Page 35 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows (Runaway Prince Hotel #5)

Sally

Air rushes from my windpipe, and I freeze for a nanosecond.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go; I’ve been taught better.

Somehow, my brain disconnected from my body.

The guy’s foot aims for my ankle. His self-assured gestures underline his experience, and I hate that as much as my sluggish reaction.

Jumping backward, I dodge his skillful attack. Close call.

Why does my throat constrict then? Glancing behind me, beads of sweat tickle my forehead as I realize that I’m cornered against a wall, making bile rise into my mouth.

For some reason, it feels like déjà vu , although I’ve never been in this exact situation.

Yet, it’s reminiscent of how powerless I once was.

Not anymore!

The angel—or the devil?—resting on my shoulder is screaming. I sigh, and my throat opens. It’s parched, but at least I’m able to breathe again.

At once, the world around us vanishes… No distracting surroundings.

No voices but ours. No one else around, although that’s far from the truth.

My vision wanes to the beautiful stranger that I’ve already seen a few times.

He’s facing me from a distance. Not enough of a distance, since he unabashedly entered my personal space.

Again. I understand that’s the whole point, but I still frown as I swipe away the sweat.

“Mmphf…” With that, a much needed gasp of air snaps my current reality into place. I couldn’t breathe. I froze. I fucked up.

How could I let this happen? I know better than to give my emotions free reign.

I need to reclaim my voice. I’m out of his reach, but for how long?

His closeness forces me to adjust my stance and the position of my hands, which I raise in front of my face.

With my thumbs tightly secured outside of my palms to back a forceful blow, I’m ready to fight back and punch him this time…

if it comes to that. One way or another, I want nothing more than to wipe the smirk off his breathtaking face.

“Good job,” my opponent whispers between clenched teeth.

First words he’s uttered. Not only do they bother me, but his velvety voice adds to it.

I focus and keep my eyes wide open, absorbing his comment and allowing the words to sink in.

Engrossed, my gaze follows him as he zigzags like a boxer in training.

Suddenly, I realize that he’s treating his hands like they’re the most precious part of his body.

Ironic, considering our current situation.

His heated eyes never leave my face and oddly darken, if that’s even possible. This grants him a wicked gleam that would have appealed to me, once upon a time. For now, my only objective is to win this fight.

“I don’t need your approval.” I bounce my weight from left to right to get my blood pumping. My spiteful comeback only entices him.

“Guess you forgot to say, ‘ sir ,’ Barbie.” A low chuckle leaves his throat, and my attention is drawn to the stylish five-o’clock shadow covering his Adam’s apple.

Granted, I’m well-aware that I look like a Barbie doll, but who does he think he is?

I can’t stand when guys—well, people—assume that I only share her physical attributes and am a dumb blonde.

First of all, I have a much better ass than the doll.

Second of all, the doll is underestimated, in my humble opinion, because everyone forgets that she’s a chameleon who’s worked as an astronaut, a veterinarian, and a professional surfer.

Third of all, ignorant people like this guy should watch her movies and understand that she’s a courageous, resourceful, and independent character.

So, think again, ‘sir.’ I may not be fearless, but I sure am independent. No need for your assumptions.

“You talk too much, G.I. Joe !” I emphasize the nickname, shooting daggers his way.

My lower lip covers the upper one as I take him in.

Apart from his height, he’s my total opposite.

Onyx eyes. Inky hair. Ivory skin… and a surreal bone structure that makes his facial proportions almost perfect.

Of course, perfection doesn’t exist. A shiver runs down my spine. I loudly swallow my annoyance.

Looks like you can’t control your reaction to this guy. First you can’t breathe, and now you’re spellbound. Wake the fuck up!

The fact that his face could be considered the least of his assets makes it all the more difficult. Even fully-clothed in workout attire, it doesn’t take a scientist to grasp that he’s built like a Greek god.

Wait, no! His physique is far better than that for sure.

Because statues of Greek gods show shorter men. Because statues of Greek gods show bulkier men. Because statues of Greek gods show tiny cocks. A hot flash races through my body like a menopausal woman, although I’ve just turned twenty-six.

Hold your horses! This isn’t the time to be thinking about dicks, let alone his. Plus, you know that size doesn’t matter as long as the instrument is well-played, right?

I nod in response to my thought. That earns me a satisfied smile, then the guy snickers. I grunt, once again immobile. Seriously though, I’m not attracted to him, but he is undeniably hot. My gaze lingers on his impressive physique; the guy must seriously work out.

“I suggest you stop licking your lips, Barbie, or I’ll take it as an invitation.” His muttered words break through my paralysis. They were barely audible, but clearly seductive.

On impulse, I take a step back, glaring. “What? Stop calling me that already!” I hope the daggers that I’m shooting will hit their target.

He closes the distance between us and sweeps me off of my feet, making the blood rush to my cheeks.

Brushing the shell of my ear, he murmurs, “No need to deny that you were checking me out.” I grumble as I fight to free myself.

“You misunderstood…” I catch my breath as the words hit home.

Words that a certain someone used before ditching my broken self.

The cocky man’s voice hardens. “A dojo isn’t a dating scene. Focus and work!”

Anger flares. I wrestle my way out of his embrace and back onto my feet. Damn, I want to wipe the smirk off of his perfect face! How dare he talk to me like that!

Surprising me again, he darts to grab my hair.

I inwardly scold myself for forgetting my signature braid, which attests to my carelessness.

I was running late this morning, and it slipped my mind.

Schooling my features to erase all emotion from my sweaty face, I bury my annoyance.

My trained body reacts, and he fails. Again.

I catch my breath while wondering if he’s doing it on purpose.

Only then do I notice his stare that follows my long blonde ponytail, swaying behind my back.

I have a flashback of Kha hypnotizing Mowgli in The Jungle Book .

Within seconds, my initial frustration is replaced by a completely different feeling as his body comes to a halt.

His lips slightly part, enthralled by the movement.

My heart eerily accelerates, ablaze from his reaction.

Our bodies strangely freeze, suspended in time for what seems like forever.

“Ohhh…” His awe-filled utterance is so low that I might have imagined it. Still, the corners of my lips quirk up at his reaction to this mundane gesture. His facial features are relaxed, but his gaze is full of anger and longing. “Maybe I misjudged you.”

What?

No matter how infuriating he may be, my reaction to this guy confuses me. That’s how I initially let my guard down. That’s how I got in trouble. That’s how I learned that Barbie was a fighter, not a dumb blonde.

“Stop!” Elijah Steel’s baritone voice rings through the dojo’s room, in spite of the amount of cushioning that covers the floor.

Awakened from my trance, I take a look around and spot Courtney, who’s been partnered with a short bald guy.

I must have really zoned out. My favorite coworker’s attention lands on my partner, envy clear on her flushed face…

unless her workout is responsible for it.

Nah! Who am I kidding?

Pinching the bridge of my nose to regain my bearings, my head swivels towards the former SEAL who’s been sharpening our martial arts skills. It’s Wednesday, day three of our four-day session that’s mostly dedicated to Israel’s Krav Maga.

Who would’ve thought they held these types of classes in a town as small as Bear Creek, but then again, why not?

I normally attend by myself, but I made the mistake of mentioning it.

Knowing our shared enthusiasm for martial arts, I asked her to tag along.

The self-defense aspect doesn’t concern her.

This unexpected class is a nice break from our tedious job at the archaeological site, up north in Wellington; Courtney and I craved the time off. As for me, a reminder that one can never practice enough was beneficial.

What attracted me to this particular class was that it wasn’t reserved for women, though we outnumber the men.

Training alongside men mirrors reality, although I always keep to myself; why become friends with people who you’re practicing against and won’t ever see once the class is over anyway? That’s the drawback of traveling often.

I don’t fraternize, but saying that I didn’t notice today’s opponent before now would be a blatant lie.

His demeanor implies that he knows the effect he has on people.

I’ve seen how students, both men and women, stare at him.

I’m still debating whether I admire or despise that he acts like he owns the place.

I’m being unfair because so far, he’s come ready to learn, not to brag.

Maybe my irritation is due to the fact that he’s everything that Courtney’s been rambling about since we set foot in Miyagi Wisdom; however, like me, he followed the instructor’s suggestion to not disclose our name.

Remaining anonymous while training is apparently advantageous.

Go figure! In turn, Elijah refers to the ten of us by funny nicknames, thanks to his dry humor, and at least, I’m not Barbie to him!

Against all odds, G.I. Joe startles me by yet again stepping into my personal space as he extends his hand, waiting for me to accept the peace offering.

What an unexpected gesture! His intent gaze bores into my ocean eyes.

A genuine smile on his face, he waits and I can’t help but shrug, perplexed.

My hand has a mind of its own. Warmth spreads in all the wrong places when we touch. Who is this guy?

“Nathan Price.”