Page 17 of Savage Princess

“I’ll just go in the bathroom.” Again, I feel that jolt of disappointment at the idea that he’s so quick to offer to leave, especially after what we did this morning. It’s another reminder that regardless of any cracks in the armor of his self-control, it’s always going to come back to this.

I’m just going to be a mission. A job.Cargo.

I get up stiffly, feeling my muscles complain. “Do I have time for a shower?” I look directly at him as I say it, waiting for a flicker of heat across his face, something that would hint that thinking of me in the shower throws him off. But his expression remains perfectly, carefully blank.

“Sure. We’re not on any time crunch right now. We can’t do anything until those passports are finished.”

Another jolt of disappointment. I try to ignore it as I stand up, scooping up the bag, and heading to the bathroom. It’s small and cramped and smells a little like mildew. The shower is barely big enough for one person—just a small stall with a plastic rim around a tile floor and a yellowing shower curtain. But the water gets hot quickly when I turn it on, and that’s all my sore muscles want right now.

I open up a tiny bottle of shampoo, sniffing it. My hair is still fairly clean, and I don’t know if this is the kind of hotel to give us more, so I set it aside and reach for the bar of soap instead, inspecting it closely before I lather up my hands and quickly rinse off. I don’t have a choice about using the towels in this place, but I decide to avoid the stiff-looking washcloth hanging from a plastic hook on the far wall.

It’s such a far cry from what I’m used to, from what I grew up with. But truthfully, I don’t mind as much as I would have thought. It feels like an adventure, staying in a questionable motel with a dangerous man tasked to protect me, something romantic and exciting and thrilling.

I get out and towel off, careful of the still-healing cut on my side. I inspect it, looking for any signs of infection, but it looks as if it’s healing well enough, although there’s no question that Levin was right about it scarring. The skin is puffy and a little pink, but it looks otherwise fine.

The bag that Levin left for me has a light blue dress in it made of some floaty material, with thin crisscrossing straps over the shoulders and back, a slightly dipped neckline, and a nipped-in waist with a floaty skirt that goes down to my calves. There’s a pair of sandals in there too, and as I hold up the dress, I wonder how he chose this.Did he picture me in it? Did he see it and think it would look beautiful on me?

It’s a little big, but not much. I braid my hair to one side, knotting the ends of it to keep it from unraveling, and slip on the sandals. I know logically that this isn’t a date, but I can’t help feeling like it is, a little. Levin bought me a dress to wear out to dinner with him, a dinner that he’s going to buy—albeit with stolen money from an ATM—and we’re undoubtedly going to talk, at least as much as I can manage to get him to. That feels like a date to me.

Which means it’s my first.

I slip out of the bathroom to see him in the same spot, gun in his lap, looking towards the door. He’s motionless, as if he’s used to this kind of thing, and I clear my throat so I don’t startle him. I’d enjoyed getting tossed onto the floor that night more than I probably should have, but I’m also aware that it was more than a little dangerous.

He glances toward me, and I see a brief flicker of something in his gaze that I think is desire. It only lasts a second before it clears, his expression blank and careful again, but it’s there.

“Are you ready?” He stands up, slipping his gun into his waistband and shrugging on his leather jacket over that. It’s not in the shape it once was when I first met him—the leather is salt-stained now and torn in a couple of places—but in a way, it suits him. It’s rugged and rough, just like he is—and I think it’s sexy.

“Yeah, I am.” I smooth my hands over my hips, brushing down the flowy skirt. It’s not themostpractical of clothing, but loose enough that at least I’ll be able to run if we need to, which I’m sure Levin took into account.

“Let’s go then.” Levin checks his pockets and strides to the door, opening it. He stands there long enough for me to realize he’s opening it forme, and it’s such a sweet, chivalrous gesture that it surprises me.

If he’s trying to not make this feel more like a date, he’s failing.It makes me wonder if he even realized what he did, or if it was just an instinct. If, under the dangerous exterior, he’s a better man than he’s even seemed so far.

He doesn’t touch me as we walk to the main street, and I try not to limp too obviously. I don’t want him to think I’m angling to get closer to him, and Icanwalk; I’m just still favoring the ankle. By the time we get to a spot where we can hail a cab, though, I’m ready to be off of it.

We end up in a slightly nicer part of town, near the water. I can see taller buildings and what looks like fancier establishments further off, but the street Levin takes me down has several smaller restaurants, with signs out front that have the day’s specials written on them and chairs arranged on cute patios. The buildings are all textured stone facades, worn in places, and there’s a homey, cozy feeling to the street that I find I like.

“I love this,” I whisper to Levin as he steers me towards one of the restaurants in particular, one with a small iron-fenced patio and a smattering of tables and no one sitting at them. “It’s all so cute and quaint.”

Levin chuckles. “I can see how you would think that.”

“Can we sit outside?”

I see him hesitate, and then he shakes his head. “No, Elena. I’m sorry. I know it’s a nice evening, but it’s too dangerous to be out in the open like that. I’ll try to get us a corner table—I sit facing the door. We can’t afford to be too exposed.”

I feel a flicker of disappointment, but I swallow it back, nodding. I know he’s right.

The doors of the restaurant are open in the front and back, letting the light summer breeze flow through, so it’s almost as nice inside as out, at least. It’s a little before dinnertime, so the restaurant is practically empty. Still, Levin asks the hostess for a corner table, and she leads us to one at the very back.

He slides into the seat facing the door, and I see his gaze searching the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I tense as I slide into my seat, wondering if he’s going to find anything, if there’s some danger here that we don’t know about. I feel the cold knot in my stomach wind tighter as the seconds tick by—and then I see his shoulders relax a little, and I know we’re safe for now.

It’s not lost on me how many of his small mannerisms I’m beginning to learn, how intimate that is, and how when he’s gone, I’ll still know those things—but I’ll never learn any others. My chest clenches painfully at the thought, but I push it aside—or try to, at least.

“We should get something to drink,” I tell him, trying to brighten the mood. “Something fun.”

Levin raises an eyebrow at me, but when a waitress comes to our table, he smiles pleasantly at her and orders two cocktails—something calledcaipirinha. “And waters,” he adds pointedly. “We’ll order food in a minute.”

“Don’t drink it too fast,” he warns me as the waitress walks away—slowly, as she’s busy ogling Levin over her shoulder. I can’t exactly blame her—he looks gorgeous, even in a thrift t-shirt and the banged-up leather jacket. Every time his blue eyes catch mine, I feel my breath catch in my throat.

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