Page 16 of The Dandelion Princess

“Do you need another lift?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I grit out. It might be true.

He ignores me and slides his hands around my waist, lifting me against his chest. We’re halfway up the stairs before I work out that being carried with my nose pressed against his collarbone is much worse for my peace of mind than being transported piggyback.

“You’re going to drop me,” I insist, shifting my weight.

I receive a slap on my bottom. “You’re being carried up the palace staircase by the Hottest Man in Sondmark, as determined by the discerning readership ofVrouwWOWmagazine. Enjoy it.”

I fumble for my remote key. “I knew you could tell she was checking you out.”

He pushes through the door of my suite. “I’m not blind.”

True. He isn’t blind to other women. Only blind to me.

He sets me down, peels my bag away, and drops it on the sofa. “Are you good?” he asks, standing too close as he examines my bump.

“Perfect.” I step away too quickly, and he steadies me with a hand on my waist.

Taking a sharp breath, I paw through my hard-earned wisdom like a woman digs into her purse for a pain pill. Marc is a dead end. Falling out of love with him has taken every ounce of discipline I’m capable of. I can’t go back. I won’t.

So it’s just friendship—a relationship status as simple as water. That being the case, I allow him to steer me into the bathroom and deposit me on a stool. He opens and shuts a few drawers, and hauls a low chair over so he can work a fluffy, pink headband around the bruise.

“Ells—” His thumb traces the raised edge.

“I’m fine,” I insist, even as my vision slips sideways.

He starts removing my make-up and I surrender. The truth is that I can’t lean over a sink in this condition and the sooner he gets me into bed the happier I’ll be.

My brow furrows. No. Wait.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he says, smoothing the furrow. I close my eyes against his face but I still smell his scent and feel the dizzying sensation of his fingers on my skin.

He rubs in a night serum, the last step in an abbreviated skincare routine, and I force myself to my feet—away from his closeness. A wave of nausea shudders through my frame.

“Whoa, I got you,” he says, hands splayed across my back.

I shrug his hands away and edge toward the closet. “I just moved too fast.”

“Yes. And if you do that, you’ll fall over. Can I help with the pajamas?” he asks.

I grip his arm and say, deadly serious, “I would rather die.”

His eyes dance. “You need eleven more hours of observation.”

I turn him to the door, ignore the throbbing of my head, and push against Marc’s back. He plants his feet like a Seongan statue of an ancient warrior prince. Immoveable. Freakishly hot.

“Doctor’s orders,” he says, spinning. I land into him with a thud and he holds me steady. My defenses are down. My judgement is sketchy. My hands are on Marc’s rock hard chest and he needs to leave.

I push again. “I’m not sure she was even a nurse.”

He shrugs and my hands move up and down with the play of muscles.Dominanstid.I shove myself away, will the rocking in my head to subside, and retreat to my closet for a pair of flannel pajamas. “Figure out where you’re going because you can’t stay here,” I call.

“It’s a palace—I can find another room,” he says. “I’ll just text your mother—”

“Traitor.” I poke my head around the door, faster than is wise, and blink against the pain. “You wouldn’t.”

He lifts his phone, finger hovering perilously near the green call button.