Heir Untamed

chapter Eleven




The bright shaft of headlights speared the gloom as she sped into the clearing. Applying the brakes a little too hard, the truck skid the last five feet to a halt. Cutting the engine, Chey scrambled from the vehicle and jogged to the door of the cabin.

“Sander? It's Chey. Hello?” She rapped her knuckles against the wood, impatient. He was head of security overall, he was the one who should see the pictures first. When he didn't answer, she knocked again.

Nothing.

Stepping down the porch, she cupped her hand near her eyes and peered in the front window. She could see a small light had been left on in the kitchen and another in the living room, but that was all. There was no movement inside to indicate Sander was home. Damn. That wasn't a possibility she had considered during her flight from the castle. She just expected, at this time of night, that he would be home.

Now what? Should she wait? Go back to the castle? Sit in the truck? Was she safe out here without Sander close by? Questions crowded her mind. If she went back to the castle, to her bedroom, and someone was in there waiting, they might get to her before she could get to a phone or scream for help. Maybe she should find Urmas, or Allar. One or both men would be prowling the front half of the castle with the gathering of dignitaries.

Before she could make up her mind, the distant sound of an approaching engine echoed through the woods. That must be Sander. Had to be Sander.

What if it's the attacker, following you from the castle? What if they know Sander is busy elsewhere? The thought galvanized her into action. Jumping off the porch, she darted into the stand of trees adjacent to the cabin. Hiding behind a thick trunked tree, she waited to see who emerged from the darkness.

Headlights cut through the gloom, announcing the vehicle's approach. A rugged Jeep emerged from the same trail she'd driven down, and halted next to the truck. There was something unhurried about its progress that alarmed her.

She couldn't pinpoint why.

Your imagination is running away with itself. Stop it, she chided herself. Adding more fear onto the already tense situation would do her no good. A fighter by nature, Chey nevertheless knew when to be cautious. She was out of her element here, dealing with the unknown.

The door to the Jeep opened and a figure got out. Tall, muscular. Sander. Chey left the cover of the trees.

“Sander!”

He looked away from the truck, which he'd been approaching, and faced her when he saw her running from the forest. “Chey, what the hell are you doing hiding in the trees?”

In the few seconds it took to reach him, she glimpsed his attire: green and black camouflage khakis, sage green shirt with sleeves pushed to his elbows, and lace up boots of black. Nothing unusual where Sander was concerned. He must have been out patrolling the grounds.

“Something happened. I found these when I got back to my room tonight.” Chey came to a stop right in front of him and held out the squares of paper she'd found on her bed. They crinkled in her shaking fingers.

“Got back from where—I can't see these in the dark. Are you all right?” Sander took the papers from her and guided her with his other hand to the cabin door.

“I'm all right. I just didn't know what else to do. I didn't think to check my room when I got back, and after I saw this lying on my bed, I just grabbed them and ran.” She stepped inside after he unlocked the door.

Sander entered on her heels and threw both bolts. Taking the papers to the kitchen table, he snapped on an overhead light and spread them out across the surface. “Tell me what happened. Everything.”

“Mattias invited me to an event, some gathering of dignitaries and other important people. We didn't stay too long because Natalia grew angry again and spilled wine on my dress. I got back to my room and found these in there.” Chey crossed her arms over her chest and watched him position each piece just so.

“She was angry because you were there with Mattias?” he asked, glancing over to meet her eyes.

Chey nodded. “She doesn't want me interacting on that personal of a level with him. With any of the Royals, I think.”

“Did she threaten you?”

“Not physically. She said she would have me thrown out if I spoke to her that way again. I got a little...testy...when she ordered me to leave.”

Sander looked back at the pictures, then pushed away from the table. Out of a deep pocket on the thigh of his pants, he fished out his phone. Moments later he was speaking quietly in his mother tongue, stalking through the living room.

Chey waited, watched. She wished, not for the first time, that she understood his language. And although the situation was serious, Chey couldn't help but admire the breadth of his shoulders under the shirt or the way his hips filled the pants out. He resembled a prowling lion pacing its cage.

Finally, after fifteen long minutes, he hung up. “My men put cameras in your room, so we might catch whoever keeps visiting. But they didn't get them activated before being called away for the event, so there's no evidence to look at, unfortunately. And because they were pulled off duty, no one was there watching your room in person. I gave them orders not to balk or argue, because right now, I'm not trying to alert too many people that I'm having you watched and followed.”

“I see. Just missed an opportunity, then. Could there be fingerprints on the papers, maybe some on my door? Would that even help?”

“There could be. I'll keep those with your permission and have them checked. My men are doing another search of your room right now to make sure no one stayed behind or planted anything, like they said they would.” He pushed the phone into his pocket and closed the distance.

“No, keep them. I don't mind. Do what you need to. I just hate that whoever this is, is not backing down.” Chey reached out to tentatively touch his arm.

He turned his hand over, skimmed it down her forearm, and caught her fingers in his. Bending his head, he brushed a quick but warm kiss on her lips.

“Don't worry. We're closing the net, little by little. They'll slip up, make a mistake, and we'll have them. It doesn't please me to know it could be Natalia or Viia, though. The person acting on their behalf probably thinks they'll be immune to prosecution if they just say it was one of the girls who hired them,” he said.

Chey breathed him in when he kissed her. The scent, his scent, was familiar and soothing. Already she attributed safety and security with Sander. He was well suited to his job.

“I know you are. I have every confidence you'll figure this out sooner than later. Tell me, though. What happens to Viia or Natalia if it turns out that they're behind this?” Taking initiative, Chey slid her arms around Sander's middle. She had to tilt her chin up to see his eyes due to height differences.

“Natalia will get reprimanded, of course. In private. The Royals will attempt to hide her involvement, especially considering she's been into trouble for her drinking. As far as Viia?” Sander arched a brow. “She's not a member of the family yet. Last I knew, Mattias hadn't proposed, which means she's not afforded the same protections as the others. I imagine Mattias will break it off with her, despite the Queen's inevitable protests.”

“Why would the Queen protest?”

“Helina has nurtured that relationship for a long time. She hand picked Viia for Mattias, so she'll do whatever it takes to try and hide any wrongdoing. Mattias, on the other hand, has higher standards than that, and will want to end their relationship. He's not all that fond of her from what I can tell. He's willing to do his duty by her and that's about it.”

“Yes, we had a little conversation about that at lunch. He mentioned that there are few if any real love matches between Royalty and their significant others.”

“He told you that?” Sander's eyes narrowed faintly.

“Yes.”

“Sounds like he's pretty taken with you.”

“I don't know what he is, or isn't, to be honest. I pinned him down and asked him what he wanted from me. Initially, it was to take personal, private photos of Viia when she wasn't watching. Candid shots, like that. But he said it's mostly because I don't treat him like everyone else does. I guess I'm 'safe', if that makes sense. We're worlds apart culture wise, and I don't fawn over him like half the female population of Latvala does.” Chey wouldn't point out the sparks and attraction that sometimes flared up between her and Mattias. Not now, after the intimacy with Sander.

He studied her eyes, one hand flattening on the low of her back. “I'm guessing it was your looks that drew him to you at first and then your charming, blunt way of addressing the world.”

Chey had never considered herself a bombshell. Hearing Sander refer to her 'looks' that way made Chey want to run to a mirror and see what she was missing. It couldn't be her slightly crooked nose, plain dark hair, and what she considered average features. At five-nine, she wasn't short, but she also wasn't a statuesque runway model with forever legs and slinky limbs.

She felt more like an aggressive little terrier than a greyhound, apt to snarl and bite when threatened.

“Maybe it was the other way around,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Could have been. I'll still put money on your rack, though.”

“Sander!” She swatted his shoulder. So much for worrying about her facial features and hair. “Have your eyes even made it past my chest yet?”

“A few times.” He delivered his tease in a dry tone after chortling for the swat. “Your ass isn't bad, either.”

“You're an absolute rake.” Laughing despite her circumstances, she got on her tiptoes and kissed him.

Sander cupped the back of her head and held her there while he thoroughly explored her mouth. Breaking away, he stared down at her eyes and said, “So, you're not into him, then?”

She had a hard time refocusing her attention on the conversation. “Well, he is a Prince. And he's handsome, there's no denying that. I wouldn't be female—or alive at all—if I didn't realize what a catch he would make. But I also know I'm hundreds of miles out of his league, he has a girlfriend and I'm not sure his mother knows I exist even when I'm standing in the same room. Besides all that, I'm kind of into someone else at the moment.”

The first half of her explanation brought a funny look to Sander's features. Chey couldn't decide if he was wary, bemused or relieved. Maybe a little of all three.

“You wouldn't be the first girl to have dreams of becoming a Princess. There are women who would kill to have even five minutes of his undivided time. I'm pleased to hear of your distraction, though.” Sander delivered his reply with a wan smile.

“I think Mattias finds me a novelty more than anything. He has easy access to me in the castle, a new, different brain to pick to ease his boredom. I'd be shocked if he was even a little interested,” she confessed.

Before Sander could reply, a buzzing emitted from his pocket. “Just a second.” He stepped away after a quick kiss to her temple and dug his phone out.

Chey stepped over to sit on the arm of the sofa while he traded texts with whom she could only imagine were the rest of his security team.

“Any news?” she asked when he was done.

“Nothing we didn't already know. We'll see if they pull off any fingerprints but I'm pretty sure the person covered their tracks.” He slid the phone back into his pocket and strode past for the kitchen. On the way, he asked, “You want coffee or anything? I've informed the men that you're staying here tonight while they investigate. They'll pass it on to the other guards so no one raises an alarm when you don't return.”

“What will people say?” She rose off the couch and followed him to the kitchen. Taking up a spot at the counter, she slid onto a barstool and watched while he got a pot of coffee going. As ever, he was efficient and well practiced.

“That you're staying here for protection purposes. If they wonder anything else, then let them wonder. I doubt anyone will say anything to you, because it might seem leading and suggestive. If you act like it's not a big deal, then it won't be.” He glanced at the windows with sharp, assessing looks then took two mugs down from the cupboard.

She supposed he was right. If she acted suspicious and guilty, then that's what people would think. Following his glance, she stared at the windows. Past the bullet-proof panes, the night was dark. “You don't think anyone would make an attempt out here, do you?”

“Not if they've got half a brain, and it seems likely given all the other precautions they're taking.”

“Let's hope so. Does this mean we can't go tomorrow night?” She glanced back to Sander just as he took the half filled pot out to pour.

“No, we're going. We'll just have to make sure we're not followed. Shouldn't be too hard.” He pushed her mug across the counter and leaned his hip against the edge.

“I really hope you catch them soon, Sander. I'm going to feel like a sitting duck every time I have to be out in the open for too long.” She sipped the coffee.

“We're doing everything we can. If we get aggressive, we might scare them into hiding. Then it could be weeks before they make another move and catch us off guard.” He met and held her eyes while he took a drink.

“I overheard some Prince or another at the soiree talk about rumors of an assassination attempt.” Chey purposefully left out any more details in the hopes Sander would fill her in on what she was missing, and what Mattias refused to tell her.

He paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. A brow arched and his gaze sharpened on her face. “Well, wasn't that a careless mistake on the Prince's part.”

“I don't think he figured anyone would over hear him.”

“In a room full of people? Someone will always overhear.” He grunted in displeasure.

“So you're not going to tell me, either, are you?”

“No,” he replied bluntly.

“Because it's better for my own safety if I don't know details.”

“That's right. And also because it's not our policy to talk about it outside certain circles.”

Annoyed, she had another sip of coffee.

“What, you don't agree with that?” he asked.

“No, I understand. It's just frustrating to have only half the picture.”

“As soon as we figure it out and make some arrests, you can read about it in the paper.”

“Along with everyone else.” Chey quirked her lips. If that wasn't a reminder that she was one of the common folk, she didn't know what was.

“That's right,” he retorted in a no nonsense tone, apparently unrepentant about putting her in her place.

Rather than get twitchy about the hierarchy and titles and whatnot, Chey set down her cup and folded her arms across the table. Her gaze started around his hips and rose inch by inch up his body until she found his eyes. If nothing else, just staring at his broad chest and strong shoulders for the next ten hours would be a delight. Maybe, if she was lucky, there would be a little more hands on contact than that.

She just had one question left for Sander.

“So. How do you suggest we while away the hours between now and dawn?”



. . .



Waking up with her cheek pressed to the sculpted plane of a masculine chest was something, Chey decided, she could get used to. Heat from Sander's skin warmed her own, the faint thump of his heart a soothing metronome that she'd fallen asleep to. Already there was an ache low in her belly and tenderness between her thighs. Other places paid tribute to Sander's particular brand of possession: the sting of small bites on the back of her shoulder, fingerprint bruises on her hips and the strain of muscles unused to being manipulated into those kinds of positions.

No less than four times had he taken her during the night. Once, after he'd come prowling back from a cursory check of the cabin, he'd been especially demanding. She knew she would wear these badges of passion for days—and couldn't find the will to care.

Lifting her head, she turned her chin to prop it on his sternum to see his face. He was staring at her, one arm cocked up behind his head. Some time during the night, the small ponytail he wore half his hair in had come down, leaving the golden mane loose and wild. She remembered dragging her fingers through the strands while he'd growled in her ear.

These were memories that would last a lifetime.

“You're looking at me like you're going to start taking bites.” His voice, thick with motherland accent, was raspier than usual.

“Would you care if I did?” she asked.

“Not necessarily. Just leave all the parts attached.” He put his free hand in her tousled hair, drawing the strands back away from her face.

She buried a smile in his skin. “Maybe. If you're good.”

“I was already good. Four times, unless you lost count.”

She scoffed. “Of course I haven't forgotten. You've left traces in your wake.”

“None on your throat, though. That's my gentlemanly nature shining through.”

Chey raised her head just enough to make eye contact easier. “And why is that?”

“Because of the stares you'd get back at the castle if you showed up with a mark or two on your neck. Unless you brought a handful of high-collar sweaters with you.” He arched a brow pointedly.

She hadn't thought about that.

“See? I'm right.” He gloated a little.

“Okay, okay. You did good.” She nipped the skin of his chest, pleased when he rumbled a low noise of pleasure.

“Keep that up and the number will rise.”

“Along with other things.”

He laughed. “Exactly.”

“I haven't worn you out yet?” She arched a brow.

“I should be the one asking you that.”

The ache between her legs was a testament to the truth of his statement. She had the grace to blush.

“I figured,” he added.

“Well, who knew you had such stamina? You can stop looking smug any time now.” Chey propped her chin on his sternum again, amused at his gloating.

“What? I don't look smug.” He cut her a devilish grin and unhooked his hand from behind his head. Reaching to the nightstand, he picked up the phone he'd left sitting there the night before.

While he checked for messages, Chey yawned and stretched her spine. It was difficult to tell what time it was; weak light spilled in through the cracks of the curtains, giving her the impression it was barely twilight outside or that it was early, but overcast.

“What time is it, and is there any news?” she asked.

“Time to get up and get dressed. Your escort will be here in a half hour.” He swatted her butt and set the phone down. “No new details.”

“What?” She glanced up at Sander, surprised. “My escort?”

“Back to the castle. Up you go. If you want to catch a shower, you should hop in now.” He sat up when she did, cupped her nape, and held her there for a quick kiss to her temple.

Chey wasn't sure what to think of being ushered off so fast after the night they just shared. She wanted to lounge and enjoy his presence for another hour or two, at least. As if he'd read her mind, Sander paused to lean closer.

“As much as I'd like to lounge around here all day, I can't. I have work to do before this evening when you come back.” He tweaked her nose and threw his legs over the side of the bed.

Chey grumped to herself. Work. She acted like he had all the time in the world to spend in leisure and more...creative pursuits.

“I forgot. Yes, I think I'll take a quick shower.” She rolled out of bed and snatched a robe, his robe, off a nearby chair.

“I'll get your clothes. Meet me out in the kitchen when you're done.” He tugged on a pair of jeans and winked over his shoulder before departing the room.

“Thanks.” Chey stared at the broad span of his naked back. A shudder raced down her spine when a specific memory or two assaulted her from their risque night in bed. Finally, she made her way into the bathroom, closing the door in her wake.