Page 17 of The Prince and His Stolen Groom

On the second, the trees started to blur together, a monotonous blend of browns and greens.

By the third round, both of our feet dragged. Neither of us had any enthusiasm for that version of exercise. “You could just tie me to a tree and leave me for a while,” he suggested, waving at the closest one with his bound hands. “I’d be perfectly happy to sit outside for a change of scenery.”

And risk someone stumbling across you? Absolutely not.

“How does this rope work, anyway?”

As if I’d tell you.

“You said something back there. What was it?”

My eyes widened in alarm, and I turned to face him. “No, don’t!”

His lips spread in an evil smile as he said with clear relish, “Bind.”

Before I could drop my end of the rope, it wrapped around my arms. “Fuck—”

“Bind,” he repeated.

“Wait!” After my arms, the rope slithered over my neck and down my chest, weaving itself into intricate diamond patterns.

“Bind, bind, bind!”

“Stop, seriously!”

There was only so much rope. Once it ran out, it yanked us together and we both toppled to the ground, Brendan on top of me, right between my legs.

My head hit the ground with a soft thud, dazing me badly enoughthat I saw birds flying overhead. A minute later, I realized we’d simply startled a flock out of one of the trees, but that didn’t mean Ididn’thave a concussion. I was certainly having a hard time breathing with another person lying on top of me, his elbow in my stomach.

“It’s not,” I began on a slight wheeze, “a good idea to repeat the command word.”

Brendan ignored me, wiggling in a way that pushed his elbow more firmly into my solar plexus. After a while, he managed to prop himself up. Only his wrists were bound, where I was trussed up like a pig on a spit.

“How do I undo this?” he demanded, the words muffled as he tore at the rope with his teeth. Chewing on them would more likely ruin his teeth than the ropes.

I sealed my lips shut. There were two ways to undo the spell, but I wasn’t about to tell him either one.

Eyes blazing with determination, he snarled, “Fine, I’ll figure it out myself. Let’s see … release?”

Nothing happened.

“Open sesame?”

Nope, nada.

“Free me?”

His attempts continued along those lines, the failures outlasting his stamina. Eventually he shifted so his head rested on the ground near mine. He’d at least been polite enough to adjust his arms so his bones stopped stabbing me.

“Come on, man, do you really want to stay out here with me all day?”

Yes. Wait, no, that’s not … shut up, brain.

“Don’t you have a safe word or something?” He shifted again to try to look me in the eye, his groin pressing right up against mine.

I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate sounds—we didn’t need a repeat of the groan versus moan argument.

His eyes narrowed and he purposefully moved his hips again.