by Caroline Lee
Oh, shoot.
“Um, no…Your Highness.” She wondered if she should tell him who she was. Would that be super-awkward, or just unethical? “Gunnar is ill, and I was sent as his replacement.”
Kristoff made a sort of drowsy agreement noise, and settled back down with his head turned towards his shoulder, his arms stretched out on the table to either side of his head. “If Gunnar approves, I approve,” he murmured.
Cassandra swallowed. Kristoff was sexy, sure. Sleepy Kristoff was even sexier. Naked sleepy Kristoff?
God help me.
Caaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllmmmmmmmm.
She did her usual deep-breathing exercises to prepare herself to lay hands on, then scraped a bit of the oil to warm between her palms. When she placed her hands on his back—one up at the base of his neck, one at the base of his spine, he sighed in contentment…and she almost echoed him.
“Had a good workout today. I think my shoulders are the worst.”
She forced herself to swallow so she could answer. “Gotcha.” She went to work on the muscles of his upper back. Later, she’d focus on his shoulders and his neck, but this position was best for the tight muscles on either side of his spine. It was heavenly to let her hands glide over his firm skin, and to listen to his little sighs of pleasure.
“You’re pretty good at this.”
She smiled in the dark. “Thanks.” She’d gotten her massage certification in grad school, to pay the bills while she studied her true passion, history. But she’d always been good at massage, and loved making people feel good. Her love language was definitely “touch” and she liked sharing that love with others.
“Sound familiar, too,” he said sleepily.
She managed not to choke on her noncommittal, “Oh, really?” She and Kristoff hadn’t had more than a few conversations together, and most of those had been her blushing outrageously and staring at the ground between them, terrified of doing something stupid to make her look even dumber.
He doesn’t remember you, don’t worry.
Kristoff sighed mightily when she began working on the muscles along his flanks, and rolled his head to the opposite side. She smiled again, loving how relaxed he was.
“Usually Gunnar and I talk. Feels weird to sit here in silence.”
She mentally shrugged. “Every client is different—some like silence, some are energized by the conversation. I have one lady who wants silence when she’s on her stomach because that’s when she does her best brainstorming, but then we chat when she rolls over.”
“I think I’m the former. Although I was almost asleep, lying here waiting on you.”
“Sorry.” She hadn’t realized she was so late. “What do you normally talk about?” she hurried to change the subject.
He snorted slightly. “Gunnar’s latest romantic conquests, usually. Probably inappropriate now, though.”
You have no idea.
He continued, “But he helps me work through problems sometimes, too. And I had a doozy today.”
Kristoff was the third son. As far as Cassandra knew—and she’d done her best to read every article and magazine interview he’d ever done—his passions were sport-related. He was toned and perfect—and she had the proof of that under her oily hands right now!—thanks to his years of climbing, swimming, boating, running, and God knew what else. As far as anyone knew, those things were his life, and he was brilliant at them. It was hard to imagine him having any problems, much less one which could be described as a “doozy”.
“Well, I’m here, and I promise not to share any secrets, if you want to bounce ideas off me.”
He was quiet for a few minutes, then sighed again. “I guess you’ve got clearance, right?”
“Yeah.” He hadn’t even asked her name. What would she tell him if he did?
“I know everyone thinks I’m pretty shallow and useless, and I’m okay with that.”
She wanted to interrupt him, to tell him not everyone thought he was useless, but she didn’t. A lot of people probably did. Dad didn’t have a lot of positive things to say about Kristoff, that was for sure. But it made sense—to someone like Dad, who would always be a nerd, Kristoff represented all the jocks who used to bully him in school. Cassandra herself, with a master’s degree and an academic tradition as long as her arm, probably should be thinking about Kristoff as shallow and useless too.
So why hadn’t she? How come, from the moment she met her soon-to-be-stepbrothers, she’d been drawn to him?
I’ve always had a thing for Vikings, that’s why.
He continued. “Some of my brothers have more responsibility than I’d ever want. But I’m not…well, I do do other stuff. I just don’t like the media or too many people finding out.”
“Like what?” She’d reached his lower back, and was rolling her palms across his skin to stimulate circulation, wondering how far down under that towel she could reach and still keep her sanity.
“I’m on the board for this charity, see? But they’ve promised to keep my name out of things, and I don’t openly donate to them. I want it to stay a secret. But I need a way to get them a huge chunk of money.”
“Without donating it directly to them?”
He grunted in agreement. Or maybe pleasure, as she walked her fingers up the muscles on either side of his spine. “That info would be publicly available, and we’ve got some pretty sneaky journalists in this country. Especially now that Mom’s getting re-married.”
To my Dad.
“Does it have to be your money?”
“Not necessarily, although we’ve got enough of it lying around. But I was thinking about doing something with the Mid-Summer Regatta. I could convince the board to choose this charity—one is chosen each year to get half the concession and ticket sales— but even the proceeds from that wouldn’t cover the amount they need for the— Well, it doesn’t matter.”
That was a good idea. She’d been hearing about the Regatta for months now—it was one of the highlights of the Aegirian summer, and Dad had told her Queen Viktoria was already planning a party on the royal yacht to celebrate it. And to give her a chance to show her people that Dad wasn’t a complete dork.
Heh. Good luck with that.
“Hmmm…” She pondered Kristoff’s problem as she kneaded the muscles of his upper back. “If you’re okay fronting the money, I don’t suppose you could just, like, buy four hundred thousand soft pretzels or something, therefore quadrupling the concession take?”
He chuckled against the sheet. “I thought about that, honestly. But what am I supposed to do with all those pretzels? Ship ‘em back to Germany?”
She snorted slightly in agreement. “Good point. Also, it would be pretty wasteful, if you’re talking about charity…”
“Yeah.”
They were quiet for a few more minutes, as she moved to his upper arms. Touching someone like this gave her the most wonderful combination of calm and reenergizing…and Kristoff was no different. Before she’d entered the room, she figured she’d be too focused on who he was, and would probably freak out and trip over herself or something. But no, if anything, after her initial kerfuffle, she felt more at ease than usual. More centered. More…well, almost like she was exactly where she needed to be.
Which was weird, since this was the longest conversation she’d ever had with Kristoff, and his eyes were closed. And it was dark.
She let her hands do their own thing, and focused her mind on his problem. After a few more minutes, she asked, “What’s the prize for the winner?”
“Of the Regatta? The entry pot.”
“So teams pay to enter the race, and then the winner gets that prize?”
“Yeah. Last year I proposed we give half the pot to the charity too, but the rest of the board voted against it, saying it wasn’t fair to the winner.”
“Who usually wins?”
Kristoff was silent. She wondered if he’d suddenly fallen asleep, except his muscles had stiffened slightly, like he was upset.<
br />
“Your Highness?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh…me.”
“You what?” She reached his hand, and began massaging the palm and the individual fingers. If he spent the day climbing, which she knew he liked to do on rainy days, this should be nice. But he was still.
“I, uh…I usually win.”
She smiled in the darkness, not expecting anything else. “Usually?”
“Well, there’s been a few years I haven’t entered.”
Cassandra burst into laughter at the sheepish tone in his voice. He lifted his head, as if to confront her, and she didn’t think anything of reaching over and pushing him back against the bed while she continued to work his fingers in her other hand. When had she become so comfortable with him? Probably about the time she started rubbing his naked body…that was enough to make anyone comfortable with anyone else.
She was still smiling when she said, “If you’re planning on winning this year, you can just donate the money to the charity.”
“Yeah, but then I’ll still be in the spotlight.”
“Not if you make it a new rule, before the race. Or maybe not a rule. Maybe like a challenge. Challenge the winner to donate the money to the charity? Or any charity, so it seems less like favoritism?”
Kristoff stiffened again. She was afraid she’d offended him somehow, and slowly placed his hand down beside his head and moved to the other side of the table, to reach his other arm. Would he figure out who she was if he stood up and stormed off?
And potentially how embarrassing would it be, on a scale of one to ten, if her soon-to-be stepbrother realized she’d been the one rubbing him down, and he did it by standing up—still naked—in a dark room and fumbled around for the door while she watched?
Oh, probably like a forty-seven and a half or so.
“That…”
He didn’t say anything for a while, so Cassandra began to breathe normally again and worked on the muscles in his forearm, her every sense carefully attuned to him.
Finally, he spoke again. “That’s actually a really good idea. Not as an official rule. And maybe I shouldn’t be the one to make the challenge. But we could figure out how to make it work…”
He lapsed into silence again, but this time it was thoughtful, as if he was working through it on his own.
She smiled again as she reached his wrist and palm. “Glad I could help, Your Highness,” she whispered, not even sure he could hear her.
And for the next hour, he pondered, she smiled, and as far as she could tell, they both had a thoroughly energizing and—at the same time—relaxing massage experience.
CHAPTER THREE
“What has you so preoccupied?”
Kristoff jerked his head up at his older brother’s question. He’d been standing at one of the picture windows, his hands in his trouser pockets, staring out at Solrig Bay. He’d been thinking about the Regatta and this new idea to have the winner donate the pot to the charity of his or her choice. And he’d been wondering why he hadn’t bothered to get his mystery massage therapist’s name. Thinking about that massage and the ideas she’d given him, he hadn’t heard Alek’s approach.
But he just lifted a brow at his eldest brother, surprised Alek was even deigning to speak to him. The crown prince wasn’t just dedicated and responsible and everything Kristoff wasn’t, he’d always tended to boss around his younger brothers. Of course, since he and Toni had gotten so close, he’d climbed down off his high horse a bit.
In fact, he even smiled now. “I don’t think I can remember you ever looking so lost in thought before.”
“Because you don’t think I can be thoughtful?” Kristoff scowled.
“No, because you usually only do your thinking when you’re defying death or laughing at gravity or trying to beat some kind of record.”
Huh. Maybe Alek knew him better than Kristoff had guessed.
But Kristoff couldn’t let his big brother know he appreciated that, so he scowled deeper and turned back to the view. “I can think fine standing still too.”
Alek snorted skeptically and moved up beside him to admire the distant bay. Their island nation had been founded generations ago—Arne probably knew exactly how many, but Kristoff didn’t care—by settlers from Norway, and they’d built their fortifications around that bay. The capital city of Solrighavn had risen around the shores, and the royal palace stood above it all, where rulers had always been able to look down over their domain. Aegiria itself meant “from the sea” and they’d always had a symbiotic relationship with the waters surrounding them.
And Kristoff was eternally grateful he never had to worry about actually ruling the country. He could spend his life out there on the sea, in the waters of the bay, and only think of them the way his ancestors did: something to be loved, to be conquered. He sailed the way his untold-great-grandfathers did, and that was his life.
Thank God.
“So…is it a woman?”
Alek’s question startled Kristoff again, and he turned a confused expression on his brother. “What? Why?”
Alek shrugged. “You look the way I did when I was trying to figure out how I felt about Toni. Same with Arne and his conundrum with Emma. Pretty sure we wore that exact same expression. Of course, we were much more attractive and more neatly groomed. When are you going to cut your hair?”
Rolling his eyes, Kristoff swallowed down his smile. Same old Alek, always giving him grief. “I’ll cut my hair when you get the stick out of your butt and learn to relax a little.”
“I relax plenty!”
“I don’t mean in bed, with Toni,” Kristoff sneered.
“Oh, then… Uh…”
“Exactly.” Kristoff turned back to the window, and shrugged. “I’m not thinking about a woman.” Though the feel of her hands on his skin had given him plenty to think about. “Just trying to work through a problem.”
“Anything I can help with?”
Alek’s offer was a little surprising, but Kristoff shook his head. “No, but thanks.”
“Okay. But keep it in mind. Happy to help, if I can.” Alek slapped Kristoff on the shoulder in an unusual display of camaraderie. “Don’t be late. Mother is waiting.”
Right. The family dinner. Kristoff sighed, wondering how he was going to make it through the meal without pissing someone off by ignoring them or saying something before he thought it all the way through. He was too distracted by this problem to be good company, and still thinking about the advice that substitute massage therapist had given him.
She’d made him feel amazing, and had really helped him out, too. What would Gunnar say if Kristoff asked him to send her every once in a while? Or…maybe every week? Kristoff found himself remembering the way her confident hands had touched him, healing his sore muscles… And her laughter had been pretty incredible too. He’d wanted to make her laugh more, but hadn’t said much out of fear of turning himself on. Better to just lie there and let her work her magic on him. So he’d enjoyed the hell out of that massage, and now he had more to think about.
When Viggo smacked him on the shoulder on his way into the private dining room, Kristoff sighed again, figuring he’d delayed as much as possible. Mom wanted this to be a new tradition, to have an informal “family dinner” with her fiancé and his daughter, like they sometimes did on the yacht. They’d all be related soon, so it made sense for them to all get to know one another…assuming he and his brothers could stand to watch all the lovey-dovey kissy shit their mother—the queen!—kept pulling with Dr. Hayes.
Kristoff was the last one to arrive, and Mom gave him a tight frown to let him know she’d noticed. He just flashed her a huge grin and gave an elaborate bow to her from across the room. Her grey eyes sparkled, but she maintained her stern expression as she gestured everyone towards the table to be seated.
Mom and Dr. Hayes—should Kristoff get used to calling him “Dad”? “Pop”?—sat together, of course, her at the head of the table and him on her right,
so they could hold hands or whatever. What did Americans call their fathers? “Daddio”? Maybe Kristoff should call him that…
The rest of them were spread throughout, with Toni and Emma seated between brothers they weren’t dating. That was probably Mom’s idea, to let them get to know everyone in the family a little better, to see if they were serious about being a part of this craziness. Kristoff knew Alek had actually proposed to Toni, but she was still taking her bodyguarding duties seriously, and kept her eye on Alek up at Mom’s left hand.
Aunt Marina was holding court over beside Arne, and the two of them were chuckling about something, as usual. For some reason, Marina’s friend Britta had been invited to the dinner; Kristoff figured it was because the event company she owned had been hired to plan Mom’s wedding.
The bottle-blonde woman was a little too calculating for Kristoff’s taste, and very aggressive when it came to getting what she wanted. He supposed that attribute was an asset when it came to business, but that false smile—too wide to be natural—and those plastic boobs were a turn-off as far as he was concerned. Since Britta had been introduced to the family, she’d been strutting and preening, flirting outrageously with all the brothers…and seemed to pay particular attention to Kristoff. He was relieved to see her seated between Arne and Mack.
To his surprise, Kristoff was seated beside Cassandra, his soon-to-be stepsister. Well, the seating wasn’t that big of a surprise, but the way his chest jumped a little in anticipation was.
Well, you said you wanted to know more about her. Now’s your chance.
He held her chair out for her, and liked that she blushed at the gesture. She was wearing a dark pencil skirt cut just above her knees, a pale pink blouse which made her skin look even rosier, and a dark blue cardigan. The sweater was probably intended to be modest, in that it covered her arms, but all it did was draw Kristoff’s gaze right to her cleavage.
He did his best not to stare, but Lord Almighty she had nice curves. Viggo might’ve dismissed her shape, but Kristoff liked the way she was built just fine.