Nellie

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It was hot enough outside that the city below looked smeared with Vaseline, and it was only seven in the morning. Each time I wiped my eyes I burned them with more sweat. The dogs were handling it fine; they trotted along by my sneakers as we climbed the sloped street back towards their house.

I didn't mind cramps growing in my muscles as I pushed along. Exerting myself was helping me keep my mind from wandering. Because when it started waltzing off, it inevitably headed right towards the super-sexy-punchable-face of Bishop.

Just what was he thinking? I asked myself for the hundredth time. I'd almost asked my roommate about it last night, but in the end, decided that was a bad call. If I brought Bishop up, it gave him power. I wanted to forget everything he'd said.

Forget the way he'd made me shiver in his kitchen.

Dammit.

It's okay, I told myself, spotting the row of cactus plants that served as a landmark just three blocks from the house. If you just get in and out each day, you won't run into him again. Besides, a man like him—a prince—was probably rarely home. He'd have important things to do.

Things like... meetings, or uh... signing things. Big stuff. Stuff I definitely had no clue about, because the only people who deal with royalty are rich, stuck-up people—like those women simpering for Bishop yesterday.

Why had he looked so put out by the experience? I'd gotten the vibe that he was a serious flirt. That was how he'd behaved with me in the first minute of our meeting, anyway. By all logic he should have been all over those girls. His serious face as he reclined in his chair had stuck out to me.

But it sounded like his mother thought the event had gone well... that Iris person was going to “win” his hand or something. The memory tightened my guts into the shape of a boulder. So I pushed harder, chased the dogs, and reconfirmed my decision to forget all about that handsome jerk. Him, and the array of women who were eager to marry him.

“Hey there!”

Bishop was jogging my way. He waved, showing off the shape of his biceps, giving me a peek at his chest through the loose opening of his tank top. He was covered in sweat but, unlike me, he didn't look like a suffering cow.

I pulled up short. The dogs barked, tugging me forward right into his path—they wanted to play with their master. I kind of understood, especially when he grinned and leaned down to pet their heads.

“Morning,” I said. “Didn't see you when I showed up to grab Cujo and Jaws.”

He glanced up at me, hair in his eyes and a smirk as unmovable as the sky. “I usually go out early to run. How are you feeling today?”

“A little tired. You seem to be in good spirits.”

Winking, he stood up to his full height. “I am. I had great dreams about you all night long.”

My mouth slid open. “Oh, uh.” Unsure what to say, I went for the escape route. In my hurry to get away I promptly tripped over my own two feet. “Shit!” I blurted, folding my arms under me to brace myself. Luckily, the landing wasn't bad. There was less dirt on my forearms than there was on the fancy sneakers I was getting a personal view of.

I was lying right at Bishop's feet.

What a start to my day, I thought bitterly. Scalding from humiliation, I kept my forehead on the pavement. The dogs promptly swarmed me with their tongues and tiny paws, like they'd decided humans were now food. Were they going to kill and eat me? That would be a relief.

Hooking his hands under my elbows, Bishop lifted me upwards. I weighed nothing in his grip. “Whoa, you okay?”

“I'm fine,” I said, struggling to meet his eyes. He was too concerned—and it's hard to dislike people like that. I needed to hate him to handle him. The longer he held me close, searching my face, the more I forgot why I wanted to hate him. My ribs were sore from my heart punching them. His body radiated heat; he was so close, so damn close.

I want to kiss him, I realized with a start.

Oh.

Oh no.

The dogs yanked on the leashes, throwing me off balance all over again. Bishop held me tight until I got my control back. Gently, I guided his hands away. “I should get the dogs inside,” I mumbled. “Hot out here. For them, I mean.”

Bishop glanced down the road. “I'll keep you company.”

My smile was coy. “In case I get lost walking a few yards?”

“Or in trouble. Never know what could happen out here on the streets.”

I gave a slow-as-syrup pointed look around the cute and quiet area. “Oh yes, super dangerous. I appreciate you going out of the way to keep me safe—”

“You're welcome,” he said over me.

“—But I have these guard dogs.” I jiggled the leashes. The two puff balls yipped, hurrying as they got closer to their home.

Bishop laughed, the sound tickling me in the depths of my heart. I found myself watching him curiously, my snarkiness vanishing under his rich, genuine smile. “They're pretty scary,” he admitted. “I just think a woman like you deserves all the protection in the world.”

A rush of heat moved up my neck. “What does that mean?”

When he walked beside me, he managed to block the sun out. His features darkened with shadows, and still, his smile glowed. “I can tell you have a good heart. But the reality is that people with good hearts get hurt the most often.”

A flutter crept upwards, threatening to smother my ever-weakening hate-monster. Taking his compliment at face value was exactly the kind of dumb shit I used to do with my ex. So I stuck out my chin and put on my bitch-face. “Not hurt. Just taken advantage of until we learn better.”

Bishop hesitated; it was enough for me to skip ahead of him and climb the steps to his front door. He followed me inside, saying nothing as I power-walked into the kitchen. His silence pricked at my guilt. Maybe I was being too rude; he was only joking around. Flirting, at worse.

Flirting is a bad thing! I told myself, unclipping the dogs. I strung their leashes on the wall hooks by the pantry. Bishop was still quiet, his presence speaking volumes as he hovered in the kitchen doorway. Filling the silver bowls on the floor with fresh water, I watched the two thirsty dogs scramble into each other as they drank.

Their energy sapped mine. I stifled a yawn, wondering how quickly I'd get used to these early mornings.

“You're tired,” he said, breaking his silence. “You should stay for breakfast. Get some coffee in you.”

“Oh, no.” I waved away his offer. “I can just grab a cup at Starbuuuuwhaat are you doing?” I'd faced him, which gave me a front row seat to him peeling his tight shirt over his head.

Bishop caught the waistband of his jogging pants. Inch by inch he guided them down past his slim hips; the top of his moss-green briefs peeked at me. “I'm undressing so I can take a shower.”

“In what! Your kitchen sink?”

“Of course not.” He stepped out of his pants. “The shower is upstairs.”

Covering my eyes so I was blind, I froze on the spot. “Quit stripping in front of me!”

“Why?” he laughed. “Terrified you'll do something awful if you catch a look at me naked?” He chuckled darkly. But then, he was quiet. Way too quiet.

“Hello?” I asked. “Did you... leave?”

Nothing.

Spreading my fingers, I spotted him standing their proudly in his briefs, hands on his hips as if to say, “Like the view?”

And I fucking did.

“Come on!” I groaned, covering my eyes again. “That's not even fair!”

“Well, maybe that was a little mean. But do you really want to miss your shot at seeing an honest to god prince in the nude?”

“You're too forward.” Or too good at reading my mind. Slowly but surely I slid my hands away. Bishop was focused on me like a dragon who'd spotted a fine piece of treasure.

Knowing how I was gawking at his finely carved muscles—the swirls of ink that curled over his chest, biceps, and vanished into his briefs... I wondered how hungry I looked.

He read my face, full lips tightening. His hand closed on my wrist. “Follow me.”

We were halfway up the curved staircase when I understood what I was doing. But we were stepping over the threshold of the hallway bathroom before my logical brain cells fired again. “Wait, this is too soon. I'm not ready to shower with you!”

Shutting the door behind me, he let me go. “Relax.” Reaching over the gorgeous black and gold tiles of the step-in shower, he twisted the knobs. “Nothing will happen... unless you want it to.”

I swallowed around the hard lump in my throat. “That's the problem.” His head whipped around so he could stare at me. Realizing what I'd just admitted to, I threw my hands up. “That came out wrong! I meant—even if I did want to do something, we... we can't, you know, because you're a prince and I'm a not-prince and you have ladies waiting to marry you and and...” I was babbling.

He moved to stand over me. Gently but firmly he grabbed the hem of my shirt.

“What are you doing?” I asked, the words vibrating on my tongue from my nervous shaking.

“You don't want to get your clothes wet,” he whispered. “Well, not all of them.”