“Should I be creeped out?”

“If you weren’t with me, maybe. If you were an enemy of the crown.” His thick brows wiggle.

“Wow. I’m super curious now.”

I follow him up some stone steps, built into the sandy, grassy ground. Then we reach a grass plateau. Liam moves a log and reaches into the grass and looks into my eyes and then he’s pulling up the ground. He’s pulling up a door in the ground, revealing stone steps leading downward.

“Oh my Jesus! Liam…”

“I’ll go first. You don’t even have to come down if you’re claustrophobic. Actually…” He shuts the door. His mouth is tucked into a grimace. “I shouldn’t take you down there.” His gaze finds mine, holding. “I meant it when I said it’s horrible.”

“It’s a dungeon.”

He nods.

“The only thing I can think about, about a beach dungeon…” I swallow.

“Yes.” He nods.

“Damn…”

“They used ocean water,” he says, giving voice to my theory.

“The dungeon is clearly underground. Would it flood during high tide?”

“It would. Barbaric,” he adds quietly.

“How long ago was this used?”

“Two hundred years. Mostly for traitors. Those who set to poison the king or in one case, tried to steal one of the baby princes. A cannibal was killed here. Someone who shot my great-great grandfather with an arrow in the shoulder; had been aiming for his throat.”

“So it wasn’t for beggars and whores and stuff like that?”

“Oh, no.”

“They didn’t know when they would die.”

“That’s right,” he says. He shakes his arm around. “No manacles.”

“Not necessary. Geez.”

“I know.” He stands up, reaching for my hand. “I’m sorry that I brought you.” He looks at me, serious, almost curious. “You make me do strange things, Lucille Rhodes.”

I hop up. “I hope one of them is go into the dungeon, because you know we have to now. I can’t resist a build-up like this. As long as you’re positive no one will close the door on us!”

He reaches into his pocket, bringing out a small, brass-looking piece that reminds me of a fat screw-driver.

“State secret.”

“You have a key to this door.”

“Of course.” He smiles smugly. “People still love the idea of locking us inside. I had a friend put me in there when I was little. There’s a key like this in one of the walls. I knew where it was. Out by dinner.” He winks.

“Did the tide start rising?”

“Yes. It was rising a little. As I recall, my shoes were wet. I had to take them off.”

“I’m surprised that you’ll go back inside!”

He shrugs. “Can’t be afraid forever.”

He opens the trap door again and steps inside. “You sure about this?”

“Oh, yeah.”

I follow Liam down some stairs, into a single room about the size of a master bedroom in an American house. Sand is all over the floor, crunching under my shoes. The walls—very tall, maybe more than twenty feet—are made of stone that’s stained by moss and mold. In the top part of the walls are small, round, barred windows, leaking sand into the room.

As I stand staring at one of them, a tiny pile of dark brown sand falls to the floor.

“So weird.”

I look around the room. It’s just sand and stone. No way to tell that anybody died here.

“How many?” I whisper.

He steps closer to me, laying his hand at the base of my back. “I don’t know.”

I look at him over my shoulder.

“That’s not true,” he says.

“You do know?”

“Eighty-something.”

“Wow.”

He nods toward the stairs, and we walk back up and out. He shuts the door hard, and I notice that the grass flap over it is fake.

He folds his arms. “It’s disgusting.”

“Yeah? Where do your views on the death penalty fall?”

“Not in favor.”

“For anybody?”

He shrugs.

“Does it make you uncomfortable? Your family’s past?”

He gives me a miserable-looking smile.

I step over to him on a whim and wrap my arms around his hard waist, squeezing gently. “Poor Liam.” I lean back a little, so I can see his face. He’s giving me a funny, sad smile.

I run a hand over his hair, which at some point, he’s pulled back into a bun. “FYI, I don’t know exactly how conservative your views are on the death penalty, but mine are ‘anti’ too. I say put all those dudes to work. Let them make things. Like a sweat shop.”

Prince Liam laughs. “Like a sweat shop? Better not say that on TV, Lucy.” His hands run up and down my arms as I grin.

“That’s why I’m not on TV. Can’t censor this.” I wag my ass before I think about what I’m doing. Liam throws his head back laughing. Then he smacks my ass.

I snap my fingers in his face. “I know you didn’t.”

He slaps it again, looking smirky and smug.

“Try to catch me!”

I take off running, and Liam is on me in just a few seconds, wrapping his arms around me from behind and holding me still so I can feel him hard against my ass. Then he eases me down to the ground and rolls me over on my back, so I’m facing him. He straddles me.

When I feel a shot of panic, he must sense it, because shifts so he’s beside me…taking my face in his hands and kissing me gently.

“I don’t even…” he breathes… “want a girl. I don’t want anybody. But you, Lucy Rhodes…”

He shakes his head. His eyes on mine are dark and earnest. Then it’s just his warm, soft lips; the scrape of his beard; the scent of his skin; the warmth of him—Prince Liam, hovering over me, the feel of his chest as it rises and falls in time with mine. The two of us, pressed together on the grass. And I can only kiss him back.

The feel of him, the taste of him… It’s everything I want. The way he strokes his fingertips into my hair and wraps a hand behind my head and holds me to him. It’s so gentle. Soon, one of his arms is wrapped around my back, I’m being lifted onto his lap. I’m limp except my hands, which cling onto his shirt as we devour one another.

I start having to break away to get my breath. He won’t even do that. The more we kiss, the faster his chest pumps, the louder his breaths, the more shaky his hands.

Am I really kissing Prince Liam and his hands are shaking?

He shifts, and I feel him through his pants. I feel how hard and thick and long he is. My hand trails down his chest, over his pants waist, until I’m cupping him. I’m pressing against him, curving my thumb and forefinger around his big, plump head. And Liam is kissing my neck—hard. The pressure, and the pleasure, make me cry out, my voice harsh against the waves.

Liam moans. I think he says my name. I don’t know because my breasts are pressed against his chest, his hand is rubbing me, his fingers finding the right spot despite my pants.

And then his magic fingers go away. He’s got his hands around my head, my forehead pressed against his. His eyes are on my eyes. His lids are low, and I can see the yellow flecks inside the sea of hazel.

“Lucy… Christ.”

I feel his fingers clench against my scalp before he lets me go. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes wide.

Liam leans back on his thick arms, draws his legs up so his knees are almost to his chest. Then he rises. Turns away from me.

Well, shit…

I rub my hands over my eyes and tell myself to calm down.

Calm down, Lucy… Calm.

Damnit, I can’t look at him. I’m embarrassed.

“Lucy. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

Something about his voice enables me to lift my head. I look into his eyes, finding them wide and full of remorse. I guess that’s what it is. He looks almost scared.

“Why be sorry?” I ask softly.

He pushes a hand into his hair, shaking his head as he looks at the grass.

“Seriously,” I offer. “It wasn’t just you.”

He makes a low sound of disgust. “I don’t want to be this way with you.”

“What way?”

Liam sighs. “I’m going to control myself. So you can have a good time here.”

God. So I’m friend-listed. Why is that so depressing? I push my own hair out of my face and nod, trying my best to keep my face neutral.

“I’m having fun. No worries. Seriously.”

He leans down and helps me to my feet. He draws me to him for just a moment, and I can feel his lips on my hair. Then his hands are rubbing up and down my arms. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” I lie.

Back on the horses, riding down the beach toward the path back to the castle, I tell myself to forget what just happened. He’s trying to be a good host. He doesn’t want me to feel…what?

Is this about him feeling too aggressive? Maybe that’s it. He’s such a manwhore. Even though he’s also really nice, and really caring, he’s a manwhore. Maybe he’s embarrassed about that? He doesn’t want me to feel like he’s taking advantage. That’s probably it. By the time we get into the grassy fields around the castle, I’m over my hurt feelings.

This is good, I tell myself. I just need to try to get to know him more, maybe hang out another day or so—if there’s no threat of me messing around with him, what’s the danger?—and then I’ll tell him in the way that seems best.

We get back to the castle and have lunch on a table outside, under some mossy trees. Turkey and cheese sandwiches and wine.

“Is that a punching bag?” I ask, pointing to one hanging in a nearby tree.

Liam gives me a crooked smile. “It might be.”

“Yours?”

“Guilty.”

“That’s kind of hilarious.”

“A castle yard has always had a lot of sports equipment.”

“You mean like jousting and stuff?”

He smiles. “Do you want to see me joust?”

“Hell yes.”

His smile turns into a smirk.

“You don’t joust, do you?” I arch one eyebrow.

“What do you think, Lucy Rhodes?”

“I think if you don’t joust, you better at least shoot a bow or something for me. I want entertainment,” I tease.

He winks. “Your wish is my command.”

I watch him as he saunters off.

* * *

I don’t know what I’m doing with this girl. Something that I’ve never done before, that much is sure. As I come back around the corner of the castle’s rear wall, bow over my shoulder, arrows in hand, I stop there in the grass to watch her. She’s eating a green apple, and I swear to Christ she looks like something from a vision. From a dream.

Her dark hair is down, flowing around her shoulders as the breeze kicks it. I want to touch her hair again, to feel her soft, warm body up against mine. Usually, I’d take what I want. She would want it too, of course. Most of them do. They want to tell their friends they fucked a prince. I’m as big a prize as the twelve-point bucks mounted in the castle.

But…Lucy isn’t like that. She doesn’t care about the color of my blood. She wouldn’t brag to anyone. Declan told me Mags told him that Lucy claimed she didn’t even like me as a person before that night in the Hamptons. She thought I was a player or some shit. I haven’t heard that word since middle school, but that’s what Dec said.

Does she like me now?

I like to think she does. I make her smile. I try to make her smile. While she’s here, that’s all that’s on my mind—or all that needs to be. I want to show her all the best things on the island, keep her mind off fucking TMZ. I can’t make her happy if I’m trying to get in her pants. If I’m only thinking of that gorgeous body. She didn’t come here for that. I don’t know how, but I can tell.

She seems distracted. Weighted.

I know I can take that weight off if I try. I can be a nice guy. Just a friend. I adjust my pants before I walk toward her.

* * *

I’ll admit it: I’m trying to make him laugh. I’m trying to charm him. And why shouldn’t I? It’s not as if I’m trying to get into his pants. Just trying to be sure the time he spends with me is fun.

If I can show off my bow-shooting skills, all the better, right?

Just after he reappeared with two bows and some arrows, Liam pulled a deer-shaped target from a notch under the castle’s lower wall. Someone, sometime, had drawn a dick on the deer, and Liam said his cousin Heath calls the deer Don Juan.

“I have no idea why.”

“Well, he’s clearly a playboy deer. Just look at that.” I couldn’t help snickering.

I had a black sharpie in my purse, so I drew a little smile on the deer’s face when Liam wasn’t looking. That earned me a laugh.

I’m starting to realize that I love it when he laughs. It’s so…hearty. He drops his head back, so the sunlight dances on his handsome face. His big chest shakes, and I just want to wrap my arms around him.

Of course, I don’t. I wouldn’t. That’s not what I’m here for. But the Prince of Clary—Gael—is definitely magnetic. I can see why girls toss their panties to the wind when he’s around.

As for me, I give him a grin as I pull my arrows from the Styrofoam deer’s neck, and strut as I traverse the fifty or so yards to where he’s standing with his arms folded.

“I’ve got a new one,” he says, chewing on the side of that delicious lower lip.

I wiggle my brows. “Shoot.”

He smirks. “The eye.”

“Huh?”

“I want to see if you can shoot Don Juan in the eye.”

“In the eye? How will he get ladies if I shoot his eye off?”

The corners of Liam’s mouth twitch. “I think the key word there, Miss Rhodes, is if.”

I let my own mouth drop slowly open. “Oh—it’s on. To hell with Don Juan’s eye. He’ll need a pirate patch after I’m finished.”

I hear Liam’s sexy chuckle as I nock my arrow. I draw the bowstring back, then turn so I can meet his eyes. “You ready for this?”

He grins.

I turn back toward Don Juan, propped up against a thick tree trunk, focusing on his little black-painted eye as I anchor, hold, and then release.

The arrow sails toward Don Juan with a satisfying whoosh, and like I knew it would, it hits him right in his little painted eye. Hell—I squint—I think it went almost all the way through his head.

I give Liam a smug look, then shake my hips again and strut around him.

“You’re better than I am.” His eyes are wide, his brows lifted.

I smack him in the shoulder. “You say that like you’re shocked.”

He snorts. “I’ve had lessons since I was a baby. Been hunting since I was old enough to walk.”

I stop right in front of him, giving myself a full view of his stunning face. I reach up to tap his cheek, then settle for his chin because it seems less intimate. “So.” I tap once. “Have.” Twice. “I.”

I give him a winning grin. And still, I’m not prepared when his hand comes over the back of my head, smoothing down my wind-tossed hair.

“I can see that, Lucy Rhodes.” His big hand smooths my hair again; my lips struggle to hold their smile. “You’re very good.”

I lick my lips.

“Too good,” he says in a low, soft voice.

I can’t move. Can only stare into his eyes. They blink. His face is slack. I feel his body lean toward mine and somehow I just know that Liam’s about to kiss me. I feel a buzzing start between my legs and spread outward. My eyes move over him frantically, lusting after his smooth, thick throat, the curve of pecs I can see through his shirt.

I don’t think first. I grab his neck.

“Don’t,” I whisper.

His eyes widen a little. “Don’t what?”

“Kiss me.”

Okay—and now they’re wider. Fuck me! I watch his mouth move—tight and nervous, morphing to amused, then charmed, then playing my game too: smirky. “What makes you think that I was going to kiss you, Lucy?”

“I could feel it.” It’s not too out of character for me to toss my hair over my shoulder, arch an eyebrow at him. We’ve been flirting for the last hour. I’m in the zone. I lick my lips again, a practiced move, and then I drag my gaze down his hard body. I find what I hoped I would: a tent in his pants.

He smiles ruefully as my eyes meet him there. His hand goes to my shoulder. “Lucille Rhodes. That’s not fair.”

I laugh softly. “Fair? Since when was anything fair, Prince Liam?”

He shuts his eyes, his hand still warm on my shoulder. “It’s you.” I see his jaw tighten around the words. His eyes stay shut. “You’re like a fucking drug, Lucy.”

Oh God, I want to touch him right now.

“Am I?” I whisper.

His eyelids lift a little, so we’re looking at each other.

“Aye.”