by Melinda Minx
The elevator doors open, and I see something I’m quite sure I wasn’t supposed to see.
Jane is standing completely naked in front of the Roman bath. Her big, full breasts are so perky that her nipples are pointing straight at me, and I can see that she’s cleanly shaven between her thighs, a gap forming between her legs and letting in a hint of diffused light from the huge light on the ceiling. I notice that she’s closed the sunroof so that I can’t peek in from my room, though here I am peeking right in front of her.
“Wow,” I say, grinning.
She turns red in an instant, and she struggles to cover her body, but she’s only able to cover her breasts, and I still have a perfect view of everything else. She looks around―probably in search of a towel―but failing to find one, she dives into the pool.
I laugh, and my laugh echoes off the high ceilings and marble columns.
“You dick!” she shouts. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”
“I suppose I did tell you to call me ‘Dick,’ I say, “but within the palace, Rikard will do―”
“Dick!” she says, jabbing a finger at me. I can no longer see her body clearly through the water, and I focus on her eyes, which are still burning with anger. Her cheeks are flushed red.
“What kind of design is this?” she snaps. “The bath is right in front of the elevator door, which apparently anyone can just appear through without warning?”
“It’s my fault,” I say, taking a few steps closer toward the bath. “No one has the key but me and you, and I...I probably should have let you know I was on the way.”
“Give me the key,” she snaps.
I grin and pull it out of my pocket. “Want me to throw it into the water?”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, hold onto it, but promise you won’t come up again without calling first.”
“I promise,” I say.
Her shoulders heave with relief, but she stays ducked down low so the water covers her body.
“I’ve got my swimming suit on underneath this suit,” I say. “If you’d like me to join you, that is.”
“Who wears a swimming suit under a suit?” she asks.
“The same swimming suit you’re wearing,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
Her face gets even more red than before, and she points back toward the bedroom. “Go into the bedroom, then take the door into the living room...and wait for me there! And shut the bedroom door behind you once you’re in there.”
I smile. “I was just thinking that since I’ve already seen you naked, it would only be fair if―”
“Go!” she snaps, pointing toward the open doors.
I put up my palms toward her, admitting defeat―for now―and head toward the bedroom. I’m somewhat tempted to look around the bedroom, but I’ve already invaded her privacy enough as it is. I walk right through the room, close the door behind me, and sit down in the living room while I wait for her to get dressed.
It feels like it takes ages, but finally the door opens, and Jane steps into the living room. Her hair is still so wet it’s dripping down onto the marble floor.
“Don’t rush on my behalf,” I say.
“I assumed you’re busy, and―”
I laugh. “I was just put on leave, so it seems I won’t be very busy in the near future.”
“Put on leave?” I ask.
“They can’t fire me,” I say. “But they can force me on vacation.”
She’s wearing a white bathrobe, but it’s wrapped tight to keep everything out of my view―not that each and every curve isn’t burned into my memory―and she puts her hands on her hips and scoffs.
“What?” I ask.
“As an adjunct,” she says, “I don’t ever get a real vacation. Any time I take off is unpaid, and even that is rare. You’re so spoiled that vacation is a punishment for you.”
“Looks to me,” I say, “like you’re on vacation now.”
I point to the marble columns, reminding her that she’s in the Nordian palace.
“I’m not getting paid, though,” she says.
I laugh. “Fair enough. So how are you enjoying the palace?”
“It’s…” she says. “Honestly, Dick―”
“Rikard,” I say.
She ignores me and continues. “It’s very fancy, but I felt pretty uncomfortable getting in here. You had people take my stuff from my hotel without even asking me, and some security guy gave me the full-blown TSA treatment at the gate―”
“I’m sorry,” I say, cutting her off. “I should have simply gone with you. It would have made things easier. As a prince, I’m used to people moving my things without asking, or making me deal with paranoid security procedures that can often delay me for hours. You’re not a princess, and you’re just…”
“Common,” she says, giving me a slight smile.
“Not the word I’d use,” I say. “But technically, it’s true. I apologize that I didn’t put myself in your shoes to realize what would make you feel uncomfortable.”
“Apology accepted,” she says. “Now apologize for barging into my bath.”
I flash an evil grin. “I can’t say I’m sorry about that―”
“Rikard,” she says, raising a finger to me.
“Alright,” I say. “I apologize for the act, but not for the―”
“Apology accepted,” she says, not allowing me to share any further innuendo with her.
“I’m not supposed to tell you this,” I say.
Shit, why am I telling her this? Is it because I trust her? Or because I want to get back at Ekdahl? Maybe both.
“But the king, my father, had a stroke.”
She puts a hand over her mouth.
“He’s stable now, but there’s no way of knowing if he’s going to recover, or if―”
She rushes closer to me, takes my hand in hers, and locks eyes with me. “He’ll be okay.”
“I appreciate the optimism,” I say, running a finger along her hand and looking down at her. “But my father raised me to be a realist. The doctors don’t know yet, and―”
“He will be okay,” she says, so resolutely that I almost believe her.
“If he’s okay,” I say, “and recovers quickly, then I’ll do what I can to get…”
I trail off, realizing she doesn’t know that my actions today got General Breivik fired, and that this asshole Ekdahl took over.
“I’ll do what I can to right things,” I say. “And to return to active duty.”
She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t really see where I’m going with this.
“If he doesn’t recover,” I say, “I will take his place, and, well…”
She locks eyes with me. She knows the Nordian law. She knows I’d have to marry a commoner before I could take the throne. Does she really believe my father will recover, or is she just trying to reassure me?”
“My flight back to the U.S. is in six days,” she says.
“To be honest with you,” I say, still holding her hand. “You’re the only commoner I’ve ever spoken more than a few words to.”
“What about your maids?” I ask.
I laugh, thinking about marrying one of my maids.
“Let’s just assume you are right,” I say. “And that my father will be fine. Let’s assume we have all the time in the world…”
“In that case,” Jane says, finally letting go of my hand, but smiling wider, “I’d like to see you again tomorrow, Mr. Nordgaard.”
12
Jane
“Idiot,” I hiss to myself as soon as the elevator doors close behind me.
He’d already seen me naked, and he was in no way vague about his invitation to get naked into the bath with me.
I could have had sex with the prince, tonight, if I’d just had a bit more courage.
But I never sleep with a guy on the first date, and when “a guy” is the Prince of Nordia, the stakes can’t help but feel a teensy bit higher than usual.
And what the hell wa
s that about me being the only commoner he’s ever spoken to? I guess it’s true that women are not allowed to serve in any branch of the Nordian armed forces, so he wouldn’t have gotten to know anyone through his “job,” but you can’t convince me he wouldn’t have had other opportunities to meet one.
Still, does he never let loose or unwind? Has he never just gone out to a pub? Isn’t that the entire point of the Nordian royal family remaining anonymous, to secretly experience life right under everyone’s noses?
Knowing I’m probably the only commoner that he knows puts a lot of pressure on me. I just met the guy. Sure, the way we met―kicking terrorist ass together―made us feel a lot closer than we otherwise would have, and I can’t deny I’m immensely attracted to him. But how much of that attraction is just like every little girl’s fantasy to marry a prince. And how much of it is really about the prince himself? The man behind the crown? Where does the fairytale end and reality begin?
Can there even be a reality when you are dating a prince and sleeping in his palace?
My reality is that I have classes to teach in just under a week. Can I really blow them off to live out this fantasy?
I call my best friend, Dina, and explain everything to her.
“So,” I say, “I guess my question is, can there even be a reality when I’m dating a prince and sleeping in his palace?”
“Okay,” Dina says in response. “Before I answer that, I know I’ve asked you this like six or seven times already, but please tell me you are not playing a really mean joke on me. What you’re telling me is one hundred percent really happening?”
“Yes,” I say. “I swear it’s the truth. Please, Dina, I need your advice.”
“On behalf of every little girl that ever played with Princess Barbie. On behalf of every woman like me working a shitty eight-to-five job for a few dollars per hour... Jane, if you don’t seize this opportunity, I swear to God I will never forgive you for letting down every girl who has ever had a dream.”
“Wow, Dina,” I say. “Way to pressure me into doing the thing I already most wanted to do.”
“What?” she says. “You mean you wanted me to talk you out of it?”
“I wanted you to be the voice of reason,” I say. “What about my students?”
“What about the kingdom of Nordia?” Dina asks.
I laugh. “And you totally cannot tell anyone anything about this. You know that, right?”
“I know,” she says. “It will be the hardest secret I’ve ever had to keep, but I promise I will. When you’re the princess, you have to fly me there and give me the royal treatment, though.
“Done,” I say.
Hopefully I’m right and Rikard’s father will be okay. I like the idea of being the secret princess, but the very real possibility of suddenly becoming queen within a week scares the living shit out of me.
13
Rikard
I wake up before dawn, as always, but I suddenly realize there’s no reason to get up. I’m on leave.
I could go see if Jane is awake, but I doubt she wants to wake up at the crack of dawn while she’s on vacation.
I consider going back to sleep, but it feels too lazy and slovenly, so I jump out of bed and do some pushups to get my blood pumping.
There’s a knock on my door. Without stopping my pushups, I shout out, “Come in.”
I look up to see Magnus. He’s in uniform and grinning down at me.
“Come to gloat?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “I came to work out with you. Looks like you started without me.”
I finish my set of pushups and jump to my feet. “”Ekdahl won’t like that.”
“Fuck him,” Magnus says. “You may be on leave, but that doesn’t mean I can’t work out with you. I don’t have to report until eight o’clock.”
I grin. “Alright, then let’s hit the weights.”
I see Jane walk into the weight room when I’m ducked down with seven hundred pounds of iron on my back. I pull my shoulders back, drive in with my heels, and press the huge weight up until I’m standing straight. I feel all my muscles tingling as blood flows through them, and I throw the bar onto the squat rack.
“Fuck!” I grunt, partially because I’m completely spent, but mostly because it feels damn good to have lifted so much.
I can see Jane from the mirror in front of me. She’s grinning, looking refreshed and beautiful in a body-hugging pair of jeans and a sweater. I turn to face her.
“Jane,” I say. “How’d you know I was in here?”
“Your cousin Siegfried told me,” she says.
“You ran into him?” I ask.
She nods. “I asked if I could eat breakfast downstairs, and I saw him there.”
My stomach starts to churn at the mention of breakfast. Squatting seven hundred pounds burns a lot of calories.
I notice Jane’s eyes are wandering, and I look down to see that my white workout shirt is soaked through with sweat. It’s clinging to my body, and showcasing my cut abs, which are bulging out from all the weight I lifted.
“So,” I say. “I guess you want to lift some weights?”
“No, no,” she says, putting her hands up and waving them at me. “Not at all. I’m on vacation.”
“I think she wants to,” Magnus says, laughing.
“Come on,” I say. “I can teach you.”
“I’m wearing a sweater and jeans,” she says.
I snap my fingers, and the footman dashes toward me.
“Yes?” he asks.
“Can you bring some women’s workout clothes for Jane to change into?”
The footman takes a look at Jane to figure out her size, nods, and rushes off.
“You have a guy standing in the gym just in case you need women’s workout clothes?” she asks.
“Donovan!” I shout.
He digs his feet in and stops. “Yes?”
“And a wild berry smoothie, too. With whey.”
He nods and races off.
“He’s mostly there to get me smoothies,” I say.
“Does he know then?” she asks. “That you’re…”
I nod. “He knows. This is the royal weight room. No outsiders can get in. It’s just for me, my sister, and our cousins.”
“I see,” she says.
“And today, you can, too.”
I smile at her, and she blushes.
I wonder if she’s given any thought to what I said. I know it’s a lot to spring onto someone, and I do barely know her. I think I like her―I mean, I do like her―but it’s a hell of a thing to ask someone. “If my father kicks the bucket in the next few days, will you be willing to marry me and become the Queen of Nordia?”
It would be one thing if Papa were in good health, and I could all but guarantee that Jane could “court” me for as long as she needed.
“Magnus,” I say, looking at my watch. “You need to report in soon.”
He nods. “Yeah, I’ll leave you two to it.”
I’m still panting from the squats, and Jane nervously eyes the bar.
“I can’t lift that much weight,” she says.
I laugh. “Of course you can’t. You’ll start with just the bar. Unless you’ve squatted before?”
She shakes her head. “I’m more of a cardio person...running and spin classes. I leave the squat rack to the meatheads. No offense.”
“You calling me a meathead?” I ask, leaning into her.
“I said ‘no offense!’” she defends herself.
I laugh. “I know, but I was just joking with you.”
Donovan rushes back in with my smoothie in one hand and a bag in the other.
He hands me the smoothie, and I all but inhale it.
He hands the bag over to Jane and points her in the direction of the locker room.
She looks at the bag of clothes and sighs. “Do you really want me to lift weights?”
I grin. “It will be fun.”
She heads toward the locker roo
m with the clothes, and I suck down the last of the smoothie as I wait for her. I’m starting to feel recovered―and I almost want to lift another set―but I know I shouldn’t. I’ve lifted enough already, so now I just need to rest and let the muscles rebuild themselves.
Jane returns wearing skin-tight black yoga pants and an equally tight-fitting top.
I try not to stare at her, but damn, she looks good.
Her face is red, and she looks up at me. “This is kind of...not what I’d usually wear.”
“Well,” I say, forcing my eyes not to gawk. “It looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” she mutters. “So what do I do?”
I look over at the squat rack, and it still holds seven hundred pounds. I should have been removing the plates while she got changed, but I forgot.
I remove the pin and start pulling off the plates.
Jane grabs the pin off on the other side. She’s going to try to help me, but the plates are too heavy.
“Wait,” I say, rushing toward her.
“It’s fine,” she says, pulling off the plate.
I get right behind her as the one hundred-pound plate slides off the bar, plummeting toward her feet.
Standing behind her, I grab the plate and catch it before it crushes her toes. My body is pressed hard against her, and I can feel her thick ass through the yoga pants on my thigh. I go hard as steel in an instant, and I back up from her, prying the plate out of her hands and holding it over my shorts so that she can’t see my bulging dick.
“It said forty-five on it,” she says.
“Forty-five kilograms,” I say. “That’s one hundred pounds.”
“Oh,” she says, her face turning pale. “I’m an idiot.”
I count backward from ten and don’t look at her, hoping my raging hard cock will soften. It finally does, and I slide the plate back onto the rack. I remove the rest of the plates on my own until the bar is bare.
“This bar only weighs like fifty pounds,” I say. “I’ll show you how to lift it properly. There will be no risk that it will hurt you or be too heavy, I promise.”
