Royal Distraction Lucy McConnell (ebook reader online TXT) 📖

He smiled. “Try letting go of the ball sooner.”

This time she avoided cracking the floor, but fared no better with the pins.

“This is fun, right?” asked Tatum.

“I am diplomatically withholding my opinion on the matter,” she responded, which only made him laugh again. She liked that he was quick to laugh. Her sense of humor was not always appreciated at home, but it was the only one she had.

Tatum stood well behind the line and took three long strides while swinging his ball before releasing. His ball charged down the center, curving left at the end and taking out seven pins.

She put her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you tell me to do it like that?”

“You’re just starting out.”

She playfully elbowed him out of the way. “My turn.”

“I still have three pins.”

“Those are your penalty for trying to cheat. I get to use them as a practice.”

He grinned and stepped back. “Be my guest. But if you knock them down, it counts on my frame.”

She looked him up and down, liking his frame. “If I knock them down, it will be a miracle.”

He chuckled and got out of the way.

She didn’t knock them down. Nor did she knock any other pins down—ever. About the sixth frame, she put her chin in her hands and leaned her elbows on her knees.

“What’s the sigh for?”

“My love for American pastimes diminishes with every gutter ball.” She waited for her ball to reappear. “The best thing about this game is the ball return.”

“That’s not true.”

“Says the man who is winning to the woman who is losing. You’re such a boy.” She stuck out her tongue. Her ball rolled to a stop and she prepared for another zero on the scoreboard. She’d also learned that there was an animated caveman who came out to mock her on the screen by smacking his head each time she missed the pins. She glared up at him, wishing a saber-tooth tiger would take a large bite out of his behind.

“Mind if I help this time?” Tatum asked.

“Well, you couldn’t ruin my natural talent.”

He came to stand behind her. Cupping her hand and the ball with his right hand, he brought her thumb to the top.

“If the ball goes where your thumb goes,” he said, his voice instructional but oddly intimate, like he was sharing trade secrets. Leaning down, he brought his cheek flush with hers, causing her temperature to spike and her heart to flutter. He gently curved the ball right. “Then which way will your ball travel?”

“Starboard,” she mumbled, not sure if she answered correctly and not caring as long as he stayed right there, holding her close.

He smiled before moving her hand the other direction. “And this way?”

“Port.”

“Right.” His gaze dove into her eyes and splashed around, making it harder and harder for her to think about bowling. “But if you keep it straight, the ball should go …”

She licked her lips.

“… right …” His eyes darted to her mouth. “… down …”

She lifted her chin, inviting him to kiss her with every fiber of her being. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, press her body against his, and get lost in him.

“… the middle …” He ended just a breath away, his chest going up and down with each breath.

“I think I finally understand the appeal of this game.”

His gaze intensified and his warm breath brushed her cheek.

She went weak, ready to melt into him with all she was worth, and her hold on the ball wobbled. They both jerked to take hold and save their toes once again.

“You got it?” asked Tatum, the passion still there but under control.

“I think so.” She moved into position, her chest heaving with the effort to take a full breath. Zoning in on that center pin that had mocked her all afternoon, she glared. “I am going to get you this time.” She took three measured strides forward, focused on her thumb, and released. The ball rolled faster than before, spinning like her pulse had only moments before. With a loud crash, five pins blew against the back wall.

“I did it!” She turned, finding Tatum right behind her, and launched herself into his chest, her arms wrapping around his neck. He caught her easily and spun them in a circle. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, the impact like a thousand bowling balls knocking her over. Just as she was about to give herself over to the experience, he pulled away.

“I didn’t mean to—”

She cut him off by pressing her lips to his. He held so still. She hadn’t meant to be forward, but she had no interest in talking at the moment. Perhaps he really hadn’t meant to kiss her lips. Maybe he’d aimed for her cheek and missed?

On the verge of panicking, she put both hands on his cheeks and pulled him closer. And then his palm was on her neck and his lips took control and she was spinning with seafoam for brains and warm bones. He set her feet on the floor and kissed her with a tenderness that left her gasping. His fingertips brushed her cheeks, her arms, and her shoulders, like he was scared she wasn’t real.

They pulled back and he furrowed his brow. “That was—”

Nyssa put her finger over his lips. “If you say nice, I’m going to bowl you down this alley.” She’d kissed Prince Marius when they were thirteen and he’d called it nice. Nice. As in barely above tolerable.

She’d always wondered if the niceness was because she lacked skill or if it was because she didn’t like him in that way. Now, she understood that kissing the person you were meant to kiss forever was as natural as breathing, and much better than nice.

“It’s a lane,” he corrected, his cheek lifting against hers. “Happy.” He tugged a piece of her hair. “I was going to say that was happy.”

She considered his evaluation. “I was not expecting that.”

“Neither was I. Where did