Page 13 of Royal Rebel

“Where else are you ticklish?” I question as I get up and start to advance on her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Tristan?”

She gives me a look that says she’s daring me, as she takes off at a run back to the house.

“I would, Lia. I definitely would.”

Finding out the things about her that only lovers know will for sure be one of my new favorite pastimes.

CHAPTER 7

AMELIA

We’re standing in the kitchen right beside one another, facing the pantry. It’s time for lunch, and it’s also a great time for us to learn something about one another.

“If you had to pick your favorite guilty pleasure to eat from in here, what would it be?” I look up, asking Tristan as I watch his dark eyes survey the contents in front of us.

“This is interesting.” He runs his palm down his stubble-covered chin. “I kind of thought we’d sit around and quiz one another on questions.”

Turning to face him, I grab his shirt between my fingers, pulling him slightly toward me. He seems surprised, but for the life of me I can’t stop touching him today. Maybe it was sleeping beside him last night, maybe it’s the fact we’re pretty much alone today—I don’t know. But I feel more comfortable with him than I did even yesterday.

“Nothing’s better than physically seeing and knowing what the person you’re with likes. So again, I ask you. If youhad to pick your favorite guilty pleasure item to eat from here, what would it be?”

Putting his arm around me, he turns us back toward the pantry. “The box of brownies,” he answers immediately, reaching in to grab them. They’re the Ghirardelli brand, double chocolate.

“That’s a lot of sugar.” I purse my lips as I gaze over at him. “Looking at you, you wouldn’t think you eat any sugar.”

“Don’t eat much.” He thumps the box against his thigh. “But when I do, I love chocolate.”

“Duly noted.” I tilt my head to the side. “See these are things the woman sharing your bed should know.”

“Give me a chance, Lia, and I’ll teach you.”

My eyes meet his and there’s that shock of electricity that continues to pass between us. I’m wondering how long we’ll be able to ignore it. When will it spark too bright, that it’ll turn into a fire? This slow burn will leave a trail of coals that at some point will ignite. The question is, how long will they simmer before they combust?

He clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is all gravel, deeper than normal, and full of an arousal I’m feeling all too well. “And you, Lia? What’s your guilty pleasure?”

No one has ever called me by a nickname. For my entire life I’ve been known as Amelia. Not one person has ever shortened it, and to hear him shorten it after spending the last few days together? I’m not sure why, but it makes the pit of my stomach do funny things. Maybe I never meant enough to anyone else to give me a nickname, but the fact that he has? It makes me want to write our names on a notebook and draw a heart around it. I don’t bring attention to it, because I would hate it if he stopped.

“Pancakes with maple syrup,” I answer after looking through everything once.

“You’re talking to me about sugar?” He tilts his head to the side this time. “Those who live in glass houses…” He lets his words trail off.

I laugh loudly, smiling what I know is a bright smile up at him. “I had no idea you had a sense of humor, much less a dry sense of humor. You should share that more.”

“I’ve not been allowed to for a long time.” He rubs his hand over his cheek. “Before my mom died, there was a lot of laughter, there was a lot of humor, even if it was tongue-in-cheek or at my father’s expense. After she died”—he closes his eyes—“there wasn’t laughing, no jokes, nothing to smile about for a long time.”

What he’s just shared with me, breaks my heart. It’s obvious he was just a young kid trying to figure out how to live in a world where he’d lost the most important person in his world. I try to think about how it would go from one day having everything, being a carefree kid, knowing someone loved you, and then not knowing how to act. In the end, I’m not sure how to approach the subject, all I know is I want to put that smile back on his face.

“Wanna make pancakes?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”

“This is a mix, so we’re just supposed to add water,” I tell him after we’ve gotten everything situated on the counter next to the stove.

Well if you could call it a stove. I’m sure an executivechef could cook in here. Granite countertops, industrial range, with what looks to be two ovens. My mom would kill for this setup.

“Adding water I can do.” He flips over the package and reads the amount he’s supposed to get.

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