Free Reign: A Royal Military Romance by Roxie Noir Page B

me for one instant, as if to say I told you I’d do it .
    Then she slides my shirt over her head, and I exhale. She sweeps her hair and and turns around, a triumphant look in her eyes, and I’m just praying she doesn’t look down and see Mount Kostya practically exploding out of my jeans.
    “Told you,” she said.
    My shirt is swimming on her, the v-neck coming almost down to her sternum, the slight curve of her cleavage visible in the moonlight.
    That’s not why I’m staring, though. I’m staring because it’s a thin white shirt and her nipples are very, very prominently staring right back. She catches me, looks down, makes a face, and crosses her arms.
    “It’s cold out here,” she says, but she won’t look me in the eye.
    “I don’t even have a shirt,” I say.
    “Whose fault is that?” she asks, tilting her head to one side.
    “Yours,” I say. “You did demand the shirt off my back, zloyushka .”
    She grabs the t-shirt and lighter from the stone wall and dangles the shirt in front of her, looking at it one last time.
    “Sorry, Courtney,” she says. I assume Courtney is the friend who gave her the shirt.
    Hazel flicks the lighter underneath the shirt and holds the flame to the hem. She holds it there for a long time, waiting for it to catch, glancing up at me every couple of seconds.
    At last, it does, and she pulls the lighter away. Immediately, the shirt stops burning, the hem barely worse than scorched.
    “Shit,” she mutters.
    “Remind me not to take you on a wilderness mission,” I say. “We’d starve, then freeze to death.”
    She snorts.
    “Were you thinking of doing that?” she says, flicking the lighter again.
    In the tower behind me, I hear a thump as a heavy door shuts. Hazel freezes, her eyes going wide.
    “Oh fuck,” she says, not moving.
    I point at the spot where there’s a corner in the opposite wall. Behind it’s a notch, black with shadows. She looks at it and then back at me.
    “Your shirt,” she whispers.
    The footsteps in the tower get closer, and even though I’m beyond tempted to tell her that I need my shirt back, now , I have a little mercy.
    “It’s under control,” I whisper.
    “Won’t it look worse if I’m hiding?” she whispers.
    “Only if you’re found,” I whisper back.
    Hazel scampers over, tosses me one last glance, then disappears. I turn toward the stone wall and look out over the ocean, breathing the cool, salty air deeply, pretending that I’m just up here to clear my head.
    Hopefully whoever’s coming won’t notice my massive, aching erection.
    Twelve times three is thirty-six , I think. Twelve times four is forty-eight, twelve times five is sixty —
    The heavy wooden door opens and a palace guard comes out. The moment he sees me, he snaps to attention and bows his head slightly.
    “Your majesty,” he says.
    “At ease,” I say, the words almost automatic.
    He doesn’t relax.
    “I heard voices and thought it best to investigate,” he says.
    “It’s only me,” I say. “I couldn’t sleep, so I took a walk.”
    He nods again, brusquely. Then he pauses and sniffs the air slightly, his brow furrowing. It’s obvious he’s about to say something he doesn’t want to say.
    “I’m obligated to tell you that these ramparts are off-limits for safety reasons,” he says stiffly.
    I nod once.
    “I’m being very careful,” I say.
    “Have a good night, your majesty,” he says, then nods and disappears.
    I listen to his footsteps fade down the tower stairs, then walk to the spot where Hazel’s hidden in the shadows.
    She’s sitting with her back against the wall, elbows propped on her knees.
    “Coast is clear?” she asks, her voice low.
    I offer her my hand, and she takes it. I pull her to her feet so that she’s standing just a little too close to me, just close enough that I can smell her, a combination of sweet floral shampoo and the bite of pot smoke.
    “I should go,” she whispers, but she doesn’t try to remove her