The Princess and the Outlaw. Leanne Banks

bedrooms.”

      An hour later, after Pippa finished vacuuming and tackled the kitchen, she found Nic cleaning the hall bathroom. It was an ironic sight. Hot six-foot-four international businessman scrubbing the tub. Just as he wouldn’t expect to find her turn into a cleaning machine, she wouldn’t expect the same of him, either. She couldn’t help admiring the way his broad shoulders followed the shape of a V to his waist. Even in a T-shirt, the man looked great from behind. Bloody shame for her. Get your mind out of the gutter.

      He turned around before she had a chance to clear her throat or utter a syllable. She stared at him speechless for a second, fearing he could read her mind. Not possible, she told herself as she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment.

      “Can I help you?” he asked.

      In too many ways, she thought, but refused to dwell on them. “I’m almost finished with the kitchen, and it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to arrange for some groceries to be picked up for your parents before they arrive.”

      “Groceries?” he echoed.

      “Yes, I was hoping you could help with a list.”

      He made a face. “I don’t do a lot of grocery shopping. My housekeeper takes care of that.”

      “I have less experience with grocery shopping that I do with cleaning. That’s why I thought we could send someone.”

      “Who can we trust?” he asked.

      She winced. “Excellent point.”

      “After we move them in, I’ll just arrange for a member of my staff from the yacht to take care of house and shopping duties,” he said. “But unless we want to delay their move-in, it looks like we’ll need to do the initial run ourselves.”

      “We?” she squeaked.

      “I didn’t think it would be nice to ask you to do it by yourself,” he said.

      But it had clearly crossed his mind. She frowned.

      “Will that put you a little close for comfort to the plebeians?”

      “No,” she told him, detesting the superior challenging expression on his face. “I was just trying to remember if I’d left my cap in my vehicle.”

      “I have an extra,” he said. “I’ll take you in my car.”

      “What about the list?”

      “We’ll wing it,” he said.

      Moments later, she grabbed her cap from her car and perched her oversize sunglasses on her nose. She didn’t bother to look at her reflection. After spending the afternoon cleaning, she knew she didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a princess. Nic opened the passenger door for her and she slid into his car.

      After he climbed into the driver’s side, the space inside his Mercedes seemed to shrink. She inhaled to compensate for the way her lungs seemed to narrow at Nic’s proximity, but only succeeded in drawing in a draft of the combination of his masculine scent and subtle but sexy cologne. He pulled out of the driveway.

      “Which way to the nearest market?” he asked.

      Pippa blinked. She had no idea.

      “Here,” he said, handing her his phone. “Find one on my smartphone.”

      It took a couple moments, and Nic had to backtrack, but they were moving in the right direction.

      “I’m thinking eggs, milk, bread and perhaps some fruit,” she said, associating each item with one of her fingers. It was a memory trick she’d taught herself when she was young. The only problem was when she ran out of fingers.

      “Chocolate, cookies and wine,” Nic added. “A bakery cake if we can find it. My mother’s priority for eating healthy went down the tubes after her last appointment with the doctor. My dad will want booze and carbs. His idea of health food is a pork roast with a loaded baked potato.”

      “Oh, my,” she said, trying to wrap her head around Nic’s list versus hers. “I hope we can find—”

      “They’ll be happy with whatever we get for the first twenty-four hours,” Nic said as he pulled into the parking lot. “Let’s just do this fast,” he added and pulled on a ball cap of his own. “The faster we move, the less chance you have of being discovered.”

      “I think I’m well-disguised,” she said as he opened the door and helped her out of the car.

      “Until you open your mouth,” he said.

      “What do you mean by that?”

      He led her toward the door of the market. “I mean you have a refined, distinctive voice, PD. A combination of husky sweet and so proper you could have been in Regency England.”

      “PD,” she echoed, then realized PD stood for Pippa Devereaux. “Well, at least I look ordinary,” she huffed.

      He stopped beside her. “And I don’t,” he said, tugging on his ball cap.

      She allowed herself a forbidden moment of looking at him from head to toe. He could have been dressed in rags and he would be sexy. She swallowed an oath. “You don’t know the meaning of ordinary,” she said and walked in front of him.

      Hearing Nic grab a cart behind her, she moved toward the produce. “Surely, they’d enjoy some fruit. Your mother seemed to favor fruit crepes the other day.”

      “They were wrapped in sugar,” he said as she picked up a bunch of bananas and studied them. “In the basket,” he instructed. “We have a need for speed, PD.”

      “I’m not sure I like being called PD,” she said, fighting a scowl as she put the bananas in the cart.

      He pressed his mouth against her ear. “Would you prefer PP instead? For Princess Pippa?”

      A shiver of awareness raced through her and she quickly stepped away. “Not at all,” she said and picked up an apricot. “Does this look ripe?”

      “It’s perfect,” he said, swiping it from her hand and added two more to the cart. “Now, move along.”

      She shot him an affronted look but began to walk. “No one except my brothers or sisters would dream of speaking to me that way.”

      “One of my many charms, PD,” he said and tossed a loaf of bread into the cart.

      Moments later, after throwing several items into the cart, they arrived at the register. Pippa picked up a bag of marshmallows.

      “Good job,” he said.

      “I thought they could make that camping dessert you Americans eat,” Pippa said. She’d read about it in a book.

      “Camping treat?” he echoed.

      “Some More of something,” she said.

      His eyes widened. “S’mores,” he said. “We need chocolate bars and graham crackers. Get him to hold you,” he said and strode away.

      “Hold me?” she said at the unfamiliar expression and caught the cashier studying her. He was several years younger than she was with rings and piercing in places that made her think ouch.

      He leaned toward her. “If you need holding, I can help you after I finish my shift,” he said in a low voice.

      Embarrassment flooded through her. She was rarely in a position for a man to flirt with her. Her brother usually set her up with men at least twenty years older, who wouldn’t dare make an improper advance, so she wasn’t experienced with giving a proper response. “The grocery order,” she finally managed. “I was repeating what my, uh, friend said. He misspoke, as he often does. The grocery order need holding.”

      The cashier looked disappointed. “The customer behind you is ready.”

      Pippa