Page 67 of Handle Me

Thankfully, as soon as I got enough distance, my head usually cleared up.

“I guess it’s not a problem,” she said. “I suppose I worried for no reason.”

“Not a problem at all. The story will blow over, and everything will go back to normal.”

My mother nodded, this time looking genuinely relieved. “Good.”

“Good,” I repeated, but the word sounded hollow to me. It didn’t feel good. It felt wrong.

Before I could process why that was, the front bell rang. I turned toward the sound.

“Let someone else get it.” She waved it off.

But it was probably reporters. There was no way any tabloid was letting this story die for a while. Why would they? The king’s illegitimate brother and the Queen’s sister? It was like printing pound notes. My mother knew that, and I loved that she wanted to protect me. But I wasn’t about to live my life in hiding. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you sure?” she said carefully.

“I got this.” I truly believed I did as I walked through the foyer. I’d handled attention since Clara’s relationship with Alexander went public. When the media realized nothing was happening with Anders, they would lose interest eventually. It was just a matter of time.

I braced myself as I opened the door. But there were no camera flashes or screaming paparazzi. I was totally unprepared to find Anders on the doorstep in a black T-shirt and jeans, which made me seriously rethink my plan to make him wear more suits. He grinned, drawing attention to the stubble I’d felt between my legs this morning.

I clenched my thighs and tried to act unruffled by his sudden presence. Secretly I was glad he couldn’t feel my heart speed up, that he didn’t know about the hungry tick at my core.

I shook my head, but I still felt dizzy. I poked my head out the door, looking around the street for signs of reporters. There was only his Ferrari, and a black Range Rover parked on the street. I waved half-heartedly, knowing Brex was inside. But the lack of other cars didn’t mean we had privacy.

“What are you doing here?” I grabbed his arm and yanked him inside. I whirled around to remind him that we had rules, but before I could, he kicked the door shut and slammed me against it.

The kiss drove every rational argument I was about to make out of my head. I melted into it.

He groaned against my lips. “I’m here to tell you that we can stop hiding from now on.”

He’d seen the report and drawn a very different conclusion than I had.

“We can’t.” I shook my head, even as I wound my hand into his hair and pulled him closer. “We have to stop.”

“No one tells us what we have to do,” he growled, his mouth cruising along my jaw. “No one tells us to stop, so unless you want me to stop, boss, I don’t give a shit what anyone says.”

His hands moved over me, skimmed my hips, and drifted to my waist. I felt the heat of his palms searing through my clothes. I wanted to touch him, too. I wanted to feel his skin. I wanted to press my lips against his hard chest and run my fingers over the dips and planes of his abdomen. More than anything, I wanted to taste him.

But the fastest way out of this was to be firm. “I would savor this moment because it is the last time you’ll touch me.”

“What are you talking about?” He pulled away, wary eyes studying me.

“We got caught,” I reminded him. “You didn’t want media attention. Well, this won’t be reporters showing up at the track. This will be a circus. We have to end things.”

“End things?” he echoed, his gaze zeroing in on me. “Is that what you want?”

My mouth went dry.

“Just say the word, boss,” he pressed, fingers hooking under my waistband and drawing me close enough that I smelled the mint toothpaste on his breath. “Is that what you want?”

I nodded, even as I said, “No.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ANDERS

“I could get used to this.” I paused in the doorframe and watched as Lola applied makeup in the mirror.