Heart Captivated

by Lindsay Bergman

  My heart flipped over, warmth spreading through to my very core. He’d called me his beloved again.

  If only he had lectured me instead of praised me. Maybe then I wouldn’t have fallen head-over-heels for him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I heard the tense murmur of voices as I stepped out onto the terrace two days later. Early afternoon sunshine glinted down from a cloudless blue sky, scattering rays through the open slits in the canopy of bougainvillea overhead. The sea glistened in the distance, sparkling like radiant sapphires, and a soft breeze helped to combat the Mediterranean summer heat. Standing at the edge of the lawn, Ashton and Mackenzie were deep in what looked like a heated discussion.

  Ashton was the first one to notice me. His eyes lit up as he smiled in my direction and waved me over. “Bree, I have a surprise for you,” he called out.

  Mackenzie frowned at him and grumbled something I couldn’t hear. Ashton merely flicked a warning look at her before returning his gaze to me. With a huff, she stomped away from him and paused to meet my questioning look.

  “What’s wrong, Kenzie?” I asked.

  She shook her head, looking frustrated. “It doesn’t matter. It’s out of my control.” She shot a glance at Ashton over her shoulder, and whispered, “Be careful, Bree.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked in confusion.

  “Just … guard your heart.” As her imploring brown eyes held mine, her meaning was suddenly clear. She was talking about my relationship with Ashton.

  I bit my cheek and admitted, “I think it might be too late.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Mackenzie sighed, giving me a concerned look. “Be careful anyway.” She squeezed my hand in sympathy and disappeared inside the palace.

  Ashton called me over again, but I hesitated, uncertain if I should tempt fate once more. Sophie was out shopping with Madison and Arianna, but there was no telling when they’d return. When Ashton brought the barrel of a shotgun up to rest on his shoulder and smiled arrogantly, my feet started moving of their own accord.

  “Are you skeet-shooting?” I asked hopefully, drawing to a stop at his side.

  “We are going skeet-shooting,” he amended, a broad grin crossing his face. He held out the sleek, matte black shotgun and waited, giving me the chance to walk away—although his smirk implied he knew that would never happen.

  I accepted the gun, trying not to look too eager, and inspected its remarkable craftsmanship. “A Winchester XS4 semiautomatic,” I noted, shifting it in my hands. “It’s supposed to have less recoil. I’ve been begging my brother to buy one for the ranch.” I caught sight of his impressed expression and flushed. “So—um, what now?”

  His wide grin grew teasing. “Why don’t I give you a demonstration?” After handing me the matching set to his reactive noise-cancelling ear muffs, Ashton reclaimed the shotgun and faced downrange toward the sea. Fifteen yards down the lawn and off to the side, a large mechanical clay thrower was set up, with a member of the palace staff at the ready. The prince loaded the gun, positioned his stance and took aim. “Pull,” he shouted.

  A clay disk flew into the air. Ashton adjusted his aim and took a shot; the disk exploded a moment later. Very impressive, I thought, with a hint of pride in his ability. Hitting a moving target was not as effortless as he’d made it look.

  “Easy as apple pie,” Ashton flaunted, turning to face me. Looking more than pleased with himself, he offered me the shotgun once more. “Are you ready to give it a try?”

  “Absolutely.” I took it and eagerly moved forward to switch positions, but Ashton stayed in place and offered to help adjust my hold. Before I could refuse, he stepped around to my back, standing so close that my awareness of him shot up tenfold.

  “Let me show you how it’s done, chérie,” he murmured, his breath tickling the exposed skin of my neck. Ashton trailed both hands down my bare arms, eliciting goosebumps with his slow, teasing touch. As his hands continued their descent, he slipped even closer and brushed his cheek oh-so-softly against mine. His chest pressed against my back, solid and warm, while his hands covered mine around the stock of the gun.

  The breath grew heavy in my chest, my pulse skittering at his nearness. I angled my head slightly, brushing our cheeks once more, taking advantage of his delicious closeness—before sanity rushed back in a wave that sent me stumbling away from him.

  “Whoa,” Ashton warned, his gaze darting to the shotgun I was holding carelessly. “The first lesson of skeet-shooting is gun safety, even when it’s not loaded.” He stepped forward to push the barrel down, aiming it at the ground instead of his torso.

  “I’m so sorry,” I uttered in mortification. I’d had gun safety drilled into my head since I was three-years-old. I could practically handle one in my sleep, but being that close to Ashton had wiped away every sensible thought in my head. Embarrassed, I held it out to him, barrel down. “Maybe I shouldn’t do this. You’re too distracting.”

  Ashton flashed his dimpled smile, amusement dancing in his eyes. “If I can shoot through the distraction, then so can you.” He gestured downrange. “Go ahead and give it a try. I promise not to touch you, since it’s so … distracting.” His teasing wink brought out my blush again.

  Why was I always red-faced around this man? He was turning me into a blushing fool.

  I cleared my throat and ignored his chuckle as I moved back into position and loaded the barrel. Pointing my lead foot downrange, I angled my back foot to better help me lean into the recoil. Tucking the butt of the shotgun tight against my shoulder, I raised the barrel, pressed my cheek against the stock and took aim.

  “Pull,” I shouted, as anticipation curled through my stomach.

  A small clay disk whirled across my peripheral vision. I shifted my aim to a spot in midair and remembered to keep both eyes open as I pulled the trigger. The recoil jolted against my shoulder, rocking me back onto my back foot, the motion familiar after years of practice. The sound of an exploding clay pigeon ripped through the air, bringing a smile to my face along with a rush of excitement.

  “Easy as huckleberry pie,” I said proudly, twisting around to look at Ashton.

  He was staring at me with a look of awe, clearly more than impressed. “I think I’ve just died and gone to heaven,” he said, his gaze fixed on my face. “And you are the sexiest angel I’ve ever seen.”

  Color flooded my cheeks in another darn blush. I tried to picture myself through his eyes: dressed in jean shorts and an olive-green tank top, with my hair pulled up in the usual ponytail—and a shotgun still braced against my shoulder. It was hard to imagine that a casual country girl like myself could capture the attention of a handsome and dashing prince like Ashton, but he was staring at me like I was the most fascinating girl he’d ever laid eyes on.

  I couldn’t stop the curl of pleasure that spread through my stomach. Most of the guys in Hope Creek rarely gave me a second look—but Ashton hardly seemed to take his eyes off me. His obvious interest made me feel special, and wanted.

  Ignoring the voice in my head that warned me to run away, I asked, “Can we go another round?”

  “Absolutely,” Ashton agreed. “In fact, why don’t we make a little wager?”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of wager?”

  “Whoever hits the most targets, wins.” His smile grew bold and arrogant. “And the winner gets to pick the prize.”

  “What would your prize be?”

  His slow smile was wicked. “Let’s keep it a surprise until after I win.”

  I propped the barrel up on my shoulder and raised a brow. “It’s arrogant to assume that you’ll win.”

  “True. But remember, I am a prince.” Ashton covered the distance between us in three short strides. “I’m used to getting what I want, which means I’m used to winning.” As he removed the shotgun from my grip, he intentionally brushed his fingers over mine. His voice dropped, warm and heated with challenge, as he promised, “And I don’t intend
to lose.”

  Warning, my brain shouted. But my heart ignored it. I’d been fighting against this attraction for weeks now; all I wanted was a small moment of time with him. Besides, it was completely innocent. All we were planning was a shooting competition—one I was confident I would win.

  “Challenge accepted,” I told him, reaching for his hand to shake on it.

  His fingers curled around mine in a firm grip, his smug grin matching the arrogance in his eyes. “Ladies first, ma choupette.” He loaded the gun with five shells and handed it to me, brushing his fingers over mine once again. “Let the best … marksman … win.”

  “I hope you’re not a poor sport, Your Highness,” I teased, adjusting my stance and bringing the gun into position. I snuck a glance at him over my shoulder. “Because I’m shooting to win.”

  Ashton sauntered closer, his eyes dark with promise. “So am I, bien-aimée,” he murmured warmly, grazing my jaw with his knuckles. He smiled at my small intake of breath and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Don’t miss.” He kissed the beauty mark on my cheek before moving back with a laugh.

  I sucked in an unsteady breath and did my best to force his touch from my mind. The prince was playing dirty, trying to distract me with that warm, tender kiss. I couldn’t wait to wipe that cocky grin right off his handsome face.

  “Pull,” I shouted, five consecutive times. As five clay pigeons launched into the air thirty seconds apart, I picked off my targets one by one, in flawless order and without missing a single shot. Propping the barrel onto my shoulder once again, I pivoted around to shamelessly grin at Ashton’s slack-jawed expression.

  “It’s your turn,” I announced, then winked. “Unless you’re ready to admit defeat?”

  Ashton closed his mouth and shook his head, a smirk coming to his lips. “Never.”

  We switched positions and Ashton readied his stance. Holding the gun pointed barrel down, he sent me an amused smile. “You’re one heck of a woman, Brielle Parker. Je ne peux pas attendre pour vous appeler le mien.”

  A moment later, while I was still trying to translate his French, he destroyed five consecutive clay pigeons and turned to face me with a cocky grin. “Ready for round two?”

  We were evenly matched in our marksmanship, so much so that our competition lasted until we were pushing sunset. As the sky blended into shades of pink, violet and burnt orange, I stepped up for my final round. The prince had just barely missed his last shot, which left me with the chance to claim the win.

  Taking a deep breath, I ignored Ashton’s distracting remarks and focused my sights down the barrel of the gun. When the fifth disk exploded in a shower of clay, a triumphant smile spread across my face. “I win,” I cheered, carefully setting the shotgun down in the grass and spinning around to give Ashton a playful ribbing.

  But he didn’t look disappointed at all. In fact, his blue eyes shone with amusement as he covered the distance between us and drew me in for a hug. “Congratulations, Bree. But I thought you’ve never done this before? If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I’ve been hustled.” He loosened his hold, but remained standing close to my side, and gave me a suspicious look.

  My smile grew sheepish. “This really was my first time.”

  “There’s no way this was beginner’s luck.”

  “You can blame it on duck hunting with my dad,” I confessed. “He taught us all to shoot when we were three, and even now that he’s gone, I still target practice at least three times a week.” I shrugged a shoulder. “It’s a necessity because of the dangerous wildlife, but I really enjoy the rush of hitting the target dead center.”

  “I’d say that counts as a hustle, chérie, but I’ll let it slide.” Ashton smiled, taking his loss extremely well. “Thanks for showing me another glimpse behind your walls.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to,” I stammered, belatedly realizing that I’d shared a memory of my dad with him—when I never allowed myself to even think about the life we’d had before he abandoned us.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Ashton murmured, bringing my hand up for a tender kiss. “I like it when you open your heart to me, but I won’t push you for more today.” He squeezed my hand in understanding, then let it go. “So tell me, what will your prize be?”

  Grateful for his redirection, I smiled. “Can it be anything?”

  “Anything within reason.”

  “Does my own private castle count?”

  Ashton chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do, ma choupette.”

  “Why do you keep calling me a cabbage?” I questioned, watching the amusement dancing in his warm gaze.

  “Remember, it also means ‘my favorite one’,” he replied, reaching out to tug on my ponytail. “So, ma choupette, what do you really want for your prize?”

  I met his eyes, feeling the attraction sparking between us, and yet knowing that I couldn’t have the one thing I really wanted. “Can we go sailing?” I asked instead.

  Ashton smiled. “It’s a date.”

  I paled, and stammered, “No, that’s not what I meant.”

  He laughed and nudged me playfully with his elbow. “I know, but you can’t blame a man for trying.” He turned away to pick up the shotgun and gear, then walked with me back up to the terrace. After setting his pile down on the table, he casually asked, “Do you want to know what my prize would have been if I’d won?”

  I nodded, but regretted it the moment I spotted his teasing, dimpled smile.

  He stepped in close and reached up to brush a loose strand of auburn hair from my cheek. He was invading my space and setting my senses on overload, but still he came even closer, bending down to whisper in my ear, “I would have won a kiss.” When he eased back slightly to meet my surprised gaze, his ocean-blue eyes were dark with longing. “You should have let me win, bien-aimée. Then you would have known how true victory tastes.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  That man was dangerous. With his smooth-talking charm, dimpled smile, and eyes that watched me so intently. How was I supposed to say no when he asked me to go sailing with him—with those expressive eyes heating to a warm, dark blue. When he looked at me like that, it was impossible for me to say anything but yes.

  Now, as I rummaged through my suitcase for the white crochet beach dress, my insides were twisted up in knots. I was beyond excited for the chance to go sailing, yet nervous about being alone on a boat with him in the middle of the sea. Without any witnesses, what would stop him from kissing me?

  I froze midway through dragging the coverup down over my head. What would Sophie say about our plans to go sailing together? Caught up in Ashton’s hopeful enthusiasm, I had completely forgotten to consider her tender feelings.

  Yanking the coverup down into place, I chewed on my lower lip and searched for a simple solution. A moment later, I sped across the room and knocked on the connecting door between our suites.

  When Sophie opened the door, I grinned and stepped into her room. “Hey, Soph. Go put on your bathing suit. Ashton’s taking us sailing.” I was nearly bouncing in my eagerness. “We’re supposed to meet him downstairs in five minutes.”

  “But I can’t go sailing,” Sophie complained, “I get sea sick.”

  “So take some of that medicine you packed.” I dug through her suitcase for her pink polka dot swimsuit and tossed it onto her bed.

  “It makes me sleepy.” Sophie perched on the edge of her untidy bed and ignored the swimsuit. “What’s the point of going sailing when I’m just going to want to sleep the whole time?”

  I paused, trying not to glance anxiously at the mantle clock above her fireplace. “Well, you can just nap while you work on your tan.”

  Sophie shook her head and flopped over onto her stomach, her face propped up in her hands and ankles crossed in the air. “I think I’ll pass. I can suntan by the pool, or at the beach.”

  “Why don’t you want to go?” I questioned. “Did something happen with Ashton?”

  “Other than the fact
that he’s practically been ignoring me?” Sophie answered dryly. She flicked a strand of long auburn hair over her shoulder and cocked her head to study me. “Why are you so anxious to go sailing with him, anyway? I thought you agreed to keep your distance.”

  “I have been keeping my distance!” I shifted away to look out the window, wanting to hide my face in case she was able to read my guilty expression. I hadn’t told her about my afternoon of skeet-shooting with Ashton yesterday—and based on her attitude, I was particularly reluctant to bring it up now.

  “Me thinks you doth protest too much,” Sophie quipped, wagging a finger at me.

  “Don’t patronize me, Sophie Anne!” I snapped, my tone a little too defensive. “You know that I’ve always wanted to go sailing. Was I supposed to to say no when he offered to take us out?”

  “No,” Sophie said slowly, staring down at the floral-patterned bedspread. “But I do wish you wouldn’t go sailing off into the sunset with him.”

  The guilt spread even more. I didn’t want to hurt my sister, but I really wanted to go sailing—and with Ashton. If only she would go with us, then it wouldn’t be an issue. I plopped down onto the bed beside her, making her bounce with the impact.

  “Hey, watch it!” she grumbled, rotating onto her side to glare up at me.

  “Please come with us, Sophie,” I begged. “I really want to go sailing.”

  “If I don’t say yes, will you still go without me?” Her question was directed at the bedspread instead of me, as she idly traced the outline of a rose. I could barely detect the downward curve of her mouth, and knew she was trying to hide her frown. If she looked up at me, I was certain I would see heartache swimming in her brown eyes.

  I sighed, my shoulders sagging. “No, I won’t go without you.”