by Caroline Lee
That feeling of rightness, of peace, bubbled up inside him, and he laughed. “You should see when we come about—this thing has auto-tacking.”
“Auto-tacking!” She threw up her hands with another grin. “That takes all the fun out of it!”
He thanked God he’d had the sense to get to know this woman better. “Come here.” He crooked his finger towards the wheel.
When she scooted towards him, he pulled her to her feet and drew her behind the wheel. She raised a brow at him—challenging him?—but took it confidently. He hovered for a moment, making sure she was keeping an eye on their surroundings and the sail above, before stepping back.
And just looking. Wow, but she was lovely, standing at the helm of his boat. His winsome beauty. Out here, just the two of them, he didn’t see any of the awkwardness or embarrassment he’d seen from her before. She was in control and full of joy.
“What?” she asked, not taking the time to look at him.
He liked that she was taking good care of his baby. “What, what?”
“You’re looking at me like I’m a prime rib and you’re a starving man. Or like I’m something—I dunno. Special?”
Chuckling, he moved up beside her. “I was just trying to imprint the vision in my memory, since I forgot my cell phone again.”
“What vision?” she kept her hands on the wheel.
“You, steering the Älskvärd. It’s just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
That got her attention. Her head whipped around so fast she might’ve hurt herself, and she studied his face. “Are you teasing me?”
“Not at all,” he murmured. “I had to make sure you knew what you were doing, before…”
He leaned closer, and it might’ve been unconscious on her part, but she leaned too, like she was drawn to him. His smile was most definitely wicked.
“Before…?”
The wind was steady, the commercial vessels were on the other side of the harbor, and the motored pleasure boats were staying away from their sails. This was his moment.
“See, I don’t think I can kiss a woman who doesn’t know how to sail. And you, Cass, know how to sail.”
She blinked, her attention totally distracted from the boat around them. “Kiss…” she repeated.
As good an invitation as any.
Kristoff had kissed a lot of women. Not as many as Viggo, of course, because there were a finite number of women in their small nation who knew how to sail, but he still knew his way around a lady’s lips. Kissing was just a way to kill time before the good stuff, yeah?
Apparently not.
Apparently, what he’d been missing was the sea wind, the salt spray, the rocking of the boat under them, and a woman who knew what she was really doing when it came to the kissing department.
Or maybe it was just Cassandra Hayes.
Because this kiss, this kiss, was like…it was like free-climbing up the Solrig cliffs, or gliding over the harbor with the gulls, or that second his parachute popped open after the exhilarating fall… This kiss was warmth and excitement and peace all in one.
Damn.
When they came up for air, her arms were wrapped around his neck, her chest was pressed against his, and he was keeping the wheel steady with his hip because his arms were busy holding her. Only the knowledge that they had hours together kept him from punching the command to lower the sails. He could be patient.
Still, it was fun as hell to have her pressed against him as they sped over the waves. He loved to hear her laughter, and she asked so many questions about his country. When they passed the Royal Marina, where the family’s yacht was moored, they even talked about the coming wedding and all the plans.
As lunchtime neared, he brought them about and headed back for the marina. She begged to be the one to press the command to furl the sail, and from then on, she was hooked. By the time they’d settled the Älskvärd back into her slip—spring lines and fenders all placed to his satisfaction—she’d agreed that a fully-automated sailboat was pretty cool.
“So,” she said as she slouched beside him in the cockpit, wearing a breathless smile and wind-chapped cheeks. “Are we going to talk about the Regatta at all?”
“Oh, yeah. Our excuse for coming out here, huh?” He was arranging lunch—cheese, bread, fruit, sausage, and wine—on the small table on the port side. “What do you want to know?”
She was eyeing the spread. “Wow, you Aegirians know how to do lunch right.” She popped a grape into her mouth and stretched her bare feet across the cockpit with a sigh of pleasure.
Kristoff didn’t bother to stop his eyes wandering appreciatively over her legs. The wind had been brilliant all day, tugging playfully at the sundress, giving him glimpses of knee and thigh, and his palms itched to follow.
Instead, he just let her see his wicked grin, and her eyes widened.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking like a Viking who’s seen something he likes.”
That was it. No way he could sit across from her any longer. In a sudden lunge, he was tucked up beside her, and her legs were thrown over his. “When I see something I like, I pillage it,” he growled
She was busy giggling, so he kissed her.
And without a boat to sail, things got…hot. His hand did end up underneath her skirt, and somehow her lips ended up on his throat, and she was making sexy little noises under her breath that nearly undid him. If they weren’t careful, he was going to make love to her in the cockpit of the Älskvärd.
Not the worst idea in the world.
Still, no. She was Cass, and deserved better than that. If nothing else, there was no way he’d be able to look “Pops” in the face if the old man started asking about his boat.
“The Regatta,” he muttered, attempting to regain control.
He felt her grin against his skin. “Yay, boats.”
Man, he loved how easily she made him laugh. Disentangling himself from her—harder than he’d thought—he popped a chunk of cheese in her mouth, and settled in to explain the rules.
“There are buoys set up, but there are all experience levels participating, so that’s the most difficult part—keeping away from the weekend sailors, not the course itself.” Focusing on the race was helping him get his raging libido under control, and he cut the sausage as he spoke. “We’ve never had an accident though, because it’s more about the race than the winning.”
She gestured with her bread while she chewed and swallowed. “If you publicize the charitable donation of the winner’s pot, that might change.”
“Or, winning might matter even less,” he countered.
“Good point. What else is going on?”
He pointed to the west and south. “Spectator vessels moor along there and people pile on. There’s also spots all along the shore, and plenty of excitement—street vendors, music, picnics, that sort of thing. The people who go into the parks for the designated viewing areas have to buy a ticket, and a portion of those proceeds and the vending in the parks goes to the charity.”
“But people can watch for free?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Midsummer is a holiday everyone celebrates, this is just one event. There’re always fireworks over the harbor at night—my family has sponsored that for years and years—and parties and parades all over town. And we watch the fireworks from the yacht, where we host the winners of the Regatta.”
“Soooo…you?”
He snorted and threw a grape at her, which bounced off her shoulder and went over the gunwale. “I don’t always win. Two years ago Mack was sick, and I didn’t trust anyone else with my baby—rules state at least two people per vessel, no matter the size, for equality. But the winners’ party is for top placers in all the categories—boat size and age of the skippers are how we divide categories—not just the overall winner.” He shrugged, and took a bite of the cheese. “’S about having fun,” he said around the cheese.
Sh
e laughed at his manners, and they chatted for a while longer, her legs still in his lap while she asked questions and ate lunch. He liked how at ease she was with him—none of the shyness of before. It was like she knew where she belonged, the same as him.
He’d contacted the committee the day after Cass had made the suggestion, and although there was some opposition to the idea of giving the winner’s pot to a charity, he’d pointed out it was voluntary. When they all finally agreed to publicize it as a “challenge”, he was confident Enriching Children would get the money they needed to build that camp up at Mt. Viskan.
“They only agreed, you know, because they figure you’ll win,” she pointed out.
“Yeah,” he drawled, “and so do I.”
“Have I ever told you how sexy confidence is in a man? Especially a man with a topknot?”
They both laughed, which led to another kiss.
Later, after he’d driven her back to her condo, he lifted her out of his Jeep with another deep kiss. She tasted like salt and sea and sun, the best things in his life.
“Wow,” she said breathlessly as he let her slide down his chest to stand on her own two feet. “You sure know how to make a girl feel lightweight.”
“It’s all the rock-climbing,” he deadpanned, nodding seriously.
“Thank goodness,” she replied, equally somber. But when she turned to grab her bag from the Jeep, she tripped over her flip-flop and slammed into the doorframe.
He managed to grab her before she rebounded, and pulled her tight against him. She wasn’t hurt, judging from the way she was laughing.
“Winsome, huh?” she teased him as she got back on her feet. “Graceless, more like it.”
He kissed her nose. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful or graceful woman than you on the deck of the Älskvärd, today.” It was true. She might be clumsy on land, but on the water she was perfect.
“Thank you for an amazing morning.”
“Thank you.” He kissed her again, just for good measure.
She was smiling when they broke apart. “I have to go shower before my appointments.”
“Wait.” He snagged her hand before she could head inside. The thought of her in the shower was pleasantly distracting, but that’s not what he wanted to say. “What are you doing tonight after work?”
“There’s a glass of wine, a movie, and some fuzzy slippers calling my name.”
“I’ve got wine and fuzzy slippers in my suite.”
She flashed a crooked grin. “I don’t believe you.”
“I will buy some fuzzy slippers if it’ll convince you to hang out with me. Please? Dinner and a movie, maybe?”
“And wine?” She squinted suspiciously.
“Anything you want, Cass. I’d just—I’d like to see you again. Soon.”
Real suave. He was a prince, and here he was blubbering like a nerd in a high-school movie.
But it must’ve been the right thing to say, because she blushed and bit her lower lip while she stared at his throat. Finally, she lifted her eyes to his. “Me too. So if you’re serious…”
How many times did he have to tell her before she’d understand he liked hanging out with her? “I’d like another date, Cass.”
“Then yes.”
She smiled, and Kristoff felt like the sun had risen again.
“Until tonight?”
“See you then.”
And as he watched her flip-flop her way into the condo building—only stumbling once—Kristoff found himself praying the sun would set faster…just so he could see her again sooner.
CHAPTER SIX
“Are you sure about this?”
“Oh my gosh, Dad, lay off! Yes, I’m sure.”
“It’s just that…” Dad huffed slightly and pulled her by her elbow, until they were standing against the corridor wall. Lowering his voice, he leaned in. “I don’t want you to be hurt, Cassie.”
Cassandra hid her eye-roll by pretending to dig through her shoulder bag. After work that afternoon she’d spent some time getting ready—the slim yoga pants and light sweater were the perfect combination of “casual hotness” and “Oh, this old thing? I just threw it on to snuggle while watching a movie”—and headed to the palace. She’d tried calling Dad to let him know she’d be gone that evening, but when he hadn’t answered, she’d stopped by his office.
Which of course meant she had to tell him why he shouldn’t wait up for her, and now he knew she had a date right here in the palace.
“Dad, come on. Give me some credit.” Kristoff wasn’t going to hurt her, because she wasn’t expecting anything from him. If tonight got…fun, then she’d take that for what it was worth. But it wasn’t like she was waiting for a declaration of undying love or something.
Sheesh, no. They’d had an awesome date together, learned they were completely compatible, and if Kristoff—gorgeous, sexy, Viking Prince Kristoff—wanted to spend more time with a dork like her, then she sure wasn’t going to argue.
Her dad, on the other hand…
“Listen, Dumpkins—”
She met his eyes. “That’s worse than ‘Jellybean’, Dad. Highly offensive.”
He frowned. “Really? You used to not mind my nicknames for you.”
“I was eleven, Dad, and they were kinda cute.” And all related to my weight, for some reason. “Now, what do we need to do to get this conversation over with so we can both get on with our evenings?”
Ever the scientist, Dad straightened. “I want you to acknowledge the risk you’re taking.”
“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “I have been invited on a date with a really awesome guy, and I’m going to enjoy myself. I’m not going to expect a marriage proposal, and I will be prepared to move on with my life if this is our only date.” I will be quite devastated, but I will not tell my father that. “I will be a mature adult about this. Satisfied?”
He nodded. “Acceptable. But you don’t think it’s a little weird to date him? He’ll be your brother soon. It’d be like making out with Caspian.”
Like Dad was the best judge of weird. The man was standing there wearing a pair of bifocals and another pair pushed up in his curly grey hair.
“Okay, first of all…” She cocked one finger. “Eeew. I wouldn’t make out with any of my brothers. Don’t be gross.” A second finger joined the first. “Bee, Kristoff isn’t my stepbrother yet.” A third finger. “And gamma: we are two consenting adults not related by blood, and whatever we choose to do in our spare time is independent from whatever our parents choose to do in their spare time. Arguments of consanguinity aren’t relevant.”
Still holding her elbow, Dad pulled her closer and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I love it when you get all academic. You get that from me, you know.”
“I know.” She rolled her eyes for real this time. Her mother had died more than fifteen years ago—breast cancer screenings were vital—and had been much more interested in social functions than her husband’s research. “Unfortunately, I also inherited your sense of balance.”
“At least you didn’t get my eyesight, Love. I’m blind as a bat without my glasses.” He stepped away from the wall and glanced back down the busy corridor towards his office. “I can’t find them anywhere.”
“You’re wearing them, Dad.” Two pairs, but she didn’t say it.
He squinted at her. “Are you sure? You’re pretty blurry.”
“It’s all the rage these days. Took me hours to get my hair and makeup this blurry.” Sarcasm was lost on him, so she lifted a finger and poked him in the eye—or rather, would’ve, had he not been wearing glasses. “See? Right here.”
“Great googly-moogly, Cassie!” He whipped the glasses off and tugged out the tail of his shirt to wipe them. “You can’t just go around smudging a man’s glasses!”
“Must’ve been pretty smudged to begin with.”
While he was looking down, she tipped the glasses off his head down to rest on the bridge of his nose. He blinked and looked
up.
“Oh, much better.”
“You’re welcome. Why are you working on a Saturday, anyhow?” Maybe if she got him talking, he’d forget why she was there…
“Oh, lots to do. The fishing yield from all the southwest fishing lanes is significantly down, and I suspect we’ve got some illegal oil-drilling going on. But they tell me the only way to do a full survey is from the air, and I’m not going up in one of those two-seater death-traps!” Dad’s dislike of flying was well-known. “Anyhow, later I have a dinner date with Vicki.”
Vicki. The monarch of an entire country, and he calls her “Vicki”.
“That’s great, Dad.” She stretched on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Don’t work too hard, and have fun.”
Absently, he patted her shoulder, and murmured, “You too, dear.” Then he placed the still-smudged glasses on top of his head, and wandered back towards his office.
God help him.
She took a fortifying breath and marched down the hall towards the bank of elevators. Kristoff’s suite was on the fourth floor, and she’d been invited.
Which is how she found herself standing outside his door ten minutes later, still having not knocked. She was working up the guts, and surely, after another fifteen minutes or so of pacing, she’d be ready to face him.
Probably.
You can do this.
He was just a guy. A super-sexy guy who you’ve been attracted to for months. They were just doing dinner and a movie. And maybe a few extracurricular activities, eh? Did her subconscious just nudge her and wink lasciviously? You’ve been reading too many romance novels—no one uses lasciviously in conversation in real life. Did it count as conversation if it was inside her own head? Of course. Now get in there and jump his bones!
Sometimes she really hated her brain.
Still, waiting around out here—and looking like an idiot, pacing up and down in front of his rooms—wasn’t going to help. She took another deep breath and hitched up her shoulder bag. Inside were her usual “things to have when you leave the house in case of emergency” like her wallet, phone, keys, Kindle, bag of M&Ms, floss, hand sanitizer, forty-seven bobby pins, and a watch battery she hadn’t gotten around to replacing yet. Tonight, however, she’d slipped a few “Oh, goodness, what a coincidence!” items in. Like a toothbrush…and an extra pair of undies.