Free His Undercover Princess (Tempt Me) by Avery Flynn Page A

mildly. He’d worked hard to create the perfect cover, that of the rich, entitled, obnoxiously new-monied Dom Rasmussen, who was always surrounded by starlets, social climbers, and people of dubious morals. His misdeeds and excesses were all lovingly Instagrammed and documented on fans’ Tumblrs. He was a social media–savvy Gatsby for the twenty-first century. “If you’ve read any of the gossip sites, you know I’m beyond socially unacceptable.”
    “Will the world ever know your part in this?”
    “Not if we do this right.” And he prayed like hell that’s exactly how everything would go down.
    She removed his mug from the coffeemaker and held it out to him. “You really are Bruce Wayne.”
    “You watch too many Hollywood movies.” He took his mug, his fingers brushing hers for a brief moment that seared his skin, and held it up in a toast. “Long live the queen.” He tapped her mug. “Now let’s get to work.”
    …
    With three days to go before the Kronig, Elle found herself sweaty, panting, and flat on her back underneath Dom. Of course, she was fully dressed and in the compound’s gym, which took all the fun out of things—at least the kind of fun she imagined every night when she was alone in that mammoth bed with her fingers between her legs. The man was lethal to her self-control.
    “Explain to me again why we’re doing this?” she asked between heavy breaths as she remained pinned between the thick workout mat and Dom’s hard body.
    He stood up, planting his feet on each side of her as he reached down to help her up. “Because I won’t always be with you.”
    “And because of that, I have to go to princess pummeling academy?” She took his hand, the now familiar sizzle of electricity arcing between them and jolting her down to her toes, and he yanked her up into a standing position.
    He gave her a crooked grin and winked. “Exactly.”
    Once again, they faced off, circling each other on the red mat. Muscles she didn’t even know she had ached from the daily afternoon workouts, and her brain was so full of the latest political gossip about Elskov’s most powerful and influential people that it was about to leak out her ears. And when she wasn’t getting beaten up, learning how inadequate the self-defense class she’d taken in Harbor City was, or watching yet another PowerPoint presentation about the realities of ruling a country, she was fantasizing about picking up where they’d left off in the library her first night here. Not that he’d made a move in that direction. Oh, he’d flirted as easily as he breathed, but that was it.
    She should be glad.
    She wasn’t.
    “This sucks,” she muttered as she landed a solid punch to his rock-hard midsection.
    He laughed off her effort. “Not as bad as dying.”
    True story. Death was not part of her plan to get out of here, ditch the throne, and disappear again before the Fjende had a chance to know she was in the wind. “You’re smug when you’re right.” Another jab that he dodged without flinching.
    “I guess that means I’m smug all the time.” He rested his hands on his narrow hips, his thumbs even with the V-shaped indents along his hips that made her mouth go dry.
    Judging by the way his gaze kept flickering between her eyes and her hands, he expected another punch or jab. Taking advantage of the moment, she kicked out her leg, sweeping his out from underneath him. He landed with a solid thump on his ass.
    Triumph soothed her aches. “Not so full of yourself now, are you?”
    Too late, she felt his fingers close around her ankle. The ground flip-flopped with the ceiling, and she landed on her back. Before she could force the air back in her lungs, Dom straddled her with his knees on either side of her hips. He clasped her wrists and pushed them above her head, trapping her beneath his perfect body covered only by a loose pair of workout shorts. Sweat glistened on his defined pecs, and his biceps bulged. Above her, his blue