“Right now,” I tell him, smelling the woodsy spice of his cologne, “I need you to be the man who calls the royal physician to help pull shards of glass and wood from my bum.” He begins to chuckle, and it’s at that very moment when Callum bursts through the door, a royal guard in tow, The Dane looking sheepish. I gasp, realizing at once how compromising this position looks, Rafe and I in each other’s arms, me in only my undergarments. And Rafe, of course, with a smirk like he planned this very thing from the beginning.
