Page 90 of The Stolen Princess
“I kind of liked being your enemy.” His voice was playful.
“Oh, don’t worry, I still hate you.” Myka laughed, hitting him on the arm, then she froze.
Shoot.
Playful arm hitting? What was she thinking? That was a sure sign of flirting, and she and Drake didn’t flirt, not really.
Then he did something unexpected. He nudged her with his shoulder.
A shoulder nudge!
First, arm hitting, then a shoulder nudge. What was Myka supposed to think about that? They’d only been on the same side for two whole seconds.
Maybe it was accidental. She hadn’t intentionally hit him on the arm. It had just happened. Were there such things as accidental shoulder nudges too? Did people walk around accidentally bumping into others like it was some kind of body spasm they couldn’t control? It didn’t seem likely, but Myka wasn’t going to rule it out.
She glanced sideways at him. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For comforting me last night.”
“It was nothing,” he said shaking his head.
“It was something to me. You’re a really good…” her words drifted off. Kidnapper? Friend? Since she didn’t have a good answer she decided to move on. “Anyway, I think I got snot on your shirt.”
“I think so too.” He smiled. “But at least you didn’t blow your nose on me.”
Myka laughed, feeling the urge to shoulder nudge him back, but a few drops of rain fell from the sky, and they both looked up.
“We’d better get back to the shack before we get soaked.” He reached out to her, and Myka’s eyes dropped to his hand. The moment felt big, like taking Drake’s hand meant she was okay to follow him into the great unknown. His eyes promised her a place to belong, and that’s exactly what she needed. She placed her hand in his, letting him pull her in. Drake smiled back at her as the rain began to fall; right now, she was okay with risking everything to be with him.
It had been rainingall day, forcing everyone inside. Drake had left the shack to cover the firewood and the food. When he came back a half-hour later, Myka sat at the table with a paper and pencil in her hand.
“I brought some snacks,” he said, dropping a small bag of nuts and seeds onto the table. “And I also brought entertainment.” He wiggled a box out in front of her.Monopoly.Myka recognized it from the bomb shelter earlier that morning.
“But we don’t know how to play it.”
“There are instructions inside. How hard can it be?” Drake set the game down next to the snacks and pulled his wet shirt up over his head, accentuating every single muscle on his chest and arms. That was one good-looking chest, and it looked even better now that it belonged to a person whom she didn’t hate. It took a lot of effort, but she pulled her eyes away. Would there ever be a day she could see this man shirtless and not get flustered?
He put on a dry shirt as he walked over to the table. “What are you working on?” he asked, leaning over the drawing.
He stood behind her, his left arm stretched out over her shoulder, and the palm of his hand pressed against the table in front of her.
She cleared her throat. “It’s a map of Tolsten House. I thought maybe we could sneak you in or plan something that might help. I don’t know. You’re the commander. Maybe this won’t even help you.”
“This could help,” he said as his right arm reached out in front of her, picking up the pencil, and suddenly Myka was trapped between two large biceps. If she was going to be trapped between something, biceps were always a good choice. The butterflies deep inside of her stirred to life. She didn’t get it. For one week, they had spent the majority of every day and every night together. Myka should be used to Drake. She should be over all the butterflies. But the buzzing in her stomach said they’d only just begun.
“What’s this door?” Drake asked, using the pencil to point at something on the paper.
She wanted to give the map and their conversation her undivided attention, but the bulging muscles to her right and left were distracting. “It’s the door the kitchen staff uses to load supplies into the pantry.”
Drake leaned over her, circling that door. “That might be a good option.”
Myka waved her hands out in front of her. “Do you think you could sit down?”
He turned his face toward hers, and she eyed him from the side. She didn’t dare to fully face him, because if she did, their lips would be lined up—not touching, just lined up—but that wasn’t something that they did. You don’t go from enemies to some sort of friendly partnership, to lips lined up. That’s not how kidnappings go.
She’d spent days hating Drake Vestry, but hate wasn’t the feeling burning inside her chest anymore. Every look and every touch felt significant. Exciting. And so confusing.
