Page 51 of Stolen Princess

He doesn’t reply, and I have to imagine the idiot didn’t mean to reveal his hand that way. There’s a reason they’re not the brains, just the brawn and technical stuff. They live like frat boys in the middle of a suburb, intimidating the neighbors and paying off whomever they have to. They think they’re invincible. But if this woman didn’t steal the tiara from my safe in their home, she’d have no way of linking us together.

Her sister wouldn’t know who I am. She never saw me. Never met me. And she’d have no clue how to reach them.

This woman did, and she knew I had the tiara.

The stakes keep getting higher, and I don’t like any of it.

I spin around and squint out the glass of the front of the store until I find her in the car with her focus out the window as it has been. Why didn’t I walk away from her this morning? Why can’t I walk away from her now?

I make myself a coffee, pay for it, and sip it as I watch her from inside. There’s no way I’ll get my necklace back without killing her mother because there’s no way I’d get close to the cottage without her knowing, and in all likelihood, she’s waiting there so she doesn’t miss the girl or her chance at me.

It’s what I’d do. Especially now that she’s locked in with Sven and Lars, who will do her hunting for her. So what now? I have a target on my back, and who knows about Genevieve.

Frustrated, I chuck my coffee cup into the waste bin, grab a bag of frozen peas and two ice cream bars, pay, then leave. The car door slams behind me, and I release a silent breath. She’s staring at me. I can feel her eyes, but I can’t meet them yet. I’ve never warred with such strong fight-or-flight emotions before.

It’s always been one or the other. Never both at the same time.

I hand the peas and one of the ice creams to Genevieve as I back out of the spot and head toward the exit of the station.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Eat the ice cream and put the peas on your face over your cut.”

She eyes the ice cream like I handed her poison, and I smile to myself. The girl doesn’t even know what an ice cream bar is. I like that she doesn’t blindly trust me, even if she is here with me despite knowing what I’ve done and what I’m capable of.

“Go on,” I urge. “You’ll like it.”

“This isn’t some god-awful, gross thing you’re about to feed me as an evil prank, is it?”

“You honestly don’t know what ice cream is?”

“I know what ice cream is, but in the book, I read it was green, and the villain hid bugs in it.”

I make a gagging sound as I pull us back onto the road. It’s a four-lane route, two going south, two going north, with nothing but flat, open land for the next twenty or so kilometers.

“This isn’t that, princess. I promise. But if you’re too chickenshit to try it, we can throw it out.”

“Chickenshit? I have chickens at the cottage, and let me tell you, chickens aren’t afraid of much. They’ll peck your eyes out if you look at them funny.”

“Noted, but I’m still throwing down a gauntlet. Is this one challenge you can’t meet?”

She glares. “Are you trying to make me take out your spleen with your knife?”

I laugh. “You don’t know what ice cream is, but you know what a spleen is?”

She shrugs. “I don’t see you eating yours.”

“Fine. I’ll go first since you’re so untrusting.” I unwrap mine and take a bite, the crunch of the chocolate shell and the cold of the vanilla ice cream is a shock, but a sweet, delicious one. I don’t remember the last time I had an ice cream either. Not often, and never as a kid. We were poor, and ice cream was a luxury, but I still knew what it was and had tasted it. “See. Delicious.”

I take another bite while I drive one-handed. The ice cream is already starting to melt, and this will get messy soon, but fuck it.

She unwraps the bar and takes a bite, the chocolate shell cracking, and a piece falls onto her lap as she gets to the vanilla center. Her eyes grow big, and she smiles around the bar.

“See. I didn’t trick you.” And shit, that smile. Motherfucker, that smile. I want to lick her lips to taste it and the ice cream.

“You didn’t trick me,” she concedes as she does a little happy wiggle and digs in for more, picking up the fallen pieces and licking at all the droopy cream before it can drip.

I’m not watching the road. Not carefully. Good thing it’s straight with not a lot of cars around, because I can’t take my eyes off her.