The Stepsister's Prince (The Royal Wedding Book 3)

by Caroline Lee

  Just in case hers got gnawed off or something.

  She raised her hand to knock, but the moment her knuckles touched the door, it was wrenched open and she was pulled inside. She found herself plastered against Kristoff’s chest, and didn’t mind one bit.

  “Hi!” she said brightly, leaning back to look into his eyes.

  “I thought you were going to stand me up or something, the way you were out here pacing.”

  She could feel herself blush. “You could see me?”

  This time his grin was wry as he nodded to some fancy computer set-up on the bookshelf beside the door. “Closed circuit TV. Security purposes.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m not important enough for a bodyguard—thank God—but they still take my security pretty serious.” He kissed her forehead, then a second time. “Wanna tour?”

  Anything to forget about him watching her pace! “Yes, please,” she squeaked.

  He’d called it a “suite”, but he basically lived in an apartment. They were in a large room with a small kitchenette opposite a big picture window, with a dining table and obvious living room delineations. A big bedroom—with a huge bed, and about a million pillows—an all-white-marble bathroom, and what looked like a completely unused study rounded out the apartment.

  “Tell me about the pillows,” she commanded. They were holding hands while he showed her around, her earlier embarrassment thankfully fading.

  “What? I like pillows.” Was it her imagination, or was it his turn to flush slightly? “And it’s a big bed.”

  “It certainly is,” she said in her must innuendo-laden voice.

  She added a few eyebrow waggles for good measure, and he burst into laughter.

  “Good God, you’re amazing, Cass!” He wrapped his arms around her. “You hungry for pizza?”

  The question derailed the pleasure she’d felt at his compliment. “Wait, pizza?”

  “Is that okay?” He was tugging her towards the couch.

  She shrugged. “Sure, I just figured a prince would have his kitchens send up filets and caviar or something.”

  “I can do that, if you’d like.” He frowned. “Do you want filets instead?”

  She giggled. “No, I love pizza. And I love that you have pizza.”

  “We’re watching a movie. That requires pizza. Besides, the chef knows exactly how I like the crusts.”

  Laughing outright now, she pulled him down on the couch. “Why did I think you’d order out like a normal person?”

  “Because I am a prince.”

  “What movie are we watching?”

  He grabbed a remote and turned on a huge TV hanging on the wall. He flipped through some menus, then started listing movies. “I could go for something actiony, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Sure…” She watched the movie titles go by. “Oooh! The Thirteenth Warrior!”

  He highlighted the movie. “Really?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged. “Vikings and Antonio Banderas and supernatural monsters and Antonio Banderas. The plot’s terrible, buuuut—”

  “Antonio Banderas?”

  “Exactly.”

  He was smirking as he flipped through the menus. “I think I might love you.”

  It was a joke, she knew, so she kept her voice light when she quipped, “The feeling is entirely mutual, I’m sure.”

  Still, as they snuggled down with the pizza and Antonio Banderas, she couldn’t help but wish this was her new normal, and that Prince Kristoff of Aegiria did love her.

  She groaned as their second movie ended, and stretched as if she were sore. Maybe she was, although the electronic system on the Älskvärd meant there hadn’t been any hoisting or tugging today.

  “Are your shoulders stiff? I owe you a massage,” he reminded her.

  But she just giggled, and patted her stomach. “No, but my belly is full, I’m slightly tipsy—you didn’t tell me you had two bottles of wine—and this is the happiest I can remember being since…well, hmmm.”

  “Really?” he teased. “So I shouldn’t bother getting out the ice cream?”

  Her head whipped around. “Ice cream? You have ice cream? What kind— No. No, I don’t need ice cream, I can barely move as is.”

  As if to illustrate her point, she lifted her feet, one after the other, groaning like they weighed fifty pounds each. As she swung them up and around, she kicked the empty wine glass standing on the coffee table. It wobbled and fell, rolling onto the thick carpet, just as she deposited her feet in Kristoff’s lap.

  When she began to giggle at her clumsiness, he had to join her. How could he not, when he was so full of…of contentment, really?

  Since she was already stretched out, he picked up one of her feet and began to rub it, pressing his thumb into the pad of each toe until she moaned with pleasure this time.

  He liked the way that sounded.

  They both sighed in contentment at the same time, and he liked the way that sounded too. “You’re pretty awesome, know that?”

  “Me?” She lifted her head off the couch’s arm just enough to raise a brow at him. “I’m nobody special.” Her head rested back again. “Well, except for the fact I’ve somehow conned a gorgeous, adventurous, funny prince into feeding me pizza, watching dumb movies with me, and rubbing my feet. I wonder if I’m a witch or something…?”

  “You must always promise to use your powers for good.”

  “No deal,” she quipped.

  He was smiling lazily when he moved to her other foot. “You’re funny, and you’re fun to be around. You’re really hot, in a dress or in these—what are these? Are you wearing yoga pants? Do you even do yoga?”

  She nudged him with her toe. “I’ve been known to do a Savasana or two.”

  “That’s the one where you lie flat on your back and try not to fall asleep, right?”

  “Namaste.”

  He chuckled. “See? Funny. But besides being hot—no, come back here,” he had to command as she tried to pull her foot back and sit up. “It’s true. You’re hot. Just accept it.”

  She threw her arm over her face and groaned. “You’re making me blush.”

  “Excellent. I’d like to make you—” He bit down on what he’d planned on saying, and searched for a less-coarse alternative. “Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind going all Viking pillager on you.”

  Her giggles were muffled against the inside of her elbow, and he smiled to know she was as into him as he was her.

  “And you can sail.”

  “What?” Her arm moved slightly.

  “You can sail. Do you have any idea how attractive that is? A woman who knows what the hell a capstan winch is? Who knows how to rig a starboard foreguy in a four-to-one tackle as a preventer?”

  “I made that up.”

  “See? Super-sexy.”

  “So I landed a prince because I was checking out your gobblywobbler? My grandmother will be so proud.” Her sarcasm was still muffled.

  “Because you knew what a gobblywobbler was. I wasn’t flying it.”

  “Right, right. It was too wobbly.”

  He snorted. “Besides, you didn’t land a prince. You watered a prince. No, wait, ‘harbored’? Sea’d a prince? What’s the opposite of ‘landed’? We’re talking about sailing here.”

  She giggled. “I think I love you.”

  That’s what he’d said to her earlier in the evening. He’d meant it as a joke, just a throwaway reference to how much fun he had with her. But now, hearing her say it, Kristoff’s chest began to ache. Why? Why was he feeling this—what was this? Longing, almost? Like he wanted the words to mean something.

  No. Cass was just a fun girl to date. He enjoyed his time with her, and he liked that she was easy-going and not looking for anything permanent. Her actions and words had made that clear.

  Best to just relax and enjoy his time with her. Still…

  “Be my partner,” he found himself blurting.

  She slowly sat up, a look of confusi
on on her face. Probably matched his. That hadn’t been particularly suave. Viggo would’ve laughed his ass off…

  He hurried to explain. “In the Regatta, each craft has to have a two-person crew. I can sail my boat by myself, thanks to the assist tech, but…”

  “It’s pretty dangerous, I would think.” She pulled her feet out of his lap and sat cross-legged on the couch.

  Her comment made him frown in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t feel the boat under you. Like, what happens if something goes wrong? You can’t just press a button to fix everything.”

  He smiled. “You really are a salty old sailor, aren’t you?”

  “Yaarrrr, me hearty!”

  “No, my hearty!” He lunged and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her towards him. “You’re the perfect choice for my partner,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “Please say you’ll do it.”

  The perfect choice for my partner…

  She moaned and tipped her head back, allowing him to kiss the spot behind her ear he knew was sensitive. It was amazing how much he knew about her body already, considering he’d only kissed her for the first time this morning. It was like…like he knew her, understood her, without even having to guess.

  When he tugged her onto his lap, she went willingly, straddling his thighs and allowing him access to so much more of her. As he squeezed and nipped, she moaned and wriggled like he was doing everything right.

  “Say you’ll do it, Cass, please?” He was panting, he knew.

  “Sail with you?” Her eyes were hazy with desire, and she had to blink a few times. “I would do just about anything to sail with you again, Kristoff.” She smiled shyly. “I should be begging you.”

  “Okay, I’ll make a deal with you.” His hands skimmed her sides and reached around to cup her butt. “You sail with me in the Regatta, because we make an awesome team, and in return…”

  When he squeezed, she shifted forward, a look of expectation on her face.

  “Yes?” she asked breathlessly.

  “You take your hair down.”

  At her look of confusion, he grinned wickedly. Her hands left his shoulders to drift up to the simple braid she wore.

  “My hair?”

  “All day I’ve wanted to see your hair in the breeze.” And flowing around your breasts. “You have gorgeous hair. Would you—would you take it down for me?”

  She smiled now, and untied the end of her braid. As she ran her fingers through the thick waves, her grin turned calculating.

  “There,” she breathed triumphantly. “Now you have to do something for me.”

  His fingers itched to touch her hair, to run his palm over it, to wrap it around his fist and tug her mouth down to his once more. But he restrained himself. “Anything,” he croaked in a hoarse voice.

  “Take off your shirt,” she whispered.

  He didn’t even move her off his lap, just grabbed his t-shirt in both hands and pulled it off over his head and tossed it behind the couch.

  They sat like that for a moment, still and silent, her gaze focused on his chest. Finally, she reached out slowly, hesitantly, and pressed one palm against his pectoral muscle. The feel of her warm skin against his caused his nipples to harden—not just his nipples, either—and he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She tried to pull her hand back, but he slammed his down over it, keeping her palm pressed against his chest. Her fingers lifted beneath his briefly, as if she were going to fight him, but just as quickly they relaxed and fondled him one more.

  With her hair hanging down around her face like that, she looked almost shy again. She peeked at him through the strands, and he made sure to catch her eye. The smile he gave her was intended to reassure her, and when she exhaled and offered him a smile in return, he knew it had worked.

  His other hand—still on her butt—urged her forward, and she didn’t hesitate. She was the one to lean closer, to move her chest and neck and lips into kissing distance. When she lowered her mouth to his, the curtain of their hair made them a little cocoon, a private hideaway from the outside world.

  It was a few minutes later when she straightened suddenly and pulled her hands out of his hair, where they’d somehow found themselves. “I think perhaps things aren’t quite equitable here.”

  He was breathing heavily, trying not to think how amazing it felt to have her straddling him, the juncture of her thighs pressed against his hardness, straining to break free. “Wha…?”

  And just like that, she’d pulled her own sweater off, revealing a frilly black bra which shot him straight from horny to dangerously close to orgasm.

  He stared at her tits—large and plump and barely contained by that scrap of lace. “Cass,” he said hoarsely, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to touch anything so much in my life.”

  There was a grin in her voice—he couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from her chest—when she said, “I wish you would. I’m wearing the matching panties, too.”

  His groan wasn’t anywhere close to contained, and he pulled her towards him, suckling and nipping and squeezing until they were both panting and groaning in pleasure.

  When she tugged at his hair, pulling his mouth off her chest, he barely registered the interruption. Her skin was red and warm where he’d been kissing—had he hurt her? Had his beard scraped her? But no, she was smiling, so unintentionally sexy he ached to have her.

  “Kristoff, this is like a dream come true.”

  He’d never had a woman say that before. “I’m pretty sure I could make all sorts of things come true.” He lifted one brow. “Like all your Viking fantasies.”

  Her lovely brown eyes widened, and her swollen lips mouthed something—a curse? A blessing? He couldn’t tell.

  “I think—” She cleared her throat, and tried again. “I think we should consider taking this elsewhere.”

  “Like where?”

  Her hands skimmed over his chest once more. “I don’t think I care. But I can’t make love to you sitting here on the couch if we’re both wearing pants.”

  Make love. It was all she needed to say, and Kristoff was lost. Without letting her go, he stood, allowing her feet to drop to the floor and his hardness to press against her pelvis. She was breathing heavily now, grinding her hips against him, and he was closer to coming in his pants than he’d ever been.

  “Sooo…the bedroom?”

  “The bedroom,” she agreed quickly.

  “One small change, though.” He grinned when she looked up at him questioningly through a haze of desire. “I’m making love to you.”

  With that, he scooped her up in his arms. She squealed and threw her arms around his neck, wrapping her fingers through his hair.

  He grinned wickedly. “Just call me Kristoff the Conqueror.”

  “Can I be the helpless village maiden you’ve come to pillage?”

  “Oh, I’m going to pillage you alright, but I don’t want you helpless. You’re a willing participant.” It was corny, but he wanted to fulfill whatever fantasies she had.

  She pulled his head towards hers. “Yes, my Viking warrior,” she murmured as their lips met.

  Man, but she made him feel like he could do anything, when she kissed him like that. Without breaking contact, he strode as fast as his erection would allow to his bedroom. He had a promise to keep, and he had a feeling that making love to Cassandra Hayes was going to be more freeing than sailing, more thrilling than climbing, more intense than anything he’d experienced in his life.

  He was right.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Hey Dad, are you going to be home for din— Oh!”

  Cassandra stopped still in the doorway of her father’s office, her hand still on the knob, when four sets of Royal eyes turned her way.

  Whoops.

  Looks like Dad was having some sort of meeting. Once he’d been made Science Advisor last year, he’d been given this super-nice office; all the
hardwood and ferns he couldn’t keep alive made it classier than any other he’d used. And it was big enough to host whoever might be dropping in.

  In this case, it included Queen Viktoria, who was perched on the edge of his desk wearing a smart pantsuit and looking like a teenager from the ‘60s. Her sister, the Princess Marina, was sitting on the couch-loveseat thingy, her head bent towards Prince Arne, and it looked like they’d both been reading some kind of report before Cass caught their attention. Her eldest soon-to-be stepbrother, the serious Crown Prince Alek, was silhouetted against the picture window, his hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers. He looked contemplative as he studied her.

  Cass wondered if she could conceivably back out of the room again, pulling the door closed, and hope no one had noticed her entrance. She tried a smile on Dad.

  It didn’t work.

  “I’ll be home, young lady. If you decide you want to be, I’m looking forward to our conversation. About, say, where you’ve been the last two nights.”

  Okay, now she was hoping the floor would just swallow her up alive. Because Alek’s imperious brow just went up, and Cass was a little ill to think he might know she’d spent the last two nights here at the palace.

  With Kristoff.

  Of course, Dad didn’t need to know that—she’d texted him perfectly good excuses. Which it looked like he hadn’t bought, judging from the way he was trying to hide his smirk with what he probably thought was a stern fatherly glare.

  Oh my Thor, I’m being parented by a man who uses salt water from the aquarium to overwater his ferns, and then wonders why they die.

  Still, spending the past two nights with Kristoff had done wonders for her boldness level, so whereas she might’ve stammered an excuse or apology this time last week, today she just raised her chin and borrowed some of Alek’s arrogance.