I nod and hand over my credit card. “This is true. Can you call a cab for me?”
“Sure.”
While she does so, I sip the rest of my lager and think about what she said and the princess’s actions right before she left. It was as if she was waiting for the press to arrive so she could do her dog and pony show. Pulled down her top to show more cleavage, and hiked up her hem to look indecent. But why?
The question racks my brain as I make my way out of the bar. The cold air has me buttoning up my suit jacket and wishing I’d grabbed my coat.
The taxi arrives, and I give them the address of the Kaarsberg Slot.
“You sure? That’s a royal castle.”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m working for them.”
“Guess we’ll have to see about that at the guard shack.”
“It will be fine. I promise.”
He shrugs as my phone buzzes.
I pull it out of my jacket and look at the screen. Before I left, Wendy added Google Alerts on Christina Kaarsberg so that I’d stay abreast of any news that occurred. I click on the first link from a celebrity rag.
“Princess Wars” the headline says, showing a picture of Princess Christina looking like the bombshell that she is, leaving this very bar only twenty minutes ago. Her boobs are practically falling out of her dress, the hem so short you can almost see the edge of her ass. Even with the debauched pictures, she’s blowing a kiss at the camera as though she loves the attention. A bold blue font is slanted over the picture, saying Party Girl. The picture next to hers is one of her sister, Princess Elizabeth, standing outside of a hotel restaurant. Her hand is delicately placed in the crook of her father’s arm, her mother standing on the other side. Princess Elizabeth is smiling, wearing a perfectly fitted white dress, hem down to her knees, simple nude heels, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a classic low ponytail. She’s the epitome of Danish class. She looks more like an angel to her sister’s devilish bombshell. The caption above her head says Sweet Girl.
Then there’s a place below the pictures for voting on who the crown prince should pick as his queen.
I stare at the picture, and I can’t compare the Christina I saw and chatted with to the party-girl persona she’s blatantly sharing with the public.
It’s as if she’s trying to make the public hate her. As though she’d planned it.
Then I remember back to when she asked her bodyguard if they’d captured a photo of her sister at dinner tonight with her parents.
She’s ruining her image on purpose.
Her mother’s words clang around in my head as the car weaves through the late-night traffic.
“My daughter has stated emphatically that she does not wish to be queen.”
I chuckle and stare out at the night. The princess is self-sabotaging so that the prince will choose her sister as his bride. I’m not sure I understand why she’d go to such extremes when she could just tell the guy to fuck off. Maybe not in so many words—he is the future king—so I imagine you can’t exactly tell someone like him to fuck off. Still, there has to be a way for her to settle this without the dramatics.
Now I want to talk to her even more. Get into her head, figure out why she’s doing what she’s doing. I get why her mother wants me to help bring her back to the straight and narrow, but if Christina is faking all of this, her mother is not the problem. There’s something else making her feel as though she must go to these extremes. It’s the piece of the puzzle that’s missing. One I’m determined to get to the bottom of.
Just as I’m about to put my phone back, it pings, noting I have a message.
From: Peaches
To: Parker Ellis
I hope you arrived in Denmark safely. I met with the movie team for the next Angel project. It went well. Filming starts next week.
Seeing her nickname sends a river of chills up and down my spine. Instantly I’m more awake, and without thinking, I hit the “Call” button, figuring that if she’s texting, she’s awake.
My girl answers with a husky “Hello” after the first ring.
“Peaches.” I grin.
“I didn’t want to call and bug you. Especially if you’re taming a beautiful princess,” she jokes.
I chuckle and hold the phone tighter to my ear, wishing I could hold her instead.
“Taming might not be the right word . . .”
“Oh?”
“I don’t think she needs to be tamed. I haven’t quite figured out what her deal is yet, but I hope to find out more tomorrow. How did it go with the movie people?”
“Really good. I was nervous. I don’t know why. I guess since I had been hiding out and hadn’t done any of my normal commitments, I was worried that things would be different.”
“And were they?”
“Not at all. Everyone acted totally normal . . . ,” she says with a note of relief in her tone.
“Aw, Sky, that’s good.” My voice sounds lower even to my ears as I whisper my reply softly.
“And I scheduled some preliminary read-throughs of the script with my costar, Rick. I’m hoping it helps my anxiety about the acting part.”
“Rick? As in Rick Pettington, the guy the world thought you were dating last?”
“Uh . . . yeah, I guess so. I mean, I told you that it was mostly just for show.” Her voice warbles a little.
“Mostly?” I focus on the one word that could mean something different.
“Parker . . .” Her voice drops into the sexy lilt that makes me hard in half a second, the beast taking full notice of what he wants and who he wants it with.
“I know we haven’t talked about it, but . . .” Fuck, I don’t know how to say what I want to say without sounding like an asshole. I run my hands through my hair and tug at the roots.
“What?” she prompts.
I close my eyes and go for gold. “I don’t want you seeing him.”
She laughs. “I have to, silly. He’s my costar.”
I shake my head, but she can’t see me through the phone. “No. I mean personally. Romantically.”
“Oh . . .” Her voice trails off, and I can hear her take a calming breath. “And what about you and your princess . . . ?”
“She’s not my princess. Actually, she’s the prince’s princess, and he wants her to be his queen. You have nothing to worry about.”
Sky hums low in her throat, and my dick perks up, pressing painfully against the seam of my pants. “I have no intention of dating Rick,” she asserts.
“Good.” I cup my erection, attempting to give it a little bit of relief. It doesn’t work. It wants her. I groan with frustration.
“What’s the matter? Miss me?” she teases.
“My dick does,” I grumble into the line on a low whisper.
She laughs wholeheartedly, and I wish I could see the way she tips her head back and laughs with her entire being. She’s unearthly beautiful when she does it.
“Aw, Biggie misses me.”
Biggie. Christ!
“Well, I miss him too, but mostly I miss that mouth of yours.” Her voice dips into sultry sex kitten territory, and I groan again.
“Peaches . . . you gotta stop making me think of sex. I’m way too far away from you to do anything about it. Besides, I’m in the back of a cab.”
She giggles. “Poor baby. If I were there, I’d kiss it and make it feel better.”
My dick hardens further, straining for relief. “Goddamn it, woman!”
She laughs heartily again. “I’m sorry. I miss you, though,” she admits.
“I miss you too. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”
“Call me soon?” Her tone is layered with hope, and it eats at me because I want nothing more than to call her every night before bed, and every morning right as I wake. But I shouldn’t. It’s not fair to her or me when I need to work and she needs to focus on her acting.
Rick fucking Pettington.
I grind my teeth and take a full breath. “I will.”
>
“Bye, honey,” she says, before hanging up.
Honey.
That one word pierces straight through to the warm, gushy parts of me I don’t normally share with anyone other than my parents and my brothers. Fuck. One word and I’m a goner.
The cab pulls up to the guard shack. “What did you say your name was, sir?” the cab driver asks.
“Parker Ellis.”
He repeats it to the guard, who allows us through.
I rub at my face as the driver makes his way slowly to the back side of the castle. Shockingly Henrik is waiting for me with the door open. I pay the cabbie, exit the car, and walk through the door.
“I’ll show you to your room, sir.”
“Thanks for waiting up, Henrik. I honestly didn’t think ahead about where I’d lay my head once I found the princess.”
“Of course, sir. Come this way. I’ve already turned down the bed. A private bath is off to the side.” He brings me to the room and opens the door. “If you need anything, just press the button by the bed and one of the staff will come to assist you. Good night.”
“Good night, Henrik.”
He closes the door, and I strip off my suit, take care of business in the restroom, and hit the sheets bare-ass naked. As I start to fade, my mind should be on a princess with dark hair and a problem, but a blonde-haired goddess who smells like peaches invades my thoughts.
I fall asleep smiling.
3
“Harder, honey . . .” Skyler’s body strains under mine, grappling for release. Except I’m a greedy bastard, and I want more of her before she tumbles over the cliff. Always more.
“Not yet.” I pet her slippery back, running my hand up and down the silky skin over her spine while I hold my hard cock deep inside her.
She’s on all fours, her body shuddering with pleasure as I stir my dick inside her wet heat. She tightens and flexes her internal muscles, putting the viselike lock around my cock.
Heaven pours over me with each pulsation from her internal walls, wrapping the beast in nothing but glorious heat. “Sweet Jesus, Peaches!” I grind through my teeth, then pull back my hips and pound home.
She cries out, “Yes! Parker . . . please!”
I love it when she begs. It does wicked things to me.
My balls draw up as ecstasy ripples all over my skin from where I’m buried, up my chest and back, through my arms to my fingertips, down my legs, and out my toes. I feel her everywhere, all around me. And I’ll never get enough.
Every time with Skyler is intense. Otherworldly. An experience unlike anything I’ve had before. I tunnel my fingers into the locks of hair at the base of her neck and grip as hard as I know she likes. The moment that bite of pain at the roots of her hair hits, she’ll cream all over my dick. I pull back harder, pound deeper, and twist her locks in my fist.
She goes off like a grenade.
I ride her hard, pumping my hips, crying out how beautiful she is, how much I love fucking her while I go wild.
“Mr. Ellis.” A strange voice rumbles in the air around me, the room splintering before my eyes.
I keep pounding into my girl. Obsessed with my sweet, sweet Peaches. Her scent fills the air, coating me with . . . roses?
The scent of roses hits my nostrils, and I cringe. My girl smells just like peaches and cream. Not flowers. Never floral. I cough, grip her hips, and am just ready to come when I hear it again. Distant but there, breaking through my euphoria.
“Mr. Ellis . . .” I feel a tap and nudge to my shoulder.
I open my eyes. Bright light hits my irises, and I squint. The room I’m in is not mine. Not Skyler’s. I’m face-down in a soft white pillow, my hips gyrating in circles against the mattress. My dick is hard as a rock and ready to go off.
Shit. I was dreaming.
I groan around a mouthful of cotton and turn my head. With bleary eyes, I come face-to-face with my client.
Princess Christina.
She smiles coyly and runs her gaze down my body. I can tell the sheets have slipped based on the chill to my backside, leaving me mostly naked.
“Should I leave you and the bed alone?” She smirks. “You were giving her a damn good pounding. Though from where I’m sitting you definitely know what you’re doing.”
I reach back and curl my fingers around the comforter and pull it over my naked form, turning onto my side, making sure the beast isn’t visible.
The princess stands up from the side of the bed and walks over to a cart that has magically appeared in my room. A coffee and tea service is set out.
Henrik. Sneaky fella.
Christina pours a cup of coffee and adds a bit of milk and two cubes of sugar. She stirs the concoction and taps the edge of the cup. It makes a pleasant tinkling sound.
“Who’s Skyler?” she asks, before sipping the coffee.
I ignore her question. “I’d love some coffee. Thanks, Princess. I’ll take it black.” I crumple the blankets around me and sit up, my bare feet hanging off the bed and touching the floor. My eyes are scratchy, and jet lag has hit hard. I feel sluggish, dehydrated, and tired as fuck. I could knock back a two-liter bottle of water right now.
“You were calling out her name in a very”—she taps at her plump bottom lip—“excited manner.”
“Coffee?” I grumble, my voice thick with sleep.
“Who’s Skyler?” she repeats.
“If I tell you, will you give me a cup of coffee?”
She grins. “Yes.”
“A woman I’m seeing,” I state flatly, but inside, my heart is pounding and my pulse quickens. A jittery sensation, but not altogether unpleasant, eases along my nerves.
Christina turns around and pours the heavenly liquid into a cup, which she sets on a saucer. “And yet you were hitting on me last night?” One of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows rises as she hands me the saucer.
I let out a noise between a huff and an exaggerated snort. “I wasn’t hitting on you, Princess. I was feeling you out.”
“And what did you find in your exploration?” She sips at her drink and sits at the end of my bed, not at all concerned about the naked man only a few feet from her. It’s as if we’re sitting down at a proper breakfast table and having a cup of coffee together.
I think about her question while taking a few sips of the coffee. It’s a medium roast that tastes fresh. Then again, I wouldn’t expect any less from a royal family.
I turn sideways so that I can look at her dead-on. “I understand from your mother that you don’t wish to be queen. Her words, not mine.”
“And your words?”
I grin. “I think you’re afraid.”
She laughs haughtily, but it’s clearly a smoke screen. If anything, I’ve hit the nail right on the head.
“Absurd. Whatever would I have to be afraid of?”
“Marriage. Responsibility. A kingdom. I’m sure there’s a lot involved in becoming the next queen of Denmark.”
She scowls. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Then tell me, Princess.”
“Why should I? I don’t owe you anything, and my mother is delusional if she thinks she can hire you to change my mind.”
“Fair enough. The only problem is I’m still going to be here for a while, so the sooner you share, the sooner I’ll be able to tell mommy dearest that I’m incapable of doing the job she hired me to do.”
She squints as if she doesn’t believe me. “You’d do that? Just tell her no and leave well enough alone?”
I shrug. “Only one way to find out.”
Her lips flatten into a thin white line. “What do you want to know?”
“Why do you want your sister to take your place as queen?”
She laughs again. “Have you met my sister?”
“I have not.”
“You’ll understand the moment you meet her. She was born to be a royal. Perfect in every way. She’ll do my family and Sven proud as the next queen.”
I sip at m
y coffee and almost finish it. She glances at the cup and stands. “Another?”
“Yes, please.”
While she makes my cup I spy my pants and underwear on the floor. I jump out of bed and have my boxer briefs on before she turns around, but just barely. Her eyes take in my body from head to toe.
“You are a remarkable specimen, Mr. Ellis. If you were blond, blue-eyed, with long, roguish hair, you’d be damn near exceptional. I’m sure this Skyler you were dreaming of probably has similar dreams of you.”
Blond. Blue-eyed. Long hair.
I catalogue through that description, and my mind settles on the papers that Wendy sent with pictures of Crown Prince Sven.
“You just basically described the crown prince.” I smile wide.
She glances away, not making eye contact, and licks her lips, but finishes off her denial with a subtle shrug of her shoulders. “Lots of men look like that. So, I have a type. What of it?”
I chuckle and pull on my pants. “You just admitted a very useful bit of information you hadn’t mentioned before.”
“And that would be what?”
“You’re hot for the crown prince!” I chuckle.
Her entire body changes right before my eyes, going from soft and elegant to hard and stoic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The more you deny it, the bigger hole you dig, Princess. I’m not the one you need to be lying to, though I am very interested why you’d want to set up your sister with a man you’re so obviously attracted to. Besides, he wants you! This is a win-win situation, sweetheart. Just tell the man you’ll marry him, pop out a couple of royal heirs to the throne, and whammo! Problem solved.”
Her eyes narrow on me, and she sets down the coffee and storms over to me. Each step might as well be a hammer hitting the floor as hard as her heels hit with every step forward. When she stands in front of me, I can see the snarl plastered across her pretty lips.
Whoa! She’s angry.
Her index finger comes up, and she stabs at my chest. “You don’t understand a thing. He needs to marry Elizabeth. She’s perfect for him. I am not. I’m not right for him! Now go tell my mother that your job here is done, get back on your plane, and go to your . . . go to your Skyler! Go to her! She probably wants you there, whereas I don’t want you here!”
International Guy: Copenhagen (International Guy Series Book 3) Page 3