Strike at Midnight(39)

“That was before I knew who you were,” I said, trying not to sound like his actions bothered me.

“I didn’t think you would be so judgmental,” he said with a teasing smile on his lips. “Not after your earlier words.”

“I need to get on this,” I said, trying to find another way out. “We can have the hour another time.”

“We can use the hour to discuss the case,” he said, maneuvering me into a neat little corner. “Even though I would rather use it to find out more about you.” His eyes flickered towards Marcel as if he was looking for answers in regards to our relationship. Maybe this could be my way out?

“He’s my husband,” I said, pointing to Marcel. “You shouldn’t be talking to me this way.”

“You never said you were married!” he said, totally abashed, but Marcel—the dick—chose not to save me.

“I’m not her husband,” he said, standing up from his seat. “I’m her friend, her landlord, and she’s like a sister to me.”

“Thank you very bastard much,” I said, glaring at him, and he just waved his finger in the air.

“Watch your mouth, little sister,” he said with a grin on his face. “You’re among royalty. Remember?”

The look of relief on the prince’s face was all that I could take.

“Why don’t we have a quick drink?” Sir Raymond suggested, picking up on the tension. “We can discuss what we have so far, and then I will escort the prince back to the castle.”

“I’ll get the drinks,” Marcel said, not even waiting to see what everyone wanted. Coward.

“I will help him. Give you two a moment,” Sir Raymond said, moving off behind Marcel. Double coward.

The prince came and sat next to me on Marcel’s ratty furniture, and I cringed.

“I’m sorry if you thought I was someone else,” he said quietly, and I wanted to scream at him to shut up and to stop being so nice. But I couldn’t. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was talking to you before as a prince and a man,” he whispered. “And I meant every word.”

My head almost snapped off my neck as I turned to look at him. He was a prince. A man who I would have abhorred before knowing him personally, and one who I would have avoided at all costs. But there was something about him that just fit, and that made all of this feel even more fucked up.

“This is an extremely bad idea,” I whispered back when he leaned closer to me.

“Sometimes the best ones are,” he said, and then all of a sudden his lips were on mine again.

Rella Rosewood was kissing a prince with whiskey breath on a wonky couch.

I should have that engraved on my tombstone.





CHAPTER TWELVE

Whiskey Makes the World go Round





It was the prince who was the first one to pull back from the kiss this time, but when I finally managed to open my eyes, his face was still there—right by mine.

“Sorry yet again,” he whispered with a large grin on his lips. The kind of grin that lit up his eyes in a way that could blind a person. “There was definitely no excuse for that.”

“You said sorry again,” I said, seeing as that was the first thing to come to mind for some reason.

“Sorry,” he said, but I knew this time he was teasing.

“No worries,” I said, not pulling back. There was some weird magnetism shit going on with this guy, and my brain just wouldn’t kick in and tell me to back off. “I’m a woman you shouldn’t be anywhere near.”

“You’re the woman who I haven’t been able to stop thinking about getting near to.”

Whoa.

Usually, this crap he was spouting out of his mouth wouldn’t fly with me. And with any other guy, it wouldn’t have even gotten close. But the look on his face—the one that was looking at me like I was the most important thing on this earth—was making me a sucker for it. I blamed the whiskey.

“Please tell me you aren’t honestly considering me for anything else beyond this kiss?” I had to ask, and he shuffled closer.

“Rella,” he whispered, then he tucked an escaped strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll have whatever you are willing to give me.”

Why didn’t that sound like a line? Like a cheesy way to get his leg over and take one for the team? That I could handle. But his words, his touch, his sincerity made my insecurities rear up to the point of distraction. So I did what I always did when I was threatened with facing up to something I wasn’t ready for. I fell back on rudeness.

“You are a prince of a kingdom who looks after those with arrogance and coin,” I said, needing him to know that nothing could ever happen between us. “You should be more responsible with those choices, and not go after a woman who drinks way too much whiskey and hunts down criminals for a living.”

To prove a point, I knocked back the whiskey in my hands and appreciated the burn.

“You have such poor judgment of me?” he asked as he quirked up an eyebrow. It made him look like he was studying my behavior as he focused on my judgment of him, not the judgment on myself, and I almost groaned aloud with frustration.

“Have you been into your kingdom lately?” I couldn’t resist saying. “Have you seen the segregation and the prejudice? Or doesn’t that matter as long as the taxes are paid?”