Page 12 of Royal Agenda

“For the record, this was not my idea.” Grace flounced the cape out as she sat down.

Aaron stepped toward the door. “I’m headed out—unless you want some company?” he asked Mack.

Mack shook his head. He jerked his chin, and Liam opened the door for Aaron, stepping into the hallway himself. “I’ll be out here, making phone calls.” His two shadows followed after him, Bear staring up like he’d met his hero and Sweetie purring low each time Liam allowed her to brush his leg.

Aaron scowled at the alligator. “You do remember that I’m the one who rescued you, don’t you?”

Sweetie ignored his jealousy.

With the guard out of the way, the rest of the room could clear out.

“We’ll just leave you to it.” Polly grinned over her shoulder.

“Yes. Don’t hurry home, Grace.” Nancy shook her finger at Ryker. “Take all the time you need. This must be done right.”

Ryker saluted her.

“Love you, Grandma.” Grace waved, and then her hand disappeared under the cape again.

Nancy stepped over Sweetie. “I’ve never seen her so attentive to a person—even Aaron. And she loves Aaron.”

“Hey!” Aaron protested. “I’m her favorite.”

Liam took two steps down the hall, and Sweetie followed. Aaron frowned, making Liam laugh. “Can I help it if the women love me?” he asked, his hands up in an I’m-so-innocent movement.

Mack grunted, but it was an amused grunt, and shut the door, cutting off the women giggling over Liam in the hallway and the rock n’ roll music from next door.

Ryker turned the chair around so Grace faced the mirror and considered the task before him. If he thought of her as another haircut, another client, and nothing more, he might be able to tame the pull she had on him.

He lifted a dread and rolled it between his fingers. It was soft and smelled of sunshine and spices. “Are you certain you want to take these out? They are quite fetching on you.”

She laughed lightly, breaking through all his walls and calling to his heart like a siren. “I’m sure. I only wear them when I travel, and I would have taken them out soon anyway. Might as well do it now and keep her happy.”

Ryker tipped his head to the side. “You love your nonna, sí?” She was not pretending the emotion; it was as clear as the radiance in her deep blue eyes, full of life and light.

Mack coughed, jolting Ryker out of the spell Grace cast over him without trying. It had been a long time since Ryker dropped so easily into his full accent. Normally, he only allowed it to come forth when he had to charm one of the women at The Palms into behaving herself, which was not too often.

He gave Mack a shrug. Something about Grace made it all too easy to be himself—his authentic self.

He ran his hands down her dreads and a feeling of lightness came over him, a soft buzz of happiness that he had not felt in his lifetime.

Grace may or may not be a spy, but she was most definitely a threat to his heart.

Three

Grace closed her eyes and allowed Ryker’s strong fingers to work through her hair. His hands were large, calloused, and tender. As he finished with a dread, he brushed and positioned her hair over her shoulder, brushing his fingers down her neck in the process and setting her skin aflame.

The man had serious seduction skills, and he wasn’t even trying.

She told herself over and over again that he was Isladorian. Sensuality was part of their DNA–they were born to be gentlemen who said delicious things and mastered the art of flirty touch. The whole country should come with a warning that reads: Exposure to Isladorian men may cause your ovaries to explode. Every time their skin made contact, a burst of wantonness–was that even a word?–went through her like fireworks.

Not only did he take out the braids, but after each one, he massaged her scalp, the pressure just right. He ruined her for any hairdresser or barber the world over. She never wanted to be touched by anyone but him.

Wait–that sounded oddly like a lifetime commitment, and Grace didn’t make those.

Committing six months to fake hair was the longest vow she’d uttered. And even then, she’d balked when told they had to be removed and rebraided every six weeks. She could do it on her own in a pinch, but there was usually a woman in whatever village, town, or city she was in who was happy for the work. Once she explained the process, they took to it with glee, singing or humming as they braided, sometimes telling stories. Those moments were her favorite because she collected the stories, recording them on her phone, and then transcribed them when she was on an airplane.

Though Grandma was heavy-handed with the appointment, Grace wouldn’t complain. She bit her lip and stifled a moan as Ryker tipped her head to the side and ran a thumb down her scalp and neck.

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