Heir Untamed (8 page)

“You sound like you know from experience.” Chey sipped at the Sunrise, finding it perfectly mixed.

He took a frying pan out from under a cupboard and arched a brow over his shoulder at her. “I
do
get out once in a while, you know. It's not all work, all the time.”

“Yes? And what do you do for fun? Besides provoke innocent women.” Chey buried a grin into her drink when he snorted.

“I provoke
non-
innocent women.” He leveled a specific look at her, laughter in his eyes, and turned back to the stove. Shortly, the distinct scent of cooking steak filled the kitchen.

“Are you saying I'm one of the non-innocent? Sander Fisk, how dare you.” Playfully petulant, she leaned an arm on the counter, glass curled in her fingers.

“I know, right? I'm playing with fire.” He worked while he talked, more efficient in the kitchen than Chey would have given him credit for.

“What else?” she asked.

“It might be more appropriate to ask what I
don't
do. I enjoy hiking, fishing, rock climbing, canoeing, skiing—pretty much all outdoor sports. You?” He shredded lettuce and cheese and brought out a bevy of peppers, tomatoes, cilantro and other hot sauce ingredients.

Chey arched a brow. He was going to make hot sauce from scratch? “I like taking pictures of all those things. Before my mother passed, we used to go horseback riding and spend time at the beach.”

“Not bad pursuits. You should try canoeing before the weather turns. Latvala has some fantastic rivers.” He paused, then added, “I'm sorry to hear about your mother. That must be difficult.”

“It was.
Is.
It's only been just under nine months since the accident that took her and my father.” Chey had a longer drink, turning her mind from the painful recent past to thoughts of the future. It was better that way. The topic of her parents was still fresh and hurtful. “Maybe I will try the canoeing, then. You should suggest the best place to go.”

“I'll do you one better,” he said, stirring the meat. “I'll take you myself.”

Chey twitched in surprise. It wasn't an unpleasant prospect when she thought about it. He knew Latvala much better than she did.

He glanced over his shoulder, both brows arched.

Realizing she hadn't answered, and that he probably thought she didn't want to go, she nodded. “Yes. Sorry. I was imagining what it would be like and whether I should bring a camera or not.”

“I won't let us tip over. Bring the camera,” he said, turning back to the food. He dumped the hot sauce ingredients into a food processor and turned it to grind. In short order, the meal finished cooking. He carried plates of hot steak strips to the counter along with the shredded lettuce and cheese. Sliced tomatoes, avocado dip and chips accompanied the flour tortillas he heated over the stove.

“I can't believe you made all this,” Chey said. She set her glass down and accepted a plate from Sander before beginning to fill a tortilla with fajita fixings.

He set the hot sauce, now in a small bowl, beside everything else. Using the toe of his boot, he pulled a stool around to his side and straddled it so they were facing each other across the counter.

“I
did
mention that my mother was a chef, right?”

“I know, but I didn't think you actually learned anything from her.” Chey smiled, sheepish at the confession.

He laughed. “Why wouldn't I? It wasn't like she shooed me out of the kitchens at every turn. She was the type, anyway, that demanded I learn how to take care of myself.”

“It seems like it worked out pretty well for you,” she said, leaning over her plate to take a first bite.

“I suppose it has.” Sander filled three fajitas for himself, dolloped guacamole on his plate and added a few chips. After a quick scan of the windows and a check of his phone, he dug in.

“Anything?” Chey asked when he glanced at the phone.

“You'll have to put up with me for another two or three hours, then you can head back to the castle.” Sander eyed her while he ate. He took large bites, holding the fajita in two hands.

“Did they say whether the photo session is still on?” Chey watched his mouth instead of his eyes for a long minute, then dropped her gaze to her plate.

“Mm. Yeah. They're pushing the time back a little. You'll get details when you return. Something about the big garden, I guess.” Sounding unimpressed and disinterested in the Royal pictures, he took another bite of his food. “They have your camera, too, and the mare.”

“Oh good.” Chey, relieved to know her camera hadn't been left to the elements, dipped a chip into the guacamole and ate it. The guacamole was as good as everything else. “Thanks. For all this. Keeping me entertained while we have to wait, making lunch. I have to admit—it's really good.”

“Don't worry about it. I don't get company out here all that often. It's nice for a change.” He chuckled and finished off fajita number two. “Thanks,” he said after he chewed and swallowed.

Chey wondered if Sander was involved with anyone, a thought that struck her out of the blue. There were no signs a woman lived here with him, which meant little to nothing. He could be dating someone outside the compound, preferring to meet up with her on his off time away from the castle. A quick check of his left hand turned up no ring on his finger. It wasn't concrete proof that he was single, but it indicated he wasn't married, at least. Feeling the weight of his stare, she glanced up from her plate to find him watching her.

Holding his eyes, she let the chemistry between them build until the air all but sizzled. Unable to deny the attraction, she finally concentrated on finishing her lunch. What were the odds that she would run into two attractive men on this trip? Mattias had the intrigue of Royalty going for him and Sander...was just Sander. Blunt, abrupt, cocky, self assured. Although they had a rocky start, she found herself enjoying his company more and more.

Sliding off the seat, Chey ferried her plate and glass to the sink. Rinsing it along with her glass, she set each in the dishwasher, helping herself to his facilities. He'd made it, the least she could do was clean up.

Stepping up behind her, right at her back, he leaned over to set his plate and glass in the sink. The dishwasher still open at her side, Chey froze when he leaned so close. She could feel the heat bleeding off his body, the warmth of his breath graze her throat. It was dizzying.

“Did they give you a phone?” he asked, bracing a hand against the counter. He didn't move otherwise, crowding her space by the sink.

Chey stayed facing forward, looking out the little window with a view of the trees. “Yes, they did.”

“Here. Let me give you my number and I'll take yours. That way, I can contact you directly and we can plan the canoeing trip.”

She glanced aside and up. Sander studied her eyes, a back and forth tick before dipping to her mouth. Chey would have bet half her paycheck that Sander was about to kiss her. Did she want him to? The man who had tackled her off the horse, the man she'd just slapped only yesterday?

Or was she reading too much into it?

“All right. I just need to grab—oh. It's with my camera equipment. In one of the bags.” It took all Chey's willpower to keep her gaze on his and not glance at his mouth.

“Not to worry. I'll write mine down. Shoot me a text later and then I'll save yours to my phone.” He grinned, all teeth and sudden charm. Turning away, he opened a smaller drawer in the kitchen and took out a notepad along with a pen. With slanting, sharp script, he wrote down his number, tore the paper off, and handed it to her.

Chey watched Sander the whole time. How his muscles played under the shirt, the ease with which he moved. He was entirely too distracting. Accepting the paper, she glanced down at it, before folding it twice and sliding it into the front pocket of her jeans. “Thanks.”

He put the pad and pen back and closed the drawer. “Thank me when we're on the river.” Winking, he started clearing the remains of their meal off the counter.

“Here, I'll help--” Interrupted by a series of hard knocks—two short, followed by three more—Chey glanced at the door.

Sander set down the plates in his hands and drew his gun before the second knock rang through the cabin. His demeanor changed, becoming predatory and alert. There must have been a signal in the pattern of the knocks because he lowered his weapon and held it down against his thigh.

“They're here early. C'mon. Don't worry about this. I'll get it,” he said, indicating the left over dishes.

“I thought I had another couple hours?” Chey discovered she was disappointed to be leaving earlier than planned.

“You sound disappointed you won't be staying,” he pointed out with a devilish grin.

Chey scoffed and followed him toward the door. “I wanted to hear more about the trip and what things I might be photographing.”

“Mhm.” He didn't sound convinced. At the door, he issued brisk words in his mother tongue. A sharp answer came from the other side. Swinging the door open, he traded another few terse sentences with a man dressed in a dark business suit. After a moment, Sander nodded once, a curt gesture, then glanced at Chey. “He'll drive you back to the castle.”

The suited man glanced from Sander to Chey, then stepped aside to indicate he wanted her to go first. Parked not far from the cabin, a rugged Jeep sat with the engine idling. Chey hadn't heard it pull up.

“All right. Thanks again for...everything.” Chey glanced once more at Sander, who cut her a brief smile, and stepped out to the porch.

From there, the suited man escorted her to the Jeep, head on a swivel to study his surroundings, and opened the door to the passenger side. Chey climbed in with a murmur of gratitude for his help. He closed the door with a quiet thump, rounded the nose of the Jeep, and got in. Chey watched Sander, who stood in the open doorway, until the Jeep swerved around and headed away down a narrow path in the opposite direction.

Questions about the intentions of the shooter lurked in the back of her mind all the way back to the castle.

Chapter Five

Chey stood in the big garden, or the
King's Garden,
as dusk fell across the landscape. She studied the angle she'd set the camera up to capture, a picturesque view of a square arch overflowing with small, climbing roses. Greenery surrounded it and not far beyond, a fountain of cherubs burbled merrily. It would make a great backdrop for a family photo.

Since her return to the castle, security had been tightened even more than usual. Men and military stood guard in the halls, at the doors, and around the courtyards and perimeter of the grounds. Allar had no new information to give her. He reassured her everything was being done to track down the perpetrator and left it at that.

Not that Chey expected regular updates. She was sure she probably wouldn't ever hear what became of the incident in the woods. The security didn't owe her any explanations.

She had her equipment back in one piece and for that she was grateful. While she waited for the family, she found her phone among the bags and entered Sander's number into the short contact list. She sent a text as promised.

Back safe and sound. Look forward to canoeing. C.

Putting the phone away just as she heard a mild commotion at the doors to the garden, Chey smoothed her palm over the new suit she'd changed into. Dove gray with a pink shirt beneath, it made her feel businesslike and professional. For this assignment, she knew she needed to dress appropriately and had brought every suit she owned.

Into the King's Garden swept Viia, heels cracking over the stone walkway. She looked smart and sharp in a black skirt suit with white accents. Pulled back into a sleek chignon, the severe style of her blonde hair accentuated the high perfection of her cheekbones and the lush shape of her red painted mouth. She glanced briefly at Chey on the way by, dismissing her just as fast.

Remembering Mattias' request, Chey stepped behind the camera and snapped a few shots without the flash. She caught Viia looking somewhat perturbed—which was, as far as Chey could tell, a normal expression for her—and impatient.

It wasn't her fault the woman was constantly in a sour mood.

Aurora entered the garden next, subdued in a fragile peach dress that swished around her calves.

“It would have made for a better portrait, Aurora, if you'd worn something less...frilly,” Viia said with a skeptical look at Aurora's dress.

“Paavo wanted me to wear this one. He's in his gray suit.” Aurora didn't glance at Chey as she approached Viia and the rose covered arch. “Besides. You're not
quite
of the family yet. If and when you are, then you'll be wearing more appropriate clothing.”

The stinging words caught Chey by surprise. She straightened behind the camera just as Viia leveled a scathing look on Aurora.

“Need I remind you, Aurora, that
should
I become his wife, you'll be ranked lower than me?” Viia said. “And then
I'll
be setting the standard for what's proper and what's not.”

The complications of being involved in a Royal setting became clear to Chey in less than two days on the property. A fight for power and position reigned, with the lower ranking women squabbling over who would set trends and standards. The hierarchy was tedious, tenuous. She wondered how many more secrets the family harbored besides a possibly alcoholic Princess.

“Frankly, Viia, if you haven't secured a ring and a proposal by now, I'd wonder over his intentions. Are you sure he's not using you to keep his mother from setting up another situation, like what she's done with Dare? Trying to force him into marriage?” Aurora faced Viia down, flicking the floating hem of her peach dress around her calves.

Any other time, Chey would have loved to capture some of the looks these women were trading on camera. It added a whole new sphere to understanding the intricacies of the Royals. Things not seen by the general public.

She didn't dare, however. If either woman caught her at it they would throw fits, she was sure of it. As it was, she pretended like she wasn't paying any attention to the tension, fiddling with the camera instead.