Page 26 of Some Like It Scandalous
They both lunged for the water bottle, but between them, it fired the water up and showered it down on both of them. Anna had chips in her hair. Mustard clung to his chin. They both dripped. Their gazes collided and she laughed—a deep, belly-rolling laugh that smashed the tension against the rocks—and he grinned…before hitting her with another douse of water from the unused bottle.
Chapter 8
Anna
Ahysterical fit of the giggles assaulted her when the water splashed against her face. Chilled from the fridge, it soaked right through her silk shirt and sent a wave of goose bumps racing over her skin—but she wasn’t cold. Not like she felt when she’d arrived back at his penthouse. Heat warmed her face and her cheeks ached from holding back her smile—Charlie chased her around the island until he’d dumped the entire contents of the bottle over her head.
She scampered, grabbing a bottle of ketchup from the fridge on her slide by. Whirling, she flipped the cap off and pointed it at him.
“You wouldn’t dare.” But his eyes challenged her and his grin was as feral as it was excited. She squeezed the bottle and he dodged—the ketchup shot across the kitchen in a stream and splatted against the chest of a very nicely dressed, younger version of Armand.
“Oh crap.” She winced.
The man stared at her drolly as ketchup dripped down the expensive fabric to splat against the floor. Armand glanced from her to the newcomer and straightened. He stepped right in frontof her, cutting off her view. “George.” He pronounced itShorgeand his accent sharpened. “You weren’t expected.”
His brother.
Fantastic.
The last time she’d seen the younger prince, he’d been barely sixteen, scrawny and long limbed. Heart sinking, she closed the lid on the ketchup.
“Clearly, and I wasn’t aware you were entertaining.” Disdain rolled through the too-cool tone. “But Peterson informed me that all family needed to check in.”
Armand glanced over his shoulder at her and his gaze flicked from her face to her chest and back up again. She lifted her eyebrows and looked down. Embarrassment surged and she pulled his damp jacket closed. The water soaked right through the silk shirt, clearly outlining her breasts, and her nipples stood out in stark relief.
George walked over to tug a paper towel from the dispenser and blotted at the ketchup.
“I’m sorry about that,” she began, looking for the right words to dress the apology up in…
I’m sorry you walked in and I sprayed you with ketchup? I’ll pay for your suit cleaning? Don’t mind the wet T-shirt contest.
Armand’s dress shirt clung to him, hugging the smooth, cut lines of his musculature.
He still worked out. They’d run in college—he a lot more than she—but he’d also enjoyed going to the gym. A habit he’d dragged her into—mostly because watching him lift weights was sexy as hell. She cleared her throat. “I should…let you two talk.”
“That would be pleasant.” Dismissal hung right off the end of George’s statement. Armand’s back stiffened.
“That was rude.” Armand’s voice went flat, cool, and she knew that tone—just like his accent—which echoed so loudly in the words. The tone cried angry.
“My apologies, Your Highness. I am unaccustomed to the polite rules that include ruining a five-thousand-dollar suit. It must be an American thing.” His brother’s tone was equally cold.
She moved out from behind Armand and met the cool disdain in the younger prince’s gaze. He barely spared her a glance, as if she weren’t worthy of his attention. The silence in the room stretched, and Armand’s left hand curled into a fist—the lines around his mouth turned white.
“Of course. It’s a completely bourgeois middle-American way of saying suck on it.” She beamed and brushed her fingers against Armand’s fist. She’d only ever seen him get into two fights before—the first when a guy in a bar dumped his beer all over her. It had been an accident, but the belligerent drunk leered and Armand slugged him. His friends waded right into the brawl that broke out.
Friends—friends who were his security force.
The second had begun as a playful tussle during a flag football match on the field. It escalated so quickly when the other team hit him—and he responded in kind.
But it would be better to not start another brawl in the kitchen. Particularly with him wearing her mustard, mayo and turkey sandwich and both of them soaked from the water play. In fact, the kitchen was quite the disaster.
“Apologize, George.” Armand didn’t bend, his gaze fixed on his brother. “Now.”
The younger prince scowled, but the expression rippled away and disappeared behind a placid, cold remoteness. He turned to look at her and inclined his head in a sharp nod. “My apologies, Miss Novak.”
The words were correct, but the tone told her to go to hell. She appreciated the distinction. “Please accept mine as well.” Hers lacked the force to penetrate his chilly reception, but in thiscase—escape might be the better part of valor. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m just going to change and get to work.”
Armand’s fingers locked around hers and tugged her back.Or maybe not…
