Page 2 of A Royal Disaster
Whatever the reason, she was over it.
It took several trips to lug enough paint out to the alley behind the shop, and there was a light sheen of sweat coating her skin by the time she was done. The little patch of outdoor space was one of the few benefits of being the smallest building on the block. So what if it was covered in cobblestones and hedged in on either side by towering mid-rises? It was still private outdoor space. Perfect for painting, sunbathing, and the few potted plants she managed to keep alive. She placed a plastic tarp on the ground to catch any spills and popped the lids off the cans. Then she studied her canvas, visualizing the final product.
Technically, the mural was on the neighboring building but, since the wall faced the interior of the fenced-in alley, the owner had given her free reign to paint the swath of bricks as she saw fit.
Lena studied the vibrant palette she’d selected for this project. Sapphire, amber, sangria, emerald, and a deep purple so rich it appeared almost black inside the can. Perfect for some next-level splatter art.
Sucking in a deep breath, Lena hoisted the bucket of purple paint from the ground, resting it against her hip as she channeled every negative feeling Chad’s lawsuit had evoked. She tapped into the hurt, the anger, the knowledge that no matter how hard she tried, everything she touched would turn to shit.
She was, after all, a walking, talking testament to Murphy’s Law.
Lena shifted the bucket so she could grip it with both hands and twisted at the waist as she drew her arms back. Then she flung the paint at the wall with all the force she could muster, roaring as a stranger stumbled through a broken panel in the fence—directly in her line of fire.
She watched in horror as the paint exploded from the can, arcing toward the trespasser. She lost her grip on the metal can and it slipped from her grasp, tumbling end over end as it soared through the air. Just like one of those slow motion videos, she heard herself scream“Nooo!”but it was too late. The paint pelted the stranger, landing with a sharpthwap-thwap-thwap!He threw his arms up to protect his head, and the flying can hit him square in the groin.
He doubled over with a rather impressive curse, cupping the family jewels as the bucket clunked unceremoniously to the ground.
Ay, mierda. Here comes another lawsuit.
…
What in the bloody hell?
Pain lanced through Liam Stanley like a gunshot, and he nearly fell to his knees as white-hot lightning exploded in his cock. He spit every curse he’d ever learned—and invented a few new ones—as he cupped his throbbing balls. It was a decidedly un-princely gesture, and he gave silent thanks he’d ditched the paparazzi who had been tailing him.
Serves you right for traipsing around the city without a security detail.
It was hard to tell if the snide words echoing in his head were his own or Fin’s. He could already hear his assistant’s admonishment, though he was in no mood for a lecture. The afternoon’s trade meetings had been a disaster, and now this?
Something warm and sticky dripped down his brow, coating his eyelids even as he clenched them shut.
Liam sucked in a breath and forced himself to straighten. He’d been caught off guard, but even so, he couldn’t stand around with his dick in his hand. He scraped the thick goo from his face, doing his best to get his bearings and keep the offending mess out of his eyes. He blinked and stared down at his purple hands as rivulets of paint dripped between his fingers, splattering the ground below.
What had he gotten himself into?
“I—” The lone syllable hung in the alley, infused with a note of panic.
Liam lifted his chin, gaze settling on the woman who’d attacked him with paint, of all things. He scanned his assailant from head to toe, his lips curving at the look of alarm frozen on her lovely face. She wore baggy, paint-splattered dungarees and stared at him with soulful eyes the color of black coffee, with expressive brows that were arched almost to her equally dark brown hairline. There was a faint blush on her olive-toned cheeks, and her rosy lips were parted as if the words had been sucked right out of her mouth.
Hell, he would’ve called her beautiful—before she’d let the paint can of fury fly. Now he had a few other choice thoughts, but it was probably best to keep those to himself if he didn’t want to lose a testicle.
“Is this how you greet all your guests?” he asked, grudgingly wiping his hands on his trousers. They were beyond salvageable anyway, and there was no way he’d be able to sneak back into the hotel in his current state.
He’d have to call Fin for a ride and a change of clothes, after he’d been ignoring his calls all afternoon. Perhaps this was karma.
“You’re not a guest,” the petite brunette said, snapping her jaw shut and straightening her spine. She planted her hands on her hips and sniffed in a way that would’ve put any lady of the court to shame. “You’re trespassing on my property. You’re an intruder.”
“Ah, yes. The sign,” he said, recalling the floweredPrivate Property - No Trespassingplacard he’d noticed as he slipped through a loose panel in the gate. Trespassing was hardly becoming of a gentleman, but he’d been out of options, and at the time it had seemed harmless enough. “Not very intimidating, for what it’s worth.” He flashed her a dimpled smile, one that had gotten him out of more scrapes than he could count over the years. “But perhaps that’s where the paint assault comes in?”
“Assault?” She raised her chin, defiance flashing in her eyes. Okay. So, not a fan of dimples, then. “I think you mean self-defense.”
Was she serious? She’d doused him in paint and damn near sterilized him with the flying paint can. All because he’d ducked through her gate to ditch the paps.
Liam lifted a brow but said nothing. He was accustomed to difficult negotiations, and in his experience, the party who had the discipline to remain silent usually held the power. He might be dripping purple paint and unrecognizable, but surely she couldn’t think he’d been trying to attack her. She shifted her weight as the uncomfortable silence stretched on, lasting what felt like forever, but was probably only a minute or two, before she cracked.
Impressive.
“This is my art,” she said, cocking her head to peer around him. “Or it was, before you stepped in.”
