Matched to a Prince by Kat Cantrell

Author:Kat Cantrell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-07-10T16:00:00+00:00

Eight

Later that day, Finn took a short break from monitoring Juliet’s condition—or hovering as she liked to call it—and took a cold shower. It went a long way toward easing the ache that had taken up residence in his lower half. But not nearly long enough. He suspected only a naked and willing Juliet could completely eliminate it. That or a coma.

When he emerged from his bedroom, Juliet wasn’t ensconced on the couch watching a chick flick where he’d left her. Clanking from the kitchen piqued his curiosity and he wandered into the melee of Juliet attempting to wrangle a pan and some meat into submission.

He watched her struggle for a minute, thoroughly enjoying the backside view of Juliet’s slender, barefoot form. Except she was still sick and now he was all hot and bothered again.

“Why aren’t you resting?” he finally asked.

The pan clattered to the Italian marble, cracking one square tile in half. Ouch. Portia was going to have the king’s head.

She whirled. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry.” He stomped in place a few times, mimicking just having arrived. “I’m in the kitchen now. Okay?”

“Okay.” She grinned and turned to her stove-top project. “I’m not resting because you asked me to make you dinner.”

“I did?” Had he hit his head? Obviously so, if he’d deliberately asked for a repeat of the Chicken With No Taste.

“Earlier. When you said I could show my gratitude by making you dinner.” Gingerly, she nodded toward the back of the house and winced.

Ah, yes, on the bed, when he’d been holding on to his sanity by the tips of his fingers. That would definitely explain why he’d done something so unwise as to ask Juliet to make him dinner. “You’re nowhere near well enough to be off the couch. Come on.”

Sliding his hand into hers, he tugged her toward the living room, ignoring the blistering awareness of skin on skin.

“But you need to eat,” she protested and dragged him to a halt between the two rooms.

“I’ve been feeding myself for twelve years.” They were still holding hands but she didn’t seem to notice. Far be it from him to bring it to her attention. He liked the feel of her delicate fingers against his. “I’ll manage. What about you? Are you hungry? I can heat up some soup.”

“Not really, thanks. I ate some crackers. Did I leave the stove on?” Peering over his shoulder, she sank teeth into the plump curve of her bottom lip.

His mouth tingled. That sweet swell of flesh was delicious, as he well knew from personal experience, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from it. “If you did, I’ll take care of it.”

She made a face. “I’m sure you will. Is there anything you can’t take care of?”

Oh, he could think of one thing. A cold shower hadn’t helped his raging hormones catch a clue that first of all, Juliet wasn’t in reconciliation mode, and second...

She sighed, pushing her breasts out invitingly. Before he lost his mind, he backed up, inadvertently stretching their locked hands.

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