Jill Shalvis - A Royal Mess

He snagged the carry-on, the jacket over it and the purse she still had on her shoulder.

And tugged.

“Oh, no you don’t. Those are—” She stopped shouting at him to get a better grip on her purse. “Mine.”

“Let go!” he growled, playing tug-of-war with her.

But her fear turned to temper. Clearly, he had no idea who he was messing with and how much she’d already faced in one day. It gave her an unbelievable strength. “I’m not letting go, you…you miscreant!”

“Hey, I’m robbing you here.”

“No you’re not!”

He looked so utterly surprised, she nearly laughed. And held on like a pit bull.

“You’re supposed to freak out,” he grated. “Cry. Scream. Not fight back! Jeez, haven’t you ever taken a self-defense class? They don’t advise you to fight back!”

“I’m not going to freak out, I’m going to fight, and then I’m going to turn you in! Now you let go!”

For what seemed like forever, they grappled with her bags, until, with a loud screech, Natalia lost the game and her grip. Freed, she promptly toppled backward over the bench, ass over kettle, landing incongruously in the dirt.

Meanwhile, her thief, who took the time to stop and grin triumphantly in her face, took off with her beloved carry-on, her purse and her bus ticket.

And her pride.

BY THE TIME Natalia—sputtering in a very unprincesslike manner—scrambled to her feet and jerked down her skirt, the young man was but a blur on the horizon. All she could do was watch in disbelief as he ran away, her bag banging against his thighs as it had banged against hers all day long.

She hoped it left one hell of a bruise.

“Idiot!” she yelled. “Moron! Jerk!” Sagging back to the bench, she wondered who she was calling names, the thief or herself.

A drop fell from the sky, hitting her on the nose. The storm that the airline had been threatening her with all day had finally arrived.

Another drop. Then another. The sky lit with a long jagged flash of lightning.

And Natalia stood there, stunned stupid by the events of the day. She was out in what felt like the middle of nowhere, with no identification, no money and even worse, no makeup, not even a brush. She should call on the credit cards, but then again, at this moment, even that seemed like too much effort.

Rain fell. Leather wet was a whole new, uncomfortable experience. Lightning flashed again, punctuating the disaster her life had become.

Perfect. Now she was going to get struck by a bolt and get amnesia. That would top things off nicely.

You’ll do great. Just keep your head.

At Amelia’s words, spoken in her wonderful British accent, Natalia whipped around, but of course, Amelia wasn’t standing there.

It was just that her voice had sounded so…real. But Natalia was alone, utterly alone. It must be the self-pity, she decided, causing her to hear things. Because surely, not even Amelia could be that…magical.

She should just call home with the cell phone still in her pocket. But that put a sour taste in her mouth because darn it, she wanted to do this.

Her hair was beginning to unspike, and her clothes were plastered to her like a second skin. She had no idea what should come next. Maybe a hero on a white steed. Wouldn’t that be handy.

A rumble sounded. Not a white steed, but a truck, rumbled up the street. It nearly passed her, until, with a quick brake, it came to an abrupt halt right in front of her.

Her heart leaped into her throat, but she reminded herself she had nothing left for someone to steal.

Except herself, came the dismal, unhelpful thought. Fear bloomed again, and she might have started running regardless of her combat boots, until the window rolled down and a man leaned across the seat. Beneath his hat, piercing green eyes landed right on her.

Her Clint Eastwood look-alike from the plane.

“Problem?” he asked in that slow, Southern drawl that somehow sent a warm shiver down her spine, when just a moment ago she’d been chilled from her fight with her thief.

“Problem?” she repeated as casually as she could, cocking a hip and trying to look like the badass princess she was known to be. “What makes you think I have a problem?”

“Because you’re standing out here in a downpour looking like a drowned rat.”

A drowned rat! “The bus hasn’t come yet.” But even if it did, her ticket was sitting all nice and cozy in her purse. The purse that was right this second gracing the neck of a thief. But she couldn’t tell this man that, not when her pride was sticking like crow in her throat.

He put his truck in Park and rested a forearm on his steering wheel. “So what’s a princess doing riding a bus?”

With her self-esteem at her feet, there was no way she could tell him.

“Ah, hell,” she thought she heard him mutter. And then he’d turned off his truck and got out in the rain, moving with the easy grace of a man who wasn’t in a hurry to be anywhere other than where he happened to be.

Standing in front of her, he seemed bigger than he’d been on the airplane, bigger than life. He was over six feet, all broad shoulders, hard muscle and about zero body fat. Certainly bigger than any man she was used to standing so close to her, so she took a little step back. But she left her chin thrust high into the air, because she’d choke on all that pride before admitting defeat to anyone.

“Here.” He shrugged out of his jacket to set it on her shoulders. She didn’t know if his caring enough to want her warm helped or made it worse. “So what happened to your stuff?” he asked.

“It was just stolen. And before that, my second flight was canceled. Having a hell of a day here.”

He had a way of looking at people, of tilting his head back and gazing at her with deep green eyes that made her stomach flutter. “Are you hurt?”

I’m fine, she almost said. But she wasn’t. There was a strange, slow, unfurling in the pit of her belly, and it didn’t come from the horrid day or the rain or the theft. Or even from the way her makeup was starting to run down her face.

It came from his hands on her shoulders. From his easy grace and confidence.

“Princess?”

She gazed up at the man towering over her, at his unfathomable gaze and the lock of brown hair falling over his forehead. It was streaked with light gold from what she imagined were long days in the sun. On his horse. Being a cowboy. The unfurling in her belly ignited. “Do you really believe I’m a princess?” she whispered.

He frowned, then bent down a little to look into her eyes. “Maybe you hit your head? Is that it?”

He thought she was crazy. And she was.

Because he was a stranger, a one-hundred-percent-male stranger who made her want to drool, made her want to stand straighter with her breasts thrust out and check her makeup all at the same time. She felt as if she’d known him all her life even as she wanted to know him even better.

How stupid is that, Amelia?

TIM SCOOPED the woman’s tangled, soggy hair back from her forehead, frowning as he looked her creamy skin over for a bump. Somehow the black smudged eyeliner beneath her eyes made them look ever bigger. More vulnerable.

“I didn’t hit my head,” she said quite clearly, stepping back from his touch. “And I really am a princess. Your Serene Highness Natalia Faye Wolfe Brunner of Grunberg, to be exact.”

Stepping back, he scratched his jaw and studied her, but she didn’t crack a smile. “That’s a mouthful,” he said.

“Which is why I go by just Your Serene Highness Natalia Faye.”

“Still a mouthful.”

“My things have been stolen, or I’d show you identification.”

“Want to go to the police and make a report?”