by Caroline Lee
CHAPTER FOUR
Cassandra’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed a rock as she accepted Kristoff’s hand and stood up. All of the ease she’d been feeling with him a moment before had disappeared, and this awkwardness felt ten times worse because she’d just been having so much fun with him.
But the fit was about to hit the shan, as Nana used to say. No matter how well she’d washed her hands as she’d cleaned up and changed after his massage, the oil acted as a moisturizer, and had sunk into her skin. It was normally a comforting sensation, but tonight…
Tonight it had landed her in a seriously awkward situation. How to explain to her soon-to-be stepbrother—who’d been charming during the whole meal—that she’d been the one to rub his naked body only a few hours ago?
How would he react? The last hour, spent sitting beside him, was the most they’d actually spoken when he, like, actually knew who she was. The massage this afternoon didn’t count. But during the meal he’d been not only charming, but sexy and funny and interesting too. He’d made Cassandra feel like sitting beside her hadn’t been a complete chore. He’d made her feel interesting and—and—well, not a complete dork.
He’d actually been—or pretended to be, at least—interested in her.
Well, so much for that. She sighed as he helped her gallantly to her feet. Probably all an act.
Unfortunately, she’d forgotten what it would look like, for the two of them to leave the meal while everyone else was finishing up their main course. From the other end of the table, Dad looked up, concerned.
“Jel—I mean, Cassie? Is everything okay?”
She forced a smile. “It’s alright, Dad. Prince Kristoff and I are just—uh.” She glanced up at Kristoff, who was standing beside her looking attentive and at ease and not-at-all terrified of being alone with her.
Lucky.
His smile was easy and smooth. He had quite a few smiles, she’d noticed, and this one was the one he used to show everything was fine, nothing to be concerned about here, oh no.
“I was telling Cass all about the gardens, Pops, and since she was interested, I figured I’d take a few minutes to show them off.”
Beside her, Johann snorted quietly. “Gardens, right,” he muttered.
Dad didn’t hear him, luckily. “Well, okay then, son.” He beamed at Kristoff, then lifted his hand from under the table. His fingers were threaded with Queen Viktoria’s—I swear, they’re like teenagers—and he kissed her hand. “But stay out of the rose garden.” He met the queen’s eyes and they both smiled. “That’s our spot, and I think your mother and I would like to take a walk there later this evening.”
Cassandra thought she might choke at her father’s implication, and judging from the swallowed snorts and gags around the table, she wasn’t the only one. But Kristoff’s smile didn’t falter.
“Yes, sir.” He nodded to one of his brothers. “We won’t be long.”
“I’ll bet,” someone—she didn’t see who—muttered.
But Kristoff was still holding her hand—apparently he hadn’t trusted her enough to be able to stand up on her own without knocking over more silverware—and began pulling her towards the door. She threw Dad as confident a smile as she could manage—i.e. not very—and did her best not to trip over her high heels.
Was it her imagination, or was Kristoff moving faster than he needed to be? Or maybe it was just that this stupid skirt kept her knees pinned together and she had to hustle extra hard to keep up? The things we do to look good.
She wondered if he’d even noticed her outfit. Then she cursed herself for wondering. Of course he didn’t notice. She was plump and awkward and—and—nondescript. And he was a Viking in the best sense.
She should know; she’d spent a while rubbing his muscles today…
And that thought distracted her long enough for them to make it down the hall and around the corner before Kristoff slowed. He turned, and seemed to notice her struggle to keep up. He flashed her a grin—apologetic this time—and pulled her into a little niche along the wall. There was a window behind her, and the setting sun illuminated—well, she thought it might’ve been the gardens, but when Kristoff pushed himself into the niche too, she lost all ability to care about what was outside of the window. Or what was in the hallway. Or really anything beyond staring at his chest and thinking “duuuuuuuuuurrrr.”
Was she drooling? No? Okay, good.
Cassandra took a deep breath, and decided to pull up her big girl panties and get this taken care of. They’d shared a lovely meal, and if he was about to chew her out, better she be in the right frame of mind. She moved away slightly, towards the window, glad to be able to breathe with some distance—not much, but a bit—between them.
“Listen—” she began.
“So…” he started at the same time.
She bit her lip and flushed. “Sorry, you go first.” So much for being a big girl, huh?
This time his grin was positively wicked. “Coconut oil, huh, Cass? Was I wrong? Tell me I’m wrong.”
Their hands were still entwined—how had she not noticed that?—and he lifted hers to his mouth. When he placed a kiss on her palm, Cassandra was pretty sure she stopped breathing again.
Oh well, who needs oxygen? Her attention—her entire being—was focused on the knowing twinkle in his blue-grey eyes and the heat where he pressed his lips against her skin.
Great googly-moogly!
Was it hot in here? It was hot in here, wasn’t it? Cassandra sucked in a great lungful of air, reminding herself not to die, not when he was standing here tasting her. Ugh, it would be embarrassing to pass out in his arms.
Wait, would it? Or would that be…awesome? She reminded herself to think about that later, when she could, you know, think again.
“Tell me I’m wrong, and that you don’t smell like massage oil.”
At his prompt, she remembered she was supposed to be responding. “You’re—” she choked. No, big girl, remember? “You’re not wrong,” she managed in a strangled whisper.
“When you called me ‘Your Highness’ at dinner tonight, I thought it sounded familiar. That was you this afternoon, wasn’t it?”
This was it. She had to tell the truth. Cassandra shut her eyes on what was surely going to be an angry soon-to-be stepbrother. “It was. I’m so, so sorry.”
He didn’t speak, and she didn’t open her eyes, waiting for his accusations. Instead, they stood silent and still for a moment…until he began to rub circles across the back of her hand with his thumb like he had at dinner, and she remembered he was still holding her. She hadn’t pissed him off royally?
When she worked up the guts to peek one eye open, it was to see him smiling at her—indulgently this time. His grin grew to something more sincere when she risked opening both eyes and staring confusedly up at him.
“I’m not.”
“What?” she blurted, almost irritated at him for not being more angry, when she’d worked herself up for it.
“I’m not sorry.” He was still smiling.
This was confusing as hell. “Why not?” she nearly wailed.
Still holding her hand, he leaned in a little closer. “Because that was one of the best massages of my life, and you gave me some really good advice.”
She blinked. “You’re…not mad? Client-therapist confidentiality and all that?”
He shrugged and straightened. “I haven’t told anyone, and you haven’t told anyone, right?” He didn’t wait for her to shake her head before he continued. “So I guess the only issue was that you didn’t identify yourself ahead of time. Are there rules against that?”
Maybe in America, but here? Cassandra frowned as she thought. “Um…I think if you’re the royal family, rules are different.”
He shrugged again. “You had clearance, your boss sent you, and I’m certainly not complaining. Now there’s only one question…”
Shoot. Should’ve known he’d be irritated about something… “What?”
> “Can you help me figure out how to get the Regatta planning committee to make that announcement? The way you said it, about the winner donating and all that?”
“Are you serious?” He wanted her help? “Like, what? As a consultant or something?”
“Nah,” he drawled, and squeezed her hand. “I was thinking more like a partner.”
The breath she sucked in was so sudden and harsh, she almost made herself choke. A partner? His partner? Wow…
She had to clear her throat. “Yeah. I mean, yeah. That’d be cool. Maybe we could, I dunno, hang out or something sometime.” There was no hiding her wince then. Way to sound like a complete dork, Cass!
But he smiled, and it wasn’t one she recognized. He almost looked…nervous, maybe?
“That sounds great. I hope I’m not—”
He bit off whatever he was going to say, and she swore she even saw him wince. Kristoff Magnusson, wincing around a woman? Wincing around her?
“What?” she blurted before she thought better of it.
“Well, uh…” He took a deep breath and stepped back a little, until his shoulder brushed the opposite wall. But he didn’t drop her hand. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to do. I mean, I’m your client, kinda. And I guess I’m used to getting what I want, so here I drag you and pin you in here…” He shrugged and gestured around the small niche. “I’d like to hang out with you, but I don’t want to come across as creepy or anything.”
Cassandra blinked, realized he was being serious, and burst into laughter.
“What?” He frowned.
It was hard to breathe, much less talk, but she did her best to explain. “I spent three years studying Viking men, remember? I show up here and Dad tells me I’m getting six new stepbrothers and I’m like ‘holy shit, they’re Vikings!’ and then I met you!”
His frown deepened, and he dropped her hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She was still torn between nervous laughter and the horror of offending him. “I mean that you’re the hottest guy I’d ever seen in my life!” A big part of her missed the warmth of his hand, but with both of hers free, it allowed her to use them for emphasis, waving at the niche, the window, and him while she tried to explain. “And I knew I’d never have a chance with someone like you, but then you spent all evening talking to me” —probably out of charity— “and you wanted to be alone with me and you pulled me in here and—can I be honest?”
He nodded. “No need to stop now.”
Was that a joke, or a jibe at her expense? “And you held my hand and this was just about the best hour and a half of my life.”
Sometime during her incredibly embarrassing verbal-vomiting, he’d crossed his arms over that amazing chest of his—almost as gorgeous in a suit as he’d been that afternoon—and was still frowning at her. But now he looked…thoughtful. She squeezed her hands into fists to keep from waving them around anymore—with her luck, she’d give him a black eye—and closed her eyes, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow her.
“Why do you think you’d never have a chance with me? Because I’m a prince?”
What? Her eyes flew open. “No! Well, I mean, maybe. But I’m American, soooo...”
“So you’re arrogant?”
Her lips twitched a bit at his humor, but she had to make him understand. “Exactly. I mean, half of the movies I saw as a girl were all about how I could marry a prince if I wanted to. But then I grew up, and…”
She trailed off, and looked down at herself. At her too-large boobs crammed into the silk blouse, at her too-tight skirt making walking difficult, at her too-large…everything, really. “Well, look at me.”
Something shifted in his expression, and before she had a chance to decide if it was pity or anger or confusion or—possibly?—desire, Kristoff moved. His arms untangled themselves as he stepped forward, and slammed one hand against the wall beside her head. She jumped slightly at the suddenness of it, but was more excited than scared.
His jaw was only inches from her temple when she heard him take a deep breath. Was he—was he smelling her? And then those gorgeous eyes raked her body, like he was some kind of—of—of—Viking.
“I am looking at you, Cass. And I like what I see.”
Oh. My. Thor.
Her knees went weak, and she had to press the small of her back against the wall to keep from slipping down. His scent—virile, masculine—was making it hard to breathe. Or maybe that was her own hormones.
He was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her, and she was moments away from tearing open her blouse and screaming, “Take me! Plunder me, my Viking warrior!” like a complete idiot, when footsteps sounded down the hall behind them.
When Kristoff straightened, his broad shoulders still blocking the view of the hall behind him, she felt like something important—something she needed to live—had been wrenched away.
“Kristoff? Kris—oh!” The voice was feminine, and sounded…sexy.
Kristoff turned, opening their little private moment to the outside world, and Cassandra saw their interloper. It was…oh, what the heck was her name? The wedding planner lady. Brigit? Shoot. Dad had introduced them a few weeks ago…
“Britta,” Kristoff acknowledged stiffly.
Oh, yeah. Cassandra resisted the urge to frown, already hating the woman for her perfect hair and perfect teeth. During grad school, Cass had dated a guy for six months before he left her for someone who looked remarkably like Britta; tall and blonde and stick-thin, with a perfect smile. It was probably only a matter of time before Kristoff wandered off in the other woman’s company.
Britta’s smile seemed fake, but she blinked up at Kristoff like he was the most interesting man in the whole world. “I’ve come to rescue you,” she said in a too-loud whisper. “I came as soon as I could get away—you know how your brother Mack likes to chat!”
His lips twitched downwards, and Cassandra’s almost followed. Mack? Talkative? He was the softest-spoken of the bunch. Maybe Britta had only said that to make herself look…well, desirable?
“Rescue me?” Kristoff repeated.
“Well, yes.” Britta smiled effervescently, as if she were doing him a favor. “I know you said you were going to the gardens, but I assumed it was just a ruse, and you might need some help.” She cut her eyes towards Cass, but kept chatting as if she and Kristoff were all alone. “Because surely you didn’t intend to be stuck out here with…” Her perfect blue eyes blinked innocently in Cassandra’s direction once more.
Excuse me? Did she just insult me? Cass bristled. Part of her wanted to push Kristoff aside, poke her finger in Britta’s perfect little chest, and scream, “What did you say, missy?” but the other—considerably larger—part withered under the other woman’s words.
Isn’t that what she’d been so afraid of? That Kristoff didn’t want to be out here alone with her, and had only dragged her out to confront her about the massage? But that amazing, daring, stunning, all-the-words-that-are-synonymous-with-wonderful moment where he’d seemed so close to kissing her…that had pushed all those doubts from her mind.
And now they came crashing back.
Thank God Kristoff wasn’t nearly as awkward as she was, because he at least answered Britta. Politely.
“Sorry for the confusion, Miss Jensen. But Cass and I were having a lovely, private conversation.”
Britta giggled, showing off her perfect little dimples. “No need to be formal, Prince Kristoff.” She stepped a little closer to him and lowered her voice. “I insist you call me ‘Britta’.”
After a moment, he nodded stiffly, and backed up a step, placing him closer to Cass. She resisted the urge to crow.
“Well then, Britta. Thank you for your concern, but Cass and I were just discussing—”
The woman didn’t let him finish, and didn’t once acknowledge Cassandra. “I had something I needed to discuss with you too, Prince Kristoff. I need a tour of the royal yacht, sinc
e that’s where the ceremony will take place, and you’re the family expert on all things nautical…” She had the guts to reach out and place one perfect hand on his forearm. “I was hoping you’d be free to give me a private tour on Saturday.”
Did the woman not see Cass, standing right here? Was Britta actually trying to set up a date with Kristoff right in front of her?
Cassandra couldn’t decide if she was disgusted or impressed by the woman’s hutzpah.
“Haven’t you already had a tour? When my mother hired you to plan the wedding? And a few times since then?”
“Oh yes, but I need to spend some time inside.” She shifted until she was even closer to him, and lowered her voice seductively. “To get a really, really good feel of the place, you know?”
The world seemed to hold its breath as Kristoff blinked down at her. Was he also trying to decide what to do about the woman? Or was he trying to decide how to politely get away from Cass so he could go off and give Britta “a garden tour”?
Just when she figured she couldn’t stand the wait any longer, just when Cassandra was ready to throw up her hands and make an excuse and squeeze around the pair, he spoke.
“Sorry, Britta.” His smile—at least, the part Cass could see from back here—looked just as fake and brittle as the woman’s had. “I’ve got plans on Saturday.”
Then, to Cass’s surprise, he reached behind him and snagged her hand, without looking, and dragged her up beside him. He lifted their linked fingers, making it clear what he meant, and Cass felt like melting again.
“Like I was saying—if you’d let me finish before, I mean—Cass has agreed to help me on a little project, and we’ll be busy all day Saturday. And maybe Sunday. Possibly Friday too.”
And that’s when he turned those gorgeous eyes her way, and Cass knew she was melting. Because to her surprise, there was a look of pleading in them. He was begging her to…what? To agree with him?
Right now, after he’d stood up to Britta for her, she’d do just about anything for him.
“Yep!” Cass said brightly, her smile as wide as her nervousness would allow. “I’m super-excited to help!”