by Vivian Wood
Pippa pulls away, heading for one of the waiters. I follow, noticing that people are looking at me oddly.
Pippa hands me a glass of champagne, nodding subtlety to a group of girls who are gawking at me. “What do you think is going on there?”
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “If I had to place odds, I would wager we are watching my pool of dating prospects drying up.”
Her eyes twinkle as she takes a sip of her champagne. “How will you ever survive?” She laughs. “Just remember, you were the one who pushed for four months of faking your engagement.”
Before I can come up with a good comeback, Margot peeks her head out of the ballroom. “There you two are!” she says, beaming. “Come on, we have a table waiting.”
Pippa throws a look at me over her shoulder, heading into the ballroom. I follow her, entering the dimly-lit space. Electronic music courses through the whole place. The ballroom’s high ceilings and classic parquet floors are enhanced by the white tables and futuristic white decorations hanging from the ceiling. Margot waves us over to a corner where Stellan is sandwiched in with Erik and Annika. I repress a sigh, pulling up a seat at the end of the table.
Stellan shoots me a look, like I’ve already done something wrong. Then I look up and realize that Pippa hasn’t sat down yet. I don’t like my brother reminding me of social customs, but he’s right. I stand, pulling Pippa’s chair out and deftly moving it right beside my own.
Pippa smirks at my gesture. “Thanks,” she says, taking her seat. Turning to Annika, she smiles. “I love this dress. Actually, I love Margot’s dress too. A part of me is definitely envious.”
Ja, I could definitely use a drink. One of the reasons that we chose this party, of all the parties going on tonight, was that it promised the liquor would be flowing. The other was that I felt that there would be plenty of ladies around, looking for their next one night stand.
I guess that isn’t in the cards tonight, though.
Looking around, I spy a waiter and signal him to come over. I don’t even have to ask Pippa what she wants to drink.
“A French 75 and a whiskey neat. If I don’t ever see the bottom of either glass, there will be something extra for you, okay?” I tell the waiter.
He rushes off like his life is at stake. I smirk and watch as Pippa catches up with Margot and Nika.
I cast a gaze over to Erik, who is giving me a funny look. “What?” I ask.
He slides a look to Stellan. “You just cost me a hundred pounds. I bet Stellan that you would never settle down. Especially after telling me just a few days ago that Pippa is basically your sister—“
I glare at him. “Shut up.”
He shrugs, looking elegant in his tuxedo. “I’m just wondering why you completely flipped your story, that’s all.”
I casually put my arm around Pippa’s shoulders, arching a brow. She blushes, pulled away from the conversation. “What now?”
I lean over to kiss her full on the mouth, adding a little tongue in for good measure. She freezes up, resisting at first. Then she seems to remember that she agreed to this, relaxing in my grip.
Her mouth is hot and her lips plump. Her eyes close a little. Then she opens her mouth for me the barest inch…
My eyes close involuntarily as I gently slip my tongue into her mouth. Damn, she tastes good. I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times over, my very first time French kissing Pippa.
But it’s so much better and deeper and more complex than I’d imagined. She makes a soft sound, curling her fist against my lapel, pulling me closer.
God, I can smell her delicate floral perfume, taste her minty mouthwash overlaid with a splash of sweet champagne fizz.
“All right, all right!” Erik shouts. “We get it, you guys are in love…”
Pippa pulls back, her eyes a little wide. It looks like I’m not the only one who got a tiny bit carried away. Pulling from my grasp, Pippa flushes and turns to the rest of the table.
“Sorry,” she apologizes. “You know how it is, I would guess.”
Annika leans in and covers Pippa’s hand, giving her a secretive smile. “I promise, we all do. Congrats on finally deciding to sleep together.”
I grin. “Actually, I don’t know if you saw Pippa’s hand, but we are engaged.”
“I know!” Margot says. “Let me see the ring!”
Pippa lifts her hand to Margot, her cheeks burning bright red.
I smirk as my gaze slides to Stellan. His eyes narrow on my face, suspicious as ever. Of course, he has every right to be suspicious; there is no relationship between myself and Pippa except friendship.
Really good friendship.
The kind of friendship that is a once in a lifetime find. Not worth risking, not for any price.
I drop my gaze, reminding myself of that very important fact. The waiter delivers me a fresh whiskey and I pound it, not even pretending like I’m too classy. Getting drunk is more important.
Several drinks later, Pippa is red-cheeked and grinning around the table. That’s Pippa’s drunk face, which is sort of the opposite of mine. I generally get more scowl-y the more I drink.
Annika stands up, drunker than I have ever seen her, and pulls Erik out to the dance floor. Margot and Stellan are right on their heels, Margot grinning and laughing even though she’s dead sober.
Pippa glances at me, biting her lip. “I know you don’t dance, but I think you should make an exception. Come on.”
She stands up, pulling me along with her as she heads out to the dance floor. The music slows down a good bit, changing tempo to something nice and easy to dance to.
I can actually ballroom dance. It’s just the whole dancing alone and looking like a fool thing I’m not good at.
I beckon to Pippa, putting my hand out. She takes it, an uncertain smile on her lips.
Then I pull her into my arms and dip her. When I pull her back up, she’s laughing. “Lars! I didn’t know you could dance.”
I tuck her snugly against my body, feeling cheeky. “I can slow dance.”
I slide my hands down the sides of her body, making her shiver. As I suspected, she isn’t wearing a bra. Bracketed in my big hands, her waist seems impossibly slim. I wonder if I were to let my hands wander down further if they would find a thong or not.
God damn, this woman in my arms is so hot.
“Hey!” Pippa’s voice breaks through my reverie. “Do you mind?”
…and I realize that I’m staring right at her tits. I look up at her, my neck heating. “Sorry,” I say with a shrug. “They were just right there…”
Pippa shoots me a glare and tries to pull away. Because I’m so much bigger than her, I just hold her a little tighter. She scowls at me, leaning close.
“Let me go,” she whispers, looking fierce.
I bite my lower lip, my eyes sinking to her lips. “I don’t want to.”
She grips my forearms. “Seriously, Lars? You’re drunk.”
I scoff a little. “You’re drunk too. Stop being melodramatic. We are supposed to be engaged. I’m just acting like an engaged guy who is super horny for his fiancée.” I cock my head. “Hell, maybe we should just sleep together. Call it an experiment.”
Her face turns red. In a second, all the teasing vanishes from her tone and body language. “Get off of me.”
Shit, I crossed a line. I immediately let go, stepping back. “I was just kidding,” I add lamely.
Pippa takes a deep breath in, looking me dead in the eyes. “Tomorrow, we are establishing better boundaries.”
Then she turns, zeroes in on a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes, and grabs two. She upends both of them, poring them down her gullet, and then wipes her mouth.
“Take it easy with the booze,” I say. “You throw up pretty easily.”
Her mouth twists. “Don’t worry about me.”
My brows rise. That’s impossible. I’ve always been looking out for Pippa’s best interests, even when she doesn’t know what they ar
e.
Pippa makes a show of dancing with Margot and Nika, getting more and more drunk. With a sigh, I slow down my intake of alcohol.
One of us has to be sober enough to get us both home.
When the DJ turns the music down and tells us it’s almost midnight, I pluck two champagne flutes off a waiter’s tray and wade over to find Pippa. She is really drunk now and she screams with excitement when she sees me, throwing her arms up.
“Dance with me!” she says, bouncing up and down.
I roll my eyes. “You have had a lot of wine, haven’t you?”
She just laughs and hugs me, snagging one of the champagne flutes that I brought over. “You want to know something?”
I crack a smile. “What is that, drunk Pippa?”
She beams at me. “You look really handsome in that tux. Like… really. You know how to… to… work it. If you were anyone else, I would have already tried to come onto you.”
I roll my eyes at her drunk compliment, but I can’t help grinning. “Thank you. You look quite sexy in that dress.”
She opens her mouth. Before she can respond, the DJ comes over the mic. “All right, everyone! It’s fifteen seconds new until the new year. Let all count… ten! Nine! Eight!”
Pippa grins up at me, counting along. “Seven! Six! Five! Four!”
I squeeze her tightly. “Three! Two! One!”
Everyone shouts happy new year. That, I was prepared for.
But the hot, wet, drunken kiss that Pippa lays on me… the one that has me pulling her closer, and her grabbing my face… the one that goes for almost half a minute…
This is unexpected.
When she pulls away, my cock is hard, my breathing coming out in pants. I look down into her eyes, trying to make sense of that kiss.
What was that supposed to be for? She holds my gaze for a second, gazing back up at me. I press her body closer and try to read her expression.
“Do you—” I start.
Which is when she turns away, delicately putting the back of her hand against her lips and dry heaving.
Aww, shit. I hustle her toward a bathroom, grabbing an empty ice bucket as we go. She immediately throws up in the bucket.
I switch from party mode into medic mode, getting her into the bathroom and helping her kneel down before the toilet.
Then I try not to get too grossed out for the next twenty minutes as she wretches, throwing up over and over again. All I can do is hold her hair and feel bad.
After all, I’m pretty sure that she wouldn’t have gotten so drunk if I hadn’t come on so strong earlier.
I end my night by calling for a royal limousine and bundling her inside. Erik, Stellan, and their respective women are nowhere to be seen.
“Just take us to my apartment, please,” I tell the driver.
I sit back, letting Pippa lie in my lap, and feel very tired all the sudden.
10
Pippa
I wake up in the early hours of the morning, before the sun has even thought about rising. Opening my eyes a crack, I realize a couple of things pretty quickly. First, I am so completely and utterly hungover, it’s ridiculous. I think I remember being sick… but when I think too much about it my head really starts throbbing.
And second, I am in Lars’s bed. I have no memory of coming here. In fact, the last thing I remember was…
Ah. Getting absolutely plastered at New Year’s Eve. That tracks.
I’m not wearing the slinky silver dress from earlier. Somehow that has been replaced by one of Lars’s plain white tees. I can’t help but sniff it and rub it against my chin. It’s old and soft, washed so often that it feels almost fragile. I stick my hand down the covers, hoping against hope that I’m still wearing my little black thong.
Somehow I am. Thank god for that.
God, I’m so thirsty and I really, really have to pee.
I throw my heavy blankets off and stand up. My mind is still foggy as I stumble to the ensuite bathroom. Lights seem too bright for the moment. So I just close the door and use the light from the window as I sleepily try to put things to right.
I pee, use a little toothpaste to do a quick rinse or my mouth, and halfheartedly try to tame my curls. There is no point in the last; with my mane of red curls I look like a lioness, and not in a good way.
This is one of many reasons I don’t spend any nights over here at Lars’s place. No frigging hair products and nothing to even comb my hair with other than my fingers.
I feel vaguely silly when I drink straight from Lars’s elegant tap but the water tastes pure and so, so good.
At last I yawn, leaving the bathroom. My brow furrows as I take in the spectacular view of downtown Copenhagen. Lars showed me this view once when he first moved into this place. How many bedrooms have such a spectacular view?
Wait a second…
My eyes widen. I glance over at the bed, where Lars himself is stretched out on the bed. It looks like I stole most of his heavy comforter for myself some time during the night… leaving him with the barest edge to cover himself with. My jaw drops.
He’s perfect. At first all I can stare at are his abs, which seem like they are carved from frigging stone. Then I notice his long arms and legs are splayed out, covered in a fine layer of soft, sparse fuzz. His dark head is resting on a fluffy white pillow. And as I tilt my head to one side, considering how he’s only covered his thighs, one of his eyes cracks open.
“Pips?” he asks. He pats the expanse of bed beside him. “Come on, come back to sleep.”
My cheeks heat. I tug down the hem of his old tee shirt, conscious of my bareness. “I… uh… I didn’t think I was in your bedroom.”
He eyes close briefly. “I didn’t exactly put you in here. You found your own way.”
Lars pulls at the comforter, covering himself more. I’m at once terribly glad that he did and also sort of sad. It’s not very often that I get to admire… well, so much of Lars. Visions of him will populate my fantasies for years, I’m sure.
“Pippa!” he snaps.
My eyes widen. “What?”
“Will you please stop being so fucking weird? Get back in the bed. We’re adults. We can share a bed for a night, surely.”
I lick my lips. Do I say no?
Or should I—
“Get the fuck back in bed,” he growls. “And try not to snore this time.”
Reacting to his tone, I tiptoe over to the bed and avert my eyes as I lie down. Lars throws the covers back on top of me. I feel frozen, unable to look over at him. He’s naked under the comforter and… well, I just don’t trust my hands not to… wander.
Haven’t I dreamed of just exactly this moment happening? I’m absolutely sure of it.
I look up at the high ceiling, swallowing. For a few seconds, I wonder if he has just gone back to sleep. Curling my hands into fists, I will my heartbeat to slow down.
He sighs and adjusts next to me. “I can actually feel your brain growing hot from too much thinking.”
I bite my lip, turning my head toward him. “How did I get out of my dress?”
He makes a vaguely amused sound. “I don’t know. I brought you back here to my apartment. You made a beeline for my bathroom. A few minutes later, you said you needed a tee shirt. I didn’t think it wise to ask any questions.”
“Oh god.” I cover my eyes, blushing furiously. “Did I really snore?”
I peek at him. He chuckles, nodding. “Yes you did, little witch.”
I groan, which makes my head throb more insistently. “Happy engagement.”
That pulls a genuine laugh out of him. He turns over on his side toward me, tucking a bit of the blanket in around his hips. I only let my gaze drop there for a second before the internal red light starts going off.
Danger! Danger! Not a good idea! Do something else with your eyes!
So I drag up gaze upward, up his flat stomach, past his amazing abs, above his stellar pecs. I look at his face, which is mostly obscured by shadow.
Lars is staring right at me when I get to his eyes, startling me. I don’t say anything but my eyebrows do fly up.
He finds it funny, letting out a rumble of laughter. “You are something else, you know that?”
I feel my face grow hot. “Am I?”
“Yes,” he affirms.
I cock a brow. “At least I wear clothes when I sleep.”
“Pfft.” He rolls his eyes. “As if that is worth bragging about.”
I turn on my side, facing him, and stick my tongue out at him. “One of us has to be the adult here.”
His laugh rumbles again. “Would it truly be so terrible if we were both naked?”
I frown. “Well… yes.”
He shakes his head. “Why would that be bad? Hmm? As I said, we’re both adults.”
I squint at him. “That’s probably the line that you use to get girls to play strip poker or something. And it won’t work on me.”
He shifts forward, so that I can see more of his face. He’s smirking, which makes me want to hit him.
“First off, you wish I was asking you to play strip poker. And second, you would one hundred percent fall for a line.”
I scrunch my nose up. “I would not.”
“You would,” he says, grinning. “You definitely would. Here, let me try out a line on you.”
I snort. “Go right ahead.”
Lars looks thoughtful. Then he pulls his comforter up, wrapping a corner of it around his body like a toga. He lifts his chin, smirking at me with a knowing look.
“Feel my shirt.”
I crinkle my entire face. “What? We just established that you are all but naked.”
“Come on, play along. Feel my shirt.”
Shaking my head, I reach out, smoothing my hand against the hardness of his chest through the thick comforter. “Feels… um… nice?”
He covers my hand with his, trapping it at the same time he pins me with his gaze. “Ja? You know what it’s made of?”
It feels like someone has sucked all the air out of the room. Lars’s skin against mine is hot. I lick my lips, shaking my head a little.
“No, what?” I ask. My voice sounds a little breathy; I blame it on the late hour, though.
