Page 22 of Runaway Queen

“You like it? I think the light is still too bright,” I muttered critically, turning my head to see the painting from different angles.

“Girl, that is not a worry you should ever have. I’ve seen the stuff in your studio. Being too light isn’t your problem,” Chiara sighed as she noisily dragged a chair across the tile to sit beside me.

“How was class?”

“It was great, except I have a new student who I’m sure Angelo would flip his lid over if he saw him,” Chiara smiled dirtily. She was a highly sought-after yoga instructor in town and ran a successful studio.

“Right, like that isn’t exactly what you’d like,” I teased her.

She smiled and wriggled her eyebrows. “You know that jealousy sex is the best. All the claiming, all the attempts to leave a mark.”

She shuddered delicately, and I looked away. I could practically feel her anticipation for tangling with her husband, and I couldn’t lie that it didn’t make me jealous.

She nudged me with her foot. “You know you don’t have to be a nun.”

“I can take care of my needs just fine, thank you very much. I don’t need a man to provide anything these days, not even an orgasm,” I muttered, taking the cup of black coffee she’d brought me and sipped the hot liquid, enjoying the bite of it on my tongue. I still liked my coffee dark and bitter, like my soul.

“Honey, even battery-operated devices have their limits. A vibrator can’t hold you down, spit in your mouth, and tell you that you’re daddy’s good little girl,” she said.

The man next to us snorted his coffee out of his nose, as did I.

“Christ, take it down a notch in public,” I muttered, wiping my nose on a tissue.

“I’m just keeping your day interesting, and random eavesdropper’s, too, apparently,” she directed over her shoulder at the man who had clearly been listening.

Instead of flushing with embarrassment, the man turned in his chair and beamed at us.

“I apologize, ladies. I’ve been awfully rude. It’s just that there’s no one around here even remotely as interesting as you.” His Irish accent was a pleasant surprise, and his twinkling green eyes revealed he knew just how disarming it was. He grinned at us. “I don’t suppose I could join you?”

“I don’t suppose you could,” Chiara said back sweetly. “My husband can pull the arms off a man without breaking a sweat. It’s a risk you shouldn’t take.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She’s doing you a favor, believe me,” I said, and attempted a smile at the man.

He was handsome as hell, and he knew it. A chiseled jaw and tousled blond hair framed those green eyes, and his navy T-shirt clung to an impressive chest.

“And here I was thinking a newcomer to town had finally found a couple of guides worthy of hanging out with. I’m sorry for interrupting you,” he said and gave a small salute, withdrawing his attentions gracefully, before he became an annoyance. It was masterfully done, really.

Chiara turned back to me and tapped her lip, her eyes calculating. A wicked smile sprang to her face, and before I could tell her to forget whatever her devious mind had cooked up, she’d twisted around. “I’m married, but my friend isn’t. Maybe she can be your guide.”

“Excuse me,” I started, and flushed horribly as they both looked at me.

“That would be great, as long as I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes. I mean, I’m just looking for a local guide, where the hotspots are, good areas to live in, that sort of thing. We can work up to spitting and daddy stuff later,” the stranger quipped.

Chiara laughed, and even I felt a reluctant smile touch my lips. The guy was charming, all right, and had somehow made it less awkward. Not that I had any intention of meeting up with a man for anything romantic. Those days were behind me.

“I wish I could help, but I’m really busy with work,” I told him firmly.

Chiara sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately, that’s true. She’s a high school teacher, and she’s always slammed.”

“Hade Harbor High, is it? I heard they’ve a killer hockey team. Hade Harbor University is pretty famous, too, isn’t it?”

“It is. This is a college town,” I said.

The man pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed something in. “Well, I don’t want to push you. If you have time, or if you could just answer a message, if I shoot one off about a neighborhood or something, while I’m with the realtor, that would be appreciated. I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll give you my number, then you decide,” he said.

I nodded, feeling reluctant but not wanting to be an asshole to such a reasonable request.

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