front door of the cabin. Chey, arms wrapped around his neck, barely registered that the horses were tethered to the post alongside the structure as he unlocked the front door. Feet dangling a half foot off the ground, she tongued his jaw, his ear, his throat. Each glide earned her a groan or a growl, encouraging her to do it all over again. Under her palms, his muscles flexed and shifted, causing her to knead circles across his back and shoulder.
Nudging the door closed with the heel of his boot, he tossed his keys negligently aside and skimmed her shirt up her body. The peeling of layers came as he drove her backward: shoes and socks, shirts and pants, bra and boxers. He was as glorious naked as she imagined he would be, all sinew and hard strength. Clasping an arm around her waist, he carried her like that into what must have once been the King's old bedroom. Periphery picked out all the details because she didn't want to stop kissing him long enough to take a good look.
A high ceiling wrought with heavy beams arched over a large room with several windows in two walls. The massive bed sat to the left with other sturdy furniture flanking a stone fireplace that ran floor to ceiling.
Laying her down on the mattress, he covered her with kisses from her navel to her throat, and slid between her thighs with an experienced slice of his pelvis. He gave no quarter, the way he loved her, consuming all of her with his demanding mouth, strong hands and stronger hips. Pounding her into submission, he swallowed her lusty cries and fed her a snarl of his own at the end. She thought it sounded suspiciously like her name.
Sweat covered and boneless, Chey recovered from the bliss wrapped in his arms, legs tangled endlessly. Every now and then, a stray spasm shook her. He squeezed her tighter against him, kissed her temple, then turned just his shoulders flush with the bed. Raking a hand through his damp hair, he stared at the peaked ceiling.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she ventured, kissing his chest. He looked like a fallen God, honed and golden skinned.
“I'm wondering how much of a ripple it would cause in the castle if you spent the night here.”
“Well, they said I could come and go as I please when I'm not photographing the Royals--” It dawned on Chey then that she had plans for the evening. Sitting straight up, she glanced at the windows to gauge the time. From the sharp slant of the sun, she guessed it was late afternoon. Four, maybe five o'clock. Oh crap. She was supposed to be getting ready for the dinner this evening with Mattias. Did she even want to go? It didn't matter. She couldn't just stand Mattias up, not after the shopping trip. Never mind she'd agreed to go.
“What's wrong?” he asked, voice alluringly raspy.
“Actually, as much as I'd like to stay, I can't. I just remembered I have something to do this evening.” Chey gave him an apologetic glance and leaned over to kiss him. He grunted but returned it.
“Plans?”
“Sort of. I promised someone I'd be there at the castle this evening. Or trust me, I'd stay.” She smiled down into his face.
He cocked a brow, obviously curious at what she wasn't saying. “All right.”
“We're still on for tomorrow, right? Where am I supposed to meet you again? I can come here if you want. I know my way well enough now.” She kissed him once more before sliding out of bed. With every inch she put between them, Chey regretted having to leave more and more. Things felt good between her and Sander. She wanted to explore him, spend time getting to know his habits.
Aware his gaze followed her every movement, she picked her clothes up off the floor and started pulling them on.
Sander, as lazy as a lion basking in the sun, arched a hand behind his head and set the other on his stomach. The sheets barely covered his hips.
“Sure, meet me here. Remember that you need to act like everything is normal at the castle, hm? Don't give the game away. And don't be surprised if you notice someone tailing you at a distance when you come and go. I've got a few men discreetly following you, just in case. The mare's outside, but you can take the truck to the castle if you need to get there faster.”
His willingness to work with her, and not antagonize her for leaving so abruptly, endeared Sander to her. Once she had her clothes and shoes on, she set a knee to the mattress and leaned over to brush another kiss across his mouth.
“Thank you. I'll take the truck. Can I just drive it back tomorrow? I love riding the mare, but I think I feel safer with the vehicle.”
He kissed her, a lingering press of lips. “Of course. Don't worry about the horse. I'll see to it she gets back to the stables tonight.”
“Excellent. I'll see you tomorrow evening, then.”
He caught her around the nape and hauled her down for a more thorough kiss. Then he released her. “Go on, get out of here before I forget all my good intentions and drag you back into bed.”
Laughing, Chey pinched his stomach hard enough to make him grunt and swat at her hand. “Maybe I'd let you.”
“Maybe?” He arched a brow like she'd just issued a challenge.
Chey eased off the bed before he followed through and snagged her. “Okay, probably. I'd probably let you,” she teased. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
He said nothing in the way of goodbye, but the hot look he leveled on her gave Chey goosebumps. Raiding his pants for keys, she left him there with a last glance back. Then she hurried out the door to the truck, aware time was ticking off the clock.
She had a Royal party to attend.