“I’m not sure what was on his mind tonight,” Andrew says. “He seemed a little off, but maybe he had a bad day. Or is having his man period.”
I smile. “Is that something all the Von Bergen men suffer from?”
He presses a hand to his chest. “Well, not me, of course, but you know how it is with middle children. They’re always so difficult.” He pauses before continuing in a softer voice, “I’m sure Sabrina is the same.”
My blood goes cold all over again, but I manage to shake my head with what I hope is a benign smile. “Not really. Sabrina is the most normal member of the family. Very steadfast and devoted, but well…” I shrug stiffly. “She would say she’s boring.”
“I doubt that,” he murmurs. “All of the Rochat sisters sound fascinating. I look forward to meeting Alexandra and Sabrina someday soon.”
His voice, so husky and low, makes my name sound like something scandalous, a forbidden act that can only be whispered about in corners. A naughty thing you shouldn’t enjoy, but it’s so damn delicious you can’t help yourself.
My name on his lips is a third tumbler of fifty-year-old scotch and hands under the tablecloth, fingers finding their way behind zippers and over panties.
And God help me, but I suddenly want that drink.
Those hands.
I want Andrew to touch me. I want to know what his lips would feel like against mine. I want to discover the way he tastes, the sounds he makes when he loses control, the things he says when he’s not worried about being on his best behavior for his fiancée. I want to be a girl he’s met at a noisy bar, one so loud we have to communicate with the way our bodies move on the dance floor, with how we lock eyes over that last drink, silently daring each other to be the one to ask, “You want to get out of here?”
But that’s never going to happen and standing here lusting over a man who can never be anything but my friend is madness.
So I do what any mature princess in her mid-twenties with the future of two kingdoms weighing heavily on her shoulders would do. I slap Andrew on the shoulder and shout, “Last one to the center is a rotten egg!” and dash between the gargoyles into the maze.
“I already know the way, Lizzy,” Andrew calls after me. “There’s no chance you’re winning this one. I hold all the cards.”
“That’s what they all say,” I shout back. “Until they lose!”
Putting on a burst of speed, I round the first corner and make a left and then a right, pushing into the deepest part of the maze, where there is barely enough light to see the path divide ahead. Even if Andrew catches up with me, he won’t realize that my eyes are shooting sex sparks and every cell in my body wants to rub up against him like a naughty cat.
A very, very naughty cat who doesn’t care how much damage it causes as long as it digs its claws into something delicious.
But I am not a cat, I am a responsible sister, and I will not betray Lizzy’s faith in me. I will run away from Andrew as many times as it takes for my stupid body to get the message that he’s off-limits.
For now, and for always.
Chapter Thirteen
Andrew
Oh, Sabrina, you pretty little liar, you are the furthest thing from boring.
With a smile, I jog after her, my blood pumping faster from the thrill of the chase.
Toying with her—watching her eyes widen and the vein in her forehead throb as she tries to keep her story straight—is more fun than I’ve had in ages. And knowing that she’s already guaranteed my easy exit from the betrothal?
Well, that’s fucking priceless.
All that’s left now is to decide how long I want to let the game play out. A week should be good, long enough to ensure her family’s reputation is ruined when the truth comes out, but not so long that we can’t recoup most of the engagement party and wedding expenses.
Though, now that I won’t have to bribe my bride to hit the road, money is less of a consideration. I hate to waste the country’s resources, but sending my fiancée packing without a dime or the slightest stain on my reputation is worth the lost deposit on the wedding feast and the cost of her never-to-be-worn dress.
The thought makes me pick up the pace, my nearly fiancée-free feet light and easy, barely touching the pebbles beneath me as I careen around the curves. I take one wrong turn and end up having to retrace my steps—it’s been a few years since I’ve been inside the maze, and I’ve never solved it in the dark—but I have no doubt I’ll beat Sabrina.
Barely ten minutes after I enter, I round the final corner and the happily burbling fountain in the clearing at the center comes into view.
I’m about to shout to Sabrina that she’s the rotten egg when I spot her across the pebble-covered clearing and freeze.
Well, I’ll be damned…
She skids to a stop, too, her gaze jerking from me to the fountain and back again as her hands curl slowly into fists at her sides. Our eyes lock in the moonlight, and matching grins spread across our faces.
“First one to the fountain?” she asks, her breath coming faster, making my pulse answer in kind.
“First one to the fountain,” I agree.
A beat later, we’re both sprinting for the finish line. I’m on track to crush her—easily—but at the last moment, my shoes slip on the rocks, and I go skidding across the tops of the stones. I throw out my arms and bend my knees, regaining my balance before I land flat on my ass, but by the time I steady myself, Sabrina has a hand planted on the fountain.
“Ha! I won!” she pants as she thrusts her arms into the air in victory, so pleased with herself I can’t help but return her smile. “You’re the rotten egg!”
“You cheated,” I accuse.
“I did not,” she says with a laugh. “I never cheat. I like my wins like I like my men, sweet and honest.”
It’s too perfect a setup to let it pass. I step in, bending my face closer to hers as I ask, “Is that really how you like your men?”
She meets my gaze, her chest rising and falling faster, making me very aware of the curves beneath her white long-sleeved tee shirt. “There’s nothing wrong with being sweet and honest.”
“Not at all,” I say, her body heat warming my lips. “Just doesn’t sound like very much fun.”
“Sure, it does.”
“Really?” I challenge. “So you’d rather have sweet than strong? Rather have a pushover than a man who stands up to you? Challenges you? A man who gives you everything he’s got and won’t settle for less than your best?”
“I don’t need a man to challenge me.” She lifts her chin. “I do a fine job of challenging myself.”
“Bullshit,” I whisper, loving the way her eyes flash in response. “Everyone needs someone to challenge them, princess, and I think you need it more than most.”
“Just goes to show,” she says, “that you don’t know me at all.”
“And whose fault is that?” I ask, my voice rough around the edges as I wrap my arm around her waist and haul her against me.
I don’t intend to kiss her.