His Princess (A Royal Romance)(80)

Quentin





I’m minding my own business, hosing the soap off my car when I hear a gurgling scream and look up to see a woman standing in the spray. No, not a woman, my nosy new neighbor.

Oh, lovely.

No, really. She is.

Just the sight of her stiffens my dick, which is a real problem. Tall for a woman, she’s lusciously curved and has bright-red hair tied up in a short ponytail, and the scrubs make her look like the world’s most f*ckable nurse.

The world’s most f*ckable nurse just entered a wet t-shirt contest. I flick the spray away from her and she stands there sopping wet, beaded water dripping from her nose. Her clothes are soaked through, clinging to the lush curves of her body.

Scrubs are kind of shapeless. Not anymore. She’s got a hell of a rack, an ass that cries out to be spanked, and long, shapely legs. She also has a glare that could cut glass. Her rosebud lips twist in a sneer and she storms across her lawn, fists bunched at her sides, and does a cute little thing where she sort of props up on her tiptoes to get in my face.

“You *,” she snarls, “look at what you did.”

I can’t help it, I look at what I did, and I like what I see. I glance down, and my cock stirs a little more at the sight of her scrubs molded to her breasts. It doesn’t help that, while she’s verbally tearing me a new *, she’s giving me the eye. Hard.

I probably should have worn a shirt while I was doing this. This is usually the part where the girl giggles and asks me what my tattoos mean and I tell her it’s none of her business, but she can have a closer look.

This lady, no.

“I have to go to work,” she snaps, on the verge of tears. “Now I have to go back inside and change. I’m going to miss my f*cking bus because of you.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” I blurt, before I realize I’m doing it.

She rears back. “Oh, great. Thanks a lot. No thanks, I’ll walk.”

Her lip trembling like she’s on the verge of tears, she turns on her heels and strides back up to her house, and it hits me that I’m actually upset to watch her leave.

However, I enjoy watching her go.

The front door slams as she disappears inside.

By the time I put up the hose and throw on a t-shirt, she’s walking out of the house.

“Let me give you a ride.”

“No.”

“Come on, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spray you.”

“Right. After that little display last night I’m supposed to believe that.”

“Look, lady, I don’t give a goddamn what you think about where I park my—”

She rounds on me, plants her heels, squeezes her hands into fists, and shouts at me. “I don’t care either. I was trying to save you some trouble, you musclebound meathead. If you’d stopped to listen you might have realized that instead of biting my head off for trying to help you. Get lost.”

“No. Get in my f*cking car.”

She snaps back, blinking.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to let you walk wherever you’re going in this heat on the shoulder of the goddamn road. Get in my car.”

She looks at me. “Apologize.”

“Excuse me?”

“Apologize. For last night.”

“Lady, I’m not your kid—”

“If you’re not the inconsiderate * I think you are, you will apologize.”

My mouth falls open. Are you f*cking kidding me?

I’m tempted to refuse her, just to see her get more pissed off. She’s cute when she’s angry.

“Fine. I’m sorry. Now get in the car.”

“You didn’t mean it—”

“Lady, if you don’t get in the car I am going to throw you over my shoulder and lock you in the trunk. I am giving you a ride to work and you are going to shut up and accept it.”

Fuming, she just stares at me.

Then she looks at her watch and rubs her wrist.

“Fine,” she mutters, “but you better not try anything.”

“What are you expecting me to try?”

She flushes red and hurries ahead of me, but I have to open her door for her anyway. She slips into the front seat and sighs audibly before leaning over to unlock my door.

Good girl.

I slip inside and close my door, and she folds her arms and pointedly stares straight ahead, but she flinches a little when I turn the key and the motor starts up.

She’s a ’68 Impala. When I picked her up she was a complete mess, and I had to strip the car down to a subframe and start from scratch. Took me almost three years to get her in perfect shape with all new running gear, a big block crate engine, new brakes, better suspension, the works. My little side project. Kind of a retirement party on wheels.

The exhaust rumbles a throaty note as I roll back out of the driveway onto the street, and…

Wait, what’s…

“What’s your name?”

“Rose,” she says curtly.

“Cute name.”

“Shut up,” she snaps.

“I’m giving you a ride, here,” I say, stretching my arm across the bench seat.

She shrinks back. “Because you sprayed me with a hose.”

“You walked into my stream. I was just minding my own business. You violated the sovereignty of my spray.”