Fake Dating the Prince

by Ashlyn Kane

  Brains were dumb.

  “Stop thinking so loud,” Flip rumbled, an inch from Brayden’s ear, and Brayden’s upstairs brain went offline entirely.

  That was just not fair. A handsome prince who wasn’t stuck-up, who danced like he’d been taught by Brayden’s grandmother, who had a sharp wit and a warm embrace and a frankly ridiculous body—maybe Brayden should join him and Irfan for yoga?—and his morning voice promised exquisite debauchery of the slow and painstaking variety.

  “Sorry,” Brayden rasped. “I was trying not to wake you.” He wondered how long Flip had been lying there and whether he’d been afraid to move too… perhaps out of politeness.

  “Well, now that we’re both up—”

  Brayden felt himself go scarlet. He thought he could feel the heat from Flip’s face too, as he blushed. “Nice choice of words,” Brayden managed.

  “You’re a terrible influence,” Flip said, mostly into the pillow. Then he rolled away and left Brayden with a suddenly cold backside. He turned to face Flip.

  “On the plus side, that was a great icebreaker. ‘Good morning, I’m definitely thinking about your dick right now.’”

  Flip muffled something into the pillow that might have been a very quiet scream of frustration. Then he raised his head. “Good morning, Brayden. You’re in fine form this morning.”

  “What can I say? You’re an excellent straight man.”

  “I live to serve.” He slung his legs over the side of the bed, and Brayden didn’t bother to pretend not to watch. Flip was obviously still hard as he slid into his slippers and reached for his bathrobe. “You should get up and get dressed. We don’t want to be late.”

  “Oh yeah?” Brayden copied his actions, grateful for the bathrobe hanging on the hook on the side of the bedpost. The weather had turned cold—but not cold enough to dissuade his dick just yet. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to do something we haven’t done before,” Flip said a bit mysteriously. He reached into the wardrobe and withdrew Brayden’s rolling suitcase. “We’ll be gone two nights. Pack warm.” He slinked toward the bathroom.

  Brayden’s jaw dropped. “But where are we going?”

  Flip turned from just inside the door and stuck his head out. “Sightseeing.”

  FLIP knew there was a slight chance he was about to fuck everything up forever. But he thought—he was pretty sure—Brayden really cared about him. Maybe it wasn’t love yet, but it could be.

  Now that he was ready to make final decisions on the Crown Mining Co., he didn’t have to fly back and forth to Toronto anymore, and if he didn’t make a move sooner or later, he’d lose Brayden by default. That was unacceptable.

  If things turned awkward, he could always claim he was making things up to Brayden by making sure he got to tick something off his bucket list.

  “Private jet, huh?” Brayden said as they buckled themselves in.

  This one had eight seats, but they were the only ones on board—an extravagant expense Flip wouldn’t normally have gone for, especially considering the environmental impact, but it was a special occasion. Or so he hoped. He simply nodded.

  “Trying to impress me?” Brayden continued.

  “If I wanted to do that, I could have let you stay home and play with the heated floor in the bathroom.”

  “True.”

  “There’s no flight crew, though,” Flip said apologetically. “Tough to get staff this close to a holiday, I suppose. So if you want anything from the minibar, you’ll have to get it yourself.”

  Brayden rolled his eyes and then bent his neck to peer out the window as though he could divine their destination from their position on the tarmac.

  Flip was pretty sure even a very seasoned traveler couldn’t do that.

  “Sounds like work,” Brayden commented. “How long’s this flight?”

  He was fishing, but Flip indulged him. “Two and a half, three hours?” Brayden hadn’t asked the aircraft’s top speed yet, so that information likely wouldn’t be enough for him to guess. “Are you going to ask questions the entire flight?”

  “Would you prefer I put on my work uniform and serve you?” Brayden said wickedly.

  Flip shuddered. “Lord, if the pilot ever spoke to the press, they’d have a field day wondering whether I’m an arsehole or if we’re just very into weird role play.”

  Brayden fluttered his eyelashes. “What’s weird about it?”

  “I can’t imagine it would be much fun for you role-playing your day job.”

  “Eh.” Brayden shrugged, but he still had that gleam in his eye that foretold mischief. “I’ve never gotten to join the Mile High Club, for example. Lifetime regret.”

  Oh God. In that moment Flip was deeply thankful for his years spent schooling his expression into something more neutral than—how had Brayden put it earlier?—good morning, I’m thinking about your dick. “Maybe on the way home,” Flip deadpanned.

  Brayden’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, and for a second Flip wondered if he was going to have to clarify whether he was serious, which would be difficult, since he didn’t know. But then the pilot came on the speaker system and directed their attention to the in-flight safety video.

  “Oh, man, I’ve seen this one.” Brayden sighed and shot Flip a sly smile.

  Grateful for the reprieve, Flip rolled his eyes on cue.

  For the first quarter of their flight, Brayden kept his nose pressed to the window. Unfortunately for him, today was the darkest day of the year—this close to the north pole, the sun’s light cast barely more than a match’s glow over the landscape, and it burned out nearly as fast.

  Even if Brayden could have recognized landmarks by lit-up streets and buildings, there wasn’t anything to see. The plane was crossing the Baltic.

  “The suspense is killing me,” Brayden grumbled, but he didn’t seem to have his heart in it. A constant smile played on his lips, and he jiggled his leg as they ascended to cruising altitude.

  When the plane leveled off, he got up and went to the minifridge, laughed, and returned with three bags of peanuts for Flip, which he dropped in his lap. “Individual servings of wine,” he commented as he set the tiny bottles on his seat so he could return for the glassware. “It’s just like I’m at home.”

  “In that case, maybe I should pour.” He did, and they touched glasses.

  “What are we toasting?” Brayden asked.

  Good question. “Clear skies, I think.” Otherwise the whole trip would be—well, it would be a blatantly romantic overture but without the distraction of fulfilling an item on Brayden’s bucket list.

  “To clear skies, then.”

  Brayden took a picture of their glasses next to each other on their trays, presumably to post to Instagram later.

  When they deplaned, the airstrip lights illuminated a little halo around them. The wind whipped into Flip’s face and froze the hair in his nostrils, and his breath hung in the air. He’d put on his gloves and scarf and changed into heavy boots on the plane. Even so, he wasn’t used to weather this cold—even in Toronto.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said to pack warm.” Brayden shivered despite the thick parka Flip’s stylist had picked out for him.

  Flip wanted to put his arm around him. Soon. With a little luck, anyway.

  Their SUV pulled up just a moment later, followed by another. The first driver handed Flip the keys to the Range Rover, loaded their luggage into the boot, and got into the second vehicle. All perfectly mysterious and designed to keep Brayden in suspense.

  “I’m dying here,” Brayden said good-naturedly as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”

  Flip pulled up the GPS, which was already set with their destination—not that it would mean anything to Brayden, because—

  “Actually, scratch where we’re going. Where are we now?” He raised his eyebrows at the screen. “That’s a lot of vowels. And consonants. And umlauts.” He paused. “Are we in Finland?”


  So much for the surprise. Flip should have known better than to underestimate Brayden’s language skills. “Looks that way,” he said as he followed the directions to exit the tiny airstrip.

  The landscape outside the bright bubble of the airport might as well have been a different planet. Though the sky was a clear, dark indigo scattered with stars and only a quarter moon, every candela of light reflected tenfold off a perfect, gleaming layer of snow.

  Brayden licked his lips. “Is it—is this…. I mean.” He glanced at the clock. “Just before six,” he murmured to himself. “So, what, the sun’s been down for a few hours?”

  “The sun hasn’t come over the horizon in a week,” Flip corrected quietly. Theirs was the only car on the road. Twelve minutes to their destination.

  “So we might see… I mean, we’re here for the Northern Lights, right?”

  “I booked us a room for two nights,” Flip confirmed, a little disappointed Brayden had spoiled his own surprise. He still had the hotel itself up his sleeve, at least. “If we haven’t seen them by then, I’ll extend our stay.”

  A few kilometers passed in relative silence, the only sound the Range Rover’s tires on the road.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” Brayden said at last. He was looking out the window, his expression a mask of wonder. If Flip could get Brayden to look at him like that…. “But I’m glad you did. This is… this is more than I could have asked for. So. Thank you.”

  Flip swallowed hard and pushed down I don’t want your gratitude. It wasn’t true exactly, and Brayden was a gracious person by nature, even if he expressed that in nonstandard ways.

  But oh, he didn’t want Brayden to act out of appreciation. Not tonight. Flip wanted so much more than gratitude.

  He curled his fingers tighter around the steering wheel and said, “You’re welcome.”

  BRAYDEN couldn’t tell much about the hotel from the lobby, partly because Flip had instructed him to stay in the car while he checked in and procured their keys. A well-bundled woman knocked on his window and asked him to open the trunk so she could deliver their suitcases. Apparently that would happen via snowmobile sled. Brayden didn’t know why they couldn’t take the bags themselves, but perhaps it was a fancy hotel thing.

  “Thank you,” the woman said cheerfully, and she zipped off into the night. A number of glowing lights in the distance seemed to indicate the rooms were separate cabins of some kind, or at least in different buildings. Brayden couldn’t tell from there.

  Brayden couldn’t tell a lot of things.

  What was this trip, really? Could it just be a makeup for the unchaperoned sightseeing Brayden had given up? Surely they could have done something similar in Lyngria, without all this trouble. But maybe Flip thought that wasn’t good enough, and since he had a fair amount of wealth at his disposal, he decided on a grand gesture?

  Or maybe Brayden’s instinct that morning had been correct and Flip wanted to get in his pants.

  The door opened, breaking Brayden out of his contemplation, and Flip buckled in and put the car in gear before glancing over at Brayden. “Ready?”

  No. Brayden’s heart was beating too fast. Out loud he said, “Absolutely.”

  The hotel was located at the top of a fell dotted with snow-covered pines. They passed the snowmobile on its return trip, and then Flip slowed the SUV in front of a small building with the number 3 embossed on the door. He pulled into a parking place that mostly consisted of a spot of cleared-away snow and turned off the engine.

  Then he handed Brayden the key and briefly curled Brayden’s hand around it before he let go. “After you.”

  The wind outside was as bitter as it had been at the airport. Fortunately, though, the key turned easily in the lock, and Brayden stepped inside.

  The little cabin was warm enough that Brayden immediately unzipped his coat. He left his shoes on the drying rack near the door. Off to one side was a small, modern kitchenette with a sleek coffee maker that looked like it cost more than the snowmobile he’d seen earlier. To the other was a wooden door that smelled of spruce.

  A thick curtain separated the small entry area from the larger space, probably to keep anyone still in bed warm should the exterior door open. Brayden swept it aside—

  And raised his hand to his mouth.

  All of Lapland and half the sky seemed to spread out in front of him—snow-covered trees and twinkling stars and the quarter moon. A huge glass dome formed an igloo over a luxuriously appointed bed, and an intimate seating area framed a fireplace set into one of the walls. Rich, thick area rugs covered the floor.

  Brayden let it pull him in and trailed his fingers over surprisingly warm glass. The walls featured unobtrusive curtains, currently pulled back to make the most of the view, but they didn’t reach all the way to the ceiling—someone could watch the aurora while lying in bed and still have complete privacy. Though really, the igloo was angled such that even standing in the middle of the room, Brayden couldn’t see into any of the neighboring buildings.

  That would come in handy if he wanted to take a bath, since the giant tub stood just a few feet to the left of the fireplace. No point in modesty here. If someone brought you to this place, they definitely wanted to have sex with you.

  Brayden swallowed that thought and continued exploring.

  The bathroom was just off the kitchen—a toilet and glass shower stall, with a sturdy vanity made of the same solid spruce he’d noticed earlier, its countertop stained a rich brown and lacquered until it gleamed.

  Brayden touched that too.

  When he looked up, he saw Flip behind him in the mirror. He’d taken off his parka and gloves and boots, and now stood in a burgundy sweater and fine gray wool pants, staring at Brayden with naked affection and no small amount of desire. Brayden could relate.

  Time seemed to stretch out. This was his moment—whatever he did next would dictate how far he fell and how hard. He could still turn and run. Flip would give him space.

  But God, Brayden didn’t want it. He wanted to feel it all—every moment, every rush of oxytocin and the inevitable crush of heartbreak. He wanted Flip to crowd him in here and turn him around. He wanted to be kissed on that bed, on the floor in front of the fireplace. He wanted to go back to Lyngria and spend his life on Flip’s arm, at Flip’s side, across from him on the dance floor. He wanted—

  “Brayden,” Flip said, halfway across the tiny bathroom now, and Brayden turned around and kissed him.

  Right away Flip made a noise of frustrated desire into his mouth. His hands went first to Brayden’s face and cupped it while he teased open Brayden’s lips and swept his tongue inside. Then, while Brayden’s brain lit up at the thorough exploration, while he tried to keep his feet as his knees wobbled, Flip ran his hands down his shoulders and up underneath Brayden’s sweater.

  Brayden’s coat still hung open, and he shrugged it off. A second later those hands smoothed down his ass, kneaded once, and then hooked under Brayden’s thighs and lifted.

  Brayden wrapped his legs around Flip’s waist and his arms around his shoulders as Flip walked the two steps, set Brayden down on the bathroom counter, and released his mouth to fasten his lips to Brayden’s neck. Cursing under his breath, Brayden tilted his head against the wall and scrabbled at the back of Flip’s sweater to pull it up. “This sweater,” he said, and then he lost his words on a cut-off groan when Flip scraped his teeth up to Brayden’s ear. “This sweater has been tormenting me all day.”

  He got it rucked up to Flip’s armpits, but Flip didn’t seem to want to stop what he was doing long enough for Brayden to have his satisfaction. Brayden kneed him gently in the side, shoving him away, and finally Flip lifted his arms and stripped off the sweater, somewhat imperiously. It dropped unlamented to the bathroom floor.

  For the first time, Brayden got to drink his fill, unworried about being caught. Flip’s smooth brown skin covered lean muscle, a dancer’s build—strange for Brayden to think, as he was broader across
the chest than Flip was. Cut hipbones—Brayden licked his lips—a dusting of wiry chest hair—

  “You’ve been tormented?” Flip enunciated, stalking forward again with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Your cursed high school baseball T-shirt has lost all its shape, and you’re always flashing this at me.” He slid his hands under Brayden’s sweater and ran them up his flanks. He kept going until Brayden had to raise his arms so the offending garment could join its fellow in ignominy.

  Brayden put his hands on Flip’s obliques and traced his thumbs up toward his nipples. Flip kissed him again, pressing closer between Brayden’s thighs. There was no mistaking the hard line of his cock as it pressed against Brayden’s, or the possessive way he kissed, or the shiver that went through Brayden when Flip bit gently at his lower lip. Breaking the kiss, Brayden fumbled for the button of Flip’s trousers. “I can’t believe—you brought me all the way to Finland—” Flip kept interrupting with more kisses. “—to seduce me. I was—a sure thing—”

  “Shut up,” Flip said warmly and kissed him again. But he seemed to have developed a taste for Brayden’s throat, or else he had noticed that kisses there made Brayden gasp and squirm, because he worked his way south again. “I wanted to.”

  Brayden shuddered and finally eased Flip’s fly open. He slid his hand into the opening and palmed Flip’s cock through his absurdly expensive underwear. He was hard and thick, and Brayden could feel his foreskin sliding beneath the fabric as he worked him. “Please tell me you have—” Flip sucked a mark over the tendon in his neck. “—fuck, please tell me you have condoms and lube somewhere on your person, I swear to God.”

  Flip broke away and rested his head against Brayden’s for a moment. “Bernadette would kill me.” Then he reached to his right and dragged over what Brayden had assumed was a basket of complimentary bath products—which he supposed they were, since technically they were about to get good use in the bathroom. “Fortunately the hotel has provided.”