Page 72 of The Stolen Princess
She casually bent over the bank, dipping the knife into the water. She scrubbed the blade with her fingers. The key was to not look suspicious, to wash this knife like it was the most unassuming thing in the world,thenshe would slip it under her shirt.
What if I forget it’s there, and I cut my stomach when I bend over?
She shook her head. Surely, she would feel the cool metal against her skin before she split her stomach wide open.
Myka jerked from alarm as Drake reached his arms around her, grabbing her wrists, scaring her thoughts away. His touch sent a shiver down her spine as if she was cold, but she wasn’t. When Drake touched her, she felt hot and unsteady and her insides turned to mush.
“Mykaleen Adler and knives are not a good combination,” he whispered in her ear. His voice was deep, and his lips were so close to her ear she could feel his breath on her skin.
She raised her shoulder up to her ear as if that could somehow stop the spread of chills attacking her neck and earlobe. His salty sweaty smell filled the air around her, and his glistening muscles ran against her arms. “I was washing it for Portlend,” she managed to get out.
“My guess is that you were going to take it to use against me.” His words had created more chills. It was weird. She was frustrated that Drake had caught on to her plan, but at the same time, his arms skimming hers, his close cheek, and his hands on hers made her momentarily not even care about the knife.
How stupid could she be?
Drake had kidnapped her.
He held her captive against her will.
How could she be attracted to him? It didn’t make sense.
Shut it down, Myka!
She tried to jerk her arm back, hoping she could press the knife in her hand up to his neck, but his strength overpowered her, keeping her arms locked out in front of her.
“Drop the knife,” he said.
Her jaw clenched, and she pursed her lips together as she opened her hands, letting the blade fall.
Drake leaned forward, catching the knife between his fingers before it went into the river. He held it up in front of her so she could see.
“Myka, Myka, Myka,” he clucked, shaking his head. “You are too predictable.”
She turned her head, making her cheek almost brush against his lips. Her eyes gravitated to his. “You said drop it, so I did.”
Drake tilted his head so his lips were angled toward hers. “Does this mean you’ll do anything I ask?”
His deep voice, his flowing hair, his perfectly trimmed stubble were all working against her, making her heartbeat skyrocket out of control. Frustration pressed against her chest. She was supposed to hate this man. She leaned over, hitting the water in front of her sending a wave of splashes into Drake’s face. He squinted his eyes but didn’t even flinch, like he had somehow predicted she would do that too.
When his eyes finally opened, the look behind them...well, Drake had definitely perfected his flirtatious stare. His gaze sparkled.
Myka was in trouble because there were times that she loved hating Drake Vestry.
After dinner,Myka laid on the cot, staring up at the ceiling. They were still doing the rope thing at night. The neck stabbing hadn’t helped; neither had the knife incident earlier that day.
She hugged the wall so close that her nose was practically touching the rough wood. Drake sat on the edge of the cot next to her, finishing the knot on the rope. “I’m not going to sleep the opposite way as you anymore. You kick too much, and I’m sick of it. I’d like one night of decent sleep.”
Myka eyed him. “I told you it was a stupid idea from the start.”
“Yes, I know,” he muttered. “The crucial body parts.” He swung his legs around and laid down next to her.
Myka swallowed. After two nights of sleeping the opposite direction, this change felt a little too cozy. She was about to tell him that when he asked her a question.
“What were you thinking about tonight at dinner?”
Her brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
“You were smiling.”
